External Link/Members Only£40 for one hour + £40 B2B
After Saturday's disappointment, I decided to try further afield and as I was in western Scotland, I thought I'd see what was recommended.
A UKP review suggested a half decent sensual service from this place so enquiries were made and confirmed that it wasn't far from the local subway station and that unlike yesterday, there was a shower available.
Booking confirmed for 5.00 and I got to the station early in typically Glaswegian cold, dark weather with added rain. Directions were a little laboured, or maybe my texts weren't clear enough but I eventually got the street, then the building number, then which buzzer to press to get in.
As a stranger to the area, I can only assume that this is typical tenement style with spacious but bleak concrete and iron staircase through the middle and doors leading off at each landing. I had no idea where to go once through the front door until a head popped out and beckoned me to the first floor.
Estate agents would say the apartment is compact and bijou. I'm led through to a room with subdued lighting, a sideboard, another cabinet, a chair and a massage table in the middle. The room isn't cramped, a heater is on and music comes from one of a handful of phones and tablets.
Yaya, is definitely over 30, not overly curvy but lumps and bumps where it matters, hair just down to her shoulders. Both hair and skin colouring are typically Asian, if a little paler on the latter. She's from Beijing and English is almost useless but she smiles and laughs a lot, so who cares. Albeit that it can be a bit toothy.
The shower is a DIY conversion of the toilet into a wet room. The floor is sealed and a shower hose runs from the back of the sink to a fixing in the wall. It does the job and warms the cockles.
Back from the shower and drying off when she asks for the money and one hour is confirmed for £40. In getting the cash, my towel drops but there's nothing to see and not even a giggle.
She's dressed in a black fitted top almost basque-like and a leather look skirt.
I ask for soft and relaxing and she checks that I want soft for the whole hour. I confirm and relax. She gets started with fingertips, not fingernails up and down my legs and I shuffle into a spreadeagle and murmur appreciation.
Mindful of yesterday's debacle and other's reviews, I pop the question, "Do you do naked massage?" after about ten minutes and she gets her phone so we can negotiate using Google translate.
It's £40 for body to body but she only undresses in the last half-hour. In some ways, the up front nature of when she's naked is appreciated and refreshing because there's no guessing and feeling let down.
However, my umming and ahhing and air of disappointment, even after agreeing, changes her mind and the next thing I know, she's dimming the lights and unzipping out of her clothes. It's also refreshing that she doesn't stop to ask me to pay the cash upfront.
No tattoos or piercings that I can see and she carries on from where she left off before adding more oil, which isn't noticeably above room temperature, and adding occasional body rubs into the mix.
So far, so what. Nothing to get excited about. Literally, as it turns out until she returns her attention to the back alley. A little more oil and a little more probing feels good and she's still rubbing her top half across my buttocks and lower back.
Just over the 30 minute mark, she asks me to turn over. Once done, she oils her front again and hops up into what is tantalising close to CG, rubbing her shaved snatch against the root of my tree.
There are more giggles and more oil as things get slippery, when wet. Giggles turn to sighs from both of us and I start to explore her top and bottom shelves. It doesn't take long before I'm fingering her downstairs and kissing and sucking upstairs.
She feels naturally wet and tight at one end and pert and sensitive at the other. Things are going well. She hops down to rummage in the dresser or drawer, then hops back on board. The thought passes of whether she has picked up a condom.
The ember of that thought is fanned when it looks like she has something in her mouth, and attempts to kiss are deflected to her cheek. In hindsight, I think that she's just a bit toothy and doesn't like kissing. In any event, no condom is produced from her mouth or anywhere else.
We continue to pleasure each other and her oily hands are starting to do their magic so I have to keep telling her to slow down as I figure that there's still ten or fifteen minutes left.
I'm return, my attentions to her appear to be having a similar effect and the sighs from previously are joined by breathy moans and trembling legs until she steps away. When she shakes her head no, I ask why and encourage her to move closer again.
Before doing so, she puts a little oil in my hand and I return to tipping her velvet before we reach the finale. In my case, some spurts reach my shoulder as I unload and in her case, I get to feel some clamping before she jelly legs into a crouch.
The hour is almost up and after a suitable pause to calm down again, out come the wet wipes accompanied by tearing off strips of the paper towel for a rub down.
She wipes her hands on an actual towel and finishes off with a head and shoulder massage. Any previous deviations from routine are gone and she's back to finishing cleaning up both of us.
Reluctantly, I heave myself off the table because I'm feeling pretty good and step out to the bathroom again for a quick shower.
On my return, we try chatting but neither of us knows much of the other's language. All we manage is counting to five and the weather.
The cash for the extras is sorted and after finishing my drink, I'm going back down the steps into a cold, wet Glasgow night.
Almost an hour and ten minutes between hello and goodbye so also refreshing lack feeling rushed in and out. EM
