Speaking of hookers…
What’s up with some guys? Everyone has different tastes, and that’s cool. Regular readers of my war stories on this blog may have noticed that not a lot of them feature white girls. Mostly this is because
most white American women have automatically disqualified themselves in my book by being the most unfeminine, horrid, self-centered and unsexy women in the world. But it’s also because I have a certain hankering for a nice head of long silk black hair, and a certain almond shape in the eyes. I like Asian girls, and Spanish girls, and East African girls, and hell, I like white girls too when they are
sexy and sweet (it does happen from time to time). My point is, we all have our preferences. I can respect that other guys might not have the same personal preferences as me. And bully for you, my friends! Jupiter loves wondrous variety.
But, man, some preferences are pretty strange. I met a guy here in Africa, a westerner, who keeps pointing out girls he thinks are hot and when I look all I can think is, “Dude. Are you GAY?” There was a fat older woman working with us for a day, with huge breasts formed into missile-shape in an obvious case of a reinforced steel brassiere. This woman must have needed about three meters of coiled rebar to hold those things up like that. But on every break, my friend kept coming over to me and whispering, “Oh my god, those are the most amazing tits. I can’t stop staring at them.” Did I mention this woman was about 42 at the least?
Ok, so that’s one individual woman. But over beers I discovered that he, too, was an appreciator of the uber-sexual nature of a truly pretty Filipino girl. Or so I thought. After I told him about the hottest filipino girl I’ve been with (not Daisy the callgirl; she’s in second place), he told a story about a one night stand at a hotel with a “short, buxom filipino woman.” I nodded my approval and understanding until he came to the end, at which point he sighed wistfully and looked off in the distance and added, “Yeah, she was 49.”
I nearly spit out my beer. The girl I had been talking about was 19 when I met her.
In a nice bit of coincidence, the very same evening after I posted my last little story about hookers, I was getting some much needed sleep in preparation for long day of bumpy, dusty 4×4 driving out into the boonies. I was awakened by a knock on my door. When I finally got up with a grumble to go see what the problem was, I opened the door and immediately this fat, gross prostitute started pushing her way into my room. I held the door fast and shook my finger no, no. Aydelem, aydelem! She just said “Ok, ok,” and kept pushing. This went on, comically, for at least 15 seconds, before I lost my temper and spat hid! at her, which is what you say to child beggars who pester you on the street. She finally gave up and moved on down the hall.
The next day, at breakfast, my companion leaned back and smiled sheepishly and said, “Yeah, I had sex with one of those hookers last night.”
I laughed. “Yeah, she went to your door next, huh?” As soon as I said that, I felt a little bad. I was basically rubbing his face in the fact that she had come to me first and I had turned her away in disgust. I had seen this girl around the hotel the night before and had gotten a good look at just how unattractive she was. It was an easy decision to say hid! to her. But not for this guy, I guess.
The really depressing part, though, was that not even my strange friend had enjoyed her. He had a horrible time. He said she was fat and gross and truly terrible in bed in a hurried, fake-moaning, hooker way. I mean, if you are going to stoop to paying girls for sex, at least dignify the act by choosing an attractive one and enjoying yourself. You’re probably gonna feel a little empty and dirty
afterward no matter what you do. How awful to come to this feeling after not even having felt the exhileration of a sexy, tight-bodied, pretty young thing pressed against you.
And it’s not just fat girls with this guy. He stares at the most odd-looking skinny girls too. Oh well. Only humor will do in life sometimes. I told him his judgment on women was permanently suspect
for the rest of the trip. We both had a good laugh. But of course, I wasn’t really joking.