The Client

The most recent piss shower I have enjoyed was with a lady of 34 called Mandy, also of Frith Street, who claimed never to have done watersports before, although she had been working as a prostitute for a year, as she told me. She said afterwards that she had enjoyed it and asked me to return. That was a year ago, and Mandy was the last lady I had in England, but she will not be the last.

With her I sat on the floor, again on a black plastic sheet. I asked her to do it on my cock, and that was where her spray of piss went first, but I moved forward so that it was hitting my chest and then I finally did what I had been longing to do with a whore for a long time and opened my mouth so that she was pissing right down my throat. I genuinely drank it all, and it did turn her on. I could tell by the look of surprise and pleasure on her face as she looked down at me. She allowed me to lick clean of piss drips her cunt lips, which were two of the slimmest, longest, most delicate looking and most magnificent I have ever sucked between my lips and into my mouth, when her flow was done. Her cunt tasted delicious; fresh, salty and clean.

After cleaning up she sucked my cock beautifully and I fucked her doggy style and then in the missionary position, because I wanted to look at her face and into her eyes as my cock slide in and out of her pussy. I sucked her tits while I fucked her until I filled the condom with cum. A half hour of bliss enjoyed for sixty pounds, and to be another fragment of my erotic memory forever.

A lady called Angie, who worked at the same flat, though on different days, from Carmen, and who I visited during the Carmen years. She was a London girl and a sexier version of the girl who lives next door to you, and about my own age, so a bit of a rarity, as I usually go for mature ladies. Angie was beautiful and voluptuous and had the perfect courtesan's figure, with large breasts and a round arse and for me the finishing touch: luscious, though not large rolls of flesh around her stomach. She was the prostitute among the many I have known who seemed to enjoy it most and if she did not cum on several occasions when I was with her, then she is a fine actress. Of course, a good whore is always a good actress, and I have never expected a prostitute to enjoy the sex as I enjoy it, but if she did, then it is all the better.

A lovely, slim blonde French Lady of fifty (and looked it with her skin that was beginning to be a little dry and wrinkled, and the bony look that comes to older women who are slim) in Soho, who one sweltering summer's day in some summer in the mid 1980s, sucked my cock until my cum rained over her face, as both of our bodies, mine naked and standing before her, hers seated in a chair and clad in sheer black stockings and suspenders, ran with sweat in the searing heat.

‘It's ninety degrees in my kitchen,'

she told me when we were chatting just after I arrived. She increased the temperature by another ninety degrees as her expert lips worked my throbbing knob and her hot saliva ran down my shaft and onto my balls and her soft warm lips and her snake of a tongue pleasured my cock until it emptied itself over her lips and her chin. If she is still alive, she would be over seventy. I wonder where she is now. I know that if I met her again she would not remember me, but I have not forgotten her, and if I could have her suck me off again now, I would pay whatever she asked.

A trashy South London lady of forty or so, with home drawn tattoos and dirty blonde hair, with whom in a South-east London somewhere, I had my second watersports experience. The memory of her golden juice pouring from her cunt onto my cock, as I admired the rough tattoos with which she had defaced her slim and worn body. Her manner, tough and cheerful, defiant perhaps, a woman whom life could never destroy and it had no doubt tried. She was divine.

A very large Black lady of 25, perhaps, in a window in Amsterdam, who came from God knows where and gobbled me off and let me spunk in her mouth and expressed surprise that I didn't want to fuck her. ‘No fuckee?' she said, as I began to dress, after the cock sucking. It was during the Aids fear phase. I am glad that I got past that terror.

I remember another one in another window there on the same day. She was probably in her early thirties and she had milky white skin that was covered in tattoos, and she smoked in the most alluring manner I have ever seen; and I adore watching sexy women smoke. She held her cigarette in her hand and held her arm straight out and every time she took a drag she arced her arm back, taking her hand to her mouth and pulled voluptuously on her cigarette and then extended her arm back again to its full length.

