Three months without fucking is a time of mourning, I think, quite prudent. I was a man, and although not too young, I had my needs. Also: life owed me something. After all, it had been her, the fucking life, who had taken my wife from me in an unforeseen way. A fucking accident. I was knocked out, of course. My wife and I had been together for half our lives and we were convinced that we would grow old together. But no. I saw myself suddenly, well into my fifties, and with all my plans broken. I had a pretty screwed three months. He didn't want to leave the house. But my animal part woke up to get me out of that mud in which I was splashing. Survival instinct, they say. That instinct comes, without a doubt, from our animal part.
My cock began to demand attention. My wife and I had a fairly active sex life but she was gone now. He had to look for someone who, in that respect, would take his place. But I was infinitely lazy looking for someone. In addition, he was not prepared to start a romantic relationship. That mourning, if it ever ended, was going to last a little longer.
I remembered my youthful days, before I got boyfriend. From time to time I would go whores with my friends. Until I started going alone. At that time, my body asked me for a lot of progress and my straws were not enough to satisfy it. He always went to the same whorehouse. It was near the neighborhood, in a kind of old tower, near the Camp Nou. There I had my two or three favorite whores and there I found what I needed to satisfy my sexual appetite.
I stopped going whores when I got hooked up with the one who was going to be my wife. She began to give me everything the whores from that brothel gave me and to give it to me, also, for free. And the truth is that he gave it to me for many years, right up until he left. The same night before the accident we had fucked like lions.
And now that he was gone, what was I going to do? How would he satisfy that need of mine to fuck? The thought came to me suddenly. If he had stopped going whores when he met my wife, why not go back to the whorehouses now that she was gone?
So I did it. One Saturday afternoon I took a shower, got ready, shaved my beard (which I had neglected in recent times) and, like a bud, I went in search of that whorehouse where I satiated my desire for sex so many years ago. It no longer existed, of course. A four-story glass office building had been erected in their space. It was to be expected, I told myself. And I went home, never better, with my tail between my legs. It was there that I did what I should have done all along: turn to Google.
I turned on the computer, opened the browser and typed " whores in Barcelona ". I was impressed by the long list of directories and escort agency websites that appeared there. I went to one of the first directories that appeared in search results and browsed through it. There were escorts from all over the world: Latinas, Brazilians, Argentines, Europeans, Orientals, Eastern girls and even the occasional African with a panther body and ebony skin. Many of them (most) were true beauties. Looking at the pictures of their whore ads made me a lot more horny than I already was. I felt the need to masturbate, but gave up on it. I wasn't old enough to jerk off like a common teenager. I would meet one of those luxury prostitutes and I would fuck her well fucked.
The question was: which one? I did not want to have problems with the language (I am perhaps a classic, I do not like to fuck without more, without talking to each other or anything) and I was not attracted to sleeping with a young girl. It gave me a little bit of complex to show my belly a little more rounded than normal and my meat that began to weaken. Better find a forty-something, I thought. I will feel more comfortable and she will surely understand me better.
Thanks to the filter tool on the website I found what I was looking for. He could choose between five 40-year-old luxury prostitutes from Barcelona. The presentation texts that talked about them in each of their ads were similar. They spoke of experience, wisdom, open minds, of women who knew how to give a man what that man needed ... The sexual services they offered were practically the same. They all did natural French. They all got their ass fucked. Four out of five let you cum on their face. Two were deep throating. There was one who looked like my wife. Slim, with neither big nor small tits, muscular legs and straight hair.
I declined the possibility of a date with this one. I was prepared to fuck but not to do it with a woman who looked like my deceased. Surely, if I had, I would have collapsed. I chose Aurora. Blonde, busty, with lips that seemed capable of emptying by themselves the fullest balls of cum that you can imagine, Aurora was the opposite of what my wife had been. Yes: she would be the one chosen to launch my life as a widower whore.
I called. I liked his polite and sweet tone.
Where do you want us to meet, sweetheart? - he told me-. Would you like to come to my apartment? I have it very neat and I have a bottle of cava in the fridge, in case we want to have a drink before we get down to business. Or do you prefer me to come to your house?
I was about to shout: "no, in my house, no". In the same way that I was not prepared to fuck a lumi who looked like my deceased, I was not qualified to fornicate in what had been our home for more than twenty years. It would have seemed, in a way, a kind of desecration.
Sounds good to me in your apartment. Do you like chocolates? -asked. Somewhere I had read that escorts valued very positively that you bring them some small detail.
I love them, ”he told me.
