On prostitution

My friends and coworkers always question why I was a male prostitute. This is the story I told them…

The money was good if you didn’t have a pimp, although when I started out I answered to this absolutely jacked bodybuilder of a woman named Karen. We had actually taken to calling her Big Bertha behind her back because of how hard she punched when we did something we weren’t supposed to do or didn’t do something we were. A former coworker got his ass handed to him once when he said he was too tired to satisfy her the way she wanted.

Eventually, I moved to a city that had banned pimps while welcoming prostitutes. Those were the best years of my life. One day a woman came to me to get some help in dealing with a client that had ripped her off. Soon I had a bunch of women and some men paying me to protect them while they were on the job. It was good money, but I started to grow weary of it and missed the simpler times of just sucking dick for $20.

I couldn’t go out and turn tricks anymore because I was either providing protection or worried that I’d be taking money from one of the people I was being paid to protect. One morning I woke up and realized that I had no love for the game anymore and decided to enroll in a MBA program at the local Community College.

Now I am in a loveless marriage and working a job I hate. I yearn for the good old days when I could just get paid to have sex with lonely men and women.

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