She, and not the heavy black lady who sucked my cock and received a mouthful of my spunk, is the one who inhabits my erotic memory of that far off day in Amsterdam. I made a mistake. I should have chosen her, but if I had, would I remember her with the same intensity of desire that I remember her now, not having had her? Yes, I would, but not in the same way, and the desire would burned in a different way, more slowly and I would be able to fantasize of her accurately; knowing the touch and feel of her flesh, her moves, and her signature, whatever it might be. It involves smoking in my fantasy of it.

I have learned, though, as I have got older, how to choose well, and I make few mistakes now. And that day I did not really make a mistake. The lady I visited was fine and sucked me off well, and I must have been having a black phase. But I wish that I had had the tattoo smoking lady, who represents the quintessence of whoredom to me now. Everything that is alluring and irresistible to me about whores is encapsulated in her and her lithe and illustrated body and the extravagant manner in which she smoked her cigarette. Then again, maybe it is as well that I did not, and instead, created her in my own imagination as I have. The experience itself, had I had it, might not have provided such fertile ground on which the fantasy could grow. I will never know, but there will be others who come close to what she has become. And others already have.

Of course I have also had dull experiences with prostitutes, but never a bad experience; if bad means badly treated or cheated over money. My bad experiences were no more than visits in which I did not catch fire erotically. I did not fancy the woman, and should have left and not stayed. In the Soho walk ups you don't get to see the lady before you meet her. I learned quickly that I should act on my first impulse. If I meet her and don't think it will be a good experience; an experience worth having, then politely make excuses and leave. I learned to do that early in my days as a client. And it is simple, my manner of choosing: do I fancy her, do I find the lady desirable?

I always like the search; it is perhaps the equivalent of the chase. It is the anticipation, and the feeling of joy when I happen upon a lady I desire on sight and know that I have the money in my pocket to enable me to possess her for half and hour for an hour. The Soho walks ups are ideal for that, but one must be prepared for a lot of searching and a lot of walking up and down stairs. This is a sport that requires patience. The Turkish genelevs are like canal Strasse in Amsterdam. The ladies stand in the windows and you walk around and take your pick. I take my time over it, to choose well and to prolong for as long as possible the search and the anticipation and the postponement, for a while, its fulfilment.

These days, many more upscale prostitutes and escort agencies and massage parlours advertise on the web, and include pictures of the available ladies. I have never done it that way and I never will. I will always fall upon patience and chance, for I need the spontaneity of the moment of meeting and the rush of desire, and the conviction that it has to be her; as a counterpoint to the planning of a day to go to visit a prostitute.

Planning is most often essential, though I have spontaneously in the past, many years ago, decided to head for Soho and make a visit. These days I am more deliberate. I choose a day ahead of time and one when I have to go into the city on other business. It is not difficult to disappear for an hour or so and no one who I know goes to the genelevs or the rougher and down scale corners of the city where they are, and where people like me don't go.

Planning is essential to not being caught. When I was younger and lived in London, it was easy to slip a visit in Soho, or around South London, the area of London when I lived in to the course of a routine day. Now it is the same, but I am more careful. I am older now and less fond of wild risk taking and I have more to lose, and I don't want to lose it. But I can't lose my visits either. The technique is simple: make your visit invisible within the course of a normal day. Don't have a definite place where you are supposed to be, unless thee is no chance of it being noticed that you are not there. Be where you can't be contacted, and be there legitimately. It's not for nothing that I don't have a mobile phone.

Another lady; this one young, very good looking in a glamorous and slightly tarty and aggressive way, and with a deep, earthy, sexy voice and a North of England accent that only increased the earthiness. It was again in Soho, and again at the flat where Carmen and Angie worked, and where I met Mandy more recently too. What a great flat.

