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Humpday Essay: Therapy Sessions

3 Sep

In walks a white guy – he stands tall, about 6’3”, looks to be in his early 20s.
He picks me out of lineup, he wants to get a drink. To my surprise, he only orders a coke.
and we go back to my room and talk.

Something is clearly off with this fellow.
He seems unusually uptight and un-sexual, like the last thing he wants to do is have sex.
He mentions “last time performance anxiety was an issue.”
I’m an intuitive person and this guy is making me more uptight than any fellow I have ever met.

“Do you drink?”
I asked.

“Sometimes” He says.

He explains that he’s a virgin and wants a blowjob, and then if “things go well” he wants to upgrade his party to having sex. I explain that if he decides mid-party that sex would be a good idea, he can pay me more money, I can leave the room, and come back and we can have sex then.

Ultimately tho, this guy is making me REALLY uncomfortable.

Before we exit my room I tell him, “Maybe having a drink or two beforehand will relax you. Howsabout you talk to the other girls, get a feel for who you jive best with, and once you figure out who makes you more comfortable, THEN decide which girl you want to party with, because I want to make sure you have a good time.”

We walk back to the parlor.

Getting the sense that this is a guy that is either on meds, or needs to be on meds, my gut is telling me to make a quick escape. I summon over Katrina to work her magic.

She takes him to the jacuzzi room for a good 10 minutes.
While he’s gone I explain to the other girls, “This guy is one of the weirdest fellows I’ve ever met, somethin’ aint right!

They say, “oh no, be agressive. Or try to calm him down..that usually does the trick.”
And I’m thinkin, “oh no no NO, this guy is DIFFERENT, trust me.”

Katrina comes out of the room with a telltale stare on her face. The kind of face that none of her Ho-Combat tactics have worked.
The 3rd girl (Tessa) then grabs his hand immediately before he can escape, to take him back.

When Tessa and this guy are out of earshot, Katrina agrees with me.  she thinks this fellow doesn’t want to have sex, and he might possibly be gay. All of her normal verbal porn that she spouts off to customers was met with this fellow by a blank stare. We retreat to Katrina’s room and say that maybe the 4th girl, Reagan, needs to try being pushy…dom style.

Like hookers on a mission, we combine forces, retreat to Katrina’s room in swift beeline format, and we suit Regan up in Katrina’s vinyl halter top.  This puts her fantastic breasts on prominent display. We swarm in and Katrina’s pulling the vinyl chaps off from their hanging place on the wall. Reagan tries to peel them on to go full dom-style, but to no avail.

We see Tessa exit her room (which is directly across from Katrina’s.) The guy, once he recognizes a nearly naked Reagan (pussy in full view!) fully TURNS HIS HEAD THE OTHER WAY! Who denies themselves a chance at free frontal nudity? Weirdo.

We’re out of girls and only Reagan is left. As Reagan exits Katrina’s room to embark on her dom mission, I say, “try being a bitch, be a cunt if you have to!”

Tessa immediately runs in the room with me in Katrina, agreeing, that YES, no typical tactics work on this man. He either didn’t have the money for sex…or is off his rocker.

Patiently we all wait for Reagan like we’re in silent combat, til she comes out of her room.

…………………Is he booking?

……………………Has she got money?

We cheer for her – 4th time’s a charm.

Its a quiet night….and we want to get filled in on the results of our dom-mission.
We notice she enters and exits the room a couple times.
He’s re-booking. Extending his party.
When it’s all said and done…
Reagan explains what was off:

This guy is OCD. Compulsive handwasher, Obsesive cleanliness.
So much so, that he whacks off with a paper towel.
Its evident during his party how uncomfortable he is with the lack of cleanliness
(an issue no amount of baby wipes and rubbing alcohol can resolve.)
In the end, we simply feel sorry for the poor guy, and wonder what kinda crazy shit his mom must have told him growing up so that when he beats off, he’s too afraid to touch his own skin.

Sometimes you’re a hooker…sometimes your a psychiatrist. For Reagan, today was one of those days.


Humpday Essay: Zapatos Bandito

25 Aug

Since Wednesday is “Humpday” and all – every week I’m going to give you a detailed description of whoever I bone on Wednesday – whether good or bad.

Zapatos Bandito
take your zapatos off next time
Its shortly after midnight.

There is one Mexicano in the bar.

The old owner of this place (god rest his soul) used to refer to the Mexicans as our “bread and butter” – especially come winter.

I didn’t much feel like talking or fucking but my co-worker Dinna (she is from Greece) down the hall tells me in her accent, “the Mexican in the parlor was looking at you. You should talk to him. He’ll be an easy $100.00 and he comes quick.”

(For those of you who don’t know, its standard fare that any time a Mexican comes in here, he can get a super quickie for $100.00. He’ll get 10 minutes or less on the clock, and any Mexican who tries to bargain for more, knows that he is trying to get more than the standard rate for the standard time. I have gotten more time out of a Mexican before, but they come in packs, and they come regularly – I don’t view them so much as sex as I do a means of “clearing my rent” for the day.)

I take my friends advice, and I talk to him. I talk first in english.

I get him to agree to go to my room.

Then I say, “como te llamas?” and I discern from his “blahblahblah” that he says, “you know Spanish, you are full of it!” and I tell him, “no I do not know spanish, I am from California, so I have a good accent.

My espan-yole es oooon po-kee-to.” I tell him.

Back in my room, my typical opening line:

“Sexo y mal mal?” I say (sex and blow job?)

“no, only sexo” he says.

“quantos tee-em-po?” (how much time?)

“quantos for twenty minutes” he says.

“beinte min-u-tos es dos ciento sinquenta.” (250 bucks for 20 minutes.)

“No no no!” He says. Too much.

He wants more time, he only has 100 bucks.

“Oh no!” I say.

“All the Mexicanos know you get dies minutos pour cien!”

“Keensay minutos?” he asks (15 minutes)

“Dos-ay minutos!” I say. 12 minutes. Final offer.

“No? Ok lets go. “

We start walking down the hall.

Almost back in the parlor he says,

“Trace-ay minutos!” (13 minutes.)

Ok, deal.

Whatever. I only make them put 10 on the clock anyway.

Which is above my typical “8 Mexican minutes” for 100 bucks.

They usually cum in five anyway, so it never matters.

I get back and this guy doesn’t want to take off his clothes.

“You don’t even wanna take off your zapatos?” I ask (shoes.)

No, he says. This guy wants to leave his fuckin’ shoes on.

Ok. Whatever.

Then I wonder if Dinna was getting karmic payback for when I dirty hustled her because this guy had a larger-than-average dick, fucked hard, and DID NOT CUM anywhere close to “early”! What the hell was she talking about?

He wanted it from behind, he wanted to put me in this weird sideways direction…and I’m sitting here thinking about all of this while my bed is moving sideways, I’m falling off, and the position is generally uncomfortable.

The sideways fuck hurts my pussy, and I don’t like these acrobatics.

At least I just worked out prior, and stretched, and did the splits. Otherwise, my legs wouldn’t have been so accommodating either.

The sweat…too.

One LONE BEAD OF SWEAT dripped from HIS FACE, as if in slow motion, on to MY FACE.

I really wanted to pry him off of me and was wondering when the hell the new boss was gonna call “time’s up.”

By the end of the fuck I knew I’d been had by Dinna. At least he paid my rent.

“Mas tiempo?” he asks.

Wanting to pay me for more time.

No”, I say,

“Your penis is muy grande and my vagina is done.”

“Maybe next time you will take off your shoes!”