The Perfectly Imperfect Marriage Ch. 02

Author's note: Debbie's background

Continued from Chapter 01:

We're too young and too immature to know who we want and what we expect from a partner and from life to marry when in our twenties. Before we marry, we all should take a big breath of reality and take a longer look around us than at the boy or at the girl next door. It's a big world with millions of fascinating people. Before we marry, we should travel and see the world first before committing the rest of our lives to one person, just one person, and having children.

Especially when we're committing ourselves for all our days, perhaps even all eternity to one select person, we all should think longer and harder about our choices and who we want in our lives. At the very least we should take an inventory of who we are and what we truly want by making a list of what we want and don't want in a partner. If only for the sake of having sex, having some premarital fun, and for the sexual experience, we all should have sex with others before we marry. Just as I dare say that virgins should never marry, I dare say that we all should wait to marry until we're in our late twenties, thirties, or even in our forties.

Yet, different for a woman than it is for a man, the older she gets the louder her childbearing clock ticks. Especially if she's a woman who'd like to have a big family, the earlier she pushes out babies the better. Yet, with all those demanding kids in the way, when do mother and father get a chance to reconnect and express their love for one another in private? Suddenly, that young, sexy, hot blonde at the office looks good in her short skirt just as that handsome UPS driver looks hot in his uniform.

Other than the obvious of having extramarital affairs, there are lots of reasons why marriages fail. As much as having too little money, having too many children may be one of the reasons why couples divorce. With one commandment conflicting with the other, even the Catholic Church wants their say in good Catholics not using birth control on one hand and not getting divorced on the other hand.

Yet, unable to please everyone, with most times unable to please anyone, if we throw religion in the mix of our marriage too, we're doomed before we even have a chance to start. Just as Church and state must remain separate, once we're married, the Church shouldn't adversely interfere with our marriage by forcing us to adhere to out-of-date rules and Canon laws made my elderly, unmarried, Caucasian men. What in the Hell do these men know about marriage when they've never been married? What in the Hell do these men know about life's problems, especially monetary problems, when the church takes care of their every want, need, and desire?

Until death do they part, there's more than just an implied promise of eternal bliss if married couples remained faithfully married to one another. Happiness on Earth combined with eternal bliss may be reason enough for married couples to stay married than to cheat on their spouses and/or to get divorced. Happiness on Earth combined with eternal bliss may be reason enough for them to try to work on their issues and problems without calling it quits by getting a divorce.

Yet, for couples to remain married until death do they part, they need to marry the right person. Finding the right person is a daunting task, so daunting that some never marry for fear of making a terrible, everlasting mistake. Finding the right person is paramount in having a good marriage. Finding the right person is what we all need to be happy being married until death do we part.

With all the couples I know, I don't know of any couples who don't wish they were married to someone else, wished they were divorced, or wished their spouse was dead. My take on marriage is that marriage is not for everyone, especially not for me. With me unable to keep my legs closed, my mouth shut, and never being able to say no to men for sex for money, marriage and the loyal fidelity that it imposed, certainly wasn't my cup of tea.

Chapter 02:

Not trying to shock anyone but just keeping it real by being honest, if you read my profile, you already know that I'm an admitted whore. So? It's just sex. What's the big deal? You all know lots of whores. For all that you know, your wife, your daughters, your sister, your mother, your aunt, your cousin, your friends, your girlfriend, and/or neighbors may be whores too.

The difference with me is that I don't hide the fact that I'm a whore. I like being a whore. It's freeing not to pretend that I'm not a whore. I'm not embarrassed to admit that I'm a whore and/or that I like sex. Being a whore is the world's oldest profession and I'm proud that I continue in the work that needed to be done in the way that so many whores did who walked before me.

"Sex! Sex! Sex! I love sex. I love sucking cock and I love getting laid. If you want me to like you, really like you, then pay me to have sex with you."

Seriously, c'mon, get real, what's the big deal? It's just sex. Some women give whores a bad name by their vulgar mouths, their violent acts, the drugs their addicted to, and their sticky fingers with men's wallets. Yet, I had plenty of good relationships with men, men that I had sex with for years. In the way that it's a business and legalized in Nevada and dozens of countries, sex for money is a good thing for the prostitute and for her customer.

