Losing my virginity to an Irish escort [MF]

**Setting the scene**

I’ve always been a reserved and shy boy, and found myself beginning my final undergraduate year at university without ever so much as having held a girl’s hand. As my anxiety and depression improved, I made a promise to myself that I was going to lose my virginity that year. Various blundering attempts on Tinder and Bumble followed, a few disastrous first dates that make me cringe even writing this. Gradually, the idea of paying for it, something I’d always joked about, became more serious in my mind. After my Tinder profile was discovered and mocked by someone I know irl (and who I thought of as a friend) I decided I was done with that, and was going to take a more practical approach to my problem.

At first the choice is overwhelming. As are the nerves before taking the plunge and making contact. But when I came across R’s website everything seemed to click. In a sea of beautiful women, somehow she stood out. Redhead, Irish, natural tits 32 D, a few inches shorter than me. These are the statistics, but I can’t give an adequate description. Thank you to whatever random cluster of electrons in my brain meant that her image fired them all faster and with more intensity than the others! The emphasis she placed on helping newcomers was also a reassurance. Finally, when I saw that her twitter profile picture was posted on my birthday, it seemed to confirm that this was meant to be. Funny how one can consider oneself so Rational and Logical © but when confronted on this issue revert to the most childlike belief in fate and destiny. I sent the first email, and we arranged a date that would be my treat for finishing the academic year.

​

**My first time**

Phone her at 10:00 to confirm and get directions, that was what she said. I scroll down to her number and press call. To my horror, I get several rings and then the robotic voice welcoming me to the EE messenger service. I put the phone down, try to relax, listen to some music for a minute, then try again. After a few rings, she picks up.

“H-h-hi, this is WorldsWorstMediator.”

“Hi, I was just texting you to tell you to call again.”

It’s a soft voice, almost more a sigh than a spoken sentence, that instantly starts to put me at ease. She tells me which tube stop to head to and confirms the time.

“I’m a bit nervous” I add

“Well that’s very normal to be, don’t worry…” I don’t remember exactly what else she said, but I felt good about it.

The rest of the morning, in the house, on the train, feels somehow suspended. I try to read but can’t think about anything else. As I eat lunch, I’m aware of just how nervous I’ve become, my head feeling disembodied, struggling to bite, chew and swallow each mouthful.

On my second attempt, I work out how to get to the correct tube stop. I arrive about 10 minutes too early and pace around, then phone. Once again I get ‘This person’s phone is not available’ and panic, but then straightaway comes a text with the address of the hotel, and then the room number, 201.

I surprise myself by finding it quickly, then comes a moment of dread, crossing the hotel lobby. Surely I’m going to be stopped I think, but no one glances my way. Then I’m climbing the stairs, and there it is coming into view, room 201. And what’s behind it? The end of my boyhood? It feels almost mystical.

I knock, stand back, wait. I see the peephole darken as she puts her eye to it. The door opens. She looks very pretty, albeit not in *exactly* the way she did in her pictures. Like the difference between a recorded song and hearing it live. As I follow her back inside, for a few seconds I don’t feel comfortable at all. The room seems too hot, and now that I’m actually here in person, looking at her sitting on the end of the bed, I’m struck by the thought ‘What do I actually want to do? You spend all your time fanaticising, but what now?’

Some very brief chit-chat about finding the place, as I get the envelope out and hand it to her

“Oh, is that for me?” she says. Again, that soft, lovely Irish brogue. She says she appreciates the lettering of her name on the envelope, though we agree that it slightly bothers us that I got it off centre. I retreat to the bathroom to shower while she counts it. There’s a slightly awkward moment as I can’t work out how to get the shower to work and have to ask her to show me. I wash, climb out, dry off a bit and wrap the towel around me. I give myself a look in the mirror.

“OK, let’s go and do this.”

I walk back through, and stand at the end of the bed, unsure what to do.

“How do you feel?”

“A little nervous.”

“Hmm, you do look slightly terrified!” She pats the bed beside her “Why don’t you come and sit down here?” I do, and we recline back to lie on the bed.

“So, what’s the story?” And I let it spill out and explain to her, I don’t get too emotional, but it feels good to be talking about this to someone. At one point I mention that I’ve never so much as held a girl’s hand before. “Well would you like to start with that?” and she takes my hand.

“Does that make you feel any different?”

“A little”

She has pink, manicured nails and with one of these she is slowly tracing a figure of eight on my wrist. I start to relax. She explains how she has found that new guys tend to ‘gravitate’ towards her, and how she found she enjoys helping them. We put our arms around each other. I run my hands through her hair. We kiss, my first kiss. I keep moving my hands to her boobs (which as her website promised, were rather squeezable), and she gets up to take her dress off.

