Below is another excerpt from this shitty book I wrote. In this one, I review the day I lost my virginity. To a prostitute. In my mid-twenties. Yep.
From Chapter 4:
At twenty-four, I lost my virginity to a prostitute who barely spoke English. This was on my first visit to an all-Asian spa. I’d heard these places readily offered full service. The spas I’d been visiting didn’t, or if they did, I didn’t know how to ask for it. I sought more than I’d been getting. I wanted to have sex before I died.
I went in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday in July. Before my visit, I drove past the place a few times. Unsure what to expect, I sat in the parking lot of a nearby department store for almost an hour trying to build up the nerve to pull into the driveway, get out of the car, and ring the doorbell. I watched a thunderstorm forming in the distance while listening to the radio. Thinking back, I told myself I had to try more than I felt any genuine desire to go. For as much as I wanted to experience actual sex, the sense that it was something I needed to get out of the way superseded my actual desire.
As some heavy drops of rain began falling, I decided to go home and try another day. The drive towards home hurt me. I felt ashamed. Just a few blocks from my apartment, the rain let up. Within seconds, the sun peeked through the clouds. Skipping an opportunity to have sex because of some rain was ridiculous. Now, I didn’t even have that excuse. I tuned around and drove back to the spa with renewed conviction. I didn’t circle the block this time. I pulled up, got out, and approached the door. Glancing over my shoulder after ringing the doorbell, I took a look at the Jehovah’s Witness Temple across the street. The spa door opened before I could contemplate the irony.
The attendant who greeted me said her name was Julie. Sure it was. Julie was diminutive with dark, stringy hair. She wore a silk robe and heels. That is about as much detail as I can conjure. I wouldn’t recognize her if I saw her today. She certainly wouldn’t recognize me. I think I remember more about the décor of the spa than about her features. It was a converted ranch-style house with cheap carpeting and peeling vinyl flooring. I remember hearing sex happening from behind thin wooden doors as she led me through the place. I found this reassuring.
After taking my initial payment, Julie had me undress in a dimly lit room. I wasn’t certain about tipping here, so I waited to discuss that until later. She insisted I leave my belongings in a pile before leading me to another room. She tried to entice me with a table shower she promised would be “good.” I wasn’t happy about abandoning my belongings. My assumption was someone would rifle through them as I was getting my “good” shower. If it meant I was going to get laid, fine. Julie had me lie on a foam-rubber mat that was still damp from the last dude. By this time, I was quite over the questionable sanitation in spas. I only cared about having someone touch me. Oh, and the shower was indeed “good.” Julie dropped the robe to reveal a bikini. She proceeded to wash my ass and fondle my cock just enough to let me know what was coming.
More later this week. I bet you can’t wait.