call girls escorts in girardot in english

July 21, 2023

Escorts, Prepagos, Putas, Dama de Compañia

Call girls Escorts Girardot I admit that I go out more with colleagues from school or the office; The girls have given it, but not with as many conditions as years ago. At least I'm afraid of <a href="https://lacelestina.co/en">whores</a>. And for no reason, because I overcame more than one gonorrhea and a few crabs because I wanted to be brave. For some I paid for silence, for others I listened to her stories, but still I liked Teresita. She was small and delicate, shy and tired. On the endless bus trip from Bogotá to Girardot, I met Teresita; miniskirt, tight shirt, high heels, hair up. Now I think it's the simple way she brushes her hair that makes me look at her every happy night of the week, but I'm not with her, I'm not with her, I get others. There are no traffic lights or brothels in Girardot, just buildings with flickering halogen lights and hallway mirrors; many mirrors: veneered walls with semi-smoked mirrors, mirrors in rooms, mirrors on ceilings, mirrors in bathrooms, some broken. I think they have a scary function. The stairs leading to the hall were discolored, the carpet and gold railing moth-eaten. The room had plastic curtains, a hollow bed, a dirty pillow and used sheets. There is also a radio with a station tuned only to Vallenatos. I went up to the fourth floor with Jennifer-"Tell me Jenny", she encouraged me-she is a kind, sensible professional woman; wrapped in a fluffy red undershirt for nighttime protection; a blue jean skirt and black leggings to fend off clients who want to go the extra mile. She has the same hairstyle as almost all women over 40: bare neck and blonde hair. She eagerly climbed the endless stairs. She couldn't wait to open the piece. She sat on the bed and did not speak. She looked at me. She has a cheeky pair of eyes. Calculated silence. I still don't understand why he made a deal with her on the street. There were a dozen women on the block: a large woman in leather boots that were too big for me; I felt like an almond in a nutcracker; the other, a young woman in white for her first communion-I think that's a sin. The other was a woman the size of a ham, almost old, with glasses, too smart, I told myself. In the corner there is a being without gender, neither male nor female, neither young nor old, now that I think about it, I don't know if he has clothes. There are plenty of other <a href="https://lacelestina.co/en">whores</a> who can do this, but I don't know why I'm dealing with Jenny. I also sit on the bed, but on the edge so that I can escape if necessary. She begins to tell me that when she started in the business, everyone would ask, "Where are you from?" She looked at me like she was going to lie to me. She was expecting me the traditional "from Cúcuta" or "from Pereira". She was silent for a while. She changed axis and told me horrified: "Del Pato." What city is she in? It is not a city, but a place between Neiva and San Vicente del Caguan. Impossible, I thought: I was destined to hear stories from the same region. The first book I wrote was called The Explosion at El Pato 25 years ago. To confirm it, I asked rhetorically: "El Pato, Balsillas?" — Yes, the same, more precisely, from the town of Guacamaya. No doubt. She told me the truth. She hoped that "the pimp would take me," as the residents of the area always told me, to the eastern hill of the Sierra, where the domain of Mono Jojoy was buried, which ended that day. The twists and turns of life. “The guerrillas took us out,” he added, looking at me intently, “and my dad got tired of paying them for the vaccines. We lead a life rooted in Neiva, and now my husband and I live together in Girardot. I have seven children.” “Seven children, seven?” I asked, counting on my fingers, pointing to 7 with painted fingernails and blooming patterns. “Seven,” she said without blinking, her tone heavy and pained as she closed the door. We do not discuss the prices of services. How could she spend 15 minutes for 30,000 pesos if she had been talking about geopolitics for seven minutes?       She clarified that the rising price figure was a matter of "whims." "By this method?". "Yes, look doctor - the title gave me chills - add another 10,000 pesos if you want a blowjob and another 30,000 if you want to eat for the little one." Why so much out there? Why? Because it hurts! she replied, opening my eyes at the same time. And the boobs? I ask this question as if to answer what is obvious to me: “No, I don't give them to anyone. I only give them to my husband because he stopped touching me and I don't give them to anyone else because they make me develop and reach orgasm. What a key! I remember a girlfriend at the university of whom she said that she gave me everything she asked for except her breasts, because she -she confessed to me one day- the rest is for you, but my tits are for my husband. Once the fundamental and principled conditions were agreed upon, I moved on to another topic: experience. Out of modesty—and again out of professionalism—Jenny didn't want to talk to me about her clients. But she ended up doing it. But every night, each story was worth five minutes, so I started doing the math. The first of the stories, of which there could have been a thousand, was that of a prosecutor who paid him double as long as Jenny put on French-heeled shoes with silver straps that allowed one of her big toes to stick out and that the prosecutor sucked enraptured all night. A special service. Another case, a doctor. “A good-looking young man”, he clarified to me; that he arrived with her wife so that Jenny would punish him with a leash in front of her. He had a hard time doing it because he "had no reason." He needed them to be able to do what the lady asked, even if she told him all the bad things her husband had done. Jenny had to resort to remembering the most hated men she knew in order to collect the service: the guerrilla who vaccinated them in El Pato; the drop-by-drop usurer who charged her 10,000 pesos a day for every 100,000 borrowed, which was equivalent to a third of what she took home on average each day. When she discovered the rage against the lender, she raised the doctor's fee.     