Well, I just got back from seeing Lulu (
External Link/Members Only). Gentlemen, let me tell you about my visit.
It all started at 11 this morning when I called her number, but no success. I figured it was because she was busy (which is good, as lots of customers means she must be good) so I sent a text asking about prices. She replied immediately. Fine. I sorted a time and headed over.
When I arrived at her road I got that nagging feeling that all might not be well. The road wasn't the best, it was terraced and not a single house looked liveable. It looked like a student street. 'Cheap rent' I reasoned, and carried on. Her door matched the street: dirty white plastic, with faded netting in the window. I shrugged and knocked the door. When she answered I gasped.
I am very sorry to say but this was not a gasp of pleasant surprise: Quite the opposite. What greeted me was a woman who was comfortably in her 50's and was wearing lingerie which had patently seen better days. It was now I should have made my excuses and left, but I didn't. At times like this I am afraid penis > brain. I followed her in, deeper into a house which was almost exactly what you would expect from the street it is in: dirty walls, ripped wallpaper, an overbearing stench of cigarette smoke, yadda yadda yadda. I followed her to her room, which was every bit as dank as the rest of the house, with a double bed in the corner. We went through the money stuff and she told me to strip and get on the bed. I stripped, and lay on the threadbare green towel that was placed on the bed and rested my head on the flat pillow.
What commenced was undoubtedly the most uncomfortable massage I have ever experienced. This was in no way sensual or relaxing, not by any stretch of the imagination. It consisted of her periodically putting all of her weight on her palm, pushing into my back whilst occasionally pushing me into the bed. Without oil. After a short while the tenderising ended and she told me turn around, and asked me "Do you want sex or hand job?" I think I blurted out 'Hand job!" before she even got to finish the quesion. "English men are strange, never want sex, always want hand job" was her response. I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth, so I just agreed that we are indeed strange for not all wanting to pay to have sex with a middle-aged, chain-smoking lady who had just spent 20 minutes beating the shit out of us.
So. out comes the oil (yes she did have oil, just for some reason didn't want to use it earlier) and she started on the old chap. Let me tell you this, I have never cum so fast. Not because it was an especially good job, I just wanted to get the hell out of there. So I came, cleaned up, wasn't offered a shower but I won't lie I probably would have refused, got dressed and pissed off. I got home and got straight into the shower. You know those exfoliating shower gels with little gritty bits in to give a deeper clean? I used half a bottle of that. It was like the scene in Ace Ventura, when Ace realises Einhorn is Finkle.
Not the best experience, and I've learnt my lesson now: always follow recommendations, and allow your brain to overrule the penis sometimes.
