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We’re gettin’ busy. And I’m – WHOA! Surprised! She’s got moves. Like – where’d she learn THAT? I’m sweatin’. Heart racin’. Then – BANG! Door flies open! Some dude – her pimp? Yellin’ – “Time’s up!” I’m mad again! “Gimme a damn minute!” I shout. He’s got this scar. Looks like a pirate. I’m thinkin’ – this is nuts!

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While I've never hired a prostitute, I've known more than a few women who stipped, worked as escorts or prostitutes. I've met some women with some pretty outside the bellcurve paraphilas .

Then, I step outside for a breather. The sun’s shining, and I’m thinking, “Maybe I’ll grab a coffee at the Calcot Centre.” But nooo, of course, I bump into my old mate, Dave. He’s always got some wild story. Today, he’s ranting about how he saw a fox on his street—Bramble Road, I think?—and it was just chilling like it owned the place. I’m cracking up, picturing this fox strutting around like it’s the king of Calcot.

Disabled woman endured 'holiday from hell' at Reading hotel