An unfortunate thing about this world is that the good habits are much easier to give up than the bad ones. – W. Somerset Maugham
Yesterday I talked about some of my favorite regular clients, but today I want to discuss some other regular customers who for one reason or another aren’t on quite the same level. Though these gentlemen were good and reliable customers whose needs and habits were just as predictable and trustworthy of those I discussed yesterday, they weren’t as likely to provoke a smile from any particular girl for reasons which will become clear.
The first of these are service regulars, who always patronize the same escort service but enjoy seeing different girls. One of ours was the Programmer, who clearly enjoyed talking to me on the phone almost as much as he enjoyed seeing whores. I was the first girl from our service he dated, and though he rarely saw me after that we always spent at least ten minutes on the phone when he called before finally getting around to talking about what kind of girl he wanted that night. Eventually we developed such a rapport that I would call him whenever there was a new hire, and he would see her as soon as possible and report back to me about how she treated him. He was especially good for this because he had some chronic health problems which required medication that tended to make him go limp, so he wasn’t the easiest customer to deal with and was therefore a good test of a girl’s patience and manners. One night he called, and after an unusually long discussion I asked what sort of girl he wanted that night; he replied, “You know, I haven’t seen you in a long time.” It was true; though I talked to him quite often, we hadn’t actually seen each other in a couple of years. So I went on over, and while I was working on him I noticed him looking at me quite intently; when I gave him a quizzical glance he said with a smile, “I had just forgotten how pretty you are.”
Not all service regulars are that nice; the Hotelier was similar to the Programmer in some ways, but in other ways very different. He was the manager of one of the larger, more expensive downtown hotels and had neither the time nor the inclination for a girlfriend; he would’ve seen two girls a week if we could have provided him what he wanted. The reason we couldn’t was that his requirements were too rigid; not only did he rarely want to see the same girl twice, but any girl we sent had to be as small-busted as possible. Doug once said to him in exasperation, “There are only so many titless girls in this city, you know!” To make things worse, even the few girls he would consent to see more than once didn’t really like visiting him; he saw Barbie several times that I recall, but she complained that he was both rude and unnecessarily rough. He was never rude to me on the phone, though, which leads me to suspect that he was a bit of a snob and treated me with more respect because he could tell I was his intellectual equal.
One night this seemed to dawn on him, and he said, “You know, Maggie, we’ve been talking for months but I’ve never seen you.”
I replied, “You wouldn’t like me, love, I’ve got great big titties!”
A few weeks later I offered to drive a girl who had no car to see him, and when he heard I was coming he insisted on coming out of his house to meet me. As I reached out to take his hand, he looked down to my chest and said, “Wow, I see what you meant!” I had to laugh at the absurdity of his responding to my comment so long after I had made it.
Men who treat whores carelessly during sex aren’t unusual; most appear not to realize just how rough they’re being, and some even respond to girls asking them to be more gentle. But I had one regular who specifically wanted to treat me that way; in fact, it was because I could take it that he became my regular. He was turned on by being really cruel during sex, calling the girl dirty names and giving really vulgar orders, and even slapping her bottom during rear-entry sex with considerably more force than most men apply. This was not an unconscious or uncontrollable impulse on his part; he was a married man whose wife did not allow him to act thus with her, so he had to find a whore who would. On our very first call he told me what he wanted to do and I replied that it didn’t bother me; after that he saw me every time he was in town for months. But lest my reader think this man a cad I must point out that he was scrupulously polite before and after; it was only during sex that he felt the urge to abuse his partner. In fact, he once got so carried away with his insults that it must have worried him, because he suddenly stopped and said to me quite calmly, “You know I don’t really mean any of this, right?” I assured him that I understood it was just a sexual thrill for him, and he launched right back into calling me filthy words with great gusto.
Regulars of this sort aren’t as pleasant as the usual type, but there’s still a comfort zone in knowing what to expect from a client, even if it’s something difficult. As I once told Grace after a visit with the Sadist described above, this is part of the social function whores serve; we allow men like him to experience the “perverted” desires that horrify their conventional, sexually naïve wives. The Sadist didn’t ask to be the way he was, and an experienced and understanding whore allowed him to release his impulses so that they did not break out in some destructive and uncontrolled manner with a woman who could not possibly comprehend them.
