426
20-07-2012, 05:48 PM
Sometimes, either out of seeking a thrill or just boredom, I let my eyes wander over the non-Asian brothel ads. Too many times have I found the description of some young blonde beach babe so irresistible that I have allowed myself to think that paying $300/hour is worth it. Invariably I come away frustrated and annoyed at myself having spent time, and money, with some uptight princess with a long list of don’ts. I always tell myself “never again” and seek comfort in the familiar embrace of a 30s something Chinese mother charging half that price. But, again, today I succumbed to fantasy. This time about a supposedly young Jamaican beauty.
To begin with, the brothel “Studio Relax Gentlemen’s Club,” is in one of the nastiest situations imaginable. Down a narrow lane off West Botany Street, the shop is in the midst of scrap metal yards and mechanic workshops. One wouldn’t want to be alone here at night. During the day, there is far too many eyes watching you.
Then into the place. Ceramic tiled floors reflect not only sound but heat. The place is absolutely freezing. I had called earlier to book Monique on the strength of a trashhamer review on Hookerlooker, so paid the receptionist $240 for the hour. Big mistake on two counts. One, paying any attention to a trashhamer review. Two, paying before talking to the worker.
In sauntered Monique. She would certainly be attractive to some. Mid 20s to 30; about 162 cm, huge boobs, huge arse, long curly hair, lovely smile, coffee skin. “Follow me,” she says, in an offhand manner. We get into the room and Monique turns on the shower as I undress. As I shower we exchange conversation about where she is from.
“The states - Florida”
“How long have you been here?”
“Over a year.”
“You like it?”
“Nah, Sydney is boring. I like Melbourne.”
“What keeps you here then?”
“God, our saviour.”
At this stage the alarms bells in my brain begin to ring. “Why the fuck did I pay to see this woman?” I think to myself.
I dry myself and Monique asks whether I want a massage first. Now, normally in brothels (and I have been to a lot of brothels) the woman has undressed herself by now. Not Monique. She kept her nylon stockings, nickers and huge bra on. For 15 to 20 minutes she insipidly massaged me as she told me about her NFL player boyfriend. Then to be turned over. The uninspiring massage and, unsurprisingly, failed to inspire so she turned her attention to my very limp old fella. For the next 15 to 20 minutes she tried to get my member up. Two things counted against this. One, I had to use one arm to shield my eyes from the bright downlights. Two, my other hand tried to caress her inner thigh but the nylon stockings felt very unpleasant. Now, I know I should have said something about these two things. But I have learnt, from all these brothel visits, that once you begin asking the working woman then you are absolutely assured of a dud root. Didn’t even get to test my theory because we never got to the rooting stage. One hour, and $240, that I will never get back. Waste of time and money.
For those interested, Studio Relax Gentlemen’s Club 17 Bermill Street Rockdale 9567 9494
To begin with, the brothel “Studio Relax Gentlemen’s Club,” is in one of the nastiest situations imaginable. Down a narrow lane off West Botany Street, the shop is in the midst of scrap metal yards and mechanic workshops. One wouldn’t want to be alone here at night. During the day, there is far too many eyes watching you.
Then into the place. Ceramic tiled floors reflect not only sound but heat. The place is absolutely freezing. I had called earlier to book Monique on the strength of a trashhamer review on Hookerlooker, so paid the receptionist $240 for the hour. Big mistake on two counts. One, paying any attention to a trashhamer review. Two, paying before talking to the worker.
In sauntered Monique. She would certainly be attractive to some. Mid 20s to 30; about 162 cm, huge boobs, huge arse, long curly hair, lovely smile, coffee skin. “Follow me,” she says, in an offhand manner. We get into the room and Monique turns on the shower as I undress. As I shower we exchange conversation about where she is from.
“The states - Florida”
“How long have you been here?”
“Over a year.”
“You like it?”
“Nah, Sydney is boring. I like Melbourne.”
“What keeps you here then?”
“God, our saviour.”
At this stage the alarms bells in my brain begin to ring. “Why the fuck did I pay to see this woman?” I think to myself.
I dry myself and Monique asks whether I want a massage first. Now, normally in brothels (and I have been to a lot of brothels) the woman has undressed herself by now. Not Monique. She kept her nylon stockings, nickers and huge bra on. For 15 to 20 minutes she insipidly massaged me as she told me about her NFL player boyfriend. Then to be turned over. The uninspiring massage and, unsurprisingly, failed to inspire so she turned her attention to my very limp old fella. For the next 15 to 20 minutes she tried to get my member up. Two things counted against this. One, I had to use one arm to shield my eyes from the bright downlights. Two, my other hand tried to caress her inner thigh but the nylon stockings felt very unpleasant. Now, I know I should have said something about these two things. But I have learnt, from all these brothel visits, that once you begin asking the working woman then you are absolutely assured of a dud root. Didn’t even get to test my theory because we never got to the rooting stage. One hour, and $240, that I will never get back. Waste of time and money.
For those interested, Studio Relax Gentlemen’s Club 17 Bermill Street Rockdale 9567 9494