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  • The year's best sporting moments

    As 2011 draws to a close, let's take a short -- and short shorts -- look back at a few of the more memorable sporting moments of the year. Starting from the streaker at the horse-racing Melbourne Cup in Christchurch, New Zealand...


    Here's a close-up......


    Here are more...horsies...


    Then there are...




    And being round no. 3 never looked so good...


    Goodbye 2011, hello 2012...

  • Flashback: Mandy. The farewell.

    Racy Redhead.jpgRed wine and a chilly spring day
    I bought a bottle of red wine. And a card to go with it. It was a crisp Saturday afternoon and I was going to show my appreciation to Mandy.

    It was the third and last time I would be seeing her (see here for the first).

    That afternoon started out like almost any other afternoon. It was a crisp spring day, and the weather was a bit too chilly for my liking.

    After lunch, I had called her to make an appointment. It was nearly as easy as making one with my dentist, except that I don't sleep with my dentist (and pay her for it), and I could get my appointment faster.

    A trip to the wine seller's was next in order.

    I chose I red wine...it's good for the heart, and nothing to do with Mandy being a redhead. There was some celebrating to do; or rather, it was a farewell. I was leaving the country for good, and it would be the last time I saw Mandy. She would also be the last working girl I saw before I left. That should count for something.

    So I got the wine. I hoped she would like it - both my gesture and the wine. It was my third and last time seeing her.

    Red wine, red hair
    She opened the door wearing a dress with little sequin-like decorations; the dress was a v-neck, sleeveless, bluish-grey and slightly 'shiney' one that came to just above her knees. She looked great.susan.jpg

    She was pleasantly surprised with my gift. We had some of the wine, and chatted. Very soon we moved to the bedroom, where we put our wine glasses down and I took a shower. We chatted some more after that, only having very short pauses in conversation for me to remove the little clothes she still had on - she was only in her bra and panties when I got out of the shower.

    I was in no rush, so we sipped wine and talked, lying down facing each other and touching one another. I kissed her neck, shoulders and breasts, savouring each moment. She didn't reciprocate that much but that was fine; her skin had its usual smoothness - waxed, creamed, or both, I never asked how.

    Every now and then I would cuddle up to her as we talked. She was as tall as me and even bigger boned, so it seemed natural that I did that. We talked about my life back home, her day job, and other things. Mostly it was inconsequential stuff, but it interesting nonetheless.

    Then we started, slowly, to have sex.

    I wouldn't say'make love'. There were not enough feelings or real affection between us for that. She still kept her professional escort's distance, and I know enough to be realistic about such things. But I enjoy her company and I think she enjoys our conversations, so we made a good 'professional' fit.

    But it was nice sex. We started with kissing for the first time - "I didn't know that you kiss," I said, to which she replied, "I didn't know that you kissed," - and then licking one another. I gradually became hard, she put a condom on and started to suck me. It was long before I was hard and she got on top of me. I sat up, grabbed her buttocks, hips, waist, back, cradling my head in between her breasts.

    She rode me till I came. Afterward, we lay in one another's arms, and talked some more. I felt almost sorry that I wouldn't be able to see her again as I was leaving the country for good soon, but it felt good being with her for the last time.

    It was a cold evening outside by the time I left. But inside I was feeling warmed to the heart.

  • Flashback: The tanned Milf


    I can't recall when we actually got on the bed, but we were still talking for a bit; until we touched one another, and were still talking until we lay down and started necking.


    The day started out like any other. Which is to say, normally. I woke up, brushed my teeth and washed my face, and made myself a coffe. Then I made breakfast, made small talk with my flatmates, and watched a bit of telly. Later I took a shower, and wondered what I would do for lunch.


    She was brunette; a German native who had settled in the country some time ago. I told her I liked her "mixed" accent; it was understandable and interesting. She replied that she liked mine, and asked where I was from. At this time I had just finished my shower, and we chatted while taking our turns in the bathroom. When she came out, she was dressed only in a pair of black thong panties.


    I was looking for work then, so I had time to kill. When I felt that I'd made enough work-application calls for the day, I looked into some other newspaper classifieds, and decided to call someone who was advertised there as part of a 'stable' of girls. I'd tried their services before, although that first time was not an especially memorable experience. After seeing the ad on this other lady, I wanted to give them another chance.


    She was petite, slim, tanned and athletic-looking; the black thong wasn't exactly a nice contrast on her, but she looked nice in it. We felt pretty relaxed in the apartment as we spoke to one another, and this created a nice atmosphere.


    I called them, and arranged - with the lady who handled the calls - a time to be at the apartment. And so I went. And I knocked on her door.


    We continued chatting. She told me about her ten-year-old kid who liked spending time on the beach, and the large island offshore that she took him to every summer. She also told me about how she only did this work occasionally, when she needed some extra income. (I can't recall if she said she did any other job.) It was a pretty interesting conversation, although we didn't get too much into her personal life.


    "Hello, how are you?"
    "I'm good, thanks. And you?"

    The pleasantries may seem mundane, but they were a part of everyday life here. And it was the normal way of greeting someone when meeting for the first time. It didn't make a difference even though it was a client-service provider transaction. It was probably more important, in such a relationship and setting, to establish an amicable, easy-going rapport.


    I don't remember how long we made out. I remember kissing her all over a lot, enjoying the feel of her tanned skin. Then, as we were lying down, her in my arms, I reached down and snuck my hand into her thong (she still had it on) and between her legs. In turn her hand went for my erect cock...


    I liked her right away. She was a pleasant-looking Milf (mother I love to f***) and her disposition seemed to be genuinely warm. We started chatting.


    ...and I stopped her.

    "No," I said. "Not yet."
    "I haven't decided...what I...want to do yet..."

    She laughed; a deep throaty laugh that I wasn't used to, but wasn't unpleasant.
    "Alright...we'll see."


    We got on so well, at least superficially, that at some level I nearly forgot about eventually having sex with her. As I stripped down and headed to the bathroom for my shower, we continued our conversation. Then she mentioned my accent.


    I pulled her on top of me - the second time I did so - and licked at her breasts and nipples (again). Then we turned over and I was on top, working my way down. Finally I could take it no longer, and pulled at her thong...


    Some say that certain people's voices are a turn-on. In this case it may have been the accents - hers and mine. I really wanted her then. At some point she knew what I wanted, when I wanted it. She took my hand, and led me to the bedroom.


    ...which came down her hips, past her knees, and off past her ankles. And I grabbed her bare hips and wedged myself between her legs. As gently as I could, I entered her, and pumped - once, twice, a third time, and continued...


    It was one of those ordinary days. But it was not every day I got to make love to a tanned, accomodating, pleasant Milf who spoke with a nice accent, and who had an interesting story to tell about herself. 'Working ladies' come from all walks of life, and you had to respect that. It was something that took me a few years to experience and understand after such encounters.

  • Flashback: 21, blonde student, nice, sweet adult.

    The young woman who advertised herself as a 21-year-old blonde lived in an apartment building on a gentle slope that ran down to the harbour area.

    I was buzzed into the building after I confirmed my name and time of appointment, and as I stood in the lift, I thought back briefly on our conversation over the phone. Two conversations, actually. The first was my initial call to inquire about her rates and obtain a brief introduction of her. She also said that she had to go to the bank and was wondering if she could call me back later to confirm when or even if she could make an appointment with me. The second conversation was when she called back later that day.

    The appointment was made.

    She answered the door in a satin blouse and a short skirt. What she wore related to her ad in the papers...something to the effect of looking good in satin and skirts. She was petite and on the voluptuous side, had a sweet smile, and looked happy that I kept the apppoinment. I was sold.

    Nicole (not her real name, obviously) ushered me in and offered me a drink. It was a relatively warm day and I gladly accepted a glass of cold water. We started to chat and bit by bit, I found out a bit more about her; student at one of the local universities, much of the nice stuff in the apartment owned by her boyfriend (...yup). She was studying science with a major in some kind of specialist biological science. We chatted a bit about that.

    It occurred to me that she was quite smart. And intelligent. Now we just had to work on our chemistry. (Alright...sorry for the bad pun.)

    It didn't take long for me to be shown to the shower and after I finished, nearly dried up with my towel around my waist. Nicole was already wrapped in a towel of her own, around her delectable self; any feelings of arousal I had just increased at the sight of her. It didn't hurt that she was smiling at me, a nice sweet smile too. It was almost as if she really liked me.

    Of course, it didn't really matter.

    young blonde.jpgNot when the rest of the time was a blur...but a nice one. I remember the room she showed me to. There were two, and I had a feeling that this one was mostly for first-timers to her services. I remember her voluptuousness and softness, and her willingness to accomodate me (but I honestly wasn't demanding). I remember kissing her breasts as I came, her scent enveloping me as she moaned.  

    The chemistry was definitely there.

    She was so sweet that she even showered with me and rubbed me down. (I'm tempted to say, "Now that's what I call service!" It's become a cliche statement, but in this it was true.)

    I left her apartment that afternoon, not just another satisfied customer, but a satisfied man because of the attentions of a sweet, smart university student who was working as an escort...but I suspected that regardless of what she did in life, she would go far.

  • Flashback: the redhead

    aaRedheadRealMn.jpgI didn't know what to expect when I knocked on her door. I guess neither did she. But she sounded nice over the phone; sexy with just a touch of huskiness. And very polite too. I asked her the basic questions, and very soon I was sold (or rather, she was, depending on your point of view).

    Ending up on her doorstep, I rang the bell and waited. Amanda (aka Mandy) opened it. She was wearing a tight-fitting long-sleeved blouse and figure-hugging black pants. She smiled when she saw me, and I smiled back, not only to be friendly, but also because she was just what she described herself to me: a very attractive, long-haired redhead. A voluptuous body. Nice tits.

    I followed her up the flight of stairs that led directly from the door to the lounge, and from there another flight leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. It was a cosy apartment. Mandy showed me the bedroom that we would use, and asked that I place her fee on the bedside table, which I promptly did. Then I was directed to the bathroom, alone, to take a shower.

    (I like the before-bedroom-action shower routine. I can't understand why some guys who pay for hookers or escorts refuse or don't shower before having sex with them. I mean, you'd think clients would like to get themselves cleaned up before bonking these women who sleep with a whole bunch of men for a living or half a living. This is of course with the understanding that the girls keep themselves washed and freshened up too. When both parties do it, the stage is usually set for an enjoyable experience, at least from a hygiene point of view.)

    After a warm shower, I came out with a towel wrapped around my waist and feeling good about myself; I was looking forward to shagging a good-looking woman I'd never been with before, or indeed, never even seen before this day. Such is the joy of seeing paid companions. And imagine my mild but discernible joy when I walked toward the bedroom, the door not fully opened but well enough to reveal Mandy standing by the bed, dressed in a black teddy and waiting for me (it's also standard procedure, I believe, for some girls to get showered up before their clients arrive, so I had no worries).

    Mandy was smiling and as I went near her, she was also smelling very nice. In one deft motion and in no time at all, she slipped her teddy off and led me to the bed. She was fully shaven, so I couldn't tell if she was a natural redhead or not. Actually I honestly did not care at that point, but I remembered how smooth and soft her skin was. She really took care of it well. And she was a nicely-voluptuous female specimen of the human race. Not skinny at all, and fleshy in all the right places without even being plump, and slightly shorter than me. She was also bigger-boned, and so bigger-sized than me, but I didn't find that a problem. If truth be told, I recalled being turned on by it, and anticipating my 'climbing' all over and exploring her like an eager boy scout.

    We made small talk, and I found out that she was around my age. Before long, we proceeded to business.

    It was an enjoyable business. I took my time enjoying her and her body, filling my senses with the touch and fragrance of her cheeks, earlobes, neck, breasts, nipples, abdomen, buttocks and vagina. She gave me a fairly decent covered BJ, but not to conclusion. Finally I tried a position - not BDSM or anything remotely kinky - I'd never tried before with anybody, and Mandy seemed to like it a lot. I was still in her, slowly winding down, when she told me, "You'll make some women very happy, you know that?", after she recovered enough to get some air redhead02.jpgto speak. Why, thanks Mandy...really appreciate the vote of confidence! It was the first time an escort had told me such a thing, and I don't know if she was telling me the truth of how she felt, but it was strangely, pleasantly uplifting.

    It would be remiss of me if I didn't mention that Mandy had a flexi-hour day job that was very different from escorting, was a voracious book reader, and rather intelligent (I know this may sound condescending to some people, but this is both a factual observation and a compliment to Mandy). Over the course of time I would find out a bit more about her.

    And as it would turn out, although I didn't see her exclusively or frequently, Mandy would become my favourite working gal during that period of time, giving me some much-needed warmth in that windy and chilly Australasian city.

  • 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.

  • Flashback: black negligee at the door

    I picked up the trashy tabloid, and flipped to the classified ads at the back of the paper. Services, by women (and some by men too, but let's not go there). After a couple of dismal attempts over the last few months, I finally picked up the courage and the willingness to try again. I scanned through the paper, weighed my options and found an interesting one, then dialled the number on my cellphone. It wouldn't be my first time with a prostitute, but it was to be one of my better early experiences.

    I can't remember her name, but she was described as slim, pretty (aren't most of them?) and a brunette. It sounded good enough for me. "Hello?" She sounded quite pleasant. She described herself a bit more. We talked for a short while, but long enough to establish the price and location. Price was about standard, and the place was somewhere I could find in town, nothing complicated; we just had to decide the time.

