I have a new time waster. I'm becoming a car mechanic (and electronic?) to take care of my cars. The reason? Whores, what else!

I became a plumber when they charge me one grand to install something that you can buy in the hardware store for $50. I can buy all the nice toys in the hardware store, play with my pipes, and still have change to see a hooker or two. Or, a few massages to ease the muscle ache after hard work, and perhaps to release the tension of risking failure and flood.

The same thing happened when I took my car for regular servicing. I had enough. I used to drop my car at the dealers for everything. In return I got a rose. I was successfully threatened with warranty and resale value. The list of extra work done on my car even for simple services didn't make sense to me, except for the sky high price.

I started driving late in life. I even picked a house within walking distance to the train station and my 1st job. There everybody take the train to get out of town, get a life (as in London), and back. The car is just something to have, and they always are a burden to me. I didn't waited forever to drive at 16 and got an orgasm for my 1st car.

I am very much like a stereotypical woman driver and the mechanics punished me hard for it. Now everything make sense to me with the net. I came across complete manuals that include every bolts. I could see what mechanics do on youtube. They charge an hour to unscrew a nut or two?!

I think dealers charge $90 to $100 an hour labor, friendly neighborhood mechanics $80 - I'm in a bad neighborhood in that sense. (But still US dealers are a lot more reasonable than European ones.) Usually you have to fix a pair or two, multiplying that for two to four! It doesn't make any sense when if I can get the work done and get pampered afterwards.

To make the labor cost look reasonable, the parts quoted are over twice the price at eBaymotors for example - for the same OEM part. If not it's all over the net and Amazon delivers free. Now multiply the savings by two to four - you get a whore or two or a few massages.

In addition, you can hook up the on-board computer to your laptop and play around with it such as maximizing your mileage, saving gas. There is extensive on-board diagnostics since 1996 and the mechanics still insist that the codes don't tell you anything. But that's how they are supposed to do the diagnostics, and with google every code make sense.

Also, my cars are usually so dirty that I wouldn't go near, except for getting in. I believed that to keep the paint in top condition you need frequent waxing. And to wax you need to clean the car completely and dry thoroughly. A European hand wash used to cost you an arm and a leg. The American ones are really cyborgs. The robots are really good except when you need to touch the car, for gentle brushing and drying for example. But still you need to drink a few coffee waiting painfully while you car is being washed. Having Wi-Fi is good, but believer me you don't to see me "working" at my laptop in public. So usually I wait until I cannot tolerate the dirt, and then take my cars to be cleaned thoroughly and professionally.

Now I'm rather happy with the dry wash spray that is safe for skin. At least one dealer is happy with it for the amount of water saved, and more importantly labor. Before that I though I would like to wash my own cars and keep it sparkling. But on every public drain is the warning that the water goes directly into the beaches, even though I'm not that close. It doesn't look sensitive enough if you wash your car outside the house. Now I can even wash my wheels with biodegradable detergent inside my garage with just one bucket. It's not dry, but the dirty water goes into the toilet easily. What split in the garage is a negligible fraction of the dirt on my wheels, and the bio detergent. Also, modern technology means that the microfibre cloth I use for washing are easily taken care of with my modern washer and modern detergent.

Cleaning my dirty wheels takes 5 minutes with pipeling. I got to see the full glory of my alloy wheels more. It takes about the same time to get to the car wash, and I'm lazy. I can do it in my pajamas before taking a bath. Now even under the hood is relatively free of dust and grease.

I used to have a neighbor a few houses down the road. He had a taller, trophy type wife and a beautiful kid (a daughter). But he spent a lot of times with his classic car or may be kit car, washing them with only a bucket of water. I thought he was a special car dealer but I never asked. Geeks and car enthusiastic don't go well. But now I understand. Also, women make the world goes around.

Let me pay my respect to the true professionals, who can release tension, make love, make people happy and all that.

Compensated dating

Chanel is particularly jealous when I went abroad with compensated dating services. Her clients told her all about it. I even asked her to give me reliable contacts but she refused. Those types in the news are more for referrals among locals. Since prostitution is semi legal, group members are more likely to have met each other, and that's the usual criteria to get insider information. Unlike in US, where you may refer your online buddy to your regular, without telling her that you never met your buddy, who could be a serial killer.

