Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Ashtray Love

This post is VERY graphic, read at your own risk. I mean it, but it is part of me, so whatever, you have been warned. I am pretty sure my step mum does not read my blog very often but if you are reading this...STOP HERE. There are things in this post I am positive you don't want to know.


I was just panicking because I couldn't find my notes about this post. I have random bits and pieces of paper around my house with various descriptive adult words on it and had misplaced the paper I had this particular topic on. But I found it, I must remember in future though...when I am in school and there is a sitter here to watch my son, I should probably not leave out papers that say "blow job in elevator" or "wanted anal" on it.

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"Smell is often called the sense tied most closely to human memory, profoundly influencing people's ability to recall past events and experiences...".


I had this regular and he was old. Well, not super old (though I did have old guy dates..like they couldn't get it up but still wanted to hang out with me..well, hang out with me naked that is) he was about 65-ish..close to retirement sort of old, and quite a bit older than me. He had that old man smell..ahhh, just like dust and....newspaper? Something like that. Anyways, he was awesome though.

The first time he picked me up was early on a Sunday morning I think..I can't remember his name or his car I just remember him. He gave me money for dope and then he asked me to come to his house. He lived in a top floor suite in one of the apartment buildings on UBC property. Turns out he was the maintenance guy or janitor I recall. I can't even remember what we did sexually, which is weird for me. I mean, I have tried to think about what it could have been but it is gone. Lost in the catacombs of my mind.

We arrive at his apartment building and it was very, very early. I asked him why he was up so early (it was the summer so it was light already by this time) and he told me that he wanted to be slightly inconspicuous because when he had brought another prostitute one time, there had been some students outside in the parking lot and he heard one of them say "oh, look at the old man and the prostitute". He didn't care about what anyone could say, he was just concerned because of his job. He also told me that she was a very, very obvious prostitute picked up from the track on Richards St. with the high heeled thigh boots, etc. I was not like that but still he wanted to be careful. We go in the building and go to his apartment.

As a prostitute I met all types of people and he is was I would classify as a "hoarder" (you must have seen shows about them on TV). I swear to you this guy had stacks of paper and newspapers up to my waist EVERYWHERE and all over the coffee table and floor were pennies. This may be why his old man smell was so obvious. Like unwashed body (but not like B.O. or anything..use your imagination..just like..stale body) and dust and newspapers with a hue of copper penny. But I was not there to judge, plus it wasn't like it mattered. I met quite a few people like that and who am I to care? I still don't care. We all have our issues.

Like I mentioned, I know that I took my clothes off but have no other idea as to what took place there. I remember us just talking for a long time. He was talking about the girl that he had been looking for when he picked me up. He told me she was not a girl from the stroll I worked. He knew where she lived and had found her out when he arrived and had tried other means of reaching her but to no avail. He had been looking for her and was slightly concerned of her whereabouts - I guess they were tight. Then he started telling me about the girl that he had picked up a few nights before. She was also not from my hood and was not addicted to drugs. I don't know where he found her.

He told me that when he picked her up he thought she was very beautiful. Once they got to his house she informed him that she was not actually a she, she was a he. Some people can pull this off really well, so I wasn't surprised. I did dope with transvestites all the time, in alleys, in rooms, whatever. Anyways, he wasn't put off by this new information. I want you to understand what this old guy was like. He was short, balding, always had on his work shirt and pants that were institution green in color, with the keys on his belt ...total janitor outfit. He looked like a regular guy (most of them do) and he was really nice. I remember he treated me with respect..(I mean, either he drugged me and I don't remember or he really wasn't overly intense when the sexual act between us was performed). He was a nice, laid back guy that was lonely, had money and that was it. Plus I think may be some guys get more adventurous when they get older, I mean, if you have no one to explain anything to, then who gives a sh*t?

He starts telling me about their date, him and this transvestite. He told me that she gave him a blow job and then he came, fine, no big deal. But THEN he told me that she asked if it was okay if she came too because apparently she had an erection from giving him the blow job. Old guy said no problem and proceeds to let her f*ck him and then when she was about to cum, she took an ashtray nearby, emptied out the pennies and came into it then asked/demanded the old guy to drink it. And he did.

