May 25

My hospice patient died. I was mentioned in her obituary as being one of her “special friends,” and the details of our relationship were spoken of in her funeral service. I had no idea I'd touched her family’s life that much.

***

Saddened, I shared my feelings with the music professor, and later that night as we held each other in bed, he said to me in the dark, “I want you to know I’m not trying to pressure you at all, but you really don’t have to keep doing what you’re doing. I can help you with whatever you need.”

My head was resting against his chest as I thought about this: No more sex with big fat old guys. No more being at the mercy of horny men’s whims. No more being let down by last-minute cancellations and being on call for booty. No more condoms and fear of STDs. No more entertaining male egos and babysitting guys on the phone and in the bedroom. No more worrying about every bruise and blemish. No more breaking the law. No more pretending.

And the sooner I quit, the sooner I could get on with a new chapter in my life, trade in a short-term solution for something longer term.

May 29

I Quit

I spent the afternoon systematically sending out emails to all my clients, letting them know the change in my life.

They all sent me back congratulations, some tinged with a bit of disappointment, but for the most part very positive and respectful. A few of the responses:

— “I have mixed feelings. I am disappointed not to be able to visit you. However, I am happy that you have someone in your life that I hope will be a joy and comfort for you. Best wishes, and stay in touch. Of course if things change, please contact me.”

— “Thanks for letting me know and thank you very much for helping me fulfill my fantasies. I had an unforgettable time. Congrats on having someone special in your life. I hope your relationship lasts forever.”

— “I wish you the best. Frankly, I think of you often. Even though we were together only once, you left an impression on me. You are an incredible lover and made me feel very good. If my wife was as passionate as you were with me, I would be a happy man. But that is not the way it is. So if things don't work out, please contact me. I know I'm probably naive, but if nothing else, I'd like to be your friend. You just had a way about you that I believed was sincere. Your friend is a lucky guy.”

One guy left me this voicemail:

“Hi Elisabeth, I just wanted to express my gratitude and thank you for all the wonderful times and great memories. I wish you luck with your decision; I think it’s great for you, disappointing for me because I can’t explore a couple things, but you know what, that’s part of life as you know. More than anything I want to say thank you for being a terrific young lady who I have a lot of admiration and respect for, and just want to thank you for all the wonderful, wonderful times. Hope you have a great one!”

Damn it, he’ll have to try out the anal beads without me.

***

I informed my ex-husband that I quit the business, and he was incredibly disappointed. “Why? You said you were going to do it for a while? Why the sudden change?” He’s not happy that his cash cow has dried up.

***

The music professor was delighted to hear the news. We’re both nervous and excited. We spent the night gently holding each other and discussing the future. We want to collaborate on book and music projects, take yoga and dance classes, make a list of the states we haven’t been to yet and GO. And oh yeah, I can’t wait to fuck him!

June 1

My new beau and I are going to take the month of July to travel and spend with each other, and then who knows what our future holds. I’m happy and hopeful.


Epilogue

The music professor and I had a good year together. I moved in with him immediately. We went to China, attended concerts, and had a triad. After giving it a try, he decided polyamory wasn’t for him, and monogamy wasn’t for me. We went through a painful breakup, and a few months later, I started dating his best friend. His best friend was new to polyamory, and liked it very much. He’s the first partner I’ve had who accepts me for who I am, whore and all. We’ve been in an open BDSM relationship for three incredible years.

(Editor's Note: This concludes The Whore Journals, a series of diary entries from four years ago that has run every other week for the better part of a year here at SexIs. We're grateful to the writer for sharing the raw material about this time in her life. With her, we decided she is not quite done. We will publish a longer epilogue, soon, with links to the full series ... so that latecomers can see what all the fuss was about.)

May 23 (cont.)

Then I ran into my BIGGEST challenge on the job yet.

I was meeting a new guy. He saw a review of me online. We emailed back and forth a bit, and I had a good idea of what he wanted. He mentioned in his email that he had diabetes and hypertension, so I shouldn’t expect him to get hard, but that he could still have an orgasm.

Our friendly emails did nothing to prepare me for him. I heard him park around back, so I came to the front door to let him in. I noticed it was taking him a while to get to the front door. Then through the closed door I heard a laborious shuffling. What the hell? Is he dragging something? I opened the door and … well, there have been times where I had seen an obese man out in public, and I can remember that I thought, Glad that isn’t a client of mine!

This guy looked like he had eaten the obese man. He weighed at least 500 pounds, and wore a big orthopedic boot. I was horrified, but I didn’t let it show.

