Do you remember the Berkley Barb? Or its successor, the Spectator? They fell into the classification of underground newspapers. They enjoyed a fairly wide circulation in the San Francisco Bay area in the 1970s and 1980s. The editorial content was largely sexual in nature. There were dozens of very explicit ads for prostitutes. Massage parlors were thinly disguised whorehouses. Bars featured naked cocktail waitresses. A few had couples fucking on a stage. One place had strippers invite men in the audience onstage for sex between porno movies. Often, but not always, the guy the dancer selected to fuck her was her husband or boyfriend. I was chosen a couple times. Swinger party houses ran full-page ads featuring nude photos of busty women. Supposedly the parties were for couples only, but a single man could hire a date to get in. It was a very horny time.
I admit that I answered a lot of the ads when I was a single, selfish twenty-something who didn't care if he ever saw his latest piece of ass again. One night I was sitting in a hot tub at a party house next to a beautiful woman. She was stroking my cock under the water while I groped her tits and pussy. When she became aroused, she suggested she and I go upstairs. Upstairs was where all the fucking took place. I agreed, and we both stood up. My boner was above horizontal. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't get your name."
"It's Bert," I said.
"I'm Virginia," she said. She turned to the man on her right and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, honey." He turned his attention from the blonde he was fondling to Virginia. "This is Bert. Bert, this is my husband George."
He held his hand out to shake mine. "Glad to meet you," he said. I couldn't believe my ears. It was obvious that I was about to fuck his wife, and he was greeting me like a best friend.
"Likewise," I said shaking the proffered hand.
"Bert and I are going upstairs," Virginia said.
"Okay, have fun," George said. "I must warn you. She gets really wild when she is with someone new."
"I'm not going to kill him, just fuck him. Maybe he and his wife can come over some evening for a little two-on-two."
"I'm not married," I said.
"Not a problem," George said. "She loves being the meat in a sandwich."
"Me, too," said the woman George had been fondling. "I'm single too." She appeared to be in her mid-twenties.
"Maybe we should get acquainted," I said.
"I'd like that," she said eyeing my boner. "By the way, I'm April."
I checked out the massage parlor scene. All of the massaging was done by topless masseuses. By the time the massage was over, they were also bottomless. Sex was built into the fees, so no one could say the customer solicited the masseuse for sex. There was no room for price or time negotiation. It was one price fits all.
There were also classified ads for independent masseuses and escorts. That was my favorite category. Pricing was fairly well standardized at a hundred dollars for an hour of straight sex. Other activities, like oral sex, raised the price. It was almost like dealing with a union in that respect. A full night cost three hundred which did include additional services. One particular "date" with an escort stands head and shoulders above all others.
Her real name turned out to be Johanna Hooker. No, she was not a descendant of Fightin' Joe. Calling her beautiful was an understatement. A man could drown in her deep blue eyes. Her high cheek bones gave her a constant smile. Her breasts were perfect 36Cs with no sag from nursing babies. She had the legs of a trained dancer, long, lean, and strong. A flat tummy complemented her hips. My first sight of her proved that heaven does exist.
When I first spoke with her on the telephone, she confirmed that she was an independent provider. There would not be a queue from an agency waiting for her. She would only book another customer after she left me. I could have her for as long or as little as I desired. We decided on an hour with options for additional time. Next we discussed what she should wear. Should it be an everyday housedress? She had a dress with a deep plunging neckline. How about a French maid's outfit that hid very little? She had a devil costume complete with horns and a pointed tail. I chose a bikini that wasn't much more than two band aids and a cork. Underwear obviously didn't need discussion. I advised her to bring something appropriate for a morning departure in case she stayed overnight.
Johanna arrived at my apartment an hour later wearing a trench coat and white pumps and carrying a small duffel bag. "Let me hang up your coat," I said as I closed the door behind her.
My eyes nearly left their sockets when she removed her coat and handed it to me. Instead of a cork, she wore a white g-string that only covered her freshly shaved pussy slit. Pubic shaving wasn't in vogue then, so the sight of her hairlessness was extra exciting. Her bra consisted of two white strips of cloth that clung to her pointy nipples. Tan lines showed that she had dressed like that before. "Do I look okay?" she asked as she did a slow pirouette.
"You look good enough to eat," I said breathlessly.
"I was hoping you would say that. You are definitely overdressed for the occasion."
She was right. I hadn't bothered to change clothes since I had come home from work. I escorted her to the sofa mesmerized by her beauty. "Would you like something to drink? I have wine, beer, scotch, water straight or on the rocks." She smiled as she sat down.
