Some might have thought it was disrespectful to the memoryof my dead wife to go off and pay for sex. Under normal circumstances I mighthave agreed, but since I had no memory of her, how could I feel guilty aboutit?
Once I’d made the decision, I began to scour the internet tofind what I was looking for. Initially I typed in “Escorts in Oxford”, whichdirected me to a number of sites, but then I decided it might be best if Iheaded further afield. The phrase “don’t shit on your own doorstep” came tomind.
Whilst there might not be any consequences for me, thethought that in the future of this timeline Stacey might discover that herfather used prostitutes was something I’d prefer to avoid. It was far lesslikely if I kept my sordid activities away from Oxford.
It seemed that Milton Keynes was a hotbed of paid sexualactivity which was perfect for my needs. Far enough from Oxford to be discreet,near enough to get to in an hour or so. My mind was made up: I was going to dothis.
There were a number of agencies, all with websitesdisplaying galleries of their girls, mostly with their faces pixelated out,along with the prices. I decided to ring a couple to check them out. I got noanswer at all from the first one I rang, but the other was answered by afriendly enough sounding girl, who introduced herself as the maid.
I explained that I hadn’t done anything like this before,but she did everything she could to set my mind at ease. I said I’d ring backlater if I wanted to make an appointment.
The following day, I rang the agency at lunchtime and spoketo the maid again. Having introduced myself a second time, I made anappointment for 3pm. I could barely contain my excitement as I drove to MiltonKeynes.
I felt excited, dirty and bad all at the same time. Icouldn’t believe what I was about to do. But in my mind I had already justifiedit to myself. I had no feasible alternative.
I drove up outside the address the maid had given me, alarge, anonymous brick-red apartment building no different from many others inthe area surrounding the massive shopping centre. I parked up and, shaking withnervousness, rang the bell to be let in.
The maid buzzed me in and I took the lift up to the thirdfloor and knocked on the door. She opened the door and let me in.
She looked older than I expected, possibly mid-forties, andled me through to a remarkably ordinary-looking sitting room. If you had notknown this was a brothel, there was nothing to make you suspect as such. Sheintroduced herself to me properly as “Candy” and offered me a drink.
She explained that while she no longer offered servicesherself, she organised all of the appointments for the other girls and thatthere would be someone free to see me shortly.
I had mentioned on the phone that I had not done this before,so Candy said that she had chosen the perfect girl for my first time. She thenasked me for the paperwork.
Momentarily confused, I asked what she meant, beforerealising she meant payment. I handed over the £150 I had paid for the hour.She took it from me without checking it, and then asked me to wait for a coupleof minutes.
She left the room, closing the door behind her. A couple ofminutes later, the door opened again and in walked a very full-figured blackgirl, probably in her late-twenties.
I recognised her from the gallery on the website as “Marie”,where she had been described as a “BBW”, which I later discovered stood for“Big Beautiful Woman”. Not having been able to see her features clearly on thewebsite, I was pleased to see that she had a pretty, rounded face and a clearcomplexion.
She certainly was very ample and I found that quiteappealing, particularly her enormous breasts. She was very friendly, and led methrough to a simple bedroom, spartanly furnished, with the main feature being adouble bed.
The curtains were drawn and there were some candles lit onthe bedside table. If I was expecting the place to be a den of iniquity, fullof whips and chains and other paraphernalia, I couldn’t have been moremistaken.
I had asked for the “GFE” option, which stood for “girlfriendexperience”, and as soon as we were in the room she was all over me, kissing meand rubbing her hands across my back. I was finding it very enjoyable. I didn’tfeel like I was having some sordid knee trembler from some cheap tart as I hadimagined. I could quite easily have believed that this really was a truegirlfriend experience as she lavished me with kisses and affection.
Of course, I knew it was all an act, but I was caught up inthe moment, and allowed myself to pretend that it was real. If nothing else, itwould be good practice for when the genuine article did come along.
When she unbuttoned her bra, letting her huge breasts swingout freely in front of her, I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven. All I wantedto do was immerse myself in this beautiful black lady and forget abouteverything else. I couldn’t care less about how much of it was an act, or howmany hundreds of other men had been inside her before me, this was my momentand I was going to enjoy it.
As I let her take the lead and seduce me, all of the pain Ihad suffered, the sexual frustration and the mystery and uncertainty of my life,faded away. When my release came, it felt as if a huge weight had been releasedfrom my shoulders.
And it was true. It was like learning to ride a bike. Ihadn’t forgotten what to do.
Afterwards, Marie cuddled up to me and stroked my arm gentlyas we chatted a while. I had not expected
