He explains that about a year ago he lent a hundred dollarsiii to a co-worker, to be returned on payday. Payday came and went, and after a few awkward apropos and another payday going by, Yitzhak finally decided to take the matter into his own hands so to speak.
He sneaked the coworker's home address from the personnel files and went to pay him a visit next Saturday afternoon. Once there, he found an incredible smoking bombshell of a blonde behind door number three, who turned out to be the coworker's wife. She very amiably asked him in, then asked him to wait for her currently absent husband, then asked him whether he takes milk or sugar (in his coffee), then asked him whether he'd like to see more, then asked him into her bed and then asked him nothing at all because he had fallen asleep.
But he awoke when the husband, at some point returned, was taking his clothes off without much comment or ado, and climbed into bed with them. While the sexy blonde cooed in his ear and delicately caressed his retracted manhood, Yitzhak got fucked in the ass right and proper. After which he went home, soiling a pair of underwear on the way, and still without his belaboured hundred in his tigthened fist.
Yitzhak returned the next Saturday, and the one after that, and truth be told almost every Saturday hence. Whereby also his trilemma : given that he does go to visit the coworker's appartment with some apparent regularity, is it the case that he goes there to obtain his money, to fuck the hottie, or to take it up the ass ?
The comment section eagerly awaits your... input, so to speak. Proceed!———
- Hey, we're doing an midEastern theme here, okay ? [↩]
- Has it ever occured to you just how close to the traditional brothel talk "therapy" actually comes ?
It is literally the case that bearded, old, sexually repressed men try to impinge upon one of the traditional roles of slightly younger female prostitutes, because what the fuck did you suppose people pay the whores for ?
The truly mind-boggling element in all of this being that the transvestite whores honestly expect their occupation to be deemed socially respectable for incomprehensible (and for that matter gingerly unstated) reasons, and are really and truly "very surprised" when that fails to be the case (for very obvious reasons). It's almost as if they imagine that I'll take them seriously / they'll be permitted to enact their identitarian fantasies into reality just because they're ontologically special, somehow.
The ronin slavegirl's name for the behaviour would be "male priviledge", but this view is defective. For one thing psychanalists aren't male anymore than Lynn Conway is, and for the other priviledge is when you do enact your fantasy into reality, not when you go around asking other people to act as if you had. Going around asking people to act as if you had is not any kind of priviledge but by-the-book transvestitism, entirely opposite a behaviour with exactly opposite results. Moreover, priviledge enacts identities for others, and what's at issue here is the identity of the self. So in a word... nope. [↩]
- Oh, if I call the obolus by its currently fashionable name you suddenly know what it is, don't you. And this shortness of yours totally speaks as to outside reality and not as to yourself, doesn't it ?