I wished I had been quick enough to get a video of the guy in traffic the day before who was twirling a stick using a stick in each hand; he spun the third stick high in the air, and caught it with the sticks in his hands to twirl it upwards again. The stick in the air never touched his hands. Nice act.
Jack came back at lunchtime to pick up some paperwork, and dropped me off at Abydos on his way out. It was so nondescript he drove by it once before realizing he was past it.
There was a desk just inside the entry with an attractive woman, who ushered me upstairs. About eight women paraded out before me. Laura was the first in the line, and she looked good. Although one or two others looked good (even better in almost immediate retrospect), her good first impression made me choose her. I’m pretty impressionable sometimes. And I loved the way her name was pronounced—Lau-oo-ra (or something like that).
Also, in my defense, I have to say that I’m pretty new to the casa set-up, and not used to having to remember names in a fast-forward format. I have only been to several casas with that format before, about six years ago when LAguy was showing me around Sao Paulo.
(I must put in a plug for LAguy as a host, especially since I ran out of steam on writing that trip report about the time I got to Sao Paulo, and never posted about how much he helped me. He was the consummate host for full two days, and I was very appreciative. Even speaking a little Portuguese, I would have had difficulty navigating my way around the casas without him. Best of all, we would have had no conflict should a silicone-enhanced chest have appeared in the line-up, since he has no taste for such beauty and I do.)
Anyway, Laura turned out to be a dud. She got me hard right away, but when I went down on her, she sort of fought me to restrict my access, and then I had trouble getting inside her—she was so tight she kept pulling back. It wasn’t long before I lost my erection, and her lukewarm attempts to get it back were not successful. I had already bargained with her for BBBJ for an extra 20,000 pesos, and although she did that during the initial warm-up, she sure was not worth a tip for anything else. She did not give the massage I expected, either; when I asked for a massage, she just rubbed me a little. Lack of ability to communicate was definitely a problem.
There was another negative surprise on the way out when the woman at the desk told me it was 120,000 pesos. I thought it was 85 or 90K, as had been reported not all that long ago.
So I came back to the apartment and did a little work, returned some phone calls, before deciding to go back to New Life. I hopped in a taxi and was in Centro before long.
A bunch of guys were sitting around in the area where I had sat before to be presented with the line-up; I have no idea what they were doing. The papasan sat me down in a chair nearby, partitioned off from the guys, and the girls started appearing. After ten or twelve, a spinner came out, and for a moment I thought it was Paulina from my previous visit.
I motioned her over to me to give her the tip I had forgotten before. As I fumbled for my purse, I realized that it wasn’t Paulina, but my actions—including trying to say I thought she was somebody else—resulted in my choosing her. That was OK by me, since I probably would have picked the spinner anyway.
Cristina led me to the room, and as soon as the door was closed started kissing me. Wow, off to a great start, I thought. None of the others had allowed kissing—not that I hadn’t tried. It’s more important than BB for BJ for me, although I realize that in certain venues it is almost unattainable.
Photos: Cristina - New Life 09 10
The session got better. I asked for BBBJ, she asked for 30,000 and I said 20K. Agreed. She went down on me with skill and passion. I went down on her sweet pussy and could feel her respond. I like to put my hands around a girl’s ass in such a way that I have one fingertip resting lightly on her asshole, so I can feel any response from my ministrations. Cristina was definitely responding, and after not very long I could feel her come.
I continued a few minutes longer, then she put on a rubber and motioned me to lie on my back. She hopped on and started moving, gyrating then rocking then pounding away. She said “Perro?” and I got behind her doggie for a while, then flipped her over into missionary. She started kissing my nipples (again), and when she started playing with my balls, I came in short order.
We cuddled and kissed for a few minutes, and then she went down on me again. She asked if I wanted her to lick my taint—why yes, of course. Then it was her turn, since she said yes when I asked if she liked it. As I licked her pucker, I could feel her pussy start to drip—she was really getting turned on. So I just slipped it in. Her eyes widened but she didn’t stop me, she just said “Don’t come in me.” I told her I had a vasectomy and she grinned when she understood.
We went at it for a long time, and I was aware we were over the hour but didn’t care. We took up the full two hours before I finally came again. She said she had come three times—she was definitely drying up during the last half hour. I asked her when was her day off and she told me it was Sunday. Perfect, so I asked if we could get together. She had been telling me how special I was (yeah, right), so I expected her to say yes, and she did. I got her number, and said I’d call her the next afternoon.
Photos: Cristina - New Life 11 12 13 14 15
I asked her if there was a good restaurant nearby, and she had the papasan give me directions—sort of, since they were in Spanish, but were accompanied with enough gestures that I got the idea. I went out and walked down to the main road. There was a little café on the corner, but I continued on down the block to another, larger café on the next corner. I kind of stared at the menu, not really knowing what anything was, and a little intimidated by my inability to communicate. I really wished I had my pocket dictionary; the Franklin translator was not really suitable to carry around—my pockets had only so much room for camera, phone, and wallet.
Thee waitress was hovering, and I asked for a jugo de piña, since I thought one of the banners had said “fresh juice.” She brought out a soft drink-looking bottle and gave me a questioning look before opening it; in short order I determined that they did not indeed have any fresh juices, so I said “Café.” I also ordered an empanada de pollo (I figured that one out). She brought out a round little pastry that was burning hot. The “café” was apparently half milk; I had expected black.
Meanwhile, a young Colombiana sitting two tables over was looking at me, the bumbling gringo. She kept looking at me, and we exchanged some facial expressions (some looks of puzzlement from me as my ordering process unfolded as well as smiles, just smiles from her). She was definitely young and cute; she looked slightly heavier than I like, but it was hard to tell because she was wearing a coat. Eventually her friend arrived, and she turned her attentions to her.
After I finished, I wandered around the streets for a couple of hours, just taking in the local flavor, before catching a taxi home. There was a lot of street action—people barbecuing, going to and from shops, talking and having a good time. There were vendors with their wares spread out on blankets all along some blocks--jewelry, trinkets, toys, etc. One alley was almost wall-to-wall bars, with people spilling out into the alley drinking, possibly a few available women walking in and out of the doorways between the bars. Basically, a vibrant street scene all over. I walked until I was tired, and went home.