Therapy for Fucking

He simplified our breakup into an easy-to-digest story for his friends that lacked certain specificity: I was too uptight, and that turned him off. Said I was frigid, so he left. That's his version. More accurately, he wanted to keep my libido dormant, docile, and easily accessible for him. He decided to shame me while maintaining his dignity by keeping her out of it. I know it doesn't matter anymore but I want to set the record straight... actually, the opposite of straight.

Our demise boils down to an uncleared browser history. Months of flirtation. Hundreds of messages. Timid compliments at first—later turned into run-of-the-mill filth—to my gyrating confidante. I’d typed what I'd never dared say out loud: "You're so hot!” my fingers hesitating over the return key…it sounded too predictable. I deleted and started again, “You’re gorgeous.” No, too chauvinistic. Once again I deleted, and tried, “Amazing body!” Yikes, way too objectifying. This was the first time I ever admitted attraction to a woman; I stumbled over my words, eventually going back to the original, “You’re so hot!” I quickly sent it before I could overthink it, my cheeks stinging hotly. 

It had never occurred to me that I wanted to fuck a woman, and I didn’t know what was appropriate to say. But she purred thank you into the camera as I vibrated her cunt, using a remote-activated toy, with my tips. She listened, moaned, and affirmed me with interest corresponding to tokens I sent. Sex work is basically therapy for fucking. You pay, they guide you. 

Her name was Megan, at least that's what her profile said. I didn't set out to find her, it just sort of happened. I wasn't satisfied with sex with my boyfriend, but I didn't know it could be better. I took it for granted that sex just wasn't my thing. But one night, after a particularly lackluster performance on his behalf, after his three minutes of pounding had put him into a comatose state, I slipped out quietly, and once safely home in my bed, began scrolling through Twitter. It was the usual mind-numbing shit, until I froze on an image of a woman with long dark hair, sharp eyebrows, and a medusa piercing. Her face was turned over her shoulder looking right back at me. She bent over slightly, wearing a tight black backless dress that was pulled halfway up her ass, revealing two perfectly shaped cheeks. I felt an uncontrollable pulse around my clit, as my eyes drew to the small green lace triangle that barely covered her cunt. I felt my face redden and tried to scroll away but I couldn't stop looking at the plump lips of her labia, spilling out slightly, hinting at what remained hidden. 

I meant to go to bed, but something about the picture forced me to click on her profile. I felt giddy and noticed my heart rate quicken as I scrolled through pictures of her in an array of revealing poses. I could feel a wet spot forming in my underwear, as I watched a video of her sucking and licking her thumb as if it was a dick. She bobbed her head rhythmically, flashing an intensely seductive glance that pulled me further in. I brought my own thumb to my lips, mirroring her movements. My tongue felt warm and exciting against my finger. I moved in unison with her. The video abruptly ended and I was shaken out of my fantasy by a feeling of shame— what was I doing? I quickly took my finger out of my mouth and scrolled to the top of her page again, meaning to go back to my feed, but then I noticed her bio: "cam model, come see a little piece of my world," followed by a link. Without thinking, I clicked on it, and suddenly…she appeared. 

She was wearing a curly lavender wig and a tight magenta t-shirt that clung to the roundness of her breasts, her nipples pushed against the fabric hinting at the piercings beneath. She was in a purple-lit room that matched her hair, naked on the bottom revealing a soft, dark landing strip. She swayed to I Put A Spell On You. She had a delicious smile and seemed to stare directly at me. I briefly worried she could see me, before confirming my camera was off. I wanted to stop but I was frozen watching her hips rock back and forth. My fingers creeped under the covers, pushing tentatively against my cunt over my pajama pants. I hadn’t really masturbated before, but I needed to touch the zinging feeling building up between my legs. I turned the sound up and noticed casino-like noises binging in the background. She blew kisses and spoke with a silky accent. Messages whizzed by on the bottom of the screen. It took me a second to realize that other viewers were messaging her. 

That first night I watched her for a few minutes in stunned silence, hesitantly fingering my underwear, before forcing myself to put her down. I closed my eyes, intending to never watch her again. That was weird, I'm not sure why I did that. But a few days later, she popped back into my head. The same cunt tingle immediately returned. I tried to suppress the urge to log on, but the more I attempted to control my desire, the worse it got. Finally, I gave in. I wanted to talk to her, to know her. I wanted to touch myself in unison with her. I bought tokens and worked up the nerve to send my first message. After that, I stopped resisting. I spent a few days chatting and getting a hang of the cam site, then decided it was time for a private show. 

The first time Megan entered the private chat with me, I felt so embarrassed, I didn't know what to do, what to ask for. But she dropped her sexy persona, melted into her casual self, and I got completely hooked. She danced naked, while I sent her messages, “I flutter with excitement watching you.” I’d observed the men in the public chat with their trite comments, “sexy lady” and “let me give you this dick.” I didn’t want to be vulgar like them. I gave her the sweet compliments I’d want to receive. 

