(Confession of anal prostitutes)
I graduated from a school with a gold medal and entered the Philfak, from which I later had to leave. So how can I become a prostitute? Actually, since I began to manifest my sexual attraction, I came up with bright, often unusual fantasies. Then, more and more often, these fantasies began to take shape around professional sex or prostitution. I don’t know why, but I was terribly excited by the thought that you can earn money for sex. For me, to be a prostitute sounded much more tempting than to be a banker or, for example, a deputy.
But let’s look for the truth for a minute. Are there women in the world who may say that they have never thought about how to earn money on customer service. For me personally, such thoughts have long become a fantasy number one. I can’t even say how many times I jerked off at night, imagining myself a prostitute in dirty, depraved scenes.
But since I began to go to an optional option for Internet literature, which was led by one cool professor, these fantasies have become even more lively and brighter. Professor Peskov, who became my curator, gave us the task of reading several books with the memoirs of one quite famous pimp in the criminal world – the Caucasian by origin. You may have heard of him and his books. These were stories from the life of pimp and his prostitutes in Moscow, and these books simply overshadowed everything for me. I just lost a sense of reality because of them.
I read them in bed at night in my room in a hostel, but only when there was not my neighbor in the room so that no one would interfere with me. I sat down, leaning my back on the pillows and letting one hand between my legs to fit the clitoris while I read about all kinds of adventures of pimp and its whores in Moscow. These stories so excited me! I used to re-read some paragraphs several times, until I finished on the description of any particularly exciting scene.
And reading, I usually imagined myself as one of the girls, mentally transferred to the sexual scenes described by this wonderful Caucasian-Suthener.
You know, I was born and raised in Ryazan, among typical Soviet families, where everyone was on my mind that cleaning, washing, buying products. But while my friends at the institute dreamed of jumping to marry a banker or a TV star to go together to the Mediterranean Sea, I constantly fantasized, introducing myself as a prostitute with my pimp, living in a hotel room.
I liked these books so much that I decided to write a coursework on them. I called the work “Psychology of relations between a pioneer and a prostitute in novels…”. I received 5+ for my work and my curator said that he really liked it, so he asked me to approach his office to discuss my exchange rate again.
– You got an amazingly mature analysis of the relationship of the heroes, Barbara, ”said my curator.
This is my real name – Barbara. But I ask everyone to call me Varya, especially since I started serving customers.
– Thank you, Anatoly Anatolyevich, ”I answered.
– You penetrated very deeply into the thoughts of a typical prostitute, I realized what really happens in her head, ”he continued.
My professor was a very beautiful man, he looked about fifty, so I probably knew that he was married. However, this did not prevent me from getting into it slightly. Elderly men are sometimes so sexy!
– Surprisingly, but it seems to me that I understand where the desire to sell my body comes from, ”I said.
– Yes, according to the generally accepted opinion, prostitutes have always been engaged in their profession exclusively from the need. As you know, the goal for fiction is cunning. A woman becomes a prostitute because she has no other choice, and t.D. and t.P. Of course, there is a share of truth in all this…
– But this does not explain the situation as a whole, ”I interrupted.
– Absolutely does not explain.
– So, prostitutes, as you indicated in their analysis of these books, go to this because of a variety of reasons, both if necessary and at will, ”the professor continued to say, with a mild note of pedantry.
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