True Romance: 2k...Headed back to the Kappa...

[Maikeru]

...on fours and adaptors.

For those of you that were unfortunate enough to be privvy to my embarrassing behaviour last Sat. Night, I would like to apologize. However there is a lesson in it all.

MAKE SURE YOU HAVE A PAATNA TO WATCH YOUR BACK!

Sunday morning comes with the realization that we live in dangerous times where the law of the jungle sometimes prevails. And with my current growing appetite for women at ridiculous proportions, I knew that I needed a wingman...NAY!...an Induvidual so devious and insightful to this game we call "THE CHASE", that could help me shorten the cycle drastically. It is said that Toronto is a city full of women, who are cold and not the quality of their counterparts in...say...Saskatoon or the rest of the western provinces where the women are well versed in the art of this game. But anyone who is a great admirer of the fairer sex would realize that all of these top quality ladies are actually working as a MPA's, SPs Indy or agency or dancers. Its no coincidence that the ability of the highly regarded ladies to entice and deliver ecstacy, puts them in the top 95% of female earners in "Hogtown". So that's where you have all been all my life. Easily the most cherished skill in our society is the ability to effectively communicate with one another and for my money, what better communication is there than to caress the naked flesh of your pic of the cream. THE DRIBBLE STOPS HERE!

THE SUPER DRIBBLE STARTS! Cruising the mean streets of downtown TO late afternoon yesterday looking for some Italian (Lasagna not Minkia) I noticed a figure crossing in front of my car at the corner of college and yonge. I had the Chamillionaire pumpin, and the figure stopped and turned and faced me. I had this eiree feeling come over me. Who was he? I caught the image on his shirt, barely making out the text and immediately recognizing the stud half naked in the pic right next to it. Eyeing each other I mouthed the word Rusty? and he in turn mouthed the word "Spode". I motioned for him to jump in the passenger seat. Looking at each other we knew that Sunday night would unfold into somewhere we may not have been ready for. Wolfing down his cottage cheese and peaches, Rusty pulled out his MOS DEF CD and proceeded to tell me the instructions for our destination was contained on the third track. Carefully listening to the silky smooth poetry set to a stunning fusion of tasty stylz, it dawned to both of us that the land of grapes and gambling was to be our first stop.

cont'd

 

[Kitty kat]

But who were we to meet there? and what was our purpose?

We got to the Sundowner at the most ironic time. But the lights of the marquee lit up the surrounding area. A silhouette of a femme fatale appeared from a the darkest recesses of the parking lot. Dressed in motorcycle leathers that left only her skin tone to the imagination, and thigh high boots with some kind of knotching scheme up the left one, the induvidual took off their helmet to reveal a platinum mane that dropped past her booty. She leaned in to the passenger window and grabbed Rusty by the neck and said what took you so long and who's the dufus chaffeur?. Rusty explained our chance encounter and with some reassurance brought Lynn into our confidence. It seems that Lynn had struck it rich with her scripts she developed for the new Degrassi. As it happens, Rusty was her inspiration and she had set up this meeting to pass some information to Rusty as well as an envelope of 50 crisp benjamins. But not even 10 times this amount was worth the information she was about to give us.

We were given the name of the induvidual that held to information key to a historic night. On the way to Funland arcade back in TO. The car had filled with the smell of tuna fish, as Rusty polished off his 2nd. It must be true what they say about it being brain food. Rusty said that we would need to go to the strip poker game to find an individual who blew the lid of the whole Real Doll MP, as well as the whole St. Marc's affair. REF?!?! What was his role in all this?

By now Ashanti had been our voice calling out to all the feminista's up Yonge ST. Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby! .


