Here are my thoughts on "How much does an escort earn?" and related posts. Yes, I know, I'm way behind. It seems like I just finished "The Courtesan and the wive part 7" yesterday.
First of all I don't think any statistical survey will be reliable, unless some methodology can be shown to be convincing. For a stripper analogy, her tips depend on her looks, how many patrons visit the club, how many clients she has, how hard she works and how far she would go. It doesn't make a lot of sense if you average the earnings of strippers even in just one club.
There's a website of a city that has been consistently on the world top 100. There is a 10 fold variation on the fees. And since the number of transactions per month of each girl doesn't have any relation to the price, getting a meaningful representative number is difficult. So, a United Nations' survey or an adult webmaster's survey are just as not useful.
Belle de Jour's first commandments is never let no one know / How much dough you hold. The only hope to get some statistical sense is the tax collectors, when escort income are taxed. But even so, huge amount of cash transactions are the heaven for under reporting.
Comparing individuals' earnings are not easier. It's a common practice to have a rack rate on one's personal website, or some escort mall, and permanent specials on some discussion boards. Whoever ask them, they will always give you the most respected answer, the highest rate.
My observation is that, "It's not about how much you earn, but how much you want to earn." So Belle is right not to be honest about your dough, or you will be setting targets for your competitors close and far. Even with the Internet, escorts are constantly discovering new areas to them with a lot of money but little competition. They either relocate or change their travel plans.
I met a Eastern European girl that I mentioned. She came over twice per year via a boy friend visa of sort. She hit on the Internet agencies to get jobs. She told me she was very happy to be on the portfolio of an LA agency, when the other girls look so gorgeous. For the rest of her time she did a lot of agency work all over Europe. It was me who got the last laugh. Even though she is a lot humbler without the makeover in her pictures, she is still way better qualified than the other girls with stock pictures. The lesson - you can only compare if you met them in person and experience them too.
I'm very much against the concept of "escorting as the new temp job". Being asked a long time ago on this blog, my advice was not to do it unless you have to. Simply put, the odds are very much against you. The phrase sounds too easy, causal, leisurely.
Before the age of the Internet and the age of indies, you find an agency to take on you. Agencies have an equalizing effect. They try to spread the work equally without putting all their eggs on one basket. They don't like super stars because once you have seen the best, you don't want the rest. If you can't give the less popular girls enough work, you don't have an agency. I have seen pretty nice girls not running away to London in search of fame and fortune. After their day job, they may get an assignment or two at busy times, which is a pretty nice supplement to their nurses', teachers', secretaries' salary, or students' grants. Burning out isn't on the table and they take every call seriously. For that matter, putting an ad on the classified, or setting up yourself at the telephone booth are pretty much the same, in that no individual standout very much from the others.
With the Internet, escorts show of their cooking skills, sophisticated taste in the arts and literatures, body parts and even skin cells. The difference is that the traffic is terribly high and can be very focused on individuals.
A good way to do it seems to be setting how much you want to earn, setting your exit strategy, going in with a bang and fading out quietly, in case you want to get back in again. If you don't think big, you are squeezed on all fronts.
There are the true jet setters, (or 1st class train setters?), whose clients would fly them around from coast to coast, or castle to castle. Some have permanent tour schedules. For the smaller flies they drive around from city to city, advertising on Craig's List or the like. They are famous, they are high profile, or they come in packages that you can't refuse.
Even in areas with seemingly unlimited choice of girls, these pro's manage to have clients waiting for them before they arrive. Those who offer half hours, and offer extremely safe sex, are talking about $1,000 a day, $10,000 a week, that sort of thing. Some are so bold as to brag that, for the "going rate", which is $300, they have a 9 am or 9 pm cancellation for anybody interested to fill in at the last minute.
On the other hand, many girls don't think too much about it. They just need the money fast when they need it, as experienced girlfriend explained it nicely. They can earn a lot more money but their mind is not in it. So you can't out sell them.
So what are your chances of putting up an ad in one of the major escort malls and wait to be discovered?
Friday, September 28, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
The love knot
Statistically speaking, I should have a high sperm count. When I come out of a time consuming project and realize that I miss sex, the semen volume can be rather high. A girl felt a little unease right after I cum. She didn't push me and stayed in my arms, but I felt there was something on her mind. When I pulled out, she made me do it carefully and guided me all the way out, somehow when under pressure the semen started overflowing out of it.
When I didn't see Chanel as often as she wanted, she would check the condom every time. She wouldn't say a word if there was little in it. She knew I was seeing other girls. If that continues, her income contribution from me would be unreliable. But when there was a lot in it, she would raise it up in front of her face and laugh at me, asking me how long ago I last had sex? I would say the last time I saw her, to make her real happy. But if it was too long ago to be credible, I would say two weeks. Of course in reality, it took much less down time to achieve that volume.
I vaguely remember a girl who liked to tie a knot at the condom end. She would playfully stretch the plastic and then release, making a characteristic noise so I would notice. At the time I just thought she was tidy and careful. But to this date she was the only professional who did this. Looking back it was more. She flashed me the pouch in a show offish way, with a proud smile in her face she would carry it into the bathroom. She did it as a matter of fact way so I didn't think twice about it at the time. Now, the way she carried it reminded me of the can of paint:
When I didn't see Chanel as often as she wanted, she would check the condom every time. She wouldn't say a word if there was little in it. She knew I was seeing other girls. If that continues, her income contribution from me would be unreliable. But when there was a lot in it, she would raise it up in front of her face and laugh at me, asking me how long ago I last had sex? I would say the last time I saw her, to make her real happy. But if it was too long ago to be credible, I would say two weeks. Of course in reality, it took much less down time to achieve that volume.
I vaguely remember a girl who liked to tie a knot at the condom end. She would playfully stretch the plastic and then release, making a characteristic noise so I would notice. At the time I just thought she was tidy and careful. But to this date she was the only professional who did this. Looking back it was more. She flashed me the pouch in a show offish way, with a proud smile in her face she would carry it into the bathroom. She did it as a matter of fact way so I didn't think twice about it at the time. Now, the way she carried it reminded me of the can of paint:
Am I a sex addict?
Recently I talked to a guy who keeps doing the same thing, looking for sex on Craig's Lists. After some exchanges, we realized that there was a big misunderstanding. We argued a while for nothing because he thought I was a sex addict like him, and I didn't realized that he was, with little self respect. So I understand that for him it wasn't a matter of looking for the gems in an ocean of spam, but it's compulsive, and CL suits him.
I'm not kidding myself that I'm not. I drink and smoked so I can tell, though it's not so clear cut. I could sit idle and chain smoke myself to almost hard to breath. I wished I could stop but it's very difficult to quit. I quited and therefore I know. Alcohol for me it's self regulating. I fall asleep long before I can get drunk. I don't think about drinking unless I am eating.
Unlike everything else sex is a necessity. Paying for it can be addictive but I can stay away for a while when I feel like it. Like now.
I'm missing her hair, something like this, but a little shorter, so more volume and gravity defying. It's totally impractical for a full time sex worker. She said she only kept a few clients. It's totally impossible to turn up with all those hair for a real job - nobody will take you seriously. She didn't have a real job. Occasionally she would go out in style with the trophy wives type that her boyfriend approves. Or her top patrons called the day before. Often she turns up with her hair recently done good enough for a photo shoot. If she lies low at home for too long, she can be in a mess. But then she would go to the salon just for me, without telling me that.
Color isn't important. It can be like this. But I love this for the after sex wild look. Before that I prefer the out of salon look.
Other than hair I am missing a hauntingly beautiful face to look at. This is a girl I met last year on a long trip. I still have fond memories of her. Luckily, I discovered her too late so I managed to see her a total of two times. It's not as addictive as someone else you have been seeing on and off for years.
Well, a pretty face isn't that important. For example, a few times when I had kissed her all over, had her in different positions, but when it came to the doggy position, I couldn't help noticing her nice feet, toes curling slightly with anticipation. Every time I didn't want to disrupt the rhythm of things, or I would have kissed her all over again, starting there.
I wasn't addicted to her that much when she was available. I just couldn't resist to go out to play when anybody calls, since high school, even with a bunch of losers with nowhere to go. Indeed I was actively looking for alternatives, somebody to see when she took me for granted and behaving badly. But good things seldom last for various reasons, they tried, they worked, and they moved on after weeks or months.
Paying for sex isn't mostly about sex. It's sports. It's recreation. It's better than talking to a therapist, I suppose. It's fantasy time with happy ending. It's finding someone to screw after survived the screwing by your boss and the corporation. Sometimes you can be very romantic without worrying that she wants to marry you.
Sometimes you have the feeling that you hate to drop an arm and a leg just to get yourself half satisfied. So what do I do? So I went to remote places where nobody possibly do outcalls. It's physically exhausting so I wouldn't want sex on top of it anyway. All the in-house shut off valves are too old and leak when turned. All eleven of them. I should have replaced them a long time ago but I was too lazy. There are slightly leaking faucets here and there, I'm waiting for the time to replace them altogether rather than fixing them. I never called a plumber again since the last one gave me an estimate of a grand for nothing much. Though he was more than happy to accept the call out charge and left me with a bill of material and the terse instructions to do it.
It's torture working under the sink and behind the toilet bowls. It's much easier the first time around when the kitchen sink and toilet bowls weren't installed, and the pipes were new and perfectly rounded. If that doesn't put you body and soul off sex, I don't know what does.
Also, I am taking on mental and physical challenges on several fronts at the same time. It's trivial pursuits, but it's CAD packages that I never used, sawing hard materials that I never did, experiments that I never bothered. If you are interested in no sex, they are in the geek corner.
I'm not kidding myself that I'm not. I drink and smoked so I can tell, though it's not so clear cut. I could sit idle and chain smoke myself to almost hard to breath. I wished I could stop but it's very difficult to quit. I quited and therefore I know. Alcohol for me it's self regulating. I fall asleep long before I can get drunk. I don't think about drinking unless I am eating.
Unlike everything else sex is a necessity. Paying for it can be addictive but I can stay away for a while when I feel like it. Like now.
I'm missing her hair, something like this, but a little shorter, so more volume and gravity defying. It's totally impractical for a full time sex worker. She said she only kept a few clients. It's totally impossible to turn up with all those hair for a real job - nobody will take you seriously. She didn't have a real job. Occasionally she would go out in style with the trophy wives type that her boyfriend approves. Or her top patrons called the day before. Often she turns up with her hair recently done good enough for a photo shoot. If she lies low at home for too long, she can be in a mess. But then she would go to the salon just for me, without telling me that.
Color isn't important. It can be like this. But I love this for the after sex wild look. Before that I prefer the out of salon look.
Other than hair I am missing a hauntingly beautiful face to look at. This is a girl I met last year on a long trip. I still have fond memories of her. Luckily, I discovered her too late so I managed to see her a total of two times. It's not as addictive as someone else you have been seeing on and off for years.Well, a pretty face isn't that important. For example, a few times when I had kissed her all over, had her in different positions, but when it came to the doggy position, I couldn't help noticing her nice feet, toes curling slightly with anticipation. Every time I didn't want to disrupt the rhythm of things, or I would have kissed her all over again, starting there.
I wasn't addicted to her that much when she was available. I just couldn't resist to go out to play when anybody calls, since high school, even with a bunch of losers with nowhere to go. Indeed I was actively looking for alternatives, somebody to see when she took me for granted and behaving badly. But good things seldom last for various reasons, they tried, they worked, and they moved on after weeks or months.
Paying for sex isn't mostly about sex. It's sports. It's recreation. It's better than talking to a therapist, I suppose. It's fantasy time with happy ending. It's finding someone to screw after survived the screwing by your boss and the corporation. Sometimes you can be very romantic without worrying that she wants to marry you.
Sometimes you have the feeling that you hate to drop an arm and a leg just to get yourself half satisfied. So what do I do? So I went to remote places where nobody possibly do outcalls. It's physically exhausting so I wouldn't want sex on top of it anyway. All the in-house shut off valves are too old and leak when turned. All eleven of them. I should have replaced them a long time ago but I was too lazy. There are slightly leaking faucets here and there, I'm waiting for the time to replace them altogether rather than fixing them. I never called a plumber again since the last one gave me an estimate of a grand for nothing much. Though he was more than happy to accept the call out charge and left me with a bill of material and the terse instructions to do it.
It's torture working under the sink and behind the toilet bowls. It's much easier the first time around when the kitchen sink and toilet bowls weren't installed, and the pipes were new and perfectly rounded. If that doesn't put you body and soul off sex, I don't know what does.
Also, I am taking on mental and physical challenges on several fronts at the same time. It's trivial pursuits, but it's CAD packages that I never used, sawing hard materials that I never did, experiments that I never bothered. If you are interested in no sex, they are in the geek corner.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Call me
If you want to talk to me, sexy, dirty, or foul, just call. I can call you back unless you check the "keep your number private option" (trust Google?). You don't have my number yet, but if you are good you can trace me back to a disposal SIM card.
Indeed I'm going to drop the SIM card and replace Skype with Gizmo. Then I can receive any calls, real phone lines or internet calls, via any of my real numbers while keeping them secret. I can call out with my GC number as the caller ID, at any of my phones with internet access nearby. That means I can call out from my cell phone as if I'm calling from the GC number. Totally FREE at the moment and later small call out charge comparable to Skype.
