April 30, 2008
He Had a Very Small Penis
I’m totally cracking up because I took a look at my web stats and found that at least one individual found my blog by doing a google search on “he had a very small penis.” So silly! Welcome to you, new reader.
But today’s post is not about small penises. Though I could write a book on the subject. A very short book. Well, a long book if it were to list names and dates. But I digress. I promised a couple of days ago that I’d elaborate on a comment I made about how some men have a preference for the more bawdy, or as I put it, skanky, woman.
I got a call from a prospective client. Sounded great on the phone. Met all of my criteria. And he had a special request. A college professor friend of his was coming to town and the two of them wanted to get together with two women. Like in the old days. I can only imagine what the two of them got up to in the old days. His friend already had a girl in mind who he’d seen in the past. Would I be willing to host at mine?
Hmmmm I thought. This could be interesting. I’d never entertained three people before (certainly not where sex was involved) and I’d always had a fantasy about a little group action. So I had a think and tole my new client “Sure!” With conditions of course. I would charge a double rate for this as I was hosting and basically saving them the cost of a hotel room. And I needed to first speak to the other escort before committing to it. After all, I didn’t want any nasty surprises.
He gave me her URL which I visited. She looked fine. Not at all raunchy in her photos. Not a whole lot of information but nothing objectionable. So I gave her a call.
She was what I would call “seasoned”. It’s always kind of hilarious when I talk to other escorts on the phone. Which I do occasionally when someone asks for a reference or when there’s a request for a third “participant”. I never know what to expect. She sounded a bit on the tough side but not too hardened. “Right, I know the guy you’re talking about. He’s OK”. What’s so funny about it is that the guys who see escorts get so excited about it and fantasize all day long about it. Sometimes for days, if they’re the plan-ahead types.
For her, as for me, it was all about compensation. She explained to me in great detail that if he wanted to do a group thing it would cost him extra. That’s just the way it was. For her he was simply x number of dollars. I’m certain Mr. College Professor spent a great deal of time reliving their time together and how much he pleased her and turned her on while his wife was bathing the kids or some such thing.
I stressed to her the importance of wearing something conservative. “Sexy is fine but it can’t be anything outrageous as I live here and I have neighbors. Business-sexy would be perfect. Will that work for you?” The last thing I need is to attract the wrong kind of attention. “Don’t worry, honey. It’ll be fine. I’ll wear something low-key.”
OK, great. Time to confirm with my client.
I had asked Escort #2 to come over early so we could have a drink and get to know each other a bit. I had a bottle of champagne ready. She did arrive ten minutes early. I buzzed her in.
I tried calling her on her cell but she wasn’t answering. What the heck was going on? This suddenly wasn’t feeling right. Ten minutes later my phone rings again. And now it’s my client and his friend and they’re down at the front door with E2 who apparently can’t figure out how a door works. I’m a bit flustered at the moment because I was really hoping she and I could map out a game plan and now that was blown.
I waited at the door and when I heard them outside opened it to find my client and his friend and what I could only call a street walker. I was gobsmacked!! I hustled Miss Thing into the apartment.
She was something to behold. Her ensemble featured a short, pleather skirt, fishnets and over the knee platform boots. She topped of the look with perfect hooker makeup – you know what I’m talking about – heavy on the eyeliner which evidently had also been used to line her lips.
I’d been punk’d!
I asked her what had gone wrong at the front door. She snapped her gum at me. “I couldn’t get in! I waited there for ten minutes.”
At this point I could only speculate about what the other tenants in the building thought about her hanging around the entrance for ten minutes. My. God.
I took my client aside and remarked “She’s a bit colorful, isn’t she?”
He apologized profusely. “I’m so sorry! I’m had no idea.”
His friend had a taste for “dirty girls” apparently. And here she was. In my apartment. In all her dirty glory. This wasn’t my worst nightmare. But it was close.
So I handed the flutes around and drank down my champagne demurely as she inquired, eloquently I thought, “I hope you’ve got some weed because I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”
That being the case, I suggested they take the living room while my client and i adjourned to the bedroom. I gave them a couple of towels, opened the living room windows and shut the french doors that separated the two rooms. I’ll never forget the sounds of “Give it to me, baby” and “Oooh you dirrrrrty girl” that I heard that evening.
I suppose I should be grateful that nothing was missing or broken after it all ended. They both took showers, my client dressed and I cleaned EVERYTHING!
I can only imagine the professor’s wife. Probably fairly conservative. What would she have thought if she had known. But I’m sure I know the answer to that.