We headed into the arcade which was full of miscreants and neerdowells and made our way to the back where the decrepid strip poker game stood all by its lonesome. We both went around each side of the game to find Ref cursing out of frustration at his inability to hit 21 and finally get Miss Kitty to reveal her honey-pot. He looked up up the two of us and said Spode I presume? WTF is my YMMV t-shirt that obvious? along with my Nikki for Prime Minister visor? Ref piped up to me in a manner reminscent of a much more handsome Burgess Meredith to my Sly Stallone and barked out "Kid you got a lotta neuyve, posting the shit you do. I can see it in your eyes. Your on the grass. You roll the wacky tabaki too often. You gotta think clear if you want be talking bout the dames. Back in my day I'd tear you to shreds. He turned to Rusty, get your sorry asses to Moulin Rouge post haste! Rusty in turn demanded of his trusted confidant, the reason for this urgency and why of all places MR as anyone who is in the know, knows Simonetwostars had gone home early that day. Ref all of a sudden made a startling revelation which left our jaws hitting the floor. (Insert Eye of the tiger by F. Stallone.)We ran out of there and got in the car which had been recklessly parked on the sidewalk on top of a particular bike courier whose penchant for info delivery (you know who you are douchebag ) and blatant disregard for traffic laws and female pedestrians made him a menace.

Cont'd

 

[songsjosiah]

Cont;d
Before hopping on the Gardiner, we decided that we needed a drink to calm our nerves before what and who lay ahead. As beautiful as Sheena Easton was, her song For Your Eyes Only in both our minds was much more beautiful to both of us. During our many miles that night I had learned that both Rusty and I agree that she was without a doubt the best Bond movie soundtrack artist and therefore this would be the hole that could wet our whistle! In so many ways. Making a pitstop in the can, I handed over the attendant a toonie for a spritz of Coolwater. (hey if its good enough for Snoop its good enough for me). Getting back to the table where Rusty had been seated I could make out a gathering of ladies nearby. Weren't dancers, but much hotter. Buddyboy! and crew in tow. Racquel, Robin, Claudia et al, were there for the eggplant parmigiana that had caught this cities culinary scene by storm. But who could eat at a time like this? Rusty and I had a much more important and elusive target in mind. We downed our Champagne Cooley's and got back on the road. Hitting speeds in excess of 106 km/h on the 401 (for Goodtime), the drivers on the hwy kept giving us fingers for our urgency to get to MR ASAP.

In no time flat we got there and before we entered the premises Rusty asked me "spode are you sure you want this?". After what seemed like an eternity, Rusty assured me that Ref had been batting a thousand for the last 4 years and that this would be no different. I looked at Rusty and starting chanting Larry! Larry! Larry! Larry! He gripped my hand and led me into Moulin Rouge, away from the mob of people who gathered around us intrigued by my retarded chanting...or maybe it was the helmet.

Inside there was a empty waiting room, Red lamps illuminating everything in a crimson hue and nothing but the dull hum of the dryers in the background resembling some kind of afro-cubano beats. (Or should that be black-cubano beats? insert sarcasm) Rusty tapped the bell but there was no response from the back. I peaked around the corner and down the hall and all the doors were open and not a soul in sight. I moved through the swinging doors with Rusty having my back, and we made our way to the last room on the left which happened to be the biggest. We looked inside the room and there were two tables side by side all decked out in fresh sheets, fluffy towels and a fresh plate of diced pineapple on the left beds pillow and for christ sakes another Tuna Fish sandwich on the right beds pillow. Mesmorized by our respective favourites we cautiously climbed the tables to reach the delicacies. Rusty still holding my hand for reassurance, Started mowing down on his bait, as I began to toss chunks of the pineapple in the air and catching them with my mouth, much like the rainbows do at feeding time at the trout farm. Not wanting to have our culinary indulgences to be witnessed by anyone Rusty kicked the door shut.

 

[MiJA]

Cont;d

We both froze when all of a sudden over the speakers crescendo'd Love Dump by static x, followed by a "knock, knock, knockknock, knock" at the door.

Another fact that I learned about Rusty is that he prefers to eat while leaning on a table with no clothes except a towel hanging off his pecker. Wow what a coincidence as I have recently started doing this myself.