Tell me and be honest, what do you do for a living? When you think about what you must do to earn money, in the way that you prostitute your mind instead of your body, how different are you from me? If you work manual labor, you're prostituting your body for money as much as I'm prostituting my body for money. We're both whores for money, aren't we? Just as I whore my body for sex for money, we all whore ourselves for money one way or another. Think about it. With you no better than me, we're all whores in one way or another.

In the way that I look, in the way that I scantily dress, and sexily walk and talk, men look at me different then they do when looking at other women. Whenever they're around me, with me stealing the spotlight of attention, men don't even notice other women when seeing someone like me. Men are obviously accustomed to seeing frumpy housewives dressed in jeans and sweatshirts without hair and makeup. Men are accustomed to seeing obese women who fill the aisles at Wal-Mart. Then, I come along and as if they've never seen a real woman, they stare, they leer, they ogle, and they lust over my shapely ass and my big breasts.

"Tell me and be honest. Wouldn't you love for me to stroke your hard, erect prick while sucking your hard, erect prick? Wouldn't you love to cum in my mouth? Wouldn't you love to stick your cock in my warm, wet pussy and make love to me? Wouldn't you love to pound my pussy and fuck me? How much is that worth to you? How much would you pay for that privilege?"

### Debbie Dear Debbie ###

Giving me the once over, men look at me as if expecting me to say that I sell cosmetics and perfume at Macy's, real estate for Donald Trump, or that I'm someone famous, a celebrity or a CNN newscaster. With them already undressing me with their eyes and imagining me naked, perhaps wanting me to give them a free show, wouldn't they be shocked if I told them that I was a stripper? Again, perhaps wanting me to give them a free sample, if I told them that I was a prostitute, wouldn't they be as shocked they were interested in wanting to know how much I charged?

"What do you do for a living?"

In the way that most men do, he looked at me as if imagining me naked.

"I'm an exhibitionist," I said wanting to shock him. "I dance around a pole while slowly and seductively stripping off my clothes for tips," I said wanting to sexually excite him as if I was already stripping off my clothes. "I'm a whore. I have sex for money," I said leaning closer to whisper what I do for a living in his ear. "I suck and fuck any man's prick for money as my way to earn my living."

Unashamed and unembarrassed by how I earn my living, I've said that to more than one man. I'm a woman who earned her living by teasing men when slowly stripping off her clothes and while seductively dancing around a pole. When reading that on paper, it sounds ridiculous that a man would pay good money to watch a woman dance around a pole while stripping off her clothes. When reading that on paper, it sounds ridiculous that a woman can earn a living by dancing around a pole while stripping off her clothes.

Yet, when adding drugs and alcohol to the mix in the darkened ambiance of a strip club filled with scantily clad women and horny customers, men are willing to part with their hard-earned dollars for a sexy, striptease show. Just as woman are willing to give men sex for money, men are willing to give woman money for sex. How else can an ordinary looking man get with a beautiful, sexy woman than to pay her for the privilege? There's no way a beautiful, sexy woman would suck and fuck a man who looks like him without being paid to do that.

I'm a whore who prostitutes herself by having sex with multiples of partners for money during a night of drugs and drinking. I'm not ashamed of what I do just as I'm not embarrassed by what I did. I did what I had to do to survive. We all do what we must do to survive. I did what I had to do to earn money. We all do what we must do to earn money. After already having survived a life of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse, with me no virgin and with me enjoying sex, it was an easy decision for me to have sex with men for money.

For money, men willingly paid me to strip naked. Men paid me money to allow them to touch and feel me where they no longer touch and feel their wives. For money, they'd have me roleplay a sexy scenario while having me pretend to be their mother, their mother-in-law, their sister, their sister-in-law, their daughters, their aunts, their cousins, or their wife's best friend.

For money, men paid me to have sex with them. For money, men paid me for them to have sex with me. For money, with it just being sex after all, I'd literally do anything for money except to kill someone. Money, money, money, I had sex not for pleasure or for an orgasm, but for the money. Sex was all about the money.