For all carriers who don't want to provide multiple phone lines on one cell, screw you.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Mint Thyme and Yuzu Bergamot
The wind blows as if it's coming from the hair dryer. You can only enjoy the free sauna or dip into the pool. That's was after dust! Daytime, it amuses me how people survive a temperature of 10+ degree F over body temperature, the valets, pool side waitresses.
Now my hair smells with a hint of mint thyme, and my body yuzu bergamot. Now it's my turn to play where am I. But who cares. This is just an excuse to starting writing something hoping that it would be short.
Since I could feed my pet without being there, I had been enjoying the short escapes. Now I'm way behind in blogging, reading or writing. You may not know, here you may have to sleep with the vet to get a room in the pet hotel at major holidays. For a day or two, they are not happy if you don't pay the full spa treatment and 3 daily exercises with personal trainers for your pet. And if they are not happy, the chance of getting those reserved places for loyal customers at Christmas is slim.
Naturally I would be thinking of the spa downstairs. But I wouldn't get a massage anywhere else in the world except back home (around LA). It's that good, and I will have to write about it. But it's not the happy ending type, which doesn't make much difference anywhere in the world.
If Chanel answers my calls, I would bring a few bottles and empty them onto her body before the shower. It's hard to play that sort of thing if you don't know the girl well. Usually they come fully prepared, true or not. They don't want you to see them wet, no makeup, no body moisturizer, or in a shower cap. They also feel very vulnerable, you in the tub together, in the bathroom watching, or outside out of sight.
Incidentally, I think I asked Rebeca to take a bath over the phone. The reason is that the resort supplied Neutrogena body wash, which is one of my favorites that is off the shelf. She felt rather nervous standing in the tub, thinking that I am going to do something weired. I would be happy just watching, but since my choice of prepositions or even words were poor, she expected that I would be doing the washing for her. So I did.
Now my hair smells with a hint of mint thyme, and my body yuzu bergamot. Now it's my turn to play where am I. But who cares. This is just an excuse to starting writing something hoping that it would be short.
Since I could feed my pet without being there, I had been enjoying the short escapes. Now I'm way behind in blogging, reading or writing. You may not know, here you may have to sleep with the vet to get a room in the pet hotel at major holidays. For a day or two, they are not happy if you don't pay the full spa treatment and 3 daily exercises with personal trainers for your pet. And if they are not happy, the chance of getting those reserved places for loyal customers at Christmas is slim.
Naturally I would be thinking of the spa downstairs. But I wouldn't get a massage anywhere else in the world except back home (around LA). It's that good, and I will have to write about it. But it's not the happy ending type, which doesn't make much difference anywhere in the world.
If Chanel answers my calls, I would bring a few bottles and empty them onto her body before the shower. It's hard to play that sort of thing if you don't know the girl well. Usually they come fully prepared, true or not. They don't want you to see them wet, no makeup, no body moisturizer, or in a shower cap. They also feel very vulnerable, you in the tub together, in the bathroom watching, or outside out of sight.
Incidentally, I think I asked Rebeca to take a bath over the phone. The reason is that the resort supplied Neutrogena body wash, which is one of my favorites that is off the shelf. She felt rather nervous standing in the tub, thinking that I am going to do something weired. I would be happy just watching, but since my choice of prepositions or even words were poor, she expected that I would be doing the washing for her. So I did.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Marilyn
I don't want to be remembered as a sushi chef - making a big deal out of dead fishes. Though I take it as a complement just as I like raw fish eaten Japanese style, or any style. What's a cook to do if you can't cook it, make source, or mix it with something? It's the ultimate challenge.
I don't write a lot about sex acts because when you meet the best in class, the rest are nothing, until you find another even better. For example, after Rebbecca the pretty real nurse, I don't have much to write about GFE anymore. But this girl is something, in the different category.
After I fully recovered from hard vacationing on the beaches, I began to think of full meals instead of fast food, though not a big feast yet.
"Hi Madam X, ...", I know who to call. Her girls are too "GFE" for me at that stage. I was looking for some lighter dishes but then her girls are the sure things. I didn't want to take my chances when I was ready. By the way, people say hit and miss. As you see, I can't miss. I can take on anything in a spectacular way, even dead fish.
Before that, I called Chanel first, who gave me the burn notice by not answering my calls, while keeping her number. She didn't answer as expected, but that's my way to tell her that I was going out again to burn money, and she's not getting any of it.
"Hi Player, where have you been?", Madam X asked before I could say anything except for her name. It's not just the caller ID. She actually remembered my details well. Or, she had some call center software running on her computer.
"Is Marilyn busy right now?", I asked for the girl that I never met, but I knew it was her turn to visit.
Madam X assured me that Marilyn was available, and that she wasn't that busy. It's a breath of fresh air. I don't know when the culture changed, but recently some girls brag about having appointments all day long. They are very proud to announce that they have only 9 am and 9 pm available, and you have to hurry up. At the same time, obviously many many girls just sit idle at home or at hotels, waiting for the occasional phone call if any at all. I think it's a phenomena similar to the Apple Iphone. Really, I will not buy one, because so many people have it. But then there's little choice. If it's a great product at a great price, I can scarify some individuality. After all, you can do your phone your way.
I was disappointed with her hair. It was straight and long in her pictures, the difficult to maintain kind. At the door she had curly hair down to somewhere between her mid back and her shoulders. Well gloomed straight hair means that you put a lot of effort in it, and apparently you haven't done anything heavy for the day yet. Chaotic straight hair looks wild. Somehow to me curly hair always look somewhere in between. But her hair helped her to look like an angel. Not the heavenly type, but the type that you can't imagine that she's a _____.
Her face looks fine, sweet and highly kissable. But she's not confident enough about her looks. If you stare into her face to appreciate the finer details, she would shy away. Also she has a great body as advertised, but fall short of a model type. She has a teenager type hard body not the result of hard training. She has great skin, which I doubt if she uses any body moisturizer other than a good body wash.
She prepared the shower for me, but the water took forever to warm up. Then I noticed her unusual dress. Unusual in that the dress wasn't short at the legs, but showing most of her back and shoulders, indeed just her breast were covered. I didn't realize at the time, it was Monroe's iconic dress, except that this dress was black rather than white.
I slipped my hand into her dress and on to her breast. After feeling that it was good, I pulled her dress off from her shoulders to take a good look. Her breast looks very natural, but too perky to be real for her age, at mid twenties. Though there's a good chance they are real. She felt a little shy being stared at like that. But it was her fault. She knew I was a VIP client and treated me as such, with lots of hand holding and very submissive.
I couldn't resist to kiss her gently, because she looked so delicious standing there like that, half naked and a little shy. Immediately I felt a little wetness through her lips. Soon when I kissed her gently again and again, she had her tip of her tongue waiting between her lips. I didn't want to skip the shower so I controlled myself and went in with a big one.
After I dried myself, I sat on the side of the bed facing a wall of mirrors - standard CA architecture for the closet. She had no choice but to come in front of the mirrors. She still had her Monroe dress on. Perfect, as I like to strip them. She's no model, but not far and I prefer her healthy smooth skin and her tight body rather than Kate Moss's any time. Usually I will start with that great body by making love vertically right in front of the mirrors. But she was shy. I had to pull everything off from her while she twisted and turned away from sight, while I was still sitting on the side of the bed. By that time, my dick was pointing up towards her at a very high elevation angle.
But suddenly, she ducked down and blew me to escape from showing off in front of the mirror. Who was I to reject that? She wasn't shy in this position. Her lips moved up and down slowly, all the time forming an air tight seal with my shaft. I felt no teeth, just tight lips squeezing. To achieve that, her lips and the rest of her face looked very sexy. I felt so good, too good if I didn't pull out soon. So I lifted her up by her arm pits with unmistakable force. Obviously she wouldn't want to let go. Now she stood straight up in front of the mirror, so I began to enjoy her body vertically.
Some girls, usually the model types, will stand there proudly like a statue of a Greek goddess, stay still when I want them to. She felt a little unease so we moved onto the bed. We did a bit of French kiss, but her body had a bigger pull on me. I like real perky breast, for one they can be tough and wouldn't break. I had a bad day dream about something burst via the nipples. For her pair I wasn't worrying about that. After teasing them with my tongue, I sucked on them very hard. But I was careful not to concentrate the pressure on the nipples.
It was my turn to use my lips as an air tight seal on her breasts. I sucked hard until she felt my teeth in her flesh. I sucked harder, while stimulating her nipples with my tongue. I know the words sucks. But anyway, she had to moan. But she wasn't the loud type.
I kissed her everywhere whenever I remembered to, more like licking. When I was at her arm pits, she was like whispering a prayer - OMG, please don't kill me. Her legs weren't model long, but reminded me of a French and Chinese delicacy - frog legs. It was so tight, so smooth, so sexy and delicious. As I said, she was experienced, not young by any means, but still too young to take care of all her assets like gold dust. She has really good skin but she doesn't pay enough attention to her feet. My hands retreated when I felt some rough skin down there. Otherwise I would have another dim sum dish - the claws of the phoenix.
Strangely enough, I never thought about kissing hands and sucking fingers. Except once by chance I looked at Chanel's hand. It was an expensive manicure. I looked at her with surprise and said wow. At that time she wasn't keen on investing on nice pedicures for me, even though she knew I was into it. We were eye to eye, frozen for a split second, and she knew what I was thinking. Immediately she withdraw her hand that I was holding dearly. Childishly, she kept her hands behind her back, refusing to let me do what I wanted. But she didn't mind any other things that I did to her. If she gave in, she would be my first again. It was the heat of the moment and I never thought of that again.
After some oysters, I fancied some Indian curry, or some Belgium chocolate. I turned her over, and after letting her feeling my teeth in her butt, I spread her legs wide apart, and spread her cheeks. I love those air tight locks that looked as if nothing ever had passed through. In those cases I couldn't resist to dive in for the star fish. In some other cases, I would retreat as fast as I can. This time I couldn't see much because of her awesome round tight butt. So instead of examining her like a doctor, I explored with my tongue. And I retreated when the taste and smell didn't seem to be promising.
Somehow I seemed to have six sense before I saw her. I trimmed my bush after a long neglect. I wasn't thinking if I would get lucky. I just did it as a ritual. I made sure that all the inches were silky smooth. For the balls I had to decide whether to look like parts of a turkey, or just have a short hair cut. Since you can't easily shave the balls silky smooth with a razor in one go, there's the risk of agitating the lips and tongue if one gets lucky. I went for a short hair cut instead.
When I couldn't get to know her body any better, I let go of her and laid flat on the bed. She kissed my body a little, but couldn't wait to go back to my dick, from taking it in until it couldn't go any further, to squeezing it's neck with her lips. All the time I could see her air tight lips moving slowing up and down the shaft, like a perpetual machine. When I couldn't hold any longer, she would attack my balls instead. Usually it's a tease, but this angel looking girls was serious. She kissed, sucked, one after the other, then two together in her mouth, and then the rest all went inside, leaving just the shaft outside. When the tension in my cock eased a little, she would leave my balls and went for the shaft again, and over, and over.
I wasn't looking for a big feast, so I didn't even look at her reviews, which I knew must existed. Now if she didn't stop I would have to cum. Normally I would ask her first if she really means it, and that if I can have a second. For her I didn't bother. She was too good for a sloppy second. And I couldn't bear not to give her a good fuck. Again she didn't take any subtle hints like a pat on the shoulder, or a little push. I had to tell her in a firm voice to get the condom.
Just as she blew me, she rode me steadily at a frequency of 0.5 Hz, that is, one down stroke for one second, then one up stroke. It was not at all mechanical, indeed the opposite of it. She made me think of Emma, the one with a fixation. Since Marilyn couldn't see my dick, either in her mouth or in her pussy, she had to close her eyes to visualize it. When the tension got high, she would laid back and stay still, with her arms behind her supporting her body. But she would first wiggle a little so my dick could reach the deepest part of her pussy, and then whispering another prayer. She looked so lovely when she stretched her body in this frontal position, that I had to get up and kiss her body and breast all over again, without throwing her over from the saddle.
Even she knew how to calm things down, I had to pull her down from ridding me and held her tight chest to chest, so she couldn't move. When I let her loose she would lift her body up and kept riding, gyrating and grinding. Again at a frequency of 0.5Hz, she didn't want me to cum, but hanging on forever.
I did remember to changing position. When I got up, she was already in a semi doggy position waiting for confirmation. Do doggy it was. Now it's my turn to bang her hard at 0.5 Hz. Any faster I would explode. At the end I was holding her pelvis so hard that I was afraid to leave finger marks on her skin. Rather than banging her I pulled her butt into my dick, trying to reach the deepest part of her pussy, pulled out an inch and then punched back in hard to reach deeper.
I then tried to do some maneuver without leaving her pussy. But she seemed to read my mind. With the excuse of some light pressure from me, she fell flat down on the bed. That was what I wanted. But usually I had to do some other immediate positions in order to get there, if at all. I was very satisfied and I banged her with no reservations. I entered into a trance. I grabbed her breasts hard as if to burst them, I kissed her cheeks, nibbled her ear, and then licked them like a puppy.
But wait a minute, I still had one more position to go. She is the girl friend type and I preferred to end with a missionary. But too late for that now. So I just let go of one of her breast and grabbed her hair instead. I pulled her head to DFK her from behind. I turned into jelly and became very gentle on her. Then I banged her rough, and gentle, and rough ... until I lost it.
