"Should I stay or should I go?" No doubt many pooners have faced this question when they arrived at an AMP or micro, and all the girls were busy with other customers.
Since I try not to poon during peak hours (like weekend evenings) I encountered this scenario for the first time today. Not my lucky day, I guess. Let me get this experience off my chest—a slice of a pooner's life.
At 3 PM I phone a well-known mamasan and ask about one of her 4 shops. She tells me both girls there are available. I'm interested in the greek provider but ask to see both girls, just in case.
"Give me 20 minutes to get there," I say. On the way I encounter lots of traffic congestion related, apparently, to sewer replacement. It takes me slightly over half an hour to get to the address.
As arranged, I phone mamasan again at the door to get the buzzer number. No answer, just voice mail. I try 4 times in the next 10 min when she finally answers.
"What took you so long?" she says. "Now girls all busy. You want to wait upstairs?"
I'm not emotionally prepared for this turn of events. "Okay," I say half-heartedly. She gives me the buzzer number. I find the apartment and knock—but no one opens. I knock 3 more times in the next 5 min, to no avail.
So I go to the staircase and phone mamasan again. She says, "Isabella was in the shower, she'll open now." The trouble is, I now find the door to the hallway won't open from the outside, and I find myself locked in the staircase.
I walk back out to the street and, after doing some explaining, I get buzzed in again. This time, Isabella opens the apartment door. She's almost the embodiment of maximum female unattractiveness to me: extremely short, heavy-set, owl-eyed, sallow-skinned, unhappy-looking, in an unflattering pink nightie.
"Everyone busy right now," she says grumpily. "Wait 10 minutes." She points to a couch on the other side of the living room.
"What?" I say. "Even you are still busy?" I was led to believe she just stepped out of the shower, rather than momentarily disengaging from a fellow pooner's cock to let me in.
"Yes," Isabella says, "I busy. 10 more minutes."
The idea of a freshly plowed furrow doesn't intimidate me; I've been to lots of gang bangs. Sleeze can even be a turn-on for me. If Isabella were immediately available, I think my lust-soaked brain would make me go for her.
But there's something about the prospect of having to wait my turn with this train wreck of a hoe that sobers me up. I can't imagine her accommodating my cock in her ass, or my even wanting to.
"Thank you," I say. "I'll leave." And I turn around and bail.
To mamasan's credit, she calls me back 15 min later and asks if I still want service. By that time I'm comfortably ensconced with a chicken burger at a nearby Dairy Queen.
"Sorry," I say, "I'm not in the mood any more."
I wish she would have called me while I was stuck in traffic and ask if I was on my way. But I guess, with micros it's first come, first serve. They don't give a damn about prior appointments.
But by now, this hard-boiled pooner can take almost anything in stride. I feel better now having written this. Perhaps other pooners have similar stories to share, or can offer perspective. Ah, the length to which we sometimes go in our pursuit of eros!
Since I try not to poon during peak hours (like weekend evenings) I encountered this scenario for the first time today. Not my lucky day, I guess. Let me get this experience off my chest—a slice of a pooner's life.
At 3 PM I phone a well-known mamasan and ask about one of her 4 shops. She tells me both girls there are available. I'm interested in the greek provider but ask to see both girls, just in case.
"Give me 20 minutes to get there," I say. On the way I encounter lots of traffic congestion related, apparently, to sewer replacement. It takes me slightly over half an hour to get to the address.
As arranged, I phone mamasan again at the door to get the buzzer number. No answer, just voice mail. I try 4 times in the next 10 min when she finally answers.
"What took you so long?" she says. "Now girls all busy. You want to wait upstairs?"
I'm not emotionally prepared for this turn of events. "Okay," I say half-heartedly. She gives me the buzzer number. I find the apartment and knock—but no one opens. I knock 3 more times in the next 5 min, to no avail.
So I go to the staircase and phone mamasan again. She says, "Isabella was in the shower, she'll open now." The trouble is, I now find the door to the hallway won't open from the outside, and I find myself locked in the staircase.
I walk back out to the street and, after doing some explaining, I get buzzed in again. This time, Isabella opens the apartment door. She's almost the embodiment of maximum female unattractiveness to me: extremely short, heavy-set, owl-eyed, sallow-skinned, unhappy-looking, in an unflattering pink nightie.
"Everyone busy right now," she says grumpily. "Wait 10 minutes." She points to a couch on the other side of the living room.
"What?" I say. "Even you are still busy?" I was led to believe she just stepped out of the shower, rather than momentarily disengaging from a fellow pooner's cock to let me in.
"Yes," Isabella says, "I busy. 10 more minutes."
The idea of a freshly plowed furrow doesn't intimidate me; I've been to lots of gang bangs. Sleeze can even be a turn-on for me. If Isabella were immediately available, I think my lust-soaked brain would make me go for her.
But there's something about the prospect of having to wait my turn with this train wreck of a hoe that sobers me up. I can't imagine her accommodating my cock in her ass, or my even wanting to.
"Thank you," I say. "I'll leave." And I turn around and bail.
To mamasan's credit, she calls me back 15 min later and asks if I still want service. By that time I'm comfortably ensconced with a chicken burger at a nearby Dairy Queen.
"Sorry," I say, "I'm not in the mood any more."
I wish she would have called me while I was stuck in traffic and ask if I was on my way. But I guess, with micros it's first come, first serve. They don't give a damn about prior appointments.
But by now, this hard-boiled pooner can take almost anything in stride. I feel better now having written this. Perhaps other pooners have similar stories to share, or can offer perspective. Ah, the length to which we sometimes go in our pursuit of eros!
