After enjoying a few sips of our drinks, kind of sizing up one another, I brought out a small tape recorder that was stashed in my jacket pocket and placed it on the counter. The black plastic object suddenly seemed like an intruder; an invader of our privacy because whatever we said now would be going directly into this machine. If someone other than Talulu and I got their hands on it; they could delete and edit our conversation so that whatever we had discussed could be adjusted totally out of context; our meanings miscontrued. We’d made an agreement beforehand that none of the words would be edited. I must have been daydreaming because when she suddenly leaned over and pushed the record button, one of her large breasts brushing against my arm sending a shock wave throughout my entire body, especially my private parts, I stammered, “I guess we should begin the interview.”
Len: I believe there are a lot of people out there who would like to hear your story Talulu – you don’t mind if I just call you Talulu do you? Is that your given name?
Talulu: Good gracious no. My name is Talulu Tight-Thighs. (She giggles.) Of course that’s not my real name, and I’m not sure why I picked that name because my thighs are anything but tight. That’s right honey; I like to spread those babies. I loves the sound they make; cha-ching, cha-ching; it’s the sound of money. We’re talking real hard cold cash that I can stick between my thighs and make it hotter than a jar of jalapeno peppers.
Len: (Clears throat.) You mentioned earlier that even you “need good publicity”. Would you care to elaborate on that?”
Talulu: Many people think women like me are evil, husband-stealers, used as political bait, drug addicts or just plain trash. It’s true some of us do fit into those categories but me, I may make an obscenely rich living lying on my back, but I can tell you honestly honey, that I put out – when I’m finished with a man, there isn’t a pour, a blood vessel, a tiny hair, or an appendage of any kind that hasn’t been totally satisfied. Like the athletes you see on TV, after they’ve run a marathon, they’re gasping for air and barely able to stand. Honey, I do the same for my customers, not only do I make their toes curl but when I’m done with them, like the athletes, they’re gasping for air and as limp as a wet noodle. I’ve even seen the odd client’s eye balls roll up into their sockets – had to call the paramedics on more than one occasion. And honey, what happens in the bedroom; stays in the bedroom.
Len: I doubt very much that you’re evil Talulu but I suspect you may have ruined many a marriage. What I’ve come to understand from talking with other men and my own experiences as well, is that once the heated courtship comes to a close and the happy couples are in a blissful state of marriage, not too long after, the boudoir often becomes more of a room to read a book or watch TV rather than have a sexual romp of delight. Why do you think that is and do you have an answer to keep the bedroom from not becoming like a library or a theatre?
Talulu: Some of my best friends are wives honey. They have also complained about their husbands not being as attentive; no more opening doors; no more flowers; no more special treatment unless it's a birthday, wedding anniversary or some other special event in their lives; their husbands seem to take them for granted once the big gold ring slips on the finger, the wedding gown drops to the floor and the frilly veil is lifted. I believe the reason married couples' sex lives become so ho-hum is because it’s impossible to keep the lustful sexual fires burning as intensely as when they first fell in love; every night after the marriage ceremony, they go to bed with the same person. That's not a bad thing; it's just that the excitement has worn off; the tantalizing kisses, passionate fondling, the magical foreplay isn't as required as much. You see for me honey; I don’t do a lot of repeat business just for those reason. I take sex to the highest level right from the get-go and to maintain that level on a regular basis is almost impossible. I don’t care how many times a man has been laid in his life when he steps into my bedroom because as soon as he does, like a black widow spider (except I don’t kill my suitor) I’ve got him in my web and I suck him dry (sometimes literally) and it’s like a once in a lifetime experience for him. As far as keeping “the bedroom from not becoming like a library or a theatre” I’ve told my friends and some of my clients who love their spouses to spice up their sexual desires – like skip the mayonnaise and bring on the Tobasco sauce baby – it’s time for the missionary to hit the road – if you get my drift honey.
Len: And, what do you mean by “spice up their sexual desires?”
Talulu: (Takes a long swallow of her drink and runs her tongue across her lips.) Often the normal routine of a man and wife is to turn off the lights, crawl into bed; the man, needing to get his jollies off on a more regular basis, just because that’s the way nature has programmed him, often just spreads his honey’s legs, climbs aboard and wham, blam, thank you ma’am – he’s done like dinner and what happens after dinner with a man – he’s blissfully snoring away. Whereas the woman, once all the pumping and heavy breathing is over, just rolls her eyes and thinks, is that all there is and often times, even though she’s filled with her husband’s happy juice, she feels empty. I feel what couples need to do is play out some of their fantasies – sometimes just sucking on a big toe will do the trick; believe me; some people have peculiar fetishes. Talk is often times just as important as foreplay and when two people are starkers under the covers, this is no time to be shy and hung up on controlling inhibitions – talk about freedom baby – this is the time for a woman to spread her wings, wings being legs, and do whatever it takes to make her pussy purr, drool and squeal with delight and she should let her man know in any language necessary what it’s going to take for her to reach those sublime heights, those screaming wild orgasmic pleasures; the ecstasy of coming together and then exploding like the 4th of July. A person doesn’t need fireworks all the time but honey, they are necessary.
Len: Well (clears throat once again and takes a big gulp of his drink) that was certainly descriptive Talulu. Ah, I don’t suppose you’ve thought about giving classes to sexually dissatisfied spouses?
Talulu: As oddly as it may seem honey; I’ve considered just that. However, now is not the time; I’m thinking more about when I retire. The thing about being a hooker, and where most hookers make their biggest mistake, is because they’re under the old understanding that you have to work your way up from the bottom – because honey - in the hooking business, it’s just the opposite. A hooker should start and stop while she’s at the top and for me; because I know it will happen eventually, this body just aint going to stay the same, as soon as I start heading towards the bottom; it’ll be time for me to put these (lifts her huge breasts with her hands and shakes them) babies out to pasture – perhaps get married and have a child or two to suck on these (squeezing her nipples as the bartender spills a drink across the counter). The money of course wouldn’t be as high-paying as what I’m used to but I don’t see why, when one is a master at their trade, that they shouldn’t pass on their talents. To be continued...
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