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A New York Escorts Confessions
The Zealot
Sometimes I think pillow talk shouldn’t be called that slip of a name at all. Especially when a pillow is more like a soapbox.
“I’ve been reading about chickens,” E said, a few minutes after he came.
“What?” It was so abrupt I thought I’d misheard him. Did he mean he wanted to play chicken—some kind of sex game based on the concept? Was I going to spend the next time I saw him naked and atop his shoulders fending off some other naked chick as she tried to knock me down? Could that perhaps…be fun?
“Do you have any idea how they live before they’re killed?”
Dear God. What is it about New Yorkers that makes them feel they have to share even when the signals they get are saying are screaming, “Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!”
“Um…I’m sure they—”
“All their life they live in a cage the size of a shoebox. And the warehouses that they are kept in are filled with 10,000 of them. There would be a fire code against there being a gathering of 1/10th the amount of people in the same space. You see? And no one ever really cleans up the place beyond the basics so the whole place smells like feces—”
The use of the technical term here was making this all the worse. That and the fact that I had just consumed a chicken salad wrap at lunch. Or a feces wrap, as it were.
“They feed them stuff so their breasts are so big that they can’t stand up.”
“Okay. Can we just cease and—”
“And sometimes they cut off their beaks so they won’t peck themselves out of their misery. And you know how kosher is supposed to be so much better? Well it is, in terms of their death. It’s a humane death but still an inhumane life. Those chickens only get a cage the size of one-and-a-half shoeboxes—”
Now I can’t look at chicken or at shoeboxes, for that matter. I’m going to have to get one of those plastic shoe holders that goes on the back of the door. And I’m going to try to not imagine little fuzzy yellow chicks peeping and begging in each and every one of them.
E eventually stopped but not until after I was sure I was going to throw up—and on him. And I’m telling you I must have told him to stop a good five times. Why is it that New York zealots never realize that no really means no?
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confessionsComments
Sometimes I wonder if the lack of blood to their brain during/post sex makes then incapable of forming rational thoughts. I think they just get either tired or uncomfortable and feel like they have to talk about something, anything to create post-sex intimacy. Sometimes, juts a kiss on the forhead is nice.
Posted by Sex & Moxie on Oct 20 04:14PMTrue, if the chicken is manufactured by a corporation. Farm chickens are usually free to roam, and sort of treated like the family dog. My brother used to carry one under each arm and pet them like cats.
Lesson - buy local/farmer bred meat
Posted by Ashley on Oct 21 07:36PMFriend of mine grew up on a farm in the UK.
They had free range chickens - a big barn for the chickens for when the weather was bad, and a big, big field for them to roam in.
Know what?
The chickens never went in the field. It was always warmer in the barn. The whole barn floor, covered with chickens. They *could* go range, sure. But they didn't want to. Cold outside.
That's a bit ignorant alexa, it's just reality. But, I agree that it's not the thing you want to hear in bed.
Posted by Lydus on Oct 23 05:23AMIt's well known how the chikens are fed in order to make McNuggets !
http://membres.lycos.fr/indriescorte/
Posted by Indri on Oct 25 10:21AMPost a Comment
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about me
So why am I writing this blog? I have an inner exhibitionist that just needs to be let out. I've always wanted to bare myself completely in front of strangers but have always been held back by fear.
As strange as it may sound, I've never really truly bared myself in front of any of my clients. For all that they've seen, they've never seen me be me. And for all that I've seen, I simply need to share it with you!
So why should you come? To be tantalized and teased. To get release by knowing the true me.
I promise that I won't bite, and if I do bite, I'll make sure you like it!
my favorite posts
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- Selling Out (Part III)
- Poops!... I Did It Again!
- My First Escorting Experience
- My First Lesbian Experience
- Daddy's Little Girl (Part II)
- Selling Out (Part III)
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Why are city dwellers so unwilling to hear about how what they eat is raised. Too far from real life I guess.
Now let's talk about veal. (mmm penned baby cow!)
Posted by adent on Oct 20 09:26AM