    So there I was, with a few hours to kill before my appointment with the in-call callgirl, and timed in such a way that there was some time left after to meet friends and do stuff (actually I don't remember what I did after, but what the heck - the essence of it is here). I went to the university library, and then to the computer labs. Checked my emails, did some web surfing. Then it was time to go.

    This was several years ago. Then, I lived in a medium-sized city in Australasia, on the Pacific Ocean side. My student days were winding down and I was looking for a job. I was spending most of my free time playing computer games, and just...spending. And this was starting to be a part of my spending habits.

    It was a summer afternoon, but it felt like autumn, or a very cold spring. As far as I could recall, we didn't get a lot of sunny, warm weather that year. I was wearing a short-sleeve polo t-shirt with a think vest over it. My chest was well-protected from the wind, but not my lower arms. Oh well, I thought, I'll be much warmer soon.

    black negligee.jpgI buzzed the apartment doorbell, spoke into the intercom to verify who I was, and entered the building, then went up the lift to the chick's floor. I pressed the bell. The door opened. The brunette was standing there in a short, black negligee - you know, something like a night gown for ladies, but much shorter (if I'm not wrong) and without most of the frills. But they do come in nice materials like satin and/or silk. Which was what hers was. And she was slim and pretty :) (Only thing is, I don't remember her name.)

    We made small talk while she took me to a bedroom. There were two bedrooms, for two girls. The other girl was a taller and heavier-bodied Brit who was writing emails on a computer in the living room. I had spoken to the Brit on the phone previously, but failed to clinch a deal with her. Had another client already, she told me. Yeah, well.

    I took off my clothes in the bedroom, and went to the shower. After a good washing, I went back to the bedroom and dried off. She went to take a shower after me, and came back all fresh and prepped. While she was gone, I took a look around the room. Simple, but clean and acceptable. A queen-sized bed, a digital alarm clock, and a full-length wall mirror. I guess we had all the basics for a paid shag, all right. At least I know that, with the digital clock's bright and angry red numbers, she wouldn't be constantly glancing at her watch while I was riding her (or vice versa). That could be quite irritating.

    And then we were off. She took off her towel to reveal very small breasts. Very small. I wasn't paying attention to her breasts when she first met me at the door; I was looking at the whole package wrapped in a negligee then. No matter. I wasn't much of a breast-man at that time. She started with an oil massage, rubbing me first on my back, then went lower in all the right places, fingers just brushing me between my butt cheeks and down to my testicles, and then to my inner thighs. When she was done, she flipped me over onto my back.

    We talked during my massage. I asked her how old she was (mid-20s), and why she started being a callgirl, and so on. The thing with some of these women, I later came to realise, is that you never get straight answers. It's almost always a vague response to your question. In her case, it was something like "extra income while I do other jobs, and I might go back to uni", or something like that. It doesn't pay to care too much. Not when you're paying her to care for you.

    So after an enjoyable while, I offered to massage her as well. I took the bottle of oil, and as she settled herself down on her stomach, I poured some oil on my hands, and lathered them all over her back. And concentrated on her buttocks and ass crack, lightly running my hands over her vagina as I went lower down. She had a smooth and tanned body, evident by her bikini lines. And I was getting hard.

    Then I asked her, very tentatively, if she could do a blow job on me. Yes honey, she said, of course. We stopped the massage play, and I faced her, both sitting on the bed. I was looking at a tattoo on her hip, and asked if it was a cow. No, actually it was a dog. Oops. A dog's face with black patches. But I promptly forgot the tattoo and she whipped out a condom and put it on my very erect little brother, and proceeded to go down on me. She was good, I'll tell you that. All the while peppering her words (when she could speak them) with phrases like sure, honey; of course, honey; yes, honey. I wasn't fooled, but it was a good near-introduction to a hooker's (good) customer service skills.

    And then I came. She moaned. I groaned. It was goooood.

    What else can I say? Except that I was too tired to come another time, and my hour was nearly up. Damn. I took a shower, then went back into the room. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in her towel. I smiled and passed her my payment as I dressed. I said thanks. She said thanks back, and looked a bit tired. She also said that I have a gentle touch (probably referring to my massaging her). Thanks, sweetheart. I could see through the windows that outside it was nearly dusk. And it looked a bit cold. I was indeed warm for an hour, but it was time to go.

    I left her at the door, she still with her towel wrapped around her. The short, black negligee had served its purpose, and was long gone.