Travelmag Banner

Prague’s Finest Prostitute

Seven thousand and two hours? No way. Too much, too long. There were other items on the menu but #3 was it. 45 minutes. A room. A shower. The basics. Figure, I had time to get sucked, have a fifteen-minute session (allowing extra time for malfunction because you never know), then a couple minutes to lie with her afterwards, or, if I timed myself properly, a quick jerk off over her tits for good measure.

It’s crude and selfish to be sure, but at this point I didn’t know she’d turn out to be such a great lady. At first you have to treat them as any other, keep emotions in check, play the game, get some good “loving” out of it then move on. To bestow upon them the graciousness and respect of a Fitzgerald pining over the loss of yet another lover just wouldn’t do. But, you’ve been along for the ride so far; you might as well go all the way. Come on, I’ll let you watch…

Wenceslas Square

I was lead to the cashier at the end of the bar and handed a menu. I pointed out my choice and pissed them off by paying with exact change. One thousand and one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight hundred then ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. There, 1,850. Ever want to piss off a foreign fuck palace but not enough to get a serious beating? Pay ‘em with exact change. That way they can’t stiff you on change. Gets them every time. So what was that in U.S. dollars? About $70?

I was paraded by my honey in front of the others who gave me dark stares in return because I didn’t want to fuck any of them and had instead chosen, in their minds, the ugly duckling. I was pulled through a wall of frat dudes who looked up at me then away quickly with fear in their eyes when they saw that I was headed for the back rooms with a woman.

The stench of fuck and chicken soup from the towels shot up my nose as we went deeper into the back and to a receptionist’s desk, whereby we were given a door key, two Trojan condoms, and four towels. Wow, not bad, if you ever get yourself into a love motel in Tijuana you’ll be glad to get a ratty washcloth.

And then room was immaculate. Spotless. Fresh. Large round bed. Linens, carpeting, and walls done up in the same baby blue. An overhead light was a matching, comforting shade. Then, a chair and counter to put your things. Possibly the finest room I’ve ever had a whore in. Immediate calm came over me. The usual nervousness or suspicion of a rip off floated away.

“Take off clothes. Shower,” and she pointed behind me to a Las Vegas style suite bathroom with a shower stall, glass doors, and golden fixtures. “Take shower together? Or separate?”

I had to think about that one. What if I blew my wad in the shower? Then I wouldn’t be able to get it up in time so soon. No, save my strength for bed. “No, Honey, I’ll go first,” and I gestured behind me. We both stripped.

My God, the woman was statuesque. She had on an evening gown, and when she took it off…magic. Full, natural tits. Thick, piercing nipples. Shaved pussy. Long legs. She was tall. It’s usually better to get a smaller woman, makes your cock look bigger, but this time, what the hell? Her hair flowed over her shoulders. She looked like Veronica Lake herself via Kim Basinger in “LA Confidential”.

She stood there looking at me, smiling, relaxed. Non-judgmental of my ample beer gut, the fading acne scars on my back, or the fact that I was no taller than her. She was gorgeous in a happy way, projecting peace and confidence in her sexuality. I couldn’t move. I’ve seen thousands of naked women before, most knockouts, some not whores, some even sober-but this one, Veronica, was stunning, and I get to fuck her.  

I darted into the shower, still careful though to take my pile of clothes and boots in with me and leave them on the floor right outside the stall. Then, I kept the doors parted half way.

I could see Veronica looking at herself in the wall-sized mirror across from the bed. She pulled on her tits, pinched her nipples, ran a hand through her hair. Then, about-faced and watched me shower.

When I was done she came over with a towel to dry me off with and a towel for me to step on. “Here,” and she threw one of the towels over my head and laughed a little girl laugh. “My turn,” then brushed her ass across the tip of my cock and into the shower. I dried off, trying not to look in the mirror myself, and turned to watch Veronica shower up. Damn, maybe I should’ve let her suck me in there; on her knees, her arms wrapped around my waist…

We both lay on the bed now. You couldn’t hear the madness from the rest of the club. It was like we were alone in a square, grey, communist-era apartments just outside of town. She adjusted underneath me, then, leaning on one elbow, I loomed over her body and dove for her tits.

