Dare I eat a peach

It's been 2 months since I last got laid, mainly due to an alarming overdraft and a bout of glandular fever that left me with swollen balls and a general feeling of apathy. Now my malaise is slowly passing and I’m feeling mildly frisky again. So the ritual begins again, the combing of the profiles on AW and VS, the scrutinizing of public galleries and profiles. Who does what, where are they based, how much for 30 mins. Sometimes I feel like a fucking serial killer trolling for a fresh victim, yet my needs are modest, 60 quid for owo and sex with condom. I don’t know if this obsessive and fetishist poring over sex worker advertisements is unique to me, I wonder if it’s just purely impulsive for some people. You know the score. Five minutes of dick sucking till the boredom becomes too much for them, on with the condom for a cowgirl fuck and then you know they’ve really had enough when they suggest doggy style. Then its arse up in the air and fumbling to guide your cock in for the last act, pumping away to orgasm while they listlessly prop their head on a pillow. That seems to be the preferred drill. Anyhow, I’m sure you’ve all had the same conundrum, do you go for a fresh piece of arse, just for jolly, we all love the novelty, but then there’s the risk of engaging a sullen dud who looks like the frumpy mother of the woman in the profile pic. Or do you play safe and return to a safe pair of hands. I’m such a buttoned down repressed prick I feel I should do something wild and impulsive, outside the box, bdsm with a bbw, water sports with a dominatrix. At the moment it’s a toss up between a big titted milf pretty local to me or returning to Mama-san. Jesus. The things failed men do for sex. Ah well, life is full of surprises and all fucking that. So on I go, the light behind me and darkness ahead.