I’m In Love With A Prostitute, And I Want To Marry Her

Aviomoh Skyfoxx Krys

Growing up for me was like a smooth sail across the ocean; there was never a turbulent wind. Things were just almost perfect. Though my parents were the very staunch disciplinarians, but I got everything I wanted. When I was twelve, my friend introduced me into watching pornographic movies which I later got addicted to.

At this time, there was something I desired most that I couldn’t get on time__ sex! I wanted to have a feel of the smooth naked bodies of women. And since I couldn’t get a lady to perform this practical, I resorted to masturbating; a habit that almost got the better part of my brain before I learnt of a brothel which was close to our home. I stole my daddy’s money and went to the lair of commercial sex workers. There, I was welcomed into the world of sex. I was sixteen.

When I got admission into the university, the freedom I desired from my parents’ persistent scolding finally arrived. Sex became my food; an everyday ritual that must be performed as though I would lose my life without it. Girls on campus and prostitutes off campus I did trade with. This however did not affect my grades negatively. I graduated with a strong second class upper. Though, my friends still insist till date, that I would have had a first class if it weren’t for my knack for that mouse betwixt the woman’s legs. I got a job in a reputable telecommunication company; at this time the orgy for sex had taken a new dimension and the better part of my thinking. Getting married wasn’t a part of my agenda. I went home every day with a woman, and some nights I took two or three prostitutes home. (I had gotten my personal apartment, and so there wasn’t any interference from my parents.)

prostitute

One evening, after I had closed from work, as usual, I drove straight to the prostitutes joint. I pulled to the road shoulder; about four ladies approached me, chewing gums, forming and bursting up gum balls in their mouths. One stood few feet away on the other side of the road; her figure and charm was wonderfully alluring. But then, her breasts were properly covered and not sagged to get customers unlike these four that surrounded my vehicle which made me wonder if she was indeed a prostitute. Her very short skirt was suggestive of a prostitute with a class. I stepped down from my car and crossed to the other side of the road where she was standing. I’d thought I’d seen beauties, but this was exceptional. ‘The beautiful one is born! Those who think the beautiful ones are not yet born must still be living in the 16th century.’ I thought. She winked at me; a wink that attracted a broad smile from me.

TO BE CONTINUED

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