In the Beginning...(or Suddenly, Susan); Part One

It's said that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. In my case, it was a single schtup.

The year was 1989. I was 25 years old and had just moved to San Francisco after attending college in New York City. I had my own studio apartment in the Laurel Heights section of the city, a peon job as an administrative assistant at a major advertising agency, no debt, and relatively few personal expenses.

I was also still a Virgin.

Somehow, I'd gotten through high school and college without getting laid. In fact, I'd gotten through high school and college without even getting a hand on a girl's bare tits. The closest I'd come was in high school when I put a hand on the right breast (over her shirt) of Theresa, a girl I'd been dating, while we were making out in the parking lot of a local pizza joint in my hometown of Newark, Delaware. Theresa pushed my hand away and flatly stated, "I know that turns some girls on, but it turns me off."

Shit.

I don't think I'm an unattractive guy, but I think throughout my life I've always given off a vibe that has prevented most women from viewing me as a sexual option. Or maybe I'm just fooling myself and really am a douchebag. Whatever.

Anyway, in 1989 I started to worry that, left to my own devices, I'd never get laid. So I started to think about going to see...A HOOKER.

I didn't know anything about securing the services of a prostitute/escort. I know I didn't want to pick up a girl on the street because I was afraid of getting robbed or knifed by a pimp. I was also afraid that streetwalkers (as I'd heard them named) were prone to disease, or even worse, undercover female cops on vice detail. That's all I needed...to get arrested.

However, I had become familiar with the "Massage and Escort" ads in the back of a newsprint adult rag called THE SPECTATOR, which I periodically furtively bought from news boxes as jack-off material. I somehow intuited that the women who placed these ads were safer bets than the gals on the corner, and that you called them, scheduled appointments, and treated the whole thing much like a doctor's appointment. Much of this knowledge was from watching an indie film called WORKING GIRLS by director Lizzie Borden.

So, after much hemming and hawing, I finally decided to call the number in an ad reading "Tall Busty Blonde - Incall and Outcall Services". I liked blondes and big tits (still do), and it didn't matter if she was tall (I'm only 5'4").

The voice on the other end was most definitely female and said her name was Susan. Susan sounded businesslike and I said, despite the roaring in my ears and the hot flush that was rapidly rising up from my chest and spreading over my entire face, that I wanted to make an appointment. Susan told me her rate was $100 for a one-hour session and that she had openings that day. Was I still interested?

With my heart pounding, I said yes. She gave me her address and we agreed on a time. I hung up and found myself frozen with both terror and breathless anticipation. I was going to get laid AT LAST.