One of the sad things about being at my stage of life is the number of experiences that compete for the title "Worst Punt of my Life....so far."
Thanks to the excellent resources and reviews on here I've managed to avoid real howlers for quite a while now, but last week I managed to reverse that positive trend
Having missed her a couple of weeks ago, I finally managed to arrange to meet "Allison" (link referenced above) for a meet last week. Wish I hadn't, TBH.
CommsOK, when we finally resorted to text. On the phone (and on the final "approach") the verbal comms were so bad that I ended up being five minutes late (not that this was going to bother the SP, who wanted me out of the door on the dot of 30 minutes from the original booking time.) Specifically asked in the upfront comms if I would be meeting "Allison" - question avoided, but the rates were as per her own ad, rather than the "other girls working from the same location" ad - so thought it would be OK.
LocationOK. Flat as previously reported. Greeted by "maid" in puffer jacket (was hoping it might be the previously-positively-reported Allison, but it wasn't to be.) Made to take shoes off, wash hands, have temperature taken etc, before being introduced to a rather dumpy (5'3" I reckon, not particularly attractive / small tits / no arse to speak of / and a real "had babies, and probably a few of them" belly etc.) Service Provider.
Service (not sure that's the right word)
From the outset she was after the full “upsell…” I’d gone with the full intention of the half hour service, B2B, HE etc for £50, but she was straight in with the “you want sucky sucky….?” Then the full-on hip thrusts with the obvious inference of full service for £70 the half hour. Should have walked, but we all know how it ends when we’ve had something planned in for a while, taken the bluey, and the little fellow downstairs is in charge, so there I go handing over the extra £20.
Bossy instruction to get my kit off, at which point she does the same – underwear off, and everything heads downhill under full gravity. Ewww.
Then follows the most pointless, disinterested massage ever; a few minutes in I mention B2B – at which point there are a few strokes of the non-existent (but still saggy – how is that even possible?!) tits on my arse. Then an instruction to turn over, which I do. Offered OWO (but “extra” – obviously - so didn’t bother…) Totally average OW, then she decides it’s time for the main course. Lies on her back, without offering up much in the way off access – I get about 1” in and she starts complaining… “ooh, too big too big…” I try to console myself with a mental-run through of the old joke - Q. “What do you call a man with a one inch penis… ?” A. “Justin” - but it’s not funny.
After a couple of minutes of trying to get another inch in, with her alternately complaining and coming out with the obligatory but unconvincing “I love you…” she starts looking at the clock..
“Ten minutes, ten minutes…. You cum now…”
Well, at my age I’m blessed with the ability to a) time the money shot right on 30 minutes, thank you very much, and b) tell the f**king time, so I think “no chance, this is at my pace…”
She continues to look very obviously at the clock literally every 30 seconds (and it’s on the wardrobe, at the bedside, three feet from the bed at about 90 degrees, so there’s no mistaking what the message is…) Rude, and offputting - full stop
Anyway, with five minutes to go I point out that as I can’t actually fuck her, because she won’t take more than two inches, then she’d better suck me off again. We have a long-winded rigmarole of changing the condom to kill some more time, then back to OW.
Frankly at this point I’m right off my stroke, and thinking “well babe – you decided to a) put zero effort into this and b) go all pushy on the timing and ruin the moment - you are making me pop before I leave, whether you like it or not, and if you run over time that’s just tough shit….” So I start to fuck her mouth while lying on my back, without really feeling like it any more.
Eventually, she’s so determined to get rid of me she pops another condom on her finger, and rams it up my arse. No lube, and pretty bloody rough, but at this point I’m thinking “what the hell – let’s just go dirty” and it finally worked.
Got dressed smartish. Gravity somehow reversed itself, and everything heaved itself back into her rather cheap lingerie. I got out the room smartish.
On the way out, big play from “puffer jacket” woman on “we open door quietly – you close it quietly…. we do the same next time you come back…” while I’m wrestling to get my shoes back on in the hall.
Would I return? “Next time you come back…” Yeah right. Absolutely no chance. I don’t appreciate bait and switch for starters, when I think I’m going to see “Allison” – especially when the “service” is so mechanical and crap.
Which is a shame as I’m in the area regularly, and it would be neat to have a cheap P&D on tap when I’m feeling the urge. But even at the original fifty quid, for 30 minutes full service, it would have been unimpressive and expensive. So you can take that as an emphatic “no” from me....
I’d rather crawl the 12 miles, on my hands and knees over hot coals, to see the lovely Anastassia in Southsea before I drive the four miles to go back here. I’ll do a report on that visit from the previous week, when I get a moment in the next few days.
