Valerie X Account #22!
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- Nov 5, 2009
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In some odd, misguided thought that Alana (ex-HFH, BP) might actually be there - coupled with the typical relentless horniness - I stopped by this place. 561 Bloor, I think, SE corner of Bathurst and Bloor.
The horror begins the moment you walk in. Place is an utter pigsty, and the only two women there when I went were obese, nasty-looking black chicks. I'm OK with black women in general (Stacy at IT, for example, is wonderful), but the only heads these two are turning would be on people straining to avoid feeling ill.
Nonetheless - and this is clearly 'cause I'm an idiot - I go with the somewhat less vile of the two. I really am a moron.
We settle into the room, and I'm closing my eyes and letting her personality, which is at least semi-sweet, take over. Her touch isn't awful, and I'm thinking there's a chance I might actually be able to get an erection later if I close my eyes.
OK, here's where my idiocy and horniness compete head-to-head for dominance. She asks what kind of session I want; topless, nude, NR.
Have I mentioned I'm an idiot?
For unknown reasons, I ask if the NR can just be a BS - I'm feeling really lazy. And her tits are big enough to be of some use, and again I'm thinking I can close my eyes (despite the cruel brightness of the lights).
She actually asks for the money upfront - something I would never do, but - have I mentioned the extreme idiocy involved?
I actually pay while I'm naked and oiled up - I won't say the rates, but it's MORE than a 30-min BS at a good spa. Now I loathe conflict, so I just fucking pay the creature and pray for deliverance.
For the next five minutes, she essentially does a nude massage - she doesn't get on the table, and in retrospect it may be because the legs wouldn't have supported the tonnage. I'm groping around near where her ass should lead to her pussy, but there's no forcing anything through that mass of flesh.
I finally get my mind to a place where I can release, and she quickly wipes up the resulting mess and dresses to leave. I run out like the place is on fire.
I've had to let some time pass now before I was strong enough to write this for your collected benefit - my disgust with myself is still overwhelming.
I also spent some time reflecting on what I'd prefer to do instead of repeating there. Actually sticking a needle in my eye or a nail through my hand seemed, upon reflection, to be too long-lasting. But I finally settled on something reasonable: I'd rather eat a bowl of gravel than repeat at Penthouse. Not a large bowl - maybe like half a cup. And I'd prefer something that had at least been rinsed, if possible.
The horror begins the moment you walk in. Place is an utter pigsty, and the only two women there when I went were obese, nasty-looking black chicks. I'm OK with black women in general (Stacy at IT, for example, is wonderful), but the only heads these two are turning would be on people straining to avoid feeling ill.
Nonetheless - and this is clearly 'cause I'm an idiot - I go with the somewhat less vile of the two. I really am a moron.
We settle into the room, and I'm closing my eyes and letting her personality, which is at least semi-sweet, take over. Her touch isn't awful, and I'm thinking there's a chance I might actually be able to get an erection later if I close my eyes.
OK, here's where my idiocy and horniness compete head-to-head for dominance. She asks what kind of session I want; topless, nude, NR.
Have I mentioned I'm an idiot?
For unknown reasons, I ask if the NR can just be a BS - I'm feeling really lazy. And her tits are big enough to be of some use, and again I'm thinking I can close my eyes (despite the cruel brightness of the lights).
She actually asks for the money upfront - something I would never do, but - have I mentioned the extreme idiocy involved?
I actually pay while I'm naked and oiled up - I won't say the rates, but it's MORE than a 30-min BS at a good spa. Now I loathe conflict, so I just fucking pay the creature and pray for deliverance.
For the next five minutes, she essentially does a nude massage - she doesn't get on the table, and in retrospect it may be because the legs wouldn't have supported the tonnage. I'm groping around near where her ass should lead to her pussy, but there's no forcing anything through that mass of flesh.
I finally get my mind to a place where I can release, and she quickly wipes up the resulting mess and dresses to leave. I run out like the place is on fire.
I've had to let some time pass now before I was strong enough to write this for your collected benefit - my disgust with myself is still overwhelming.
I also spent some time reflecting on what I'd prefer to do instead of repeating there. Actually sticking a needle in my eye or a nail through my hand seemed, upon reflection, to be too long-lasting. But I finally settled on something reasonable: I'd rather eat a bowl of gravel than repeat at Penthouse. Not a large bowl - maybe like half a cup. And I'd prefer something that had at least been rinsed, if possible.