Printable View
[QUOTE=Fonmyj;7625826] ...overdid the plastic surgery years ago. Later the body ages but the plastic doesn't. I'm not a fan of that look. No MT for me either but even if I did I wouldn't have enjoyed based on the looks and energy she was giving off.[/QUOTE]Going to be Emma Eilat in a few years, LOL.
IYKYK.
Has anyone seen or intel on this cutie. She posts on craigslist and looks too good to pass up. Thanks.
[URL]https://sandiego.craigslist.org/csd/bts/d/san-diego-best-relaxing-massage/7936983229.html[/URL]
[URL]https://rubrankings.com/united-states/california/san-diego/bodyrubs/body-rubs/free-42197.html[/URL]
Listen, this shit was so weird, somebody has to hear about it.
Setup was slow and annoying. Hours for reply, took a whole day to setup, and then messaging all day the day of to get the basic details (like will you actually be there at this time? Where am I going? How much is it?
To her credit, there was zero discussion of anything but a 70 minute 'sports massage' and lots of bewildering references to 'free gifts. ' She doesn't have rates and would only ask me about my budget. I was trying to fuck, and I was really craving a big soft MILF, so I floated $200. She accepted, but said if I scheduled for the next day, instead, she'd give me a discount and two free gifts.
The next morning, she had forgotten details and repeated questions we'd already talked about. She forget agreed on prices (and promised discounts). She forget I wanted incall. Two hours before the date, she decided it was too late and asked if I could be there any sooner. I obliged by showing up 30 minutes earlier. This meant I was coming straight from work. No problem, I thought, I'll use the shower she mentioned several times in the ad and in our conversations.
I pull up to a very nice office building and park in front behind a very nice Lexus. I text her that I've arrived. Five minutes pass. I notice there's a blonde haired woman in the car in front of me. I get a text telling me to go to the building. I roll my eyes, wait for two minutes and then tell her again, I'm here. A few more minutes pass. One of the things I hate most in this hobby is being made to wait somewhere you're clearly not supposed to be while a flaky hooker is doing whatever the fuck they do 10 minutes past the when the date was supposed to start. I'm starting to wonder if she's one of those who watches from a window or stairwell or whatever to see you park and get out. Then it hits me: she's sitting in front of me. Has to be.
She says please go up to the door. I resign myself to my fate and wait for the very busy sidewalk to empty, in hopes of maintaining some sort of discretion. The woman from the Lexus gets out once I reach the door and calls to me from the curb (cringe), Are you *fake name I gave her*?
I scurry over so she stops yelling, introduce myself. We walk back to the building and she badges in. Turns out, this is a big co-working space. Massive. She leads me through populated lobby, passed a packed-full gym, to the elevators. This whole time she's been babbling about COVID and Nature (She / her). We get out at the second floor, which is mercifully empty, and she is talking about cleansing. Naturally, this reminds her of Hitler, which she begins talking about non-stop as we wind our way through the halls of this office building. We approach a set of big glass doors and she stops, asking me if I need to use the bathroom first. I mention I am interested in using the shower. Her face falls, she looks serious, and then explains the only shower is in the gym, downstairs, and she's not allowed to go in. She says I could try, and that she would give me a towel. I decline.
She badges us through the big doors. She stops talking about Hitler and gestures that I should be quiet and starts whispering. Now we are in the large lobby of a set of private offices. I can hear the sound of people, faintly, from the three long hallways that branch outwards. She makes a beeline for the fridge, explaining that she's diabetic and is feeling sleepy and ill, and that all the food has to be thrown out every Friday, anyway (it's Tuesday, 6:45 pm). Bob Ross is playing on the big screen tv in the lobby, so she starts telling me a story about how she's spiritually linked to him. As she talks, she's rummaging through the large fridge. She pulls out a tiramisu big enough to need two hands to hold. She's no longer whispering, but she is rattling around silverware drawers and crinkling the loud plastic cover on the (still-frozen) tiramisu. This was surely something put in the fridge to thaw for tomorrow. Someone will be disappointed.
She explains that Bob Ross could have been her father (her mother met him a mere three years before she was born), and that's the reason she has this strong destined link to him. As she talks, she raises a metal spatula high and, in one downward stroke, chisels off a palm-sized pillar of frozen cake. Alternate realities exist and, in some, the timelines worked out that Bob Ross WAS her father, not just some guy that told her mom that she looked like an ex-girlfriend of his. This reality knows that and lets her feel the resonance of that knowledge. Just like Hitler, as I'll learn later.