I rested in bed while she went into the bathroom. When she got out, I went in, but she wouldn't let me. She asked if I wanted to go again. I really hesitated. I was completely satisfied and didn't think I could manage easily. But she said let's try. So I let her. Not risking me going into the bathroom only to change my mind, she cleaned me thoroughly with baby wipe. Then she sealed it with her lips again.
Well this girl is something. I was expecting some cuddling, a conversation, some kissing, the usuals. She could also have given me a massage. But she just jumped right into business, blowing me at 0.5Hz. I felt so good that I didn't resist. Now I knew why she was so quick to home in on my dick when I arrived. The faster she got the first one, the easier it is for her to obtain the second.
I felt so good and so relaxed that I deflated. But she didn't mind a bit and kept at it. Indeed if she stopped at any time I would feel relieved. It could take forever. And then I really knew she wasn't busy at all, though she must be very popular. I also wanted to stop her many times so as not to waste her efforts, establishing some mental connections instead. At the end I concentrated on what I did to her since I came in, and I delivered a load into her mouth.
Often I found all the hand holdings awkward. But not for her. I liked to hold her hands, her waist and her bottom. She told me she liked me. But that wasn't necessary. She should have known that I will call her whenever she turns up. On the way out she admired my Vegas high roller from LA outfit - T-shirt and shorts. She particularly liked my shorts, which was very last season. When she brought my designer slippers to me, she was almost down to the floor to admire it. And then we kissed goodbye.
I don't write a lot about sex acts because when you meet the best in class, the rest are nothing, until you find another even better. For example, after Rebbecca the pretty real nurse, I don't have much to write about GFE anymore. But this girl is something, in the different category.
After I fully recovered from hard vacationing on the beaches, I began to think of full meals instead of fast food, though not a big feast yet.
"Hi Madam X, ...", I know who to call. Her girls are too "GFE" for me at that stage. I was looking for some lighter dishes but then her girls are the sure things. I didn't want to take my chances when I was ready. By the way, people say hit and miss. As you see, I can't miss. I can take on anything in a spectacular way, even dead fish.
Before that, I called Chanel first, who gave me the burn notice by not answering my calls, while keeping her number. She didn't answer as expected, but that's my way to tell her that I was going out again to burn money, and she's not getting any of it.
"Hi Player, where have you been?", Madam X asked before I could say anything except for her name. It's not just the caller ID. She actually remembered my details well. Or, she had some call center software running on her computer.
"Is Marilyn busy right now?", I asked for the girl that I never met, but I knew it was her turn to visit.
Madam X assured me that Marilyn was available, and that she wasn't that busy. It's a breath of fresh air. I don't know when the culture changed, but recently some girls brag about having appointments all day long. They are very proud to announce that they have only 9 am and 9 pm available, and you have to hurry up. At the same time, obviously many many girls just sit idle at home or at hotels, waiting for the occasional phone call if any at all. I think it's a phenomena similar to the Apple Iphone. Really, I will not buy one, because so many people have it. But then there's little choice. If it's a great product at a great price, I can scarify some individuality. After all, you can do your phone your way.
I was disappointed with her hair. It was straight and long in her pictures, the difficult to maintain kind. At the door she had curly hair down to somewhere between her mid back and her shoulders. Well gloomed straight hair means that you put a lot of effort in it, and apparently you haven't done anything heavy for the day yet. Chaotic straight hair looks wild. Somehow to me curly hair always look somewhere in between. But her hair helped her to look like an angel. Not the heavenly type, but the type that you can't imagine that she's a _____.
Her face looks fine, sweet and highly kissable. But she's not confident enough about her looks. If you stare into her face to appreciate the finer details, she would shy away. Also she has a great body as advertised, but fall short of a model type. She has a teenager type hard body not the result of hard training. She has great skin, which I doubt if she uses any body moisturizer other than a good body wash.
She prepared the shower for me, but the water took forever to warm up. Then I noticed her unusual dress. Unusual in that the dress wasn't short at the legs, but showing most of her back and shoulders, indeed just her breast were covered. I didn't realize at the time, it was Monroe's iconic dress, except that this dress was black rather than white.
I slipped my hand into her dress and on to her breast. After feeling that it was good, I pulled her dress off from her shoulders to take a good look. Her breast looks very natural, but too perky to be real for her age, at mid twenties. Though there's a good chance they are real. She felt a little shy being stared at like that. But it was her fault. She knew I was a VIP client and treated me as such, with lots of hand holding and very submissive.
I couldn't resist to kiss her gently, because she looked so delicious standing there like that, half naked and a little shy. Immediately I felt a little wetness through her lips. Soon when I kissed her gently again and again, she had her tip of her tongue waiting between her lips. I didn't want to skip the shower so I controlled myself and went in with a big one.
After I dried myself, I sat on the side of the bed facing a wall of mirrors - standard CA architecture for the closet. She had no choice but to come in front of the mirrors. She still had her Monroe dress on. Perfect, as I like to strip them. She's no model, but not far and I prefer her healthy smooth skin and her tight body rather than Kate Moss's any time. Usually I will start with that great body by making love vertically right in front of the mirrors. But she was shy. I had to pull everything off from her while she twisted and turned away from sight, while I was still sitting on the side of the bed. By that time, my dick was pointing up towards her at a very high elevation angle.
But suddenly, she ducked down and blew me to escape from showing off in front of the mirror. Who was I to reject that? She wasn't shy in this position. Her lips moved up and down slowly, all the time forming an air tight seal with my shaft. I felt no teeth, just tight lips squeezing. To achieve that, her lips and the rest of her face looked very sexy. I felt so good, too good if I didn't pull out soon. So I lifted her up by her arm pits with unmistakable force. Obviously she wouldn't want to let go. Now she stood straight up in front of the mirror, so I began to enjoy her body vertically.
Some girls, usually the model types, will stand there proudly like a statue of a Greek goddess, stay still when I want them to. She felt a little unease so we moved onto the bed. We did a bit of French kiss, but her body had a bigger pull on me. I like real perky breast, for one they can be tough and wouldn't break. I had a bad day dream about something burst via the nipples. For her pair I wasn't worrying about that. After teasing them with my tongue, I sucked on them very hard. But I was careful not to concentrate the pressure on the nipples.
It was my turn to use my lips as an air tight seal on her breasts. I sucked hard until she felt my teeth in her flesh. I sucked harder, while stimulating her nipples with my tongue. I know the words sucks. But anyway, she had to moan. But she wasn't the loud type.
I kissed her everywhere whenever I remembered to, more like licking. When I was at her arm pits, she was like whispering a prayer - OMG, please don't kill me. Her legs weren't model long, but reminded me of a French and Chinese delicacy - frog legs. It was so tight, so smooth, so sexy and delicious. As I said, she was experienced, not young by any means, but still too young to take care of all her assets like gold dust. She has really good skin but she doesn't pay enough attention to her feet. My hands retreated when I felt some rough skin down there. Otherwise I would have another dim sum dish - the claws of the phoenix.
Strangely enough, I never thought about kissing hands and sucking fingers. Except once by chance I looked at Chanel's hand. It was an expensive manicure. I looked at her with surprise and said wow. At that time she wasn't keen on investing on nice pedicures for me, even though she knew I was into it. We were eye to eye, frozen for a split second, and she knew what I was thinking. Immediately she withdraw her hand that I was holding dearly. Childishly, she kept her hands behind her back, refusing to let me do what I wanted. But she didn't mind any other things that I did to her. If she gave in, she would be my first again. It was the heat of the moment and I never thought of that again.
After some oysters, I fancied some Indian curry, or some Belgium chocolate. I turned her over, and after letting her feeling my teeth in her butt, I spread her legs wide apart, and spread her cheeks. I love those air tight locks that looked as if nothing ever had passed through. In those cases I couldn't resist to dive in for the star fish. In some other cases, I would retreat as fast as I can. This time I couldn't see much because of her awesome round tight butt. So instead of examining her like a doctor, I explored with my tongue. And I retreated when the taste and smell didn't seem to be promising.
Somehow I seemed to have six sense before I saw her. I trimmed my bush after a long neglect. I wasn't thinking if I would get lucky. I just did it as a ritual. I made sure that all the inches were silky smooth. For the balls I had to decide whether to look like parts of a turkey, or just have a short hair cut. Since you can't easily shave the balls silky smooth with a razor in one go, there's the risk of agitating the lips and tongue if one gets lucky. I went for a short hair cut instead.
When I couldn't get to know her body any better, I let go of her and laid flat on the bed. She kissed my body a little, but couldn't wait to go back to my dick, from taking it in until it couldn't go any further, to squeezing it's neck with her lips. All the time I could see her air tight lips moving slowing up and down the shaft, like a perpetual machine. When I couldn't hold any longer, she would attack my balls instead. Usually it's a tease, but this angel looking girls was serious. She kissed, sucked, one after the other, then two together in her mouth, and then the rest all went inside, leaving just the shaft outside. When the tension in my cock eased a little, she would leave my balls and went for the shaft again, and over, and over.
I wasn't looking for a big feast, so I didn't even look at her reviews, which I knew must existed. Now if she didn't stop I would have to cum. Normally I would ask her first if she really means it, and that if I can have a second. For her I didn't bother. She was too good for a sloppy second. And I couldn't bear not to give her a good fuck. Again she didn't take any subtle hints like a pat on the shoulder, or a little push. I had to tell her in a firm voice to get the condom.
Just as she blew me, she rode me steadily at a frequency of 0.5 Hz, that is, one down stroke for one second, then one up stroke. It was not at all mechanical, indeed the opposite of it. She made me think of Emma, the one with a fixation. Since Marilyn couldn't see my dick, either in her mouth or in her pussy, she had to close her eyes to visualize it. When the tension got high, she would laid back and stay still, with her arms behind her supporting her body. But she would first wiggle a little so my dick could reach the deepest part of her pussy, and then whispering another prayer. She looked so lovely when she stretched her body in this frontal position, that I had to get up and kiss her body and breast all over again, without throwing her over from the saddle.
Even she knew how to calm things down, I had to pull her down from ridding me and held her tight chest to chest, so she couldn't move. When I let her loose she would lift her body up and kept riding, gyrating and grinding. Again at a frequency of 0.5Hz, she didn't want me to cum, but hanging on forever.
I did remember to changing position. When I got up, she was already in a semi doggy position waiting for confirmation. Do doggy it was. Now it's my turn to bang her hard at 0.5 Hz. Any faster I would explode. At the end I was holding her pelvis so hard that I was afraid to leave finger marks on her skin. Rather than banging her I pulled her butt into my dick, trying to reach the deepest part of her pussy, pulled out an inch and then punched back in hard to reach deeper.
I then tried to do some maneuver without leaving her pussy. But she seemed to read my mind. With the excuse of some light pressure from me, she fell flat down on the bed. That was what I wanted. But usually I had to do some other immediate positions in order to get there, if at all. I was very satisfied and I banged her with no reservations. I entered into a trance. I grabbed her breasts hard as if to burst them, I kissed her cheeks, nibbled her ear, and then licked them like a puppy.
But wait a minute, I still had one more position to go. She is the girl friend type and I preferred to end with a missionary. But too late for that now. So I just let go of one of her breast and grabbed her hair instead. I pulled her head to DFK her from behind. I turned into jelly and became very gentle on her. Then I banged her rough, and gentle, and rough ... until I lost it.
I rested in bed while she went into the bathroom. When she got out, I went in, but she wouldn't let me. She asked if I wanted to go again. I really hesitated. I was completely satisfied and didn't think I could manage easily. But she said let's try. So I let her. Not risking me going into the bathroom only to change my mind, she cleaned me thoroughly with baby wipe. Then she sealed it with her lips again.
Well this girl is something. I was expecting some cuddling, a conversation, some kissing, the usuals. She could also have given me a massage. But she just jumped right into business, blowing me at 0.5Hz. I felt so good that I didn't resist. Now I knew why she was so quick to home in on my dick when I arrived. The faster she got the first one, the easier it is for her to obtain the second.
I felt so good and so relaxed that I deflated. But she didn't mind a bit and kept at it. Indeed if she stopped at any time I would feel relieved. It could take forever. And then I really knew she wasn't busy at all, though she must be very popular. I also wanted to stop her many times so as not to waste her efforts, establishing some mental connections instead. At the end I concentrated on what I did to her since I came in, and I delivered a load into her mouth.
Often I found all the hand holdings awkward. But not for her. I liked to hold her hands, her waist and her bottom. She told me she liked me. But that wasn't necessary. She should have known that I will call her whenever she turns up. On the way out she admired my Vegas high roller from LA outfit - T-shirt and shorts. She particularly liked my shorts, which was very last season. When she brought my designer slippers to me, she was almost down to the floor to admire it. And then we kissed goodbye.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Traveling john
The title refers to a type of product, not me, that could revolutionize the outsourcing of living space without going abroad.
The Player I did travel to the beach to meditate for days at a time. Unfortunately the beach is very narrow at high tide, so the beach babes paraded right in front of me all day long. No matter how remote the beach is, there are always delicate babes in bikini of all ages - if only to get a nice sun tan before moving on to Malibu beach.
