Please note: I've chosen to present this strictly in the words of a specialist, removing my own questions and prompts. Also, the names and places mentioned have all been changed.
The Cafe Aphrodite is not one of the city’s best known attractions, even among the red light crowd. For a start, we’re well off the beaten track, a couple of bus rides from where the rest of the action is, and even the taxis don’t like heading this far out. Our neighbors are no more glamorous than the news-stands, groceries, and broken down repair stores that the fringe of every city is overrun with. Our clientele are more likely to be bored laborers, passing shoppers and curious college kids than high rolling city slickers and businessmen.
This probably explains how the place has been here so long. Across the rest of the city, across the rest of the country, the police have been closing the clip joints and strip bars faster than the girls can open their legs. But Mike’s been running this place for nine years and never been busted once.
This is great, because this is the best job I’ve ever had.
I was expecting at least the rudiments of an interview, the day I finally plucked up the nerve to answer the vaguely worded advertisement at the back of the local free paper; decode the shadowed suggestions and hints that the dark voice who answered the phone let slip; and then show up at the cafe one wet afternoon. Yes, I was expecting an interview. Instead, I got a lecture. A very, very short lecture, because he’s not a man to use three words when a simple grunt will suffice. But, a lecture nonetheless.
“Three rules. No talking, no time wasting, and no mess on the floor. Spit, swallow, smear it on your skin, I don’t care what you do. But I don’t want to see any cum on the carpets, none on the walls, and none on your clothes. Any questions?”
I shook my head. He’d already shown me to my “office,” as he called it, a three foot square cubicle with pale lilac walls and, at varying heights on three of them, a series of holes. Through which the johns would poke their peckers, in expectation of the time of their lives. There was a pair of identical cubicles on either side, each one servicing three more walls worth of guests apiece. On a busy night, I imagined this as one of the happiest houses in town!
“First few times, you’ll probably only be able to handle one at a time,” Deidre (a pseudonym), a forty-something bleached blonde, told me as I sat sipping coffee before my first shift began. “Give it a couple of days, though, and you’ll have three on the go at a time, one on each wall, and all three of them will believe that they’re the only man in the world. Assuming,” she added, “you’re any good.”
She paused. “So are you?”
I think I must have flushed a little, because her eyes softened and she smiled a little. “I think so...” I began, and she interrupted with a laugh. “You’ve never had any complaints yet, right?”
“Right,” I smiled back.
“You won’t get any here either. Or, at least, not many. There’s always the odd guy who will kick up a fuss, saying he didn’t cum hard enough, or you brought him off too quickly. But Mike deals with them, and they don’t complain for long. Most of our customers, they’re so happy to get a pair of lips around their cock, they wouldn’t know a ‘good’ blow if you spent all night giving tongue baths.
“No, what I mean by good is - you’ve got to be quick. And you’ve got to be able to move around quickly. One night I had five cocks at once, all sticking through those holes like it was the most urgent thing in the world, and it was my job to agree with them.”
“Five?” But there are only three walls, I was going to say, but Deirdre beat me to it. “They double up. Two guys staggering home from the bar, drunk and horny... they just bundle into a cubicle together and don’t think anything of it.”
I tried to picture the scene from my angle, one dick at mouth height, the other in my hair... my god, you could get whiplash trying to please them both. But Deirdre just laughed, a warm sort-of-cackle, and started laying out a side of the job I had never even thought of.
Mike did not offer any health benefits. But it had some, regardless. “It’ll save you a fortune in skin care products. If you grind your teeth or have TMJ, sucking cock is the greatest exercise in the world. I know, because it worked for me. And if you ever want to give up smoking...” she nodded at the Newport I’d lit up... “Well… it’ll help you out there as well. Every time you feel like a cigarette, just suck some cock instead.”
I stubbed out my cigarette.
“You’re up.” The door to the cubicle in front of me opened, and an absolutely stunning woman stepped out, looking like she’d just spent the day relaxing at the spa. In fact, she’d just spent three hours on her knees, but her skin glowed, her hair shone, her eyes danced and her smile flashed.