"Show me the money, Honey, and I'll show you my tits," was a good way for me to break the ice and start a conversation. "Show me the money, Sugar, and I'll show you my honeypot. Show me the money, Darling, and I'll show you a good, sexy time. Show me the money, Baby, and I'll suck your cock. Show me enough money, Lover, and you can strip me naked and have your sexual way with my naked body all night."

Where too many women don't enjoy sex, their displeasure is my pleasure. I love having sex. I especially love the variety of having sex with a different man each time. Yeah, sure, I have plenty of repeat customers, but as if unwrapping a Christmas gift, it's always more fun having sex with someone for the first time. As if opening a Jack-in-the-box, it's always sexually exciting to see, touch, feel, stroke, suck, and fuck another new cock.

Moreover, I'm proud of the fact that I'm good in bed. Where too many women don't suck cock and even fewer women allow a man to cum in their mouths and swallow their cum, I'm proud of that fact that I'm a great cocksucker. Trust me, as far as men are concerned, it's not much of a blowjob if a man is relegated to cumming only on your tits. It's not much of a blowjob if you don't allow a man to cum in your mouth and it's an insult if you don't swallow his cum. I've swallowed enough cum over the years to make a man from cum.

"Suck my cock. Blow me, Debbie. I need to cum in your mouth. I need to watch you swallow my cum," said more than one man while feeling my big tits, fingering my erect nipples, and putting a heavy hand to the back of my head while humping my mouth and fucking my face.

Even though I've had more sexual partners in one day then most other women have had in a lifetime, I'd never apologize because I love having sex and love sucking and fucking men's cocks. Moreover, having sex is my job and my way to earn money. As much as I love having sex, I love making money more. My God given talent, sucking and fucking cocks is what I was born to do and is what I'm good at doing. I've even been known to give a man with erectile dysfunction an erection and get him to cum within five minutes of me wrapping my hand around him while stroking him and after taking him in my mouth to suck him.

### Debbie Dear Debbie ###

Not deliberately trying to get pregnant, bound to happen with me having so very many lovers, I've had five children from broken condoms. With all five of my children from four, different men, I never married any of them. I would have had four children from four different men but for the identical twins.

With none of them marriage material, I didn't want to marry any of them. All those men who fucked me and impregnated me weren't father material either. They were my customers, my Johns, and total strangers before sticking their dicks in my hand, in my mouth, and in my pussy. Nothing more than a business transaction, I didn't even want to know their names.

"Shh," I'd say putting my manicured finger to their lips. "Don't tell me your name. I don't want to know your name. It's better that I not put a name to your face. As if all of this is a dream, (a nightmare I wanted to say), it's better than you remain anonymous."

Some would look at me offended that I didn't want to know their name while others looked at me relieved that they didn't have to make up a phony name. Most men didn't care that I didn't want to know their name. It was more important for them to know my name, whether made up or real.

"Okay, then tell me your name," they'd say with them all saying the same thing.

They all wanted to know my name. No doubt, with them masturbating over this sexual experience later, they needed to call me something while stroking their dicks. I could only imagine them masturbating themselves over and again until they saved up enough money to have sex with me again.

"Debbie. Not Deborah, but Debbie. My name is Debbie but you may call me whomever you want me to be, Sugar," I'd say giving them a sexy smile and a naughty look. "Tell me, who do you want me to be?"

They'd look at me as if they were a kid locked in a candy store or a toy store overnight. After a while, they'd all say the same thing but with different names.

"I want you to be my mother, Barbara, my sister, Jennifer, my aunt, Irene, my cousin, Joan, my grandmother, Edna, my mother-in-law, Teresa, my sister-in-law, Christine, my co-worker, Julie, the woman next door, Rose, or a woman I saw at the mall. I don't know her name but we can pretend her name is Debbie."

They'd all say someone different going by different names but after a while they all wanted me to be the same person, someone real but with the sexual scenario that they imagined. They all had someone in mind that they wanted me to be, even a celebrity, a movie star, or a famous singer. Just as it was up to them to pretend, it was up to me to make them believe that I was whomever they wanted me to be.

