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  • Variety, the spice of life

    couch.jpgIt may be a cliche, but it is no exaggeration.

    Variety is the spice of life. I know it, many of my friends know it...especially the ones I go whoring with. Over the years that I've had (both paid and unpaid) sex, I've had Australasians, Europeans (including Russians originating anywhere from Moscow westwards), Latinas, and Asians (including, geographically, Russians from Central Asia and east of, erm, the Urals); basically women from four continents.

    Women come in all looks, heights, hairstyles, body shapes and sizes. They come in all personalities. And in all bustier.jpgstyles of dressing, whatever their profession. Some paid companions or escorts, for example, look like streetwalkers with short-short miniskirts, bustier-type blouses which show off enormous cleavage (some with the help of push-up bras or cups), and high heels without hose. High-class escorts ususally wear business suits or officewear, even cocktail dresses or evening gowns, depending on the nature of the "date". Others would dress in a sexy, smart-casual way with pants, jeans, capris or knee-length skirts with slits up the side.

    Some are voluptuous, or hourglass-shaped, or pear-shaped, or stick-thin with big breasts (this type appeals to some men); or stick-thin with small-ish breasts, or well-rounded MILFs, or - one of my favourites - MILFs with that mix of post-childbirth fleshiness and some evidence of keeping in shape. I agree that's hard for many women, but that's the sort of thing that makes me get and stay hard, heh. (Pun intended.)

    contemplative.jpgSometimes I like women who can be considered "cute" or "attractive" rather than "gorgeous" or "beautiful". I like some of my women tall, and some shorter, depending on my mood and her general presentation and disposition. Sometimes I like really elegant-looking women, and sometimes I go for the girl-next-door type. It all varies, really.

    There are women for different occasions. More-than-friend "fuck buddies" you can have a picnic lunch with, or "women of ill repute" you go with to relieve your stress or horniness (or both). Most of the time I go for something in between, particularly those in clubs or bars who may or may not be "working" or available for pick-ups. Some are cute, some are dangerously sexy, some are just attractive...which is usually good enough for me (although I do have standards, y'know).

    Another thing are the various "fevers" that we sometimes hear about: jungle fever, yellow fever, oriental 2.jpgetc. Assuming these are not shorthands or general terms for diesease symptoms or tropical ailments, I believe they're kinda silly. I mean, I don't see why one would only go for a certain ethnic or continental group of women, when one can go for those anywhere the world over, if the man so chooses and is able. I understand that everyone has their specific tastes, but that is no excuse for going out with or screwing any woman just because she may be of a certain colour.

    beach.jpgC'mon guys, there's a lot more to a woman than the colour of her skin. Yeah, ha ha, I know that's pretty rich coming from someone like me, and given the nature and focus of this blog. But what I mean is, why would I go for only a specific type of woman if she only fulfills one criteria and not others? If she's got the tacos but not the sauce? Know what I mean? If I only went for European women, or Asian women, or Latinas, a worst-case scenario would be that I get accused of racism - or reverse-racism, whatever the case might be.

    But that never happens to me, simply because the onthebed.jpgworld is a diverse place, and I indulge in that diversity. Guilty as charged, your honour! But I still have my proclivities and my limits, not to mention my standards. There are some women (and types of women) I won't go for, paid companions or not.

    asian bikini.jpgHowever, sometimes interesting or notable encounters, or situations, make me reconsider. Hmm...perhaps I'll blog about it some other time, soon. In the meantime, variety is definitely the spice of life; chili sauce, dried chilies, Indian or Indonesian curry, chilli padi, tom yam soup, or tobasco sauce - it's still variety.

    Stay tuned.

  • Sexy mommy, Part Two

    To recap.

    My buddy and I were in this hotel club, notorious for the number and variety of working girls hoping to pick up a customer. And we did, sort of, for now. I'd promised my girl that I would go back to her once I helped my friend out. Not that he needed any; he was just being picky. I understood that because if I were him, I would've wanted the best too, or at least the "best" for me. After lucking out with the CIS chicks, he decided to go back to the hotel lobby to recover and regroup.

