The following was written by the same author as "Bad Whore Day" - he seems to have a wealth of knowledge about the subject! I'm sure there are further instalments...........
=====
My first incident with a whore was when I was about 16, and walking home through South London after a not very successful party at my friend Tim's house. (What the fuck happened to him? Haven't heard from him for a decade!)
My first proper sexual experience with a girl - at 14 - was hurried, drunken, misfumbled and swiftly interrupted by her saying what a mistake it was, and rapidly leaving the scene of the crime, and left me determined to practise and improve my s3xsk1llz
So, anyway, when this young, chubby, mini-skirted chavette, as we would now call them, walked from the shadows at around 3 AM and asked if I wanted any business, I averted my eyes, and walked swiftly past - a habit that has remained with me ever since, unless I deliberately set out not to refuse.
Thinking about it, the plain chubby brunette approximately 18-year-old was actually physically very similar to the first girlshag, and I regretted the decision almost immediately, although being a kid, I didn't really have whore-cash on me.
A few yards down the road, I thought 'hmm... actually... maybe I could...' so I went to the cashpoint and used my Midland Live! Kiddycash account card, or whatever it was, to withdraw the maximum amount of money I was allowed, and then wandered back in search of the whore.
Of course, I now couldn't find her, but as chance would have it, a car pulled up, and out got another obvious whore, albeit very different - late 20s, slender, black, professional-looking. With the knowledge of hindsight, I'm surprised that she was working the streets, as she was of a less-manky quality than those who usually do.
Being fairly scared'n'shit, I just asked to have a handjob, which cost only £25, and took place on a bench on the common.
She asked me how old I was. Unsure of the law, I said I was 18. She seemed surprised/impressed/annoyed by how long it took her to finish the job, but then in apparent contrast to most teenagers, I spent my wanking hours trying to last as long as possible rather than perfecting the rapid climax.
It's a bit of a blur, but I do remember thinking 'this is so cool' when I eventually spunked on her hand and up her wrist and forearm.
I had been carrying a coca-cola brand coolbag, which had a couple of cans of rubbishcunt beer in it, that I brought back from the party(!?!). After I'd thanked the whore, and she'd walked off back to the road, I pulled up my trousers, and simply sat on the bench like a thirsty vagrant, cracking open a tin of McEwans Export (do they still make that?) to toast my accomplishment, feeling quite self-satisfied for a while.
And that was my first encounter with a whore.
