It's no secret that I know a lot of real characters, and during my nearly two years of being driven to and from the dialysis center, I have met several car service drivers who qualify for their own sitcoms. My favorite of these is a 49-year-old dumpy Russian-Italian Jew who speaks fluent (if heavily accented) English, and it's always a delight to get him for the journey. We chat about what's on our minds in all areas of discussion, and today found him once again lamenting the sorry state of his romantic life. He's told me many times about how his wife ran off and left him to raise their three kids and how he wants a girlfriend more than anything. He'd recently been simping for some much younger woman, and from what he has told me of their interactions it seems as though she's stringing him along for the attention, but he's convinced he can get somewhere with her. I suggested that he back off and see how she responds to not being the focus of his attentions, and when he did that he had a rude awakening when she basically forgot all about him.
Anyway, today's conversation was about that situation and how frustrated he is, especially since he is a self-proclaimed "pleasure giver." He then launched into what can only be described as a heartfelt and scholarly discussion of the fine art of orally pleasing women, and the detail he went into led me to believe 100% that he knew what he was talking about, him looking like a cave troll notwithstanding. Not being the prettiest of specimens myself, I'm aware that a guy who's not conventionally attractive can get over when he applies himself, but I was in no way prepared for the turn that the conversation took.
After comparing notes on the fine art of "whistling in the wheat field," he turned to me and said "We know each other pretty good, right? Well, check this out..." He then reached up to a compartment on his rearview mirror and pulled out a business card, the business card seen below.
He handed it to me and claimed that before he married his wife, he met a number of unsatisfied housewives who were aching for sexual release with the aid of a man who knew what he was doing with his tongue and fingers, so he hooked up with some of them and, according to him, they enjoyed his services so much that he was able to parlay his skills into a paying gig. He claimed that these women would recommend him to their friends and would make decent money as a "liquor man" for hire, only giving up his hustle when he married his now-fled wife. He also told me that while he is not in favor of being on the receiving end of ass play, he claims to have once had a housewife who paid him a grand to let her play with his prostate. He said the thousand-dollar fee broke through his inhibitions and while he would not do it again, he said he enjoyed it because her prostate stimulation skills were unexpectedly on point.
Once we reached my building, he told me to keep his card and that he was getting new ones printed up that will have his current contact info. He wanted me to ask if any of the women I know would be up for his services, and these days he's so lonely he'd gladly do it for free.
I swear, you can't make this shit up.
No comments:
Post a Comment