Yesterday's pooning mood led me to SL, a fabled biggie among Lower Mainland AMPs—though not all recent reviews have been kind, and the place seems troubled by LE visits.
I call ahead from the parking lot. A polite male voice answers my queries: no “all-inclusive” rate, though 20, 30 & 45 min are available; and several of the 8 girls present speak English.
I’m introduced to five 20-ish looking Asians, all unspectacular yet presentable. All five look dressed a little too prim and proper but, to me, the prettiest is an all-time eforum.xxx favorite named Helen who exudes naughty confidence.
SL’s decor strikes me as uninvitingly austere. Cleaning supplies clutter up the hallway. My small, undecorated room has a dreary institutional feel, a narrow massage table, and a big window on the door. There’s a “call-for-service” buzzer I’m told to use after my shower, but no clock to keep track of time.
Well, I’m not here for the décor, and I thrive on adversity. To make massage rooms more hospitable I've by now learnt to include, in my pooner bag, a soft colorful blanket to drape over the table, as well as a CD player with my favorite music.
Helen arrives before I press the buzzer and helps dry me off. She likes my blanket and the music—and the $.5 donation. But right away, I'm alarmed when, instead of blocking the window with a towel, she dims the light to the point where anyone peering in from the outside couldn’t see us. I can no longer make out her features clearly, meaning greatly reduced stimulation for a visual person like me.
But I know better than to argue with a woman before sex. I only hope Helen finds tactile ways to compensate me for fewer visual delights. We get off to a good start: she understands the power of teasing light touch and isn’t wearing panties under her T-shirt. We embrace for a few minutes, swaying to the music, while she spontaneously reaches for my tickly joystick. I find brash erotic initiative in a pretty woman enchanting.
We move onto the table, and I’m even more enchanted when Helen starts licking my body and initiates (after asking if I wanted this) a BBBJ—a first for me in a massage spa. Her tongue flutters tantalizingly over almost every part of my nether region. Even when she takes the shaft deep in her mouth she keeps the pressure pleasantly light while flicking her tongue expertly over the most sensitive parts.
Hey, I’m thinking, my attention to eforum.xxx reviews is paying off! Given Helen’s fame—and the wild, busy 2.5 years she must have spent at SL—she comes across as surprisingly humble, enthusiastic and non-jaded. She has a cute body (with slightly enhanced breasts?) and a clean-shaved pussy with just a bit of fuzz above. But pussy-licking, stripped almost totally of visuals by lack of light, isn’t pleasurable enough for me to stay down there for very long.
Helen cooperates beautifully with all my requests for changing position. When I ask, during an impressively vigorous stretch of CG, “So you like men?” she responds eagerly, “I like men very much—touching them.” Indeed, I sense in her absolutely no resistance to a male stranger like myself enjoying her body to the utmost.
Though Helen doesn’t rush me, I blow my load when I sense I’ve used up my time. She doesn’t even rush me to pull out, which I appreciate. And she helps wipe me clean—always a friendly gesture that makes me feel accepted by a woman at an emotionally vulnerable moment.
Then she surprises me with the kind of compliment which, even if insincere, is guaranteed to swell a man’s ego. When I mention, in an attempt to return the compliment, that her glowing reviews on the Internet are really true, she frowns. “That’s dangerous,” she says—obviously afraid the cops will hunt her down.
I'm 10 minutes over time, but the friendly gentleman at the reception doesn’t charge me extra. I had come to SL with a day’s build-up of tensions and frustrations; I now walk out feeling mellow, cheery, reconciled to life’s challenges.
Helen’s consummate professionalism provided me with one of my smoothest pooning episodes yet, without the slightest wrong move on her part. I cannot imagine a higher-priced escort doing anything more for me, in 45 action-packed minutes, than this sweet woman from Sichuan (except for Greek—have to remember asking Helen about one of her famous specialities next time).
Yes, Helen is a gem sparkling in the eerie almost-darkness of an LE-hassled massage spa in apparent decline. Her unreserved erotic exuberance allows a man to be swept up in the flow of inhibition-free arousal. Very few people ever make a more robust contribution to the greater happiness in our society than does this lovely orchid from China.
