The one-hour-quickie-for-100-euros just isn’t for me. Sex should take time – sometimes passionate, sometimes tender – but never rushed or under the pressure of a ticking clock. Then there are those nights when you stumble drunk into such an establishment, blowing through the equivalent of a five-star vacation in booze and… well, you don’t even finish because you’re too hammered. “Waiter, another bottle of Veuve Clicquot, please!” Not that these places ever have decent champagne anyway.
And here’s how it usually goes: At the entrance stands a sketchy, intimidating guy. The woman, from Eastern Europe, calls me “darling” incessantly. Darling here, darling there. I feel like a product on a conveyor belt. It’s clear I’m just another client in a long line, and she’s eager to get rid of me. “Come on in, darling. Get it over with, darling. Now go home, darling.” And payment? Always upfront, of course. Honestly, the money could be spent on much better things.
I’ve even tried streetwalkers before. Don’t ask what possessed me back then – probably curiosity more than lust. Driving a rental car, I passed by several women before finding one who looked halfway decent. She wasn’t over fifty or particularly full-figured for once. For 50–100 euros (depending on the “program”), she promised me heaven. I had to climb into her van – not a camper, but a delivery van with a mattress on the back. She called me “darling” too. The back was damp, and I began to worry about hygiene. How many men had been here before me today? I couldn’t stop picturing an old, sweaty guy sitting naked exactly where I was, and I involuntarily shuddered. She noticed. “Is everything okay?” she asked. She then touched me with a paper towel, which was reassuring, but definitely not sexy. The rest was so monotonous and bad that I can’t even bring myself to describe it. After ten minutes, I left the van, still unsatisfied. “It’s okay. Keep the money. Bye.”
In New York, I was sitting in a bar with my best friend and two of his acquaintances. After a few drinks, I discovered that he’s into S&M – a new revelation, even after years of friendship. The two women with us were dominatrixes. I negotiated a beginner-friendly “friend special” and checked that off my list without breaking the bank. At least during those three hours, no one was watching the clock. How could they? The dominatrixes were quite busy. What exactly happened? I’d rather not go into detail. I’m still a little traumatized. Stern.de editors often remind me that we have underage readers. If you’ve got some experience or imagination, you can guess how it went down – but imagine a relatively dominant man shoved into a submissive role and given a thorough “lesson.” At times, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Ultimately, it made me question why people crave such extremes. After that experience, I think I’m more into the cuddly side of things. At least they didn’t call me “darling.”
Although… passionate and wild has its appeal. Like in porn – lots of moaning, garters, high heels, countless position changes: front, back, top, left, right… and ending in a grand finale, like one of those films from the U.S. Usually 20 minutes max – often just six.
Occasionally, you end up with an “amateur porn star” in bed. It’s not bad, as long as it feels authentic, and she enjoys it instead of just faking it. But you never get the full package – something’s always missing. Sometimes it’s the high heels; other times, she’s too loud, or she doesn’t like my favorite position. “And baby, please leave the lingerie on a bit longer. You look good in it. Sometimes better than without.”
Wait! Maybe I do prefer the cuddly stuff. Or do I?
It’s probably human nature to always want what you don’t have. If I’m with the porn star, I long for a cuddly type. It’s rare to find a partner who can do both. Porn star one day, cuddle buddy the next; dominatrix or submissive the day after that. We’re constantly chasing the thrill of new adventures and extremes. But you never truly get enough. In the end, it’s all about variety – not always the same position or routine. It’s about the game, the stimulation of the senses – not the supermodel, porn star, dominatrix, or prostitute. I’ve sworn off the latter entirely. It’s not about the money but the experience. And in my limited attempts, it’s always been a disappointment.
Photo by pawel szvmanski on Unsplash