The Sadist wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs, but neither was he the sort of regular who really tried one’s patience like the Diver. This young man worked offshore, and like most in such positions he worked two weeks on and two weeks off; because he was a specialist, however, he might be called back at very short notice and so always made the most of his time at home. As you can probably guess he was extremely well-paid, and so could easily afford to hire a whore several times a week while on land; unfortunately, few girls wanted to see him. It isn’t that he was rude, physically repellent, cheap or anything like that; it was that he was so addicted to porn that he seemed to sincerely believe that intercourse was some sort of endurance contest. A call with him was always the same; there was invariably porn on the TV when one arrived, and within minutes of completing the credit card paperwork he was in the saddle and riding away, with the girl positioned so he could watch his movie while inside her. He wasn’t interested in massage or anything else and only wanted a few minutes of oral stimulation, then it was straight to work nonstop for the next hour. We all tried to bring him to completion more quickly than that, but nothing ever worked (and Aphrodite knows I tried everything I could think of and a few things I invented on the spot). He just kept going and going and going like a piston in a cylinder until he heard the phone ring for callout, then finished right on cue. The man could easily have done porn; he could go for as long as he liked, then climax exactly when he wanted to, and that was never less than at least 45 minutes (leaving no time for cleanup, getting dressed or anything else). I’m not sure whether he just wanted to spend every possible minute rooting, or whether he was laboring under the common male delusion that women really want it to go on for that long, but in any case it was both painful and exhausting and left one so sore that any calls after him couldn’t help but be unpleasant.
Then there was the Crackhead, whom I’ve already mentioned in my column of July 14th; he owned a construction business until he smoked it all away, and would pay me to babysit him for two to four hours, often several times a week, while he smoked his crack. And that’s all it was, babysitting; he talked about sex a lot, but never actually wanted to do anything (unless you count asking me to watch him while he played with his own nipples). Sometimes he wanted other girls, but because he was paranoid and belligerent he either scared them away or refused to see them twice. I was the only one he would see repeatedly, week in and week out for over a year, because I was neither afraid of him nor interested in smoking crack, and he therefore knew he could trust me neither to steal his stash nor freak out and run away as some other girls had. He honestly seemed to have a sort of genuine affection for me, and often asked me philosophical, scientific or historical questions between “rocks”. Grace hated my going to see him, and my visits were certainly both difficult and unpleasant, but I am nothing if not pragmatic and couldn’t resist making $500-1000 per visit, several times a week, just by sitting around (often fully dressed) and putting up with his weirdness for a few hours.
Men like the Crackhead, the Diver and the Hotelier, though difficult to deal with, were still in the end legitimate regulars because they were willing to spend large sums of money on a fairly regular basis. But there were other men who couldn’t be called regular customers because they rarely if ever purchased anything, though they certainly called often enough. These were the nuisances, and though I can’t think of what true educational purpose tomorrow’s column about them might serve, I believe you will at least find their stories entertaining in a train-wreck, tabloid television sort of way.
One of my girls has a crackhead regular. He never wants to have sex with her but always wants her to sit there with him while he smokes his crack. I don’t understand it personally, but a girl working for me who’s been in the business for awhile has told me she’s dealt with people like that before who regard the working girls they patronize as some kind of buffer zone for them while they’re taking their drugs. I guess they figure the girl will call the hospital if an overdose occurs. I guess since I’ve never done drugs, I’ll never be able to understand.
I suppose, but surely they don’t believe that after making that call the girl would stick around to be arrested? I sure wouldn’t have! 🙁
Well, if my girls ever have to make that call, then they’d better get on the phone with me immediately to arrange a way out before the rescue squad arrives. They’re on their own if they’re arrested on drug charges.
Nice post. Interesting site!
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“I’m not sure whether he just wanted to spend every possible minute rooting, or whether he was laboring under the common male delusion that women really want it to go on for that long,”
A lot of us think that women want it to go on that long because women tell us they want it to go on that long. Almost every joke on TV about men being lousy in bed is about him being a One Minute Wonder.
I learned some time ago: if you believe women when they say what they want, you spend a lot of time alone. In fact I really think that one reason men go to prostitutes, from streetwalkers to brothels to call girls, is to avoid having to play the crazy guessing games the “legitimate” mating dance requires.
We do no such thing! When a woman says she wants sex to last a long time, she means the whole process from getting naked to the man getting up again; men think “sex” means “intercourse”, whereas women mean the whole shebang.
There’s a vast stretch of territory between one minute and sixty. I once conducted an informal poll of about 15 women as to what they considered the perfect length of time for actual intercourse, and the answers ranged from three or four minutes to twenty. However, only ONE girl answered twenty, and that was twice the length of the next nearest answer. Plus, she was a masochist.