Holy sh*t that is disgusting. I mean to each his own, and I think it is awesome that he so casually engaged in anal intercourse with this person, but I am talking about the whole drinking cum out of the ashtray part. I mean, even besides that, it just seems a little extreme. Like, why did it have to go into a dish of any kind? Why not just into his mouth or on him or something? I really don't think of it as a beverage.

See, when I was a young sexually active adult, I engaged in various sexual activities with my partner..and oral sex is part of the deal. I was one of the "swallow" mentality as opposed to "spit" as I found it more sexually appealing and also less messy. But now, it is completely different. I often muse about what after effects I suffer from since straightening out and this one area I am positive has been affected. As it is now...I WANT to be the same as I was before and I basically feel that I am...BUT I can tell you in all honesty that I HATE semen now. I don't hate the look of it but everything else about it makes me shiver.

The thought of drinking it like that makes me want to vomit, just thinking of the consistency gives me the willies.. And I have realized now that it is also the smell of it that even gives me a gagging feeling in my throat. I am not even sure you can understand what I am saying, I can even smell it as I write this. I used to pride myself as good at my "job" when it came to hummers. Now, completely different. On the odd occasion that oral sex does come into play in my post-prostitute life, I can't even put it "him" all the way in my mouth without reacting in some way. I can describe it as like if someone was drowning and their throat contracts to block the water from getting in your lungs. Not that I have ever been close to drowning before but I mean in the way that it is not a voluntary response. It just happens. I am not saying I don't like oral sex, quite the opposite but..it is the semen in my mouth or within my olfactory sensitive personal area (does that even make sense?) I can do without. I can't even imagine how this is coming across, but how can I make it sound anything other than what it is?

I don't know where this stems from, which may be hard to believe considering I was around "it" every day, several times a day for so long. But "before" I had never thought of cum as gross and even the word gross is unfair because I like what it represents (haha, what?)..but this is the way my brain computes things now. I guess it is a conceivable response considering I allowed myself to be violated so often. I remember this one time I had provided oral service to this guy in his truck one day in Burnaby. He asked to unload on my face and I said fine, whatever gets you off, and then afterwards he told me if I didn't give him his money back and that he was going to beat the f*ck out of me. Perhaps it is times like this, compounded with all the degradation I suffered over those years that have changed me. Or maybe it is just like when I go into certain cafes and the smell reminds me of when I worked in a coffee shop. That seems plausible.

I have faith that love may help remedy this issue. I will let you know.


4 comments:

  1. hey if no one else "gets" what yr on about....i do! Totally. My "post prostitute" life is very recent & new. I've just started seeing a guy, first one since i've stopped working &its weird. Like you, i was proud of my "hummer skills" but now its just not the same : ( I havent told this guy about my past which i think makes it worse. FYI i read on OMG facts that if you squeeze your left thumb with your left hand as you make a fist, apparently you lose your gag reflex? I'm yet to try it but will let you know if it works : ) you are not alone as far as the smell thing either. Still remember my last shift at the parlour where i was taking out the rubbish bags,15 girls on the 12 hour shift makes for a lot of sticky tissues, used condoms & various body fluids which resulted in a smell that i can smell as i'm typing this. I hope this smell memory can be erased with time?

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  2. Thanks for the comment. I just thought I would tell you that I almost laughed off my chair when I read your OMG fact about the gag reflex. Did you google how to remedy this reflex?? I can't believe I didn't think of that first. I also know what you mean about not telling the guy yet, I used to tell guys right away (maybe it was a subconscious effort to discourage them) but now I realize that it is my business and if it ever comes to a point where I feel comfortable or that they are worthy of knowing it then fine. Unless one is at risk for passing on HIV or something then it is their right to know.

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  3. Hope it works out for you. I have always hated semen, which is why i never swallow. Strange, since I love cocks.

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