    It was there that he met the two chicks who we'd met earlier, and who he'd paid for to get into the club. I got my girl out from the club at closing time, and we sat next to my friend while he tried to close the deal with one of the two. Apparently some prospective punters were driving them a hard bargain, but my buddy got one of the chicks because he didn't care to bargain; he (and I) knew the market prices, and what she was offering was standard and reasonable.

    So off we went.

    First to an after-hours club. My buddy knew the place and was keen, and I was curious - a first-timer to the place. On the way there I realised my girl was drunk. She asked me to take care of her, and don't leave her, because she agreed to come with me, and so on, slurring her words...it was quite funny - as in amusing funny. The ladies, mine especially, weren't so sure about the club until we entered it, and it was rockin'. The music was loud, and the alcohol started to flow again. And then my MILF-girl kissed me. Full on the lips. With tongue.

    It was nice. Actually, more than nice. A drunk blond MILF-type making out with me in a small bar only partly filled with dancing, drinking and drunk people, my friend and his companion looking on, and myself slowly sinking into the sweet oblivion of her lips (and of alcohol). She said my lips were nice, and kept pinching my cheeks (Whoa, take it easy, sexy mommy...). I was asking her at certain points, "Are you drunk?" To which she always replied, "No, I'm not drunk, I'm Russian, I can't be drunk..." in that sexy Russian accent. This type of conversation went on for a while, and one can imagine the weirdness of it.

    Before too long, we finished our drinks and left for my buddy's apartment. For reasons best kept to myself, he'd kindly let me have his spare room for the night, while he would be next door (in the same apartment). Kinky, heh.
    In any case, my sexy MILF seemed to have second thoughts, even coming out of the shower fully dressed, after her shower! (I attributed it to her not being drunk enough) Finally when we are in the room, she asked me to switch off the lights, which I promptly did, eager as a boy scout, and anticipating the time ahead.

    It was actually quite anti-climatic, no pun intended. We were both drunk, and in no real condition to have any of the awesome, mind-blowing sex that I hoped I would have. In fact, neither of us were probably in any condition to have any kind of sex, full stop. We managed to first get each other undressed...I think she was actually shy to do so in front of me in the light. We did try to have sex though, and there was a lot of French-kissing and stroking. But at some point we fell asleep, not from any hot-blooded, heavy action, but from sheer alcohol-induced exhaustion.

    The next morning I woke up a few times. Once, I peeked out the door and saw my buddy working on his computer. We chatted a bit and he was okay with letting me and her stay there for a while longer. That "a while" turned out to be three hours. We just slept. And then I woke up in a spooning position, with her hair in my face and my arms and legs around her (see the beginning of 'Sexy mommy, Part One') . When my MILF woke up, she couldn't remember most of the night before, until I slowly recounted the events...ahhh. I found out that she was born in one Central Asian country (oil-rich and growing gradually prosperous) and carried the passport of another Central Asian country (less wealthy, more repressive). She now lived in Odessa, Ukraine, and get this... was Jewish with Israeli citizenship!

    Sometime during the course of the day, I called her 'sexy mommy', which she half-dismissed with a laugh. But I was  amazed by her. And I would continue to be amazed as we started making out again - after she'd taken an aspirin (thank you buddy!) and reached a certain comfort level with me while now sober, albeit with a hangover. But when we started getting it on again, it was good. She helped me with my condom, and got on top of me. She was quite tight. Or maybe I was rock hard. I don't know. But it was good, and I had to slow down a few times before I came too fast; I wanted it to last. She was obliging too.

    After that, we slept in for a bit more. Really thankful to my friend for letting me stick around in his apartment, especially since his own girl had already left. Apparently she was a university student who was - ahem - 'escorting'  part-time (quite common in these parts), and had classes earlier that day.  Anyway...my MILF left eventually. We exchanged phone numbers. I made vague promises to at least call her sometime.   

  • Sexy mommy, Part One

    w4bblonde016.jpgI woke up and I remembered the blonde, still lying next to me. I smelled the scent of her hair before I opened my eyes and saw her. We were spooning, her back to my front. I leant over and kissed the back of her neck, and she murmured "Mmmmm...[then something in unintelligible Russian]". I fiddled with her hair, and she used a hand to brush the whole lot away from my face and under her ear. I re-settled my hand on her bosom, and went back to sleep for a while more.

