C|Suite Letters: No Longer That 'Kind' Of Girl

Feb 1, 20198 min read

C|Suite is a men's magazine founded by Frank Cervi. It combines urban/office life-style articles with soft-core pornographic pictorials.

In recent years, C-Suite introduced the 'letters' column in which readers send in borderline ridiculous sexcapades, resulting often in explicit and unnecessary detail.

No Longer That 'Kind' Of Girl

C|Suite Letters

Dear C|Suite: I have a confession to make: I am a 35-year-old female that has been involved in the world of prostitution for over a decade now; a Cam-girl and a Top-tier escort for professional men in the city.

The good news is I am done with that life. I wanted to make a fresh, clean start. Feeling ‘dirty’ all of the time, hopping from one stranger to the next—like a drifter for cock— a void started to manifest.

The emptiness inside me (even though I was being simultaneously ‘filled’) grew every day, with every dollar that my vagina, mouth, and anus earned. The constant imagery of seeing money in an envelope on the bedside table for the use of my orifices, started to haunt my dreams.

I am tiring of the nightmare: Growing old, without someone to be there for me, instead of just being there for my wet vagina, the warmth of my mouth, and the tightness of my soft grip. I am more than just a hole to blast into; a vessel for men to launch their torpedoes at.

Being tired of having sex for money, I yearned for what every-girl pines for: Love.

Is longing to be a normal, everyday girl, so hard to fathom?

I decided to make a change for my health and wellness; for my piece-of-mind. Looking to ‘get back out there’ into the dating scene, I took to Tinder; Facebook and Instagram to hit-up guys who liked me from high school and college.

I felt free from all of the greed and money; using my sex as a tool for a life-style. Free from the objectification and my body being used as a masturbatory-aid for a ton of random men I had encountered, during my days of harlotry.

When I first met Jason, sparks immediately flew; we did dinner and a film(He paid for both). I thought we had something 'special' going—I gave him a passionate blowjob in the car after the we got the bill.

He never called me back, after numerous texts preceding the fact.

Not letting myself feel discouraged, the next week I managed to set-up three dates, with three separate men—I screened their profiles to make sure they had met my new standard:

All three made at least six-figures, owned their own companies, had traveled to many countries; all had interesting Instagram profiles. I had dates for later that week with Lance, Chet and Bret—I ended up catching feelings for all three of them.

"Is longing to be a normal, everyday girl, so hard to fathom?"

Bret was a sweet guy and was my first date after that disaster with Jason. It felt comfortable, natural if you will. Bret was a nice way to ease back into the scene.

It was a simple date; Netflix and Chill. I think he wanted to have sex with me, but something just felt off.

It just didn’t feel right at the time. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun to sit by the fire with him while we watched Game of Thrones all night, but I didn’t feel it was the right moment for that sorta thing. I still wanted to get to know him better, before we progressed to that ‘stage’.

The next day, after my Netflix and Chill date with Bret, I met Chet; a real gym bro, type-of-guy.

He had the best lantern jaw I had ever seen; a chiseled look, which made my nipples feel like nails that needed to be pushed-in; screwed with. We both decided to work-out together at an LA Fitness (which he owns).

Afterwards, Chet took me to a Chick-fil-A.

I had forgotten my purse back at my apartment before the gym, so Chet graciously paid for my Spicy Chicken Sandwich; total value of $3.75.

Later that afternoon, we ended up back at my apartment where I got the urge to perform oral on him—I blew him, twice. The next night I got a random call from Bret, asking me if I wanted to go out to dinner, so he could ‘get to know me better’. My heart skipped a beat (my vagina pulsed, like an inflamed muscle) as this is what I had been hoping for, with regards to my relationship with Bret.

I obliged.

Bret picked me up at my apartment on a star-filled, moonless night. The air was crisp and heavy with passion. Before we went out for a bite, Bret drove me back to his loft where we enjoyed a reserve bottle of wine, vintage 1983. Admittedly, my vagina began to moisten and tingle.

After a glass and some goat cheese profiteroles that Bret had prepared as an appetizer, we washed up and headed out for a night on the town. However, before heading out, I couldn't help myself. I began to gently caress Bret's dick over-top his jeans. It felt like a coiled-up, Cinnabon.

I wanted to make it 'ice' itself.

While also tending to his balls with my finger-tips, Bret began to slip his own hand down the waist of my skirt; he fingered me like he was trying to clean out the gutters during the Fall season.

After Bret had-a-go at my wet marsh of a vagina, we cleaned-up and began to head out for dinner.

I was escorted by Bret on his arm as we walked down the street from his place to a quaint little restaurant called, Urban Noir; the cheapest bottle of wine on their menu was $140; the least expensive meal was $80. I got all giddy and thought, this is how a real woman should be treated.

Finally, I began to feel like a normal woman out there in the world: Respected, championed, and treated how we deserve. Dinner was amazing and so was Bret; he paid for the entirety of the evening.

At the end of dinner, I was smitten. So was my vagina. I ended up face down, ass up for the rest of the night at Bret’s apartment. After that evening, I deleted Chet’s phone number, as I felt I wasn’t treated with as much admiration and respect that Bret had given me. The respect I so truly deserve.

In hindsight, after my wonderful evening with Bret, Chet’s behavior and idea of a ‘date’ seemed real amateur and unappealing after the fact. I still held on to Lances number, though. I hadn’t even given him a chance.

I thought to myself, maybe I should give Lance a chance....someday.

"I ended up face down, ass up for the rest of the night..."

However, at this time, I had to cancel my date with Lance because I wanted to see more of Bret—observe where our relationship was going. A lot had happened with Bret and I over the course of a couple months.

At first, it was amazing. We had regular weekly dates like normal; our sex life together was on fire. Then, toward the end, Bret hit some hard times with his investments in the stock market. I think it affected his self-esteem and his mood began to affect me as well.

Our weekly dates began to turn into bi-weekly ones; we stopped going to all the restaurants that I liked—Began to frequent places in where the menu wasn’t to my liking. I started to feel ignored and unappreciated. Our sex life began to dwindle. I just wasn’t feeling that ‘spark’ anymore like I did when we first dated.

When we first started going out, it was hot and heavy.

I would normally strip in front of Bret back at his loft, after I had given him a blowjob in his car whilst in the driveway. Then, fuck him at least 4 times before bed and have a ‘quickie’ (cuddle fuck) in the morning, in where I'd let him cum all over my ass and backside—we’d shower right after before breakfast.

I began to text and flirt with that Lance guy, who I had previously contacted before Bret and I began our relationship.

Lance made me feel special; like I mattered. All Bret texted about. during this time, was how hard things were getting for him and that he might not be able to pay his rent, due to his portfolio being in the ‘red’; his client base was dwindling, fast.

Bret just seemed to be focused on, well, Bret; not on me.

It was starting to get really annoying.

Lance was charming; he has a great body as well.

A bit older than my liking, but I got over that, quickly. My vagina always went from a state of dry meadow, to the Irish country-side after a morning rain, whenever he texted me; I always had to bring a spare change of panties when we first started to hangout.

He texted me things that I could understand: Talks of travel, trips to Maui; orgasms and cumming on my tits, face and ass.

He even suggested that we’d take a vacation together soon; that he and I should met up in person.

We finally did.

He took me to this cozy little piano bar called Ivory, in the heart of the city. There, we talked of life, love and travel. I was immediately enthralled in his personality; he paid for my drinks.

All I can remember, is us in the back alley behind the bar—my mouth gripping his cock, like a Chinese finger-trap: The taste of gin and jizz, mixing in an explosive dance within the warm pockets of my feminine cheeks.