Date: Fri, 24 Nov 2023 11:37:18 -0800
From: mecocklover@gmail.com
Subject: Confessions of a Rural State Whore:  Chapter 5

CONFESSIONS OF A RURAL STATE WHORE

Author's Note: Special thanks for Gary and Terry for their suggestions and
proof-reading.  Any inconsistencies, spelling errors, typos, or grammatical
mistakes are therefore their fault.

Further note: While I only recently discovered nifty.org, the site has been
around and archiving gay stories for more than 30 years.  Running a website
costs money, and nifty.org does not rely on ad revenue.  If you enjoy this
or other stories on this site, please consider making a donation of any
size at https://donate.nifty.org.

CHAPTER 5

BEEPERS AND EDUCATION

Before cellular phones were widely available, there were pagers (also known
as beepers).  You couldn't communicate two-way with them, but someone would
call a phone number that would come through on your beeper.  It would beep
or buzz to let you know you had been paged.  When that happened, you'd
check it and see a phone number to call back.  They were used primarily by
two professions: doctors (and other medical professionals) and certain
types of prostitutes.

By early 1998, I was doing reasonably well, financially.  I still had a
day-job that paid most of my regular expenses, and I was turning tricks
semi-regularly to keep on top of the other expenses and set a little aside
in savings.  One of the things my clients helped pay for was a beeper.
While cellular phones were available, they did not have good coverage and
had too many restrictions and surcharges to make it financially worthwhile
for me at the time.

Between the beeper and a continuing good relationship with the folks at the
Treasure Chest sex shop Ð- who would occasionally pass my pager number
along -- and the local gay bars, it was easier to keep a certain degree of
anonymity.  Hookers and bartenders have always been somewhat symbiotic
professions.  The "travelling businessman" from out-of-town would ask
bartenders about company for the night, giving them a generous tip for the
information, and prostitutes would benefit from the referral.  Smart whores
would also kick a little something back to the bartenders from time to time
to make sure they got good clients using this method.

In fact, the beeper allowed me to expand my reach.  Patrons in other cities
and towns could now also find out about me and reach out.  A quick returned
phone call after a page would have me hopping into my car to travel to
other cities and towns to accommodate people in other places.  While
Portland remained my base of operations, my range extended significantly.

There was only one real hiccup during the few years that I used a pager.
Once as I was walking down the street, a car accident happened further down
the block.  It was not horrible, but the passenger in one of the cars
slammed their head against the dashboard and was bleeding.  Someone saw
that I had a beeper on my belt and assumed I was a doctor.  Once that
person started saying that I was a doctor, everyone within earshot made the
same assumption, and I was herded to the accident.  It wasn't until I
raised my voice and shouted "I'm not a doctor, I'm a hooker!" that I was
allowed to leave without giving medical care (that I didn't know how to
provide).

One summer morning, I was paged, and I returned the call.  We set something
up for later that day.  My client that afternoon was located a few towns
south in the resort town of Ogunquit.  I was to meet him at his hotel.
Well, not just him.

My client was an older man with a younger partner.  Due to medical reasons,
the man who hired me was not able to have sex with his partner.  He
recognized, though, that the younger man still had needs and desires along
these lines.  To try to obviate the need to hide and lie and cheat, they
had set some ground rules about making sure both partners were aware and
had met a potential fuck buddy before the younger one had sex.  I was to
service the younger of the two this evening.

We met in the hotel room.  We chatted.  The younger man had his hand inside
my shirt before the older could even offer to leave the room.  I had no
objections if he wanted to watch Ð it was his money, after all, and he
could have a show if he wanted one so far as I was concerned.  The younger
preferred privacy, though, and the older respected that.

The poor kid couldn't kiss if his life depended on it.  He was of the "hold
still and stick out my tongue" school of kissing, which is not fun to work
with.  I have been told that I am a fantastic kisser, but there's only so
much you can do when you're dealing with ineptitude of that nature.  He did
not move his head, his lips, his tongue, his hands.  It was almost as if he
was paralyzed from the eyebrows down.

"Enough of this," he said after a few minutes.  "Let's fuck."  I was only
too happy to oblige.  He obviously didn't care for kissing.

We stripped, and he had one of the prettier asses I had seen up to that
time.  Round, muscular, and taught, a man could bury his face in there and
eat for days and never go hungry.  He had brightly visible tanlines from
tanning in a Speedo, which have always been a turn-on for me.  I would have
been happy just to hold those orbs of loveliness, but I did have a job to
do.

He lubed himself up with a bottle out of his overnight bag while I put a
rubber on.  Tossing the bottle onto the bed, he stood up, splayed out his
legs, and bent over, placing his hands on his knees.  I took my position
behind him and traced my fingers along the tramp-stamp tattoo on his lower
back.  "That's so people don't get bored," he said with a slight chuckle in
his voice.

