Playing a Perfect Hand at Red Spa 21 - 212-229-2090

[StellaCallieLuna]

KO ..Keep up the good work. Best source of honest information on these sites.

 

[Dragon -_-]

That feels unlikely to me, but if I develop an axe to grind with someone at Fuji I'll keep it in mind.

 

[Matt T.]

HG, feel free to ignore what you don't care to read. I do appreciate that you are offering valid and potentially constructive criticism and not just an uninformed broadside. Think if it this way, though: I submit that neither you nor ANYONE else on the planet could possibly know what a Whopper tastes like to me.

For a moment, however, let's consider that there has never been a need to engage in literary criticism of pussy board posts until today. What does that mean? Well, for starters, I strongly recommend doing all of your homework before making the statement that I treat the entire spectrum of the universe of experience in a single, uniform manner. Have you read all, whatever, 1,100 of my posts so that you know exactly how I handle the Whoppers?

You're overlaying your taste here...if my experience of the Whopper is more important and produces more insight and inspiration for me than the Peter Luger steak, why would I save the essay for the steak? You are referred to the works of Lester Bangs, Roy Lichtenstein, William Gibson and the Wu Tang Clan...all pioneers in the obliteration of distinctions between "high" and "low" culture. Culture is a continuum. So is pussy. I write in my style...which if you really look at it varies wildly from satire to existential narrative. My review of Ace, contained in this thread, is an example of a brief summary of an experience with a girl where I didn't feel a wider inspiration...I just had a good time.

Here's the bottom line: I'm not writing about pussy, Hardgrip my friend. I am writing about life. Sometimes life brings great pussy. Sometimes life brings mediocrity. But whatever it brings to me, I return it from my perspective in my style. Some people draw information from my posts - that's GREAT. Others simply enjoy reading them for the style and the pleasure in the words themselves. Others curse under their breath and move on because they find me longwinded and tedious. All of those are valid perspectives.

Whatever you may think of my style, there is one thing you cannot deny - I've GOT one.

I'm going to continue to write about my life. If I was into collecting stamps I'd be writing 1500 word stamp essays on why an upside down airplane misprint delivered an epiphany.

Read my reviews. I've got a 3,000 word postmodern screenplay about my experiences in a dank Ktown blowjob palace. I've got pulp novel homages. I've got mock revolutionary manifestoes. I've got humor and pathos and tragedy and comedy. And it's all undeniably in my voice.

I am not Thomas Pynchon. I am not Shakespeare. I'm not even Anthony Bordain. It would be egotistical and absurd for me to think of myself that way.

But I'm not writing to MERELY inform. Sometimes I am not writing to inform AT ALL. I write what comes from my heart. Take it or leave it, it's uniquely mine.

 

[KJ9]

King, you have some incredible finds and I respect all that you have done. However, your writing style seems to be similar across all experiences, i.e. good or bad or average, you tend to write an essay on all. If you had a steak at Peter Lugar's, then yes, put it as much details and emotions into it. But if all you had was a whopper at Burger King, there is little need to recount the experience in vivid details since we all know what a whopper taste like.

 

[Brigitte]

Rolando, Since you keep asking Daisy to text you when a young girl is available, we thought that you would like to know about Ace. She's under 25, cute as a button, Half Russian/Half Japanese and could win a Nathan's Hot Dog eating contest. Leave the attitude at home and come have a nice time with a beautiful young girl.

 

[mattclaptongad]

When wit is my goal I am exceptionally brief.

Feel free to skip my posts in the future if the vocabulary is too challenging.

But keep in mind...if the length of the posts offends you, reproducing them in their entirety in your post seems extraordinarily silly.

 

[Lexicographer]

Hook me up with a publisher baby, I'd love to prove ya right. Or wrong, as long as I get to keep the advance.

Heh heh.

Seriously though...thanks a lot for the incredibly kind words. I really appreciate it.

 

[COD.warrior]

You may assume...that any woman...whom I would stop from complimenting my shoes...is very special.

She will not appeal to every man. I have my taste and it is mine alone.

Yes, she is my favorite. Yes indeed she is.

 

[The Man Book]

Better yet if this guy writes a book I strongly believe it will be a NY Times Best Seller

 

[James Churchley]

he does have his own reviews here. Like many here, I do look fwd to read them as I explore diff gals.

I get the feeling Anna is his fav judging from the readings.

 

[Marysa]

Kingotis,

You need your own dedicate blog/website. I will fund it.