I had wandered away from her while she was ranting and stealing food. We weren't supposed to be here, it was pretty clear. I wandered over to a large display board, listing all of the companies housed in these offices. A couple of law firms. Private investigators. Private security. Great. Cool. A thin webwork of unsustainable oversights were likely the only thing allowing me and this hooker to raid the fridge of this legal-system-adjacent workshare. But, I hadn't seen anyone else, yet and I did want to see her tits, so I decided to commit.
She wraps her cake in a napkin, grabs a spoon and we start winding through the hallways. She explains to me all of the things the universe actually wanted for Hitler. All the things he didn't choose. I can't tell if she's glad for the way things worked out or not, honestly. Each office we pass has the identical desk and chair silhouettes; you can't see much through the fogged glass windows. They definitely look like law offices. She drops her spoon and picks it up. I wait, pregnant with anticipation. She pauses only briefly before continuing to scoop tiramisu flakes into her mouth (it's still frozen). I'm hoping this means she gives good head.
Eventually we stop at one of the identical, non-descript offices, and she unlocks it and lets us in. I am surprised that there is a massage table in here. A couple of trash bags of towels and sundries stashed here and there. She is still talking about Hitler and is now telling me about Mother Russia, and the respect due to her. There is no indication I will find out if I am fucking. No one is getting naked. I tell her I am going to sit down in one of the two small armchairs; she sits in the other, still not getting naked.
Friends, she talked about Hitler for like 15 minutes straight while nibbling on her defrosting cake. She's batshit crazy, but doesn't seem dangerous, and I still want to see her tits, so I embrace the opportunity to just live in the now. She eventually stops talking about Hitler and asks for payment so we can begin. I give it, she smells it, luxuriating in it's aroma and rubbing it on her face, in spite of, as she says, all of the COVID that's probably all over it. She tells me she can smell counterfeit money, and mentions she sniffed it out with her last customer. She couldn't understand why he, a very good looking guy, would give her counterfeit money.
She asks me to get naked and lay face down on the table. We have now reached the least interesting part of the story. She's still dressed, but she had sneakily pull out her tits, which were nice. Overjoyed, I sat up and began gently fondling them. She stops me and says sucking isn't allowed (I didn't even try). Concerned, I asked her if touching was okay (I assumed, since it was mentioned in the ads and our texts). She thinks for a second and says, only once you turn over. Okay. Whatever, let's see where this goes.
The massage is bad. The handjob is bad. I can touch for about 10 seconds, before she tells me to stop, that she's too sensitive (I'm still being gentle). After a minute, she'll tell me to touch her again, then stops me again. This is a cycle that repeats like 3 times before I just stop touching at all. I genuinely think she would forget she didn't want to be touched, invite me in and then remember.
She kept stopping both the massage and the hand job to ask me to massage parts of her that were hurting. Neck, back (still mostly clothed). This actually seemed to really get her worked up. She'd start moaning and dirty talking and then would start jerking me off again. I asked if she wanted me to touch her pussy, and started slowly sliding my hand from her knee to her thigh. She stopped me and said no, because she didn't want to get pregnant (She was also incredibly worried that I hadn't cum in under 4 minutes. This isn't unique to her. In fact, lately, I'm spending a lot of my sessions thinking about you guys. Because, from my experience, the majority of you must cum about thirty seconds after being touched. I get so many women who will clinically jackhammer my still-soft dick and then get personally offended I don't cum. It's not just a laziness thing either. They're surprised--frustrated--like it just doesn't happen to them.
With Lily, each time it would start to get good, she'd get self-conscious and need to change a position, or ask me if I wanted to titty fuck her instead, or ask if I wanted head (but-we-have-to-use-a-condom and I-don't-think-you'll-like-it and my-stomach-doesn't-feel-good-because-of-diabetes). This shit happens so much and it's like the least satisfying version of edging.
I'd then gently try to explain I needed her to be normal for more than two minutes and just touch my dick? And the cycle would restart. It was like the sort of horny dream you have when you're sleeping on a badly positioned erection.
With 20 minutes to go I just stopped her and said maybe we'd try again another time, when she felt better and wasn't in such a hurry. As the king of not cumming, let me tell you that shit breaks these women's minds. A lot of them start to spiral and refuse to accept it. Lily was no different. Grabbing and tugging and full of explanations as to why this had been so shitty.