I arrived and was invited in by the maid, I saw this young lady I knew I had come to the right place again. I wish I could remember her name. We took care of payment and she went of to prepare herself and said that there was a news item on the television that she wanted to watch. She left open the door to the kitchen where the television was, and where the maid was sitting. It was a high profile child abduction case and everyone was interested in it. I did not mind her wanting to see the rest of it. And it revealed the person behind the prostitute to me a little. She was a young woman who was interested in the world and keen to get the story on what was happening, and compassionate in her concern about its evils. When she returned, she spoke about the case a little, and she was a woman and a person, and I liked her. Then, the conversation over, during which she asked me my name and a few questions about myself, and told me a little about herself; I had told her what I wanted when we took care of the money part at the beginning: watersports, French and sex. She had brought back the perennial black plastic sheet, a bin liner torn open down the seam, and she asked in a matter of fact way; and looking at me knowingly, but benignly, after the pause when the ordinary conversation had ceased:

‘Where do you want the watersports?'

She was again a prostitute, a professional and the tools of her trade are her body and her friendly and easygoing conversation and that little of herself that she shared a little of with me. I replied

‘On my cock.'

Again, in a matter of fact way, she said, repeating my words, ‘on your cock,' and in that moment she became a gorgeous whore who I desired beyond all else; the essence of fucking and sucking and pissing and licking and touching and everything else that I craved to have.

She invited me to undress, which I did, and waited until I was finished and lying on the floor on the black plastic sheet, and my cock already erect; a fact that she noted with a little smile. Then she undressed, not with the exaggerated movements of a stripper, nor like a woman just arrived home from work and changing her clothes either, but somewhere in between, and all for the pleasure of my eyes, and she knew instinctively what to do and how to do it for me, as did all of the whores in all of the best visits I have experienced; meaning that some connection beyond the connection of bodies has taken place.

She swung one leg over me and facing me and looking down she pushed her lovely pussy towards me a little. And I recall that she was shaved and she had lovely prominent piss flaps, which she gently pulled apart, and I watched and watched. Maybe thirty or forty seconds past, as she concentrated and strained a little, until first a little squirt and then another and then another, and finally a full, strong gush shot from her pussy and tumbled in streams down on to my throbbing cock. She kept going for a long time; at least a minute and I watched the piss cascade down on me and felt the deep, deep relaxation that I always feel when a prostitute empties the contents of her bladder over me. When she was finished pissing, she stepped back over me and gave me tissues to wipe myself with as I was getting up. Unlike Carmen always did, she did not ask me to wash, but once I had wipe myself, she directed me to lay down on the bed, and she put a condom on me and began sucking me off. Her blow job technique included some licking and sucking of my bollocks, and I remember thinking at the time that there must still have been some of her piss on them and the thought heighten my excitement and my pleasure.

It was quite a few years of living in Turkey before I went to the genelev, but I did have one whore who I picked up in a bar and took home and fucked all night. She was not very good looking, but very cheap and fucked nicely. Apart from her it was one or two visits when I was back in London, from 1997, when I left England, until 2003, when I made my great discovery.

Perhaps I did not seek out whores in Turkey because I was getting so much pussy in real life, but the desire for whores always comes back to me in the end, and now I have had almost all of my best whore experiences in Turkey and the best whores in the world are the whores in Turkey.

The Turkish genelevs are reminiscent of Canal Strasse in Amsterdam, except that you have to pass a police check to get in. They are the state licensed brothels and all cities have one. They are a paradise of cheap and highly pleasurable erotic adventures, and for a man like me, who likes his whores to be cheap, trashy and beautiful, they are heaven on earth. In the Ankara genelev in Bentderesi, near Ulus and below the castle: the world's old profession carried out below the city's oldest building, over four years or so, I enjoyed the favours of twenty five of so of the ladies there. Short visits of fifteen minutes or so cost the equivalent of twenty pounds or so, and for a half hour visit I would pay the equivalent of between sixty and seventy pounds. I used to try a new lady first with a short visit, and if she pleased me, I would visit her again for half an hour, and on a few occasions for a full hour. I will describe some of them here; the memorable ones, and describe what we did together.

The first time I went there, walked around and looked at all of the women in the windows, until finally I chose. She was around forty; she was slim and tall with peroxide blonde hair and her arms were heavily tattooed. With her I enjoyed an uncovered blow job, fucking in a range of positions, and then she invited me to fuck her arse. It was the first time I had had anal sex with a whore. She did not charge extra for it. All the way through, she kept saying, in English, ‘oh yes, My God, oh yes, Fuck me, Oh My God.' She was not a great actress, but she had a lovely deep, tight arsehole. I only saw her once; she was good, but once was enough with her.

