This is an account of a brief, but rather unusual, sexual relationship I had with a woman several years ago. Her name was Carla, she was 26, a student nurse, and I met her while out one day. She was very flirty, very forward, and after only maybe ten minutes of us chatting she suggested that we exchange phone numbers.
I quickly started to receive text messages from her that were sexual in tone, and after a day or two of back-and-forth text messages, she asked me if I'd like to go around to her apartment.
I was single at the time, and perhaps feeling a little dejected that a relationship with a particular woman in whom I was keenly interested wasn't really getting off the ground, wasn't really going anywhere.
And Carla was attractive, no doubt about it. She was quite short, around 5 3", and all curves, all boobs and ass. She had a huge shock of wild, curly dark hair and piercing green eyes. And she had a good sense of humour, a glowing smile, a free and easy laugh.
So I agreed to go around to see her. I took a bottle of wine with me, and even though it was clear that I was being invited over for sex, I still expected the evening to have a natural rhythm to it - maybe some chatting, just hanging out together, a natural build up to the sex.
But the first thing that struck me on arriving at her place was the presence of a rabbit lying on a coffee table in the middle of her living room. And I mean purple sex-toy rabbit, not cute fluffy animal rabbit.
I don't recall now how we greeted each other, or what was said, but I do recall that within five minutes of my arrival she was sitting on the sofa, with her legs spread wide, using the rabbit on herself.
And then she invited me to use the rabbit on her, which I was only too pleased to do. I remember her enthusiasm in explaining to me how great a sex toy it was, and she outlined for me with a medical practitioner's attention to anatomical detail, exactly how the rabbit stimulated her sensitive areas so enjoyably.
After a little while I put the rabbit aside and started to lick and tease her clit, and play with her pussy. I could hear her moans getting louder and I could sense the tension building in her body - and then she came. A huge squirting orgasm right in my face. It was the first time any woman had ever squirted in my face. I was cum soaked.
I'd been in her apartment for probably less than twenty minutes at this point. I'd have expected to have maybe been finishing my first glass of wine after twenty minutes, but no. I was covered in cum and I was already more intimately acquainted with her vagina than I had been with those of some of my early girlfriends. Plus, I'd had an anatomy lesson from the student nurse on the science of sex toy design.
What followed was a few hours of pretty intense fucking. That first squirting orgasm was the first of many, and I mean many. Her capacity to fire off one orgasm after another was pretty awesome to behold. I've never seen anything quite like it, before or since. At times it was difficult to tell where one orgasm finished and the next one began.
She liked rough sex. She wanted it hard and fast. And then she wanted it harder and faster. I can see her now in my mind's eye, droplets of sweat glistening on her skin, her hair wild and matted and sticking to her face, turning her head to me while I fuck her from behind, and yelling, 'Fuck me harder, bitch!', something I found uproariously funny at the time.
When I left her apartment that night I felt like I'd been in a boxing ring and had the crap beaten out of me. I was exhausted, spent, drained, and covered in cum.
The second time we got together was two or three days later. She again invited me over to her apartment, but this time she asked me in advance if I would stay the night. I had no particular objection to this, so I agreed.
The night followed the same pattern as before, only, because I stayed over, the sex went on for longer. In fact, the sex barely ever stopped.
Again, the sex started immediately after I arrived. Again, she had orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. We fucked in the living room and the bedroom, again she wanted it hard and fast and rough, in every conceivable position, including in her ass. And lying in bed, in the middle of the night, after I'd come as much as I could come and fucked as much as I could fuck, she was reaching for my cock, taking it in her mouth, wanting more.
At some point during the night, when there was a brief lull in the sex and we could actually talk, she told me the following information about herself, and it is something unusual.
She told me that in order to earn money to pay off her student debt, she was working one day a week as an escort.
I don't remember feeling shocked when she told me this, but I was surprised - and curious above all else. I was interested and wanted to hear more.
