dinobot said:
I think i'm addicted. Everything I say to myself I have to stop this hobby I ended up picking up my phone and dialing SP's... does anyone have here who's been sucessful in quiting give me some pointers? thanks
I suggest that you change your game plan. Cease immediately to use the telephone to set up your dates. Instead go out in your "
trick mobile" and park on the downtown eastside where you'll then do your surveying of prospects from the sidewalks.
The increased affordability of your addiction will become obvious with your second or third $20 blowjob (ask
Hitrack for tips on how to obtain these for yourself on a consistent basis).
You will find yourself out in the shivering cold, with occasional street denizens who are completely batty, as you attempt to woo the prime targets for your affection away from the safety from the elements provided for a time by the strange men in warm cars.
Your usual $200 for an SP hour can bring you several hours worth of entertainment in gas bills and the obligatory
cup of joe (again, see
Hitrack for more detailed advice on that part) even before you land a front-seat BJ from a young woman so out-of-it that she can't remember in which direction the car door sits.
Once you've climaxed and dropped her off at the weird store on
Dundas where she'll obtain her next rock, financed by you, you're free to rev your sexual engines even more as you continue on in search of your second, third and fourth conquest of the evening (see
Hat Trick for tips on remaining interested and physically able to go for three...).
In due time you'll feel and seem a regular out there in the streets not far from where
Hastings meets
Main street. Some of those freaks will become your new friends and you'll be the man with money to still more whom you merely perceive to be friends.
You'll be overcome by the surroundings of your new lifestyle but the dime rockers will be your support group (until they find themselves hot on the trail of their next rock).
(the rest of)Your hair will fall out and you'll have only the scratch marks from when you scratched your head in contemplation while waiting for a green light at
Cordova and Main, while wondering to yourself why you'd never seen theeeeeeeese women on
Craigslist.
Then one day it will be
3:42am on a June morning with daybreak rearing its head in the eastern sky. One of your regular girls will be there, with her head in your naked lap, as your car sits otherwise quiet and idle near a park off
Venables. Once you've filled that last condom of the evening, you'll start the motor and the radio will come on... with the words of
Manfred Mann filling your deepest (remaining) thought capabilities with these words:
Manfred Mann said:
She got down but she never got tired
She's gonna make it to the night
She's gonna make it through the night
Oh momma that's where the fun is
But momma that's where the fun is
Momma always told me not to look
in the eyes of the sun
But momma that's where the fun is
After you drop your final conquest of the night, you'll drive out
East Hastings toward home with that sun in your eyes while firmly etching into your mind these new and fun times as "the good old days".