I remember my only hour with Sandra. I still have vivid mental images of her. My mind seems to think of her small slightly sagging ass, tiny breasts, aged smile, stretch-marks adorning her hips and thighs, and a barbaric c-section scar. She was physically distressed, she was worn out, and at one time I could clearly see that she was more than beautiful; she was magnificent! Her profession just sucked the fire and life right out of her, and the whites of her eyes were more cream colored and antique looking.

Such an intelligent, sensitive, caring woman—I know, because I spoke with her. She was only 26 years old, but you never would have guessed it for she lived a lifetime. Twenty something and she looked like she was in her late thirties. She had two beautiful boys three years apart, with the same dead-beat Latino. She was a Latino, that’s how she referred to herself, so I’m not trying to cast a shadow of discrimination.

Sandra was a beautiful Latino, a good person, but she was scared, she was aged, she was unhappy. She couldn’t make ends meet any other way; she couldn’t live and provide her boys with the life and education they deserve if she wasn’t a prostitute. She explained to me that although tired, she is with them from the moment they wake up, then she gets a break when they go to school, and during this time she sleeps, then she spends time with them until they both go to sleep. One of the many benefits her night job gives her is the ability to spend time with her boys, which is of the utmost importance.

But honestly, the memories, how horrible! Why did she have to take her clothes off? She looked so much more beautiful with them on. Basically men pay to fuck her, and they pay her well, and I don’t see how or why. I guess there are just a lot of men who prefer rather than wining and dining some bitch, spending hundreds of dollars and hours of time, they rather just spend a few hundred and know what they are going to get.

When she first walked through the door, I was tempted to stiff her and send her on her way, but then I realized that wouldn’t be right. She is just trying to make a living selling what she has left of a once godly body. I now know getting fucked all night every night by may men takes a lot out of a person. I never paid for pussy before, and I never will. If all you want is pussy, all you have to do is go out to a dance club, or a bar, and just be a little blunt with a few women. Most of the time you don’t even have to buy them a drink. There are girls who are going out for the very same reason you are, to have a good time, and to go home with someone.

New York City, forget about it! Do you have any idea how many ‘escorts’ are available of any age, race, fetish you fancy—you name it and it will be delivered to your door in under an hour. But Sandra, she has had sex with thousands of guys. Thousands! Sometimes, eight, nine, ten, or even eleven in one night! Do you know what kind of money that is? She makes more than most lawyers, and that’s all cash money off the books mind you. I hope she’s saving some of that for the future, because God only knows how many more years she’ll be able to do this. But I don’t understand who in God’s name is giving her all this business. Are there that many pathetically rich individuals able to shell out $500-1500 dollars just for one measly little hour?

I called her on a whim, as a fucking joke. I was drinking Patron and I saw a little picture of this exotic bitch, and a caption that read, ‘Hot Latino dream girl available for you.” I never did anything like this before because I don’t agree with it, but I figured, might as well try something like this once; who’s going to know?

When she came to my door, and I saw her, I thought she was very true to her add, but upon closer inspection, when I saw her naked, when I saw the make-up she had plastered on her face, I didn’t fuck her only because of the nightmares I would have. She just didn’t meet my standards cosmetically speaking. I’m always a skeptic of women who wear make-up—on their cheeks and their entire face—what are they making up? And worse yet, if you ever see a woman who puts makeup on other parts of her body, or on her breasts for example—be aware. Unless she’s trying to cover up a tattoo for a formal occasion, what the hell is she covering up on her body that is under her clothing? And why even cover-up a tattoo? Hell in today’s day and age, people, professionals, should respect that! Scratch what I said—you see a girl with makeup on her body, you fly like the wind.

As I lay with her naked body draped next to mine, for an hour we talked. We talked and I made her feel as though it was my fault, and she was everything a guy could dream for. And for the first ten minutes or so I was consciously aware of every part of my body she touched, just with her gestures while conversing. Then I thought to myself, this is silly because “a” I cannot get a disease from just being touched, and “b” as soon as she leaves I’ll just take a scalding hot shower, and throw all of these sheets into the washing machine or garbage. So, there was no sense being too paranoid.

