Where it happened: In a legal brothel
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 10
Category: Straight
Most of the stories here are unreadable. The few that are half coherent read like ridiculous fantasies. (I assume the Indonesian ones do as well.) My story is no fantasy.
I waited for years and years to have sex, thinking I would finally meet the right girl, enjoy a traditional courtship, and finally give her my virginity on our wedding night.
Cut to: I was 30 years old and had never been with a woman. Worse, years of waiting and putting things off had left me awkward, shy, and with unrealistic expectations of women.
Finally, one weekend, I found the stress of work and my graduate classes too much, and I hit the road. Three hours passed like minutes, and at the end of it I pulled into Pahrump, Nevada, home to two legal brothels. I was a man possessed, driving like Steve McQueen those last few miles down the many-cratered road where a gaudy neon sign split the night and marked my destination. But when I finally found myself standing there at the door, listening to the low, indistinct throb of country music in the bar at the other end of the brothel, and feeling a desert-midnight breeze down my neck, I wondered if I were making a mistake.
I forced myself to enter. A solicitous older woman–the madam, I suppose, or whatever they call themselves these days–introduced me to two women in their mid-20s and instructed them to give me a tour. I listened to their spiel without much enthusiasm as we went from room to room throughout the brothel compound. (It’s not unlike a sprawling motel, and styles itself a resort). I wasn’t here to buy the place–I wanted a lineup of hot women to choose from, and now, before I changed my mind!
At last they assembled a lineup. I’ve since learned that, on a typical night in one of Nevada’s legal brothels, you will often find three or four reasonably attractive whores among the dross, but on this, my first visit, there was really only one–one of the two women who had given me my tour. I did my best to sound courteous as I dismissed the others and invited myself to this girl’s room.
The sad fact is, I don’t remember her name. I do remember that she was from the Czech Republic and had been in the United States for about two years, or so she told me. We’ll call her Anya.
Anya took me to her room and promptly ordered me to drop my trousers. This seemed a bit abrupt: I hadn’t told her what I wanted, and I hadn’t even paid! She gingerly lifted the head of my modest-sized and still-limp cock and after a moment pronounced that I was clean.
We sat down on a small love seat in a corner. She asked me what I wanted: Some bondage? Fantasy roll play? The rough stuff? No, I answered with a thick, dry tongue. I… I… I’ve never been with a woman before, you see, and I just want straightforward, missionary-style sex. You know, like newlyweds.
She smiled, with her lips and with her eyes. We settled on a price, and I paid her. She took my money who-knows-where, and when she returned to the room was surprised to find me still in my clothes. She laughingly helped me take off my shirt and pants, then stripped down to her bra and panties, leaving me to drop my underwear and expose my still-reluctant manhood. She wasn’t about to let me kiss her on the lips–whores never do, at least not in my experience–but she did let me kiss her neck and nibble her ear as I fumblingly removed her bra and slid her panties down her waist.
My hands were still on her hips as she turned away from me, careful not to break my embrace. She turned her naked ass so that my cock rubbed against it and settled against its crevice. I hardened like cooling lava. She laughed softly in my ear as I kissed her neck and shoulder and gently, fumblingly, stroked and kneaded her firm, C-cup breasts from behind. Then she took me by the hand and led me over to the bed.
I don’t remember clearly how it happened, but quickly, smoothly, she had a rubber in place on my fully erect cock. She lay back on the bed, adjusted herself comfortably, then took my elbows in hand to guide me into a hovering crouch between her open legs. Her pussy was a mass of dark fur. My rod was hard and rippled with veins, closer now to this sweet pleasure than it had ever been.
I wanted to kiss her so bad. But that wasn’t about to happen. I also wanted to do something I’d read about in a magazine somewhere, a move some guys are convinced drives a woman over the brink: I took my dick in hand and began slapping it against her labia. She mistook this for uncertainty or hesitation on my part, and before I could object, she had taken my staff and guided it into the tight, enveloping embrace of her pussy.
Oh, God, how great that felt! Better than anything I’d imagined or tried to simulate! I began stroking slowly, trying to establish a gentle rhythm to prolong our ecstacy–well, my ecstacy, anyway–and get my money’s worth out of this experience.
She moved her hands to my chest, feeling out my tight muscles. I began pumping slightly faster, arching my back and trying to go deeper, wondering how long I’d be able to hold out before I came. I looked down at her face, framed in the softest brown hair. Her amber eyes met mine, then closed in (feigned?) pleasure. She arched her neck and turned her moaning face up towards the headboard. I leaned down and kissed her neck again and tried to reach her breasts. When this failed, I worked my lips back up her neck to her cheeks, then tried to steal a full-on kiss on the lips. She turned away sharply, but covered her reticence with a well-timed passionate sigh. Fair enough.
I kept pumping for heaven only knows how long. Not long, I’m sure. And not long enough, I’m also quite sure. After a while, I felt her right hand moving along the inside of my thigh and carefully working its way downward, until at last she took my left nut in hand and very, very gently began pulling and squeezing it. I remember thinking it felt like a milkmaid carefully working an udder.
And it had much the same effect. Much, much too soon, I felt the now-familiar pressure build in my lower gut, and within seconds I was shooting pulse after pulse of hot, sticky goo into my condom. How I wish she had been my girl and not a prostitute, and I could have filled her tender pussy with my pearly jism!
Inexperienced though I was, I knew well enough that I had to pull out quickly, lest the rubber slip off my shaft and leave her with an unwelcome creampie. But she had the decency to let me linger over her for a long moment, resting, trying to regain my breath, and all the while savoring this too-long-delayed rite of passage into manhood.
If I’d had my way, I would have turned her over right then and there and fucked her in that taut, tanned ass, or else let her experience in a meaningful way my incredibly dextrous tongue. But for her, this was strictly business. She removed my rubber and wiped clean the the head of my shaft with a towel and one deft motion. Within minutes, we were both dressed and walking down the hall, back to the anteroom where I’d entered. She was sweet enough to hold my hand, anyway, and we talked for just a minute longer. It was here I learned she was from Eastern Europe, something I never would have guessed.
I’ve made love since then–actual, honest-to-God love–and that experience is about a thousand times better than what I had that night. But I would have gone insane had I waited any longer to fuck a beautiful woman, and that pleasure, bought at a price of $300, if memory serves, opened up a floodtide of passionate and erotic experiences for me and my handful of lovers since.
I dearly wish I remembered Anya’s real name.
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