My second there, a few weeks later, was Ipek. Short and pale skinned with dark hair, late thirties, small tits like little buds and a lovely shaved cunt. She had many tattoos. I continued to see her for the whole four years. With her I became friends. With her I fell in love. But a man of frequents prostitutes cannot be loyal, even to a prostitute. I was not loyal. I even betray whores. My visits to her were always for a half an hour and sometimes an hour. We would chat and drink tea and the fuck and then chat some more and then fuck again. It was a routine and she had her routine. After tea she would ask me to undress and I would, and then on the bed and wait for her. She would stand in the middle of the room and undress and do it slowly and teasingly. She knew how much I desired her.

I was always hard by the time she came to the bed and she would kneel between my legs and then lean forward over me and kiss and suck my nipples. Slowly, she would work her way down my stomach and then take my cock in her hand and start to stroke it. Then she would lick my cock head and then take all of my cock in her mouth and suck me off. She never put a condom on me before she sucked me off. She would pause a moment and tell me to look in the large mirror behind her and gyrate her arse and make sure that her pussy poked out between her legs and she would reach down and push her fingers into herself and all the while suck my cock lovingly.

When she knew that I was ready, she would and take a condom from the bedside cabinet and roll it over my cock and then get herself into position over me and sit down on my cock and start to ride me. She rode magnificently, squeezing my cock with the muscles inside her cunt, as she slid up and down my knob.

Then she would stop and roll over and invite to get on top and fuck her. Sometimes I would get straight to that; others I would get between her legs and lick her whore pussy out for her; and yet others we would sixty-nine and as I licked and sucked her cunt I would gaze at her arsehole and wish that she would let me have it, but that secret she never gave up to me. Instead I would rim her and taste on the tip of my tongue the sweet and fetid flavours of her anus. Finally I would get on top and fuck her and gaze own at her and admire the many tattoos on her arms and her tits, as my cock slid in and out of her lovely cunt.

I stopped seeing Ipek because I left Ankara for Istanbul. I must have been in love with her, as she would not let me fuck her arse, at any price; and other ladies there did. But I kept going back to her and one day I will go back and see her, and not a day passes when I do not think of her. It will be the same with Ezgi. I will go on renting and fucking Ezgi's exquisite cunt and enjoying her sublime cock sucking until she disappears or I do.

Others did let me fuck their arses. There was Guler. She looked like the epitome of the cheap whore. She was in her mid thirties and she also was pale skinned and had long, long black hair. She was tall, and shapely and voluptuous, with great pendulous tits and wide hips and a peach of an arse. She was beautiful in a rough way and she chain smoked the whole time we were together. She had a scrawled tattoo on her arm that she had done herself. I saw her a lot of times. She was a great person, as well as a magnificent fuck, and I liked her as much as I desired her. We would chat and smoke and drink tea and then we would go to bed. I loved to lie there and watch her undress and see her great tits fall out of her bra. She always wore cheap stack heel black shoes and I always asked her to keep them on. She also wore a ton of cheap, fake gold and silver jewellery: bracelets, necklaces and rings on every finger and on her thumbs. She was a goddess.

She would lick my nipples and stroke my cock and then get down and start to gobble me off. Guler gives the best blow jobs I have ever had. No other woman comes even close to her. Her technique is to minimize the amount of contact between her lips and mouth and your cock. The touch of her lips is like velvet and all the while her warm breath blows gently down your shaft as she softly sucks you in and out of her mouth.

When that sublime pleasure is over, it is time to fuck her. She would put the condom on me and lay back and as I was ready between her legs, she would take hold of my cock and open her pussy wide with her other hand and guide me in. She was tight. Her pussy must get stretched ten times or more a day, but she is as tight as a glove and a wonderful fuck. After taking her that way, she would ask me to stop a moment and I would withdraw. She would turn over and I would stick my cock back in her pussy, now from behind, and fuck her like a dog.