In my line of work, it wasn't enough for me to give men sex for money. They wanted me to be their psychiatrist too. It wasn't enough that I was a prostitute willing to give them sex for money, they all wanted the sexual fantasy too of having sex with a woman they always lusted over but could never have.

Then, when they wanted to have a sexy conversation instead of sex, as so many of them did, I'd quickly put an end to that by putting them in their place.

"I wasn't hired to talk. I was hired to suck and fuck. If you want me to pretend to be this one or that one, that will cost you extra. Or, instead, if you want me to bare my soul and recount my past with the hope of saving me from my salaciously sexual life by accepting Jesus as my Lord Savior, that will cost you extra too," I said.

Not only was I willing to give them sex for money but also I was willing to talk about anything and/or be whomever they wanted me to be as long as they paid me more money.

"Yeah, I love you too, Honey. Now just shut the fuck up and fuck me," I've said more than once when some man professes his love for me. "I have another date after you and I still need to shower."

### Debbie Dear Debbie ###

Perhaps odd for me to feel that way being that I'm a prostitute but I'd never marry a man who solicited me and who had sex with a prostitute. It's sort of like what Mark Twain said about not wanting to belong to any club that will accept him as a member. The type of men who'd have sex with prostitutes and who'd have sex with me, instead of marrying me, they'd leave me rather than put a ring on my finger, which is what they all did eventually. My litmus test to validate their love, their fidelity, and their loyalty, was to tell them that I was pregnant with their child even when I wasn't.

As soon as I told them that I was pregnant with their child, they'd leave me when I told them that lie. Some men just wanted to hang around a whore for the drugs, the booze, and for the money. Telling a man that I was pregnant with his child was an easy way to get rid of him without having to go through the trouble of throwing him out and/or breaking up with him. The last thing that I wanted was a man who'd use up all my drugs, drink all my booze, and steal all my money. The last thing that I wanted was a man hanging around me who was only with me because he was dependent on me for his income.

"You're pregnant? No kiddin'. How about that? Listen, I'm just gonna run to the store to buy some cigarettes. I'll be right back," said this one and that one.

As if I was born yesterday and would believe their excuse for a second of suddenly having to leave, I looked at them and made a disbelieving face.

'How 'bout that yourself,' I thought.

Only, unless they went to Turkey, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, or Morocco to buy cigarettes and died along the way, none of them ever returned. Just because they think with the heads of their cocks, they must think me as stupid as they are. After having been in bed naked with so many men, I'm a professional at reading people. As matter of fact, prostitutes would be good at selling cars or real estate. I'm willing to bet that anyone who went for a test drive with me would be buying the car. If anyone attended an open house that I hosted, they'd be buying the house.

It's typical for men to want to have sex with beautiful whores just as it's typical for men to not want to marry them. It's typical for men to want to fuck a woman bareback without a condom, but not want to accept his responsibility after getting her pregnant. Just as most men know that, with me having been around the block one too many times, I know that too. It's always better to know what I'm dealing with than to be surprised even though nothing surprises me now.

No man who has had sex with a woman, especially a man who solicits prostitutes, wants to be saddled with her child. As far as he's concerned, unless he does DNA testing, or goes on The Maury Povich Show, the baby could be any one of a dozen men's child. I can't blame him for that but I can blame him for not wanting to use a condom. Granted the sex is better without a condom, something that I charge them extra to have but, trust me, what sensation he misses with my pussy when wearing a condom, I can make up for that with my mouth.

"Now remove your condom and stick your cock in my mouth," I've said to too many men to count. "I'll suck you dry until you ejaculate every drop in my mouth and down my throat."

They haven't had a blowjob until they've had one from me.

### Debbie Dear Debbie ###

Being that I was sexually and incestuously intimate with my four sons, I suspect that one of my sons, unsure which one, is the father of my lastborn child, my daughter. Even though I was a whore, an incestuous whore to boot, I was a good, God fearing Catholic who didn't believe in abortion. I may have not made it to Mass every Sunday but I made it to Mass enough to know the priest, Father John, on a first name basis.