And I’ll tell you what, she was an amazingly sexy woman the more I started talking to her, and she still can be for someone, for the right person. She doesn’t have to settle for this profession and this life. And what will she do in a few more years? How many years does she think she can continue to do this? Does she have money saved up, or is she beginning to save—I really wanted to ask her those questions.

Why not do what every ivy-league schoolgirl does—shop for, then get a ‘M’‘R’ ‘S’ from a motivated ‘destined to be successful,’ or ‘comes from money’ soulless prick. It doesn’t really matter what most women study in school because they have no intention of working very long. Once they get married, and want to start a family, they are done. Think about it? How many women do you know who are the sole breadwinners? I’m not saying women shouldn’t have the option of working, but you either become career orientated or you become family orientated; you can’t do both effectively. Don’t let your family suffer because you want a career. That’s the problem, once women started joining the workforce during WWII, family values in this country started to plummet.

I’m not suggesting that women should stay home. I’m only suggesting that one parent should be home to parent the children. If my wife could have run my company, and I could have stayed home with my fucking son for 18 years—I would have done it. Staying at home and being a parent is the most important job, and it is completely overlooked—in most cases it has to be overlooked for economic necessity.

Anyway, I suggested to Sandra she try to get one of these rich bastards she could tolerate head over heals for her, and make that “Pretty Woman” story a reality. If she’s going to work that pussy, why not work her pussy for some real security. Women do it all the time, they get the men head of heals for them, and make the men think that they’re the only ones with the magic slit between their legs.
I gave her a business card. I mean if I’m able to drop $1,500 dollars for an hour of drunkard bullshit and not even get my dick wet, I might as well help her anyway she’d let me. But I could never love her, I could never desire her physically, I couldn’t even fuck her, so we are impossible—even as friends.

In fact, even though I’m willing to help her, I never care to see her, or even speak with her again. Strictly casual, quick, and in an abrupt business fashion, speaking for New York minutes on the telephone, we could conduct business until she was where she should be. I won’t give her, but I will get her a job in a place where our paths and circles would never have to cross, where I wouldn’t have to respect her as a business professional or even see her—only thing is, she makes a lot more money being a prostitute than she would with a respectable job, and that’s a sacrifice.
No way, no how she would give this up. It’s too big of a sacrifice. She’s really going to take a job for a few more bucks than minimum wage. She wouldn’t even make in one week what I gave her tonight. Hell, if I had to shovel shit and make one million a year, and someone said why don’t you work for me and cut roses for thirty-thousand, I’d say you know what, I’m going to continue to shovel shit thank you very much. On top of that some people believe prostitution is the oldest profession and should be legalized. It probably should be legalized, but if it were, I’ll tell you this, a lot of these women wouldn’t be able to make the kind of money they’re making now. Who are we to pass a moral judgment on these individuals who make money using their bodies? And let me tell you, these are no stupid bitches—they know a lot about disease—mainly they don’t want to get any.

Yea, what the hell was I thinking? No one in there right mind is going to pay some Latino girl with no education other than that of the street, and no business experience top dollar to do something as simple as answer a phone and direct calls. Not everyone is Jennifer Lopez you know; not every Latino woman without a pot to piss in can make it to superstardom. And if J-Lo didn’t have that ass, and that body, who the fuck would she be? She certainly can’t sing or act. She’d probably be struggling, and doing desperate things just like a lot of people out there are. Because of mostly shit luck, she’s so far removed from reality now, she doesn’t have a clue where she came from, or who she is. At least Sandra knows who she is, where she came from, and how she never wants her children to have to live in the world that most underprivileged minorities are unconsciously steered into.

