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Prostitution is sad. For both the prostitute and the patron. I have been a patron 3 times in the last month in Acapulco Mexico. The overall result has been the same and probably only recognizable to someone that notices and thinks about everything. The average patron probably doesn’t have a single thought other than “I just got laid.” But even that though isn’t true. Prostitution is not getting laid. Prostitution is a very expensive form of masturbation.
I was married for 7 years. With my ex for 8 total. We fucked like teenagers when we first got together. She was a catch sexually. Apparently, I was as well. We worked well together physically and we knew each other’s bodies and reactions to things. So, believe me when I tell you, I know how a woman’s body feels or reacts during real intimate and enjoyed sex. This is important.
Within 3 days of getting to Acapulco, I went to a brothel. I chose a girl that was nice and pretty and did a good job. I was nice to her and didn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want me to do. But that didn’t change the incredible sadness that I felt about our exchange when given a chance to think about every interaction we had.
She let me finger her. Which may not be standard operating procedure for prostitutes. I went for the G spot and found that she felt fairly “raw.” I shouldn’t have been surprised by this as she is a sex worker so her pussy is going to take a beating every day. But it was the idea that she allowed me to do something to her that was certainly physically uncomfortable, made me sad.
I fucked her with my average size cock. Something that is relative to where you are in the world and who you are with, but in Mexico, I am supposedly average to just slightly under. That didn’t change the fact that I felt like I was hurting her every time I thrust into her. It could have been my size, she could have been dry, or she could have just done a lot of business that day. She kept at it, making those fake sex noises that are supposed to turn men on, all while trying to hide what looked like pain on her face.
As a man that was recently divorced and lonely, I needed the physical connection. She, a 20 something girl with fake tits and braces, obviously needed the money for something. We both needed something the other had, but we both paid a price high above the Pesos exchanged.
A week later I was dragged to another brothel by the guys I was with. None of the girls were to my liking. As in they wouldn’t get me up without a lot of effort. I couldn’t speak English, so I used the translation app on my phone to tell her that I didn’t want to hurt her in any way and if I did something she didn’t like, she should tell me no.
She gave a decent blow job, but when it came to the sex, the fake sounds and the feeling like I was hurting her made me go limp. She worked on me with her hands for 15 minutes after that before time ran out. I did not cum. I was glad to be done with it.
There are a lot of prostitutes in Acapulco. I choose to believe that being a prostitute there is a choice. She chose to take money for sex. She needs money so desperately that she is willing to allow herself to be tortured by men like me. Think of the reverse. How would I feel if I had to have sex with someone that I found repulsive just so I could earn a living? I cannot even imagine. I would have to do so many drugs or drink myself to death.
For the third time, I returned to the first brothel, even after saying I was done with prostitutes. For some reason I thought it would be better. This time I really just wanted to touch someone. To kiss someone. To feel a connection. I had to pay more to kiss her. Which was well worth it I think. But the whole thing was fake. Her mannerisms betrayed her words. She tried to act a certain way like she had a script, but when I took things off script, you could see right through her act. She said she had never been married, but she was a mother, something that is impossible to hide. Was she prostituting herself because she wanted a more expensive life for her child than she could afford working a regular job? Why would someone put up with such treatment for someone else? I understand that a mother would do anything to feed their babies, but that is just sad. How is giving your child more money while depriving them of a sane mother a good thing? Kids don’t understand, nor care about wealth hierarchy.
Prostitution is everywhere. The bar. Your church. The library. Anywhere women and men exchange sex for anything other than sex. But the environment where it is so clearly a financial transaction, is just disturbing. I feel guilty about being a part of this even though these women chose to do it. I feel sad for them because they have to do something that I would never do. I feel sick because they are allowing themselves to be hurt over and over and over again. I am certain that the vast majority or patrons don’t think about this stuff. Just those of us that can’t turn our brains off.
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