Many men think that if a little of something is good, a lot is better; to any man who believes this, I suggest putting three or four tablespoons of salt on your dinner tonight. One minute of screwing is definitely too short for most women, but an hour is far too long. For a guy to insist that those are our choices is like his saying, “You can only have one taste-spoon of ice cream, or else you have to eat an entire half-gallon container.” What the hell is so bad or weird about just wanting one normal serving?
I think you’re right there.
And I know you’re right there.
Maybe YOU don’t, but some do. And they don’t offer any specifics about what is and is not sex (a habit maintained from adolescence, perhaps, when she learned to look her parents in the eye and say, “of course I’m not having sex!” and not feel that she was lying).
As for the One Minute Wonder… well, there I guess my real gripe is TV writers, not women. TV-Land is a land of extremes, and comedy even more so. No character is ever a bit dumb or a bit bright; he’s a genius or an idiot. And every man is either an erotic Superman or, well, a One Minute Wonder. So, my bad there.
In your next post you talk about dressing up. You’ve also said that you identify with the sacred harlots of antiquity. I’ve wondered exactly what “vestments” consisted of in this case, and if any customer wanted that. I’d’ve been a bit leery to request it (though I would have thought of it), as I wouldn’t want to be disrespectful.
I can assure you that no actual, nonfictional woman (with the possible exceptions of severe masochists or some kind of mutant) wants to be pounded for an hour. I say that without fear of contradiction, because I have never in my life heard a woman claim in the presence of other women she wanted to have active, rigorous, in-and-out intercourse for longer than half an hour at maximum. The inside of the vagina simply isn’t made to take such punishment; after that kind of duration it becomes painful, often acutely so. And any woman who claims otherwise is selling something.
I never had a specific request for that, but it might be interesting to design and create something. I did have a certain perfume I only wore while “working”, though.
¨I say that without fear of contradiction, because I have never in my life heard a woman claim in the presence of other women she wanted to have active, rigorous, in-and-out intercourse for longer than half an hour at maximum.¨
Oh, that immediately brings something to mind… (now where did i put it… ah, here! ^_^
Anyone familiar with the Japanese manga called Futari H (a Step-up Love story)?
It`s quite unique. It`s one part cute story about a young couple who remained virgins until marriage and then have to fumble their way through figuring out how to have sex largely on their own and by trial and error. It also functions as a how-to manual for sex, and numerous statistics, studies, charts, and instructional diagrams are sprinkled throughout, conveniently appearing just in time to provide the reader the answer to a question the characters themselves probably would have liked the answer to beforehand. ^_^;
A cute and interesting read, and if you read enough of it, you`re almost certain to learn at least one or two things you didn`t know before, or so I`ve found (I`d allow a professional of Maggie`s experience to make her own call in that regard, but perhaps there`s some survey data from other countries she hasn`t yet seen. :P). Though often classified as a hentai manga by necessity of its near-total focus on sex (and sexual relationships), it`s very softcore and not vulgar in any way. I would be perfectly comfortable sharing this (extremely long-running) instructional comic with any young teen son or daughter if I actually had them.
Exposition finished, now to relevance. I was looking for the factoid I remember being dropped in… hmm… Vol4-page167:
After fighting to overcome his original problem of chronic pre-ejaculation, our darling couple, Yuka and Makoto begin encountering the opposite problem: taking too long`and her drying up. Quothe the factoid:
¨Secretion (of vaginal lubricants) occurs with sexual excitement, but the amount soon decreases and ceases completely after about 30 minutes. When there is only a small amount of sexual fluid, the slippery feeling is lost, but when there`s too much the folds of the vagina can`t be felt¨
Always wondered if that little factoid wasn`t a bit too neat and exact to all women everywhere; surely some start drying out after 20mins, and others at 40, or something along those lines, never mind how degree of emotional arousal must factor in…
Anyways, there`s a physiological element to why women might not desire to be pounded into for 45mins straight… you know… over and above bruising from repeated impacts to the same area exceeding the point nature designed the female body to absorb.
{makes a note}
Futari H
Do I have to be able to read Japanese? Because I can usually recognize the kanji for “aki” (red), and that’s it.
I’m curious why didn’t you tell the scuba diver that he was taking way too long? I ask because I suffer from delayed ejaculation which enables me to have sexual intercourse for over an hour because I cannot cum.
I believe you, Maggie. I mean, why would you lie to me about this? You wouldn’t.