It happened that the beach has a surfing school for kids. Since the instructors don't need much qualifications, they are far from beach rats - delicate, young, slender rather than thick. Think baby sitters in bikini, who have well above average shape. They can't wait to ripoff their wet suits to show off their bikini once the lessons are over.
After a day's rest at home, I went for a quick fix. It just happened that she looked good in bikini, and has one of my favorite body shapes. She's thin model type with no excess fat, but legs are long and tight. We, I mean at least me, were ready in no time. And I almost didn't need to remove her bikini.
You see a luxury car and I see a possible coffin. I want something I'm not embarrassed to be seen dead in. I don't want rescuers to feel sorry for me - to die in that shit. I want it to reflect me, like the words on a grave stone. So bear in mind the difference in perspective.
I went on top, screwed her to open things up. She's a real doll, I mean the live size dolls that sell for a few thousands. She isn't that pretty and her body isn't that perfect. I mean she just laid there like a doll, in a good way. Sometimes you just want to screw someone under you in the way you want.
When things were opened up, I wanted to change position. She knew it when I let go of her and wanted to get up. But she hold me tight, not letting me go. Sometimes it's too bad to be nice. She took me for granted. I felt like I was a student on vacation trying the john thing. She wouldn't let me change position. She kept me on top without saying a word, just pulling me back. But now I think that she liked it.
So I screwed her real hard as if to punish her. I pulled so far out that sometimes I pulled out completely. I plunged back in deeper and deeper like a foundation hammer. I felt a lot of happy friction so she must have felt the force too. Some girls don't like it, trying to hide their face by holding you tight, etc. Some don't feel good and don't want you to see the awkward expression on their face. Some actually feel good but do not want to show you that their body and face reacted positively.
Of course some girls moan, real or fake. This girl just laid there like a doll. But she had the facial expression that she was enjoying it. She wasn't smiling, closed her eyes, but she was anticipating every deep stroke. She would hold my waist when it was too much. She wasn't shy about her facial expression. I could look at her whatever way I wanted - played with her hair a little and twisted her head a little to show her best. I could pin down her arms, fondle her perky breast like I was raping her. I could held her legs high or twist them as in a porn movie. As long as I was screwing her in the missionary position.
Finally I rolled over and played dead. She told me I looked tired. I told her I was at the beach and showed her the contrast above and below my knees. Now I think she wanted more.
When we said goodbye, she asked me to come back. I was surprised she asked that. Not because that she wanted me to come back, but because she wasn't that good to me superficially. She was very ticklish, so she would pull my head back over on her breast whenever my mouth tried to wonder somewhere else. But anyway it's always good to be asked. She kissed me goodbye too. But she only had one more week there. I was hesitating. If not I would be thinking of attacking her armpit and more to see how she would react. If she passed I would definitely come back for a longer quick fix, but not in a week's time.
It happened that the beach has a surfing school for kids. Since the instructors don't need much qualifications, they are far from beach rats - delicate, young, slender rather than thick. Think baby sitters in bikini, who have well above average shape. They can't wait to ripoff their wet suits to show off their bikini once the lessons are over.
After a day's rest at home, I went for a quick fix. It just happened that she looked good in bikini, and has one of my favorite body shapes. She's thin model type with no excess fat, but legs are long and tight. We, I mean at least me, were ready in no time. And I almost didn't need to remove her bikini.
You see a luxury car and I see a possible coffin. I want something I'm not embarrassed to be seen dead in. I don't want rescuers to feel sorry for me - to die in that shit. I want it to reflect me, like the words on a grave stone. So bear in mind the difference in perspective.
I went on top, screwed her to open things up. She's a real doll, I mean the live size dolls that sell for a few thousands. She isn't that pretty and her body isn't that perfect. I mean she just laid there like a doll, in a good way. Sometimes you just want to screw someone under you in the way you want.
When things were opened up, I wanted to change position. She knew it when I let go of her and wanted to get up. But she hold me tight, not letting me go. Sometimes it's too bad to be nice. She took me for granted. I felt like I was a student on vacation trying the john thing. She wouldn't let me change position. She kept me on top without saying a word, just pulling me back. But now I think that she liked it.
So I screwed her real hard as if to punish her. I pulled so far out that sometimes I pulled out completely. I plunged back in deeper and deeper like a foundation hammer. I felt a lot of happy friction so she must have felt the force too. Some girls don't like it, trying to hide their face by holding you tight, etc. Some don't feel good and don't want you to see the awkward expression on their face. Some actually feel good but do not want to show you that their body and face reacted positively.
Of course some girls moan, real or fake. This girl just laid there like a doll. But she had the facial expression that she was enjoying it. She wasn't smiling, closed her eyes, but she was anticipating every deep stroke. She would hold my waist when it was too much. She wasn't shy about her facial expression. I could look at her whatever way I wanted - played with her hair a little and twisted her head a little to show her best. I could pin down her arms, fondle her perky breast like I was raping her. I could held her legs high or twist them as in a porn movie. As long as I was screwing her in the missionary position.
Finally I rolled over and played dead. She told me I looked tired. I told her I was at the beach and showed her the contrast above and below my knees. Now I think she wanted more.
When we said goodbye, she asked me to come back. I was surprised she asked that. Not because that she wanted me to come back, but because she wasn't that good to me superficially. She was very ticklish, so she would pull my head back over on her breast whenever my mouth tried to wonder somewhere else. But anyway it's always good to be asked. She kissed me goodbye too. But she only had one more week there. I was hesitating. If not I would be thinking of attacking her armpit and more to see how she would react. If she passed I would definitely come back for a longer quick fix, but not in a week's time.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Why do they do it?
» Blog Archive » Why do they do it?: "Why do they do it?
The problem with being an escort is that some men are really dumb. I don’t think all men are stupid, that’s just too depressing.
A client turned up and asked me if I was the woman in the pictures on my website. I genuinely wished I wasn’t, because that way, I’d've been spared his company. I admitted being me. He told me I looked different. The butt matched, the boobs matched BUT the HAIR was different.
Imagine that: a woman changing her hair! Surely it’s better to walk out than sour things."
Imagine that a movie star changing her hair style all the time? They may tie it all up for Oscar, but they will return to the look they build up for years. The hair may change, but it's a gradual process. My memory of Monroe, Locklear, Pamela, and Jameson has certain style of hair that I expect them to look. Imagine that they swap hair style.
If you think you look best in pictures in that hair, why change it? I think Sigourney looks the same in Alien 1 to 3. It's a sequel and you want to keep the winning formula.
Hair plays a big part in how one looks. The hair tells a lot about you. The common disappointment is that the hair was done in an impractical studio setting. The real person can't have anything like it in real life. For example - hair extensions.
A girl may have smooth silky hair in the old picture, but she cut it short by several inches to survive all the traveling and back to back appointments. This is the difference between a well gloomed high dollar hottie and a high volume escort.
And then the wrappings. The out of the salon look is very different from the just washed and blew dry in the hotel look. Also, it can be $200 a puff just for the coloring, which is very different when you have the urge to suddenly try peroxide at home.
I understand the need to look best in pictures. If you can't keep it exactly that way all the time I can also understand. But from back length to neck length, straight to curls, are not bright, unless you look better, and I am the judge, not you, unless I don't have to pay.
The problem with being an escort is that some men are really dumb. I don’t think all men are stupid, that’s just too depressing.
A client turned up and asked me if I was the woman in the pictures on my website. I genuinely wished I wasn’t, because that way, I’d've been spared his company. I admitted being me. He told me I looked different. The butt matched, the boobs matched BUT the HAIR was different.
Imagine that: a woman changing her hair! Surely it’s better to walk out than sour things."
Imagine that a movie star changing her hair style all the time? They may tie it all up for Oscar, but they will return to the look they build up for years. The hair may change, but it's a gradual process. My memory of Monroe, Locklear, Pamela, and Jameson has certain style of hair that I expect them to look. Imagine that they swap hair style.
If you think you look best in pictures in that hair, why change it? I think Sigourney looks the same in Alien 1 to 3. It's a sequel and you want to keep the winning formula.
Hair plays a big part in how one looks. The hair tells a lot about you. The common disappointment is that the hair was done in an impractical studio setting. The real person can't have anything like it in real life. For example - hair extensions.
A girl may have smooth silky hair in the old picture, but she cut it short by several inches to survive all the traveling and back to back appointments. This is the difference between a well gloomed high dollar hottie and a high volume escort.
And then the wrappings. The out of the salon look is very different from the just washed and blew dry in the hotel look. Also, it can be $200 a puff just for the coloring, which is very different when you have the urge to suddenly try peroxide at home.
I understand the need to look best in pictures. If you can't keep it exactly that way all the time I can also understand. But from back length to neck length, straight to curls, are not bright, unless you look better, and I am the judge, not you, unless I don't have to pay.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
7 Things About The Player
Dear Livvy, do you know that the tag was to celebrate the date 07/07/07. What took you so long? Ah, it must be the wife series. I do not like to play tag, but for the English Courtesan, who occupies a special place in my blogroll, I will make an exception. Sorry, Chevalier. But it's the same thing when I hinted you to move to Blogger, you went to bed with Caitie Mae instead. The Player has so much in common with Olivia that his things are her things too. (Or, I am just too lazy to think of something else.)
1) The Player is very much a country person. But many of his companions, who have the privilege of traveling in his SUV, will always tune the radio to their favorite stations, and test his premium factory installed sound system to the limit. Gradually, he doesn't bother to change the radio stations back, and find it enjoyable to watch MTV. To his disbelieve, he began to enjoy "music" by the likes of Snoop Dog and Fat Joe!
2) The Player used to have one pet fish. He rescued it from a little bowl that came from the pet shop, from the wrong food, and disease. Eventually it got it's own palm sized aquarium, with private pump, filters, and sunken treasures. The Player was in charge of taking care of it when he took a clandestine trip to Buenos Aires. He brought a feeding machine with timer and tested it carefully for days to his satisfactory. When he came back after a week, it was still alive but hardly moved. It must be the surplus fish food contaminating the water. Then it died. The Player gave it a proper burial while fixing a sprinkler, which doubles as the grave stone if anybody ask for it. He forgave himself as fishes have no pussies.
3) The Player does not dance. His schoolmates were all of the same sex. They never invited him to parties with girls where he would get all the attentions. He just can't move a beat but no one believes him. He disappointed so many girls and women the world over. The Player likes to sit and watch. Often polite invitations become tug of war become anti-climax of the evening.
Did they teach ‘la mona gringa’ servicio completo?
4) The Player likes speed. With his first car he played the English Drift, a much earlier version of the Tokyo Drift, on a winding country road on his way to work. One day he drifted into the oncoming lane uncontrollably, scared the shit out of a fellow driver, bulldozed a lot of bushes to create a new lane in his name, and totally written off the car. Thanks to the gradual deceleration, he didn't lose one hair, but he swore he won't be seen dead in such shameful cars ever again. When a motorway was completed there, he woke up himself totally every morning by driving his luxury car at 100 mph for at least a couple of minutes. He still does that occasionally on toll roads. But he only speeds on straight stretch of roads. Indeed he had trouble cornering ever since the new lane was created. Once he collected enough points and was forced to take the daily train to work, 180 days of it.
5) The Player like steak. Now along with 60 millions of people who were at the wrong place at the wrong time are not allowed to donate blood in his current country of residence.
6) In his starving student days, The Player once rented a tiny room from a young landlady, who was barely old enough to get money out of her trust fund to buy a new studio flat. Her divorced parents must had long given up on taming her. On the first day, the landlady introduced him to her boyfriend, an electrician or plumber, fixed the Player up with her pretty young friends on the dole, and played board games. The hostess then handed the Player a joint that he couldn't refuse. He thought that's why he got the room - he didn't look like the kind of person who would bother about slightly illegal substances. But he didn't really want to pick up one more thing. He had hardly enough money to pay for his chain smoking at tough times.
The relationship didn't last long, a little more than a season, or a few boyfriends, carpenter, carpet layer, etc, depending on what she needed at the time. The problem was that the Player didn't know that she fancied him, even though she was totally his type. He had Tony Blair's rock star hair style at the same age, only to save a few quid. Pathetic. He tried hard to please the landlady by reducing energy use. Whenever the Player took a hot bath, the landlady would frown on him, even though that was the only bath he took in a week. Sex wasn't on his mind, though he heard bonking noises almost every day from the main bedroom. She offered to cook him dinner, but he turned her down flat, thinking that was welcome dinner with one of her boyfriends. In bikini, she waited for him to come home, asked him to help with her tummy ache. It was too subtle for the Player that he didn't know what to do. Seeing that she didn't look to be in trouble at all, he went back into his tiny room to study. She must had hated him for that.
7) The first camping trip of the Player was to a grave yard of the worst kind. The pre-teen Player could see "coffins" above ground level inside fairly open "tombs", where the corpse rotted. The big boys located the open space on the map without knowing what the neighbors were. He wasn't bother by the supernatural ever since. Also, in his statistical view, the probability that a person encounters the supernatural, which alters his life in some way, is negligible. The most appropriate strategy is to ignore it, exist or not. The Player is an ostrich when it comes to ghosts.
