I saw a new escort today. Beth. She was mid-thirties with really smooth, taught, dewy skin on her face that was either from sun avoidance and a healthy skin care regimen or from a minor lift and tuck. I couldn’t tell. But she was thin, dark haired and attractive and happy to see me even though I was just there for a BNG (blow-and-go). Even with my years of escort experiences, it’s never lost on me . . . the weird eroticism of meeting someone and minutes later we’re both naked and kissing on a bed, or a couch, or one time on the carpeted floor of a walk-in closet.
Beth picked her head up and politely said she had to go spit. With a mouth full of my cum it sounded like, “Scuse-e, I’n goin to go spid this.” And then she hustled to the bathroom to spit and rinse. She returned with a warm, wet wash cloth and wiped down my cock while telling me she hopes I return. I don’t say anything, but I know I will.
I got home, lied on my bed and thought of the loving relationships I’ve been in with amazing girls. I’m used to the shame afterward. It doesn’t bother me as much anymore.