Biting and slobbering on stone-like nipples, kneading and groping large breasts. Sucking, searching for milk, then sucking some more. She play-groaned for me; I know whores don’t dig this too much; most women don’t because it hurts. Her sounds of pleasure were fake, but it made my day…

I kissed her tummy and stuck my tongue in her belly button and her pelvis started thrusting up, pushing against my underside, her pussy calling out for its Poppa.

Without hesitation I moved my lips down to her crotch and locked on to her clit. No better way to relax a woman and get her to fuck you well. I nibbled on it, slurped and chewed on it then inserted a finger into her vagina and proceeding to eat her out while fingering her with one, then two, then three fingers. And then the groans became real.

I looked up and saw the surprise in her eyes because usually a drunk gets on top, bangs her, comes, then darts. As well a man should at times, but this one, well, come on, you pay for the time, you might as well make the most of the moment…of course, it’s not always advisable to eat whore-pussy.

But it was sweet and salty and wet and all that good stuff you’d expect from your ex-girlfriend’s pussy. There was pleasure for her and me. And it accepted my tongue and fingers lovingly. Pink and bold. Fresh with the perfume she sprayed on hours ago, or with some kind of body lotion, maybe peach-scented. It was a joy to bury my face in that young lady’s snatch.

And then she came hot juice over my bottom lip and tongue; a little, but probably more than she had with any other man in the past month and she’ll remember me for that one. She ran her fingers through my hair and lifted her legs and then I was licking her shins, her ankles, and the soles of her clean, smooth, powdered bare feet. The woman then, gentle and silent, sat up, eyes in mine, and pushed me back and settled over my cock and began to suck me with no condom.

She had the dome in her hand, already out of the package and ready to unfurl but she tossed it on the floor and took in my cock and balls. She too seemed to have a blast working her way up and down my shaft, taking each ball in turn into her mouth, then went way under and stuck her tongue in my ass and licked me there too.

No awkwardness on each other’s part here. No clumsiness. It really is a crapshoot to throw two people in a room and expect them to fuck like champs, especially with the added silliness of one of those people being an actual prostitute, but Veronica and I got along fine.

The best you could hope for in a situation like this are two things: 1) passion, or the perceived notion of it, and 2) rhythm, which there was plenty of. She grabbed the other condom then, ripped it open, and slipped it and herself over and onto me using one hand.

Veronica rode me slowly, her tits bouncing in and out of my mouth, and she kissed my chest and sucked on my chest and picked up the pace and did her best to fuck me. But I wasn’t going to come on my back, so I flipped her over, spread her legs, inserted myself and began to pound. She wrapped her legs around my waist and brought me into her again, and again, and again.

As usual, that five or ten seconds of a truly great rhythm kicked in-that time your cock and her cunt decide to dodge and parry in tune to the rest of the universe-and it’s also a time I picked to come like a bandit. Pushing into her mound, banging, harder, harder, harder, my pudge working on her clit, then stillness…

The both of us panting, sweating, me shrinking while still inside of her until it fell out then she reached to undo the condom with Kleenex and wiped off me off. She tossed it in the corner (who’s the sorry bastard who gets to clean that up?), then we both collapsed next to each other. Wasted. Spent.
“Wow, that was fun,” I managed to say.
“You like?” she leaned on an elbow and ran a hand over my sparse chest hair, then, placed a leg over mine and settled against me. Her tits pressed to my side.
“I thought I was going to have a heart attack. How old are you anyway?”
“Nineteen.” And, my God, now, studying her face closely, I realized how young she was, how tight her pussy was. She hasn’t spent the last five years fucking men that’s for goddamn sure. It was young-tight.
“Nineteen? Jesus, girl, I’m 33.”
“My mother is 34.”
“Good Lord don’t tell me that.”
She laughed out loud. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing, sweetie. I thought you were 24, maybe 25.”
“No, no, I am not that old.”
“I know, I know.”
“You’re silly. What do you do for work?”
“I write, and I teach.”
“Teach? What do you teach? How to make love to young women?”
“I wish, yeah. No; I teach English as a Second language for adults.”
“You could teach me to speak better English then?”
“Yeah, and you could pay me by sucking me off.”
“You crazy man,” and she hit my shoulder. “How long will you be in Prague?”
“Two more days, I’ve been a here a while already.”
“Oh…” and she looked sad. Not because I’m a great lay, not by a long shot, but probably because steady customers who aren’t freaks are hard to find.
 Next time I’ll stay longer and we’ll set up one-hour tutoring sessions every day for a month. How’s that?”
“Ok, good, and I’ll let you come in me next time.” I began to crawl on top of her. “Next time,” and she pushed me off and kissed me on the cheek.
“Come here, Teacher has something for you little girl,” I said.
“No, no, not on lips.” Too bad. Her only SWP (Standard Whore Protocol).
I smiled; kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. “Time for shower?” I asked.
“Time for shower,” She said and hopped up first and padded into the bathroom.