“What would you like to do now?”

I ask for a blowjob, she puts a condom on and obliges.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline in my body, but this honestly does very little for me, just feels a bit uncomfortable. I do like how it feels for her to be handling my cock though, so we just settle for that, and she takes her bra of and uses her breasts on it a bit as well. As she’s lying by my side, I reach down and start to explore her private parts as well, with some guidance from her about what feels good. This is honestly one of the best parts of the whole experience, just lying next to each other, close, touching the most intimate parts of each other. It just felt very honest, very intimate. I ask if she doesn’t mind just staying like this for a while. “I don’t mind in the slightest.” After some time I ask if she’s ready for me.

“Hmm, yeah, I think we could give it a go, do you want to start with me on top, or you?”

“Oh, decisions, decisions…”

I decide to start just with missionary. The feeling of the warmth of her pussy as she guides me in… now I know I have experienced something I couldn’t understand before, now I know the joke everyone else is in on. The main thing I feel is that this is fun, but awkward, being pressed so close to someone. And *much* more tiring than I expected – I wish I’d been able to eat more of my lunch. I ask if we can try doggy.

“Sure, you’re doing pretty well for your first time by the way!”

“I bet you say that to everyone.”

“Well not everyone, cause often it would be obvious I’m lying.” OK, accept the compliment I think. Part of doing it this way is to pay for a bit of an act – or maybe it’s not! At least I haven’t cum in my pants or been unable to get hard, or anything I was worried about.

She turns around and lets me slap her arse which is fun, but for whatever reason I just can’t seem to get the angles right and keep on slipping out, so she suggests we just spoon for a bit. Then we switch to her riding on top. As I lie there, I watch her turn around and climb on top, her red hair falling down her back and my eyes follow down to her perfect arse. I’m seeing stars…

“You’re so beautiful” I murmur. This makes her giggle.

“Oh, you think I’m beautiful do you?” and she climbs on top and guides my cock inside her.

This is something I’d never really thought about when fantasizing, but it turns out to feel great. I love the view I get watching her, at first her head tilted forward as if concentrating on a complex task, then picking up speed, throwing her head back and letting out little moans and gasps. I ask if she can turn round and she does, and gives me a great view of her behind. To my surprise, I still don’t cum. Eventually we both get tired and stop for a break. We spend a long time just pressed close to one another, talking. We actually ended up talking about the referendum to legalise abortion that was going on back in Ireland that day, and how she couldn’t vote in it having been out of the country for too long. There’s the politics/history nerd in me, even in a situation like this I ended up asking about stuff that hadn’t been covered in the course on British-Irish relations I had taken last year. Discussions about modern Irish politics are always going to have a weird sexual association to me probably!

I also asked about her job, and she was surprisingly open to me about it. What was the farthest she had travelled as part of it? To Glasgow, to see a couple. Did she enjoy seeing couples? Oh yes, that was one of her favourite things to do, unless it was one of those instances where the marriage was failing in the bedroom and they’d brought her in to try help. “Sometimes you’ve just got to say ‘guys, this isn’t working, no one’s enjoying themselves.’”

When we decide to go again, it feels better this time, I work out how to give myself better support when I’m on top. Again we switch to her on top, but again, it becomes clear that I’m not going to cum, so once she gets tired we stop, and again just lie curled up next to each other.

“I still can’t believe that really just happened” I say

“It was real, I was there too…”

Since we don’t have much of the two hours left, we just stay like this, kissing and snuggling for the remainder. Eventually, she checks her watch and it’s 4:00 already. So then a quick shower, I come back to the bedroom to get dressed.

“What are you thinking of?” she asks

“When I can see you again, if I have the money, what am I going to tell my Mum I was doing in London all day…”

“In my experience, the more boring the lie the better. When people ask me what my job is I say I work in ‘an office’ and start telling them this story about someone who keeps stealing my stapler, and pretty soon they want to get back to talking about themselves.”

I’ll remember that advice I think

“This has probably been the best two hours of my life” I blurt out

“Aw, thank you”

And then we’re walking to the door.

“Well, thanks again, and I’d love to see you again sometime.”

“That would be nice, I’d like that” she says, drawing me in for one more kiss “Have a nice weekend.”

And then I’m out, in terms of my mood, perhaps the most dramatic before and after picture ever.

In the weeks that follow a few things strike me. The first is how less interested in porn I am now. The second is that, even if it’s not a rational thought, I do feel ‘more of a man.’ The third is that I’m going to need a job that will allow me to do this often.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/9bv66d/losing_my_virginity_to_an_irish_escort_mf