Poo_Emoji_

Happy Poo Emoji. A Scat Fetish Session.

Last week a new client contacted me by email and asked to book a scat fetish session.

He seemed polite, genuine and respectful and got straight to the point about where and when he’d like to meet without trying to engage in a lot of unnecessary chat.

Like all experienced sex workers, I’m all too familiar with timewasters who like to propose sessions that they think are extreme or shocking in the hope that they¬† can get free entertainment chatting about the details of an encounter they have zero intention of ever going through with in reality.

The more unusual the request, in my experience, the less likely they are to actually show up to an appointment.

But sometimes these kinds of requests are genuine and in this case my new gentleman friend did everything exactly right to assure me that he wasn’t just messing around.

The scene he had in mind was a kinky GFE (girlfriend experience) where we would start out with a romantic, fairly vanilla date and then at some point I would adjourn to the ladies room to powder my nose and my dashing suitor would chaperone me there and on bended knee, watch me take a big steaming dump.

It’s like Cinderella or something, innit?

I enjoyed Price Charming’s company. He’s really sweet and knows exactly what he likes and why he likes it.

His ex was very private about her ablutions and the more she tried to be discreet about her movements, the more fascinated he became and the desire to know exactly what was going on behind the closed toilet door grew and grew.

He never told her his hearts true desire out of concern that she’d be horrified, instead satisfying his curiosity as best he could by furtively wanking himself off whilst listening to her farting and plopping noises from afar.

Apparently they broke up for reasons unrelated to his unrequited lust for hard sports.

Anyway, I’m no prude and not squeamish at all about my asshole, which is a thing of beauty I normally like to keep clean as a whistle. Especially when anal action is on the menu. But when it’s appropriate to get dirty, I’m down with some dirtiness.

And so it was that after kisses and cuddles and some sensible grown up snuggles, I sat astride my porcelain throne, legs akimbo, with a handsome man crouched before me, gazing in wonderment at the magnificent turd I dropped for his viewing pleasure.

He came. I wiped and flushed. We both washed our hands. And we all lived happily ever after.