Deirdre introduced me, and the girl, Cass, inclined her head, and then stood aside as I rose and walked into the cubicle. I looked around. Just as Mike said, the room was spotless; not even a balled-up tissue or two in the wastepaper basket, and the little hand basin was sparkling too. I adjusted a few of the cushions that were scattered on the floor, then took a deep breath and pressed the little buzzer that let the front desk know I was ready to begin.
Okay. You’re probably wondering what sort of girl would willingly sign up to spend six hours day (in two shifts of three), five days a week, on her knees in a box sucking stranger’s cocks? Well, I’ll tell you.
I’m twenty-eight, and I’m putting myself through college. So I need the money, and this pays well. Better than waitressing, better than dancing, better than stripping and, from what I’ve heard, better than whoring.
I enjoy sex, of course I do. But I also see sex for what it is, as opposed to what we all dream it is. A physical transaction between two people, one who wants to get his rocks off, and one who is willing to help him.
I love giving blowjobs, that‘s true. But sucking off strangers is very, very different to sucking off my boyfriend, or someone I’m involved with. Or even know. It’s not a love thing, it’s not a lust thing, and it’s not even a desire thing. It’s just... a thing. With someone you have feelings for it can be the most intimate act imaginable. With someone you don’t know from Adam, it’s no different to giving them a massage. In fact, it is a massage, in a way. A part of your body is in contact with a part of theirs, and if you can overlook the fact that it’s your mouth and their penis, as opposed your hands and their shoulders (and you can overlook it, a lot faster than you’d expect), it really isn’t that big a deal any longer. And if that makes you look at me with different eyes, or not want to hear any more of my story, then that’s up to you.
I suck cock for a living and I love my job. But that doesn’t mean I have to love every cock that I suck. I don’t love every drop of semen that they pump onto my hand, face, or onto my tits or anywhere else. I just need to pretend that I do.
Like the Song Says: Keep the Customer Satisfied
Mike had said “no talking,” and at first I thought that meant we had to remain completely silent. No, it just means no long conversations. Three cocks into my first day, and a tap on the door from Deirdre let me know I’d already had my first complaint. I didn’t tell the last guy what a massive, handsome prick he had, and the best-tasting helmet I had ever had in my mouth. “They like that kind of thing,” she laughed. “And they leave bigger tips as well.”
So after that, every cock that I sucked was... well, you can imagine. And if two came in together (and I got my first of those that lunchtime), then both of them were so hot and hard that “I wish I had two mouths so I could taste you both at once.”
I learned to make sounds in the back of my throat, moans of pleasure, of hunger, of greed. Well, I didn’t exactly learn; I already knew how to do that. I’d just never thought about it in the past, because they always came out naturally. Now, I conjured them out of nowhere, and they all added to my customer’s delight.
There are the guys who tell you precisely where they want to cum, and it’s your job to make them believe they have done so. “So sweet on my tongue... so thick on my face... it’s dripping from my nipples...” - and more than once I’ve laid it on so thick (figuratively speaking - unlike Cass, I [italic]|always] fill the waste bin) that a sucked soft cock is suddenly coming back to life, and the first time that happened, I was jerking him in one hand while hanging out the cubicle door, asking one of the other girls what do I do?
Give him a freebie? Ask for straight cash? Neither. Press the other buzzer, and someone would come and explain the situation to him nicely. You’ve already had what you paid for. If you want it again, you pay up again. And, like I said, they explain it nicely. This one paid again, and yeah, he left a great tip as well.
Compared to some of the places I’ve heard about, Mike is a saint. Thirty percent of what the customers pay goes to the house. But the other seventy goes to the girl. There’s more than one joint in this same town that flips those percentages completely, but Mike has so many other sidelines running here as well, from the coffee shop out front (the original cafe), to the liquor in the back room, the peep show and dirty films, and probably a few lines I don’t want to know about, that he can afford to be a generous employer. Tips we throw into a communal bowl, and divide them up at the end of each shift. On a good week I can earn my next month’s rent; in a good month, I can pay off half a term’s tuition.
We get plenty of mouthwash with a brandy infusion. For obvious reasons, condoms and dental dams are forbidden, unless the customer specifically asks for them - and one or two do. But baby wipes are not out of place, and we all get checkups on a regular basis, for our sake and for the customers’. I’ve only ever had one case where a dick looked like it might not be as healthy as it ought to be (no, you don’t want the details), so I pressed the buzzer, the other buzzer, and whatever transpired on the other side of the wall was said softly and persuasively enough that I never heard another word about it.
Well, there are the ones that Deidre warned me about, the ones who don’t feel they got their money’s worth, or demand their money back altogether. Mike handles them. The ones we’re on our own with are, to put it gently, the gents who are either so excited, or so nervous (and occasionally, so out of shape or otherwise ailing) that they can’t get an erection to begin with.
Those are the ones we talk to sweetly, softly, try and coax them into some kind of life with loving words, and it’s surprising how often that works. Or you suckle on their softness for a while and... I didn’t even know this was possible, but it’s a lot more common than you might think; you bring them to orgasm without them even attaining a decent erection.
Or there are the poor souls who really are a lost cause, and you send them away disappointed because there is nothing else you can do. But you know what’s strange? They are often the best tippers of all. They may not have got what most guys come for, but maybe they got what they needed the most, which is a few words of sympathy, a few words of affection, something that helped them see that their dysfunction is not the end of the world.
And if they should return a few days or weeks later, and mention that their last visit prompted them to go see their doctor, and he was able to fix their little problem, then that’s just terrific. I’ll be honest, I’m not a fan of little blue pills and things; I’d rather see someone get help for the problem, and not get fobbed off with some chemical that will mask what’s really happening. If I can point someone in one direction rather than the other... well, let’s just say, those are often the occasions when I enjoy my job most of all.
And enjoyment is important. I said before, I view my work as a series of transactions; the customer’s need being fulfilled by a capable professional. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that at least a couple of times every shift, which means four or five times in each working day, I am confronted by a cock that I could happily take home and make a fuss over all night.
I like the middle-aged ones the best. It surprised me just how quickly I learned to tell them apart. Some of the girls say a cock is a cock, but they are either lying or they are jaded. For me, every penis is different and, while I’ve definitely trained myself to see the good points about each, there are those where my training just goes out of the window and I feel like a first-timer all over again. Sucking not because it’s my job and I want a good tip, but because I want to make its owner feel good, because doing so will make me feel good too.
The first time I ever orgasmed purely from the excitement of giving head, I was with a college boyfriend in his car on a road trip some place, and I put it down to the thrill (not to mention the insane illegality) of sucking cock in a moving vehicle. Now I know different. It doesn’t need to be the right circumstances. It needs to be the right cock.
So even on those days when, to put it bluntly, blowing strangers really is the last thing I want to be doing with my time, at the back of my mind there is always the caveat - until the right stranger comes along. Because then, it’ll be the only thing I want to do, and my only regret is the time-wasting rule. Mike wants them in and out in ten minutes. Sometimes, it’s been fifteen and I’m still only just getting started.
But never, ever mix business with pleasure. Nobody knows that I work here; none of my friends even knows this place exists. I would never date a customer, or even give him a clue as to who I am... their fantasy, whether they know it or not, is the disembodied mouth and voice on the other side of the glory hole, who will give them what they need without question or qualm. And mine... well, my fantasies are that I’ll keep on loving my job for as long as I need the money, and if I’m lucky maybe for a while after that.
We all need to work, to eat and pay rent, and most of the jobs in the real world today seem determined to keep you on your knees till the day you retire. And given the option of sucking figurative ass or literal cock.... well, I made that decision eight months ago.