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.)