Exoticc Lady (was Naughty Brunette until recently) - North London, West Hampstead / Finchley Road
AW:
External Link/Members OnlyA tall, pretty, fit, dark-haired girl in the wrong job
One of the things that prompted me to get off my arse and contribute a few reviews after so long, was reading another member's review of a different WG based in this building - Lorena Sweety, who I have also visited. That reminded me about a punt I'd made sometime in February, which had proved to be an annoying waste of time: here it is.
Location and Flat Well-referenced previously, this area is a little worn down, high-traffic zone situated between a bunch of very affluent areas of North London. On the plus side, it's generally safe. The house is on the busy main road, and, given that it's essentially filled with WG's operating in studio flats, it's remarkable that it hasn't been closed down long since. As I understand it, the girls are all 'independent' but pay 50-60% of their takings to the landlord for rent and to have their marketing and enquiries handled. It's a grand old building gone to seed - and although it's not irrecoverably dilapidated, it sometimes feels only about two or three shallow steps away from being a crack den. I've seen about five different rooms over the years -they are mostly varying degrees of sordidly awful, and not the good kind either. Usually the curtains are perma-drawn, you sense damp, and there's nothing to lift or lighten the spirits. It must be thoroughly depressing for the girls to work there too.
The HottieExoticc Lady / Naughty Brunette - I didn't find out her human stage name, is a pretty young girl, in her early to mid 20s at a guess. She had long dark her when I saw her, but there are photos of her blonde. She has bright blue eyes, pale skin with a freckling of small dark birth marks on her back, and she possesses a very appealing, tall and slender shape. That's as good as it gets I'm afraid.
Comms & servicesI think this was a fairly straightforward and blameless text-and-confirm arrangement - no complaints there. However, as many reviewers here have noted, the delay between announcing your arrival and the WG being informed and opening the door, is frequently several minutes, even if you take care to advise them a few minutes before you arrive. You're therefore left waiting, high up on some steps, in full view of all the traffic on a major road, and all the visitors to large jewish community centres that are close by. Savour that anonymity.
When she does eventually let you in, you'll be led, probably wordlessly, to the room by your amour. In my case, I had time to notice how dishevelled she was in just a nightie - hair all amok, and bare-footed.
Services vary according to each girl (some, separately marketed, just do HE+ massage). This one is more conventional: and you'll be asked how long you want to stay for (having already arranged that in advance). Any additions to the basic sex offering listed are, like Ryanair, cost upgradable - OWO £20 / CIM £30 - see for yourself. This one has quite an extensive list, but I doubt many are delivered with much aplomb.
EventsThe room would suit as a backdrop for a Francis Bacon painting. Large, with a small, tattily curtained window, lit by an anglepoise and an unshaded red ceiling lightbulb. An unmade bed with a greying towel atop await you. I remembered the words on her profile describing the soft, romantic atmosphere, and inwardly chuckled. There's a jerry-built bathroom just off, replete with all the necessities you could desire - mould on the walls, damp floor mats, cheap and undersized towels, gunked bottles of Lynx, dirty taps and twirls of matted hair in the drains.
As I dried off, I found our lady sat close by her TV, which was tuned to the Balkan version of some small-beer prize show, when it wasn't showing ads for car financing. She also busied herself with three, or was it four mobile phones - perhaps making last minute messages along the lines of "He's here - back in 20 mins".
As per a trend I've recently become accustomed to, I wanted to start with a massage, and then see how I felt and what might transpire. On this occasion, I offered to give her a massage, the better to appreciate her appealing figure, but also to provide scope for her to relax a bit and lose the sour, listless demeanour that I'd already picked up. This produced a flicker of something, I couldn't tell if it was relief or gratitude. I started on her, carefully deploying some of the techniques I've picked up over the years, all the while taking her in and trying to build some kind of rapport that might lead to the spark that we all like to see.
God bless her, but she has no conversation, mostly understandable due to a poor command of English. But I'm used to engaging with non-English speakers, and you can usually get some traction at least, if there is goodwill all round. Two of her phones were beeping incessantly, and one rang several times. To her limited credit, at least she didn't pick up.
After 25 minutes or so, I thought I'd made every reasonable effort - and, remembering that this was my treat, after all, I asked her if she could give me a quick rub. Staring up at the bare red light harshed my mellow, but she said it wasn't possible to turn it off. Her massage strokes were limp and inadequate, so I turned to face her and began to appreciatively stroke her arms, her chest and ... she reached out for a condom.
I've been looking for a way to do this description justice - every move or hers looked wooden, contrived, clunky and lacked natural continuity, in the way that even just OK sex really needs. I was astonished at her lack of physical fluency or any appreciable skills at all. She was the very projection of sexlessness. The breaking point came when I motioned to her, in such a way that, I swear, is easily universally understood by women everywhere, that I wanted her to take hold of me. Her response, whatever it was, I can't now recall, betrayed some cross between incomprehension and indifference.
Reader, I rose and walked from her.
35 or so minutes in - It just became crystal clear that, for whatever reason; whether she'd been run ragged by the previous punter; that she was horrified by me, or that she is a clueless, sulky and indolent brat who really doesn't know what she is doing (take your pick) - it wasn't going to be worth the effort to try and coax something better out of her. She was visibly unsettled by this, and not wanting to alarm her or humiliate her, I quietly explained that if she was in this business and someone was making an effort to be nice enough with her... but my heart wasn't in it and I doubt she heard or really cared.
She did follow me into the bathroom to hand me towels and somehow, we talked a little - about her still buzzing phones. £100 lighter, I actually nevertheless felt relieved walking out into the drizzle and the traffic, and reasoning that it had been perhaps too long since I'd had a bad one, and this had simply been my turn.
KarmaOn the above basis, gentlemen, it will come as little surprise that I sadly cannot recommend you waste your short lives on this exotic bore.