I then had to gentle parent her as I get dressed and talk her down. At this point she's going on and on about what she actually wants to do. It is clear she wants to come to my place, she doesn't like doing incalls, she wants to take a shower at my place (she wants me to pay her to clean my place and then fuck me for free because she's not a prostitute (she wants me to invite her over, fuck her in the shower and write her a reference stating that she's massaged me for two years (I think maybe she might be homeless?
Long story short I'm still deciding whether or not I'll invite her over this weekend. She promised to give me a discount.
This is like hearing an epic combat stories from multi-toured veterans. Glad you've survived.
[QUOTE=BNatural;7626805][URL]https://rubrankings.com/united-states/california/san-diego/bodyrubs/body-rubs/free-42197.html[/URL]
Listen, this shit was so weird, somebody has to hear about it.
Setup was slow and annoying. Hours for reply, took a whole day to setup, and then messaging all day the day of to get the basic details (like will you actually be there at this time? Where am I going? How much is it?
To her credit, there was zero discussion of anything but a 70 minute 'sports massage' and lots of bewildering references to 'free gifts. ' She doesn't have rates and would only ask me about my budget. I was trying to fuck, and I was really craving a big soft MILF, so I floated $200. She accepted, but said if I scheduled for the next day, instead, she'd give me a discount and two free gifts.
The next morning, she had forgotten details and repeated questions we'd already talked about. She forget agreed on prices (and promised discounts). She forget I wanted incall. Two hours before the date, she decided it was too late and asked if I could be there any sooner. I obliged by showing up 30 minutes earlier. This meant I was coming straight from work. No problem, I thought, I'll use the shower she mentioned several times in the ad and in our conversations..[/QUOTE]
That was quite a TOFTT story and an absolute pleasure to read. Thank you for posting it.
That woman has been on the rub sites for years now. Same old tired pictures that never change. I recall reading reviews about her on another site a few years ago and all that stuck to my memory was reviewers saying she wouldn't stop fucking talking the entire time.
Funny story, she matched with me on Tinder a few weeks ago. She messages me at like 1 am giving me her phone number. I was sleeping when she messaged so the next day when I saw the message and the pictures on her Tinder profile, I immediately recognized her. I texted her out of curiosity and over the next week or so I experienced pretty much what you described but only via text. She keeps telling me she is a massage student trying to get her educational hours done and keeps asking me what my budget is. I asked why she is asking me this stuff since we met on Tinder which is a dating website. She keeps rambling on about other things in her messages, which are often days apart and come at odd times like 2:30 am. I eventually just stopped responding because I wasn't interested and it was obvious that she's bat shit crazy.
So no free gift?
[QUOTE=BNatural;7626805][URL]https://rubrankings.com/united-states/california/san-diego/bodyrubs/body-rubs/free-42197.html[/URL]
Listen, this shit was so weird, somebody has to hear about it.
Setup was slow and annoying. Hours for reply, took a whole day to setup, and then messaging all day the day of to get the basic details (like will you actually be there at this time? Where am I going? How much is it?
To her credit, there was zero discussion of anything but a 70 minute 'sports massage' and lots of bewildering references to 'free gifts. ' She doesn't have rates and would only ask me about my budget. I was trying to fuck, and I was really craving a big soft MILF, so I floated $200. She accepted, but said if I scheduled for the next day, instead, she'd give me a discount and two free gifts.
The next morning, she had forgotten details and repeated questions we'd already talked about. She forget agreed on prices (and promised discounts). She forget I wanted incall. Two hours before the date, she decided it was too late and asked if I could be there any sooner. I obliged by showing up 30 minutes earlier. This meant I was coming straight from work. No problem, I thought, I'll use the shower she mentioned several times in the ad and in our conversations.
I pull up to a very nice office building and park in front behind a very nice Lexus. I text her that I've arrived. Five minutes pass. I notice there's a blonde haired woman in the car in front of me. I get a text telling me to go to the building. I roll my eyes, wait for two minutes and then tell her again, I'm here. A few more minutes pass. One of the things I hate most in this hobby is being made to wait somewhere you're clearly not supposed to be while a flaky hooker is doing whatever the fuck they do 10 minutes past the when the date was supposed to start. I'm starting to wonder if she's one of those who watches from a window or stairwell or whatever to see you park and get out. Then it hits me: she's sitting in front of me. Has to be.
She says please go up to the door. I resign myself to my fate and wait for the very busy sidewalk to empty, in hopes of maintaining some sort of discretion. The woman from the Lexus gets out once I reach the door and calls to me from the curb (cringe), Are you *fake name I gave her*?