    We were on my friend's bed...or rather, we were in my friend's spare bedroom, which he'd kindly let me use after we'd come back from the club where we had picked up our girls, the night before. I didn't want to go back to my filthy bachelor pad, and getting a hotel room at such short notice was too much of a hassle, so I was lucky my mate had his spare room available.

    But anyway. So there I was with my buddy last Saturday, in a hotel club that was notorious for the sheer number of working girls hoping to make a quick killing, and I settled on a MILF - sorry - Mom I Love to Fuck. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

    My mate and I ran into these two chicks in the lobby, one of whom insisted that she'd seen him before at another similar haunt. He didn't quite remember her, but that didn't stop him from paying their cover charge into the club. "I'll take care of the girls, no worries," he said. It's something that he does pretty well, by the way (ha ha). Then we were in, and the girls, both locals, proceeded to take care of themselves by going on the prowl. They weren't with us, simply because my friend and I we were not interested there and then, and we left them to their own devices. He did say, however, that if both pairs struck out for the night, we would go back to each other. Or at least he would. I had different fish to fry.

    I was looking for something blonde that night - Eastern European or Central Asian. They were there, definitely; the first thing I saw when we entered was a bunch of East Asian businessman-types walking out with one of the above each. That of course didn't stop the local chicks from checking me out. There were hordes of them. I candidly admit that I almost changed my mind a few times in the course of the evening. But I stuck true to my original aims, and I struck gold; or blonde, rather.

    She was shorter than me quite a bit. She looked like the mamasan of the girls, but only in age. A very drunk 'mamasan', as I was to find out later. I approached her in the most direct yet haphazard way imaginable.

    "Breviat," I said. "How are you? Are you here for a holiday?"
    "No, not on holiday," she replied in a throaty accent. "I'm here for biz-ness."
    If I wasn't entirely sure about the nature of her "biz-ness", the way she spoke gave away her general origins.
    "So what kind of business do you do?" I asked again.
    "Just biz-ness, you know? You don't know what kind of biz-ness when I say biz-ness?"
    "Yes," I replied. "I think I know."
    "If you know then maybe you don't want to talk to me, because I don't think you can afford my prize [that was how she pronounced it]."
    At this point I decided to tease her a bit. I leaned in closer, put my hands around her waist, practically on her butt. "If I don't know your price, then how d'you know I cannot afford it? And I haven't even asked you your price."
    There was a momentary silence from her. I think she became perplexed for a while. I grinned.
    "So where are you from?" I asked.
    "Odessa."

    After some more small talk and some bargaining, I settled on her fee - her '"prize" - which was a bit more than I expected, but I thought what the heck; I don't do this every week, not even every month. I asked her to wait around for me for a while, while I got myself another drink along with my friend. He was alternately hesitating or missing opportunities for approaching the other CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States; former Soviet Union) girls. There were quite a few around that night, and some of them were really hot. It turned out there were girls from the Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Moscow, and even a couple who looked Latina but could've been Uzbek or Kazahk for all we knew. But I knew my friend didn't want to settle for anything less than the best (or at least what he fancied), and he was prepared to take a non-CIS chick.

    And that was what he eventually did.

  • Flashback: encounter with a Julia Roberts 'lookalike'

    She answered the door in a silk top tied in a knot at the front, revealing the hint of ebullient breasts, and a silk miniskirt. She was a bit on the stout side but was well proportioned and not 'chunky', well-tanned, and shorter than me. She had advertised herself as a Julia Roberts lookalike, and that was what she repeated to me when I called her for an appointment, so let's call her Julia.  

    Okay, she didn't exactly look like Julia Roberts in person, but I had to concede there were similar features when seen from certain angles. It didn't matter then as she greeted me with a kiss to my cheek, and led me into her apartment. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked. She offered me a choice of water or a juice or wine. I chose the wine, telling myself that I needed it to calm my nerves. I was still new at this.

    I sipped the glass of red (or was it white, I can't remember. Memory becomes more indistinct over time and when you're young and horny) while we made small talk. We talked a bit about ourselves, sufficiently informative and some of the small, inconsequential things without being too invasive or acting too shady. I learnt over time these were the essential minimums for these kinds of encounters.

