I used to ride unicorns. Now I can’t even get the horn.

September 6, 2009

lindee-dee2See the lady pictured with this posting? I’m not sure if her name is Zandy or Candy — her website lacked a few vital details — but I do know that I find myself strangely attracted to her, even if she does appear to be missing the top half of her head.

I’m tempted to present this winsome lass as the new Mrs. Bitemymoko but, at least until the immigration papers are signed, I’m required to refer her as, ahem, a Lindee Elite Executive Escort Travel Companion. Although I’m sure that’s just a matter of semantics, at least until my cheque clears.

As I said, I found this natural beauty during my daily perusing of the Internet. I had entered “Travel” as my key search word and  Zandy/Candy just popped up, as it were. Because nothing says travel like skimpy lingerie.

According to her site, Zandy/Candy is looking for any “discriminating gentleman who desires company with a Sexy Goddess!”

The exclamation point is hers, by the way, and, just so we’re clear here, an experienced journalist like myself would never uppercase Sexy Goddess unless, of course, that was her name. Zandy/Candy Sexy Goddess Bitemymoko. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s kinda catchy.

There may very well be other “catchy” things about my soon-to-be blushing bride but, except for that whole missing-head thing, she appears to be the very embodiment of health, all things considered. And, believe me, I have done a lot of considering. Several hours’ worth, in fact.

You can find out all about this perfect example of womanhood at her website (http://zandydee.escort-site.com) but what is particularly interesting is how Zandy/Candy is willing to meet you anywhere in the world, including the Vatican City.

Because nothing says “You’re going straight to Hell” quite like meeting a whore escort in the Holy See. Although, come to think of it, she might just fit in, what with all the people on their knees talking to God.

Truth be told, I’ve never had much to do with professional women, other than one brief encounter. That occurred when my brother and I boarded an elevator in Las Vegas with a suit-clad gentleman accompanied by a tall blond with a top cut down to there, and a skirt cut up to here.

My brother and I leaned forward so we could see each other past this woman’s ample bosoms and smiled at each other. That smile said, “They’re real.” And, “This guy is one lucky bastard.”

I have, however, heard stories. This same brother was once part of a group of friends who hosted a stag night for a buddy on the verge of tying the knot. The idea was to hire a hooker to administer a blowjob to the groom-to-be once he was good and plastered.

It was an excellent plan and might have actually worked had the guys not spent nearly all their cash on alcohol. By the time they did encounter a lady of the night, they were pretty much turning their pockets inside out in search of spare change.

With barely $50 in hand, one of them approached the woman and inquired if this was enough to provide lip service to their friend.

“For that amount,” she sneered, “the only oral sex you’re getting tonight is me telling you to f**k off.”

That probably worked out for the best because the groom-to-be had vanished anyway. He was later found, blasted out of his gourd, crouching in the bushes, whimpering, “I jut wanted to see her tits.”

Another story I overheard came from a fellow who, along with a couple of his mates, had hired an escort to come to their hotel room. This guy had been first in line and, not being terribly well-versed in this sort of activity, had naturally defaulted to assuming the missionary position. To his dismay, he then sat in the room and watched as his friends proceeded to perform feats best left to urbandictionary.com to describe.

He was gutted at his own lack of imagination and adventure. To his way of thinking, having first choice, he had gone for the pony ride, only to find out later that his friends were cavorting with unicorns.

The cold, stark reality is, even if Zandy/Candy knocked on my door right now, I’d flash her my polite Canadian smile and say “Thanks, but no thanks.”

I’m a big talker — and an even bigger dreamer — but my spark has faded. These days, I’ll take a good book over a good lay. Maybe I’ve gotten old. Maybe the constant stress over our finances has left me limp with dismay.

Maybe I don’t believe in unicorns anymore.


One Response to “I used to ride unicorns. Now I can’t even get the horn.”

  1. I Will have to come back again when my class load lets up – even so I am taking your RSS feed so I can read your site offline. Thanks.

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