WYSG - Welcome

Welcome to the West Yorkshire Sex Guide

I entered the world as "WYSG" on the 21st of November, 1996 and it took me some months to realise what I had started. I made my arrival, with a groan and splat, at 8:15pm on a rainy Thursday evening, between a skip and a brick wall, in a dark unpleasant back alley on Great Northern Street, Huddersfield, West Yorkshire.

In late 1996 I approached the end of a long and unrewarding relationship which left me feeling unwanted, vulnerable and desperate. I felt particularly self conscious of my limited experience with women, especially since my one and only long-term girlfriend could boast of several partners, numerous one-night-stands and (as it later transpired) several occasions when she had cheated on me. I felt as though I had missed out on an entire wealth of possible sexual experiences and adventures, the type that my peer-group spoke of constantly and the type that my partner would always somehow manage to get herself into (or even just close to) without even trying. Of course, I had tried to obtain those elusive experiences for myself, but a lack of confidence, a fear of rejection and a large degree of social inexperience had worked against me - along with a lack of opportunities to meet and socialise with the opposite sex.

Some things never change - even back then I did not like "nice" women. My girlfriend had dictated the terms, conditions, pace and direction of our relationship from an early stage. Despite ending up repeatedly hurt and let down, I found myself attracted to this bitchy and dominant type of woman, in contrast to the pleasant, gentle, genuine and sadly unattractive ladies who I did manage to meet in my everyday life. I would fantasise over those short-skirted, tarted-up young bitches who I would perceive as living an endless social life of sex, drink, permissiveness and pleasure.

For some reason, one dark and wet Thursday evening in mid-November, I took a drive down to the Fartown area of Huddersfield, which hosts the Huddersfield Red Light District. I had no real intentions of ever using a prostitute, but curiosity and fascination compelled me to explore the cold, rain-soaked streets, so as to investigate a recent newspaper article about prostitutes working in the area. I fooled myself into believing that I only wished to see what they looked like - after all, the television programmes always showed thin, tattooed, hard-faced women wearing leather mini-skirts, fish-net tights and stiletto boots. Despite my desire for tarts and sluts, I found this image difficult to find either attractive or believable, but nevertheless, I intended to see it for myself.

I circled the area a couple of times, but spotted only a few other cars and a couple of black men standing on a street-corner - making some kind of deal, I presumed. Finally, I drove under the railway arch at the junction of Willow Lane and Alder Street and there, illuminated by the head-lamps appeared a tall and well-built brunette in her thirties. She wore a long pale raincoat and rather resembled the statuesque actress who played "The She Devil". As I drove by, she locked her provocative over-painted eyes with my own and I found my whole body gripped by a surge of adrenaline and sexual excitement.

A thought entered my mind: I could have her if I wanted her, right there and then. No need to spend hours chatting her up with pointless "nice-guy" conversation, no need to spend a fortune buying her drinks, no need to waste hours phoning her up and dating her for weeks before I had the chance to gain her permission to get my hands inside her clothes, just instant sexual availability. I saw her as the solution to my frustration and I decided that just one experience would put my mind at rest and at least allow me to "catch up" with my promiscuous, cheating girlfriend and all of those colleagues and peers who for years had seemed to manage to have sex when they wanted and with whom they wanted. I dragged my eyes away hastily and decided that I should try to find somewhere to park, before walking back to meet the lady. I had immediately ruled-out using the car since it belonged to my father and so instead, I drove swiftly on until I arrived at Thistle Street, a few hundred yards away.

The car windows had steamed up and this made visibility difficult, yet still I managed to park in a rather tight space between the cars of two residents. Leaving the safety and warmth of my own car, I pulled up my hood and walked briskly back towards the Red Light District feeling rather like a nervous astronaut setting off on his first ever space walk. The cold November rain bounced down off both the pavement and my hood with a pitter-patter drumming as I made my way under the amber street lamps, trying to walk discreetly in every shadow that I could find. Soon, the downpour slowed, but I kept the hood of my raincoat raised for discretion and as I walked I continued to routinely turn my head away from the searching headlamps of every passing vehicle. When I arrived at the railway bridge, I felt dismayed to discover that the She Devil lady had vanished, most probably straight to the back seat of another client's car. Shivering, I turned to walk away and as I did, I glanced down Great Northern Street. In the distance, three figures stood close together, huddling under the glow of a street lamp. Without a second of hesitation, I made my way briskly towards them.