But you don't really need referrals. Dating can be included if you want. You really want to hang around someone who look the part (old enough) to have dinner and watch a movie. You can find some online something a bit like Craig's lists.

They are close to happy hookers in my book. You have to meet them outside some shops or stations, telling them what you are wearing. I'm sure if there's something not right, they will not appear. Some girls ask for travel expenses beforehand, if you decide not to go ahead after meeting them. And potential clients honors the practice. These girls are not that confident or they are too hot and their time is very precious - you never know.

I suppose they are common but looking at the whole industry, they are just sand in the desert. For the price you can have model types twice over, if you want to skip the dating part. If you have time and money to spare, hostess clubs are more mainstream. Anyway, the dating part is increasingly by special request only.

It's an irony if you think that these girls are victims, but in US they punish the victims to deter others from becoming victims. ???

It's naive to think that the problem don't exist in US. Because it's illegal, it turns into something more risky. We have teenagers turning into rip-off artists, because you can't even break even being no-touch dancers, or fully legal escorts. Whole books are written on how to do it. Girls and clients are murdered because of rage.

I met a girl from the fly over zones who probably dropped out before 19 and went to DC as an escort, another went to Hawaii. She hated it and became a semi rip-off artists since. When she showed me pictures of her class reunion, she could point out that many became hookers too. I also met a few of her friends, who she met in cook school or something, who were also game.

What not to do at Halloween

Luckily it didn't happen to me anywhere near Halloween.

I saw a brief ad without pictures asking for the top going rate at a location near me. Most would ignore it, others would dismissed it as a rip-off, when 99% at my area were. I bet it wasn't, and taking risks have their rewards. It was an incall so I could pull out at the door. It wouldn't waste much time as she was close to me. There weren't that much chance nearby to take risks.

It was a decent motel, so a long term relationship wasn't likely as compared to her home. Living in a rip-off state and county, I train myself to say no thank you, turn away or just run whenever something doesn't seem right. I repeated the drill in my head and then knocked at the door.

The door opened just enough for me to get in. It seemed that the electricity to the motel was cut off due to accidental overload or something. She made do with some faint light in her room. She was standing behind the door so I could see nothing. I wouldn't go in that way.

During the standoff, a head suddenly popped out from behind the door, which made me jumped! It was a witch.

Stupid witch. It was her idea to block off the bright sunlight outside, and made atmosphere in the room using candle lights! Did she read the news about how many houses were burnt like that?

She actually looked like a witch with tall nose, sharp chins, wide thin lips pointing upwards, small piercing eyes, long eyebrows pointing downwards, and ghostly white skin. She wasn't ugly or old. She might be early thirties or younger, but her face would look older than she actually was. Worse still, she was in black lingerie, a teddy like outfit that wasn't showing much, more like hiding her age.

After the initial shock, she looked good enough for me to get inside, and a counter offer would fix anything. I asked for more lights and she did it apologetically. She looked better in the light and she didn't seem to have anything to hide. She wasn't tall but she had nice legs, and she was in good condition overall. So I accepted the offer without modification, knowing that she would be willing to please, and not a rip-off.

Actually her body was great, organic and slender like a 20 year old. Somebody goes for perfect tan, like the golden crust in a pizza. Somebody have to go for deep tan to hide things, like a Kentucky Fried Chicken. She went for the flawless pale look, which was perfect as a sashimi (and bloody raw steak) lover like me. Color-wise, it have to be like Hawaiian style tuna, slightly cooked at the outside. Spontaneously I asked if she would take a shower with me. She agreed with a mature woman's voice, and like nothing that she could not handle, very unlike her young looking body.

My idea of a shower is of course me applying body wash (or if there isn't any, shampoo) all over her from neck to toes. I wasn't sucking toes then but I instinctively washed her toes one by one. She was rather small and so was her feet. Her skin was perfect, or so it felt. She appreciated my attention to her body, and signed:"why don't boy friends do that?".

And so I did it, like many times before. Then I rolled over, recuperated, and chatted a bit.

I think I told the story before. She was an exercise equipment model on TV. Small is good because the equipments looked big. And she didn't have to show her face much.

When I was ready to go I got up and put my clothes back on, while she was lying casually, diagonally on the bed, fully naked with light on. Most girls show their best at the end, so you will remember and come back. Her best was fully naked, not that I can say about many others. I slowed down and got even slower. I was aroused, not that much physically but mentally. I told myself what a waste if I couldn't consume this piece of prime meat once again.

