Coming Full Circle and The End of a Lifestyle

One of my earliest mongering memories was a visit to a nasty, nasty club. I was seated in stadium seating watching an audience participation sex show on stage. I was mostly in a state of disgusted shock alternating with amusement and disbelief when a working girl came up, sat down next to me and began to rub my dick. She wasn’t really that old or that unattractive but she looked incredibly rough physically and well beyond her years which was accentuated by her threadbare costume. But what really struck me was her shoes. They were the very cheap style made of layers of thin cardboard glued together. Hers had holes in the bottoms and they were disintegrating on her feet. She saw me looking at them and seemed to be slightly embarrassed. She quickly offered my young self a night of sex if I would buy her a new pair of shoes. I’d never been with a working girl up to that point and I had no intention of making her my first. In fact I felt a twinge of revulsion and summarily dismissed her. I didn’t do it in a cruel way but more of a tactless way done out of the awkwardness of youth and inexperience. I really didn’t want to take the chance of getting any lice on me but I should have been nicer about it. In the intervening 40 plus years between then and now I’ve had many girlfriends, lovers, one night stands and countless whores. I’ve had more pussy than you could shake a stick at and more life experiences than anyone I know and definitely more of both than any one man deserves. Though I’ve matured and mellowed and I don’t remember even ten percent of the women I’ve fucked, I still remember that girl with the shoes. I couldn’t pick her out of a one person line up but I’ve never forgotten those shoes and what they came to symbolize for me. That is the desperation of poverty and circumstances of life that are responsible for causing so many girls to have to do what they do. And I’ve carried more than a little bit of guilt that I hadn’t been mature enough to at least throw that poor waif a few dollars. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no Captain Save-a-Ho. I have no sympathy for a Ho that wastes her money on drugs, tattoos and/or a loser BF. Fuck those stupid cunts who bear the responsibility for perpetuating their own shitty reality. But for a woman that does what she has to do to feed herself or more often than not to feed her kids it’s a different story with me. I feel for them. That’s a long lead in to get to the present day but there’s a little more to my story’s set up. About fifteen months ago a sweet young lady fell in love with me. She is not and never has been a sex worker but she is aware of my mongering just not the extent of it. After spending most of a year trying my damnedest to dissuade her without success I realized that I love her like no one before. As I struggled with this I felt like I shouldn’t continue to be a man-whore if I was seriously thinking about being with her for real. Like a smoker trying to quit, I have tapered off. I’ve only slept with six women in the past year. Yeah some of them many times but hey, it’s a start lol. Anyways I had finally decided to decide what I’m going to do about my sweet baby and hadn’t had sex with anyone for two months in anticipation of making a commitment. Then one night I found myself in a bar, drinking and chatting up a knock out. Okay I’m getting to the point but bear with me. This woman was freaking stunning. She was also a working girl at the very start of her career. She was literally FOB and only three weeks into her new career. Economic hardships back home along with the responsibility of supporting her mother and small child left her with no other viable options. She was 29, tattoo free, no enhancements and everything in the proper proportions and in the right places. I hate to use the word “curves” as the fat obese ugly cows have co-opted and perverted the meaning of the word just like the homos did with the word “gay”, but DAMN, her curves were the perfect curves that any woman would die for. She was fit and firm with an hour glass figure, no rolls of fat or sagging anything and the top and bottom complemented each other perfectly. She is freaking incredible and no shit knows how a woman should treat a man. Now to the point. The night we met she was dressed the part with a tight, body clinging dress, lacey black panties and matching bra and patent leather shoes with a mid heel. The thing was that her shoes were obviously about two sizes too small. Throughout the evening she had repeatedly asked to sit down and later when we were finally at my place she immediately sat down and took off her shoes. Both feet were covered in blisters. I surmise that someone had staked her to her outfits with hand-me-downs as she no doubt had little money of her own to invest. I’m sure she had no choice but to wear the shoes she was given despite them being way too small. I told her she needed to buy new shoes. She didn’t answer. I said I would give her some money to buy them. She said there were more important things than shoes for her to do with any money that I would give her like send it to her family. The next day I took her out and bought her new shoes that she described as comfortable to wear. I bought the shoes for her because I didn’t like seeing her suffer and she wasn't going to buy them for herself as she gave priority to the well being of her family over her own comfort. It wasn’t until after the fact that I made the mental connection with the poor girl from so long ago. Honestly it kind of feels like somehow a cosmic wrong has been righted. It also seems to be a good symbolic time for me to call an end to my pussy chasing days and let my sweet baby take care of me for the rest of my life like she says she so badly wants to do. We’ll see how that works out.