Timidly I asked, “Can you touch yourself like you’d touch me?” She gave me a smile and I gave myself permission to follow her lead, sticking fingers into my ass for the first time, discovering a whole new range of sensation. Soon, I was chatting with Megan multiple times a week. I never breathed a word to anyone about her, she was my secret. 

To my pleasant surprise, things with my boyfriend improved, too. Our sex life didn't, but I was less annoyed by it. Whenever he wanted to fuck, I'd close my eyes and transport myself to Megan’s purple bedroom. It turned me on to think about her while he was in me, not suspecting a fucking thing. When he'd fall asleep, I'd creep back home, log on, and finish myself off with her. Megan taught me how to orgasm, urging me to slow down, and be fully present with her in the private shows. I was skeptical when she first asked if I used toys, but I eventually bought a yellow vibrating dildo. I surprised myself by squirting while watching her mirror me, my vibrator escalating in its rhythm against my clit. 

I thought about ending things with my boyfriend; not for her, but because of her. It's not that I wanted to date her, I wasn't delusional. I knew she was a model, I understood that this was an internet flirtation that I paid for her to reciprocate. I never became obsessed or thought I was special. But I noticed my sexual desires shifting, and I felt more in touch with what I wanted. Before I could make up my mind though, my boyfriend discovered my “affair” with Megan, and left me dramatically. 