I'm tagging:
The Call Girl Next Door
Jane
A Clandestine Call Girl
Melissa Moon
On her mind
The Academic Hooker
The Way of the Hetaira
Help the Player to tell them if you bump into them ;-)
1) The Player is very much a country person. But many of his companions, who have the privilege of traveling in his SUV, will always tune the radio to their favorite stations, and test his premium factory installed sound system to the limit. Gradually, he doesn't bother to change the radio stations back, and find it enjoyable to watch MTV. To his disbelieve, he began to enjoy "music" by the likes of Snoop Dog and Fat Joe!
2) The Player used to have one pet fish. He rescued it from a little bowl that came from the pet shop, from the wrong food, and disease. Eventually it got it's own palm sized aquarium, with private pump, filters, and sunken treasures. The Player was in charge of taking care of it when he took a clandestine trip to Buenos Aires. He brought a feeding machine with timer and tested it carefully for days to his satisfactory. When he came back after a week, it was still alive but hardly moved. It must be the surplus fish food contaminating the water. Then it died. The Player gave it a proper burial while fixing a sprinkler, which doubles as the grave stone if anybody ask for it. He forgave himself as fishes have no pussies.
3) The Player does not dance. His schoolmates were all of the same sex. They never invited him to parties with girls where he would get all the attentions. He just can't move a beat but no one believes him. He disappointed so many girls and women the world over. The Player likes to sit and watch. Often polite invitations become tug of war become anti-climax of the evening.
Did they teach ‘la mona gringa’ servicio completo?
4) The Player likes speed. With his first car he played the English Drift, a much earlier version of the Tokyo Drift, on a winding country road on his way to work. One day he drifted into the oncoming lane uncontrollably, scared the shit out of a fellow driver, bulldozed a lot of bushes to create a new lane in his name, and totally written off the car. Thanks to the gradual deceleration, he didn't lose one hair, but he swore he won't be seen dead in such shameful cars ever again. When a motorway was completed there, he woke up himself totally every morning by driving his luxury car at 100 mph for at least a couple of minutes. He still does that occasionally on toll roads. But he only speeds on straight stretch of roads. Indeed he had trouble cornering ever since the new lane was created. Once he collected enough points and was forced to take the daily train to work, 180 days of it.
5) The Player like steak. Now along with 60 millions of people who were at the wrong place at the wrong time are not allowed to donate blood in his current country of residence.
6) In his starving student days, The Player once rented a tiny room from a young landlady, who was barely old enough to get money out of her trust fund to buy a new studio flat. Her divorced parents must had long given up on taming her. On the first day, the landlady introduced him to her boyfriend, an electrician or plumber, fixed the Player up with her pretty young friends on the dole, and played board games. The hostess then handed the Player a joint that he couldn't refuse. He thought that's why he got the room - he didn't look like the kind of person who would bother about slightly illegal substances. But he didn't really want to pick up one more thing. He had hardly enough money to pay for his chain smoking at tough times.
The relationship didn't last long, a little more than a season, or a few boyfriends, carpenter, carpet layer, etc, depending on what she needed at the time. The problem was that the Player didn't know that she fancied him, even though she was totally his type. He had Tony Blair's rock star hair style at the same age, only to save a few quid. Pathetic. He tried hard to please the landlady by reducing energy use. Whenever the Player took a hot bath, the landlady would frown on him, even though that was the only bath he took in a week. Sex wasn't on his mind, though he heard bonking noises almost every day from the main bedroom. She offered to cook him dinner, but he turned her down flat, thinking that was welcome dinner with one of her boyfriends. In bikini, she waited for him to come home, asked him to help with her tummy ache. It was too subtle for the Player that he didn't know what to do. Seeing that she didn't look to be in trouble at all, he went back into his tiny room to study. She must had hated him for that.
7) The first camping trip of the Player was to a grave yard of the worst kind. The pre-teen Player could see "coffins" above ground level inside fairly open "tombs", where the corpse rotted. The big boys located the open space on the map without knowing what the neighbors were. He wasn't bother by the supernatural ever since. Also, in his statistical view, the probability that a person encounters the supernatural, which alters his life in some way, is negligible. The most appropriate strategy is to ignore it, exist or not. The Player is an ostrich when it comes to ghosts.
I'm tagging:
The Call Girl Next Door
Jane
A Clandestine Call Girl
Melissa Moon
On her mind
The Academic Hooker
The Way of the Hetaira
Help the Player to tell them if you bump into them ;-)
Friday, July 20, 2007
Vegas gets you with weight sensors in the fridges
Vegas gets you with weight sensors in the fridges | Tech news blog - CNET News.com: "Because the fridges are now equipped with motion sensors, the helpful woman at registration told me. That is, if I move a drink to make room for something of my own, it'll charge me. If I accidentally knock something over, it'll charge me. If I put something of my own on top of something, it'll charge me."
The practice could be a couple of years old in Vegas. From the comments, there are other hotels installing sensors, but I don't see why except for Vegas. In the world's largest Venetian for example, at bad times, it can be 20+ lines of check in and check out, with more than 50 to may be 100 person in each line. Am I correct? They just couldn't cope. If they can cope, that means they are wasting resources on average.
If you drink from the mini-bar but forget to put it on the bill, you expect that the hotel will check and bill you later. In Vegas it's a different matter. As long as they can spend more resources to reduce the check-in and check-out times, I'm all for it. But suddenly if I cannot use the fridge that I expected at the time of booking, I'm not happy about it.
Before I arrived, I booked an additional day due to change of plan. I didn't remember the details, and there could be some misunderstanding. But I was sure that I told the front desk about it and I was sure that I could stay in the same room. I ended up locked out of the room after returning wet from the swimming pool. Had to take the long walk to the front desk to get another key.
I think there's a short notice on the fridge, or received at the front desk, warning about the sensors. I am sure it was not as serious as they put it now, maybe the practice was rather new at the time. I was already pretty annoyed by that. If they told me that I had to pay if I knocked something down, I would certainly call them to send some supervisor up as my verbal sandbag. I just ignored it, but emptied the fridge without consuming anything.
But I still needed my verbal sandbags. After lining up for a long time at check-out, to check if I would be charged for anything in the mini bar. Of course they had the electronic record and would charge for the things that I didn't consumed. I told her just that. She knew it was an explosive situation and she agreed to everything without saying much. I agreed but I wouldn't go empty handed, without a piece of paper in case of future dispute. So she went inside reluctantly for a few minutes and got me one.
Right after I left the front desk, I wasn't satisfied with the bill. I changed my mind and returned for a written statement and signed, whatever it would be. Respecting the privacy of the other visitors, I went to the head of the lines and waited for any of the first in line to complete their business. While I wasn't looking, a check out clerk was available, but the guy in charge of the lines sent somebody first in line to check out. I was on fire. This guy looked like a management trainee and security guard, 6 feet + in dark suit. He was just what I needed as a sandbag. Unfortunately he didn't come over to talk to me. So I walked towards him like Clint, stopped right in the middle of the lines, took a look at him, and sent brain waves to him with unmistakable terms that I would beat him up if he did that again. He pretended not to notice me and walked away subtly, keeping the same distance from me. When I looked again, he disappeared, leaving me in charge of the lines. Damn, no sandbag.
I would say I'm a mellowed person. But the way he reported it, the words brought back angry memories. Can that be legal? Say if I knock something down by accident and put it back without consuming it, can they charge for it? Will they need a signed consent form first?
The practice could be a couple of years old in Vegas. From the comments, there are other hotels installing sensors, but I don't see why except for Vegas. In the world's largest Venetian for example, at bad times, it can be 20+ lines of check in and check out, with more than 50 to may be 100 person in each line. Am I correct? They just couldn't cope. If they can cope, that means they are wasting resources on average.
If you drink from the mini-bar but forget to put it on the bill, you expect that the hotel will check and bill you later. In Vegas it's a different matter. As long as they can spend more resources to reduce the check-in and check-out times, I'm all for it. But suddenly if I cannot use the fridge that I expected at the time of booking, I'm not happy about it.
Before I arrived, I booked an additional day due to change of plan. I didn't remember the details, and there could be some misunderstanding. But I was sure that I told the front desk about it and I was sure that I could stay in the same room. I ended up locked out of the room after returning wet from the swimming pool. Had to take the long walk to the front desk to get another key.
I think there's a short notice on the fridge, or received at the front desk, warning about the sensors. I am sure it was not as serious as they put it now, maybe the practice was rather new at the time. I was already pretty annoyed by that. If they told me that I had to pay if I knocked something down, I would certainly call them to send some supervisor up as my verbal sandbag. I just ignored it, but emptied the fridge without consuming anything.
But I still needed my verbal sandbags. After lining up for a long time at check-out, to check if I would be charged for anything in the mini bar. Of course they had the electronic record and would charge for the things that I didn't consumed. I told her just that. She knew it was an explosive situation and she agreed to everything without saying much. I agreed but I wouldn't go empty handed, without a piece of paper in case of future dispute. So she went inside reluctantly for a few minutes and got me one.
Right after I left the front desk, I wasn't satisfied with the bill. I changed my mind and returned for a written statement and signed, whatever it would be. Respecting the privacy of the other visitors, I went to the head of the lines and waited for any of the first in line to complete their business. While I wasn't looking, a check out clerk was available, but the guy in charge of the lines sent somebody first in line to check out. I was on fire. This guy looked like a management trainee and security guard, 6 feet + in dark suit. He was just what I needed as a sandbag. Unfortunately he didn't come over to talk to me. So I walked towards him like Clint, stopped right in the middle of the lines, took a look at him, and sent brain waves to him with unmistakable terms that I would beat him up if he did that again. He pretended not to notice me and walked away subtly, keeping the same distance from me. When I looked again, he disappeared, leaving me in charge of the lines. Damn, no sandbag.
I would say I'm a mellowed person. But the way he reported it, the words brought back angry memories. Can that be legal? Say if I knock something down by accident and put it back without consuming it, can they charge for it? Will they need a signed consent form first?
Nia Dark and Lovely, a Black Escort in London: Confessions of a working girl
Nia Dark and Lovely, a Black Escort in London: Confessions of a working girl: "She has some tips at the back, which I think would be useful for newbies. One thing that I agree with is her point about regulars. She says when a regular client sees another girl, all it means is he fancies a change.
It does not mean the girl has stolen him, or he does not like you. Your punter is not your boyfriend, so do not take it personally."
While unmistakably it's a good advice, it's a bit Oprah. (I know, if she became president I'll be rounded up in Guantanamo.)
While it's likely to be true, it's cannot be the whole truth all the time.
If you are not careful, it can be an the start of an exodus!
Did you forget to shave your legs? Trim your eyebrows? Check everything just to be on the safe side. What's the last time you stand on the scale? Measured your waist?
Good advice is what you don't want to hear - [a real philosopher's name here]
Seriously, it's complicated. ;-)
It does not mean the girl has stolen him, or he does not like you. Your punter is not your boyfriend, so do not take it personally."
While unmistakably it's a good advice, it's a bit Oprah. (I know, if she became president I'll be rounded up in Guantanamo.)
While it's likely to be true, it's cannot be the whole truth all the time.
If you are not careful, it can be an the start of an exodus!
Did you forget to shave your legs? Trim your eyebrows? Check everything just to be on the safe side. What's the last time you stand on the scale? Measured your waist?
Good advice is what you don't want to hear - [a real philosopher's name here]
Seriously, it's complicated. ;-)
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Buenos Aires - incall
As far as I know, there are no incall apartments in Recoleta. The rent will be expensive, neighbors will be up in arms, the security guards are serious in all buildings.
Typically, the living room is suppose to act like a club, where you get get a drink in the evenings I think. Obviously, it's also a waiting room, and the place for lineups. Usually there are at least a few girls, and a few rooms for you to use. The price is at the lower end of the $100 to $300 range. Apartments near Recoleta can be decent, but pretty basic with small bathrooms. I don't recommend, especially for independent girls, who are not all likely to afford decent flats. But if you like, you can take them out.
Against online advice from US expats (high price), I visited this apartment on a Sunday. It was closed, while I thought I went to the wrong place. Brothels close on Sundays in Catholic countries? I went back in a few days, after unimpressed by other services.
The lift looked like a basket for 4. In my hotel, there were two lifts, one looked like an upright coffin for two, the other slightly better. I didn't see any escape routes, or ladders hanging outside of the buildings.
The manageress was young, meant business, spoke sufficient English except for some pauses looking for words. Then came the lineup. For the apartments that I visited, I decided to leave after the first girl appeared. This was different. The first two or three looked like models, and walked like models in bikini, lingerie and high heels. I think they are from Brazil too, this time more like Victoria Secret models.
Oh, I love lineups, but I almost forgot how it is. Haven't had a lineup in LA for years and not expecting one ever again. I love those pageant like lineup most. Six come out forming a row, come up to you one by one, bow down to shake hands and talk a little. Then another six, then another six ... This one you can say more tasteful. Each girl come into the living room in turns.
I wasn't prepared, or I wasn't prepared that the lineup was that good. My experience was that it only took two or three gorgeous girl to make a mess in my brain. I ended up picking the wrong girls. So in a rush I recalled my lessons - forget about their names, just number them from first to last, left to right if applicable. Whenever you see a new one, you have to make an immediate decision, split second if necessary, whether to pick this girl, or keep your last pick.
After the first few models with gorgeous bodies, I began to raise my expectations, to find a prettier face. All are in mid-twenties I think. Jessica was about 4th in the line. When I saw her face, I forget about the others. She is sweet and looked more Argentinean than Brazilian. Though I forgot to look at her body. She isn't bad, just girl next door compared to model bodies. See, lineups always mess up my mind.
