Let's get this straight from the start: I don't pretend to have any experience as a real whore. I'm a Camille Paglia type with just enough nerve to get my toes a tiny bit wet, and for all I know, she's done the same. Whores have always fascinated me, and I couldn't believe my luck when I found a way to be one, sort of, without any real risk. My experience in that regard in Second Life, presented here in 29 episodes, is the foundation of this effort, but I hope to include a lot more in the way of whore and whore-related information, stories and pictures.

Chapter 15 Favorite Places

My favorite place to be alone on SL was a tiny island where you could ride giraffes in tall yellow grass. There was also a swing in a gazebo, a dancing pavillion, and benches with romantic poses. Believe it or not, I was proposed to on one of those benches. Nothing ever came of it, but a girl doesn't forget something like that. Even a whore remembers a proposal.
I think we've established that I'm bad. I drove NG crazy with my demands and petty jealousy. My bi-weekly hissy fits. And I thought of men as prey. I was only interested in their adoration and their lindens. But what about the ridiculous? What made me feel truly humiliated? Not in the sex game sense. Seriously humiliated. Did I ever feel shame the way Rousseau did when he admitted to liking the paddle? And what would it take? I'd turned degradation and humiliation into a profession, so what was left? Tell me what's left after this: Oh yes, baby, hurt me. I love it. I'm a bitch. I'm a slut. I'm a whore. Give it to me hard. Make me squeal. Make me scream. Ram that big cock up my ass. I want it, baby. I always want it.
Maybe, like Rousseau, I should admit to what I really liked, besides riding giraffes in high grass and shopping for shoes. I liked having two guys at once. There, I've said it. And yes, it's embarrassing, because talking about what you really like is the same as confessing a weakness. And you'll have to admit, this is a little different from saying you can't leave chocolate alone. Or in my case, fish tacos. Remember the games FD and I played? I would go out and find someone to suck and/or fuck in front of him. My idea, of course, but he and a few others down the road picked up the ball and ran with it. And when that happened, when they took over, when they no longer seemed to care if I was liking it or not, is when I got my best orgasms, whether I was getting paid for it or not.
But that's not the real confession. The real confession is that I wanted to adore, not be adored, and I failed at my one chance. NG. I wanted someone I couldn't control, and the two guys business was just play acting at that. I couldn't control NG. I adored her, but I couldn't handle it, so I walked away. That's my real weakness, the real fault in my character. I can't bear loving someone I can't control. I'd rather give it all up, go lie in wait, and lick my lips at the tender morsels, poor things, that come my way.

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