I've told this story so many times already, and I've still yet to decide on an appropriate tone for the narrative. I have also yet to employ the same phrases or expressions to describe it. Normally when you tell a story over and over again, you do just that, tell the same story over and over again, boring everyone around you who has already suffered through the exact same story two, three, four times. When I got mugged, I had developed a decent story and told it the exact same way everytime I told it to the many people who asked about it. I am not sure if in this case, I need more time and the story will become the same each time I tell it, or if these are the types of stories that you alter each time you tell them, unsure yourself whether to be mocking, solemn, or humorous, but probably even more so, unsure of how different people will respond to the story, so many people having negative views about sex work and all, so tailoring the story to the audience you are telling it to.
Some people (myself included) tend to glamorize sex workers and to these people you can ham up certain details of the story, tell the gritty things and they seem to revel in it. Other people, may not say so, but you can see it in their measured facial expressions that they are uncomfortable with it, or even disapproving it, throwing around some variation on the phrase "selling your body for money," as if not all forms of employment were some exchange of money for your body's efforts. To these people, you also tell the gritty details, but just to see them try to hide their discomfort.
I am finding out that this stuff is both easier and harder than I had expected. It is far easier to do this guilt-free than I had thought, far easier to offer yourself to people than I had anticipated. But I had been warned that lots of people get off on e-mailing and planning sessions but not actually doing them, but still I don't think I knew how many of the people I communicated with were of this sort. It is far harder to cement a deal than I had thought. People will e-mail you back and forth until they actually have to tell you where they live, just seeing how far they can push it without doing it, getting off on planning sex.
I was supposed to meet a guy in a coffee shop yesterday morning to go to his apartment and take off my undies and jizz on them. He did not show up, or did and didn't make contact with me. After many aborted interactions with people through Craigslist ads, that went as far as that moment when they had to give me directions, I called it a day, gave up and went to go get food, overdrawing my bank account to do so. I got back, checked my email, and this guy that I was going to piss on, emailed me directions to his work and told me to get there after ten, that less people would be there then, and I could pee on him in the bathroom there.
I drank three beers before leaving not only to fill my bladder, but to ease my nerves about the situation, to make sure that I would be nice and sloshed and not at all nervous. I got there, to this desolate warehouse district in Long Island City, called him when I was outside the address he gave me and he came to meet me outside, told me that there were too many people still there and that we could find an empty spot on the street. As I said, the streets were desolate and so it was very easy to find an empty spot, basically right around the corner from his office. He kneeled down and started to jack off and told me to tell him when I was ready to piss. I had been holding my bladder for so long and as soon as he asked, I said I was ready, stuck my cock in his mouth, and all my worries that I might get pee shy, or that I might not be able to pee down someone's throat proved to be nothing but pointless worrying. Apparently, I have no qualms about pissing down the throats of other people. I guess I really wasn't sure what was going to be involved. I thought I was going to be peeing on him, not in him. It felt a little weird, and I was shocked, totally shocked that someone could drink so much pee. I had a more than full bladder - three beers, long train ride there, you do the math.
He took about three breaks to cough and gag and catch his breath and in those breaks, I held my pee back, ready and excited to piss more down this person's throat. By the time I was done peeing, I was hard, more turned on than I would have thought I would have been by peeing on someone. While he was drinking my pee, I saw his jizz shoot out of his cock, finished peeing and then zipped up, while he got to his feet and wiped the pee dribble off of his shirt.
He paid me fifty dollars and we walked in the same direction together. He, to his office. Me, to the subway. He kept belching, and the noise produced by him belching up my piss grossed me out so much. With each belch of his, I gagged, imagining the taste of urine. I was worried I was going to throw up if I had to walk near him and listen to him belch anymore. He went inside and I walked through the snow, thinking about this, about the noises of those burps, and about how I would make more money. I went out to the Cock afterwards and danced hesitantly to songs I have heard them play there too often, not wanting to think about whether it was the music that was ruining my stride or if it was really other things, knowing that I probably would not like the answer, and so I kept on dancing.