One day every week, at around midday, she would catch a train to a town 30 miles away, the location of the establishment in which she worked. She would work throughout the afternoon and into the early evening, and then, at around 7pm she would catch a train back home, usually having made several hundred pounds over the course of the day. She told me that the establishment she worked in felt very safe, that there were security men there, and that it wasn't the kind of place where people could just walk in off the street. All the appointments were pre-arranged and pre-booked on the internet.
She had been doing it for six months and already she had cleared a huge chunk of student debt, her ultimate aim being to clear all of her debt by the time she qualified as a nurse, so that she would be free to get a job and earn money without the burden of massive debt hanging over her head.
The reason she did the escort work in a different town was simply to minimise the risk of being recognised. She didn't want someone coming into the hospital ward who recognised her from her escorting work, or vice versa.
I asked her general questions about how she felt about it, but I didn't want to pry too deeply, because I didn't want to appear rude, and really it was none of my business. But she did say this to me: "I can't believe I get paid for it. I can't believe I get paid to have sex. It feels so surreal."
Like I said, I didn't feel shocked by any of this. If anything I felt admiration for her courage in making such a brave and unusual choice. I'm not saying that I think it was the right thing to do. I'm just saying that it must have taken one hell of a lot of courage to do it.
But I could tell that she was conflicted about the escorting work. While she was trying to put a positive spin on it, it was obvious that there was a side to it that she didn't find enjoyable. One moment she was saying that she couldn't believe she got paid to do it, the next she was saying that some of the guys made her flesh creep.
She told me that the reason she'd asked me to stay the night was so that I wouldn't be another guy who fucked her and then left.
I saw Carla maybe once or twice more after this, but then I broke it off. The truth is that the sex I have written about here is actually far hotter in the retelling of it, in my memory, as a fantasy, than it was in reality at the time. It wasn't great sex for me. It wasn't even good sex. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't good.
It was too impersonal. I never felt a real connection with her. And although I enjoy sex that lasts for hours, there has to be a natural rhythm and flow within it, highs and lows, moments of intensity and respite. With Carla the sex was at one level all the time - she was like the sexual equivalent of a thrash metal record. There was no light and shade.
I felt like a stunt-cock that had been drafted in to provide her with pleasure. I felt like I could have been virtually any man. I felt like I could have been a Sybian.
I wondered how much what she was doing with me was a reaction to her escorting work - maybe just a subconscious reaction. Maybe her voracious, frenzied sexual appetite was an attempt to cleanse her palate of some of the men who paid to have sex with her. Maybe she was just looking for a man to please her on her own terms, rather than it being her job to please him. Maybe she was trying to reassert control, by being so sexually dominant and in charge.
I don't know, I'm just speculating. But I wonder if, had we met six months earlier, before the escorting work started, would she ever have approached me? Would we have had sex? And if so, would it have been the same kind of sex?
Maybe it would have been, who knows? But I've a strong feeling that it would have been different.
The thing about Carla that I found so paradoxical and so peculiar is this: I've never seen a woman as multi-orgasmic as her in my life. Yet she never arrived at a moment of contentment. No matter how many orgasms she had, she was always searching for the next orgasm. She was truly insatiable.
Usually in sex, no matter how long it last for, no matter how many orgasms both parties have, there usually comes a time when enough is enough - a feeling a 'fullness', of being sated, and of sinking into the radiant warmth of post-coital bliss.
But with Carla there was something else going on, a perpetual grasping, a hunger, a reaching out for something and being unable to grab hold of it. She would scream at me to fuck her harder, and she would fire off orgasm after orgasm, powerful, bone-shuddering, bed-soaking orgasms. And then she'd want more, and more - and the hunger was never sated, the wanting never stopped. It felt like there was something desperate about it. A void trying to be filled. Like she was searching for something, and even she didn't know exactly what it was.
Wherever she is now, whatever she is doing, I hope she has found it.
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