Cum Shower - Sex Stories

Cum Shower

Let me just preface this little narrative by saying that I am not the most proficient of lovers. I have trouble meeting ladies. I don’t know why. I’m shy, you could say. But I'm human, like Morrissey says, and I need to be loved, just like anybody else does. So, instead of going out and meeting someone, I thought I’d try hiring a prostitute. I’d never done it before. And, to be honest, I didn’t even know how. You can’t just look them up in the yellow pages. And I didn’t trust the ads I saw in the free paper. So I decided to call my friend, Steve. Steve not only could hire a prostitute, he even had his own girlfriend. He was pretty well-versed in the lady territory. He was the one who explained to me what a happy ending was. I thought it was the dessert you get at McDonalds. That’s not what it is, by the way. I called Steve. The phone rang about eight times. I knew to keep letting it ring. He liked to make himself seem important by making the caller wait. He picked up on the thirteenth ring. “Hello?” he said. Man, this guy was smooth. If there was one person I could kill and trade lives with, maybe by cutting his skin off and wearing it – I don’t know – it would be Steve. “Hello?” Steve said again, getting a little annoyed. I told him it was me and he said me, who and I said Jared and he said Jared, who? “From Whole Foods, remember?” I said. “I was buying all that laxative…” “Oh, right. Jared. Yeah. What’s up?” I told him about my dilemma and what would his suggestion be? ...

... He gave me a phone number to call and said, “Ask for Angela. She loves a cum shower.” “What’s a—?” “Hey, Jar, I gotta go. Good luck, man. And remember: cum shower.” Click. Cum shower? I thought about Googling it but I felt embarrassed. I knew what a shower was, that part was obvious. And I knew what cum was, thanks to another conversation with Steve when I ran into him at the Synagogue. But, how did they relate? I wanted to make my date with Angela really special. So I had to figure out what a cum shower was before I called to book her. Is that what hiring a prostitute is called? I went into my bathroom and looked at my shower stall. It was fairly generic with a faucet for filling up the tub. A stopper. Rubber ducky. Showerhead. I wondered if I unscrewed the showerhead and ejaculated into it…? That made sense to me. Yeah, that was it. I wasn’t feeling particularly aroused at the moment. Well, maybe I could call and book Angela and then worry about that later. So I held the phone in my hand and looked at the number Steve gave me. I was feeling really nervous and my palms were all sweaty. I could hardly hold the cell phone. I didn’t know if I could go through with it. But I was so lonely. I screwed up my courage. “Screw,” I thought and giggled. I pushed some of the numbers. I pushed the three numbers of the area code. Was I calling a whorehouse? I pushed the three other numbers. Or was I calling a pimp? I pushed one of the four remaining numbers. Then I dialed another one. My ...