It seemed to take quite a while to walk the two hundred or so yards to where they stood. Two of the ladies seemed noticeably younger than the third and I would later surmise that this older girl might perhaps act as a tutor or mentor for the youngsters, instructing them in the divine art. As I drew level on the opposite side of the road, the older lady strutted provocatively towards the middle, her pointed boots clicking and scraping against the wet tarmac.

"Business?" she chirped in a rather common and abrupt voice.

I studied her for a moment whilst wondering what she meant, after all, "business" implied a lot of things, commerce, enterprise, profit, loss, etc. She looked in her early twenties, an unattractive, petite, long-haired brunette, wearing lace-up knee-high leather boots and a short, black loose-fitting skirt and white blouse. She had her curly hair tied up in a bunch above her head and beneath it sat a hard face with the classic "got fucked, got kicked in the teeth, had three half-caste kids by t'age of 15" look on it.

"How much?" I asked nervously, taking a couple of steps into the road and feeling rather turned on at the idea of getting some attention from a tarty young bitch for the first time ever.
"Depends what ya' want." she replied, as we met in the middle.
"Erm..", I struggled, "I mean, for erm, a hand job...?"
"A wank? Tenner," she snapped "fifteen wi' 'top out."

With fascinating precision she began to describe the other options on the menu until I eventually agreed to pay £15 for topless hand-relief. Of course, I would not have dreamed of doing anything else because I had heard that these ladies carried hideous diseases. Coughing rather badly she took one last drag on her dying cigarette and blew the smoke out provocatively, before Casually tossing it into the gutter. She gave a nod to her young apprentices and then led me down a dark, narrow overgrown gap between two industrial buildings. We arrived at a filthy and unpleasant smelling place behind a skip; used condoms and syringes floated in the puddles of rain and mud, along with other unspeakable horrors. I firstly paid the lady, my hands fumbling and shaking as I raked the cash out of my jeans pocket. I had not expected to actually meet a prostitute and so my pocket held only a couple of five pound notes and a cluster of pound coins and fifty-pence pieces. The prostitute routinely held the notes up against the dim street lamps and squinted as she tried to look for the silver thread. Satisfied, she then folded them neatly, before systematically slipping them down the top of her long leather boots - closely followed by the handful of coins, feeding them one by one, slot-machine-style. I would later chuckle at the idea of her stomping noisily home like the iron-man with her heavy coin-laden boots - and most probably getting mugged.

In a well practiced and almost robotic manoeuvre, she undid her skimpy blouse and then out flopped some little white saggy breasts, looking scrawny and pathetic under the amber lights. With a bemused cackle, she instructed me to "gerr'it owt, then", which I keenly did before she snatched out her small, surprisingly hot hand and methodically began to work on me. I fumbled with her soft little breasts, astonished at just how small, squishy and empty they felt, since my own girl friend had a firm and pert C cup.

Within moments, we finished business and the prostitute gave a comical little cheer of "yaaay!" as shuddering and gasping I made issue against the slimy brick wall. Still tucking my shirt back in, I followed her back out of the dingy alley before giving my thanks and saying goodbye; observed keenly by the peculiar young apprentices who puffed and chuffed amateurishly on their cigarettes, whispering and giggling to one another. I walked back to the car, £15 poorer and feeling somehow rather silly, cheated, exposed and even more depressed, lonely and desperate than before.

I never mentioned my little excursion to my partner. Our relationship ended about two months later, following a mutual decision. This at first proved painful but soon passed and within a week I had rebounded back to the Red Light District. On this occasion I once more drove my father's car along Great Northern Street until I spotted a lady standing by the roadside. I stopped the car rather swiftly and got out to talk with her, before we made our way behind a high fence. In a similar fashion to before, the lady started to masturbate me and all proceeded well until I noticed a line of terraced houses, right behind where we both stood. She sensed my thoughts:

"Don't worry" she said as she routinely worked on me. "They don't mind s'long as we keep quiet."

