Tastee Trini. Run for your life!
[URL]https://milfy.com.listcrawler.eu/post/escorts/usa/newyork/queens/60511728/[/URL]
OK, the title is maybe a bit dramatic but the bottom line is "please don't fucking do it. " You remember "Tales from the Crypt"? Well, this is going to be that kind of a tale. Or at least that's how I remember it. Honestly one of the most disgusting encounters of my career.
So this girl is not a model and that was clear to me. But I kind of liked her smile and for some reason thought it may be interesting. Texted her once earlier and got quoted 150 but it was not clear whenever this was hhr or hr. She kept just responding "yes". But I could not get to Queens back then so few weeks later texted her again (possibly from different number). She confirmed it's 100 for hhr. Weird, but sounds better than 150. Another unusual thing were some of her pictures in the ad as they look like they were taken in the basement (hint: it's not the basement). But I decided to drive all the way to Jamaica and see what's going on.
It's a residential part of the neighborhood which looks OK but even I realized those dudes standing on random corners are not just stargazing. Parking is real shit but I managed to find spot six blocks away or so. Finally made it to the address and she stepped out to open the door. First of all, her pictures may be making impression she is tall (er) but she is just short and stacky. Gone was the dress and fancy makeup. She looked as if she just woke up 10 minutes earlier. Started apologizing for no makeup and I was like OK whatever. Then we entered a very homely looking building corridor which turned out to be a luxury foyer comparing to her crib. OK guys let me try to explain what the fuck was going on there. If I tossed a couple grenades inside it would literally make no difference. The red carpet was so dirty I was actually not sure whenever it was red or black. It looked as if someone chew it and spitted out as well. Furniture, walls and ceiling all resembled a fucking movie set of some apocalyptic movie. I've never been to a trap house myself but my personal belief and understanding is no trap house looking like this can sell drugs to anyone. BTW, those basement pictures, you guessed it, taken at her "apartment. " To fully complete this horror picture there was her "roommate" sitting in the living room watching TV. Could have been a user, dunno, but looked like one. So as she is leading me into her room and we are passing kitchen with some shit that mush have been frying in the pan for three straight days, I'm still trying to process whenever this is happening for real; if this is some hidden camera shit or if I'm going to die in a moment due to some unusual circumstances. Her room is matching the rest of the scenery. On one wall literally half of the fucking sheetrock just fell off. There is a cat sleeping in the middle of her bed and the place is just fucking dirty beyond my comprehension.
But here is the thing. I'm stupid. I'm stupid because having two jacksons in my pocket I could have just dropped one of them and politely said that I have to leave. But I did not do it. Instead I handed her 100 and fuck knows what I was expecting.
So ready for the rest? Buckle up because it gets really bumpy from here. She starts with BBBJ but clearly I'm not in a romantic mood. I'm not focused on BJ because I keep thinking about this fucking sheetrock on the wall and all the other things I've seen in the past 3 minutes of my life. It's too much to process. Then I look down and I see some white residue all over my dick. Some sort of cottage cheese kind of stuff. Except that I take shower before every appointment. So it's not me. It's something in her mind. My thoughts run faster. My dick gets softer. But I try to salvage the situation so I tell her to take her pants down and turn around. As I start touching her ass I take a closer look and there is some white residue all around her vag. But there is plenty of it. I'm looking at it and the more I look the less I understand. I tell her there is something off and she goes "oh, that's just toilet tissue. " Toilet tissue that got all wet and disintegrated all around her crotch. "Why?" I'm asking and she tells me she is always leaving one after taking piss (as if she expected some hygiene brownie points for that). I ask her why she did not take care of this before I came and she says she forgot.
I'm froze for five seconds or so and then I tell her "look, sorry but this is not working for me. " She seems surprised. And I don't want any junkie motherfucker jumping on me from next room so I tell her to keep the money but I will be leaving right away. She starts apologizing and, giving her some credit, she seems genuinely sorry. I tell her I can understand the apartment, etc. But when it comes to personal hygiene it is something I take seriously. For a moment there she tries to go into combative mode telling me "there is nothing wrong with her hygiene" so I calm her down and say it is just not what I expected. On my way out I notice Johnnie Walker Black bottle standing on the desk in her room. It contrasts with that fucked up sheetrock in the most grotesque way you can imagine.
We all learn by mistakes and we all have to pay for them. But there is a light of hope in the tunnel, convincing us that the monstrosities we sometimes endure in our life, are only temporary and on the long run will help us to better find our way through the lost dimensions of the Twilight Zone.
