Freak of the Week 2 - The Retard

This guy comes in today and says he’s been to “these kinds of places” before. Like I haven’t heard that one. I still can’t figure out what they’re trying to say with that. I mean, am I supposed to just drop to my knees and yell “Sucky fucky 15 dollars” Or does he think it’s like a secret handshake and a hidden door to our Dungeon of Pleasure will magically open revealing a host of nubile young nymphs who will cater to his every whim? Please. Personally, I think guys say that when they’re trying to hide the fact that they’re clueless idiots.

After explaining to him three times how much the sessions cost, he agrees to 40 minutes. I stick him in the room and tell him to undress. 5 minutes later I come back to find him in his pants and T-shirt. I don’t want to ask, so I explain to him the options. He asks for topless “to start off with” which usually means that the guy either doesn’t trust you or he’s a retard since it’ll cost a lot more now to get the G-string. I’m guessing retard.

Now I have to deal with his weird hang ups, so I nag him to at least take his pants off. This guy is giving me a weird vibe, so I ask him to pay for the topless upfront. He fumbles for his wallet, then lies back down. I go to work on his shoulders – through the T-shirt. I swear, less than one minute into the massage he asks if he can touch me.

Retard.

I charge him an extra $50. He fumbles for his wallet and lies down. I tuck the bills away and move closer to the table so he can reach my ass with his right hand. I swear to you again – less than a minute of playing with my ass he asks about the finish.

Retard.

So I go straight to that (heck - it’s his 40 minutes). I roll him onto his back and grab the baby oil. I suddenly realize that he’s still wearing his tighty whities, so I gently ask him to “Get comfortable.” As if this could get any weirder, he pulls his underwear down around his thighs – like I’m going to check him for hernias. At this point I give up on any hope of this being a nice, normal session.

With my hands oiled up, I gently take his limp dick in my right hand and cup the balls with my left. I’ve only stroked him three times when he suddenly bolts upright yelling, “FUCKING STOP THAT! FUCKING STOP THAT! DON’T YOU TOUCH ME!” He then jumps off the opposite side of the table and starts to grab his clothes. So there I am – standing there topless with baby oil still dripping off my hands – just staring at this guy while he tries to stuff his legs into his pants. He’s having trouble pulling the pants up since his underwear is still around his thighs. My brain is trying to make sense of what happened, so all I can manage to do is stay perfectly still.

While he’s spastically trying to get dressed, he starts mumbling like a homeless guy. Finally he gets the pants up, which I consider quite an accomplishment considering he never solved the underwear dilemma. Now he’s got socks in one hand and his dress shirt in the other. He doesn’t even bother to buckle his belt before he reaches for the door. Now I recognize underneath all that muttering 1 word – “Mother” – repeated over and over.

Light floods the room as he yanks the door open – startling Audrey who was already outside my room wondering what the racket was about. When he gets to the front door, he realizes that he’s not wearing any shoes, so he stomps back into the room and grabs them while holding his pants up with one hand. Then he makes a beeline for the front door again. The door chime makes its pleasant little ding-dong as if to say “Thank you! Come again!” and then the room is quiet.

Audrey is standing still and looks from the door back to me. Her eyes are wide. Without a word to her, I look at my clock. That whole episode from the time he booked the session to the time the door chimed was exactly 12 minutes. It took me longer to write this down than the actual session.

It's days like this that I can appreciate why it costs $4,000 to blow a Governor.

CJ