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I decided to go back to the Candy Club one last time and ask for anal sex.
I had mixed feelings after Jinx. After Cathy, I had said never again. Clearly my resolve was not that strong, but I felt like I meant it at the time. But after Jinx I had no such resolve. Despite its problems, the session with Jinx had exceeded my expectations. I had just gone there to see her tits. I had no expectation of being able to get it up or come, and yet I had done both (in a fashion). I had crossed that threshold. I had had sex with a stranger while wearing a condom.

And what a stranger. Jinx did not have the pretty face or lovely charm of Crystal, but her body was every inch the goddess. It was a body that excited me. Over-excited me, in fact. And, unlike Cathy, I masturbated night after night afterwards at the memory of doggy fucking that black goddess. I was stronger for longer when I re-imagined the scene.

In my defence, I didn’t really know what I was doing in doggy position. All of my previous lovers had agreed to try doggy position once, but none of them liked it. None was confident enough with her figure or her ass to let me study them from that angle. And the logistics of being at the right height and the right angle and finding my way in, meant that there was a lot of fumbling and awkwardness with girls who weren’t used to it. Jinx slid me right in and had every reason to be confident about my view of her from that angle.

I wanted to go back and fuck her again and do it better.

The idea that there was a woman – a gorgeous woman – available to me for $100, night after night at the Candy Club, drove me a bit nutty. All I needed was an opportunity to go back. But my life at that time was such that opportunities were few and far between.

Against all this was the idea that it was cheating and wrong. That I had a beautiful wife available to me for free, night after night at home, if only I could entice her to have sex with me.

I tried, but I mustn’t be very enticing.

Then the incident with Jinx in the Bourke Street mall shook me. It was one thing to have whores at the end of the street where you live. Unseen in a brothel. But it was another thing to have them appear near where I worked. I had only seen two prostitutes in my life and within weeks I was bumping into one of them in the street. And I had been stupid enough to go up to her and talk to her.

This was madness. It had to stop. I had to stop. And I did. For 18 months.

Our second son was born. Work improved. I stayed sober.

But I still wasn’t enticing. I complained to Amanda and we had bad arguments and our relationship got worse rather than better. Our marriage was no longer a sexual relationship. It was a reluctant parenting partnership. The drought continued long after the 18 months I expected. I masturbated, of course. But lying in bed next to Amanda, fantasising about other women doing things we didn’t do any more, took me further and further away from her.

The list of things we didn’t do any more was a long one.

My first two relationships started out as “friends with benefits” arrangements. Fuck buddies. And the rules the first time were simple. No anal. Everything else was on the table. We had oral sex. Cum in mouth. My first girlfriend was a spitter not a swallower, but she let me come on her face. She let me fuck her tits and come on them. We tried 69 and doggy and every other position. We fucked in every room in her house. In the back yard. In the car. In a shopping centre carpark. On the beach. In a shared bed with my best mate asleep beside us. She taught me how to make her come and we teased each other and edged and had simultaneous orgasms. We did leather and bondage and golden showers and I poured Champagne over her clit and drank from her vagina and I fucked her with a banana and ate it. One day we fucked 6 times and she goaded me to fuck her again and I couldn’t because I was too raw and sore and empty.

My second girlfriend was all but a virgin and wanted to try everything too. And so I did it all again. With the small, but important difference that Jo loved the taste of cum and swallowed my heavy loads by the litre. But strangely, she would not let me come on her face. To her, that was an outrage.

The other difference was that, at the ripe old age of 23, Jo had never had an orgasm. And it was not easy to give her one. It took months of persistence and we nearly gave up. But finally, on a sun lounge, in the back garden of my parents’ house, with a neighbour snipping roses on the other side of the fence, she came. Oh, how she came. I still remember her body quivering for what seemed like minutes afterwards. Her cheeks glowing red and her eyes staring at me in a state of stunned, exhausted bliss. I jumped on board and fucked the bejesus out of her as she lay there. That was so much fun.