With a butt so perfectly shaped, I wondered how anyone could possibly be
bored enough to pay attention to the tattoo, but I didn't say anything.
Instead, I teased his hole with the latex-covered head of my cock.  He
groaned a little and leaned backwards, but I did not take the bait
immediately.  Instead, I took a half-step back and gave him a slap on his
right glute.  He inhaled sharply and moaned approvingly.

Another slap, sharper this time, on the same side brought forth a little
"yes" and told me that someone had been a naughty boy.  I realigned myself
to his opening and let him feel the head of my dick as it pushed in.  This
brought a louder moan as he leaned backwards again.  I did not retreat this
time, but I did give his left cheek a smack as he enveloped me with his
ass.

I didn't even have to move.  He began riding me at a moderate pace while
calling out each time he bucked against me.  This guy was a screamer, and I
always appreciated a guy who let you know when you were doing something he
liked.  I was actually a little astonished at how much this guy seemed to
love a cock in his ass considering how he reacted Ð or, more accurately,
not reacted Ð when we were kissing.

His insides felt fantastic.  It started out as nothing special, but after a
few minutes things seemed to heat up and tighten up.  In fact, it felt
suspiciously good.  Sex with a condom could be nice, but it never felt
particularly great.  This felt fantastic.

I pulled out of him and looked down at my dick.  The condom had broken and
rolled most of the way down my shaft.  Dammit.

I heard a whine and felt a hand clutching at my leg.  This little power
bottom was disappointed that I wasn't bruising his prostate anymore.

"Hang on a sec," I breathed.  "The condom broke."

"Shit," he said in response.  "That's like the third time this has happened
in a row."

That's unusual.  While condoms do sometimes fail, that was an almost
astonishing run of bad luck.  Still, I had learned early on that it paid
(pun intended) to carry more than one rubber.  If nothing else, one learns
that sucking on a cock with a rubber on it tastes like you're trying to eat
a party balloon.

I re-rubbered myself and dived back in.  There was no subtlety at all, I
just lined up and gave him a nice hard thrust, pushing hard and holding in
while I pulled back on his hips to grind that beautiful ass against me.  My
sweat dripped from the tip of my nose onto his tramp stamp as he cried out
in pleasure and satisfaction.

"Fuck, that's the spot!" he exclaimed, putting one hand over his mouth as
he continued to call out loudly.  "Oh shit!"  He arched his back to try to
drive me deeper into his belly.

"I bet the entire hotel can hear you getting fucked," I murmured as I
released one of his hips to gently squeeze his nipple.  "You sure let a guy
know when they're doing something right."

"If I didn't," he panted, "how could I get them to keep doing it?"

"Fair point," I replied as I pulled back quickly and then forced myself
deep inside him again, bring out another sharp yelp of pleasure.  "But I
could keep fucking this ass for a while even if you didn't make any
sounds."

"Not if I get you off fast," he moaned as he began clenching his sphincter
around my cock.  This guy knew how use his butt!

As I began driving in and out again, he began rhythmically tightening his
asshole around my rod.  It was alternately tighter and looser, sometimes
requiring a little more force Ð even with the lube Ð and sometimes
easier to drive home.  It was almost like he was playing a game, seeing how
best to tease me into bruising his prostate.  I began pulling all the way
out before sliding back into his warm Ð

"Fuck!" I exclaimed.  "The rubber broke again."

"Keep going anyway," he urged, trying to put me back inside him.  "I'm
getting close."

I was sorely tempted.  Those seconds when his insides hugged my manhood
without any barrier between us had been exquisite.  There is no doubt that
he could have brought me to climax with that ass Ð and he could have
done it pretty damned quickly Ð if I just let him back over my unwrapped
cock.  It would have felt fantastic, but I had to keep things professional.
He had already said that he's had other guys in him recently whose condoms
also broke.  As much as I wanted to pound on this guy's ass with my bare
cock and paint his guts from the inside with my seed, the possible
increased exposure to a deadly disease (and other more treatable ones)
killed that thought.

Instead, I tore the remnants of the second condom off of my cock and
wondered what was going on.  Yes, rubbers would sometimes fail, but it had
not happened to me before Ð much less twice in a short time.  Yes, this
guy had a nice ass, but it wasn't so tight that it should be tearing the
latex like this.  Something else was at play.

I opened another foil packet and rolled the third condom of the day down my
shaft.  I had been starting to get close before, and it sounded like he had
been, also.  If his ass and condoms didn't get along for some reason or
another, then I was going to make this fast and furious and get myself to
the brink before this next rubber broke.

I walked around in front of his bent-over frame, my wrapped cock bobbing in
front of his face.  As his mouth opened and tongue came out, I took his
face in my hands and lifted him up to look into his face.  He looked back
at me pleadingly as his left hand worked the head of his dick.

Taking his chin in my right hand, I spoke deliberately, slowly, and
clearly.  "I am going to fuck you.  I'm going to fuck you hard, and I'm
going to fuck you fast.  If these damned rubbers are ripping because of
your butt, I don't know that I'll have very long."

"Yes, please," he whined.