But I wasn't disappointed, it couldn't be more right. Usually the number ones expect you to pick them. If you pick number two, they will be very happy, because every girl thinks that they should be number one. If you go on to number 3 or 4, their happiness go up exponentially. But this only apply to small establishments, where the girls are officially or subtly ranked according to their popularity.
After the last one left, I told the manageress I wanted number 4. It took her some counting to realize that I wanted Jessica. I told her I wanted extra service too. But she told me to negotiate with Jessica herself, not all girls do extras.
Jessica couldn't stop smiling. Perhaps it is her nature, but mostly it had to do with the underdog winning the lineup, and that she was very happy with me one way or the other. She kissed me like she was a puppy. Usually it's the other way round if they let me. She literally screwed me during oral without. Luckily I could take all that without exploding, because I was already over sexed.
After round one, I asked for complete service, the only term in Spanish I couldn't forget. She hesitated for a split second, fetched a condom, ripped it off, fingered it, and fingered herself. She was pretty, GFE, which all made me forget that I was paying, the risk of disease, the less than perfect apartment, that I was in somebody else's bed. I got up again in no time, and completed what I asked for.
We did have time for a drink and some talking in between and after rounds, with the help of my electronic translator. This time I helped her to use it. She understood that I was there for a week's trip. I got it from her, or not, that they welcome people to take out, most apartments do. I never thought of that. Incalls like that in most other countries don't venture into outcall, which become something else.
Sadly, I didn't tell her that I was on my way to the airport. I wasn't cheating her as I didn't need any more pesos left in my wallet, and I rewarded her well. I didn't want the disappointed look in her face. I wanted to leave her happy. If she never see me again, she will not remember me at all.
It's hard not to like the city. European tradition combined with the convenience and bustling of Asian cities. As for pleasure seekers, it would be heaven for Spanish speakers. If I were to pick again, I would pick places where I have the advantage of language, say London, or at least equal, where nobody speaks English or Spanish or Portuguese. But then again, it best to mix pleasure with something else, for the other 23 hours.
BTW, at the time, my 2nd choice will be Brazil, San Paulo rather than Rio, though probably both. I knew nothing about the airports.
ps Use airport taxis. The licensed taxi are plenty and reliable, but they may not go far, such as the airport. Their pretty new paints do not correlate with the old engines inside. I picked a random one on the streets to the airport. I wasn't worrying but the driver was, from the moment I got on broad. Half way through in the middle of nowhere, he abruptly exited the freeway, stopped, rushed out, opened the trunk, and I thought he was fetching a gun. It turned out that the taxi just needed a pitch stop, the overheat engine needed some cool water. Luckily the scare was over very quick. Or I would have already running for my life.
Typically, the living room is suppose to act like a club, where you get get a drink in the evenings I think. Obviously, it's also a waiting room, and the place for lineups. Usually there are at least a few girls, and a few rooms for you to use. The price is at the lower end of the $100 to $300 range. Apartments near Recoleta can be decent, but pretty basic with small bathrooms. I don't recommend, especially for independent girls, who are not all likely to afford decent flats. But if you like, you can take them out.
Against online advice from US expats (high price), I visited this apartment on a Sunday. It was closed, while I thought I went to the wrong place. Brothels close on Sundays in Catholic countries? I went back in a few days, after unimpressed by other services.The lift looked like a basket for 4. In my hotel, there were two lifts, one looked like an upright coffin for two, the other slightly better. I didn't see any escape routes, or ladders hanging outside of the buildings.
The manageress was young, meant business, spoke sufficient English except for some pauses looking for words. Then came the lineup. For the apartments that I visited, I decided to leave after the first girl appeared. This was different. The first two or three looked like models, and walked like models in bikini, lingerie and high heels. I think they are from Brazil too, this time more like Victoria Secret models.
Oh, I love lineups, but I almost forgot how it is. Haven't had a lineup in LA for years and not expecting one ever again. I love those pageant like lineup most. Six come out forming a row, come up to you one by one, bow down to shake hands and talk a little. Then another six, then another six ... This one you can say more tasteful. Each girl come into the living room in turns.
I wasn't prepared, or I wasn't prepared that the lineup was that good. My experience was that it only took two or three gorgeous girl to make a mess in my brain. I ended up picking the wrong girls. So in a rush I recalled my lessons - forget about their names, just number them from first to last, left to right if applicable. Whenever you see a new one, you have to make an immediate decision, split second if necessary, whether to pick this girl, or keep your last pick.
After the first few models with gorgeous bodies, I began to raise my expectations, to find a prettier face. All are in mid-twenties I think. Jessica was about 4th in the line. When I saw her face, I forget about the others. She is sweet and looked more Argentinean than Brazilian. Though I forgot to look at her body. She isn't bad, just girl next door compared to model bodies. See, lineups always mess up my mind.
But I wasn't disappointed, it couldn't be more right. Usually the number ones expect you to pick them. If you pick number two, they will be very happy, because every girl thinks that they should be number one. If you go on to number 3 or 4, their happiness go up exponentially. But this only apply to small establishments, where the girls are officially or subtly ranked according to their popularity.
After the last one left, I told the manageress I wanted number 4. It took her some counting to realize that I wanted Jessica. I told her I wanted extra service too. But she told me to negotiate with Jessica herself, not all girls do extras.
Jessica couldn't stop smiling. Perhaps it is her nature, but mostly it had to do with the underdog winning the lineup, and that she was very happy with me one way or the other. She kissed me like she was a puppy. Usually it's the other way round if they let me. She literally screwed me during oral without. Luckily I could take all that without exploding, because I was already over sexed.
After round one, I asked for complete service, the only term in Spanish I couldn't forget. She hesitated for a split second, fetched a condom, ripped it off, fingered it, and fingered herself. She was pretty, GFE, which all made me forget that I was paying, the risk of disease, the less than perfect apartment, that I was in somebody else's bed. I got up again in no time, and completed what I asked for.
We did have time for a drink and some talking in between and after rounds, with the help of my electronic translator. This time I helped her to use it. She understood that I was there for a week's trip. I got it from her, or not, that they welcome people to take out, most apartments do. I never thought of that. Incalls like that in most other countries don't venture into outcall, which become something else.
Sadly, I didn't tell her that I was on my way to the airport. I wasn't cheating her as I didn't need any more pesos left in my wallet, and I rewarded her well. I didn't want the disappointed look in her face. I wanted to leave her happy. If she never see me again, she will not remember me at all.
It's hard not to like the city. European tradition combined with the convenience and bustling of Asian cities. As for pleasure seekers, it would be heaven for Spanish speakers. If I were to pick again, I would pick places where I have the advantage of language, say London, or at least equal, where nobody speaks English or Spanish or Portuguese. But then again, it best to mix pleasure with something else, for the other 23 hours.
BTW, at the time, my 2nd choice will be Brazil, San Paulo rather than Rio, though probably both. I knew nothing about the airports.
ps Use airport taxis. The licensed taxi are plenty and reliable, but they may not go far, such as the airport. Their pretty new paints do not correlate with the old engines inside. I picked a random one on the streets to the airport. I wasn't worrying but the driver was, from the moment I got on broad. Half way through in the middle of nowhere, he abruptly exited the freeway, stopped, rushed out, opened the trunk, and I thought he was fetching a gun. It turned out that the taxi just needed a pitch stop, the overheat engine needed some cool water. Luckily the scare was over very quick. Or I would have already running for my life.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Food and sex 2 (In Buenos Aires)
Getting the right companion, securing a VIP table, being seen, are as much fun as the food, especially when you are not in a Michelin 5 star restaurant. Since I had no dinner dates, I spent most of my meals at my kitchenette.
Recoleta has a few supermarket chains within walking distance, which are about the best looking supermarkets in the world. The checkers have brilliant white uniform shirts, looked like flight attendants, but younger, who would admire your purchase and smile at you. I heard that during the currency crisis, they are all taken over by some foreign power (not USA). If I knew that they all deliver your purchase to your apartment, I would have tried harder to get a more spacious (and cheaper) apartment. I suppose they will deliver to your hotel room, but it's a bit awkward and I don't need that much things in a hotel.
The small kitchenette shouldn't be a problem for me. Raw fish need no cooking! However, the only fresh fish available there were big fat farm salmon. Just like most large chains in the world, the seafood department looked good, but for really good stuff you have to go to specialty shops like Trader Joe's. Also, Argentineans are certainly not big on seafood, as I realize later. There aren't that much Japanese and seafood restaurants around town.
No raw fish, no big deal. So I looked for big juicy steak that can be eaten rare, or in my case, bloody. To my surprise, I couldn't find any! Then I recalled that for beef importing countries, top steak house will use steak from (1) a region in Japan (2) Argentina. The Argentina climate and glass were the reasons the Europeans bring themselves and their cattle. I was puzzled.
I am even more puzzled when I find out that Argentineans still consumes the most beef in the world per capita. Some eat steak for breakfast so their export only ranked third in the world I think. It's true that you can't prepare steak at home as good as at restaurants. Also, you can't use insane heat in barbecues in small apartments. So perhaps they don't cook steak at home.
Perhaps they couldn't afford it? They do have armed guards in drugs and cosmetics stores, because these are rather expensive items. You have to put all bags in lockers before you can go inside. Whenever you go through toll roads, you can see men holding long rifles at their shoulders, aiming and ready to shoot anybody who wouldn't pay. On the way from the airport to town, I think I saw high rise ghost towns.
When I looked closer, I found beef cut like thin bacon. Are Argentineans that poor? Even in Recoleta? Or they will never think of cooking steak at home? Maybe really they eat beef for breakfast, just as some eat bacon. At first I used the little toaster to grill the beef. It was very good. Then I thought of shabu shabu - Japanese boiled beef. It was the best shabu shabu that I ever had. Perhaps you should try that in a Japanese restaurant when you are in Buenos Aires.
Looking at their vegetables in the supermarkets, you would think that Argentineans are big vegetarians, rather than number one in beef consumption. But to go with shabu shabu, nothing beat their spinach, delicate as baby spinach. One dip in the boiling water and you get intense flavor without the need for any spice or source.
With full continental European (ie, minus the big island) traditions, the bread didn't disappoint, even in supermarkets. So I didn't need a kitchenette after all, just a small pot of boiling water, and a little soy source. I had a very healthy diet, virtually fat free, high protein, high energy, easy to digest. I couldn't have enough of it, day after day, sex after sex.
Just like bread, Argentina must have good wine, and you can find it in the supermarkets too. I picked the top bottles of red from the supermarket and it turned out to be a good investment. The gorgeous checkers looked at me as if they wanted to follow me home. Spotting an open bottle on the table, my companions would stay longer for a glass or two, or even helped themselves.
(Part one is here.)
Recoleta has a few supermarket chains within walking distance, which are about the best looking supermarkets in the world. The checkers have brilliant white uniform shirts, looked like flight attendants, but younger, who would admire your purchase and smile at you. I heard that during the currency crisis, they are all taken over by some foreign power (not USA). If I knew that they all deliver your purchase to your apartment, I would have tried harder to get a more spacious (and cheaper) apartment. I suppose they will deliver to your hotel room, but it's a bit awkward and I don't need that much things in a hotel.The small kitchenette shouldn't be a problem for me. Raw fish need no cooking! However, the only fresh fish available there were big fat farm salmon. Just like most large chains in the world, the seafood department looked good, but for really good stuff you have to go to specialty shops like Trader Joe's. Also, Argentineans are certainly not big on seafood, as I realize later. There aren't that much Japanese and seafood restaurants around town.
No raw fish, no big deal. So I looked for big juicy steak that can be eaten rare, or in my case, bloody. To my surprise, I couldn't find any! Then I recalled that for beef importing countries, top steak house will use steak from (1) a region in Japan (2) Argentina. The Argentina climate and glass were the reasons the Europeans bring themselves and their cattle. I was puzzled.
I am even more puzzled when I find out that Argentineans still consumes the most beef in the world per capita. Some eat steak for breakfast so their export only ranked third in the world I think. It's true that you can't prepare steak at home as good as at restaurants. Also, you can't use insane heat in barbecues in small apartments. So perhaps they don't cook steak at home.
Perhaps they couldn't afford it? They do have armed guards in drugs and cosmetics stores, because these are rather expensive items. You have to put all bags in lockers before you can go inside. Whenever you go through toll roads, you can see men holding long rifles at their shoulders, aiming and ready to shoot anybody who wouldn't pay. On the way from the airport to town, I think I saw high rise ghost towns.
When I looked closer, I found beef cut like thin bacon. Are Argentineans that poor? Even in Recoleta? Or they will never think of cooking steak at home? Maybe really they eat beef for breakfast, just as some eat bacon. At first I used the little toaster to grill the beef. It was very good. Then I thought of shabu shabu - Japanese boiled beef. It was the best shabu shabu that I ever had. Perhaps you should try that in a Japanese restaurant when you are in Buenos Aires.
Looking at their vegetables in the supermarkets, you would think that Argentineans are big vegetarians, rather than number one in beef consumption. But to go with shabu shabu, nothing beat their spinach, delicate as baby spinach. One dip in the boiling water and you get intense flavor without the need for any spice or source.