Hell, most of the divisions of my company have automated systems to direct and traffic incoming calls—it’s more cost efficient. I don’t have to give a computer program benefits, medical insurance, a company car, cell phone, days off, listen to its bullshit—the list goes on and on. And the few secretaries I have, at least they are proficient with computers, typing articulate letters, and doing all sorts of clerical work. The more I think about it, the more I think you can’t just transplant someone that comes from one world to live in another. We all live in different worlds.
It’s nice having cash money in your pocket, everyone loves cash money baby. Money is power. Money commands respect. J-Lo, yes I said some things about her, but she could give a shit less. She has more money than God? She wouldn’t think for one second about anything I said because my comments would never enter into her psyche and just be regarded as crazy. And when her looks fade, no one will remember.

If all you have to do is open your legs, let some pathetic bastard shake around for a few minutes—then that’s all you have to do. I couldn’t believe in this day and age that she felt safe from disease. I was just sitting next to her, and I didn’t feel safe. She told me that she always used protection, she doesn’t kiss, and she doesn’t do anal. She has complete confidence in modern day contraceptives and uses them for both oral and vaginal sex. That’s nice. I don’t have complete confidence in anything or anyone—not even cold hard cash.

I’ll tell you what I told my son, if you don’t trust a woman, don’t fuck a woman—and most women you cannot trust. If you think she might have a disease, or if you think she might want to get pregnant, or you want to play it safe—walk away from the pussy, it isn’t worth it. Because let’s face it contraceptives suck. Condoms suck. And if you can’t ride bare back—there is no sense riding at all. I mean if you like fucking latex, then why not get a few of those medical gloves, fill it with Vaseline, give it a name, and fuck away. Thinking about it, I must have drunk a lot of Patron. Why did I even call Sandra?

I really can’t believe it, I’m thinking about my son again and some of the girls he has introduced to me. There really are women with the brains of a chicken—no, that’s too kind—peanuts for brains; and they think if they take some method of birth control, they can fuck everyone. It’s truly amazing. I remember seeing all of the prostitutes on Christopho Columbo in Roma, just walking back and forth looking amazing, and having no concept of how susceptible they were to disease. Especially eastern European women, or Spanish, or the Italian women who enjoy sex—they have no idea. Hell, most American girls, and I’m not talking about slutty ones, sluts exist in every region, I’m saying regular good ole fashioned American girls—they don’t have any problem with sucking dicks, and some don’t even have a problem with anal—but sex, sex in the front—now that’s a problem.

I’m afraid for my son’s generation because it is really full of stupid pathetic little impish bastards who don’t know shit about shit. I mean there were always stupid gullible bastards since the beginning of time, but this generation more than mine has an invincibility heir about them, and they think nothing can happen to them, just because they are who they are, or who there father is. If you remind them of all the famous people who are now dying from some horrific sexually transmitted disease, they’ll just say you always take such extreme examples.

And these little invincible bastards, they only feel like that because they are all to pussy to fight. No one fights physically anymore; they just throw words and expletives at each other, and have a sense of achievement at the end of a viscously long tirade, like they won something. Or worse yet they will grab a gun and squeeze off a few rounds. Back in my day, I’d let someone say about five words to me, and then the situation was going to end with either me unconscious, but more times with the other bloke seriously abused and deformed wishing he never opened up his fucking mouth. He would remember me for at least one week, especially if I got a hold of his throat and his eyes.
Kids today wouldn’t last five minutes in my fucking world; not five. And the guys today, they wouldn’t have been able to score with the women of my generation. Today you don’t have to say much and a woman will allow you to toss yourself into her. Women today, women of my son’s generation, they don’t even look at the dicks they let into them. I don’t know if the women today are more naïve or stupid, or if the advent of the pill gives women a false heir of confidence, but they trust everything the men tell them—and the men trust the women!

I’m not only saying the women now a days are stupid, the men are as well because they don’t even think a second time—a woman opens her legs for them, and whether they have protection or not—they are plowing away as long as she doesn’t seem to mind. And of course she doesn’t seem to mind because if her legs are open for you, and you just met her—well she’s had many a men drinking at her bar during happy hour. How do you think the straight men get these horrible diseases? The women fucking give them gifts that last a lifetime—and a lot of women know they have a disease and are infecting you. They feel like you deserve it in some sick way. If they don’t reflect a second and consider what they do to themselves, they certainly won’t consider how they can ruin the life of another.