So when I started going out with Amanda, I had done all my sexual experimentation. Twice.

We met at work. I was still in my relationship with Jo and Amanda had a boyfriend. I marked Amanda immediately as the prettiest girl in the office with the sexiest ass, but we started out as just friends. She was flirtatious and not just with me. When a manager asked her to do some menial task one time, she begged him not to. It was a friendly and relaxed working environment and we all joked around. But he insisted.

“I’ll give to a blow job,” she offered. She was joking, of course. But he and I looked at each other. From that time on, I could not look at her pouting lips without imagining them wrapped around my erection. Soon after that, at a party, we kissed. We were cheating on our respective partners. It was an illicit start.

A few months later we ended up in bed together at the end of a long night of partying and she sucked me until I came in her mouth and then she swallowed every last drop. I had found another swallower.

I broke up with Jo and started going out with Amanda.

We went hard early. I fucked her 5 times in a day, once. We went away on holiday together to a beach resort. We fucked 3 times a day, every day for two weeks and didn’t see much of the beach. She was not as adventurous with positions or having sex anywhere other than a bed. But we fucked hard and fast and often.

The oral sex fizzled out not long after that. Amanda was uncomfortable with being eaten out and, to be honest, her big pussy lips were a little funky for my liking. If she had have loved it, I would have kept doing it as a labour of love. But when she wasn’t keen, I didn’t insist. Years later I realised this was a mistake.

I prided myself on being able to delay my orgasms for 20 to 40 minutes, with a girl. Much longer on my own. Amanda was more of a blow ‘n ‘ go girl. Her jaw became sore after 20 minutes and she choked a couple of times on my heavy loads. I could see that she wasn’t enjoying them and was dreading them more and more. In a fit of generosity one day that I would later regret, I told her that she didn’t have to do that if she didn’t want to.

And so it was that, even before we were married, our sexual repertoire had narrowed to fucking in bed. No oral sex for me and no orgasm at all for her. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. I was ready to go at any time. No lube or foreplay. I would spit on my dick and shove it in and we were usually done in 5 minutes.

I asked Amanda if she wanted more from sex. She insisted she didn’t.

I went with quantity over quality. Always asking for more sex, never better sex. But 12 months after we were married, the quantity began to decline too – as I mentioned before.

I can articulate all this now. But at the time, I had no idea what was happening. I had put on weight. I worried that I had become unattractive. We both worked hard. We were tired. There were lots of excuses and the trends were not obvious until years had passed. I lived in hope that there was a reason for a temporary lull. That it could be fixed and things would return to the way they were before. But with each “new normal”, I forgot the way they were before.

Nearly a year and a half after Jinx – the one and only time I made my own opportunity – I got my second opportunity. Amanda had gone away with some girlfriends and taken the kids. I had a night on my own.

I had started drinking again, with Amanda’s cautious approval. It was my last chance to prove that I could drink in moderation. I had a few glasses of wine that night to build up the Dutch courage to go back to the Candy Club.

The line-up that night was not great. Three or four forgettable women presented themselves and I was all ready to walk out when a cute blonde walked through reception to show out her last booking. She was a petite little thing in a latex corset and fishnet stockings. It appealed to me that she had just been fucked and would be going from one booking straight into the next. With the standard of talent I’d just seen, she was in for a busy night.

The manager came into the waiting room.

“I’ll have that one,” I said, pointing after her. She didn’t even get a chance to introduce herself and I never asked her name.

What followed is largely forgotten and not worth telling here, except for a few key points.

She kept her gear on and sucked me bareback. But I was soft from nerves and booze and her technique was impersonal and I couldn’t get it up.

After about 10 minutes of sucking, she stopped.

“What turns you on? What can I do to please you?”

These were fair questions that should have been easy to answer and helpful in turning around a bad session.

But I was stumped. I didn’t have an answer. And the fact that I didn’t have an answer made me realise that in 10 years of marriage Amanda had never asked. The magnitude of what I had lost came crashing in. I nearly burst into tears.