We arranged to meet the next day, at six in the afternoon. I spent the night as a teenager who knew he was about to fuck for the first time. I couldn't help it: I had to masturbate. I did it in the shower, throwing my grout on the screen.
The next day, at the time of the appointment, he was like a nail in the door of Aurora's apartment. She opened this one for me, dressed in an elegant red dress. Her cleavage was a statement of principles. "This dress," he came to say, "is dying to be taken off." His kiss was too. I liked the minty taste of her lips and the way her tongue played with mine as we kissed.
The apartment was certainly very cute. With the right and well chosen decorations and minimalist furnishings, scented with incense sticks and illuminated with a sensual light, it was undoubtedly an ideal place for pleasure.
He invited me to sit on the sofa. "I'm going to get the cava," he said. And he brought a bottle and two glasses. I offered to open the bottle. I poured him a drink, put another on, and we gradually broke the ice.
You don't seem like a whore very often, sweetheart, ”he said.
I was going, but that was many years ago. I quit when I met my wife.
I had promised myself not to talk about her and, shit, at the first change I was already with her on my lips. It wasn't a good way to start. If I continued down that path, I was going to ruin the evening by telling my miseries to a lumi I had just met.
Aurora, knowing how the presentation text of her ad was proclaiming, did not let me continue. He brought a finger to my lips and sealed them so they wouldn't continue talking. Then he kissed me again with a deep, wet kiss as he slowly unbuttoned my shirt. My hands became aware of the moment and ventured through the curves of Aurora and the exuberant generosity of her tits. I was surprised that, despite the size of those melons and the age that this woman appeared (who must have already passed forty-five), those tits still had a very respectable hardness.
That hardness rubbed off on my cock, which became like a stick. Aurora could see it by feeling it over her pants. Now stripped of his shirt, he made me stand up. She remained seated on the sofa, so when I pulled down my pants and boxers, my tail was completely exposed and offered to the whims of her mouth.
In the introduction text of her ad, Aurora was referred to as a goddess of oral sex . And it certainly was. He gobbled my cock like one who swallows the most precious meat. And as such he treated her. He licked me well licked, he ate my balls, brought the tip of his tail to his bell and when it was time to come, he oriented my cock so that I came on his neckline. A few drops of my milk splattered her sexy red dress, which she still hadn't removed.
Sorry, ”I said.
Do not worry. It will be washed off.
And, standing up, she wrapped the straps around her shoulders and let the dress slide down to her feet. She was completely naked and her body was an invitation to lust.
Come, 'he said. And taking me by the hand he took me to his room and laid me on the bed, face up.
I, due to the superb blowjob and the copious cumshot, had lost my erection. My cock was not flaccid (how could it be at the sight of that superb woman?) But neither was it erect. I was, to put it in the traditional way, morcillona. In other words, it was recoverable for a second round.
Aurora was thoroughly employed in this. He lay on top of me, kissed me for a long time, walked his tits over my mouth (what a pleasure to lick those chestnut-like nipples!), Slowly lowered himself down, slowly played with his tongue on my navel and, again, brought his mouth up to my penis. Once there, he licked my frenulum with the tip of his tongue, gently nibbled on my glans, sucked on my balls and saw how my erection regained its splendor.
It was then that, sitting on me, inserting my cock into her pussy, she began to ride me. He did it slowly, calmly, without any hurry, as if sex consisted of feeling a gentle wave enveloping our cock. I, while she was riding me, stroked her tits, which swayed provocatively before me. They still kept the traces of my cum, which wet my fingers. I brought them to her lips and Aurora sucked them joyfully. When she felt my breathing quicken, she increased her riding rate. I felt the orgasm as a kind of blessing that cleansed me of any guilt that I could harbor.
After the powder, Aurora offered me the shower. Logically, I accepted it. It was good that it was a shower alone. I needed to get my thoughts in order.
When I left there, I knew I was coming back. This was four years ago. Like then, today I am still lazy to start a new sentimental adventure. On the other hand, I don't think anyone can occupy the place that my wife did. It was made for me. Of course: sex is still a necessity for me. I urgently need to enjoy sex to feel alive. That's why I keep going whores. That's why I keep meeting Aurora from time to time to fuck and give free rein to my fantasies. I like the way he sucks her, the wetness of her pussy and the wonderful tightness of her ass. The first time I tried it I thought I was going to go crazy with pleasure.
Sometimes I have thought about changing whore, about meeting another escort other than Aurora, but ... why, if I am already satisfied with how she does it? It must be that I am a traditional, but certainly I do not need more. I'm already looking forward to giving her a cunilingus again.