Men will walk around and neglect their bodies, or fail to go to the doctor, or fail to get blood tests, but women are much more in touch with there body. If something doesn’t look right or smell right they are in the doctor’s office. And they want to know how to remedy the situation, hide the smell, and make sure no one can ever possibly know. My son, the first girl he was with he was with when he was 14, and I was proud of him. But I wasn’t proud of him for being stupid. He told me his piss was burning. It turns out he got chlamydia, which clears up with antibiotics in seven days or so, but that’s not the point. He confronted this bitch, told her he had chlamydia, and she tried to tell him he must have given it to her and it’s impossible for her to have given it to him. How could his virgin penis give her anything other than pleasure or pregnancy? My boy knew to crank one out before he was with a woman for the first time so he wouldn’t accidentally prematurely ejaculate.

I don’t think the youth today really know about all of the horrible diseases there are out there. If you get an STD caused by bacteria, you are fine. They have cures for chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis, trichomoniasis, and vaginal infections, all caused by bacteria. But if you get an STD caused by a virus, it will plague your life and never leave you. Genital herpes, genital warts, hepatitis, HIV, or AIDS—good luck!

But I really don’t know? I really don’t know how the future generations are going to amount to anything, other than a bunch of assholes working for a bunch of assholes, and everybody knows everything, but the reason they are where they are is because they have no luck, or plenty of it.

I had no luck. I made my luck for me. I got married at a young age. I went to the University of Pennsylvania while working, while being married, and while having a young son. No one made me a millionaire; I did that on my own. No one bought my company for me—I did that. And although I did everything, my ex—wife still gets half of everything.
Now given for many years I was just scratching by, and I didn’t always have a company. I mean I always worked in the field thinking I’d be president of a company, but never believing I would venture out on my own and destroy all the competition—some being companies that formerly employed me.

And I really wish sometimes that my wife didn’t ask for a divorce. But she was right—she was totally right and deserved to be able to move on. When my boy got to college, she was tired of putting on the social face and keeping blind eye to my affairs, so she left. She served her purpose—she was a great mother and I have a wonderful son. In addition to that, someone who never worked a day in her life, she has half of my fucking money. But I don’t care, she’s entitled to that for being supportive of me. I definitely wouldn’t have been as successful as I am if I didn’t have her in the past pushing me—nagging the shit out of me. Maybe I’ll get remarried one day, but I see no reason to do so. I had a beautiful wife, and that lifestyle didn’t seem normal to me. I tell my son all of the time, ‘never get married—just live with someone.’ You can have a successful relationship with a person for many years and not have to be married—look at Goldie and Kurt. They seem to be happy.

And that’s why I don’t understand the gay folks. I mean I understand they want to enjoy some of the benefits of being legally married, but the benefits aren’t all that good actually. They are trying to do something that straight couples have been forced to do in the past. It’s now acceptable to live with a partner, and that makes a hell of a lot of sense to me—it’s also a hell of a lot cheaper. If you want to be married, do it symbolically with your own ceremony, wear a ring, and screw the whole legality of the matter. You have to legitimize yourself in the eyes of others? What does that do for you?

Well, it’s time for me to go now—I have something else to do. But if you wanted to know more about Sandra, I don’t know what happened to her after that hour we spent together. Even though we connected, she never called me thank God. She probably knew I was just trying to be nice. I’m sure she’s probably doing what she does best—making money with her body and devoting her life to her children trying to give them all of the opportunities she never had, or at least felt she never had.

I’ve been around a long time now, and I’ve never judged anyone, and I don’t think you should either. I am glad however that I will soon be retiring, soon be passing the torch to my son if he wants it, and I won’t have to live very long in a world that future generations are continuing to screw up for the worst. How can there still be people who rightfully know that the only way they can provide is by performing or engaging in unscrupulous activities? Ultima hora!