I’m on my way to a party when I get that familiar hounding urge...so I take a detour to Sasa. I’m the only customer. "How come it's so quiet?" I ask. "Dinner time," Elsie the manager explains.
I ask to see Sasa’s only girl left for me to try. Joanne is a big, wicked-smiling nymphet in a sexy negligee—robust-looking, but definitely on the pleasant side of plump. I like her type, bursting with fertility.
I'm given Sasa's most comfy play room. Joanne enters moments after my shower. I ask whether she's Chinese, and she says, “A mix of Korean and Chinese.” She has been at Sasa for 7 months. I'd guess she's in her mid-20s.
Her English is limited. I try a bit of Korean, but she doesn't speak it. Nor does she understand my Mandarin. Well, I didn’t come to talk.
"You have massage," she says insistently, "feel nice touch."
"Sorry, let’s not waste time,” I reply. "We only have half an hour." Hugging her I can smell she's a smoker. "Hey, bring your cigarettes," I say. "I enjoy seeing a girl smoke."
She goes to fetch her cigarettes, lighter and ashtray. I give her stockings, help her strip out of her negligee and panties, and ask her to light a cigarette. She responds somewhat sluggishly.
But a naked young woman in stockings lying in front of me with spread legs, puffing away on a cigarette, gets a speedy rise out of Tantalizer. I reach to touch her smooth kitty, but run into an immediate "no." No touching the kitty—which, surely, implies no DATY.
I bend over her smoke-exhaling mouth for a kiss, but Joanne averts her face and offers me only a cheek. No kissing either. Oh well...Sasa certainly isn’t famous for mileage. But for $.2 I accept restrictions.
"Touch your pussy for me," I say. To my surprise, Joanne gets up and puts a latex cot on one finger. A goddamn finger condom to frig her own pussy—I've never seen an SP taking hygiene to such heights! And Joanna's frigging lacks passion. Could she be the type of SP I like least, who allows men to use her body without letting herself get turned on at all?
I tear open a condom wrapper and let her take the condom out. She rolls it on clumsily. When it stops rolling beyond the little hollow between the glans and the shaft, I try to help out. She says sharply, "No touch yourself."
Wow. No touching my own cock after she has put on the condom! A tall order. I realize, Joanne is going to be a challenge, a hygiene freak without passion. She puts lube on herself from a large bottle and guides me inside just in time before I'd have gone soft.
I launch into energetic pumping to regain full mast. Before long, she starts complaining, "You big. Finish soon."
I pull out so she can put extra lube on the condom. When I ask her to come on top for ACG, she complies reluctantly. After inserting Tantalizer, she avoids proper up-and-down strokes and only allows the upper half of the shaft to go inside. The only good thing is that I finally get to grab hold of her lovely titties.
Very soon she switches to regular CG. I can hardly feel any snugness at all. Before going limp I suggest we switch to DOGGIE. She puts her bubble butt up in the air for me. But shortly after I've started pumping away, she again complains, "Too big, pain, finish soon."
I let her control the movement of slow-motion doggie. Lazy doggie is normally one of my favorite positions, and it sure feels great with Joanne too. On the verge of orgasm I pull out, exchange the Trojan for a Lifestyle (which I let her put on) and ask for a CBJ.
She readily obliges. It almost seems she's happier to use her mouth than her pussy. Overall her CBJ is quite good, though I don't care for her twisting the shaft while sucking the glans.
"Okay," I say, getting us back into MISH position, "I'm ready to finish off." Her overlubed pussy, a veritable grease pot by now, provides next to no friction.
Joanne lies motionless, her eyes closed, and won't even let me lift her legs. She's in the same room, but inhabits a different world, clueless about what goes on for me. There’s something slightly comic, or even tragic, about me plunging into the inert flesh of a woman who—for all intents and purposes—might as well be a plastic fuckdoll programmed with a repeat sound: “You finish soon?"
The art of fabricating sensuality is foreign to Joanne. She doesn't understand what's needed for a man to sustain the flow of arousal. It takes all the erotic imagery I can summon—and feverish, relentless dirty talking—to finally get myself off. My somewhat rushed orgasm, when it comes, predictably lacks intensity.
Joanne makes no move to clean me. “Should I clean myself?” I ask. Wordlessly she grabs some Kleenex and pulls the condom off.
There’s awkward silence as I dress. I ask, “So, Joanne—you still like men?”, but her response is unintelligible mumble.
Normally I tip an SP at least an extra .2. But in Joanne’s case, a tip would reward—and reinforce—rushing. I feel compassion for this woman, so clearly unsuited for an SP’s noble calling, who probably slipped into this job for lack of other marketable skills.
I ask Elsie to show me the back exit. She takes me through a cluttered TV room where Kitty and Angela are sitting on messy couches. “Oh hello,” I say—wondering how four neurotic women sitting cooped up in this room all day can possibly get along. We go down a flight of stairs. “You happy with service?” Elsie asks. “Well,” I say, “tell Joanne not to rush customers.”
L=7.5, A=5, S=5.
Luckily I find my enjoyment of a session isn’t proportional to the quality of service: the way I’m wired, just the sight and feel of a pretty woman who opens her pussy gives me enormous pleasure. I walked away from my session with Joanne surprisingly relaxed and refreshed, proud of myself for having braved the near-catatonic behavior of a hygiene freak.