Still gripped with fear as how would this look if we were caught, we could not move a muscle to block the door from opening. The door swung open and in walked the elusive pair that have entered my dreams so many nights these last few months. The newcommer to our world of dementia and depravity we call massageplanet.net, Polite, approached me, and our very own Red Stilletto glided over to Rusty. Polite grabbed my plate of pineapple and threw it against the wall smashing the plate sending pineapple juice and pulp flying everywhere. Red reached and snatched the sandwich out of Rusty mouth and stuffed it into a freezer bag she had conveniently had in her pocket. The next few minutes were tense as the two fully clothed ladies just stood there glaring at us as if we were to be eliminated. But no... as love dump faded out, Jacob Hoggard's rendition of Ground Control to Major tom had begun. This made my erection even harder. Red placed the sandwich in her purse and uttered these words to both Rusty and I... So boys, Basic, Nude, NudeReverse or get the fuck out! We both paid upfront for our sessions as is advised by all the veteran hobbyists, and turned on to our fronts lying on our respective tables. Rusty still holding my hand could sense my nervousness as not even my addiction to Drysol could stop my nervous palm sweating.

THe massage portion began while, Baduh's "Call Tyrone" grooved over the speakers. Red and Polite had their technique synchronized to perfection. It was like watching two DJ's scratching while alternating on the turntables, like in the movie Beat Street or Sugarhill. The conversation flowed from Polite insisting that we are weird cause we are having a massage in the same room, to myself insisting to Red that in fact Suzi Rawn is a glue sniffer. Rusty insisted that this was not weird at all. The weird part would be saved for the warm down cuddle portion! Polite then reassured us that she was not aroused at all, even after all the DFK'ing we had done

Cont'd

 

[Khawanah]

Cont'd

Meanwhile on the other table Rusty had begun to enthrall Red with his extensive boxing and Degrassi knowledge! It was clear that Rusty had made much more progress in wooing Red than I had with Polite. Racking my brain for the perfect subject for discussion, it hit me like lightening.

ASK LOTS OF PERSONAL QUESTIONS!

From the moment I asked about Polite's boyfriend and their sex life, this angel immediately became at ease. She gazed deep into my eyes as she told me how gorgeous her boyfriend was and how no man could ever come close to him in the sack. This took things to a whole new level of passion for me. Not wanting her to stop pouring her soul out to me, I then posed the question, What is your home address? Her reaction was nearly orgasmic as she heard the words come out of my mouth. She began to grind on my leg while, yelling "OH GOD, 345 SWISHA LANE! 345 SWISHA LANE! 345 SWISHA LANE! " just as she became to climax I asked one last question, "Can I have your phone number baby!" OMFG, right then she became a gusher screaming at the top of her lungs and frightening our company in the room..."2 8 1...3 3 0...8 0 0 4 BABY!"

The session concluded with couples showers. Red and Polite went first as I began to scoop the pineapple off the walls and the mirror. Rusty meanwhile began to practise his esalen technique on the pillow while we waited our turn for the shower. Once in the shower It must have been love, but it's over now, it must have been good but I lost it somehow. it must have been love but it

 

[maxine g]

This is about the only thing that makes sense in this story. If Nikki2 becomes Prime Minister, am I going to have to have a RCMP officer in the room during my massage?

PS Spode you obviously spend way too much money on MP's and pot.

 

[[email protected]]

BRILLIANT STORY!! Have to agree with LudaWHAT?! about too much pot but hell you got to have some sort of vice or two. Love the song references too. Too Bad Roxette - It Must Have Been Love didnt play at some time...Now that would have been true romance.

 

[da light]

That was an awesome story, Spode. Even better, it was Ref awesome. I love how you managed to bring up Degrassi, boxing, Jacob Hogard, tuna sandwiches, the YMMV t shirts, etc.

 

[clharvell]

Spode,

I took you seriously about your review on Nikki and that turned out to be a great experience. But I think you fucked up with this suggestion. I went to see this MPA called Tara (sp?) and after asking these first two questions I did not get the same response you did. She actually seemed quite upset. I think you should be careful about the advice you post from now on. I also paid up front and got thrown out after 20 minutes of an hour long session and did not get a refund.

Disgruntled,

Luda

 

[Funktasticka]

And you say I smoke too much weed.