"I usually like to take my time with a guy, especially when I'm getting
paid," I continued, "but this is the last condom I brought.  I'm not going
to worry about you or your needs or what you want."

Another whimper of desire escaped from his lips, and his hand worked a
little faster.

"This is going to be about me using your asshole as much as I can before
the last condom breaks.  I want you to enjoy it, but that is not going to
be my primary purpose.  If I'm going to fill this rubber with my load
instead of leaving it inside you, I'm going to have to work it out pretty
quickly."

"Not in me," he pleaded.  "Let me feel it on my face"

"Your wish," I whispered, kissing him on the forehead before releasing his
face, "is my command."  I moved behind him again and fingered his hole
briefly.  He leaned forward again, continuing to work the head of his dick
with his hand.  I removed my fingers, lined up my cock, and inserted just
the head.

"Please," he begged.

"Are you ready?  Because once I start, I'm not going to stop or show any
mercy.  I'm going to get off as fast as I can."

He reached behind him with his free hand and slapped his ass hard three
times.  The skin started to blush red.  "Go," he said.

I drove into him without thought or hesitation, with each thrust punctuated
with a loud and high-pitched squeal.  His ass clapped against my hips again
and again at a frenzied pace.

"Oh, fuck.  Oh, shit.  Oh, fuck, oh shit" he repeated, his voice broken as
I continued impaling him as deep and as hard as I was able.  "Oh fuck.
I'mÑ" he let out a scream as his asshole clenched tightly around my cock
as he began to cum into his own hand.

Two spasms of that hole were all it took to bring me over the edge.  I
pulled out and spun him around, forcing him to his knees with one hand
while ripping at the rubber with my other.  It tore as I was pulling it
off.  He continued spurting all over his hand as he looked up at me, opened
his mouth, and stuck out his tongue.

He leaned forward is the first jets of my own orgasm landed on his forehead
and across his nose.  He planted his tongue firmly underneath the head of
my cock as I continued squirting.  About half of my cum landed on his face,
but the rest coated his tongue and went into his mouth.

As we gasped for air, he lapped up the last few drops from my dick, and
then raised the hand with which he had been jerking himself.  With his eyes
closed, he smeared his own cum across his face and mouth, licking at his
fingers.  Our essences mixed as he rubbed, and he breathed in the smell
deeply.

He closed his mouth and swallowed our mingled seeds before opening it
again.  Using his fingers, he began ushering our collective spooge down his
cheeks and nose, herding our living seeds into his mouth.  He continued to
inhale deeply through his nose, savoring the aroma, as he worked to get as
much of us into his mouth as he could.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, watching him as he luxuriated in our
cum.  He began using both hands, massaging it into his face, and rubbing it
down his neck.  He used our collective jizz as a lotion, smearing it across
his chest and into his skin, inhaling deeply through his nose until there
was virtually no wetness left.  If he reacted this way to cum just from him
and me, I boggled slightly at the thought of how he would react if he had
been the guest of honor at a bukkake party where several men shot their
loads onto him.

My mostly-erect cock gave a twitch at that thought, and I redirected my
attention elsewhere.  I had used all three condoms that I had brought, and
all three had been ripped for some reason.  I had only bought them the day
before, so they were not old.  My eyes traveled to the nearby bottle of
lube, laying on top of the bed.  As I read the label, it made sense.

"I think I know why guys have had rubbers breaking on you lately," I said.

He moaned contentedly, continuing to savor the smell and taste of our
ejaculate.  "Maybe my ass is to good for them," he suggested.

"You've got a great ass," I agreed, "but that's not what's happening."

"Then what is it?" he asked, mildly interested through the haze of his
afterglow.

"Your lube."

He opened his eyes and looked at me dreamily.  "Hmmmm?"

"Your lube," I repeated.  "You've been lubing yourself up with something
that's oil-based.  That's fine for jerking off, but oil-based lubes will
destroy latex."

"It what?"

"It makes the latex in the rubber rip easy," I explained.  "If you want to
do an experiment, take a new rubber and squirt some of this lube into it.
Then hang it up over the sink.  In a few minutes, give it a squeeze, and
your hand will be full of lube."

"No way."

"Yeah."  When did I go from being a whore to an educator on the proper use
of condoms and lubes?  "If you're going to be using lube with rubbers, you
really need a water-based one.  They might smell more than the oil-based
ones, but the rubbers won't rip when you're getting fucked."

"I didn't even look for that on the bottle."

"Well, now you know.  No big deal this time.  I always bring extra
rubbers."

I wondered if I should tell him that not every guy would stop fucking once
they recognized that a condom broke Ð or if they would recognize what
the change in sensation would mean.  Some guys could get so wrapped up in
the action that they might just keep going until their popped their load
inside him.  They might not realize until they pulled out that the rubber
had broken.  They might or might not even say anything about it.

I decided, though, that he probably did not want a lecture on "safe sex"
from the whore whose cum he just wallowed in.  Given the situation, I
probably would not have been the most reputable source.  I made a mental
note, though, to go in for an STD screening and to limit my activities in
the meanwhile.