I scurry over so she stops yelling, introduce myself. We walk back to the building and she badges in. Turns out, this is a big co-working space. Massive. She leads me through populated lobby, passed a packed-full gym, to the elevators. This whole time she's been babbling about COVID and Nature (She / her). We get out at the second floor, which is mercifully empty, and she is talking about cleansing. Naturally, this reminds her of Hitler, which she begins talking about non-stop as we wind our way through the halls of this office building. We approach a set of big glass doors and she stops, asking me if I need to use the bathroom first. I mention I am interested in using the shower. Her face falls, she looks serious, and then explains the only shower is in the gym, downstairs, and she's not allowed to go in. She says I could try, and that she would give me a towel. I decline.
She badges us through the big doors. She stops talking about Hitler and gestures that I should be quiet and starts whispering. Now we are in the large lobby of a set of private offices. I can hear the sound of people, faintly, from the three long hallways that branch outwards. She makes a beeline for the fridge, explaining that she's diabetic and is feeling sleepy and ill, and that all the food has to be thrown out every Friday, anyway (it's Tuesday, 6:45 pm). Bob Ross is playing on the big screen tv in the lobby, so she starts telling me a story about how she's spiritually linked to him. As she talks, she's rummaging through the large fridge. She pulls out a tiramisu big enough to need two hands to hold. She's no longer whispering, but she is rattling around silverware drawers and crinkling the loud plastic cover on the (still-frozen) tiramisu. This was surely something put in the fridge to thaw for tomorrow. Someone will be disappointed.
She explains that Bob Ross could have been her father (her mother met him a mere three years before she was born), and that's the reason she has this strong destined link to him. As she talks, she raises a metal spatula high and, in one downward stroke, chisels off a palm-sized pillar of frozen cake. Alternate realities exist and, in some, the timelines worked out that Bob Ross WAS her father, not just some guy that told her mom that she looked like an ex-girlfriend of his. This reality knows that and lets her feel the resonance of that knowledge. Just like Hitler, as I'll learn later.
I had wandered away from her while she was ranting and stealing food. We weren't supposed to be here, it was pretty clear. I wandered over to a large display board, listing all of the companies housed in these offices. A couple of law firms. Private investigators. Private security. Great. Cool. A thin webwork of unsustainable oversights were likely the only thing allowing me and this hooker to raid the fridge of this legal-system-adjacent workshare. But, I hadn't seen anyone else, yet and I did want to see her tits, so I decided to commit.
She wraps her cake in a napkin, grabs a spoon and we start winding through the hallways. She explains to me all of the things the universe actually wanted for Hitler. All the things he didn't choose. I can't tell if she's glad for the way things worked out or not, honestly. Each office we pass has the identical desk and chair silhouettes; you can't see much through the fogged glass windows. They definitely look like law offices. She drops her spoon and picks it up. I wait, pregnant with anticipation. She pauses only briefly before continuing to scoop tiramisu flakes into her mouth (it's still frozen). I'm hoping this means she gives good head.
Eventually we stop at one of the identical, non-descript offices, and she unlocks it and lets us in. I am surprised that there is a massage table in here. A couple of trash bags of towels and sundries stashed here and there. She is still talking about Hitler and is now telling me about Mother Russia, and the respect due to her. There is no indication I will find out if I am fucking. No one is getting naked. I tell her I am going to sit down in one of the two small armchairs; she sits in the other, still not getting naked.
Friends, she talked about Hitler for like 15 minutes straight while nibbling on her defrosting cake. She's batshit crazy, but doesn't seem dangerous, and I still want to see her tits, so I embrace the opportunity to just live in the now. She eventually stops talking about Hitler and asks for payment so we can begin. I give it, she smells it, luxuriating in it's aroma and rubbing it on her face, in spite of, as she says, all of the COVID that's probably all over it. She tells me she can smell counterfeit money, and mentions she sniffed it out with her last customer. She couldn't understand why he, a very good looking guy, would give her counterfeit money.
She asks me to get naked and lay face down on the table. We have now reached the least interesting part of the story. She's still dressed, but she had sneakily pull out her tits, which were nice. Overjoyed, I sat up and began gently fondling them. She stops me and says sucking isn't allowed (I didn't even try). Concerned, I asked her if touching was okay (I assumed, since it was mentioned in the ads and our texts). She thinks for a second and says, only once you turn over. Okay. Whatever, let's see where this goes.
