Bizarre... or disastrous

[Vindictus]

I have the utmost respect for the ladies who greet us with smiles, provide the attention we desire, and - hopefully - enjoy what we have to offer them in return.
They are performers, artistes, lovers (however temporary) and many other things besides... and for that they deserve major kudos (which they get on this site).
But there have been some instances in my time as a punter that have left me scratching my head and pondering my sanity... wondering whether I have drifted into an alternate universe where the immutable laws of reality no longer hold sway.
For example….
Last year, I booked a lady for an outcall to my house... for 8pm. According to the lady's ad, and her description on the telephone, she was a voluptuous size 12. I was very keen to explore her Amazonian charms.
My doorbell rang at 6pm. I opened the door and was a little shocked.
Standing there was a very large lady – 17 or 18 stone, size 24 minimum – finishing a packet of cheese and onion crisps. Her first words were “I know you said 8 o’clock, but I want to get home to see Big Brother,” and with that, she trailed me into the house by the balls and tried to make me cum faster than anyone has ever cum before.
To be honest, I was too scared to stop her. I even made her a sandwich afterwards.
As I waved cheerio to her, I saw the empty crisp packet on the ground in my porch. I keep it as a memento… a reminder to check reviews… and not open the door to strangers.

There was also an occasion where I visited a lady who claimed to specialise in watersports – something I was curious to try at the time. I’d made the necessary arrangements on the phone when booking, but when it came to the deed being done she said [and this is verbatim]: “It’s disgusting… I only advertise it because some people like the idea of it. Same as hardsports: I could make a fortune doing hardsports, but I have irritable bowel syndrome, so it never comes out the same way twice.... sometimes like Maltesers, sometimes like porridge.... And, Jeeesus, does it smell.”
I kinda nodded – as y’do in such moments of shock – and then she proceeded to tell me of her other ailments: athlete’s foot, psoriasis, eczema… all of which she showed me.
It was bizarre. A half hour appointment, which lasted 45 minutes, and I didn’t even unbutton my trousers.

But, ultimately, regardless of how surreal these encounters were, the girls involved still had the balls to hook up with a total stranger, and – whether satisfactory or not – offer something that not everybody could do on demand.
Which makes y’appreciate those individuals who do it so well.
Ladies, I salute you.