 

[VLD]

Great find, KO. I can now confirm that Ace=Olga, looking better than ever. Services the same as at Hiyako - sorry you missed out on her "special" back then, sarcpric.

 

[FeAtHeRs+me=love!]

Inside a hotel that looks like it wasn't here last week, I am surrounded by salesmen. Men from other cities, here for the week to slap each other on the back and tell bullshit stories of their brass balls and dimly illuminated pitches.

I'm here to shake their hands, to play nice. I'm the guy they need once the sale is made, the guy with the keys that start the engines that deliver the goods. They need me. I am in short supply. They're a dime a dozen.

I belly up to the bar and get a free scotch and drink it like water, signaling for another with my free hand as I drain the glass. A fresh-faced man-child from the midwest opens himself up next to me and presents his nametag.

"Hello," he lies, and holds out his right hand. The bartender puts that second drink right into my free hand and his eyes tell me he knows who I am. I set both glasses down, shake Junior's hand with the right and grab a ten from my pocket with the left. I slap it on the bar with a nod to the tender who nods back and he's on my team now.

My life is full of nods and gestures, of secret language and signals and half-steps and subterfuge. Every room I enter, I pick my marks and make them mine. I am soulless and dark and ugly and somehow they all want to be me, and for an hour I will let them.

Anna is there tonight, I know she is. I feel it in the ground, in the air. She wasn't there on Friday, or Saturday or Sunday. She was there on Monday but I was drained, done, finished at lunch with nothing left for the night. Tonight she is mine.

I turn from the bar and the murder of crows awaits, these hapless black birds that beg for approval every minute of the day and every hour of their sweat-drenched dreamless sleep.

I walk the gauntlet with style and grace. I am not a king here, I am an emperor, I am pope. These men kiss my ring and hope to curry favor. Craven worms they are, and yeah it behooves me to have them think I give a shit, but not too much. Cool, yes, not aloof, but not caring, not compassionate, no not that ever.

I am a walking encyclopedia of winks and nods and I shake their hands in just the right way. I know their names. I know their wives names. I know their kids colleges. I know the exact amount of ink that has dried on their closed deals for the past 24 months and I know what they drink for lunch.

I draw myself up and I square my shoulders and my gaze is like steel. I take one long drink and leave the glass behind and walk among them. For each man I have a few words, words that tell him I know him, I remember him, I give just enough of a damn to deliver the goods he has busted his tiny little balls to sell.

No more than fifteen seconds with each one is just enough. Anna is there, and I want her.

For one man I stop. He sells in Chicago, doesn't do so well. He lost his wife to cancer this year. For him I stop. I touch his shoulder and meet his gaze and tell him to call me. Any time. Call when you need me.

I finish the gauntlet and I disappear. I have cased the joint and covered it in 20 minutes. My work is done and I have my hat and coat and I hit the pavement. Here I am not a king, not a pope, just another pair of feet and mine start heading south to 21.

Anna is there. I can hear my heart and my footfalls and I know she is there. Once upon a time the world was green but it isn't anymore. I am just a pair of feet and I am almost there.

Daisy greets me - I have not called ahead as I usually do and she is surprised but pleasantly so. Anna is otherwise engaged. Do I want to see another girl? Not this time. I don't mind waiting...I have appeared unannounced, I can wait.

Outside I can hear the crows in the distance. A murder of crows...black birds, invisible in the dark night. I can hear them caw, I can hear every flap of every wing...I need silence, I need to be a man.

Here, I am a king. Daisy puts me in a room and I give her the house fee. I see Ace and give her a tiny hug. Daisy checks in on me...offers to give me the table shower so I don't have to keep waiting. I look her in the eye...she laughs. She can see I am here for one thing and one thing only and that is Anna. It is in my eyes and on my face and no one can miss it.

I wait a little longer and then a light knock and the door opens and she is there. A tanktop and shorts. The caw of the crows and the sound of their wings fades a little more and I take her softly in my arms and hold her for a moment before we walk down the corridor. She bathes me like a king, dries me, leads me back and rubs me down like royalty and then I turn over and I sit up and I look into her eyes and I smile.

"I like your smile" she says. I brush the back of my hand against her shoulder. "I like you" I say.

I pull her to me and hold her again and then I am pulling at her clothes and she is helping and soon she is as naked as I am. She rubs her breasts against my chest and I am immediately hard. I take one breast in my hand and I taste her nipples. They are hard enough to cut glass and I run my tongue in slow circles around them and she makes a little noise and I smile again. "I like your smile" she says again. "I like you" I say.