With full continental European (ie, minus the big island) traditions, the bread didn't disappoint, even in supermarkets. So I didn't need a kitchenette after all, just a small pot of boiling water, and a little soy source. I had a very healthy diet, virtually fat free, high protein, high energy, easy to digest. I couldn't have enough of it, day after day, sex after sex.
Just like bread, Argentina must have good wine, and you can find it in the supermarkets too. I picked the top bottles of red from the supermarket and it turned out to be a good investment. The gorgeous checkers looked at me as if they wanted to follow me home. Spotting an open bottle on the table, my companions would stay longer for a glass or two, or even helped themselves.
(Part one is here.)
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Secret Lifestyle of the New Rich in the Digital Age
Thanks to this guy Tim I got an alternative name for something I have been writing, and that's the only thing I thank him for. More on his work later (scroll right). Otherwise, the title would have been Buenos Aires - Internet Escorts.
Since the club girls were at the high end of the $100 to $300 scale, and difficult for them to offer any package deals, I wasn't giving up on Internet Escorts so fast. Though I fired my Virtual Assistance on the first day I arrived.
I set my well trained Internet picture filter to extreme stringent mode, which I never thought I needed to do outside of USA. I had a few disappointments. For the honest ones, they asked me to call another day when they would be available. My filtering skills were useless when they could send anybody irrelevant to your hotel. However, since BA is dense, escorts will arrive in your central location fast, and they are very happy to accept taxi money and go away with a smile. And since their ID's are checked before they can come up to your room, they cannot operate as the numerous ripoff artists in most US cities. Finally, I came up with this.
The picture could be real, possibly one to two years old. You have to minus the neat hair, air brush all over, and possibly some body outline alternation.
There was no wow factor. She dressed as if she just spent a day at work. Though, I didn't realize at the time, there was some Julia Robert feel about her, in tame casual wear. Not surprisingly, she called herself Julia.
Julia looked less pretty, less sharp as in her pictures, of course. Her legs didn't seem to be that great, which attracted me in the first place. But I'm sure she looks great after some ion treatment on her hair, eyebrow trimming, perfect leg shaving, laser all over skin treatment, manicure and pedicure. I don't mean she need any of these, say, having hairy legs. I mean I would say wow if she goes through some subtle makeover, not necessarily obvious things such as cosmetics and US $200 blond coloring.
As for language skills, English in the menu means that her booker understands English. She didn't. She was rather keen on using my pocket electronic Spanish-English Translator. She was rather GFE too. But I didn't know why, we kissed but no sparkles.
At the end she wanted to stay for the night. I pretended not to understand that, and she gave up on using the electronic translator - I didn't help her. That was my rest day in between big dates. I was in recovery mode rather than full of energy. That's why I was adventurous by calling her. I didn't have much to lose. Overnight could be a waste of money. If there was sparkles or electricity, I wouldn't mind letting her stay though. After all, later if I couldn't find any better, she was just a phone call away.
She still wanted to stay for another hour and started talking about compensation. I gave her some more time to see if we match, but I wasn't keen on talking about the exact compensation - it all depended on what I managed to do. At the end she took an honest amount of extra pesos from my wallet.
When we said goodbye at the door, she gave me her card. Since I had only a small table for everything by the door, she could see printed pictures of my potential targets. She went away shaking her head a little, saying tsk, tsk, tsk...
Since the club girls were at the high end of the $100 to $300 scale, and difficult for them to offer any package deals, I wasn't giving up on Internet Escorts so fast. Though I fired my Virtual Assistance on the first day I arrived.
I set my well trained Internet picture filter to extreme stringent mode, which I never thought I needed to do outside of USA. I had a few disappointments. For the honest ones, they asked me to call another day when they would be available. My filtering skills were useless when they could send anybody irrelevant to your hotel. However, since BA is dense, escorts will arrive in your central location fast, and they are very happy to accept taxi money and go away with a smile. And since their ID's are checked before they can come up to your room, they cannot operate as the numerous ripoff artists in most US cities. Finally, I came up with this.
The picture could be real, possibly one to two years old. You have to minus the neat hair, air brush all over, and possibly some body outline alternation.There was no wow factor. She dressed as if she just spent a day at work. Though, I didn't realize at the time, there was some Julia Robert feel about her, in tame casual wear. Not surprisingly, she called herself Julia.
Julia looked less pretty, less sharp as in her pictures, of course. Her legs didn't seem to be that great, which attracted me in the first place. But I'm sure she looks great after some ion treatment on her hair, eyebrow trimming, perfect leg shaving, laser all over skin treatment, manicure and pedicure. I don't mean she need any of these, say, having hairy legs. I mean I would say wow if she goes through some subtle makeover, not necessarily obvious things such as cosmetics and US $200 blond coloring.
As for language skills, English in the menu means that her booker understands English. She didn't. She was rather keen on using my pocket electronic Spanish-English Translator. She was rather GFE too. But I didn't know why, we kissed but no sparkles.
At the end she wanted to stay for the night. I pretended not to understand that, and she gave up on using the electronic translator - I didn't help her. That was my rest day in between big dates. I was in recovery mode rather than full of energy. That's why I was adventurous by calling her. I didn't have much to lose. Overnight could be a waste of money. If there was sparkles or electricity, I wouldn't mind letting her stay though. After all, later if I couldn't find any better, she was just a phone call away.
She still wanted to stay for another hour and started talking about compensation. I gave her some more time to see if we match, but I wasn't keen on talking about the exact compensation - it all depended on what I managed to do. At the end she took an honest amount of extra pesos from my wallet.
When we said goodbye at the door, she gave me her card. Since I had only a small table for everything by the door, she could see printed pictures of my potential targets. She went away shaking her head a little, saying tsk, tsk, tsk...
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Buenos Aires - Club Madahos
I had to try the next best Club. Look what I found? It seems that you can find anything in YouTube.
Madahos is in the tourist area right next to the cemetery, which entered many must see lists in the world, but no one told me that. It is a little more spacious there with clubs, restaurants and hotels lining up. There is the tempting MacDonald's but I went to the mall everyday for a pretty good Internet cafe. I passed the cemetery everyday, often a few times, without the thought of going in.
There is a large stage in the club that you cannot miss after you entered. But again I was too early for the shows. The girls were a lot varied there, different shapes and sizes, and little dress code to speak of. I spotted a girl wearing a Leg Avenue style school uniform. Though a lot of girls dress causally and normally.
Unlike Blacks, soon after I got my drink at the bar stool, a girl came up to me and wouldn't leave me alone. She spoke good English and tried to look like Julie Roberts. She wasn't at all bad, but I wanted to pick up somebody with some wow factor, and wanted to check out the other girls as well. And I wanted to hang around longer for other entertainments instead of going back to my hotel so soon. I told her repeatedly I just wanted a drink at the time, and she disappeared all of a sudden while I wasn't looking.
I got myself a tiny quiet table at the corner when some show started. I was enjoying my beer and cigarettes - the air there was a lot better than my hotel room. I supposed I was alone long enough that a woman came up to me and insisted that I must find company instead of so alone. I realized that she was offering her translation service, no way she was young enough to be an escort for me. I told her I didn't mind company for drinking only. Immediately she got me two rather exotic and very slim girls sitting next to me, a tiny table of four. We got along rather well, because the translator was a conversationalist as well.
At the end, with difficulty I had to pick one to take away. I picked the pretty one rather than the exotic one. Actually both are rather exotic from neighboring countries but not Brazil. At the door, Tony (Soprano) was responsible for transportation. Normally he would send one of his gorgeous, 6 feet+, driver in black suit and black tie to escort us back in one the club's big black cars, which looked like Daimler's at some angles. But he drove us himself. All girls, from Internet to clubs across the spectrum, are from $100 to $300. But for non-Spanish speaking tourist at the higher end clubs, you can't get away with less than $300.
Number one and number two, there is the difference. Madahos' lighting were a lot dimmer than Blacks. It turned out that she wasn't as pretty as I thought. So after sex, I was going back to get the exotic one, the other one that I met at the club. I didn't realize that it must be pretty embarrassing for her. I didn't even told her that I was looking for the other girl. But staff at the door thought there must be something wrong when I appeared with her. Indeed this pretty girl disappeared in no time as soon as we entered the door. I couldn't even offer her a drink. There wasn't anything wrong. I was always on the look for the right girl to spend more time with me. This girl didn't meet all my expectations so I went for the other.
I think I saw the exotic one at the door socializing with other people. She changed into something much more sexy after midnight. I think she noticed me too but we didn't try to connect right away. After a few drinks, me hanging out alone in the bar, she came to me, after some time had passed since I came in, she was sure that there was nothing wrong. Again we went back to my hotel with Tony driving.
I was rather happy with her that I booked her for a couple of hours the next night, late. Perhaps she had seen it all. It's difficult to get her excited about anything. I am certain she didn't get that many customers with so many girls just in one club. And I was paying her top pesos, the same as girls in the number one club gets. She let me took pictures of her naked, gave me email addy when asked, but remained calm about everything. She had to go when time was up. No concession at all, no free dinner offers. For that money, I was sure that I could find somebody better to stay with me overnight, or dinner date, if I knew where to find. I didn't know where so I tried her.
That's enough for club girls. I think they have to report back to duty any time before 6 am, while the clubs start to be busy with locals well after midnight. Dinner is their breakfast, which they may chose to spend with you if you are lucky. They can only offer you some package deals if you catch them on their off days, of which there aren't many.
Madahos is in the tourist area right next to the cemetery, which entered many must see lists in the world, but no one told me that. It is a little more spacious there with clubs, restaurants and hotels lining up. There is the tempting MacDonald's but I went to the mall everyday for a pretty good Internet cafe. I passed the cemetery everyday, often a few times, without the thought of going in.There is a large stage in the club that you cannot miss after you entered. But again I was too early for the shows. The girls were a lot varied there, different shapes and sizes, and little dress code to speak of. I spotted a girl wearing a Leg Avenue style school uniform. Though a lot of girls dress causally and normally.
Unlike Blacks, soon after I got my drink at the bar stool, a girl came up to me and wouldn't leave me alone. She spoke good English and tried to look like Julie Roberts. She wasn't at all bad, but I wanted to pick up somebody with some wow factor, and wanted to check out the other girls as well. And I wanted to hang around longer for other entertainments instead of going back to my hotel so soon. I told her repeatedly I just wanted a drink at the time, and she disappeared all of a sudden while I wasn't looking.
I got myself a tiny quiet table at the corner when some show started. I was enjoying my beer and cigarettes - the air there was a lot better than my hotel room. I supposed I was alone long enough that a woman came up to me and insisted that I must find company instead of so alone. I realized that she was offering her translation service, no way she was young enough to be an escort for me. I told her I didn't mind company for drinking only. Immediately she got me two rather exotic and very slim girls sitting next to me, a tiny table of four. We got along rather well, because the translator was a conversationalist as well.
At the end, with difficulty I had to pick one to take away. I picked the pretty one rather than the exotic one. Actually both are rather exotic from neighboring countries but not Brazil. At the door, Tony (Soprano) was responsible for transportation. Normally he would send one of his gorgeous, 6 feet+, driver in black suit and black tie to escort us back in one the club's big black cars, which looked like Daimler's at some angles. But he drove us himself. All girls, from Internet to clubs across the spectrum, are from $100 to $300. But for non-Spanish speaking tourist at the higher end clubs, you can't get away with less than $300.
Number one and number two, there is the difference. Madahos' lighting were a lot dimmer than Blacks. It turned out that she wasn't as pretty as I thought. So after sex, I was going back to get the exotic one, the other one that I met at the club. I didn't realize that it must be pretty embarrassing for her. I didn't even told her that I was looking for the other girl. But staff at the door thought there must be something wrong when I appeared with her. Indeed this pretty girl disappeared in no time as soon as we entered the door. I couldn't even offer her a drink. There wasn't anything wrong. I was always on the look for the right girl to spend more time with me. This girl didn't meet all my expectations so I went for the other.
I think I saw the exotic one at the door socializing with other people. She changed into something much more sexy after midnight. I think she noticed me too but we didn't try to connect right away. After a few drinks, me hanging out alone in the bar, she came to me, after some time had passed since I came in, she was sure that there was nothing wrong. Again we went back to my hotel with Tony driving.
I was rather happy with her that I booked her for a couple of hours the next night, late. Perhaps she had seen it all. It's difficult to get her excited about anything. I am certain she didn't get that many customers with so many girls just in one club. And I was paying her top pesos, the same as girls in the number one club gets. She let me took pictures of her naked, gave me email addy when asked, but remained calm about everything. She had to go when time was up. No concession at all, no free dinner offers. For that money, I was sure that I could find somebody better to stay with me overnight, or dinner date, if I knew where to find. I didn't know where so I tried her.
That's enough for club girls. I think they have to report back to duty any time before 6 am, while the clubs start to be busy with locals well after midnight. Dinner is their breakfast, which they may chose to spend with you if you are lucky. They can only offer you some package deals if you catch them on their off days, of which there aren't many.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Demimonde shut down
It was a blog for a group of escorts. Sophia Ong disappeared from the Internet altogether.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Buenos Aires - Club Black 2
While I was sitting at the long bar alone with 20+ girls, I saw at the corner of my eyes two girls got together and cooked up something. They walked towards me, but the at last minute took up the two empty stools next to me. After settling down, the girl next to me turned her back to the other girl, who was then performing a shoulder massage. So I would be staring right into the eyes of this girl next to me, if I looked directly her way, at 12 o'clock. I kept my face at 2 to 3 o'clock to see what's happening. This girl seemed to be having the best shoulder massage of her life, as if she was having an orgasm, arching her back. She was wearing a vest with bare shoulders. Though the vest was tame, it was a vest anyway.
