Colette the $10 whore

This story is fiction, and not to be read by anyone
for whom erotic fiction would be illegal or unap-
preciated, particularly the underage.

Please feel free to quote this story in its entirety,
or in part, at your whim, as long as you provide some
sort of warning…

Being a married man for some time now, I have found
myself gradually more and more unhappy with my sex
life. When dating, my now wife and I would fuck like
rabbits. The first day I met her, we dry humped on the
hood of my car in full sight of all of our mutual
friends saying goodbye (we lived in different states,
and did not really expect to see each other again, and
we were just fooling around.)

The second time, years later, We were screwing in a
tent, which I helped her set up within a half-hour of
laying eyes on each other. On visiting her (which
happened several times over the next year) We would
make love a couple dozen times over the few days we
were together, and spend much of the remaining time
fondling each other; I particularly recall watching
television with her sitting on my lap and my hands
inside her blouse for hours regardless of whether her
roommate was in the room or not.

When she moved in with me, though, things took a turn
for the worse. Sex was a once a day affair for some
months, and then less frequent. Eventually we married,
and after an astonishing honeymoon (twice a day for a
week) things dropped off still further, to once a week
and not at all during her period. As the years passed,
this dropped to once a month, and often now not even
then; the situation must be right, as well as the
hormonal boost in mood of some part of her female
cycle.

My sex drive has remained very high, though, and I’ve
indulged myself with magazines, videotapes, and more
recently the web, masturbating once or twice daily
except near that portion of the cycle when I might
expect to “get lucky.” I found that my performance
would suffer if I had not had a dry spell of a day or
more, and the prospect of the real thing was worth a
few days abstinence.

Lest you misunderstand, the lack of activity is almost
solely the domain of my wife; I find her as attractive
today as ever, just less and less available, a situa-
tion my married friends all seem to share. Too,
although I make it seem formal, none of this was set
out in any discussion, it simply evolved, my wife took
less and less interest, turned me down more and more
often, I learned most of the time not to ask, rather
than be not only turned down, I even tried nagging,
which resulted in even less success. A gradual de-
cline, negative reinforcement, and observation of
trends (a married man learns to be aware of the PMS
cycle at any rate, and this worked on a similar part
of the monthly ebb and flow…) led to our sad state
of affairs.

More desperate for satiation of late, I have begun
frequenting first strip clubs, where naked women would
take an interest in me at the paltry price of a dollar
a dance on stage, or a few times a night a more per-
sonal striptease for a five or (times change) a ten.

After this, I began visiting “modeling studios” as a
capper for the evening, where $30 would buy a private
room and progressive tips of fives (as many as a dozen,
in some cases) buys progressively lewder private danc-
ing, and verbal encouragement while I masturbate. No
contact, regardless of what might be implied by come-
ons of the “I’ll do more for more money, honey” sort
(and I went overboard to the tune of a couple hundred
dollars a couple times before learning this.)

Having realized that I was in fact willing to pay for
physical contact, both as a moral choice and from an
economic standpoint, I tried Massage parlors next.
For around $50 for 45 minutes, I found I could receive
a nice massage, naked, from a naked women, who for
another $30 or so would gratify me with her hand, or
more exotically and for a little more cash between her
breasts, which has always been a fantasy act of mine.

In one case, I humped the tight closed, oiled thighs
of my masseuse, while another offered amongst some
choices early in my massage experiences the cheeks of
her ass. I went with the breasts with her, and I’ve
never heard that offer again, I’m not sure how it
would go, and don’t want to try it with someone who
doesn’t number it amongst her usual bag of tricks…

At any rate, I found in my wanderings that the Asian
health spas offer a wider menu than the no penetration
“release” provided by Massage parlors, For $60 the
hour, similar services to the above are offered, no
tip necessary, but for another $60 the girl would
actually blow me, rolling on a condom with her mouth,
or for a hundred would actually fuck. Skill varies,
as does the attractiveness of the women involved, and
the actual prices, but this is fairly typical.

At first I was very excited by the exotic nature of my
partners, but oddly the strictly Asian nature somehow
became boring, familiarity breeding contempt I guess.