I sit up and invite her to lay on the table. I kiss her neck lightly and then I leave a trail of kisses down down down to her breasts where I taste those nipples again before moving down down down and there I am between her legs.

I start slowly and gently, my tongue between her legs...slow lazy circles around her hard little clit...all the time in the world...I want to see her smile. I taste her, my tongue inside her, and then back to her clit. She tastes like the purest spring water, when the world was green.

I move faster and harder and she moves against my face and guides me and she makes little wordless noises of pleasure and I am not a king, I am not a king. I am no pope, no emperor, I am only a man and she is a woman and there is only us. She pulls my head tightly to her and makes high, keening moan and I can feel her throbbing against my mouth and I wait. She looks at me, our eyes meet. Surprised, confused. She smiles. I smile.

I lay down and she rises between my legs and slips the cover on with her mouth. Her lips slide over my hard cock and her tongue caresses me. She rubs her breasts against me and takes my hard cock all the way into her mouth and out and again...and again...faster now, and harder and I am fucking her mouth and she rises and sits on my face. I am a man. Nothing but a man. This is all there is.

She moves faster and harder and I taste her everywhere and I reach down and tear the cover off and she touches me with her hand and I explode.

For now, this is all there is, yes, this is it. She lays with me for a moment. It has been well over an hour since we started. No one has looked at the clock. There are no crows, the world is green. No one owes anyone anything. Here I am just a man.

Then we rise and she gets a hot towel and cleans me up and goes back down the hall. I get dressed and I am sitting and putting my shoes on when she walks in. She sees the shoes and says, "Wow I like..."

I put my finger to my lips and she stops. There is a purity in this moment that may not be sullied by dirty talk. Shoes will wait. I take her hand and she sits next to me for a moment and again I smile. "I like your smile." She says it again. "I like you." I say, and I kiss her forehead and I stand and it's time to go.

I hand her six twenties. More than enough, but what is the price for making a man feel like a king and making a king back into a man?

I reach the street and I listen carefully. I can't hear the crows at all. Nobody owes anybody anything, and all the world is green. I breathe in my city's cool air and I walk. It is good to be a king. But it is great to be a man.

 

[vkfukikw]

I just checked. I think DJ may be one of the original contributors to the Monger's Bible...

 

[Other Girl]

This should be the preface in the monger's guide. Kudos to the oldtimer.

 

[LRTownsend]

Don't be surprised. Get to know a girl or two, be a good listener, and you won't believe what some guys do- fake money, asking for the money back, a $10 tip, in singles, a sealed envelope containing $17, stealing a girls phone, robbing,... It's a nasty world and most massage girls get to see that.

 

[F S]

I don't know Olga (I think) but I know Russian girls, and I know that it's always YMMV. Sometimes I've been on the winning side and sometimes the losing side but I've never known the menu to be consistent across al customers. If there's one message I wish American guys could grasp (they're the ones who seem most in need) it's "you're not buying a tv at Best Buy"

Yes this is a business, but it's a human business and it's all about how you play the game. Sometime's it's farcical- boning a gorgeous 20yo Ukrainian girl who pauses to say, "I hope you don't visit any Russian girls- they're all whores!"
"huh?" I exclaim, lost for words in lazy doggie. "I mean they fuck their customers - not like this, but any customer"

It was funny, and it taught me something.

So I don't do AMPs but an AMP with a half-Russian girl? Sounds more than half interesting.

 

[nsw]

Who cares if Ace is/isn't Olga? She's hot either way! Go check her out!

 

[dalton]

I'll get to the bottom of this or maybe she'll get to the bottom of my ..... But c'mon you Hiyako guys get real, Amy was smoking the rubber bone while every guy was swearing to the hand job gods she was r&t only. YMMV plain and simple, if you're one of those who swore a provider never did this or that, there's a better than good chance you were getting played.

 

[Karo]

are you 100% confirm is Olga? mentioned by someone else, I thought Olga from Hiyako doesnt offer CBJ. If its her, I am glad I found her bc of a reccommendation from a friend of mine.

There is no need for me to rehash the other two detailed reports. Ace def. has some experience in the industry. She knows the drill very well; high on service & very playful. I was given a rather mediocre (not bad as reported) massage but it was a very nice touch to be on top of a electric blanket. Ace appears rather surprised how I listen to her background story & was able to repeat it in detail. She is definately a real sweetheart & I am sure YMMV. Please treat this girl well.

People who book appointments via email are rather quick to respond. They messed up my appointment & was very apologetic; they offered a subsitution when I was there. They apparently read this thread because I got a thank you reponse to my posts.