A Visit To A Prostitute
It’s October 1997 and my day off.
No chores to do.
Bored... and frustrated.
I had my fortieth birthday the previous August.
A feeling that time is running out and dumped twice by Moody during the summer but asked back on each occasion to which I had said yes - I love her but my loyalty and devotion seem to count for nothing.
Hedonism is all I appear to have left.
Or is that just an excuse for my immoral behaviour?
Do I believe my own lies in order to really deceive others more skilfully?
I'm having a mid-life crisis.
My whole life has been a facking crisis: c***dhood anxiety giving way to teenage angst.
I pick up a copy of The Daily Sport which a passenger has given me from the day before.
I read the 'massage' ads.
One stands out: Blonde 21 year old with tanned 36-24-36 figure, Bournemouth.
I ring the number. She's working today.
I know it's illicit... and that's what makes it exciting.
What if I get caught? I ask myself… think of the shame.
You won't get caught... it'll be fun!
I'm in a dilemma.
I toss a coin - tails.
I catch a bus to Yarmouth, a ferry to Lymington and two trains to Bournemouth.
A group of school c***dren board the train. I imagine them singing: We know where you're going, we know where you're going!’
I get a grip of myself.
I get closer to my dirty destination.
My excitement... and anxiety increase.
What if I suffer a heart attack?
I visualise the headlines in the local paper: Respectable local man dies in brothel - partner never knew.
Witty whispers: 'He went before he came!'
I alight at Pokesdown Station - aptly named – and I'm reminded of a rough suburb of London.
I stroll down Boscombe High Street trying not to look like a bloke visiting a prostitute.
I'm outside and press the buzzer - I'm sure everybody is looking at me. My heart is pounding.
Answer the facking door! I want to say.
A plain middle-aged woman lets me in. I'm disappointed.
‘Tanya will be with you in a minute.’
Relief… Tanya is her working name. I know another Tanya - a tragic Tanya but that is a story for another day.
Tanya is gorgeous: blonde, tanned and beautiful - she's a younger and prettier version of Glacier Heart.
She tells me the rules: no kissing and no exchange of bodily fluids.
We both strip.
She canes me gently - it stimulates me.
I then put the condom on and fuck her.
She tells me I'm a good looking fellow with beautiful eyes. I feel good but I suspect she flatters all her clients.
I come... and then I go.
I wander down to the shops. I feel elated. Not an ounce of shame.
I journey home.
I pop round and see Moody in the evening. I still feel turned on and suggest an 'early night'.
‘Not really in the mood... thanks.’
I think: Always in a mood, actually.
We lasted another six years but the truth is that my actions that day had changed us... or rather me irrevocably.
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