My Year as a Prostitute (for Izzy)

A rewrite of my previous story with a little more good and less of the bad.

I have written about this period of my life before, and there are aspects of it which I omitted because I felt it would distract from what I really wanted to write about... maybe one day, but not yet.

If you read my story "My Year as a Prostitute" then it should give you some background that I am not going to go over again here, but I wanted to revisit certain aspects.

My childhood was fragmented, I moved in with my first serious boyfriend when I was 16. He was a lot older than me. I got pregnant, he was abusive I ran... into the hands of a useless man, again older, and pregnant again. I married him looking for something he just couldn't provide, but he really didn't care about me, I walked out.

Two kids and homeless. With the help of my mother I managed to get a house. She had never really cared for me either, but this one time she was there for me.

I was still only 23 and I'd always had attention. It was a friend of my now ex-husband who made the offer. £50 for sex. It turned out he'd always thought about me and was pleased I was now single. That was a lot of money back then, and it meant even more for me as despite being housed, paying bills was still a struggle.

So he came home with me. It wasn't even a big performance. Straight fucking on my bed. I admit I enjoyed it and it didn't feel like work. His hands on me, wanting. His cock in me, taking. No condom (I was on the contraceptive injection). The money was a welcome bonus.

It was at his suggestion, that, shall we say I "developed" the idea. He was willing to pay again and seemed to get excited that I did it for money. Would I do others? The answer was yes if it was safe, so he circulated my number amongst certain friends of his, making sure not to include those who I knew that could cause problems for me.

Not far from my home was a McDonald's. A short walk and it proved very useful. I'd arrange to meet there, me walking in with my youngest in a buggy, quick coffee and chat, and then back to mine. I wanted his hands, his fingers and cock inside me... oh and his cash.

The circle grew, friends of his friends, and so on. Once they had been to mine they had my address, so there were some unexpected visits. I actually found that quite exciting.

There is a strange sense of pride in being paid for sex, that isn't often talked about, but to be wanted that much gave me a buzz that I wasn't getting anywhere else. I could cum with just fingers inside me, but the deal was £50 for whatever. No menu, no time limit. It made things simple. Despite this it was mainly quick fuck and goes, but they mostly came back for more. Some stayed longer, some even overnight. I never dreaded my phone or my doorbell.

I loved the way they looked at me when I was naked, how they were sure of what they were getting. No awkward chatting up, just sex. I'd really found my niche.

Some called me a whore, but it was never in a judgemental way, it actually quite excited me and it certainly excited them. However they wanted me, even though it was usually the same way. Different cocks, same game.
Eventually my kids got old enough to notice and I was aware of neighbours talking so it had to stop. It was purely a practical decision. I missed the noteriety, the desire, the being paid for sex. It did get to me. I was sorry to let it go.

Of course I know I was extremely lucky. That other girls have it worse. Forced into it by more than circumstance, and I don't mean to make their stories any less valid. I could have got old and bitter and used, but a year was enough to keep it fresh. I still feel very grateful for it.

Thanks for reading