Road Riders (Donkey Show).
Men are fascinated by prostitutes. What man doesn’t want a woman he can commodify? A person who he can establish all his fetish desires with. The world goes round with the help of vaginas. Every vagina has a story and I’m about to tell you a story of mine.
This job is both tasking and draining. It’s not exactly pleasurable especially when your tissues are used to being pounded. So you have to learn how to fake your desires. You walk in rhythm with each thrust, at first you’d be caught faking it, which is both embarrassing for yourself and your patron, but with experience you’d understand how to go about it. The world of lust is cruel, no one prepares you for it, but it’s a black hole, once you enter it, you’re lost, forever.
I remember my first. It wasn’t exactly enjoyable, he was huge, so it was a mix of pain and disappointment. It was never like what I had expected from the books I read. My fantasies turned out to be lost. But after that day, it continued. I was on a mission to find a palatable sexual experience. Where I am today is as a result of that mission. Sex for me was mixture of sweet and sour. Sweet because I enjoyed bringing my fantasies to life, sour because my vagina became sore afterwards, leaving me under the blanket of sadness.
Being a road rider is quite simple. Find a spot, sell your wares and find a suitable buyer. Everything else came secondary. In my years of road riding I’ve laid with different individuals. The shy ones, they’re often the sweetest, they’re annoyingly careful, asking for directions and in the end their excitement gets the better of them. But to my advantage they end fast. The overconfident ones, they’re pathetic. They believe they’re experienced to know how the insides of a woman work, but they’re not. They start rough, but end tenderly—boring. Then there goes the rough ones. Their penises riddled with veins of pornography, they believe the only way to orgasm is through extreme friction. They leave me sore, but they’re a bit exciting. The only downside to them is that they never seem to know when to stop. But like all men they stop when they come back to their senses.
In this work I’ve bled, plenty times. Raped, beaten and stabbed. But still I persevere, the world needs me. The world needs women like me, especially those who are married. We’re the glue that keep many marriages together. The secret is not within their wives reach, but it’s between our thighs. I’ve once laid with a married man who after he came began crying, professing his love to me. I thought it was a joke, till he came back with a ring.
It’s easy to continue in this job when you know the role you play in the ecosystem. Sexual ecology is as important as everything else. Money being an incentive. While men may hypocritically claim to hate us, they silently wish they were with us. The world might treat us spawns of evil but we’re nothing but angels in the world.
There’s a popular misconception about us road girlies that many of us are what we’re due to one trauma or the other. This is false. Like other professions, we’re what we’re because it’s our calling. Trauma might be a catalyst but it’s not the reason we wake up daily to slay the god of lust.
P.S
This work does not represent anyone dead or alive. Any similar representation is purely coincidental. The author does not bear any responsibility for however you may wish to interpret this work, it’s solely your personal wish.