Paying for sex. Well, I have pretty much covered every other sexual topic on this blog so why the fuck not? Nobody wants to talk about it, but trust me, all men have at least had thoughts about it, and the one’s who haven’t are full of shit, so run from them, cause they have more bullshit to feed you.
When it comes to sex, I’ve thought about it all. Just ask my browser history.
My general take is this: two consenting adults, in my opinion, should be able to do pretty much anything in a free society so long as it doesn’t infringe on the rights of others, which includes smoking some weed in your home if that’s your thing, having sex with whoever is willing, and in any way you see fit. That’s my opinion on everything – no matter what.
However, that being said, I would never even consider paying for sex. Even if in some hypothetical way I was guaranteed the girl was clean from making my junk not look like I just fucked Poison Oak, I still would never even consider it. Ever.
Not even if she was a virgin Victoria’s Secret model with no teeth, a hankering for rim jobs, a twelve inch tongue with a medical condition of excessive saliva, a pussy fountain that would make the Greeks envious, believes the best way to fuck is with all holes filled, and I was the Sultan of Brunei with an iron condom.
Even then, no fucking way.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t see the logical appeal. I’m not talking about some meth-head slob either who you see on Cops. I mean a $1,000 per hour model-grade high society escort. No headache. No nothing. Just fucking a beautiful woman for sexual gratification and be gone.
But still, I would never do it for one main reason (outside the hypothetical crotch-on-fire thing).
I need to feel the Want. I need to know in my bones that the woman being taken by me is feeling a deep lust inside herself – for me. Aching for me. Intense passion for me. That she is feeling butterflies. That her pussy got wet the moment she set eyes on me and each time I dropped a sexual flirt she moistened up a little more until she just can’t take it anymore and is dying to have me throw her on the bed and intensely eat her and fuck her until she is completely emotionally and physically fulfilled.
That. Is what I want.
I need to know she wants me. Plain and simple. I need to be wanted. Paying makes it a service. A transaction. It’s the X-rated version of buying a fucking cheeseburger and fries.
No fucking thanks. Each moan I’d be rolling my eyes inside my head wondering if she was trained at Julliard.
It ain’t about the money. It ain’t about the taboo.
It is about two things: the fucking filthy crotch bugs and the lack of want.