“It's really awful wanting desperately to have an unpopular kind of sex experience, something that no one else shares with you. That's how I got this idea. I came over to England for my holiday, and when I saw those little ads I really flipped. I suddenly got this idea. Maybe I'm sort of lesby or bisexual, anyway, but I suddenly got this idea of calling one of those numbers and having a woman do me with a dildoe.
“The bulletin board with the ads on it is down by Piccadilly, up on one of the streets that leads into Soho. People, almost all them men, collect there reading the cards, and I walked around the block a couple of times before I was able to stop there without anybody else. All the way along guys kept giving me the eye and making propositions. You have to be careful if you're alone, and I don't go around there at night. This was in the afternoon.
“Anyway, I memorized one of the telephone numbers. It was for a blonde girl, and it gave her measurements, and then said 'specializes in correction.' That's for masochists, of course, but, although I sometimes think it would be nice to be spanked, I'm more interested in having something pushed in me back there than being paddled. Yet masochists and the certain kind of person I am have something in common. We both love bottoms and think that there's nothing as beautiful as round buttocks.
“I went back down to the Piccadilly station which is very large. There are quite a few telephone booths there, but people are always using them, so that gave me a chance to make up my mind about this crazy thing. I imagined that the prostitute would be very surprised to have a girl call for an appointment, and she might think it was a joke. Anyway, I felt so desperate that I just had to try it. One thing about calling on a telephone, it doesn't really matter if you're rebuffed, because no one will see you.
“I got into the phone booth and quickly jotted the number down. I'd been saying it over and over again to myself. Then I fished around in my purse for a sixpence. British phones are kooky. You have to dial the number and then put in the sixpence, and when the other party answers you have to push a button.
“An older woman answered the phone. That put me off. I thought I had the wrong number. Then I remembered that prostitutes have older maids so, very timidly, I asked if I could make an appointment. I expected her to act surprised, but she didn't. Instead, she told me it would be five pounds, and then gave me the address and what underground route I had to take to get there.
“I was all excited, just like when those things happened when I was a kid. I went down the long escalator, followed the signs around to the Circle Line, and, a few minutes later, found myself walking down a long block of houses looking for the basement number. By this time I was almost in a panic, scared to death, all of which added to the thrill of the whole thing. I kept saying to myself, 'Now, at least, you're going to have something shoved up your bare bottom.' I pictured my own bare backside and wondered if she'd have me bend over, get down on hands and knees, or what. I wondered what she'd be like, probably hard as nails. But that's all right. That was the kind of person I really wanted, a girl that would be something like a man.
“I found the number, and before I could lose my nerve I tripped down the stairs and rang the bell. A gray-haired woman appeared; she looked like someone's grandma. She smiled cordially and led me into the parlor. It was a cozy room, rug on the floor, typical wingback armchairs, fireplace in the corner, and the TV was on.
“Moments later a tall, buxom woman of about thirty appeared and sat opposite me, her legs crossed so that I could see her ample thighs. I was really nervous now, but I still wanted it, and this young woman appealed to me. I guess I must really be at least part lesby.
“'What can I do for you?' she asked in a pleasant voice, and smiled.
“'I guess it's kind of strange for a girl to come here,' I said.
“'Not at all. I have ladies who come. What would you like?'
“I hesitated a moment, wondering if I had nerve enough to make my embarrassing request.
“'I'd like to be worked over with a dildoe,' I whispered.
“'Sure,' she answered, and, to my immense relief, 'where, in front or behind?'
“'Behind,' I murmured, and sighed.
“'Sure,' she said, smiling again, and rose. 'Come with me,' she added after I gave her the five pounds.
“I knew that afterwards I'd feel terribly degraded, and that I'd probably hate myself, but now I was too full of delicious anticipation. At last, after all these years, I was actually going to have something up my rectum.
“The little room she led me into looked like a chamber of horrors. There was a large bed in the center. All around the walls were whips, high leather boots, costumes, and wigs.
“'Strip,' she ordered, and then closed the door behind her. I wished she'd undress me, but I didn't have the nerve to ask. I decided to let her do everything, and that I would be completely passive.
“Slowly, garment by garment, I pulled a striptease in front of the mirror and, when I was bare, turned so that I could study my own round buttocks and the crack between them. I ran my hand over them very gently. 'You're going to get something right up in there,' I told myself.
“I sat on the bed and waited. I could hear other people talking in the kitchen and hoped nobody would suddenly come bursting in on me. Suppose the police came? I didn't even want to think of that. It felt delicious being stark naked and waiting for something to be done to me, so I just sat there savoring the anticipation.
“The door opened, and in came the prostitute half clad in leather, nude from the waist down. Leather is important to some people, I guess. It doesn't do anything particular for me.
“'Lie down on your stomach,' she told me.
“That surprised me. I thought I'd have to kneel down or bend over. Then she showed me the dildoes. I'd never seen one before. Two of them were huge artificial penises with testicles, the third was much smaller.
“'Which one do you want?' she asked.
“'Oh, not the big one,' I protested. 'I don't think I could take the big one.'
“'I guess we'd better use this little one then,' and she strapped it on.
“I was really excited now. I looked back past my rump, and watched her smear vaseline on the dildoe. She told me to move over, then got on the bed just behind me. 'Relax,' she said.
“I felt the dildoe slide between my cheeks, then, suddenly, sharp pain as the tip of it went in me. My cousin hadn't hurt when he screwed me back there, but the dildoe felt cold and hard. It wasn't like a penis at all.
“The prostitute crouched over me, slowly pushing the dildoe in, and then lay on top of me, crushing me on the bed.
“'It's all the way in you,' she said softly and began to pump very slowly. The pain went away and it began to feel good, not as nice as when the boy had done it to me, but nice. I relaxed and let it push in and out of me. She told me to spread my legs, and, when I did, she worked my clit with her finger. I really began to enjoy it now. The pressure in my rectum was wonderful. It felt so good.
“I felt the pleasure building up, something I'd never experienced before. I could hardly stand it. 'Shove it way up in me, I begged fiercely, and she did. She hurt me, but I liked it. Suddenly, and for the first time in my life, I felt an orgasm building. I felt water squirt in. I moaned and, as I reached my climax, she pushed the dildoe way up deep. Then, as I gradually slipped down from the peak, she lay there on top of me with it still in me.