Just read Da Raiders post. Awesome
.
In his honor I'll tell my only two hooker stories - both of which I never get laid:
Met a buddy in Vegas for five days of poker and gambling during this very week a few years ago. Poker sessions were successful, we were smart and didn't hit it too hard the first few days, hit the gym everyday, got got sleep, etc., even met several members of the FBG staff when they recognized me playing 1-2 at the MGM one night (which led my buddy to promptly and correctly assert "you spend too much time on there."). With the money flowing we ate like kings, hit the great clubs, and gambled to our hearts' content. In short, one of the best trips of my life.
About this time I had only been dating RacistEx about a month. Things were good and, despite her flaws, she's no dummy when it comes to potential infidelity, so she sent me off with a weekend of enough sex to fill ten of datonn's lifetimes and we planned on her and her hot friend coming up to hang out the last night I was in Vegas. Needless to say, this was one of the rare times where I had my fill in the ##### department and was really just focused on poker and sports betting. However, just shortly before heading out, my buddy had broken up with his girlfriend (they were somewhat on and off again so a part of me actually surmises that this timing was intentional). When he got out there he made it clear that he researched Vegas's "escort" options and had some pretty good ideas.
First thing we tried was an Asian massage parlor called "Oriental Angels." Despite the comical irony of asian women labeling themselves a racist term, the parlor was definitely asianed and, if God does exists with some handmaidens, the women of "Oriental Angels" could very well be them. Nonetheless, despite the heavenly intent of its employees, the boutique, as appears custom, was managed by a small yet older, ornery Asian woman. Her eyes shot darts at us with an intensity that we only hoped and dreamed to be shooting in a few moments. With her icy stare we scanned the menu: "1/2hour for 50; 1 hour for 80." We shrugged and both requested a half hour and paid her. "Sit there" she stated in the tone of my grade school principal and pointed to a couple of rickety folding chairs against the wall. We complied as made two phone calls, presumably to her children given her loud, condescending tone.
We sat there for several minutes in anticipation. A part of me wanted to bail. We were in a shop in a strip mall off Sahara - not exactly on the list of "must-see" Vegas sights and, frankly, my thoughts were mainly on the medium rare filet I was going to be ordering shortly. Nonetheless, two green colored BMW's pulled up almost simultaneously in the parking. Out-stepped two petite women, both asian. Were these our angels? Sure enough, their robotic walk towards the parlor's front door suggested yes. As they drew closer it became abundantly clear that the stereotype that all Asians look alike did not apply to these two ascended souls. On the right, the girl was what would could have most reasonably hoped for: mid-twenties, some chest to her, long brown hair covering a youthful, pretty face. In contrast, while not ghastly been any stretch, the other woman looked a bit older and more homely. My first thought was, "that's what Mr. Myagi's wife must have looked like when she died." My buddy mumbled aloud his first thought, which was, "I want the one on the right." Alas, though, the choice was not ours to make. Before the girls got to the front door Kim Jong Il's long lost sister ordered me into the room on the right and my buddy the one on the right. "Undress and get on the table" was our only other instruction.
I began to undress. I first contemplated whether it was customary to go completely naked. Rationalizing that even reputable places condone nudity, I braved everything. Next, I wondered whether there was a way to dim the lights and the room seem to be lit with the wattage of one of my marijuana growing client's "back room." Alas, there appeared to be one switch. The angels don't need ambiance. I lay face down on the table, using the towels to cover my backside, and waited. After a few moments in walks my angel, who greets me with a homely, warm smile. Far too homely unfortunately. I drew the shorter straw. No big deal I tell myself. I'm way uglier than her and can still make the magic happen.
She asks me if I want oil and if she wants me to have her start on my back. I tell her that would be great and lay face down with my head in the hole of the headrest. I stare at the floor, unsure of what she actually meant by "back" but this literal pixie wasn't using any euphemism. She started to give me a back massage and to my pleasant surprise it felt great. I closed my eyes and relaxed. She started on my right side and after a few minutes slowly moved her way to the top of my shoulders. As she slid her feet to be standing over me her right thigh brushed against the top of my head, startling me enough to open my eyes. When I did I was hit was a flash a bright pink. That pink? Nope, the fluorescent pink radiating from her bright pink Converse All-Star shoes she was wearing. I don't have a shoe fetish or anything like that but in my thoughts I had pictured my angel wearing stilettos, platforms, or at the very least sandals. Due to the absence of any sort of stirring in my loins I quickly realized that my guardian angel, while giving me the great pleasure of relaxation, was likely incapable of giving me the type of pleasure I originally thought was coming my way. But in one of life's sweet ironies, my angel gave me 30 minutes of a full body massage to rival any 200+ dollar massage I've had at some fancy spa or sports medicine clinic.
When the massage was over she politely tapped me and asked if I wanted anything else. So relaxed, I smiled and told her it was awesome. She sort of hesitated and stood by. As I returned to reality from the splendor of sweet lactic acid release, I quickly hopped over to my pants, reached for my wallet, and handed her two twenty dollar bills. "Thank you. That massage was really awesome. I am really good on anything else for right now." I meant every word. I just didn't have the heart to tell her that I was about as sexually turned on at that moment as I was at my first Confession. She oddly stepped out of the room and I overheard say something quietly to the grinch up front. Not thinking much of it I unwrapped my towel and reached for my clothes to begin dressing. A moment later though, as I stand there naked, the little old Asian woman bursts through the door completely unannounced. "YOU NO WANT SPECIAL!?!?," she screams. "No ma'am, I really am good. The massage was great. I tipped her forty dollars. Tell her I really appreciate it." "I GIVE YOU "SPECIAL" SPECIAL. 100 DOLLAR," she retorted unfazed. "I'm sorry. No thank you. I really am good with just the massage," I reply as I slid my pants on. She stormed out of there in a tiff. As I finished dressing I could easily hear the old woman verbally berate my angel with words and tone I can only imagine a North Korean official using to reprimand a press member for reporting a correct result from the Olympics. I felt bad, but at that point what could I do? Every part of me was relaxed and I was pretty irked that 90 bucks for 30 minutes of the place's time resulted in the hardest working one of us getting yelled at.
When I walked out my buddy was sitting out there with a giant grin. I could immediately tell his angel was likely praised. On our walk to the car I asked him how it went. "Amazing. She went right for it and did it like a champ. Laughed when it got all over her. She gave me likely a half massage and let me rub her #### too. We gotta do this again." I nodded approvingly and we continued walking to the car. After a few moments of silence he asked, "why was that old lady yelling at your girl? I don't get it."
Part 2 later.
:dropsmicwalksoffstage:
