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I Paid to Have Sex
Twenty-three orgasms that were worth every penny
I’m on the flight back, my thighs still burning from friction, teeth marks on my neck hidden by a scarf, and a feeling of emptiness that only comes when you know you’ve just experienced something you won’t have again anytime soon.
He fucked me in ways I didn’t know were possible.
Against the wall of the room, in the sand of the private beach, under the stars while he grabbed my hair and called me “goddess.”
Seven days.
Twenty-three orgasms.
I counted them all. It had never been like this before.
“You’re just another desperate tourist,” a friend told me when I said where I was going. Fuck that. Desperate? Maybe. But at least now I know what it feels like to have a man look at me like I’m the only meal after months of starvation.
On the second night, I asked him why he desired me so much. He laughed. “You don’t understand. You think we want your bodies. But what we really want is your gratitude. We want to see you fall apart, lose control, scream without shame. That’s what turns me on.”
I stayed silent.
I’d never heard a man talk like that before, as if my pleasure was his prize. The men back home fuck you…