And even if I for some reason didn’t trust YOU, I’ve found out for myself that the women I’ve been with, at least, don’t want a long, long time of steady bang, bang, bang.(*) But I didn’t find that out because they came right out and told me so. No, I was supposed to already know, and apparently it’s unladylike to bluntly tell a man what you want in bed. Or maybe it’s some sort of mating behavior, to see if I’m smart enough to sire the kind of children she wants.
(*) A possible exception is a girl who has just started with sex. She may find the idea of “going at it for an hour” to be exciting, or naughty, or perhaps she’s been convinced herself that this is What Women Want. I doubt she has to try it very many times before she decides that marathon intercourse is overrated. That it isn’t what This Woman Wants, at least.
Nope. I prefer not to lie when it can possibly be avoided.
That, unfortunately, is due in part to cultural conditioning and in part to the desire not to offend a man one likes well enough to go to bed with. On the one hand one isn’t supposed to talk about it (an idea which, like “sex is dirty”, never took root in my brain). But on the other hand, the female desire to please the man is instinctive, not learned; most women won’t criticize male performance because we don’t want to hurt your egos, so we endure whatever it is you’re doing until we can’t stand it any more. Whores only have to wait until the end of the call, but most girlfriends try to subtly guide men away from undesired behaviors rather than saying anything about it; some just put up with it indefinitely. 20% of American women say they consider sex a “necessary ordeal”; I wonder what percentage of those were virgins when they married a man who has some unpleasant sexual technique and don’t know that his behavior isn’t intrinsic to the act?
Incidentally, this is why we fake orgasms (and most of us do at least on some occasions); it’s to let a man know that one has had enough without having to hurt his feelings. Some men will keep it up until the woman climaxes and refuse to understand or accept that sometimes it just doesn’t happen. A good fake lets him feel he has done his job and lets her enjoy what she had without being rubbed raw while he pursues a wild goose.
Word. I think 5-10 minutes is ideal.
I had some friends who were like that. Predictably, their love and sex life wasn’t really a success, and they (well, the one I stayed close with) ended up developing a sense of resentment against themselves. Reality was never like their fantasies.
It’s bad to be addicted. It tends to grow in your head till it destroys everything that makes you good. It’s a really sad sight to behold.
Indeed, Sailor Barsoom. And I agree with Maggie on this one: it’s social conditioning, plus the idea that male egos are fragile (and the way men grow up in our society, they certainly are).
I also bought into the Marathon Mythology at one point; I actually learned to desensitize myself enough that I could last as long as I wanted. I noticed, with my then-girlfriend, that the result was not as interesting as advertised. At first she wouldn’t tell me exactly what was going on, for all the reasons Maggie mentioned and a few more; but it’s difficult to be confronted with the evidence without realizing what is going on… After a few secret tries on my side, I found a better time frame (about 5 minutes for her), and she did agree this was better. After she saw my ego wasn’t shattered or anything, she became better at telling me what she liked or didn’t like, and that made quite a difference to the intensity of our encounters.
Most women I went to bed with didn’t want to tell me anything in the beginning either. With the ones who did, though (and who usually had more experience with men), the results were usually much better and mutually satisfying. Talking about likes and dislikes, turn-ons and turn-offs, and learning to laugh at the funny side of sex can do wonders to de-program us from commonly held but incorrect beliefs.
I suppose it needs to be pointed out that some men just take a long time to reach orgasm. This wasn’t the case with the man Maggie was with; he could cum fast or slow as he pleased (yes, he was made for porn). But just like some guys cum so fast you might not get to intercourse, some guys just take a long time. It’s a marathon to them because they can’t sprint.
When coitus is drawn into the “endurance world” such as the sprint vs the 10,000 meter it loses a lot. Besides in sex most of us don’t wear arch supports…or do they??
It’s surprising what some people wear.
Good grief. I learned something new today. I didn’t realize that most women only wanted intercourse to last for 5mins. I thought the longer the better…
Because that’s what we’re told through popular entertainment.
Intercourse SHOULD last an hour, but there should be little movement, so no soreness for the women. Search on Tantra, Karezza or Sexual Kung Fu.
Not all women like slow sex, just as not all women will prefer fine cuisine to junk food. Don’t ask the woman what she wants. Give her what you want. If she wants fine cuisine and you give her that, she is yours for life because few other men will be able to give her sex like this. If either the man or woman still wants junk food after being exposed to fine cuisine, the situation is hopeless.