Fantasies of Being a Whore-Part 1. Category: Long and satisfying.
Welcome to ‘Fantasies of Being a Whore’ Part 1. This true story was originally published in three instalments in August 2023. This was my first attempt at writing long-form prose (since university, anyway). In re-publishing it, I’ve gone over it and corrected some punctuation and the like, but resisted the temptation to do a wholesale re-write. I wanted to keep it as is (or as-was) as a marker of where I started from, as far as my writing skills are concerned. Please be kind to my mistakes!
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Fantasising about money exchanging hands for sex and being the commodity being sold is, I believe, a fairly common fantasy. Being a whore, in short. By ‘whore’ I mean being paid for sex rather than simply doing it for pleasure.
Before I go further, I should make the point that I do understand that many aspects of prostitution are illegal in my country. For many who do it, it is not fun or sexy and is a necessary evil because they have some pressing financial need.
That said, I know from discussions with various girlfriends over the years that this is a fantasy which can be very exciting. A friend of mine from some time ago (we are no longer in touch) did work as an escort during the second and third years of her degree. She would only work on certain days and after a few months had a small handful of regulars whom she liked and trusted. She stopped taking bookings from anyone else. When she graduated, she did so with considerably lower debts than most had on leaving university. Additionally, she had a small pot of savings to use as a deposit on a home and an enviable collection of high-class underwear. The last time we spoke she didn’t regret it at all.
I guess it does work for some women.
Anyway, I don’t want to get too much into the do’s and don’ts of people who really do sell themselves for cold, hard cash; what I’m talking about here is the fantasy.
2.
At this point let me introduce a true story to the discussion. You could say it’s a confession of sorts.
I had a boyfriend several years ago. Let’s call him Sean. I was 23 at the time this story takes place if I remember rightly.
Sean mentioned an idea to me that I could not get out of my head. Every time we made love, I imagined it happening for real. Eventually, I had to bring it up and see whether Sean was prepared to put his money where his mouth was (literally, in fact).
Sean had said to me that it might be fun one night to pretend that I was a hooker, and he was a client. He thought that the roleplay would be fun. His idea was that I should be an escort. I would dress up to the nines, go out, get a drink at the local or something and then he would phone me. He would ask what I charged for my time. I would then turn up on the doorstep and then come in and behave just like I was a high-class escort with all of the trimmings.
Since I’m quite submissive sexually, the thought of being paid and having to do whatever my ‘client’ wanted was very exciting to me. Sean and I discussed the fantasy and decided to put it into effect. Maybe the fantasy was about to become true.
3.
Having thought about the plan some more, I didn’t feel that just coming to the door was sufficiently exciting enough. So, a few nights later, I got a taxi to a ‘certain’ part of town and found myself standing on the pavement in the dark, lit only by some streetlights and the illuminated sign of a tyre shop.
I was wearing a long coat but underneath all I had on were black seamed stockings, suspenders, a black thong and a very sheer mini dress bought especially for the occasion. The dress hid absolutely nothing of course. I was also wearing black patent heels and was simultaneously as horny as it was possible to be and terrified.
We had discussed the possibility of a real-life punter approaching me before Sean arrived and decided that I could get rid of him easily enough by saying I was waiting for someone. Sitting in the taxi on the way to the appointed location, I was struck by the realisation that the ‘regular girls’ might not be happy to see me there. Maybe they would have violent pimps also unhappy with any competition. Perhaps the police would arrest me…
Well, I was here now. I paid the taxi driver, who gave me a knowing look as he took my cash before driving away. Perhaps the fear was sharpening my horniness because I was absolutely soaking between my legs.
I really hoped Sean would not be long.
4.
We had planned that Sean would, in fact, only be five minutes. I checked my watch about once every 30 seconds. Five minutes went by, then ten. Still no Sean. Another girl was working further down the street. It didn’t look like my presence was bothering her though. A couple of cars drove by, way too slowly. Another glance at my watch. 20 minutes! Where has that bastard gone?!
Now a car pulled over and my heart leapt to my mouth. What should I do?? Standing there looking stupid didn’t seem to be an option. I decided to approach and maybe fob the guy off. Maybe I would say that I was just finished for the evening or something? I walked up to the driver’s window and bent down. The driver was a slightly older guy; maybe early 40s, from what I could see from the light of his dashboard. Not bad, looking at least. He looked nervous, and I smiled at him. What the fuck? I just smiled at some random guy who probably wants to pay me to fuck him. I was at this precise moment possibly as aroused and scared as I have ever been in my whole life.
‘Hello, my love,’ he said. ‘Are you looking for some company?’ Holy crap – is that what men say to street girls? I thought that they came up and asked if you were looking for trade or something.
Unlike the situation between my legs, I now found that my mouth had become completely dry. I smiled again and tried to adopt a flirtatious tone.
‘Well, I was about to go home for the night, so I don’t know. What did you have in mind?’ So much for just getting rid of him. I felt like I was having something of an out-of-body experience. Part of me wanted to walk briskly away, get in a cab and go home asap. The other part of me, the one that seemed to be in control for some reason, reached to the belt of my coat, untied it and let the coat fall open as I leaned in towards the open window.
5.
My heart was pounding so hard I thought the punter could surely hear it. I thought that my cheeks must be burning, and I felt like I might just pass out. I had no idea what was going to happen next. The guy was now not looking at my face. His eyes were darting about, taking in my body, barely concealed by the scraps of stocking-mesh. I gave the dress a little pull so that my breasts were almost falling out of it.
There are times when fantasies become flesh. Sometimes, for the good, sometimes for the not-so-good. The fantasy was certainly becoming flesh, and I was not feeling in control. I knew that stepping back from the edge was the right and sensible thing to do, but the thrill and terror of this situation were too much to back away from. I think that I had in the back of my mind that Sean was going to show up any second, so nothing bad would happen, but really, who knew? I had no idea where Sean was. Maybe he wasn’t going to come and save me from myself.
What happened next? Well, dear reader, you will have to wait for part 2 of this (true) story to find out.
Love, Jaimie xx
Links and Stuff:
Part 2 of this true story is here.