At this point I think they must have very strict rules about not soliciting clients. So I made the move. I asked and brought her a drink, then we moved on to the lounge area. She was a Brazilian like this, with a less exaggerated, more delicate body, and a prettier face. The other local girls were more delicate or slender that I might prefer, but I couldn't possibly turn down such a lovely girl, especially looking at her animated facial expressions eye to eye.
There wasn't much conversation with English vs Spanish/Portuguese, but she was enjoying her strong alcoholic drink. I was preparing to bring her back fast, when a dancer jumped on our coffee table and started dancing. She was good looking, smaller, more delicate, more slender than main stream US strippers as seen on screen savers. She wore very little, a thong and might be even topless. It was quite cool. She wasn't just a dancer, she was the star of the stage show. She came a long way to our table with nobody else around us. She danced for at least a couple of minutes.
It took a long time for the bill to arrive. I think the manageress determined to talk to me before letting us go, and she had been busy. My tip to the dancer must had been pretty good. My girl, lets call her Brazil, told me to go to the bathroom first and then meet her at the door. I didn't need to go as my hotel was right across the corner. But it seemed that Brazil wouldn't came out again if I didn't go to the bathroom, which was temporarily staffed by yet another gorgeous guy in a gorgeous black suit. The tip tray next to the toilet was full of big peso bills. I told myself that must be joking, and put down a few pesos instead.
Back in my screw room, Brazil took out a stack of 3 condoms from the pocket of her black leather jacket, and put them down on the night stand. Then she started to undress. Wow, I was a little intimidated. Is that a Brazilian standard? Or Buenos Aires custom? Or was she just emptying her pocket, and it happened that they all use the same 3-pack condoms as in US? I had vivid memories of her actions, though in different versions. In version 1, the condoms were in her palm and she banged them hard on the night stand so I could notice that everything was taken care off, or was it a challenge? Version 2: she stacked the condoms neat with her fingers and moved them to the center of the night stand like a gambler.
After round one, she went down the screw to have a glass of water or something, while I was recovering in bed, worrying about the two condoms left on the night stand. Soon I followed her downstairs only to find her helping herself with the best bottle of red from the supermarket. She spoke a little English because I think her mother tongue Portuguese and Spanish aren't that compatible. I understood that at around 22, she was a selfconfused confessed alcoholic. She was forgetful and would hit her forehead rather hard with the palm of her hand when she realizes that she has forgotten something. She did leave behind a little bracelet in my room. Come to think about it now, it might be her way to make sure that she remembered to bring the condoms, and to help her to remember to put them on me.
I didn't remember much else about her. It may be that her idea of a good time is a stack of condoms. It wasn't much GFE. But I didn't remember any flaws about her performance and her body that I want to complain. That is pretty good.
At this point I think they must have very strict rules about not soliciting clients. So I made the move. I asked and brought her a drink, then we moved on to the lounge area. She was a Brazilian like this, with a less exaggerated, more delicate body, and a prettier face. The other local girls were more delicate or slender that I might prefer, but I couldn't possibly turn down such a lovely girl, especially looking at her animated facial expressions eye to eye.
There wasn't much conversation with English vs Spanish/Portuguese, but she was enjoying her strong alcoholic drink. I was preparing to bring her back fast, when a dancer jumped on our coffee table and started dancing. She was good looking, smaller, more delicate, more slender than main stream US strippers as seen on screen savers. She wore very little, a thong and might be even topless. It was quite cool. She wasn't just a dancer, she was the star of the stage show. She came a long way to our table with nobody else around us. She danced for at least a couple of minutes.
It took a long time for the bill to arrive. I think the manageress determined to talk to me before letting us go, and she had been busy. My tip to the dancer must had been pretty good. My girl, lets call her Brazil, told me to go to the bathroom first and then meet her at the door. I didn't need to go as my hotel was right across the corner. But it seemed that Brazil wouldn't came out again if I didn't go to the bathroom, which was temporarily staffed by yet another gorgeous guy in a gorgeous black suit. The tip tray next to the toilet was full of big peso bills. I told myself that must be joking, and put down a few pesos instead.
Back in my screw room, Brazil took out a stack of 3 condoms from the pocket of her black leather jacket, and put them down on the night stand. Then she started to undress. Wow, I was a little intimidated. Is that a Brazilian standard? Or Buenos Aires custom? Or was she just emptying her pocket, and it happened that they all use the same 3-pack condoms as in US? I had vivid memories of her actions, though in different versions. In version 1, the condoms were in her palm and she banged them hard on the night stand so I could notice that everything was taken care off, or was it a challenge? Version 2: she stacked the condoms neat with her fingers and moved them to the center of the night stand like a gambler.
After round one, she went down the screw to have a glass of water or something, while I was recovering in bed, worrying about the two condoms left on the night stand. Soon I followed her downstairs only to find her helping herself with the best bottle of red from the supermarket. She spoke a little English because I think her mother tongue Portuguese and Spanish aren't that compatible. I understood that at around 22, she was a self
I didn't remember much else about her. It may be that her idea of a good time is a stack of condoms. It wasn't much GFE. But I didn't remember any flaws about her performance and her body that I want to complain. That is pretty good.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Buenos Aires - Club Black
At this point I was very disappointed with the Internet escorts. The local agent did claim that she could not guarantee anything about the escorts, but she could get the going rate and that the appointments would be reliable. I was betting that she had some local reputation so the escorts would play less tricks. It wasn't to be.
So I head straight to Club Black, against advise from some US expats. It was really just across the corner from my hotel. It was the number one club. At $300 (peso) an hour outcall, $20+ (US?) per drink, and more for the ladies' drinks, it had to be number one. That's how the negative advice came about. A drink is comparable to a Korean beer in a room Salon in LA, though the drink has higher alcohol content. BTW, my drink was free, got a coupon from the airport.
[In the rush back to my hotel, I didn't look at the bill much. I vaguely remember it's very roughly $20 US a drink. Someone below says its 120 peso for the girl's drink.]
Another important background informaton is that, the above price was in pesos, which used to be about the same as dollars. At the time, the peso had long settled down to roughly one-third of a dollar, but people had long memories about these things. I heard about disputes from time to time about whether the stated price was in peso or dollar. I tried calling an escort with an ad in a newspaper, and asked her what currency was the price, she laughed and said dollars.
I had no legacy problem because I was always thinking in pesos. So I was expecting a hooker bar, somewhat more expensive than the other many such bars. But I should think in terms of dollars, as in the good old days. The club wasn't that plush as compared to top clubs in affluent Asian cities, in prime locations. But it has style, with front like an anonymous bank. There must be a center stage overlooking the corner of a major cross road in Recoleta, as shown in a previous picture. However I never got that far. At the entrance, there was a long bar with some 30 to 50 stools? It was a long walk towards the center stage. Lining the long walk way, opposite the bar, was some group sitting areas, like a lobby in a hotel.
I knew it was early for Latin America standards, 9pm, but I couldn't help it even after I upgraded to a larger hotel room. Instead of looking at the 4 walls all the time, I looked at the screw, walked up the screw, and walked down the screw. I knew there must be at least a group of regulars or VIPs far at the center stage, keeping the staff busy. Otherwise, the bar area was rather quiet, except for some 20+ girls sitting quietly on the bar stools, enjoying their drinks. I walked in, but nothing happened, so I sat at the middle of the long bar with some empty seats. I gave the bartender my coupon and enjoyed my free drink.
I wasn't impressed with the girls at first glance. But I should be. They averaged about 22, mostly local Argentinians, and at $300 a puff lining up the bar, that's quite impressive in terms of dollars. I didn't realize that their dress code was as conservative as some LA room salons, while I was expecting some playboy materials walking around as bunnies. Cleavage and short skirts were rare. Indeed most were dressed in casuals fit for office work. It wasn't designer outfits but they did put enough effort in their clothes to show off their individual styles, while remaining subtle.
As with some Asian culture, where breast enhancements are seen as kiss of death, fancy makeups are seen as cover ups, even in the evenings. So, the lineup seemed tame and plain at first glance. But as hostesses in a hostess club, they seemed to be as good as anywhere else.
I'm sure they all noticed me, and seemed friendly, but I was left alone so I took my time to look around, and to look at more girls gradually turning up for work. After a while, I began to over look their conservative dresses and began to realized that they were pretty young, in different good shapes, and came in many different styles. One was in a subtle cheerleader outfit, and looked like an American high school cheerleader. One even looked a little goth, showing off her awesome waist baring one inch of her tummy. If any of them came up to me, I would say yes yes yes and rushed back to my hotel.
But I think my strategy worked too well. I took the chance to sit at the bar in the hope that I would be left alone to watch all the girls with minimum drinks. Indeed no girls and no waiters bothered me. I began to feel like I was in a Catholic girl school party with all girls sitting on one side, and boys on the other. It didn't matter that I was sitting on the same side with the girls (at the bar), because I was the only boy invited. I smiled at my targets, they smiled back but stayed put. Friendly staring also didn't work. If anybody came up to sell drinks or whatever, I would have told them to get me that girl. But nobody came. The girls looked at me looking back at them and other girls. By then my free drink was over long ago, and I had more drinks than I wanted to drink.
So I head straight to Club Black, against advise from some US expats. It was really just across the corner from my hotel. It was the number one club. At $300 (peso) an hour outcall, $20+ (US?) per drink, and more for the ladies' drinks, it had to be number one. That's how the negative advice came about. A drink is comparable to a Korean beer in a room Salon in LA, though the drink has higher alcohol content. BTW, my drink was free, got a coupon from the airport.
[In the rush back to my hotel, I didn't look at the bill much. I vaguely remember it's very roughly $20 US a drink. Someone below says its 120 peso for the girl's drink.]
Another important background informaton is that, the above price was in pesos, which used to be about the same as dollars. At the time, the peso had long settled down to roughly one-third of a dollar, but people had long memories about these things. I heard about disputes from time to time about whether the stated price was in peso or dollar. I tried calling an escort with an ad in a newspaper, and asked her what currency was the price, she laughed and said dollars.
I had no legacy problem because I was always thinking in pesos. So I was expecting a hooker bar, somewhat more expensive than the other many such bars. But I should think in terms of dollars, as in the good old days. The club wasn't that plush as compared to top clubs in affluent Asian cities, in prime locations. But it has style, with front like an anonymous bank. There must be a center stage overlooking the corner of a major cross road in Recoleta, as shown in a previous picture. However I never got that far. At the entrance, there was a long bar with some 30 to 50 stools? It was a long walk towards the center stage. Lining the long walk way, opposite the bar, was some group sitting areas, like a lobby in a hotel.
I knew it was early for Latin America standards, 9pm, but I couldn't help it even after I upgraded to a larger hotel room. Instead of looking at the 4 walls all the time, I looked at the screw, walked up the screw, and walked down the screw. I knew there must be at least a group of regulars or VIPs far at the center stage, keeping the staff busy. Otherwise, the bar area was rather quiet, except for some 20+ girls sitting quietly on the bar stools, enjoying their drinks. I walked in, but nothing happened, so I sat at the middle of the long bar with some empty seats. I gave the bartender my coupon and enjoyed my free drink.
I wasn't impressed with the girls at first glance. But I should be. They averaged about 22, mostly local Argentinians, and at $300 a puff lining up the bar, that's quite impressive in terms of dollars. I didn't realize that their dress code was as conservative as some LA room salons, while I was expecting some playboy materials walking around as bunnies. Cleavage and short skirts were rare. Indeed most were dressed in casuals fit for office work. It wasn't designer outfits but they did put enough effort in their clothes to show off their individual styles, while remaining subtle.
As with some Asian culture, where breast enhancements are seen as kiss of death, fancy makeups are seen as cover ups, even in the evenings. So, the lineup seemed tame and plain at first glance. But as hostesses in a hostess club, they seemed to be as good as anywhere else.
I'm sure they all noticed me, and seemed friendly, but I was left alone so I took my time to look around, and to look at more girls gradually turning up for work. After a while, I began to over look their conservative dresses and began to realized that they were pretty young, in different good shapes, and came in many different styles. One was in a subtle cheerleader outfit, and looked like an American high school cheerleader. One even looked a little goth, showing off her awesome waist baring one inch of her tummy. If any of them came up to me, I would say yes yes yes and rushed back to my hotel.
But I think my strategy worked too well. I took the chance to sit at the bar in the hope that I would be left alone to watch all the girls with minimum drinks. Indeed no girls and no waiters bothered me. I began to feel like I was in a Catholic girl school party with all girls sitting on one side, and boys on the other. It didn't matter that I was sitting on the same side with the girls (at the bar), because I was the only boy invited. I smiled at my targets, they smiled back but stayed put. Friendly staring also didn't work. If anybody came up to sell drinks or whatever, I would have told them to get me that girl. But nobody came. The girls looked at me looking back at them and other girls. By then my free drink was over long ago, and I had more drinks than I wanted to drink.
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