Um blog feito de depoimentos de homens que foram, vão, continuarão a ir a prostitutas. Porquê?
A questão foi levantada por Susannah Breslin, uma escritora, fotógrafa, jornalista freelancer. Que organizou também outro com depoimentos das prostitutas elas mesmas. Não há nada como uma jornalista para ver os dois lados da questão.
Encontra-se um pouco de tudo. Desde os deficientes físicos
The whole experience was everything I hoped it would be. She started by giving me a massage, which eased my muscles that are normally tight and non-compliant. As she completed the massage, my body felt like it could do anything I wanted, something I had never felt before. She went down on me, and we had sex. She made me feel safe and confident in myself. For that portion of time, having sex with her (even if I had to pay for it) made up for a lifetime of rejection. It was the most enjoyable experience I have ever had in my life.
Every time I go to a brothel, it gets a little bit more fun, also. The freedom I enjoy, the challenge of finding a whore I connect well with and can enjoy the act with, rather than it just be someone who's there because she has to be.
aos que se sentem culpados
It could be the self-destructive nature of the visit. Giving over $100, $120, $250 of my hard-earned non-profit salary for disinterested hand-jobs, blow-jobs full of teeth, or a quick fuck is the pinnacle of self-hate. The 60 to 90 seconds of orgasm is the only part that feels good. The rest--withdrawing the money from an ATM, handing it to someone else, pumping a drug-addicted, Marlboro-reeking twentysomething who couldn't be more disinterested in me, the walk of shame, the residual condom smell, the distraction of regret, the three or four days of beating up on myself, sneaking in the shower so my wife doesn't smell the rubber, smoke, hairspray, or cheesy perfume--is hell.