I lay on my back replaying the past few minutes. Sometimes times like these go by so goddamn fast it becomes unreal. Like it never happened. Or, like it wasn’t me there but another part of me. Wild…

(The next night I had a whore who didn’t let me suck her tits or eat her out–some do have their standards. The night after that I had a fantastic fuck with somebody who pulled out the lotions and feather dusters but, goddamn, I couldn’t cum so that was a waste. I never found Veronica after that first night.)

The both of us showered then, dried off, and dressed. We walked arm and arm back into the madness of the club. We hugged, then, parted company.

I retrieved my bag of souvenir shopping at coat check-the doorman shaking my hand and finally smiling at me while he held open the door-and I walked into the almost 6:00 am freezing cold of Prague’s streets. Still dark.

Dozens of prostys roamed the area. Dealers. Street thugs. Thieving taxi drivers who charge an arm and a leg to get you out there. Fuck that. I’m almost six feet tall, 250 pounds, and I’m an expert at alienating myself from others quite nicely thank you. The secret? Avoid eye contact, pretend they’re not there, and keep walking. No matter what you hear, what is said, or who is screaming. But a corner food stand caught my eye, with people milling about eating; it looked relatively safe. I ambled over.

The only things they sold were huge, obscene-looking kielbasa hot dogs for 24 kc (like, $.08) with a dollop of hot mustard on top that looked sickeningly like a small load of cum. But they were great. Anything that late at night is like a godsend, you know that. So I took a stand-up table next to the portable kitchen and ate, hair still wet from the shower (but at least I didn’t reek), while the cold made my breath steam into a smoker’s plume every time I opened my mouth to take a bite.

I felt refreshed. Veronica, my dear, you’re just what the doctor ordered, not for the body, that’s a gimme, but for the mind as well. I chuckled with my mouth full and shook my head and replayed the time I had in there. Jesus, that was nice….so fucking sweet. Maybe I should have gotten her number. Maybe we could’ve met the next day for lunch and I actually would have spent an hour giving her some conversation and vocabulary tips.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Still, it would’ve been nice to be with her some more.   

Every so often taxi drivers approached to offer their services to me but instead saying “No” dozens of times I simply returned a stern, blank face and soon enough they stopped asking.

The whores didn’t even come near me. They hit up other late night crawlers coming out of tucked away bars and clubs but kept a wide berth of me. Good, fuck ‘em. But it was funny to see those same whores try to hit on the husbands of strolling elderly couples earlier in the night. Those fucking whores had no tact; poor wives practically had heart attacks on the sidewalks.

I wonder what they told their friends back at the church suppers: “Everything was just fine until, of course, that night we decided to take a walk in Wenceslas Square after dinner. Harold had his shriveled up old pecker fondled right there in front of me. The nerve, those bitches. And the smell!”

“Black Sheriffs” (left over secret police from the good old days) patrolled the streets but they ignored me too. Others they stopped. I noticed that. Every night I’d grab a dog at this same stand, and I’d see the sheriffs shaking down the young American boys too drunk to walk.

Thank God for my Mexican-American heritage I say: light, brown skin, tan all over, dark hair. Havennever been pegged for “American” on the road so far. Good, need every advantage I can get going it on the cheap and solo…

I finally mastered that damnable tram system after several failed nights of now-where-the-fuck-am-I? trial runs. And, as usual, I stumbled back to my room, the last one in again-much to the pissed off dismay of my much younger roomies-and collapsed onto my bed with my clothes on.

Her name was Veronica. If you see her, tell her I said we still have some lessons to learn…

   [Top of Page]  
 Latest Headlines