Place: HOD in Victoria
Service: 30 minutes
Price: £70.
External Link/Members OnlyI've had good experiences at HOD and bad. This one was the worst.
The Place (
Negative):
Basement flat near Victoria Station.
Excellent decor and venue.
No air conditioning or open windows: They seem to have a problem with the air conditioning in there these days as it was absolutely stiflingly hot. They have put a fan in there that has the volume of a 747 turbine which is completely unsuitable for what is supposed to be an intimate encounter.
No standing mirrors: They used to have standing mirrors in the rooms. There wasn't one in the room I was in. If you have a very average SP, you can position those mirrors to see yourself with her and hopefully get off more easily. Without them, you are stuck without a visual fantasy aid.
This encounter couldn't have been worse anyway . . .
The Girl (
Negative):
I've marked-up a screenshot of her stats to point out which are bullshit.
I'm sorry but I'm am not going to hold back on this one, given the service (and everything else) was so bad.
White. About 5-3". Face like a horse - teeth like Princess Anne. Skin starting to wrinkle and sag with age. Small tits. The profile says 39 years old but she looks mid to late 40s (at least). Filthy fag breath.
Terrible Voice: Her voice is absolutely horrendous and off-putting. It has to be one of the stupidest sounding and fake noises to come out of a human being. Her voice was like a queef on helium. It must be an act. Think Minnie Mouse trying to be cute but sounding totally annoying. It must be a fake act, because she was doing a "hee hee" cutesy laugh after every annoying sounding sentence she uttered. I also heard her outside the door talking to the maid and her voice wasn't like that at all. I can't imagine any guys like it, rather than just put up with it, and hope she shuts up. Massively off-putting
Quite a business (read: jaded) type personality. No gentleness or tenderness in her. Very much going through the motions.
The Action (
Negative):
I've marked-up a screenshot of her services to point out which are bullshit.
I was quite disappointed in her looks. I've already described them so don't need to go into them any further.
Upon entering, and without even a "hello", she turned on the turbine fan, brandished some talcum powder and announced "I like to start with giving a massage so can you turn over please . . hee hee!". Hang on a minute, I thought, I'm the one paying for the service. Shouldn't you ask me what I would like of the menu of services you claim to offer???
I was so surprised by it, that I just complied (I know, I shouldn't have). And then the weirdest experience I've ever had with an SP happened.
She covered my back and legs with talcum powder, rubbed it in in the style of a paranoid window-cleaner on amphetamine, and over the deafening noise of the turbine fan started making loud "woosh" noises as she blew air from the back of my legs up to my shoulders and back again. It happened again. "Woosh". Then again "woosh". It reminded me of a grandma trying to encourage a child to eat by pretending a spoon was an aeroplane. "Woosh", "Woosh", it continued . . . I couldn't believe both what was happening and what she was doing. It was so bizarre, I was having to stop myself from laughing to ask if it was a joke and if I was on a hidden camera show. "Woosh" . . . "Woosh" . . .It was the first time I have ever been in a punt and thought to myself: the lads on UKP are not going to believe this. Eventually, I had to stop her mid-"woosh" and tell her that I would like to turn over.
"What would you like then . . . hee hee!". "What?", I shouted over the roar of the turbine fan. "What would you like then . . . hee hee!", she repeated."OWO, please" I replied. "Okay. . . hee hee!". She then took out a number of wet wipes and started to wipe down my freshly showered cock for five minutes with all the sex appeal of Hattie Jaques prepping me for surgery. At this point, I was just happy the "Woosh" noises had subsided, although the turbine fan continued to roar unabated. It was the least sexy experience I've ever had.
She began OWO which was very cursory. "Can I kiss you?" I shouted, over the fan. "I don't do kissing . . . hee hee!". I cupped my hands around my mouth so she could hear me over the roar: "It says you do kissing and GFE on your profile". "I don't do it . . . hee hee!". And there I was. Being cooked to death in a fan assisted oven, with a horsey-looking, late-forties Minnie Mouse impersonator. What the fuck am I doing here, I wondered to myself.
"Can you get on top of me?" I asked. "What? . . . hee hee!". "Can you get on top of me?" "Oh, I thought you said, do you play the lottery . . . hee hee!" Yeah, I thought to myself that's exactly what's on my mind right now. Because I haven't won the lottery here. "No, can you get on top of me" I asked for a third time through cupped hands. "Okay . . . hee hee!". She got on top and as she brought her face toward mine, before it rested by my shoulder, I smelled her fag breath. At that moment, I had to be glad for small mercies, and kissing and GFE not being on the menu was a good thing.
As she went up and down, the turbine fan blew an unpleasant female odour up towards my face. FFS, I thought. This could not get any worse. I needed all of my powers of concentration to pretend to myself what was happening - was not actually happening.
I just needed to get out of there, so I imagined I was inside Cassandra of HOD (positive review for her later) and was able to cum.
I got up and asked if I could have a shower (whilst motioning water falling on my head with my fingers, and circling my palm in front of my cock to signify washing so I didn't have to keep repeating myself over the fan). "Yeah . . . it's through there . . . hee hee!" she motioned in the direction of the bathroom.
I took a shower, and went back to the room. She had left. I still had 10 minutes on the clock, but she had decided that she could just leave during the time I paid for. I turned off the fan, so I could hear myself think and got dressed. Alone.
As I was leaving the room, I heard her unmistakable squeaking coming down the hallway. "I'll let you out . . . hee hee!". She opened the door and I walked through it.
I felt like Mr Ben, and that I had earlier gone through a door and entered some bizarre land of adventure, heat, noise, "Wooshing", squeaking, fag breath, lies . . . and I had paid for the (non)privilege. It was anything but a pleasurable experience. I walked towards Victoria and the usual sounds of the traffic and bustle seemed strangely quiet by comparison. The further I got away from HOD, the more I resolved never to go down that rabbit hole again.
I would not recommend it at all.
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