The massage is bad. The handjob is bad. I can touch for about 10 seconds, before she tells me to stop, that she's too sensitive (I'm still being gentle). After a minute, she'll tell me to touch her again, then stops me again. This is a cycle that repeats like 3 times before I just stop touching at all. I genuinely think she would forget she didn't want to be touched, invite me in and then remember.
She kept stopping both the massage and the hand job to ask me to massage parts of her that were hurting. Neck, back (still mostly clothed). This actually seemed to really get her worked up. She'd start moaning and dirty talking and then would start jerking me off again. I asked if she wanted me to touch her pussy, and started slowly sliding my hand from her knee to her thigh. She stopped me and said no, because she didn't want to get pregnant (She was also incredibly worried that I hadn't cum in under 4 minutes. This isn't unique to her. In fact, lately, I'm spending a lot of my sessions thinking about you guys. Because, from my experience, the majority of you must cum about thirty seconds after being touched. I get so many women who will clinically jackhammer my still-soft dick and then get personally offended I don't cum. It's not just a laziness thing either. They're surprised--frustrated--like it just doesn't happen to them.
With Lily, each time it would start to get good, she'd get self-conscious and need to change a position, or ask me if I wanted to titty fuck her instead, or ask if I wanted head (but-we-have-to-use-a-condom and I-don't-think-you'll-like-it and my-stomach-doesn't-feel-good-because-of-diabetes). This shit happens so much and it's like the least satisfying version of edging.
I'd then gently try to explain I needed her to be normal for more than two minutes and just touch my dick? And the cycle would restart. It was like the sort of horny dream you have when you're sleeping on a badly positioned erection.
With 20 minutes to go I just stopped her and said maybe we'd try again another time, when she felt better and wasn't in such a hurry. As the king of not cumming, let me tell you that shit breaks these women's minds. A lot of them start to spiral and refuse to accept it. Lily was no different. Grabbing and tugging and full of explanations as to why this had been so shitty.
I then had to gentle parent her as I get dressed and talk her down. At this point she's going on and on about what she actually wants to do. It is clear she wants to come to my place, she doesn't like doing incalls, she wants to take a shower at my place (she wants me to pay her to clean my place and then fuck me for free because she's not a prostitute (she wants me to invite her over, fuck her in the shower and write her a reference stating that she's massaged me for two years (I think maybe she might be homeless?
Long story short I'm still deciding whether or not I'll invite her over this weekend. She promised to give me a discount.[/QUOTE]
[QUOTE=JM619;7627368]So no free gift?[/QUOTE]She didn't even share her frozen tiramisu.
I moved to San Diego recently and the scene is brutal. I've never paid so much money to not cum in my entire life.
It seems like I should just stick to AMPs. Every other flavor has mostly been a bust. Or insanely overpriced. How is it that pussy is cheaper in the Bay Area?
[QUOTE=BNatural;7627468]She didn't even share her frozen tiramisu.
I moved to San Diego recently and the scene is brutal. I've never paid so much money to not cum in my entire life.
It seems like I should just stick to AMPs. Every other flavor has mostly been a bust. Or insanely overpriced. How is it that pussy is cheaper in the Bay Area?[/QUOTE]What's the rate up there for an hour fbsm? I've never seen the gal in your original post because looks wise she doesn't scratch me where I itch in that department. Then you write a short story about all the BS she put you through and I'm glad I never paid her a visit. There are plenty of fbsm providers in San Diego that are very good. Some are pricey but they'll get you off certainly. Some are more budget friendly, but regardless no drama and a good time to be had. Read the posts in this forum and ask for recommendations if you don't see any feedback here. Other review platforms also have plenty of good intel for independent providers. Those same platforms are trash IMO for AMP providers. Too many shills.
[QUOTE=JM619;7627368]So no free gift?[/QUOTE]I saw her a while back and my free gift was CBJ and FS. She said she wanted to go out another time to dinner and the movies for "no charge" wink wink. The whole thing was not very good and I never went back.
[QUOTE=Fonmyj;7627821]What's the rate up there for an hour fbsm? I've never seen the gal in your original post because looks wise she doesn't scratch me where I itch in that department. Then you write a short story about all the BS she put you through and I'm glad I never paid her a visit. There are plenty of fbsm providers in San Diego that are very good. Some are pricey but they'll get you off certainly. Some are more budget friendly, but regardless no drama and a good time to be had. Read the posts in this forum and ask for recommendations if you don't see any feedback here. Other review platforms also have plenty of good intel for independent providers. Those same platforms are trash IMO for AMP providers. Too many shills.[/QUOTE]Whether it's fbsm or even just normal c-org apartment MILFs it seems to be about 80 or 100 more expensive than I was getting in the Bay Area. When I seek out prices similar, here, I've only been running into crazy fucking experiences like with Lily or women who clearly hate their life and what they're doing.