Instead of being willing (as I would have in a free
choice market) to pay extra for this touch of the
exotic, I began to seek a venue where I could have a
blonde, or a black woman, like I had experienced in
the strip clubs, Jack Shacks, and Massage parlors.
I’ve seen claims of this working as something called
“in-call” but never managed to find it in any area I
frequented.

What did work was “escort.” Getting a hotel room
(usually around $50) and calling a service, I could
order, within reason, a girl of any description, who
would be sent to me for a fee ranging from $100 to
$200. As the girl herself receives around a quarter
of this, she isn’t willing to do anything but perhaps
a light seminude massage for that amount, regardless
of what the ad might imply.

But for one or two hundred more for herself, she’ll
fuck, suck, play games; far more variety than the
oriental fucky-sucky on a narrow massage table, and
you have a bed, some chairs, the bathtub to play in.

Now to my point. I have certainly become more success-
ful in my business as the years have passed, but I went
from frequent free sex with the woman of my dreams (we
really never spent more than a few bucks on dinner,
maybe caught a dollar movie or two…) to $2 rental
videos, to $40 for an evening with the strippers, to
$60 on average at the “lingerie” rooms, to $90 for the
Massage, to $120 for Asian blowjobs, $150 for “full
service” and finally $250 to $400 for the escorts.

This successful I’m not, $400 is a serious chunk of
change, and I can’t afford it more than a few times
a year, less frequently than I get to screw my wife,
in fact! I fill in with the cheaper options, to be
sure, including of course the astonishingly free
action available on the web, but it isn’t really what
I’d call satisfying. Fun, but not fulfilling.

Now for the interesting part. Through a few accidents
of timing, several of those rare sexual encounters
with my wife suffered failure, as they occurred in the
morning after I had spent half the night jerking off
to alt.sex.stories or a particularly exciting Seymore
Butts movie.

I had grown careless about the timing on these
occasions, I was unable to muster an orgasm, even
wilting before bringing my wife off, or on one
occasion failing to rise at all. Not things which
had never occurred before, and I knew well the cause,
though I kept it, by and large (and certainly the
more seamy aspects of my hobby) from my wife.

This time, though, the incidents occurred in a string,
with only one or two successes over the run of the
year. At the same time, a new drug was released on
the market, to great fanfare in the press, articles
in the paper, news stories, the cover of time: Viagra.

Late one night, in a hotel room washing up after a
particularly wretched romp with an escort girl who
did not come up to her description, overcharged, and
delivered lackluster service at best, an idea came to
me.

I made an appointment with my doctor, and spoke of my
decision with my wife. I claimed that I had realized
I was suffering from erectile dysfunction. Of course
that run of ill-timed lapses served as proof.

I was easily able to fool the doctor, who, contrary to
what you may have read, was actually not terribly
interested in discussing the lurid details; with no
physical exam (I had resigned myself to this and other
indignities, and found the lack a profound relief.) he
prescribed the pills.

This has been the greatest discovery of my life. I
take the pill, making it clear to my wife that I’m
somewhat uncomfortable with the whole thing, shy about
my disjunction and so forth. An hour or so later, I
can approach my wife, sure of her hearty cooperation.

Once she gets going, she has always been a willing and
even eager partner. Getting her started was always the
problem. Now, she’s on the spot, she knows I’ve taken
the pill, that I’m working on my personal discomfort
for the mutual improvement of our love life. The
decision is made while she isn’t in the mood, since
there must be a lag before effectiveness.

Thinking about it for an hour or more seems to prime
the pumps. I am enjoying daily, even twice within the
four-hour span on more than one occasion, the sort of
wonderful sex we had more than a decade ago.

I’ve actually noticed a slight improvement in my own
performance, positions I found less thrilling, which
might have put me off my game now work quite well.
As a result, we try more and more varied positions,
which helps stave off the boredom that was one factor
of our sexual decline. It’s like being twenty and
newly in lust again.

The pills cost $10 each. I spend around $250 a month,
less than a single evening with a high priced escort.
And I don’t have to hide the expense, making it
possible to spend far more. I even get to take the
damn things off my taxes as a medical expense.

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