The Night My Date Took Me To A Prostitute Hotel

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The Night My Date Took Me To A Prostitute Hotel

Oy vey.

“I’m going to give you some nooky, so get ready,” I teased Alex over the phone.

He sighed with relief. Alex and I had been dating for three months, and I hadn’t given him the vage. Alex was a pro at oral sex, so I was good. Plus, I wasn’t sure if I desired him as much as I should have. More of a friend than a lover, Alex wasn’t rocking my world emotionally. Oh, but he had a glorious lengua.

“So, I’m going to get a hotel room,” Alex replied eagerly, “for this weekend!” That’s because Alex, at 25, still lived with momma, and so did I. We often fooled around in stairwells and in the back of dark nightclubs. I just didn’t feel comfortable going over to his mom’s place, and mami would kill me if she knew I was getting head from a man who wasn’t my novio.

“Woah there, buddy, slow down,” I wanted to say.

Instead, I agreed to get freaky with Alex that very weekend.

Penetration Day arrived, and I met Alex outside of his neighborhood bar at around 10 p.m. It didn’t take long for him to hail a yellow cab. He asked the taxi driver to open the trunk. Before stuffing his duffel bag and my large tote in the back, Alex showed me what was inside: a jug of Carlo Rossi wine that cost him about $6.99. Classy.

Once inside the cab, Alex called out the address of our hotel. He pulled me close to him to snuggle, and I stiffened up. “Are you nervous?” he asked. I shook my head. I was actually regretting this decision.

Finally in front of the hotel, I felt a case of deja vu. “Have I been here before,” I wondered. I shook off my gut feeling, and we walked inside toward the hotel concierge.

Right at the front were the room rates — the per hour room rates. In that instant, I knew why the hotel looked so familiar. My longtime ex, George, took me there once, and I refused to stay – because it was a hotel for prostitutes.

I looked at Alex who had already paid and had the room key in hand. He looked so happy, like a puppy who had his neutering reversed. “Maybe this room wouldn’t be so bad,” I convinced myself. I was wrong. The room was as grimy as I remembered. The sheets were yellowish, and I was afraid there would be bed bugs. The only light came from two dim lamps, probably to hide cum stains.

I was disgusted. I was appalled. I wanted out, dammit!

Yet, I said nothing to Alex. I stayed at the hooker motel with him, chugged most of the cheap wine and banged Alex just like he hoped I would. Why? Because I didn’t want to upset him. Because we were already there.
Because I didn’t think I deserved more than what was being offered — and he had a very convincing tongue.

These sex stories in this series are real. Some identifying details and all names are changed to protect the wicked. Got a steamy piece of literotica that absolutely, positively must be told? Send your funny, erotic, unbelievable sex stories to We promise to keep it anonymous.


This article was originally published at Latina. Reprinted with permission from the author.


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