“I don’t know.” It was lame, but it was the truth.

The poor girl in latex must have thought there was something seriously wrong with me. She kept sucking on my limp dick until the time ran out. I never got hard. I never came.

I tried to talk about it with Amanda. Not about the whore, but about how we never engaged in foreplay and never did anything to excite each other anymore. But I couldn’t. Didn’t know where to start or how to start a conversation like that. And each night that I missed the opportunity to express my frustrations, they increased. Until I was seething with anger.

I’m a mild-mannered guy. Never been in a fight. Never broken a bone. I don’t seethe. But I was seething now.

I felt tricked and deceived. Amanda was supposed to be a flirt who gave head jobs. Marriage was supposed to be a sexual relationship. How did I let this happen? Why was she doing this to me?

She threw me a bone every now and again. Everything was fine after we fucked. All was forgotten and forgiven. Even after a 5-minute quickie. For a day or two. After all, she was beautiful and sexy. More beautiful than all of the whores at the Candy Club and sexier than most. And I loved her. She was my best friend. Outside of the bedroom, she ticked every box. And yet, for me, that bedroom was a very big box.

After all the seething, I tried some calm reflection. I thought about all of the wild sex I’d had before I got married. There wasn’t a thing I could think of that I wanted to do, that I hadn’t done. I rationalised to myself that I’d had my fun, sowed my wild oats and now it was time to settle down. This was how marriage played out. You got bored with each other. You lost the spark and it was hard to get it back. This was normal. I just had to accept it. I had porn and my memories and I could wank myself to sleep and I would just have a sex life without Amanda.

But with both of my fuck buddies, there had been a prohibition. No anal.

The more porn I watched, the more I became interested in anal sex. I began to feel I had missed out. I had broached the subject with Amanda before we got married. To her credit, unlike her predecessors, she did not rule it out point blank. But it never happened and now I knew it never would.

There had been a couple of occasions when I had nearly pushed into Jo’s anus by mistake and now I liked to think that I had. I even started to re-imagine some of our encounters in that way.

I decided to go back to the Candy Club one last time and ask for anal sex.

I parked in a side street and walked up the back alley. The camera was still there and the buzzer was there, but the buzzer didn’t seem to work. In the end, I went around the front. It was late at night and there was no-one around. But I was still fretful about being seen. The front entrance was very public and I didn’t like it. I only came here because of the back entrance. When I asked the manager, he said they didn’t allow anyone to use the back entrance any more.

The girls came out one by one. There was an older, skinny blonde who did the big sell job about her services. She looked at me as if she thought I was good-looking and she wanted my business.

“Have you got any other questions about my services?” she smiled.

“Do you do anal sex?”

The smile faded. “No.”

The next girl said “no” too. And she didn’t even want my business in the first place.

The last girl to come out was a busty thirty something with brown hair who called herself Mischa. Mischa Barton was on TV at the time. Candy Club Mischa was no Mischa Barton.

She was bubbly and enthusiastic and did the hard sell as well.

“Do you do anal?”

“Greek? Yeah, sure darl! I do loads of stuff. Book me, darl, and we’ll have some fun.”

She was not that attractive. And I didn’t like being called “darl”. She seemed to have a blooming cold sore on her lip. It was the new era of facial piercings and it could have been the hole from a lip piercing. She had a ring in the same spot on the other side.

But she was the only one up for anal sex and that was the only reason I was here.

The financial negotiation was quite complicated. I had to pay an extra $100 tonight. Then my name would go in her book as a regular and I would not have to pay as much for extra services in the future. For my $100 tonight, I could fuck her tits, cum on her tits, cum on her face or fuck her arse.

“I want to fuck your arse.”

“Greek? Sure, darl.” It was as if our conversation outside had not taken place.

She stripped off. The big tits were only half as good without the push-up bra. But they felt good.