When we reached an agreement on the basic economic conditions, we moved on to another topic: experience. Out of humility, but also out of professionalism, Jenny didn't want to tell me about her clients. Each story was worth something like five minutes. The first story, which must have been the first of a thousand, was that of a prosecutor who paid her double the normal rate, while Jenny wore French heels with silver straps that left her big toe sticking out which the prosecutor sucked with delight all night long. Another story, doctor told me. "A handsome, good-looking young man" a doctor, he explained, was looking for me with his wife so that Jenny would punish him with the leash in front of her. It was difficult for her to do this because she "he has no reason, he had no reason." She needs them to be able to do what this woman asked of her, even as she tells him how badly her husband is behaving. Jenny had to remember the most disgusting situations that she knew: the guerrillas who vaccinated them in El Pato, the drip that charged him 10,000 pesos, the equivalent of a third of what he brought home on average every day. When he began to remember all the bad things that had happened to him, he raised the doctor's fee.     An emblematic example, as high officials say, is the story of a gringo who could be British, Dutch or German, but nobody understood him. Not even a sign. Jennifer, my <a href="https://lacelestina.co/en">whore</a> has just been educated by "the lady who helps us understand men", who also introduced her to her rights. She warned him “anything goes in bed, but anything goes”, Jenny, just 23 years old, recently arrived from the countryside. The problem is that I don't understand what she's talking about, Jenny told him. "Okay," the teacher replied, "say yes to everything and charge them 5,000 pesos for each additional thing they ask for." That's how it went; The gringo entered the room as if they were going to hang him. He was sweating profusely and was even stuttering with his hands. He told her to wait for him. He walked the three floors to the parking lot, which Jenny could see through the window, and took a cardboard box from the trunk of the car with the diplomatic plate that she had to pay ten thousand pesos at the entrance of the residence. He finally picked up his pace and reached the foot of the bed. He opened the box, took out the chicken, nuzzled her neck and snuggled into her ear. The animal closed its eyes and flapped its wings, and the gringo nailed it. No more. Or in the words of my Jenny: "The man came, paid the money and left with the dead woman in the box." It was the first time she had sexual relations with someone other than her husband. Trembling with terror, she told her husband, who knew that she slept with the men who paid her and used a condom, that she could not continue like this and if the same thing happened to her when she lowered the flag, What would happen? What would happen next? She would rather starve. "Let the guambitos go hungry?" asked her husband.       There was no other option. Either she did what she had to do or she lost the year. The landlady explained that this was not always the case. The vast majority of men do not develop, let alone a quarter of an hour. “That's why you always have to look at your watch, even if you don't have one. That traumatizes them and that gives you total control over the man. If you look at your watch more than twice, the guy doesn't stop and then they'll pay you. They walk out looking at the ground confused, embarrassed; she must have used the word with some sarcasm. Another tactic is to give them something to drink: drink three glasses of rum, a pass of parakeet and they turn into chicks. Or they get drunk and apologize. Jenny saw that what the madam was saying was true, her job seemed easier every day. A man's insecurity was his own security. Especially when she discovered that even the manliest of men couldn't resist having his dick sucked without spilling. A pair of pacifiers with their ass tight and that's it: thirty thousand pesos. The problem was not the clients, but the <a href="https://lacelestina.co/en">whores</a> on the block or in the neighborhood. Many of them were dangerous women who had been jailed multiple times for causing bodily harm at the hands of rival partners. The laws of the free market were translated here in blood. Every woman is a competitor to beat, and the quickest and safest way to do that is to slash her face with the spout of a bottle. The bosses often act as referees in fights, because if they are not called, the second referee is the police, a much more corrupt and dangerous service. As always happens with men with <a href="https://lacelestina.co/en">whores</a>, especially if they are poor: we try to save them. Or give them moral advice that leads to the question of hypocrisy: Why don't you leave this life? So she left it to Jennifer. It wasn't easy holding my gaze as she looked into my eyes and answered: Because, doctor, we have to eat. Dona Emilse, the landlady, has undoubtedly given Jenny every possible reason to answer my questions, which confirms my thesis: they don't allow themselves to be photographed for magazines, because their sons or husbands know where to get what they earn, what that they take home. If a photographer tries to do that,” she said firmly, “he has the right to break the camera and even his face (if possible). The right to private life must not be violated. I said goodbye to Jennifer and promised to tell the truth and take her word for it.