I think if I make peace with the price, or learn to love condoms, I'll start having better experiences.
[QUOTE=BNatural;7628278]Whether it's fbsm or even just normal c-org apartment MILFs it seems to be about 80 or 100 more expensive than I was getting in the Bay Area. When I seek out prices similar, here, I've only been running into crazy fucking experiences like with Lily or women who clearly hate their life and what they're doing.
I think if I make peace with the price, or learn to love condoms, I'll start having better experiences.[/QUOTE]What are the actual prices you're paying in the Bay Area for an hour fbsm with an independent provider or an org? Telling me it's 80-100 more expensive here than in the Bay is an odd way to try and answer that simple question.
Who else have you contacted here in the San Diego area? Post their ads. Sure there's some kooks out here but it's hard to believe you're only finding them instead of many decent gals.
[QUOTE=Fonmyj;7628608]What are the actual prices you're paying in the Bay Area for an hour fbsm with an independent provider or an org? Telling me it's 80-100 more expensive here than in the Bay is an odd way to try and answer that simple question.
Who else have you contacted here in the San Diego area? Post their ads. Sure there's some kooks out here but it's hard to believe you're only finding them instead of many decent gals.[/QUOTE][QUOTE=Fonmyj;7574007]The meh experience discussion got me thinking. Who are the providers that are genuinely service oriented and leave you feeling like you got your money's worth and then some? Looking for gals who are known for their attitude and effort, not just a mechanical transaction.[/QUOTE]You were responding to someone talking about a shitty handy for 300. Sounds like you understand the plight well enough. When I find someone reliable that's not that, I promise you'll be the first to know.
In the bay my basement level experience was $200 for bare with a c-org. Basically the same rate across three or four different orgs with dozens of women. That same niche, let's call it the Super 8 experience, I've only been finding for 260 to 300, and with few exceptions has only gotten me rush jobs and Shrek grannies. To be fair I've yet to go to the Rosecrea place where they found a fucking dead woman so maybe that's on me for not being thorough enough.
Fbsm is definitely more dynamic which is why I didn't give you a spreadsheet of every price I've ever paid, but it was much easier in the bay to get a nude semi-attractive woman for an hour to give you a good hand job and probably even a blowjob for $200. Here that price seems to get me a woman with brain damage to give me a bad reluctant handy in a closet.
It really seems like it's better to stick to the AMPs.
[QUOTE=BNatural;7628816]You were responding to someone talking about a shitty handy for 300. Sounds like you understand the plight well enough. When I find someone reliable that's not that, I promise you'll be the first to know.
In the bay my basement level experience was $200 for bare with a c-org. Basically the same rate across three or four different orgs with dozens of women. That same niche, let's call it the Super 8 experience, I've only been finding for 260 to 300, and with few exceptions has only gotten me rush jobs and Shrek grannies. To be fair I've yet to go to the Rosecrea place where they found a fucking dead woman so maybe that's on me for not being thorough enough.
Fbsm is definitely more dynamic which is why I didn't give you a spreadsheet of every price I've ever paid, but it was much easier in the bay to get a nude semi-attractive woman for an hour to give you a good hand job and probably even a blowjob for $200. Here that price seems to get me a woman with brain damage to give me a bad reluctant handy in a closet.
It really seems like it's better to stick to the AMPs.[/QUOTE]You're posting and I'm responding in the independent massage forum. Not the massage parlor forum. If it's truly 200 for bare up in the Bay Area then that's hard to believe for one and also not on topic for the independent forum but ok, bud. There's plenty of active folks in this forum who are happy to help share intel and often do but you make it difficult to suggest those good providers when you come in all abrasive. I wouldn't want to send you to any of my favorites when you're acting this way on this forum and to date not one other member has been shitty to you.
[QUOTE=Fonmyj;7628961]You're posting and I'm responding in the independent massage forum. Not the massage parlor forum. If it's truly 200 for bare up in the Bay Area then that's hard to believe for one and also not on topic for the independent forum but ok, bud. There's plenty of active folks in this forum who are happy to help share intel and often do but you make it difficult to suggest those good providers when you come in all abrasive. I wouldn't want to send you to any of my favorites when you're acting this way on this forum and to date not one other member has been shitty to you.[/QUOTE]Yeah, I'll be sure to keep that in mind.
