Slow weekend

It has been a long time since I had a weekend slow like this one.
I’ve got quite a few calls asking the trivial questions (size of cock, location, age and preferences in bed) but none of them turned into real work until very later yesterday.

I was already in bed eating my popcorn when the phone rang. American client, with a thick accent and later I would find that he has another thick thing on him.

As he was based quite closer and after such a day without any work I thought it would be wise to get some money and off I went.

I have no idea why but recently (lets say: past 3 or 4 months) I am having a impressive number of American clients. I don’t think it is something like ‘word-by-mouth’ because for this kind of service they are not so keen to share tips and who they been up to fuck or get fucked.

People share a reliable cleaner, a good hairdresser or babysitter and would even exchange numbers of successfully hired hit man. However when it comes to sex, people just don’t talk about it.
Maybe (now that pound is getting weak against the dollar due the credit crunch) Americans are just discovering the way back to London and its pleasure.
- Where about in America are you from? – I asked to break the ice while getting undressing in a small hotel room.

- How do you know I am American? – he laughed
- The accent, surely – I replied joining him in bed.
- Chicago.
- Chicago? – wow. I’ve heard a lot about this city recently. Well, me and the entire world. The new American president is from Chicago, isn’t him?
- No. Obama is actually from Kenya but he lives in Chicago. So you like politics?

His question was with that tone of someone just very surprised. I didn’t know if he was surprised because I was asking about an American politician or because he thought just because I make a living out of sex I would not be entitled to talk about another form of prostitution: politics.

I thought it would be better to move on from this conversation because he wasn’t paying me to keep talking.
And then, once he pulled out his pants there was a huge penis, kind of monstrosity we don’t get to see every day in Britain, my hands even didn’t close around it because it was as large as a can of beer – and I mean it!.
Luckily he was bottom; otherwise I would be in trouble.