I call ahead from the parking lot. A polite male voice answers my queries: no “all-inclusive” rate, though 20, 30 & 45 min are available; and several of the 8 girls present speak English.
I’m introduced to five 20-ish looking Asians, all unspectacular yet presentable. All five look dressed a little too prim and proper but, to me, the prettiest is an all-time eforum.xxx favorite named Helen who exudes naughty confidence.
SL’s decor strikes me as uninvitingly austere. Cleaning supplies clutter up the hallway. My small, undecorated room has a dreary institutional feel, a narrow massage table, and a big window on the door. There’s a “call-for-service” buzzer I’m told to use after my shower, but no clock to keep track of time.
Well, I’m not here for the décor, and I thrive on adversity. To make massage rooms more hospitable I've by now learnt to include, in my pooner bag, a soft colorful blanket to drape over the table, as well as a CD player with my favorite music.
Helen arrives before I press the buzzer and helps dry me off. She likes my blanket and the music—and the $.5 donation. But right away, I'm alarmed when, instead of blocking the window with a towel, she dims the light to the point where anyone peering in from the outside couldn’t see us. I can no longer make out her features clearly, meaning greatly reduced stimulation for a visual person like me.
But I know better than to argue with a woman before sex. I only hope Helen finds tactile ways to compensate me for fewer visual delights. We get off to a good start: she understands the power of teasing light touch and isn’t wearing panties under her T-shirt. We embrace for a few minutes, swaying to the music, while she spontaneously reaches for my tickly joystick. I find brash erotic initiative in a pretty woman enchanting.
We move onto the table, and I’m even more enchanted when Helen starts licking my body and initiates (after asking if I wanted this) a BBBJ—a first for me in a massage spa. Her tongue flutters tantalizingly over almost every part of my nether region. Even when she takes the shaft deep in her mouth she keeps the pressure pleasantly light while flicking her tongue expertly over the most sensitive parts.
Hey, I’m thinking, my attention to eforum.xxx reviews is paying off! Given Helen’s fame—and the wild, busy 2.5 years she must have spent at SL—she comes across as surprisingly humble, enthusiastic and non-jaded. She has a cute body (with slightly enhanced breasts?) and a clean-shaved pussy with just a bit of fuzz above. But pussy-licking, stripped almost totally of visuals by lack of light, isn’t pleasurable enough for me to stay down there for very long.
Helen cooperates beautifully with all my requests for changing position. When I ask, during an impressively vigorous stretch of CG, “So you like men?” she responds eagerly, “I like men very much—touching them.” Indeed, I sense in her absolutely no resistance to a male stranger like myself enjoying her body to the utmost.
Though Helen doesn’t rush me, I blow my load when I sense I’ve used up my time. She doesn’t even rush me to pull out, which I appreciate. And she helps wipe me clean—always a friendly gesture that makes me feel accepted by a woman at an emotionally vulnerable moment.
Then she surprises me with the kind of compliment which, even if insincere, is guaranteed to swell a man’s ego. When I mention, in an attempt to return the compliment, that her glowing reviews on the Internet are really true, she frowns. “That’s dangerous,” she says—obviously afraid the cops will hunt her down.
I'm 10 minutes over time, but the friendly gentleman at the reception doesn’t charge me extra. I had come to SL with a day’s build-up of tensions and frustrations; I now walk out feeling mellow, cheery, reconciled to life’s challenges.
Helen’s consummate professionalism provided me with one of my smoothest pooning episodes yet, without the slightest wrong move on her part. I cannot imagine a higher-priced escort doing anything more for me, in 45 action-packed minutes, than this sweet woman from Sichuan (except for Greek—have to remember asking Helen about one of her famous specialities next time).
Yes, Helen is a gem sparkling in the eerie almost-darkness of an LE-hassled massage spa in apparent decline. Her unreserved erotic exuberance allows a man to be swept up in the flow of inhibition-free arousal. Very few people ever make a more robust contribution to the greater happiness in our society than does this lovely orchid from China.
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