[QUOTE=BNatural;7626805][URL]https://rubrankings.com/united-states/california/san-diego/bodyrubs/body-rubs/free-42197.html[/URL]
Listen, this shit was so weird, somebody has to hear about it.
Setup was slow and annoying. Hours for reply, took a whole day to setup, and then messaging all day the day of to get the basic details (like will you actually be there at this time? Where am I going? How much is it?
To her credit, there was zero discussion of anything but a 70 minute 'sports massage' and lots of bewildering references to 'free gifts. ' She doesn't have rates and would only ask me about my budget. I was trying to fuck, and I was really craving a big soft MILF, so I floated $200. She accepted, but said if I scheduled for the next day, instead, she'd give me a discount and two free gifts.
The next morning, she had forgotten details and repeated questions we'd already talked about. She forget agreed on prices (and promised discounts). She forget I wanted incall. Two hours before the date, she decided it was too late and asked if I could be there any sooner. I obliged by showing up 30 minutes earlier. This meant I was coming straight from work. No problem, I thought, I'll use the shower she mentioned several times in the ad and in our conversations.
I pull up to a very nice office building and park in front behind a very nice Lexus. I text her that I've arrived. Five minutes pass. I notice there's a blonde haired woman in the car in front of me. I get a text telling me to go to the building. I roll my eyes, wait for two minutes and then tell her again, I'm here. A few more minutes pass. One of the things I hate most in this hobby is being made to wait somewhere you're clearly not supposed to be while a flaky hooker is doing whatever the fuck they do 10 minutes past the when the date was supposed to start. I'm starting to wonder if she's one of those who watches from a window or stairwell or whatever to see you park and get out. Then it hits me: she's sitting in front of me. Has to be.
She says please go up to the door. I resign myself to my fate and wait for the very busy sidewalk to empty, in hopes of maintaining some sort of discretion. The woman from the Lexus gets out once I reach the door and calls to me from the curb (cringe), Are you *fake name I gave her*?
I scurry over so she stops yelling, introduce myself. We walk back to the building and she badges in. Turns out, this is a big co-working space. Massive. She leads me through populated lobby, passed a packed-full gym, to the elevators. This whole time she's been babbling about COVID and Nature (She / her). We get out at the second floor, which is mercifully empty, and she is talking about cleansing. Naturally, this reminds her of Hitler, which she begins talking about non-stop as we wind our way through the halls of this office building. We approach a set of big glass doors and she stops, asking me if I need to use the bathroom first. I mention I am interested in using the shower. Her face falls, she looks serious, and then explains the only shower is in the gym, downstairs, and she's not allowed to go in. She says I could try, and that she would give me a towel. I decline.
She badges us through the big doors. She stops talking about Hitler and gestures that I should be quiet and starts whispering. Now we are in the large lobby of a set of private offices. I can hear the sound of people, faintly, from the three long hallways that branch outwards. She makes a beeline for the fridge, explaining that she's diabetic and is feeling sleepy and ill, and that all the food has to be thrown out every Friday, anyway (it's Tuesday, 6:45 pm). Bob Ross is playing on the big screen tv in the lobby, so she starts telling me a story about how she's spiritually linked to him. As she talks, she's rummaging through the large fridge. She pulls out a tiramisu big enough to need two hands to hold. She's no longer whispering, but she is rattling around silverware drawers and crinkling the loud plastic cover on the (still-frozen) tiramisu. This was surely something put in the fridge to thaw for tomorrow. Someone will be disappointed.
She explains that Bob Ross could have been her father (her mother met him a mere three years before she was born), and that's the reason she has this strong destined link to him. As she talks, she raises a metal spatula high and, in one downward stroke, chisels off a palm-sized pillar of frozen cake. Alternate realities exist and, in some, the timelines worked out that Bob Ross WAS her father, not just some guy that told her mom that she looked like an ex-girlfriend of his. This reality knows that and lets her feel the resonance of that knowledge. Just like Hitler, as I'll learn later.
I had wandered away from her while she was ranting and stealing food. We weren't supposed to be here, it was pretty clear. I wandered over to a large display board, listing all of the companies housed in these offices. A couple of law firms. Private investigators. Private security. Great. Cool. A thin webwork of unsustainable oversights were likely the only thing allowing me and this hooker to raid the fridge of this legal-system-adjacent workshare. But, I hadn't seen anyone else, yet and I did want to see her tits, so I decided to commit.