Somehow his exit made Megan's virtual presence painful. I logged on each day as usual, but my arousal had turned to frustration. I loved the way she bent forward, teasing, giving me a peek of her glistening pussy. But I needed to touch her, and I couldn't. I wanted to taste her nipples, see what it was like to have those little barbels in my mouth. I wanted to be in her room, lying beside her, touching her warm body. I wanted her long purple acrylics trailing over every part of me. I wanted more. I needed more. It was time to actualize my fantasies. 

~~~

My real relationship ended for a fake woman. The odd realization that Megan was never really in my life fully sets in. While I’m relieved that my boyfriend is out of the picture, I’m unsure what to do about my unquenchable horniness for real touch. I want an interaction with no strings attached…I want a professional to guide me. I need to find the in-person version of Megan. 

I decide to ask my friend X if he knows any sex workers. I might as well come out with the whole story, and have him judge for himself. We meet up for lunch the next workday. And as I confess, cheeks an unfortunate cranberry color, I see him light up! "Oh babe, I actually DO know exactly who you're looking for! Her name is Joey, she was my bestie in college, now she does like erotic massages or something. Hit her up, you can tell her I sent you, I'll obviously vouch." I'm touched by how chill he's being about this. I was brought up in a traditional household, no one would dare talk about porn, let alone consider hiring a sex worker. 

Back at home, I pull up the website X sent me. I find Joey; she has a bob of red hair, freckles, and a bit of a crooked smile. In the photo on the landing page, she's sitting on a bed, wearing a matching peach bra set. Her legs are open, one hand on each knee in a pose that's seductive and slightly intimidating. I quickly go to the Experience & Etiquette page and I’m shocked by the prices. Private shows with Megan were 60 tokens, about three dollars a minute. I never paid for an entire hour, so having to book a minimum of two hours is a lot more cash than I expected. But I try not to overthink it. I quickly draft an email to Joey, filling her in on just enough information, mentioning that X and I are work friends. When that sounds weird, I omit the work part. I hit send before I can talk myself out of it. 

I don't hear back from Joey for a few days. I'm about to resign and file this under an interesting but failed attempt when she texts me out of the blue one afternoon. She's had a cancellation for that night and knows it's abrupt but figures she'd offer me the spot since we've got a mutual friend. I freeze, unsure about whether I can actually go through with it. A few minutes pass, and I breathe deeply, telling myself that worst comes to worst this will be an experience to remember. I reply that I'm in. 

I have absolutely no idea what counts as proper attire to get my lady cherry popped by a sex worker but I decide against dressing up and opt for my regular faded jeans and a gray t-shirt. I plug the address into Google and park outside a row of small storefronts. I give myself a bit of a pep talk, then step out of the car, paying attention to the door numbers, until I'm in front of unit 6. I knock three times, and the door quickly unlatches and opens from inside. I step into a smallish space, illuminated by salt lamps and paper lanterns. There's an inviting orange glow cast across the space, I see a quirky teal sofa, a small kitchenette with matching seafoam appliances, and a large massage table covered in a crisp white sheet. This is absolutely not what I had imagined—I'd prepared myself for a dim dungeon with literal chains on the walls and cages full of leather-clad humans—and I’m relieved. Joey welcomes me, and I'm caught off guard like I'd forgotten why I was there and who she was. She notices I'm startled, and quickly says, "Why don't we have a seat over there and I'll explain to you how this works?" 

"Normally I like to FaceTime new clients before sessions, but this was all last minute, so apologies if we're just talking this through now." I'm relieved by how casual she seems, I was expecting to be intimidated by an austere seductress. She seems like a normal woman in her late twenties who's just doing her job and working around last-minute appointments. She seems so... human. I immediately feel myself loosen up. I know sex workers are just people, obviously, but I also assumed she would be more aloof, mysterious, or dominant based on the images on her website. I'm realizing how much I've constructed these assumptions based on things I've seen in movies and pop culture. 

"Alright, since we didn't have an initial chat, I'm gonna explain how this works. I do unidirectional work with new clients, which means you'll be naked and I'll touch you. But I will stay in my robe and you won't touch me. Does that make sense?" I nod, noticing for the first time that she's wearing a silky purple floral robe that hangs slightly open hinting at her curvy figure, freckle-splattered thighs, and soft breasts. I force myself to make eye contact. As I get a good look at her face, I notice sweet dimples, a zit on her chin, and a few stubborn wisps of hair that won’t stay in place. These details, edited out of her photos, help me settle more comfortably into the moment. 

"Trust is really big for me. I'm lucky and get to be picky about who I work with and what we do. I want this experience to be safe for both of us. Do you have any limits relating to a massage, anything I should know or that you don't want me to do?" I’m not prepared for this question and I don’t know what to say, my voice catches. 

"Will you be touching me touching me?" I manage to ask. 

She smiles again, reassuringly. "Yes, if you're comfortable, but no, if you'd rather not." I nod. "I think that's what I want to try." She tells me I can ask her to stop at any point or hold up a fist as a signal, I nod again. She instructs me to undress and lay on the massage table. 

I feel weird, but remind myself that this is her job, I'm her client. There's nothing strange about two consenting adults doing this. I've hooked up with a ton of guys I didn't know, this actually feels far safer. I roll my shoulders and relax. She comes up and places her hand lightly on my bare skin. I feel my hairs rise against her touch. I breathe again. She traces her hands down my back, over my butt, and back up again. She moves in a slow repetitive pattern, each time going further down my legs. She takes her time feeling every inch of my exposed back. I didn't realize how starved I was for touch. Before I'm fully aware of what's happening, her fingers are sliding up my inner leg. I feel the muscles in my vagina contract in anticipation, releasing a small pool of wetness between my lips. 

Joey smells incredible. As she leans over me, spreading my cunt gently, before rubbing my back again, I inhale her deep sandalwood and citrus perfume. The way she moves her hands over me is deliberate, seductive, and yet surprisingly soft. She caresses me open, taking her sweet time. I respond by secreting sweet stickiness on her fingers. I'm so aroused, I don't think I've ever been this present in my body during sex. Even if I can't touch her, I feel a deep intimacy with her. She answers my shivering body with attentiveness, each time applying a little pressure to help me relax. I melt into the experience. My attention narrows sharply each time she traces ovals over my labia and fuzzies when she glides up my back. The rhythmic pull of focus, in and out, feels like my mind is being penetrated. When she finally enters me, after what feels like an eternity of teasing, I’m so primed, there’s no pain, just delight. Her slender fingertips reach deep inside of me to draw out a long deep breath that has been stuck for so long. I exhale tension.    

I feel gooey, my eyes start to close. Joey gently asks me to roll onto my back. I oblige but feel exposed, laying full front up, completely naked in the warm light. It doesn't take long for her to bring me back to ease. She caresses me, her eyes dancing over my body. I have no clue how she manages to be so casual, in charge and comforting all at once. My attention focuses sharply on my stomach, where her hands are gliding. She never speeds up, rushes, or grabs. Her touch remains soft, opening me up slowly. As Joey works her way through my body, I feel a powerful energy release through me. 

By the time our 90 minutes are up, I feel my consciousness floating weightlessly above my physical body. My legs are wobbly noodles, and as I try to stand, tears start streaming down my face. Joey assures me it's normal for these experiences to be emotionally charged. I try to tell her it's not because of her, but she already understands. I thank her for the profound experience as I awkwardly leave. 

Fully clothed and back on the street, my head is spinning. A giant wave of elation ripples through my chest, making it hard to catch my breath. The fear I'd brought into this experience has evaporated. I replay the past two hours in my head as I slide into my car. I can still smell her perfume, and feel her responsive touch against my skin. I imagine myself mimicking Joey’s movements against someone else’s body. I now have a template for how to touch another woman. More than anything, I’m astonished by how long and quick the two hours felt. The intense build up warped time, I’ve never lost myself in physical sensations before. I want to make someone else float and lose track of reality. The radiant feeling of warmth continues to spread down my limbs as I turn the key in the ignition.

I drive home and immediately collapse on my bed, sinking into the plushness. I compulsively pull up Megan's page. Her cute butt is there to welcome me. She's choking on a massive dildo. I get undressed, and remembering Joey's hands on me, I slip into the sheets. I retrace the way she touched my cunt, savoring my own fingers. Megan's big brown eyes seem to watch me, as I watch her suck on the purple dildo. I know she can't see me touch myself, but it's comforting to think she can.

Photo by Ivan Oboleninov