He came in and the first thing he did was watch me go tinkle. He wiped me, and then we went to the bed. I helped him get undressed. He wanted to be completely naked and lay his head in my lap while I wore a little sundress and stroked him.

He took off his shirt, which left lots of black lint in his chest and arm folds. He took off his pants (waist size: 60) with my help, as well as a pair of white underwear that looked like the kind you saw hanging in a kitschy museum with the sign, “World’s Largest Pair of Underwear!” I tried very hard not to look, for I really didn’t want to see, but there it was—a tiny brown stain in the back.

His lower calves blackened into the white pair of socks he kept on. His legs were like rotting tree trunks. I could see through a sock that one of his feet was oozing and bandaged. He had two huge white scars on his belly. A row of big flowering bruises on his midsection were left over from a series of blood thinning injections he had a few days before.

He lay on my queen size bed and took up the entire space. He left black lint on the sheet. He laid his head in my lap and looked up at me. He said, “I hate to tell you this, but you have something in your nose.” I explained it was the back part of my nose ring. I couldn’t believe that this guy was pointing out that I had a booger.

He wanted me to play softly with his nipples. He wanted me to sit on his face. I faked orgasm. Then he wanted me to suck him off. I was very scared to get my face in his crotch. I was worried it would smell. I tried hard to breathe out of my mouth, which was necessary anyway since my nose was buried in one of his belly fat folds as I attempted to get the little buttonhead of his soft cock in my mouth.

I thought how grotesque the scene would look like from a different perspective, a beautiful woman giving this freak of a man a blow job. There was NO way this guy could reach his cock in order to get off without assistance. He waited until the very last minute to cum.

I helped him dress, and as soon as he left, I anxiously checked my bed to see if he left a permanent impression of himself in my mattress.

For sure he left a permanent impression of himself in my mind.

May 24

I took my girlfriend to lunch for her birthday. I turned to her, took a deep breath, and announced, “Yesterday, I blew a 500 pound man.”

She gave me the appropriate reaction—horror mixed with amusement. I told her all the details and it made her sick just listening.

Later on I told her of my plans to leave the business at the end of June. She asked, “Are you looking forward to quitting?”

I said, “You ask me that question the day after I blow a 500 pound man?!” and gave her the look you give someone right before you slap them silly.

She appreciated her birthday card, which had a $100 bill enclosed. The card read:

Look—WHORE money for your birthday! This may be the only time you ever get WHORE money for your birthday, so savor it. And when you go shopping, make sure you giggle from knowing that a blow job had something to do with your new outfit. Xoxo

Later she admitted to me how great it was to get just a little taste of having fat cash on hand, how much fun it was to break the big bill at the register.

(Editor's Note, after the fact: If you're new to the Whore Journals, you should probably know that the events described occurred some years ago. This installment of the series is the next-to-last. We at SexIs are sensitive to the issues raised in the comments to this particular piece, as is the writer, who will be providing an epilogue to this long-running series that we expect will address some of the questions raised by readers. We appreciate and encourage the free flow of thoughts and ideas. Thanks for being here.)

May 16

A client told me he wanted to visit me and would be by after he gave his nephew a guitar lesson. I told him, “Well, if I see you coming up the walkway carrying a guitar, I’ll know you got the two of us confused.”

***

The sandwich shop guy came back. Again he fucked me for way too long, and I silently cursed the fact that I’d tossed his pants on top of the clock. He said, “I could do this all day,” and I said, “I believe you.” We went overtime, but I finally saw him off.

***

My nooner was a complete contrast – it was the tan redneck guy. He blew in like a testosterone tornado, fucked me fast and hard, and was gone in 20 minutes. Nice!

***

The Asshole King

My evening was spent with John, first in the shower and then in the bed. That guy has such a thing for assholes! Mine, his—it’s all good. He bellows when he cums, like a bull moose.

May 18

More contrast. Today I’m meeting with the hung lawyer and the small-sized lighthouse collector.

***

Momentous decision—I’ve decided that I want to make a go of it with the music professor widower, so I’m going to leave this line of work at the end of June.

May 21

How Original

I had an early-morning rendezvous with the architect.

The book Callgirl warned me of the guys who, when seeing how “into it” you are, make the incredibly annoying crack, “I should be charging you.” Yep, he’s one of those guys. I attempted to laugh along, but the internal eye-rolling interfered.

He loves that he can call me his dirty little slut and that I suck his cock and act like I enjoy it, but I have to admit it’s getting a little old. I can tell he takes it for granted that I’ll be his little fuck toy for as long as he wants. Secretly, I enjoy the thought of pulling the rug out from under him and changing my phone number and never seeing him again.