    Untitled-3.jpgMemory becomes much more hazy at this point, but I recall setting down my glass long enough to go into the shower and gave myself a good wash. Julia lookalike or no Julia lookalike, I had a feeling she was going to give me a nice time. I finished and dried myself, and with the bath towel around my waist, I walked to the bedroom she'd previously indicated. Julia was there lighting a couple of candles. There was the smell of aromatherapy oil. She smiled and asked me to wait while she took her turn in the shower. I was just relaxing on the bed when she came out of the shower, fresh and smelling nice. Still wrapped in her towel, she proceeded to give me some kind of massage, with oil I think. Again, memory of this has become somewhat hazy. But I remember feeling really peaceful, with some pleasant music coming from the stereo in the living room and Julia pampering me with a nice rub in the bedroom.   

    Then she flipped me over, took off her towel, and we started getting it on. Some stroking and nuzzling, while still talking all the time. I found out she was 36 years old and she added that (despite her age) she "has a tight pussy". A few times. Her all-over tan was only missing where she had worn a three-piece bikini, and I enjoyed the contrast of the fair-white of her breasts and genital area against the bronze-brown of the rest of her skin. I got on top and I licked her from her neck on down, to her nipples, past her tits, to her navel and then her vagina area...and then I started going down on her. 

    "Do you like me doing this?" I asked. 
    "Yes," she said. "Would you like me to moan?"
    She was honest and straghtforward if nothing else, and it was quite funny if you think about it. And moaned she did, as I lapped at her and licked her. She was completely shaven, smooth and...almost antiseptically clean (that also meant she wasn't turned on and her juices weren't flowing. So much for me being the young, good-looking guy, hah). She opened her legs wide and I went for it. Then I took a tissue and wiped her off, and we turned around; she was now on top. She opened the condom wrapper and fitted the condom onto my now very-erect penis. And then she put it in her. And squeezed me. Oooo-oh.

    "I told you I had a tight pussy."
    I believed her, not that I doubted it in the first place. She mounted me, expertly and effectively, and it wasn't long before I came. Too fast, actually. Aaaahh.  

    But it was a good, no-rush experience, and worth the money I placed in her purse at the end of the one-hour service. She was the first woman, working girl or otherwise, I had who was older than me, and nearly a full decade at that. She was also memorable for turning me onto older women, and it would set a precedent for future encounters.

  • Just another night

    The walls were black, the decor was black chic. There was lighting in all the right places, and there was an ample display of alcohol, and of it being served. The drinks had prices to match the type (or types) of clientele. All in all, it was quite classy; understated, non-extravagant, but classy. 

    Some kind of House/Ambient-chillout music was playing, and it was loud enough to be appreciated, soft enough to hear ourselves and each other talk. I wonder if the attached restaurant section of the bar could hear it at the same volume, but those were peripheral thoughts that brushed past my mind as we settled in after ordering our drinks.

    The drinks. The waitress came over. She was in an all-black lounge cocktail dress, the only staff in the bar dressed like that. Many places here have at least one waitress or greeter in a similar outfit, or with some other variations. She looked pretty good in it, altough she seemed a bit awkward in heels. I placed my order on behalf of everyone in the group; she was so cheerful, helpful and earnest, even though she didn't seem to know a certain beer at first (they had it one tap, placed in an obvious position at the bar), and even though she actually missed out one important order - mine. I had to go up to the bar counter to repeat the order, and add mine. But she was seriously cute, so I forgave her that, hah.

    One of my compadres got to talking with the bar manager, some guy, coincidentally, from home. It's a small world. He mentioned that it was the cocktail dress waitress' first day at work. Oh well, I'm definitely forgiving her now. 

    Being a weekday night with no special activity or program, the place was relatively quiet. No problem; it suited me just fine. Trying not to be too conspicuous, I looked around the whole time whenever I wasn't talking to my friends. I noticed four chicks near a corner. Two blondes, two brunettes. Not exactly fashion models but all were moderately attractive. Indeterminate nationality, but that was only a minor point of curiosity. They had friends who came in the bar from time to time, saying hi. This was in addition to the legions, no, erm, good-quality handfuls of young women who came into the place throughout the evening, who could be variously classified as cute, attractive, or just plain...plain shaggable, that is; or any combination of the three. Too bad about the nearly-equal number of guys who came with (or without) them though. I would absolutely love to come with them (all puns intended).

