"Would you let a guy suck your cock?" My fifteen year old sphincter tightened proportionately to the erection that was already forming in my jeans.

"Fuck no! Wait - are you trying to come on to me? fag!", it was the only reasonable answer for such an obvious test question.

"Why not? You could just close your eyes and pretend it was a girl, what difference would it make?"

"The difference between coming into a soft smooth mouth and a hard stubbly one," I returned. "I do not happen to be a fag, so just shut the fuck up." That'd show him! Hope he doesn't notice my erection.

"You wouldn't feel any stubble, it'd be just the same as coming into a girls mouth. Besides - how do you even know what a girl's mouth feels like?" He had me there. I hadn't so much as kissed a girl since that tongue kissing thing at age four. Me and Kelley, who was six, used to nestle up under the chapel in the local Christian day care and wax poetic about the devil. Then she'd jam her tongue down my throat. I had no feeling about this one way or the other, nor did I have an erection. Unlike now.

"You'de let anybody that wanted to suck your dick and you know it." I was about to be introduced to my first and only client. In order to protect the guilty we'll simply refer to him here as "George W. Bush".

George W. Bush was a man in his late forties. He worked at a swap meet selling stolen TVs, stereos, VCRs and other electronics. He had a posse of sorts. A small army of boys, aged 14 to 16, who would break into their neighbors houses while they were at work and steal whatever electronic goods they could get their hands on. In return, they would get miniscule amounts of drugs. For a VCR, a graham of pot. For a large screen TV, two hits of acid at most, maybe a bottle of cheap tequila. George W. would keep the goods in his warehouse for a month or two, maybe change the decals, and then sell them in his swap meet booth - often, according to those who were in the know, right back to the people from whom they were stolen.

George W. had access to every drug you could ever hope for. Pot, acid, cocaine, heroin, amyl nitrate - at least anything that your average uninformed suburban dwelling erection spouting 15 year old would know about. George was also a total hedonist. He particularly liked young boys. If you let him suck your cock, he'd give you a half-graham of pot or one hit of acid - each of which were roughly worth five bucks at the time. This is how I became a five dollar whore.

George W. Bush had sucked more young boy cocks than I at the tender age of fifteen had ever imagined possible. Sometimes, instead of drugs, he'd offer to pay in sex. Real sex with real girls, who happened to be in his employ. They were mostly alcoholics and heroin addicts, horribly unattractive and either completely shapeless or unnervingly skinny, but who was I to refuse? My sex life previous to meeting George consisted of devising ingenious forms of masturbation involving saran wrap, Vaseline and the couch cushions. This was actual real girl sex!

I must admit to taking a rather twisted pride in the fact that the first sexual experience I ever had with a woman was with a prostitute, and the first sexual experience I ever had with anybody was *as* a prostitute.

Another thing about George W. Bush - he was fat. I'm not talking merely hefty, he was not chunky or heavyset. I'm talking corpulent. Obese. Rotund. Porcine. Gargantuan. Fucking huge. I've seen this man naked. It isn't pretty. George wasn't just a sexual hedonist, he was a true hedonist in every sense of the term. A true hedonist does whatever it is they happen to feel like doing at any given time - no more, no less. As far as I could tell (I never saw him eat anything else), he lived off of Snickers bars, Cheetos and Cherry Coke. The man was nothing less than drop dead sexy.

Perhaps the strangest thing of all about George W. Bush was that he had a wife and two kids, none of whom had ever suspected that George was anything other than a rather large, but honest, swap meet merchant. I'd heard him talk to his young sons on the phone numerous times (with the fresh scent of my hot cum on his breath) - he sounded like a regular dad, rationing out chores, making sure they were doing their homework, occasionally grounding one of them for coming home late. He even stuck his hand down the front of my pants once, gently massaging my tender post-ejaculate manhood, while he chatted on the phone with his oldest son about a baseball game. Admittedly this was more than a little creepy. But man did that half gram of pot sound good! I raised no objection.

I was introduced to George W. Bush by my best friend, who I'd known for over ten years (we'll refer to him here as "Dick Cheney"). Dick took me to Georges' warehouse one evening. By the time we'd arrived I was nicely stoned. George was watching what I still remember to be perhaps the most enticing porn film I have ever, ever seen. After making the cursory introductions, Dick left us alone to become better acquainted.

"So you want me to get you some pot?" George didn't fuck around, he went straight for the kill.

"Yeah," I cleverly replied.

"It'll cost you."

"OK," I retorted with razor sharp wit.

"You know what it costs?"

"Yep," I glibly volleyed back. Within seconds my pants were down, the lights were out, and I got to experience the most pleasant sensation I'd as of yet experienced in the whole of my life, eyes glued to the porn flick playing on the TV in the corner for the whole 12 seconds it took me to come. George W. Bush had just given me a delightful orgasm.

Oh man did he do it good too. None among the first four of my girlfriends could suck cock nearly as deftly and skillfully as could he. In fact, to this day, I've only met 2 or 3 women who could even approach or, at best, match his level of expertise. This could be because of the tremendous amount of fifteen year old cock he'd sucked in his day. I like to think that it has more to do with his girth. Part of me truly believes, in my heart of hearts, that there's something about being tremendously fat and over forty that lends incredible cocksucking prowess. Having a wife and kids probably doesn't hurt either.

After the protein packed climax I shuffled off of the stool I was sitting on and buttoned up my pants. George reached into a drawer under the television and retrieved for me a plastic baggy with a modest (but effective) ration of pot inside and handed it to me. I was now officially a whore. The moment of revelation was rather underwhelming actually.

I thus began a regular series of protein deposits fetching me a not unremarkable amount of pot, as well as acid, coke and the occasional roll in the hay with strange and mysterious (if not attractive) women.

At first I was a trifle upset that I was regularly coming into the mouth of an older fat man. But the more that I though about it the more I realized that I was living in the best of all possible worlds. Imagine going into a store and getting something worth five bucks. You take it to the counter, and as you reach for your wallet the clerk motions for you to put it back. "Don't worry about it," he says, "you can have that for free. But first you gotta let me give you a blow job." What could be better?

It is my personal belief that my whoredom was a good thing, a character builder, at the very least an experience not had by many 15 year old American boys. For this I have George W. Bush to thank. Thank you George W. Bush, for putting your fat mouth on my tender 15 year old cock in exchange for controlled substances and sketchy sex. Thank you for being such a peculiar fellow, such an odd conglomeration of contradictions and perversities. Thank you most of all for taking me so far outside the bounds of my then narrow limits of experience. That, more than anything else, has and will continue to serve me well.