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The Lisa Diaries by Lisa Carver  



What Dave Did with the Prostitute


August 26, 1999




When Dave came out of the whorehouse, his shirt was wet and he wouldn’t look at me. He drove in a daze. I had to remind him to turn on his blinkers, and even his windshield wipers when rain came. “Oh Leese, I’m so ashamed,” he finally said.


    

“Don’t tell me how it ended!” I said. This shame was the most I could have hoped for. The story would be good. “Tell me every detail, starting from the moment you walked in the door.”


    

It was just as I’d thought: he went in planning only to use the bathroom and look around, but the tall black receptionist — in a bathing suit and high heels — made it seem right and natural that he hand his credit card over within thirty seconds. Then he followed her while she pointed out the sauna, the jacuzzi, the weight room and finally . . . the lounge. She gave him a ticket and told him to hand it to whichever girl he wanted. “Lisa, it was awful!” he cried, “All these old hags in crazy outfits, each one fatter than the last, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings by not picking them. I tried to find an only somewhat-ugly one, but it was nearly impossible. There were all these naked men in towels walking around, choosing girls. I looked back at the receptionist and said, ‘Uh, uh, can I give this to you?’ ”


    

She said, “Sure, hon,” and led him to a room. “Inez, the new girl, will be observing today,” she told him. Dave’s woman was named Lida. Lida told him to take his clothes off. He lay on the table and she started massaging his back. She asked what he did here. He said that he just got married and moved to Dover because that’s where his wife lives. “You dirty dog,” she said, squeezing his bum. “That’s okay, I like dirty dogs.”


    

“Oh no,” he corrected her, “my wife sent me in here. She thought it would be fun. She used to do this for a job.”


    

“Oh, well . . . huh. I guess if that works for you . . .” (A prostitute disapproved of our lifestyle!) “So, what did you want special today, babe?”


    

Dave couldn’t say. Finally Lida offered, “Do you want a home run?” Dave admitted he wasn’t allowed a home run; they settled on a hand job. Money was exchanged, and she told him to turn over. He was perfectly limp with terror, and there was Inez watching silently while Lida yanked on his cock. He kept apologizing for making her do this. She said, “Hey, this isn’t bad. I’ve just had a fat fuck on top of me for an hour, and I got seven to go after you. This is nice, you’re nice.”


    

I asked him if he liked the assembly line quality of it. “Did you have a vision of like a hundred penises passing through her hand, getting jerked off with the same exact motion?”


    

“Yeah, it was a turn-on as an idea; but it was so methodical. She just went up and down and went Mmm . . .mmm. I got totally hard, but I thought I would never come.”


    

We arrived home. “I want to cook you a nice meal!” he burst out. “I want to do nice things for you!” He went into the kitchen but came right back out, wandered around the living room poking things, eventually drifted into the bedroom. He lay down, didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. “I asked if you could come in, and the lady said no.”


    

I took off my clothes. I felt like a statue with my shirt stretched between my wrists way up over my head, skirt in ripples around my feet, so I just stayed like that. His face looked just like it did the first time I took my clothes off for him. “See, if she’d done it like that I would have come in two seconds. I think I should have chosen one of the ugly ones, because they would have tried harder to be sexy. Mine was so pretty, she thought she could just stand there and I’d come. She looked like Mariah Carey, only darker.” I climbed over him and situated myself. I could almost feel the imprints of her fingers on his penis, hear the echoes of her mmm . . . mmm‘s in the room with us. “She had a great ass. I wanted to touch it so bad, but I thought I’d get in trouble. Really small tits.” He buried his face in my chest, bit them and kissed them. “See how you move? Like a woman, like some wild animal. If only I could have chosen you! I thought it was strange she wouldn’t let you come in. I started wondering if they’d done something with you. I heard a noise in the next room, and I thought two girls had dragged you out of the car and put you on that table and spread your legs really wide so one of the big towel-men could fuck you. That’s how I finally was able to come . . . It shot straight up in the air and came down all over her hand and arm.”


    

It’s so funny how he always pictures other people when he’s fucking me, then as soon as he’s with someone else, he thinks of me. He was just about to come again now — my god it was less than an hour since he did it with Lida! — so I told him, “It’s my turn next, you realize.”


    

Dave looked scared. “Okay, but what do you want? You’ve upped the ante. Do you want to go to a male prostitute?”


    

“Nope. I want Mustache Man.” Mustache Man is Dave’s former boss, who once stood on the table and proclaimed the office his kingdom, saying, “I could rule you all naked!” Apparently he was a bit of a sexual harasser who wore tight blue jeans and cowboy boots and, you might have guessed, a very large mustache. A gross man all around. But so intriguing, I decided I wanted Dave to drop me off at his office and I’d just suck his cock and leave. I’d carry a mustache grooming kit as an icebreaker.


    

Dave protested. “That’s not fair! I only got a hand job!”


    

“Yeah, but you fingered Simone too. Two hand-things equal one mouth-thing.”


    

He had to admit that was logical, and I showed him how I’d do it. While squirming towards our orgasms, we worked out all the possible configurations Mustache Man and I might find ourselves in. Then Dave’s body got demanding and unyielding like it always does right before he comes and mine slowed way down and got warm and selfish like it always does and I felt so in love and I almost blacked out when I came.





©1999
Lisa Carver and Nerve.com