The Problem With Hookers.

The reality of prostitution is grim for some people. Young women, either being forced physically or mentally onto the streets to flog their sex organs like they're penny sweets. Expensive penny sweets, not as tasty but.. anyway.

Most of them are crack & smack heads and use their cash dollar to fund their habits. It's a grim reality but someone's gotta do it, eh.

Back when I was studying in Manchester, me and my friend decided enough was enough, with our student loans safely in the bank and testicles the size of erm, testicles, we embarked on a mission to fuck a couple of whores.

We stopped off on the way at our local boozer to get a few down our Gregory Pecks and must of looked like two kids on Christmas Day morning. The excitement was immense. I was shaking a little and my friend was in and out of the toilet every three minutes pissing like a puppy. "So what we gonna do then"? he excitedly asked me. "we're gonna fuck some dirty bitches my son"! I blurted out. "then we're gonna come back here and fuck some more, only in here they'll be much much cheaper, re-sult".

A little over an hour later, the two of us, borderline retarded, rocked up in Manchester's red light district aka, a dingy tunnel with no lights. I was shitting myself. The pace was slow around here. The mood was edgy and the women were, well, rough. We approached two of them, me with my tail between my legs and my friend all bold and brass. "ash chill out mate", he snaps. "just follow my lead". Follow his lead? Like he's a pro at this. Neither of us are. He's studying law for fuck sake and I'm studying dance and media and am surrounded by women all day plus, it was my fucking idea anyway. I should be taking the lead. I'm also used to being surrounded by fucked up women with emotional problems. What's he gonna do, give her legal aid once he's finished banging her? Explain her rights to her prior to him flicking her bean? Prick.

I like to think my ears are locked firmly to the ground and my eye's wide open at all times and on this occasion they were. My lust had turned to pity. These women were fucking grimmer than grim. This wasn't the Pretty Woman'esque scenario I'd dreamt of. This was Jeremy Kyle on tour. Shakespeare meets Shameless. Gollum on a pill in all her finest beauty. Beauty of a beast, perhaps. So off he scuttled with one of them leaving me with the mother, great. "nice day we're having. You been erm, out long?" I nervously asked. "Look love", she snapped. "it's a score for a quick wank, 30's for a blowy and 40's for a shag or if you wanna do it in a proper bed, we can go round mine and that's 50's for half hour".

Fifty's for half an hour she says. So many options I hadn't thought about. Were there credit options also? Pay nothing for 12 months etc? It was like being offered a selection box of sex on Christmas Day. Trouble is, do I nibble a little or scoff the lot down?. "ok, lets go back to yours then" I said with confidence. She then shouts down the tunnel, which echoed like a fart in the alps, "tasha, going back mine with this one, back in about half hour. Txt me yeah" - "ok mum, see ya later on". Oh Jesus.

I soon discovered that my MIWF (mum I wouldn't fuck) was named Debbie.
Debbie, or Debs as she told me to call her, was actually from London and had moved to Manchester to live with her now, ex-boyfriend, who had forced her onto the streets and pimped her until their sudden split when he was sent to prison for drug dealing and gun crimes. Great, this is just what I need on a Saturday afternoon. This was not what I had in mind. I imagined a young, blonde girl, wearing a mini-skirt and letting me enter her up against a cold wall. Instead, I've ended up with a woman twice my fantasy's age, who's told me half her life story and quite possibly looks like Shrek in a fucking boobtube. Wonderful.

After a short 10 minute walk we enter a murky block of flats and walk to the first floor. I'm on edge, my heart's jumping around like a spastic on a trampoline and little do I know, I'm moments away from a sexual train wreck.

Debs lived in a self contained studio flat. There wasn't much; a bed, coffee table, tiny kitchen and lots of slutty clothes and empty Durex wrappers scattered around the floor. She offered me a coffee but I had to say no as all I could think of was her spiking it and me waking up naked, tied to the bed with a dildo poking out of my arse. Not today thanks, Debs.

So this is it, my moment. My chance to screw a hooker. All my mates would be so jealous. I'd be the coolest bloke in Uni. They'd call me names like The Sperminator and Asha the Basher, yeah! I was in a sex haven of benefits and used condoms and guess what, I needed a shit. My bowels were twitching something chronic. Was there even a toilet in this council made tent? I quickly made my excuses and darted for her bathroom. It was small and humble but did have a tap, which I naturally turned on to drown out the sound of my splash backs.

It was an utter mess. That Lamb Dansak the night before was darting out of me like the flame of a dragons breath. This wasn't cool, at all. What the fuck was I doing.. Could this moment get any worse? Does she even have any toilet paper? Please tell me she has toilet paper! Ah, she does. Phew! Panic over. Or was it? Now I was faced with an almighty stench and no window to let it escape to. Shit a shit, shit, shitta! So now I'm scrambling around her toiletries shelves looking for something, anything?! A Lynx, bit of Air Wick would go down a treat right now. Found some, ahhh. A cheeky splash of her perfume and I'm back in the room. Ready to destroy her.

I appear fresher than fresh and head over to her while she waits on the bed. The mood is serious now. We start kissing each other frantically. Only I can't keep up! She's kissing like a sex beast. A sex beast that want's me, might I add. We're groping, touching, biting each other like we've been apart for years. About a minute has gone by and then she turns to me and say's, "are you wearing Tommy Girl"?. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! She's sussed me. What a royal bellend I feel now. "erm, god know, now less talking please", I confidently say.. Ooooh the Spermiantor is back in the driving seat. I am Mr Big and she's my Carrie. Her hands start to undo my belt, I can feel the excitement and the tension heating up. I start to rub her breasts in a counter clockwise fashion, as stated by Men's Health that month, thankyou. My Topman boxer shorts are now exposed and she starts to rub my cock through them. This is great, if my mates could see me now, ahhh :) Hang on.. My cock isn't responding.. Do something penis, do something! He's lying there like a coma patient. Please don't do this to me, please!. "is everything alright", she suddenly asks. "hm yeah, totally cool, ya'know, just, enjoying the moment, getting ready and all that erm, shit". Bollocks. She tries to give me head and that also is a fucking disaster. Almost three minutes she tried to inflate my penis and I failed. Welcome to the world of losers, Ash. I'm now another statistic. My Wednesday evenings will probably now be spent at some sort of a sexless rehab group for impotent wankers, awesome. "hi I'm Ash and I have floppy cock syndrome".

I chuck Debs her £50 quid and get out of there within seconds of realising that I must be a gay or something.

Now I have to go back and find my mate. The walk of shame. It's not even a good walk of shame either. I love those early morning tube journeys, still in last eves attire, almost floating through the underground, 'yeah look at me, I got my dick wet last night, look at you lot, you Sunday morning wankers all off to your fucking flower markets. I'm off to sleep because I was up all night banging, yeah! If you come closer you can still smell the faint aroma of vagina lingering around my chops!"

"ash! over here mate". Great, my mate looks happy which means he must of destroyed her in some fashion. I presume he didn't almost shit himself with his one. "how was it then fella"? I stupidly asked. "fucking banging mate! She aint gonna be walking for a week geezer"! Neither am I, I thought. Once my mates find out they'll probably break my knee's for being such a pussy.

I obviously had to come clean and tell him what happened. I don't know what was worse: the fact 'he' almost shit himself through laughter or, the fact that over the course of the next 3 years, everyone, knew me as Floppy Ash.

AT