I ask to see Sasa’s only girl left for me to try. Joanne is a big, wicked-smiling nymphet in a sexy negligee—robust-looking, but definitely on the pleasant side of plump. I like her type, bursting with fertility.
I'm given Sasa's most comfy play room. Joanne enters moments after my shower. I ask whether she's Chinese, and she says, “A mix of Korean and Chinese.” She has been at Sasa for 7 months. I'd guess she's in her mid-20s.
Her English is limited. I try a bit of Korean, but she doesn't speak it. Nor does she understand my Mandarin. Well, I didn’t come to talk.
"You have massage," she says insistently, "feel nice touch."
"Sorry, let’s not waste time,” I reply. "We only have half an hour." Hugging her I can smell she's a smoker. "Hey, bring your cigarettes," I say. "I enjoy seeing a girl smoke."
She goes to fetch her cigarettes, lighter and ashtray. I give her stockings, help her strip out of her negligee and panties, and ask her to light a cigarette. She responds somewhat sluggishly.
But a naked young woman in stockings lying in front of me with spread legs, puffing away on a cigarette, gets a speedy rise out of Tantalizer. I reach to touch her smooth kitty, but run into an immediate "no." No touching the kitty—which, surely, implies no DATY.
I bend over her smoke-exhaling mouth for a kiss, but Joanne averts her face and offers me only a cheek. No kissing either. Oh well...Sasa certainly isn’t famous for mileage. But for $.2 I accept restrictions.
"Touch your pussy for me," I say. To my surprise, Joanne gets up and puts a latex cot on one finger. A goddamn finger condom to frig her own pussy—I've never seen an SP taking hygiene to such heights! And Joanna's frigging lacks passion. Could she be the type of SP I like least, who allows men to use her body without letting herself get turned on at all?
I tear open a condom wrapper and let her take the condom out. She rolls it on clumsily. When it stops rolling beyond the little hollow between the glans and the shaft, I try to help out. She says sharply, "No touch yourself."
Wow. No touching my own cock after she has put on the condom! A tall order. I realize, Joanne is going to be a challenge, a hygiene freak without passion. She puts lube on herself from a large bottle and guides me inside just in time before I'd have gone soft.
I launch into energetic pumping to regain full mast. Before long, she starts complaining, "You big. Finish soon."
I pull out so she can put extra lube on the condom. When I ask her to come on top for ACG, she complies reluctantly. After inserting Tantalizer, she avoids proper up-and-down strokes and only allows the upper half of the shaft to go inside. The only good thing is that I finally get to grab hold of her lovely titties.
Very soon she switches to regular CG. I can hardly feel any snugness at all. Before going limp I suggest we switch to DOGGIE. She puts her bubble butt up in the air for me. But shortly after I've started pumping away, she again complains, "Too big, pain, finish soon."
I let her control the movement of slow-motion doggie. Lazy doggie is normally one of my favorite positions, and it sure feels great with Joanne too. On the verge of orgasm I pull out, exchange the Trojan for a Lifestyle (which I let her put on) and ask for a CBJ.
She readily obliges. It almost seems she's happier to use her mouth than her pussy. Overall her CBJ is quite good, though I don't care for her twisting the shaft while sucking the glans.
"Okay," I say, getting us back into MISH position, "I'm ready to finish off." Her overlubed pussy, a veritable grease pot by now, provides next to no friction.
Joanne lies motionless, her eyes closed, and won't even let me lift her legs. She's in the same room, but inhabits a different world, clueless about what goes on for me. There’s something slightly comic, or even tragic, about me plunging into the inert flesh of a woman who—for all intents and purposes—might as well be a plastic fuckdoll programmed with a repeat sound: “You finish soon?"
The art of fabricating sensuality is foreign to Joanne. She doesn't understand what's needed for a man to sustain the flow of arousal. It takes all the erotic imagery I can summon—and feverish, relentless dirty talking—to finally get myself off. My somewhat rushed orgasm, when it comes, predictably lacks intensity.
Joanne makes no move to clean me. “Should I clean myself?” I ask. Wordlessly she grabs some Kleenex and pulls the condom off.
There’s awkward silence as I dress. I ask, “So, Joanne—you still like men?”, but her response is unintelligible mumble.
Normally I tip an SP at least an extra .2. But in Joanne’s case, a tip would reward—and reinforce—rushing. I feel compassion for this woman, so clearly unsuited for an SP’s noble calling, who probably slipped into this job for lack of other marketable skills.
I ask Elsie to show me the back exit. She takes me through a cluttered TV room where Kitty and Angela are sitting on messy couches. “Oh hello,” I say—wondering how four neurotic women sitting cooped up in this room all day can possibly get along. We go down a flight of stairs. “You happy with service?” Elsie asks. “Well,” I say, “tell Joanne not to rush customers.”
L=7.5, A=5, S=5.
Luckily I find my enjoyment of a session isn’t proportional to the quality of service: the way I’m wired, just the sight and feel of a pretty woman who opens her pussy gives me enormous pleasure. I walked away from my session with Joanne surprisingly relaxed and refreshed, proud of myself for having braved the near-catatonic behavior of a hygiene freak.
)
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