From dictionary.com: nostalgia: noun: a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life...a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.
I know the feeling all too well. I'm in my early 80s now. My past holds a lot of good memories. Fifty years ago, I was young and virile. I was non-stop horny. If I didn't have a girlfriend, I'd call an escort agency. I went to the legal brothels in Nevada. Mission Street in the Tenderloin was one of my hangouts. Rarely did I fuck the same girl twice, even hookers. That was half a century ago. Have I really gotten so old that I think in terms of centuries? It doesn't seem possible. I can still feel a hot, wet pussy surrounding my cock. That's in my synapses. Today a boner is a fond memory, as is a pussy.
Many bars featured strippers. G-strings were required for the dancers in the '70s. In time nude cocktail waitresses appeared. They only wore shoes. The rule was that staring was okay, but touching was forbidden. If a customer didn't understand "no" from a waitress, the bouncer quickly stepped in. The miscreant would be unceremoniously escorted to the door. Despite the titillation, gentlemanly behavior was the norm.
As the '70s progressed, the boundaries kept being pushed further back. One burlesque house became a porno movie theater. Instead of the short loops like you see on the Internet, the movies were feature-length with actual story lines. The stories were concerned mainly with people fucking, but there were semblances of plots. The dialog contained actual words. Strippers came onstage between the movies. They were replaced with couples who fucked. The woman wrapped her legs around her costar so the audience could see his cock thrusting in her pussy. At another place, the strippers would take a man from the audience and fuck him. The guy was often her husband or boyfriend. I went up onstage a few times. For the three-dollar ticket price, I saw a porno movie, ogled a stripper, and got laid. It was quite a rush having fifty men envy me as I fucked a pretty stacked dame. One time the woman's husband sat next to the stage and watched, with a big smile, my cock plunge in and out of his wife. That must have been a turn-on for her because her climax was strong enough to partially push me out of her pussy. I shot my jism on her tummy so the audience could see me cum. The husband led the applause.
Like almost anything linked to sex, the performances were eventually outlawed. Nude waitresses couldn't be regulated, but liquor licenses were. Since customers didn't want soft drinks, the bars closed down. One building became a church.
The legal brothels in Nevada deserve mention. Back in my day, the going price was a dollar a minute. Checking a girl out for a night in my hotel room generally ran around three hundred dollars. When there was a famous singer appearing at one of the casinos, I went to a brothel, selected a date from the line-up, paid her fee, and took her to my hotel room. My requirements were always the same. She would wear a short dress that barely concealed her pussy, no underwear -- not even a G-string -- so I would have access to her body whenever I pleased, which was quite often during the evening when we were in public areas, including the dinner theater. We would enjoy a meal and the entertainment like any other couple on a date. She was my principal entertainment. When the house went dark for the show, my hands roamed about her body, and hers caressed my cock. After the show, we played a few slot machines before returning to my room for a night of sucking and fucking. In the morning, I drove her "home."
I haven't been to Nevada in decades, so I don't know the current prices. I do know that Nevada state law now requires the use of condoms.
There is one brothel visit that stands out in my memory. I don't remember the name of the establishment. It was in Nye County outside of Las Vegas. The woman I selected from the line-up was pretty. Her waistline showed that she exercised regularly. Her boobs were big, but not excessively so. I booked her for an hour which included time in the hot tub. We felt each other up while soaking. When we returned to her room, she had me lay on my back. She began by kissing my nipples. No one had ever done that with me before. I discovered that my nipples were more sensitive than I previously thought. My cock responded appropriately. When I was hard, her lips slowly worked their way down my tummy to my groin area. She kissed around my shaft and balls while stroking my inner thighs with her fingertips.
I flipped her over and returned her favors to her breasts. Her nipples stood up proudly. Following her example, I kissed around her pussy and clit and caressed her thighs. Her breathing was very deep and labored. Finally, she could not take any more of my teasing and begged me to fuck her. I crawled up over her. She took my dick in her hand and led it to her swollen nether lips. I easily slid into her dripping cunt. Our eyes locked together as I slowly moved inside her. The brothels have a rule against mouth-to-mouth kissing. As our passions rose, we pressed our cheeks together. Her hand held the back of my head. She returned my thrusts with her own. Her arousal was very real. Gradually we increased our tempo. Breathing for both of us became deep and rapid as the pleasure built in our loins. The outside world faded away as my cock became more rigid. Sound was blotted out as I approached my climax. My only sensation came from my cock. Nothing but the pressure of an impending orgasm penetrated my body. My feet curled into fists. My balls blasted my cum into her womb as I fought to stay conscious. Her muscles gripped me as she let out a scream of infinite pleasure.
After a couple minutes, I could breathe somewhat normally. I raised up and saw her wide smile. "Damn, you're good," I said.
She raised her head up and kissed my forehead. "I've never experienced a simultaneous orgasm before," she replied. "Thank you."
In the 1970s, massage parlors proliferated. Many were legitimate operations which provided excellent massages. After a long day of physical labor or a stressful meeting, a massage was the perfect answer to tired, aching muscles. More than once, I availed myself of this relaxing therapy. Most of these establishments were thinly disguised fronts for prostitution. The women in the hook shops generally wore revealing clothing, sheer night gowns or very short dresses. The masseuse usually worked on her client topless. Some opted for full nudity. A local, now called a happy ending, was usually available on request. Sometimes the prices were high enough that sex was included. The client paid for the massage only with the sex thrown in for free. Technically she wasn't a hooker. She was just too horny to resist a man's body.
California thought it had the answer to the massage parlor/brothel problem. Anyone who worked in a massage parlor first had to take an accredited massage class with 70 hours of instruction. The theory was that prostitutes would be too lazy to take the class and go out of business. Massage parlors were replaced by nude encounter studios. No training was necessary for being naked, which was legal. It worked, for a while.
Probably the most popular offering was the half-and-half. For the first half of the encounter, the woman worked on the man. She then disrobed, and the client massaged her. Even straight places offered it as a pseudosexual thrill. No groping was allowed.
One place had a massage room in the same building as a gym. A guy could work out, then walk through a door to get a massage to relax sore muscles. The massage room also had an entrance from the outside, so one did not have to use the gym before getting a massage. I went there once intending to get a straight massage. After one look at the masseuse, I knew I had to get my hands on her, even if I didn't get laid. I'll just say her breasts were king-sized. Her nipples were clearly outlined under her tight sweater. Her ass cheeks were partially exposed by her daisy dukes. Smoky gray eyes made an offer I couldn't refuse.
I stripped completely and laid face down on the table with my arms at my sides. "I see you have had massages before," she said.
"Many," I said. "That's how I know where to put my arms."
She stayed fully clothed. Her massage was very professional. At least it seemed so as she started on my feet. Dragging her knuckles down my soles curled my toes just like they should. Next, she worked on my left leg beginning with the large muscle on the back of my shin before massaging my thighs. As she finished my right thigh, her fingertips grazed my ball sac. That was enough to get my cock to begin stiffening. She proceeded to work on my back and shoulders as though everything was going normally.
When I rolled over, my cock was inflated a bit, but not rigid. She worked on the tops of my feet, then moved up to my front of my legs. Again, her fingertips brushed my scrotum. Her touch was slight, almost imperceptible. It was just enough to make my dick expand a little more. She finished my chest and shoulder right at the halfway point of my hour.
"My turn," she said as she undressed. I got off the table, and she took my place laying on her stomach. She folded her hands and placed them under her head.
