Just to lighten the mood slightly, I will be publishing additional chapters at regular intervals. These are encounters, as best as I can remember them.
Feel free to comment, or just read and weep.

Chapter 1

The idea of utilising prostitutes has always been intriguing to me, but also (potentially), quite a dangerous/hazardous experience. Pimps beating you up, catching diseases, getting robbed and all that dealing with the ‘shady-world’ entails. Coupled with this, some men of a certain middle-age have had heart attacks due to the stress of the situation
No buying the girl drinks all evening, and then finding she doesn’t do certain things. Just, “Here’s the money, now get on with it, coz I’ve gotta make the footie with my mates in an hour”, had a big appeal to me.

It’s the early 1990’s and i am in my early 20’s, and i get the chance to visit my older brother who is working in Kenya.

The last night of a 2 week visit, we, and a couple of Aussie friends get the bus on a 30 minute ride into Nairobi. We visit a few bars, and eventually end up at a night-club. We are the only white faces in a club filled with about 200 people, but the atmosphere is friendly and fun. However, I’m starting to wane a little, as it was early when we started drinking. I get introduced to a woman who looks like Whitney Houston (pre-Bobbie Brown, and pre-death), and her mate.

I buy Whitney a drink, but when she asks me to get her mate i drink, I tell her to fook off.
And so we settle down on a sofa (I know, a sofa in a nightclub is a tad strange). Whitney and I kiss and fumble for ages, in full view of the other clubbers, and she’s suggesting we get a room at a hotel. Bl00dy hell, now i’ve got her baps out in the club and am doing some heavy-duty breast feeding, whilst my fingers are in her growler. She is also doing extreme massage on my member.

But my bladder is getting fuller and fuller, and it is now at bursting point. I tell Whitney not to go away and struggle to find the toilet. Ahh, the relief.
But under the fluorescent lights, I sober slightly. Whitney is obviously going to try and make me get an expensive hotel, but i also have my flight home to catch in around 5 hours. Plus I am an isolated white face, where i’m obviously not ‘a local’.
I leave the club (leg it as fast as i can) , swerving Whitney, and get a cab home
A few weeks after i get back to Blighty, I read an article about AIDS and how 99% of African prostitutes are infected.

Edited by Forest Hillbilly (09 Dec 2014 7.57am)

I disengage, I turn the page.

"woman who looks like Whitney Houston (pre-Bobbie Brown, and pre-death),"

"whilst my fingers are in her growler"

You sir are a literal genius, you need to get your work into print.

Chapter 3 Forest breaks his duck in Amsterdam (what prossies are really like)
So my mate Paul has moved to Amsterdam, and i help him move over there in a rented Transit van. Having done all the work, we are relaxing by one of the canals in Amsterdam, when we decide to take a walk down the ladies alleys, purely to take a look. Paul is a nurse (now working in Amsterdam) and tells me all the ladies have regular medical checks , and so are probably less of a risk than anything you’d pick up at a club.
A girl catches my eye. She is young and fit, so i ask “How much?”. It was still 100 Guilders for suck and fook. And so I walk on with my mates to a cafe.
As we are chatting, I can feel the sap has risen in my loins, but I don’t have 100 Guilders on me. I ask my mates if i can borrow the cash – eager to keep the momentum going- and they duly place the money on the table.
I scurry back to the shop window, where the lady is still standing in her lingerie.
“How much?”, i ask again. After all, business may be slow, and she may have lowered her prices
“I told you earlier, 100 Guilders, suck and fook”
Remembering my experience in Nairobi, and getting a close call with AIDS, I ask , “How much for a hand job ?”
But she doesn’t understand, so suck and fook it is.

I enter her parlour, and she shuts the door behind me, taking my cash and putting it in some kind of post-box. Obviously there aren’t going to be any refunds.
So we start undressing, but she doesn’t remove her bra. “That is 20 guilder extra”
You fooking what !? You didn’t tell me that when i came in, and now i’ve got no more money.
I’m feeling slightly pished off with the situation, but still have a boner that needs getting rid of.
I have to wash my knob in a sink before we start, then she places a condom over my knob.

And she begins to suck. Bl00dy fantastic. This is how ‘dating’ girls should be done. Flash the cash, spill the gash.
And she does a great job too.

But now is the time for penetration. She steps back and smears her vag’ with some ointment
“What the hell is that ?”, i ask. “Is that disinfectant or something ?”
“No” she replies, “It is lubrication for me”
That was a real dent in the ego, i can tell you. Some woman has seen me naked and isn’t frothing at the clam ?

“We do it you on top. Anything else is extra”
I am seriously pl$$ed off with her bad attitude.
So she lies back, and i get on top. It was slightly funny getting used to the protocol, because the prossie wouldn’t let me touch her beaver, even when trying to get my pecker in. I can only guess that would be ‘extra’, but as i was to find out later, it seems to be the norm that you don’t touch the beaver.

So I start pumping, her face contorted beneath mine, in obvious discomfort. My hands stray onto her bra to cop a feel, and would you believe it, her bra is padded ! “keep your hands off! They are extra !” she barks.

So I keep thrusting, having an enjoyable time , taking great satisfaction that she is very uncomfortable with me, and i dislike her immensely.

After quite a few minutes she asks, “Hurry up and finish”, as she grimaces.
So I keep going, for as long as i can before she may start screaming for help.

Just as my load is unleashing, she tightens the muscles in her groin, with unbelievable force. I try to stay in, but she has caught me off-guard. I was hoping for another 10 thrusts, so i could empty my sack fully, but this is obviously a practiced ploy to act as an extra safe-guard, but also to deny the punter the absolute pleasure he has paid for.

Still, 30 quid for half an hour wasn’t bad, and i now had the rest of the evening to spend with my mates and Mrs Stella, where the sh1tty Dutch fill half your glass with beer, and half with froth

Edited by Forest Hillbilly (25 Aug 2014 7.47pm)

I disengage, I turn the page.

I can't wait for Chapter 69.

worryingly similar to my Amsterdam experience, except the Euro had been introduced so I paid a great deal more and I was f***ed on a cocktail of Agwa shots, super strength ganja and magical mushrooms - so my load was blown in a third of your time and it was about 2am after the midnight countdown of New Years eve 2008, so I experienced an awful sense of shame counterpointed by an almighty comedown. A spacecake and some strange pills a random passer by sold me put me back in the game until morning.

Marvellous scenes.