I asked if I could do it again. She just accepted in a mature sort of way. I was rather gentle with her anyway, my usual for the first meet. She wanted me back because there would not be many people in town who would take that much risks. It was hard work.

Barcelona

It was suppose to be a week's get away with my wing man at the beaches near Costa del Sol. For the price the apartment was surprisingly nice - spacious, quiet, central location, and rather new. The supermarket was a block away, like any supermarket, fully stocked with booze, which was rather cheap in terms of pesos.

The beaches was torture. It was full of teenage girls, topless, sitting shoulder to shoulder. You could hardly find an empty spot on the free beaches. The nightlife was not a lot better. It was full of people inside the discos, and outside the plazas. You could pick a quiet place to sit down but you would be surrounded by people doing the same.

But we were fine. We went there for the nothingless, and we managed to go out even less than we expected. We weren't too much over aged (:cough), but we never fit in with those crowds, at "home" or abroad.

We took a day trip to Barcelona but we liked it too much that we stayed there for a day or two. The red light district, which is also a tourist district, is full of outdoor restaurants, cafes, tasteful or tasteless shops. There was a block full of hookers even in day time. If you picked one, you could just walk up the stairs right there. The day time shift could not be too bad looking, at least for the top dogs. One sexy housewife dressed in white like a Greek goddess. She tried to talk to me but I turned her down in front of all her colleagues. I should had been more polite. She looked away the next time I walked pass.


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There were even one or two model like or teen model like girls hanging around, in decent but trendy dresses, totally out of place. But I thought they might be tourists or locals having fun pretending, or playing dare with their friends.

But we weren't staying in Barcelona for that (:cough). We both scored earlier in our own sort of way. Back in the beach, while I was sunbathing face down on the sand at a remote corner. A few local chat up artists tried to chat me up. Unfortunately they were boys, thinking that I was a shy tourist girl who hid at a corner to get rid of the top and bikini lines. I had my rock star hair then. I knew many girls wanted my legs. Years later many hookers still wanted my waist. After I discovered my foot fetish I also discovered that my toes are rather outstanding.

While sitting on a bench in a plaza crowed with people at night, the girl next to my wing man spoke to him briefly. Later I asked him what she said. He said she offered him sex for money. He was to shy and too righteous to take up the offer. He needed a devil like me to tell him to do things at his ears. He was a strong fit man in good shape and decent looking, though might be considered one of the ugly toads. He looked like he hadn't scored in ages, but he looked loaded and he probably was.

I was walking alone at night around the narrow side streets, losing myself in the crowd. I also had the habit of checking out the sleazy part of town whenever I visited a city center, mostly due to work. When I got to a drinking place, I saw a tall and slender, fully grown woman by the door, probably taking a breath of fresh air. Her dress wasn't hooker like, modest but tight and colorful.

I looked at her in a friendly way, hoping that she was interested in me or she was game. After all, the place wasn't the most classy nightclub. People inside only bothered about drinking and talking. People outside only bothered about getting around the narrow streets. Nobody bothered or noticed what we were doing. Her attractiveness overcame my shyness. I used my head to say "let's go". She used her eyes and smile to ask me if I was mistaken - she was no angel. I was certain she was game and off we went.


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She took me to a hotel among the narrow streets. I thought it was sleazy but it wasn't, perhaps just specialized for short term stays. At the busy and almost non-existent lobby, we met an eye catching couple who also got a room. The guy was tall, dark and handsome, like a bullfighter in a Tango suit. The woman had a sparking dress and a pair of nice full legs, and much else. The couple was like coming right out of "dancing with the stars".

After we did it, she took the effort to chat with me via my Spanish phrase book. She was one of the flamingo dancers in the joint and would like me to return to watch her perform. It could be fun but I couldn't imagine how I fit in with those crowds. I wasn't sure I would want to do it again over there as it was heat of the moment.

One day I was still out in the streets at dawn. It was the time all the phantoms came out. The pretty tree-lined tourist area turned into a nightmare zone, as busy as day time. Instead of tourists, there were the late shift hookers, the bottom of the pack that you don't normally come across, their boyfriend, their pimps, the cleanup crew who aren't normally looking looking enough to get a job at other times. But after a minute or two, I realized that they were all enjoying themselves for the short time they had got. Some winding up their work day while others were preparing to start work. They were behaving no different from the day time tourist lovers, like old couples watching the day goes by. But the difference was that, you wouldn't want to see their face or their outfit clearly.