    But I can't help thinking of the four chicks near the corner, and more about the cocktail dress waitress, with her long raven-colored (ahem...black) hair, smooth fair skin, and comely smiles. I definitely wanted to see her, or someone like her, again. I made a mental note to come back, with or without my friends.

    Not that I would try to score with the other customers or the staff, heavens no. The cocktails were pretty good. Seriously.      

  • Kiss and tell, or not

    I've recently come across a number of books detailing, to different degrees and in different ways, the lives of professional prostitutes. Mainly semi-autobiographical novels or true accounts, there might actually be a trend developing ever since the 2001 publication of Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl by Tracy Quan, a former high-class escort in New York City. A continuation of sorts of her original 53-part serial in Salon.com, Diary is about high-class hooker Nancy Chan's escapades at the "tail end" of her career.

    Belle De Jour: Intimate Confessions of a London Call Girl is another book notable for being a compilation of a London escort's blog entries. (Yup.) And won the Guardian Weblog award for the best-written blog of 2003. (Yup.) Her blog is at http://belledejour-uk.blogspot.com.

    Incidentally, there was another book called Belle De Jour which was made into a movie in 1967 starring the amazingly beautiful French actress Catherine Deneuve.



    Yet another book is Callgirl by Jeannette Angell, a former Boston-based escort, now professor and novelist, who recounts her life as a paid companion after her (ex-)boyfriend absconds with her money. The now-married Angell apparently concludes her book with a call to legalize prostitution in order to encourage regulation of the sex industry.

    The latest of these books, grouped together in a general theme, is the sequel to Tracy Quan's debut, called Diary of a Married Call Girl. Yup. It seems that Nancy Chan has gotten married.

    For those who have any of these books, happy reading! Now I wish I could say the same for myself, because although I don't intend to read every one, I've yet to get my hands on a single one of them...
  • You can take the girl out of the village......

    Women can be clingy. No, I don't mean that they wear tight, clingy, slinky clothes that adhere to their bodies - though that can be nice.

    I mean that certain kinds of women, especially from Southeast Asian countries, have a way of clinging onto men. And they do it in devious ways. And when I say 'devious', I don't mean in an evil sort of way. For some of them, their thought processes simply work this way. For others, it's all about mind games - which is what I personally detest - though they may not perceive any possible negative effects or consequences for either or both parties. For others, its culture.

    Yes, culture. Like this European guy I know about in Thailand, who lives with his Thai girlfriend. He works, she doesn't (as far as I know). This is not an unusual situation. She learns enough English to communicate with him and his various English-speaking foreign friends and colleagues, he knows just about enough Thai to save his life (then again, maybe not). Again, not an unusual situation. In fact, downright normal in Thailand.

    Then it gets interesting. She wants to have his baby...and he doesn't. I guess he's not prepared for fatherhood, especially not in a single-income family where the only job-holder - him - isn't exactly earning him obscene amounts of money. (And personally I don't think he'll make a good father, full stop. But that's just me.)

    And here's the kicker...she doesn't allow him to go out with 'the boys' to drink or whatver, because she's afraid that he would fool around with other women (various waitresses, bargirls, etc.). Or at least, she has to be around with him. He obliges her because he claims to love her enough to do so (okay buddy, whatever rocks your boat), but she is actually restricting his personal freedom.

    I don't claim to be an expert of Thai society, but this behaviour is quite typical of Thai women. There is also a sub-cultural divide here - the village in contrast to the city; uneducated, low-skilled village people tend to have more particular and heightened insecurities than highly-skilled and cosmopolitan city folk. This young woman is acting in accordance to the general behaviour of people of a similar background or type: the insecurities, possessiveness, lack of confidence (in herself and in her man), and dependence on him for essential things (like the $$$/bahtbahtbaht). Which brings me to my point: you can take the girl out of the village, but you can't take the village out of the girl. You're in the big city now, honey. Deal with it. Or maybe not. It's up to you.

    Whew, I'm glad I don't have that kind of problem. In my limited (thank goodness) brushes with Thai women, I'm glad to say that I've never been in a situation similar to this guy's (not even close), and I never intend to be. No matter how sweet their smiles, how pliant their behaviour, or how willing their lips. It's just not worth it.