I love hentai 2 much
#shorthair #nightdress #feet #soles
Seven girls sit on stools in the back corner, smoking cigarettes and looking bored. Six more are off the to the left, just beyond the casino, in the lobby of the Hotel Del Rey. They’re working, but not very hard. Not much to choose from this early—not for them, not for the men. Wait a little while—say, five o’clock—when the sun’s still clawing through the rain clouds over San José and before the streets are lousy with beggars and peddlers. By cocktail hour, the place is jammed. There are a few ticos and the biggest Asian kid you’ve ever seen, but the rest of the men here are gringos. There are young guys in tank tops and old guys wearing socks in their sandals and a whole mess of graying middle-aged guys in polos and floral-print shirts. They’ve got the bar surrounded three deep, and most of the tables are gone, too.
And they’re not even half the crowd.
The chicas —Christ, there’s a lot of them. Black girls and brown girls and beige girls and even a couple of white girls, brunet and blond and redheaded and skinny and chubby and tall and short and stacked and not-as-stacked, and every one of them single.
Are they looking at you? Hell yes. A hundred brown eyes turn on you the second you walk through the door, trying to catch your attention before you even get past the security guard with the metal detector, like you’re Brad Pitt or something. When’s the last time that happened at the Bennigan’s in Parsippany? Never, that’s when.
Which is exactly why all these men are here. “San José: the very best place in the world to get laid, I am convinced,“ an aficionado who calls himself La Muerte (literally, Death) wrote a few years back in one of the bajillion or so field reports that pop up when you search “Costa Rica sex“ on the Internet. Even then, in 2001, the Blue Marlin was legendary among a certain sort of gringo tourist—the sort who likes a wide selection of pretty, inexpensive women in a safe place where the bartenders speak their language. But why stop at the Blue Marlin? That’s just one joint in a city of 300,000. There’s Key Largo and Atlantis and all the other bars, and the strip clubs that hang billboards—THE NEW NIGHT CLUB KUMAR: OH, YES!—in English along the highway from the airport, and the street corners and parks parceled out by gender and age and fetish. Cheap blow jobs from old whores with drug problems? The Red Zone, a few dirty blocks around the Central Market. Teenagers? There’s four by the pay phones at the edge of Parque Morazan. Transvestites, transsexuals, queers? They’ve all got their own turf close by, and the cabbies all know exactly where they are. “It’s very easy to become like a kid in a candy store when you first go to San Jos é,“ as Death says. “There’s so much available talent down there, and it’s all done in wide-open public spaces. That’s a great feeling, but don’t lose your good sense in the original bliss.“
Yeah, don’t lose your good sense. Get a seat—one of the hightops by the bar rail is open. Have a drink. Take your time. The girls aren’t going anywhere. Sure, every few minutes one leaves with a guy, wiggles out the back toward the hotel lobby or out the front to a cab, but the selection never noticeably thins. The chicas , all freelancers and all 18 (or at least with papers to prove it), always outnumber the gringos. That’s the point.
They won’t pester you if you don’t want them to. They’re not like those girls in the Philippines who swarm your table, jabbering in broken English. You buy me ladies’ drink? You bar-fine me? Or the ones in Thailand. They’ll grab your junk right out on the street. You ready? Oh, you feel ready . Total whore scene. No, at the better bars in Costa Rica, at the Blue Marlin, you’ve got to give a girl a signal, make eye contact, let her know you’re interested. When she slides up next to you, she’ll ask if you’re alone or if you want some company. She’ll be charming and gently aggressive, in a way you only wish the women back home would be. So talk to her. She’s not going to ask you for any money, not right away. “Take your time, be selective, and get to know the chica before you do any negotiating,“ Death says. “Look for someone with a personality to go along with the looks—someone who smiles and seems to enjoy being around you.“
Thing is, they all seem to enjoy being around you. Prostitutes are good like that. The best ones make you forget they’re even prostitutes, make you think you’ve stumbled into the greatest singles’ bar in the world. That girl you’re talking to, she’ll tell you that you’re handsome and sexy and intelligent, and she’ll make you believe it no matter how fat or dumb or ugly you are because she knows you’ve got a hundred bucks burning a hole in your pocket. Back home, you’d spend that on dinner and a movie, and for what? A kiss on the cheek? Down here, that gets you laid, and by a woman who pretends she doesn’t think you’re a pig.
#AspenRae #DarcieDolce #LesbianMassage