She wraps her cake in a napkin, grabs a spoon and we start winding through the hallways. She explains to me all of the things the universe actually wanted for Hitler. All the things he didn't choose. I can't tell if she's glad for the way things worked out or not, honestly. Each office we pass has the identical desk and chair silhouettes; you can't see much through the fogged glass windows. They definitely look like law offices. She drops her spoon and picks it up. I wait, pregnant with anticipation. She pauses only briefly before continuing to scoop tiramisu flakes into her mouth (it's still frozen). I'm hoping this means she gives good head.
Eventually we stop at one of the identical, non-descript offices, and she unlocks it and lets us in. I am surprised that there is a massage table in here. A couple of trash bags of towels and sundries stashed here and there. She is still talking about Hitler and is now telling me about Mother Russia, and the respect due to her. There is no indication I will find out if I am fucking. No one is getting naked. I tell her I am going to sit down in one of the two small armchairs; she sits in the other, still not getting naked.
Friends, she talked about Hitler for like 15 minutes straight while nibbling on her defrosting cake. She's batshit crazy, but doesn't seem dangerous, and I still want to see her tits, so I embrace the opportunity to just live in the now. She eventually stops talking about Hitler and asks for payment so we can begin. I give it, she smells it, luxuriating in it's aroma and rubbing it on her face, in spite of, as she says, all of the COVID that's probably all over it. She tells me she can smell counterfeit money, and mentions she sniffed it out with her last customer. She couldn't understand why he, a very good looking guy, would give her counterfeit money.
She asks me to get naked and lay face down on the table. We have now reached the least interesting part of the story. She's still dressed, but she had sneakily pull out her tits, which were nice. Overjoyed, I sat up and began gently fondling them. She stops me and says sucking isn't allowed (I didn't even try). Concerned, I asked her if touching was okay (I assumed, since it was mentioned in the ads and our texts). She thinks for a second and says, only once you turn over. Okay. Whatever, let's see where this goes.
The massage is bad. The handjob is bad. I can touch for about 10 seconds, before she tells me to stop, that she's too sensitive (I'm still being gentle). After a minute, she'll tell me to touch her again, then stops me again. This is a cycle that repeats like 3 times before I just stop touching at all. I genuinely think she would forget she didn't want to be touched, invite me in and then remember.
She kept stopping both the massage and the hand job to ask me to massage parts of her that were hurting. Neck, back (still mostly clothed). This actually seemed to really get her worked up. She'd start moaning and dirty talking and then would start jerking me off again. I asked if she wanted me to touch her pussy, and started slowly sliding my hand from her knee to her thigh. She stopped me and said no, because she didn't want to get pregnant (She was also incredibly worried that I hadn't cum in under 4 minutes. This isn't unique to her. In fact, lately, I'm spending a lot of my sessions thinking about you guys. Because, from my experience, the majority of you must cum about thirty seconds after being touched. I get so many women who will clinically jackhammer my still-soft dick and then get personally offended I don't cum. It's not just a laziness thing either. They're surprised--frustrated--like it just doesn't happen to them.
With Lily, each time it would start to get good, she'd get self-conscious and need to change a position, or ask me if I wanted to titty fuck her instead, or ask if I wanted head (but-we-have-to-use-a-condom and I-don't-think-you'll-like-it and my-stomach-doesn't-feel-good-because-of-diabetes). This shit happens so much and it's like the least satisfying version of edging.
I'd then gently try to explain I needed her to be normal for more than two minutes and just touch my dick? And the cycle would restart. It was like the sort of horny dream you have when you're sleeping on a badly positioned erection.
With 20 minutes to go I just stopped her and said maybe we'd try again another time, when she felt better and wasn't in such a hurry. As the king of not cumming, let me tell you that shit breaks these women's minds. A lot of them start to spiral and refuse to accept it. Lily was no different. Grabbing and tugging and full of explanations as to why this had been so shitty.
I then had to gentle parent her as I get dressed and talk her down. At this point she's going on and on about what she actually wants to do. It is clear she wants to come to my place, she doesn't like doing incalls, she wants to take a shower at my place (she wants me to pay her to clean my place and then fuck me for free because she's not a prostitute (she wants me to invite her over, fuck her in the shower and write her a reference stating that she's massaged me for two years (I think maybe she might be homeless?
Long story short I'm still deciding whether or not I'll invite her over this weekend. She promised to give me a discount.[/QUOTE]For god sake's young man, do not invite her over. What the hell is wrong with you take your loss and move on. Happy hunting the next time just tell the story LOL.