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To the OP: Karine19 openly advertises this service which I would recommend. She has a long list of satisfied clients here in Ottawa and Montreal, if not elsewhere too. She advertises this the same way other workers here on CERB openly advertise their MILF status or that they are only a masseuse whom does this or does that, or not, or whatever the case may be. Despite some objections to you starting this thread/the subject matter, I have yet to see a valid argument to why this thread is not appropriate for an Escort Recommendation Board. I find it rich and quit unfortunate that on a Escort Recommendation board when someone asks for a Reco for an Escort, the thread and the hobby/business/industry gets attacked by others in the same hobby/business/industry. :S I don't think I am the only one whom finds this odd - no? If someone doesn't like the channel/job/hobby, then they can change it - but, imho, whining and discriminating in jumping someones thread never makes things better. Sometimes the best help some people can give others in their request/threads is just Not to say anything at all. Best of Luck and Success in All Your Endeavours!

While I have never knowingly been prepped for the deep fryer, I must say we should not condemn all vegetable oils. Just the other day the cooling fan om my puter's video card was making noise, in fact it stopped altogether and was causing the puter to reboot.Very annoying when viewing a good piece of porn. I took it apart to see what I could do and realized I had no silicone oil (my fave for stuff like that, it's not to oil breasts). I thought about it and had some extra virgin olive oil that may or may not have been near the puter for sexual reasons. Put a drop or two on the fan bearing and it is quiet as a mouse and my puter is no longer rebooting. Just massage a lil extra virgin olive oil into your bearings in a pinch and you too can have a happy ending! :jackoff:

From the very first moment I met Brittany, I never ever knew what to expect. I still remember our first time well. She greeted me at the door, and I stretched out my arms to give her a hug and kiss. My eyes were closed when she gave me a light nip on the nose instead, her lips already twisted into a mischievous grin when I opened my eyes in surprise. But before I could say anything, she was already pulling me into her bedroom, plucking at my shirt buttons, pulling at my belt. Oh, she was wild. I still think of late one summer's night. Fucking furiously doggy style on her 27th storey balcony, the stars twinkling down at us. The traffic noisily streaming by below as the warm summer breezes swirled around us. The afternoon her tiny body was tightly wrapped around me as I stood, thrusting and panting against her uncurtained window, the brilliantly sunny city teeming outside. I marvelled at her creativity, her bottomless resourcefulness. She would always find something new for us to do, something exciting. She was a multitude of flavors, none of them vanilla. I remember the exquisite pleasure of being bound and blindfolded. My remaining senses becoming ever so more acute as the tornado that was Brittany first lustily sucked on my cock, then rode me hard, thumping the headboard loudly against the wall. I think that we did Greek. To this day I'm still not sure, she only smiled when I asked later. There was the unexpected thrill the day she hissed in my ear, "Fuck my mouth. Hard. Now!" And I remember the fire in her eyes as I slid down her throat, again and again. The muscles of her throat milking me dry as I came and came and came, my breath rasping in my own throat, sweat rolling down my temples. Things never got stale for us. We never did the same thing twice. She wasn't like the other ladies I'd known. We never said much when we were together, we never shared little tidbits about our lives. We never kissed. But she was exciting, a big piece of habanero pepper after walking in from my outside whitebread mashed potato world. There were lots of ladies who could give me a sweet, soft and gentle girlfriend experience. But she was something special. She always made me feel heroic. A superman. Like I was starring in my own personal porn video. One bright sunny April morning, with the snow melting and the promise of spring hanging heavy in the air, I was in that mood. The mood to run, to jump, to burst out of my skin. The mood for something wild. There was only one woman to call. "Hey, Brittany. Been a little while. Can I come by later?" "Hi, Birdie." A pause. I wondered for a moment if she would beg off today. "Um.. that would be OK. But can I see you somewhere other than the usual place?" "I'm just glad to be able to see you. Where?" She gave me the address. I whistled a low whistle. "Wellington Crescent? You're coming up in the world. The usual time? Great! See you then." ...........................||........................... My car slowed and my jaw dropped as I neared the house. Behind the tall wrought iron gate and the circular driveway was a huge limestone mansion, leaded glass windows and copper clad roofing. A Bentley was parked out front. I parked my modest little subcompact car behind it, and stepped outside still agog at the grand home. I stood before the imposing oak and wrought iron front door towering above me and rang the bell. Somewhere off in the distance, chimes rang. After a moment, the huge door slowly swung open. There she was, radiantly beautiful as always. But today, there was the trace of a furrow to her brow, just the suggestion of dark circles under her eyes. I stepped through the doorway, and saw the grand entrance hallway, curving staircases winding on either side. I saw a pile of boxes stacked just inside the doorway. "Hey, nice place. Are you moving in?" I gestured at the boxes. She hesitated for just a fraction of a second, and there was a flicker of something in her eyes. "Something like that." And with that, her arms slithered around me and her mouth came up to mine. My eyes were still open, then blinked with amazement as she kissed me gently, her lips barely brushing against mine. I closed my eyes, and my tongue touched hers. Our tongues glided against each other's, little living things with minds of their own, locked in their own tiny caresses and embraces. Her mouth was the natural steamy wilderness of the rainforest at dawn, and our tongues were Adam and Eve, naked and unashamed. I broke away. I couldn't remember the last time we kissed, or for that matter whether we'd ever kissed at all, but this was a sensual delight to more than make up for it. "Wow. Nice. I wasn't expecting that." She blushed. "You like?" I smiled. She blushed! This wild and uninhibited lady, this paragon of playfulness was blushing? What in the world? What other surprises did she have in store today? What new positions, what toys, what new delights? Without another word, she took my hand and led me up the stairs. Her hand was soft, dry, and warm in mine. I'd never noticed before how small her hand was, how neatly it fit in mine. I saw now how light her step was, grace and gentle feline steps as she tiptoed up barefoot. She gently stroked her hand on my back as we walked down the upstairs hall. She looked up at me with a soft expression before clasping my arm, putting her cheek to my shoulder. I noticed for the first time how fine her blonde hair was. Standing so close, I saw that the rich color of churned honey was her natural color. How lovely her hair smelled, how soft it was against my lips as I nuzzled her scalp. This isn't like the other times, all those wild times. What in the world? We turned the corner into her bedroom. There was a massive dark wood four-post bed, a fine lace bower above it. A crisp white duvet and many lacy white pillows completed the ensemble. Whoever's place this was, they had some good taste. I briefly looked for restraints on the bed posts. We stood at the foot of the bed. She looked up at me with an expression I'd never seen before. Desire. Longing. And just a touch of sadness in her eyes as she reached up and kissed me again. Now I was completely confused. I'd never seen Brittany like this before. I'd never quite thought of her as anything other than someone who could always pull out another over-the-top stunt, another wild and crazy time. I'd just never thought of her quite in this way. But something soft, something caring just seemed right today. She melted in my arms, as we climbed up onto the bed. We were tender, we were gentle. ...........................||........................... "That was wonderful, Brittany." Her eyes gleamed with pride, and she smiled. "Call me Debbie." This looks like it was going to be quite the day for revelations. "So, Debbie. Am I going to be seeing you here, from now on?" She was silent a moment. "No. This will be the only time. I'm moving." I looked around, and saw the framed photo on the night table. Funny how I hadn't noticed it before, in all the excitement. It was a picture of her with a man. They were taken on a beach somewhere. A tropical vacation, perhaps? They were beaming in it- so obviously in love. It was an old photo, the colors having faded to creamy yellow tones. I suddenly had the feeling that the man in the photo would be sleeping in this very bed tonight. The penny dropped. It all made sense now. She was moving. She was leaving this house behind, she was leaving this man behind. And today, after all the times that we'd seen each other professionally, she was letting me see a little of the real her. She didn't want to be Brittany the PSE SP today. She just wanted to be just Debbie. Just to be herself, to feel a little loved, to feel wanted by someone today. I don't know why she chose me to share this bed today. We'd never been especially tender or caring to each other before. Perhaps it was just luck, I just happened to wander by just at that moment. But perhaps she saw something else in me that I thought I'd hidden away from her. The need to give love, to nurture, to show a little tenderness. Perhaps this is the end of my time with Brittany. Perhaps this is the beginning of my time with Debbie. Perhaps this is goodbye to them both. Perhaps I should just shut up and kiss her again.