This did not really convince me at all. Conversation then revolved around the fact that she felt surprised to get any business at all as she considered herself the oldest girl out working that night - even so, I still regarded her under the age of thirty. I felt enormously relieved to climb back into the car and drive home.

In the weeks and months that followed I discovered more and more evidence of my partner's dishonest activities and this at least made my own actions under the cold amber street-lamps feel somehow justified. It took me about two months to put our relationship behind me totally and to begin to enjoy myself once more. For the first time in four years I felt liberated and hungry for adventure.

In the months that followed this unexpected series of adventures on dimly lit streets, I developed a taste for visiting the various private massage addresses in the Huddersfield area. I kept a careful log book of my experiences on a file on my PC, noting the dates, times, prices and quality of the sessions. I did not know why I logged them, just that my instinct said that I should do this and so I called the file "ServiceLog.txt", a name that at least seemed more discreet than "Prostitutes that I have seen"! Around the same time, I gained internet access and started to experiment with the creation of simple web sites. I didn't initially intend to publish my findings, but sooner or later, realised that I could and should do this.

Saturday, 7th of June, 1997

A basic web site called "ServiceLog" appeared on a free internet web host.

July 1997

I registered a free email address and within just a couple of months I had established a number of internet contacts who shared my hobby and gladly contributed information to my web site.

Mid 1998

I had expanded upon my understanding of both web design and the West Yorkshire region and soon expanded the guide to incorporate massage parlours and red light districts. Few other punting web sites existed at the time (and I consider mine amongst the first), but I took what information I could find from them and also from West Yorkshire newspapers and the Daily Sport, to build up a complete picture of the West Yorkshire punting scene. I decided on the name of the "West Yorkshire Sex Guide" (or WYSG for short) and subsequently redesigned the web site.

May 1999

I worked away from the area for six months and passed control to another hobbyist for this period. On my return, I continued to renovate and expand the guide, adding more details of red light districts and private addresses.

Mid 2001

The West Yorkshire Sex Guide listed over 150 addresses consisting mostly of private houses and flats, along with a handful of escorts.

October 2001

I reduced the listings to show only massage parlours. The growing Punternet community had collected a number of web-aware escorts who objected to anything remotely out of line with what they had grown to expect in the prostitution business or what they could control. After some aggravation from self-inflated members of that community, I decided to remove private listings and red light details. I actually felt quite relieved by this, since keeping the vast amounts of data up-to-date and correct proved quite a burden. Around the same time, a web designer friend gave a great deal of support and helped me to redesign and maintain the site. For a brief period it took on the name of "The West Yorkshire Sauna Guide" but I soon reverted it back to the current title and worked towards a new design.

July 2004

My web designer added a forum to the site which proved extremely successful. Soon after this, I took a two-month break due to family issues, allowing a friend to run the site. I resumed control in December of 2004 with new plans to expand and enhance the West Yorkshire Sex Guide.

2005

I appointed a team of "trusted reviewers" to submit reports on their visits to parlours and premises in the region. This addressed the issue of fake field reports which had practically killed Punternet. In late 2005, I decided to keep the number of trusted reviewers at 12, including myself. However, to keep things interesting, I decided to have a monthly vote on the forum in which people could choose to remove one trusted reviewer. When chosen, I would then appoint a new one to replace the leaver.

2006

New sections appeared on the WYSG, including an interactive map of West Yorkshire Premises and time / price comparison sections.

2007

The forum continued to grow rapidly and we also spent a great deal of time enhancing and rennovating the site. We had started to come to the understanding that the existing "Trusted Review" system had flaws - in particular with respect to the scoring criteria. We therefore proposed a new scorin system and communicated this on the actual forum to allow member participated and opinion.

January 2008

My web designer developed the new scoring system over the period of a few weeks and we rolled this out in early 2008.
December 2008

I spent hours migrating the reports from the older scoring system (the "vintage reports") into the new format and ensuring that the scores scaled correctly to allow a reasonable comparison. This resulted in a single combined database containing nearly 500 reports.