I was a porn star!

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We, a gang of backpackers, went to see a sex show in one of the larger tourist joints. (The red light districts are blocked in Google street view.) Assuming that we were all crazy and uninhibited, three of us got picked onto the stage for the opening performance. We were to eat a banana in turns, half embedded from a female porn star's pussy. It was to stupid to do that when the stage was surrounded by a hundred people, and she didn't turn me on at all. Immediately I ran to the back of the crowd and into something like an exit in the dim light. It was just an locked emergency exit but I thought I was safe.

She didn't lose sight of me and ran straight to me almost naked. She told a bouncer guy to lift me up by his arms and marched me back to the stage with my feet dangling in the air. I was much lighter without the beer belly and love handles back then.

My guys offered me the first bite of the banana, so I did it with my eyes closed. After three bites, the banana was apparently gone. Then she popped the remaining chunk out of her pussy into the air. That was just the opening act.

But that was the end of my porn career.

Where was I?

Once upon a time, I exited at a tube station at the fringe of Central London. I noticed that many business cards were left at the telephone area inside the entrance of the station. That was perfect for a shy and adventurous person. I hardly knew any person but still I was afraid that I would ran into some friends in central London.

When I had the chance I went to the station again, arriving just after dark. I went to the telephone area to make a call, saving the embarrassment of entering a telephone box full of sleazy business cards.

With my head 12 o'clock dead straight ahead, I tried to move my eye balls as far sideways as possible, glancing at any number I could found. The woman who answered the call had a nice young voice, but laughed at me for not knowing where her street was. Most working girls there worked on that street.

Unlike other streets around, this one was completely dead and quiet right after dark. It was a normal side street, very roughly 100, 200 meters long and straight, with just enough space for parking at both sides. I remembered that I have to climb a flight of long stairs. The door was huge like that of a castle, and there was nothing at the door for cover. I was sure that the whole street could see me when I rang the doorbell.

Before that a more than 6-ft tall bobby walked pass me face to face, complete with imposing full winter uniform, helmet, and a cape. He walked slowly as if he was trying to help while I was looking for the right street number. I knew it was a deterrent and sarcasm of sort but I wasn't brave enough to turn back. I turned away from him, walked up the stairs as if nothing happened, pushed the doorbell and prayed that someone please open the door to save me from embarrassment.

On another such rare occasion, possibly at the same station or not, I used the same technique to spot and memorize a number. The place was crowded, and without the privacy of a phone booth, I was going to a quiet street corner to use my mobile. I pretended that the call at the public phone didn't get through, by pressing some buttons repeatedly in frustration. Unfortunately the button was a 9. I hanged up and walked away, but I could still hear that the dispatcher was asking the caller to response. The urgency got higher by the seconds as I was walking away.

ps After touring Soho via Google street view, I concluded that the flats with working girls are in the areas where street views are abruptly blocked off.

What escorts wouldn't wear?

Once upon a time I revisited a London girl only to find that her flat was temporarily rented to a new girl. I knew my favorite uniform was still in the house but this girl tried everything to avoid wearing it. Then I understand that it wasn't fresh from the laundry, and she had no idea of where it had been. I'm not talking about dirty laundry here.

If it was the girls' clothes, they wouldn't want me to ruin it or make it dirty. If it was gift from me, they want to keep the clothes in a pristine condition, and wanted no trauma to associate with it. Not what I'm talking about.

Girls don't wear it because they know it wouldn't fit or it wouldn't look good on them. That's not what I'm talking about.

Other than those reasons above, quality lingerie and quality dress is usually welcomed. I don't know about how much is the resistance to trashy clothes - sex shop lingerie and street walker outfits. It would be fun but I never asked because uniforms I think are less risky of rejection.

After the gas station incident, I asked mrs player to put on an office suit and high heels that night. It turned out that the skirt was much longer that I expected, as you can see in the picture I posted to my plurk. But it didn' t matter because I was all ready to make porn.

She had been filmed totally naked, in lingerie, and uniforms that I brought all the way from Japan. But this time when I rolled up her skirt, all hell broke loose. It was something like that she didn't want to be treated like a hooker.

It was really hell. I was lucky that I could sleep in my own bed that night.