I don't exactly know what it was that made me go buy the services of a prostitute.
Well, okay, I must admit that the last statement wasn't entirely true.
Actually, the truth of the matter is that I can't really pinpoint it. The obvious answer seems to be lust. I could say that the reason I did it was simply that I was driven by the pure desire to have sex, and most of you reading this would believe it without second thought.
In fact, if the President were reading this he would believe it without second thought. Almost anyone would.
But when I spell out the situation to you, perhaps you will think differently. Because I know it was something else. Something many of you may be able to relate to.
I was eighteen and it was the summer before my first year of college. You know the summer: everyone is out raising hell, the school slut finally gets pregnant, all the athletes get DUI's, and all the band geeks finally start screwing each other. A typical summer in redneck Tennessee.
Now the way I know I bought the prostitute for more reasons than one is because at the time I actually had a girlfriend. And she was a good girlfriend to have, too. She was relatively intelligent, she was fairly attractive, she smoked a little weed, and, well, she fucked. See, at the time, the number one quality a girl could have was the reputation of having sex with whomever she was going out with. Not just anyone, mind you, because then she would be a slut or whore. But with her boyfriend. Or her steady date. That was okay. Regardless, I was the lucky guy to be dating "that" girl. She did a wonderful job of keeping me happy, too. Friday nights I would take her to a movie, then we'd have sex in the backseat of my car. Saturday's, I would go over to her house and we'd screw on the couch after her parents went to sleep. During the week, she'd come over after school and we'd fuck in my room. The typical teen sexual relationship.
My college of choice was Temple. Don't ask me why.
A two day orientation was held in the middle of July that summer, and although not mandatory, my parents were so excited about getting me out of the house that they made me go. (They gave me some phony explanation about getting to know the place, but I didn't buy it). So here I was, a country boy pretending to be an intellectual, heading up to a major northern city, with absolutely no clue as to how to live in the culture, climate, and pressure of such an atmosphere.
I flew up to Philadelphia one sunny morning via the ticket my parents bought for me.
It is a nice city. The air is surprisingly clean, the parks are well maintained, and the city lights up beautifully at night. If you know where to look, you can find some incredible things in Philadelphia.
But if you also know where to look, you can find some pretty nasty things. Dope dealers, gangbangers, bums, and... well, prostitutes.
I saw them all over the place on the bus ride from the airport to Temple's main campus. Black prostitutes, white prostitutes, Hispanic prostitutes, attractive prostitutes, fat prostitutes- they were all there. I'm telling you, Philadelphia is like a shopping mall of prostitutes.
And something about them turned me on.
Orientation lasted all day. And, despite what Bill Cosby may have you believe, orientation at Temple really sucks. Bored out of my mind, and fresh off warnings to stay on campus, I decided to go out that night. I decided to go out and just look around. Browse some, maybe. Perhaps, for this reason I cannot explain, do a little window shopping. Nothing wrong with that, right?
As soon as I hit the city streets, I saw them all over the place. In alleys, on street corners, in parking lots... everywhere.
"Hey baby, you lookin' for some fun?" a brown-haired, heavier prostitute asked me. I didn't respond. I just kept walking.
"Hey sweetie," another simply called to me. Again, no response. What was I doing? I was walking down the inner-city streets of Philadelphia after dark, with a slight erection, doing nothing but walking. Why was I doing this? What did I want to see?
Finally, after I had pretty much cleared downtown and ignored all the offers and sales pitches, I decided it was time to head back towards campus. I turned down a street that seemed to head in the general direction of campus, and found myself alone on a dark street. I quickly grew nervous that the surroundings were so dead and empty. I picked up my pace and walked past a shabby apartment building. A figure sat quietly on the staircase. I did my best to veer away from the staircase, as to hopefully go unnoticed.
"Lost?" a feminine voice asked me. I stopped suddenly, as if caught committing a crime or something. The voice laughed softly.
"Obviously," it concluded.
"Not really," I responded, not quite able to make out the figure in the darkness, "I'm just roaming."
"Roaming, huh? I doubt that."
The figure got up and stepped closer to me. I could make her out perfectly now. It was a woman in her early thirties with long, red hair. I was immediately attracted to her, even though she had a trashy look to her. She had blue rings of mascara around her eyes, she wore bright red lipstick, and her skintight skirt looked cheap and worn out. She wore a tight tank top, revealing only the fact that her breasts were teasingly large. I felt an erection slowly coming on again. Could she be?
"No really, I'm just walking," I said, which in actuality, wasn't a lie.
