The older I get the more I return to originally held opinions about things. Like my 8 year old self opinion of boys. Yucky creatures, I found them messy, loud, nasty, and they pulled my hair. I could have, had I a magic wand, quite happily waved it and obliterated the entire gender from the face of the earth without a second thought. Not much has changed, and I a wee bit older than 8 now, and still pretty much feel the same way. Except, I make too good of a living from taking advantage of the poor dears now.
In general I really don’t like the male of the species. Never have. There are a few exceptions, a few I would save if a male specific plague were to hit them, but not a whole lot of them. When I was 8 I thought they were annoying and a waste of space, and I would generally ignore boys. Except in the event if they had nice toys. Then I would get him to show it off to me, and after amusing myself with it, I return to my original opinion of the lot of them, totter off to do little girly things. As an adult, I do work with them, but because I can have my mind on several things at the same time, I will often dissect them during the act, and not to the advantage of the gender either. First off, naked men are some of the most unattractive creatures on the planet. Skinny hairy legs, knobby knees, loins in need of fumigation, much less a wash. Hairy buttocks, hairy genitalia, hairy chests, arms, and faces. There are times I can’t even see said genitalia for the abundance of hair. Jesus, razors aren’t that damn expensive! Shave, trim, wax, but for the love of god, de-fuzz yourself.
So there is this specimen of manhood standing before me in all his naked glory. And because he is a man, and he functions sexually on the same level as a flatworm, he thinks that I too am sexually as stunted as he is. Which means, he thinks that because he is showing me the goods, that my juices are flowing and my bits are throbbing with desire to jump on him. No, no, no dear boy, they are not. Not even close.
I have to resist the urge to laugh. Poor things. Women on the other hand are lovely anatomically to look at. Partially clothed even more so. How can any man think they are in control in this situation is beyond me? He is standing before me, I am still fully clothed, naked with his dick in his hand? The mental image just makes me laugh. Hoping I will be one of the good hookers and not rip him or his dick off. I can’t think of a more less powerful situation to place yourself in. This, in some less than evolved men of the species, can lead them to exact vengeance on the prostitute, in the form of brutality. Oh, this isn’t to say I haven’t had men try to get aggressive with me, there are those sad souls who will try. But they usually get stopped very quickly in their tracks.
From the way a man first touches me, I can tell how much porn he watches. These darlings are the ones who will immediately try to insert not a finger, but the entire hand into your pussy as if this is the most normal thing in the world. I will smack the offending hand, and give a look of warning. They also won’t have a girlfriend, or wife, and the only female contact they get is with us hookers. HARD BLOODY WORK! They, have no sensitivity to humanity at all. These are lead by their urges, be it to eat, sleep, shit, or fuck. They are slaves to their needs. Masters of routine, and pass masters a the art of seeking out hookers where ever they may be. Punter John, as I like to call them. I will take mental pity on the little worm on my dissection table and relent with the examination, for the time being.
The Horribly Happy Hooker 