“You’ve got nice tits,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s funny: the girls don’t want them but the guys do. I can lick my own nipples, look darl.” She grabbed one of her big floppy boobs and lifted the nipple to her mouth. She bent her head down and stuck out her tongue and ran the tip of it around her own large areola. I should have been impressed, but I’d seen it before. Jo had bigger and better tits, bigger nipples and a longer tongue. Jo could run rings around Mischa.

I lay down on the bed and she started to suck me bareback. I didn’t get hard enough quick enough and she suggested a change.

“Why don’t you stand up and fuck my face that way, darl. Guys seem to like it better standing up.”

There were no airs or graces. But she was right. I did like fucking her face standing up. Now that I thought about it, most of the best times with Jo were standing up.

I soon got hard enough for her. Then she stood up and put a raincoat on me and turned around to let me fuck her in a standing doggy position. I enjoyed that. Her ass was a bit misshapen and she didn’t have a great figure, but I loved ramming my cock into her. She was wet and lose and enthusiastic and for the first time in my life I had the guilty pleasure of fucking a dirty whore.

“I like your action, darl,” she panted as I banged her. I had no idea what she meant. “You do it differently from most guys. I like it.” I never found out what most guys do. “OK, darl, you wanna fuck me in the arse now?” I was getting excited.


She lay on her back on the bed. I fiddled around and couldn’t get in. After the ease of her loose pussy, her anus was unforgivingly tight. She fiddled around and couldn’t get me in either. I started to go soft from the distraction of mucking around.

“It’s no good, darl. You’re not hard enough. But that doesn’t matter. We’ll try something else. You wanna fuck my tits?”

“Sure.” I used to enjoy fucking Jo’s magnificent cleavage and it was one of my favourite memories to wank to.

Mischa pulled the condom off and started to suck me. I got hard again. She spat on my cock and on her own cleavage for lubrication. She lay on her back on the bed and I kneeled either side of her chest. She held her floppy boobs together and I started to fuck her cleavage. It felt good.

“You can come on my tits any time you’re ready, darl.”

“I love fucking your tits, Mischa,” I said, and I spat on them for good measure. I just wanted to talk dirty to add to the experience. It worked. And she got the hint.

“I want you to fuck my tits, darl. Fuck ‘em hard with your big hard cock.” I was getting worked up now and so was she.

“I want you to cum all over my tits so I can lick your cum off my nipples,” she said. It’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me. She said it like she meant it and it did the trick. I spurted all over her cleavage and her neck. She held up her hands to stop me squirting in her face. It was a big mess that ran all over her neck and her chest. But none of the mess went on her nipples and she didn’t lick any of it up.

Jo should have said it. Jo would have done it. That would have been something.

When I went to pay Mischa for the extras, I realised that I had left my wallet in the car. In the early days, I half expected the girls to rob me while I was in the shower or had my back turned. Mischa wasn’t impressed. I promised her I would come back with the money, but she’d heard that before. She let me go. She didn’t really have any choice.

I got the money from the car and went back. When the manager brought her out, she looked confused. She had written me off as a bad debt already. I had to grab her hand and put the notes in it. She was stunned.

Finally she smiled and gave me a big hug and a kiss. I didn’t really want that kiss. I was now convinced about that cold sore.

Sure enough, the next day, I got a cold sore in the spot where hers touched me. I was so pissed off. I couldn’t kiss my wife or kids for weeks. That really put me off the whole whore thing.

I never went back to get the benefits of my “membership” with Mischa. I didn’t want to pick up any more infections from her. A few months later I saw her pushing her kid around my local shopping centre in a stroller. I didn’t make the same mistake I made with Jinx – I didn’t approach her. This business of bumping into whores was beginning to freak me out, but I never saw her after that.

The years passed and I never went back to the Candy Club, although I still pass it twice a day most days on my way to and from work. I don’t have the balls to keep using that front entrance. It would only be a matter of time before I was seen. Most of the other brothels I know of are on main roads with public entrances. If, like me, you don’t want to be seen going in, you can’t go in.
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