"A beer sounds good. Don't bother to pour it into a glass. I'll drink it from the bottle." I got two bottles from the refrigerator and brought them to the sofa. As I was setting one on the coffee table, she took the other one from my hand and twisted the cap off. I had to use my shirt tail to open mine. She took a long draught and sighed. "That tastes so good." She looked at the label. "I'm going to have to change brands. Tell me something. Do you shave yourself?"
I ran my hand over my chin. "I suppose it would be more comfortable for you if I got rid of this stubble."
"That would be very sweet of you, but I meant like I do." She lowered her gaze to her pussy for a second.
"Oh. No, I never have."
She cuddled up against me and started rubbing my cock through my pants. "Would you mind? I don't like getting hair in my mouth. If you would prefer, I can do it for you. I've shaved lots of guys. Everything I need is in my bag. Your time won't start until after we're finished." I was so mesmerized by her practically naked body against mine and by her gentle stroking my dick that I probably would have jumped off Coit Tower if she asked. I nodded my head. "Okay, you go take care of your face and undress while I get set up here."
Shaving took all of five minutes. I slapped on a bit of aftershave for good effect. I undressed in a minute, pausing only to toss my clothes in the hamper. I got a hand towel and a washcloth from the closet and took them to the living room.
She had a bath towel spread out on the sofa. Shaving cream, a razor, and towels were on the coffee table beside a bowl of water from the kitchen. "Wow," she said, "you're pretty hairy. I need a trash can for the hair from the initial trim." She had a pair of barber scissors in hand when I returned from the bathroom. I stretched out on the towel and placed my hand on her thigh. My dick pointed at the ceiling. "If you keep that thing hard like that, this will go quickly." In just a few minutes she had all of my hair down to a quarter inch in length. The shaving cream was cold when she applied it to my cock and balls. "Sorry. I didn't have any way to warm it up." She held my cock up by the head with one hand while shaving my shaft, pausing frequently to rinse the razor in the bowl of water. Satisfied my cock was hairless, she proceeded to remove the remaining hair from my balls and from an inch around my equipment. "I'll be right back," she said as she picked up the washcloth that I had brought out. She returned a minute later with the cloth thoroughly dampened. After cleaning any remaining shaving cream, she checked to be certain she hadn't missed a single strand of hair. Pleased with her work, she put her tools and towels in her duffel bag.
She picked up my towel and wet washcloth, took my hand, and led me into the bathroom in front of the mirror. "What do you think?" she asked as she hung up the towel and washcloth.
"I like it," I said honestly. "Without all the hair in the way, I actually look bigger." She stepped out of her g-string and pressed her pussy against my cock. "Even that feels better. I'm so glad I called you."
"Anytime you want a touchup, you may call me." She untied her tiny bra and let it fall to the floor. My eyes locked onto hers. I took her hand and led her to the bed. She kicked off her shoes. Together we drew down the blankets and top sheet and let them drop to the floor. We laid down on our sides facing each other, our eyes still deep into each other's.
Something in me clicked. My past experiences with escorts had been very self-centered. They were with me for my enjoyment only. Undressing had been almost mechanical. Johanna wasn't like that. She had been practically naked when she took off her coat. She had proudly shown me her body with casual confidence. She knew what she liked and was willing to go for it. For her, the title of prostitute seemed important, not demeaning. I realized I couldn't just fuck this gorgeous woman. I had to make love to her.
I wrapped my arms around her, held her against me, and gazed into her eyes. After a couple minutes, she put her fingertips on my cheek. Another minute passed before she briefly brought her lips to mine. "You don't have to seduce me," she said. "We're already naked in bed." She reached between my legs and felt my stiff cock. "I can tell you are happy about it."
"Yes, I am happy," I said. "I want you to be happy too. That will make everything better for both of us."
"I'm not very special."
"I doubt that your family would agree."
She smiled. "You're probably right. Bert, you are a very sweet, loving, caring man. I know this will sound odd, but that scares me. My parents divorced when I was six. I still remember Mother's crying and screaming; I felt her pain over Dad's betrayal. She met another man who she was certain was mister perfect. That marriage fell apart in a couple of years. Again, the crying, the screaming, the pain. It happened again. Once more the pain, the agony. The pain is the worst part. I'm afraid I will become like her -- always making poor choices. Can you understand that?" Tears ran down her cheeks.
I crushed her body against mine. My face was wet from my own tears. "Oh, Johanna, I'm so sorry you have had such a miserable life. It hurts to hear about it. I know there is no way I can take away your anguish, but I wish I could. But why do you escort with memories like those?"