***

How Do I Get In The Top Ten?

Met with the Indian—the horrible kisser. God I hate how his tongue darts ridiculously. He asked me how his cock rated out of all the cocks I’ve seen (after he fucked my mouth) and I said, “Oh, Top 20.”

“What would I have to do to get in the Top Ten?” he asked.

What kind of question is that?! I changed the subject by jerking him off.

***

That night I had a dinner with the other moms from my daughter’s school. I thought about announcing the fact that earlier that day I had jerked off an Indian man, as a break from their conversational topics such as the baby having pink eye and the next teacher conference in Vegas.

One of the mom’s was going to sell a piece of furniture online. She turned to me and asked, “Have you ever sold anything on Craigslist?”

I stifled a laugh and imagined my response to her: “Yes, my body.”

At another point they complained that all our shared dishes didn’t come with serving spoons. “Oh well,” one woman said with the slightest tinge of nervousness, “We’re all healthy!”

I wondered what they would think to know they had a whore in their midst.

May 23

Jesus Touched Me

The tan little Tasmanian devil stopped in today for his 10-minute fuck fest. The gold crucifix around his neck rubbed around in my crack as he ate my pussy. When I told him later (in case he wanted to wash it or kiss it or something) he laughed, “I won’t charge you for that thrill!”

Then he headed down to the lake for the weekend, refusing to wash his face so he could smell me on his drive down.

May 11

What Are Brothers For?

I had another rendezvous with the Czech. His brother vacated his apartment so he could bring a whore there, isn’t that nice? I gave him a long blowjob—a really long blowjob. Next time I should bring a vise grip for his cock—GOD he likes it rough. It’s tough wrestling something the size of your arm, making sure the foreskin is pulled down and taut, that the balls receive attention, that the head gets stimulated, that it all remains lubricated. Basically he’s used to the angle of his own hands, and that’s a bitch to do backwards. I think doing taxes or changing a tire might be a preferable chore.

***

Community Service

Met a shy chubby Chinese guy for lunch. He was dying with curiosity over the whole whore thing, but was also really hesitant to pursue it due to feeling guilty about being married … while also feeling the urge to explore. He has only been with his wife. He was nice and asked me a million questions. I have no idea if he’ll really want to meet someday—I’m pretty sure our lunch meeting satisfied both our curiosity. So I performed my community service for the day: “Meet a real live whore!” Well, he met a good one, anyway.

***

An email from one of my clients:

“well it;s 8:45 p;m took my son out to eat and all the way home all i could think about was calling you. but i didn;t I’ll just have to wait till we see each other in 9 days. i just can;t help mysefl i want to hear your voice i know sounds goffy but it just seems like i've known you for along time and we are best of friends. don;t know if you have that effect on everybody your just easy to talk to well sorry for being such a pest you have a great weekend.”

It’s hard not to be judgmental about spelling and punctuation, even in my line of work.

May 15

The music professor is spoiling things for me.

We’ve been courting the hell out of each other, but have decided to not officially enter a relationship until I quit the business. We’ve spent the night together twice and he managed not to fuck me both times, even though we slept naked and he hasn’t had sex in over six years. Fuck, he’s like Gandhi, who tested his will by sleeping with beautiful 14-year-old virgins. Except, um, the opposite. A strong man indeed.

But I have had a chance to sample his lovemaking style. He has a very firm touch, and leaves no body part unexplored, even kissing my elbows and the soles of my feet, rubbing my entire body with lavender oil, gently grabbing hanks of my hair … Even with all the worship going on, I still feel radioactive, like the word WHORE is blinking on my forehead. Not because of him, but because of this barrier I unwittingly put in place. I sure didn’t know I would meet anyone worthy anytime soon.

The tenderness he’s instilling in me is similar to the flood of hormones I had during my pregnancy that made it impossible for me to watch gory movies. I can’t just happily suck a cock anymore, it feels dirty. And it’s ridiculous that I’m running around fucking random guys, and meanwhile I’m not able to have sex with the guy I’m considering as a partner. Fucked up!

He’s so kind, so good. I’m in awe of his strength, consideration and maturity. He has this calming presence radiating from him. All that time dealing with his wife’s illness has given him a better perspective on life and priorities. Easygoing, he’s hungry for knowledge but is such a good teacher himself. And he’s amazing with my daughter. He calls me Beautiful, and marvels at my every curve.

And he smacks my ass like bongos.