Further (mis)adventures of Benjamin T Coam!

You've waited patiently for ages and I am very pleased to finally be able to reward you with even more whore-related (mis)adventures of our favourite correspondent, Mr Benjamin T Coam. I assure you, everything he tells us is real! You have to feel sorry for him, really.

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Something just always seems to go wrong, doesn't it?

On several occasions in the last couple of years when I've stayed in hotels, my attempts to book a whore fell flat in various conspiratorial ways. This time I thought I'd put in a little bit more forward planning, including numerous backup plans.

And it still went badly wrong.

The previous day was good. Watching a hugely entertaining 3-2 victory kicked off my stay in Southend nicely, and then I had one of the best Indian meals ever, and I'd already sent several enquiries out to various girls on adultwork.co.uk notifying them of my intention to spend a quality two hours of fun early Saturday afternoon.

So, predictably the wireless network in the hotel went down for 12 hours, and the battery on my phone was running low, with no charger to hand, and the whores didn't get back to me, or they had family come over at the last minute and had to cancel, and the hours passed quickly and frustratingly, as I tried in vain to find somebody, having determined that I was fucking well going to fuck well today.

Well, eventually, after several false starts, I finally found a girl, going by the working name of Naomi, able to come down on the train from Grays, for 6:30. Bear in mind that she was about the 5th or 6th one I tried to get hold of, and I had lost several hours of the day already, although trading some fairly amusing txts with several standby whores was quite fun in itself.

Of course, as soon as she was on the train on the way down to my hotel, then my phone started to ring with loads of other immediate offers...

But c'est la vie. Naomi was on her way. A petite 22-year-old South African-born 'girlfriend experience'. TBH, probably anyone would've done, because I had my mind set on it by then.

We spoke a few times as she struggled to find the place, and went to the wrong Premier Travel Inn, and eventually when she arrived, she was probably more nervous than me as I let her into my hotel room with the massive bed, which was unusual, but then I'd just had a couple of surprisingly excellent pints in the adjoining pub.

She's not the sort of person I'd typically find 'attractive', or would even think of in a sexual way. She reminded me of a girl I went to school with - one of the few I never even considered in a remotely sexual way.

Now, it might just be my extreme singleness, but I really do enjoy the 'girlfriend experience' service offered by some whores. With a two hour booking stretching ahead of us, we took things slowly - sat on the bed and cuddled and kissed and chatted, and slowly removed items of clothing.

That bit's fucking great, so it is. The ice was soon broken, as I kept her amused with lighthearted but real-world conversation.

She told me she'd been working for two years. 'Two years too long' she said. 'You're not supposed to say that', I told her, 'you're meant to tell me how it's the greatest job in the world because you get to have fantastic sex with people like me'.

She laughed. She does enjoy the sex, but hates keeping her career a secret from her strict family. She tells them she works in a call centre. she has a two-year-old son (which I would later struggle to believe, if you understand my meaning) with a muslim name, that I've forgotten. She's going to stop whoring in a couple of years.

However, ehe hadn't seen any clients at all that week (might take more than a couple of years at that rate then, hun).

Although the price was very different, her breasts were similar to my last whore - smallish, with very prominent, perky, sticky-out nipples. One bizarre difference is that she had a third nipple(!) although if she hadn't pointed it out, I'd have assumed it to be a normal birthmark, moley freckly thing. It didn't really look like a proper nipple, after all.

We were almost naked, and doing some baby oil massage at this stage. I'm not particularly fussed by getting massaged, but her technique was pretty good and inoffensive, and of course I then got to rub oil into her fairly magnificent arse. There really is something special about oiling up a peachy black girl's arse until it's all shiny, isn't there?

As a slightly quirky ethno-statistical aside, it might be notable that the first two women I ever paid for sex both happened to be black, and then I went more than ten years without having sex with a black girl, until now. Huh.

She found my piercings fascinating, played with them a lot, and claimed she hadn't seen things like that before. I wonder how experienced she is at whoring, and if she should really be competing at this price range.

Usual stuff followed. She played with me, and sucked me off. I actually prefer the touching, and kissing, and limbs interlocking. She picked up on my preferences, and spent a lot of time on these sorts of things. I stroked and kissed most of her hot body, and spent a long time going down on her, and finger-fucking with some favourable results.

We'd been at it for about an hour, I suppose, and just before I was ready to go for the main event, I asked to watch her playing with herself for a bit. She produced a reasonably-sized knobbly vibrator (though nothing compared to some of my toys, obviously) and began to use it on herself, reducing me almost to a spectator.

So I got myself more involved, by touching her more, and then had the masterstroke of giving her a good tongueing while she was working the vibe in and out...

Oh dear.

Now, some girls get wetter than others. Some spurt, and some dribble, but this was just a bit wrong, like a gloopy mess in my face. In my mouth. In my beard.

She pulled away from me suddenly. 'Oh dear, that's a mess...' she said with a tone of distinct alarm. And there was a red-brown stain on the big big bed. Ick.

But it got worse, as in a surreal moment, it dawned on me what had happened. 'I think I've started my period' she said with some uncertainty, and then looked at me in a slightly funny way as she reached for wet wipes. I slowly put my hand to my face. Hmm... that's unfortunate. very messy. Very... menstrual.

It hadn't happened before in her entire whoring career. Wasn't meant to come on for another couple of days, apparently. Still, that's not atypical of my luck in such matters.

To say that killed the passion is a bit of an understatement. We both inspected the bathroom facilities to clean ourselves up. She came back, with an obvious tampon-string emerging from her now off-limits area. I still had the taste in my mouth.

It was awkward thereafter, but she spent the next 40 minutes or so finishing me off - which was always going to take a long time, as I've trained myself in these ways. She was still trying hard, despite what had obviously been an embarassment, and I refused to let her give me back some of my money.

There was less talking now, and the agreeable atmosphere that we had established earlier had given way to a tense embarassment, with a massive stain still very much on the bed.

She brought matters to a satisfactory conclusion, I suppose, and then couldn't really get out of there quickly enough. A learning experience for both of us, I suspect.

I went to the pub for a few beers, and to relate the surreal story of my day to others.

Several pints later, and I still had the taste in my mouth.

BTC