My date yesterday had left his expensive Oakley shades here over half a year ago.  He actually forgot all about them until I presented him with it.  He can’t believe I remembered; I can’t believe it’s been half a year.  Time really flies, doesn’t it?  In two months I will celebrate my first anniversary of being a crossdressing prostitute.   

He was a scholar on the Middle East.  A very attractive white guy, clean-cut, slightly preppy, with a nice furry chest.  He gave me head but the best part of our sex was the fucking.  We started doggy style — my favorite position.  But then he told me had has some sort of leg or thigh problem and that the position was painful for him.  I don’t know if that’s true.  This is what I’ve discovered: most straight guys LOVE to be made love to, MISSIONARY STYLE.  They love being kissed while I’m thrusting in and out.  They want to look up into my eyes.  In short, they want feel like a woman who’s giving herself up to her lover.

I say, why not?  He was a bit shorter than me, so he had the perfect body for me to scoop up and cradle in my arms.  His legs, pressed up in the air.  My hands on his buttocks, squeezing and kneading the flesh mounds as I stick my candy all the way in, and then take it all the way out.  His pucker was perfect, with just the right tension so that when I thrusted deep, I could feel the entirety of my candy inside him.  But it was also perfectly tight so I can withdraw my candy almost all the way out, and his pucker lips would hold onto the tip of my head until I was ready to stick it all the way back in. 

It feels VERY good.

He wanted me to cum inside him.  Since I always play with a condom (and I was having so much fun) I agreed.  I don’t know why guys want to see me cum, especially when I’m fucking them.  I go into these very jerky, almost violent, shudders, followed by back spasms and guttural moans before I finally collapse, like dead weight, on top of the guy.

It’s not a pretty picture.  Not to mention so unladylike.

He shoots all over his furry stomach and the two of us just lay there, exhausted and sweaty.  Usually I’d get up and go to the bathroom to freshen up but sometimes it feels really good to lie there after an orgasm.  Fuck it if all of my lipstick has been smeared and sucked off my face. 

He runs his index finger, very lightly, up and down my forearm.  He tells me he is headed off to Afghanistan, followed by Pakistan and then Syria. 

Part of the fun of being a ho in the SF Bay Area is that you have a wide variety of customers, with a wide variety of interests and areas of expertise.  And I get to ask them stupid questions.

Are Arab people really the same as you and me?   I ask him.

He asks me to clarify my question. 

I mean, do they want the same things in life?  What kind of a parent cheers for their child to be a suicide bomber? 

He begins by informing me that Arab people do, indeed, want the same things in life.   He tells me that Arab parents want the same for their kids as parents everywhere else.  Of course, we discuss Israel, the treatment of Palestinians, US favoritism in foreign policies, and the anger of Arabs over these accumulated injustices.

I love revenge, I tell him.  I understand all about anger and wanting to get back at someone.  But is blowing yourself up really the smartest way to do it?  Why can’t they be more like the Chinese?

Again, he asks me to clarify.

Oh, Chinese people — we love revenge.  But it’s more of the delayed gratification sort: study hard, get an education, compete for the good jobs AND THEN YOU BUY THEM OUT. 

He says delayed gratification is probably not a strong trait of the Arabs.  He tells me Arabs are extremely passionate and in-the-moment.  He tries to tell me about the outpouring of grief at the funerals he’s witnessed.  But I’m not convinced.  Isn’t all grief, especially grief over the death of a loved one, magnificent and grandiose in its scope and effects?

I don’t know, I tell him.  It just seems so barbaric, not just with suicide bombers but also the be-headings and the treatment of women.

He counters with the recent murder of the abortion doctor in Kansas.  Do such acts of targeted religious violence represent America, he asks me.

He’s got me.  Kansas doesn’t even believe in evolution.  Religious fanatics are everywhere.  In fact, the Christian Jihadists here scare me more than the suicide bombers there: here, they get to VOTE on how to torture my rights as an American.

I tell him to be safe.  I hope to see him again in half a year.

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Tags: Arabs, Chinese, Middle-East, race, Religious Fanatics