Well no, but when I first started hobbying and heard the term GFE I thought the lady was going to nag and yell and have a honey do list for me when I showed up What a relief that gfe means something completely different in hobbying RG :rolleyes:;):rolleyes:

I remember this one well...A great story hun!

I think there are a couple of factors at play here. I do think some ladies do not advertise a service that they may routinely provide on a YMMV basis so they are not obligated when the client is as clean as they might like. They might also not want to risk inimity from other ladies who do not provide this service. I saw this effect on the west coast with respect to BBBJs.If any lady advertised this service, or a client said he recieved it on anyone of the boards. They would both be castigated and may even be blacklisted by all the other members. In fact, BBBJ was routinely available to any of us who could be trusted to keep it to ourselves from most of the girls, including those who were publicly opposed. We think of ourselves as an openminded community but if you really check the posts, there are many here who think that their particular kink is fine and should be accepted by all, but themselves are unwilling to be as accepting of other's eccentricities.

well it's maybe not a poem...but a writing...review a zillion of time by a friend to be sure that I don't have that many mistakes I have forgotten you... I have forgotten what your innocent face looks like. The softness of your pale skin. The sparkle in your ever changing eyes. I cannot remember the smile which would form on your tender pink lips, or permanent blush of you cheeks. Your auburn hair was curly, wasn't it? I have forgotten what your laugh sounded like, and the way you would dance between the mighty trees. I don't remember what your tiny voice sounds like. I cannot remember your song. Your lullaby. Your treasure. I miss your glow. I long for your saccharine phrases. I yearn for those nimble fingers. I have forgotten how to be you. Or is it that I merely grew away from you. I don't want to be away from you. I don't want to be different. Why can we not turn back the dial of life, and restore ourselves? Why must time continue to move forward? Can we not stop it, can we not run backwards, to the old times. The easy times? The childish times of joy and simplistic happiness. I have forgotten me