Lisbon

I tried the 20 "roses" Rossio place a week ago. Motivated by the price and the affability of the receptionist on the phone I climbed up those old stairs in what had first started as a rather dull lunchtime in downtown Lisbon.

It was not a positive experience, by most standards. There was only one girl there, a 30 year old portuguese lady. When we were finally alone in the frugality of a small bedroom next to the ceiling, the general atmosphere and client-prostitute relationship began to change.

One could tell that she had been mistreated by life in general, that she felt regret and embarrassment at doing this job and confided to me that she was trying to leave it. She told me she was "completa" for 40 but that if I really wanted to I could have her for 30. Despite her initial enthusiasm for encountering a "young client" my mood was faltering. No longer did I consider her a service provider but instead I pitied her. My lingering resentment and disgust at society for failing to cater to my physiological needs had blinded me to the point that I was feeding a decadent sex industry and indeed indirectly exploiting these poor souls. This was not merely a sex-exchange; more profoundly, we were exchanging poverties: my emotional one for her economic one.

We ended up fucking all the same. While she actually gave me good service (including DFK, which was a big surprise considering the place), I could not really bring myself to enjoy it.

Tell me Carlos Primeros, deposed King of Portugal. How can you live yourself when you are in Brazil and have sex with girls who do so only to survive, along with Rio_Bobby, Bubba_delight and various others? Have you really no moral qualms whatsoever?

There can be no faith in Humanity.

My Dear - life is hard to everybody - also to hookers! Otherwise there would be no hookers but only happy married women and men. Where should we mongers go?

Now - stupid joke aside - I feel also sorry for mistreated women. I hate this but I avoid them like a plague because - as a hooker told me - every hooker has a sad story to tell.

Why do girls prostitue themselves? A question with thousand anwers. I can not answer them all. I am happily taking advantage of the offered services, pay and leave. In a certain way I am giving support to these women!

We can also start discussing about the morals, economical impact of mongering, even the ten commands. But is that the purpose of this forum?

You see - I was former King of Portugal and they kicked me out into exile! So people like RioBob, Muri etc. are getting a kick out of fucking hookers.

From time to time everybody meets really nice girls - also hookers can have a very good caracter and can be real GFs.
I have a GF in Niteroi which was a hooker for 5 years before she finished university and is now a dentist! But in reality, I think that only 20 % of the working girls are really pressed in to prostitution, the rest is doing it out of very personal reasons. There may be sad personal stories behind it but I am not working in a social program to enhance the well-being of hookers.
If they like me and I like them - it is ok, if not, I leave.
For sure I have also pitty for human beings. I was several years ago travelling in the south of India with a very very rich Indian businessman in his RollsRoyce. At a gas-station an old woman was creeping towards the car, she had only rags on and had not even the strength to walk! I gave her 10 roupies and guess what happened? The Indian businessman started an argument with me - he told me that if I would give every starving old women in India 10 roupies I would soon have nothing to give away - and why giving it to this old woman? She is dying anyhow.

I think this story tells you a little about pittying people and the attitued other people look at things. Like I said - paying a service-provider is maybe not the worst thing to do.

Take care - you are obviously a good, fine young man with a lot of scouples. Keep on going your way, like I do may way.

Carlos - deposed King of Portugal

a fascinating interchange. what is it with the young generation? carlos and muri are older fuckers, raised by parents who knew war and hunger, with no tv and little pocket money, long hard days of disciplined work at school, carlos learning the eternal lessons from goethe and schiller, muri from shakespeare and byron. they have offered a lifetime of service to capitalism, selling their body but not their soul, and they reap some reward by occasionally purchasing the favours of willing women.

and along comes this lost generation of privileged but discontented youngsters addicted to instant but fleeting gratifications, their junk food, their crappy mtv, their ten-month marketing courses plagiarised off the net, and their ten-second attention spans. are these the men who will inherit the mongering world, when mur and carlos take that one-way ticket to the crematorium?

(muri still hasn’t decided. will he have his ashes rep001tered in the rua poço do borratem, or will they be kept in a plastic urn in the reception showcase at mirage klub?)

ok, now, pedrassi, ignore the bullshit above. as carlos points out, you are evidently a thoughtful sensitive and decent person. it is also clear from your writing that you have been fortunate in your education. and you have the priceless, strictly not eternal gift of youth, which you must not waste.

do not be dispirited by one banal sex act, or by the miseries of the ladies. yes, some of them have sad stories to tell, but so has the ugly young woman with the bitten nails and haunted look who has to work all day on the caixa at mur's local pingo doce. and so has muri’s boss’s wife, despite her holidays, clothes, cars and mansions.

if you dwell on the immense sadness of the world, it will drown you. it will rush you under like a tsunami and pummel the living shit out of you until there is nothing left but a pile of damp smelly rags.

play your part by being cheerful, tender kind and funny – with the pingo doce girl in avenida almirante reis, with the banker’s wife in the quinta da marinha, with the woman who fucks you for €20 in the rossio – with everyone. you will give and take humble pleasure, and the wicked world will be very slightly better for your presence.

if you yearn to save and redeem humanity, you will end up a dictator or a suicide.

be a monger instead.

con amore,
mur

Oh, yeah, morals...

As everybody nows, everything that's good in life is either illegal, immoral or fattening. I'm still trying to enjoy myself, all the same, even if not so much in Portugal nowadays.

I had wonderful sex today. Just wonderful.

[url]http://www.***********/display_advertiser.php?uid=1335[/url]

The lovely lady who graced my life with an hour of her precious company made a point of telling me that her's was a lifestyle choice, even if pressed by economic conditions (as in making money enough to sustain the quality of life being pursued, with an activity that's basically enjoyable).

Most times it all boils down to a question of attitude. If you go to the bottom of it, all of our lives are miserable (just read Álvaro de Campos). And mysterious. And for the more fortunate of us, also great.

Speaking about attitude, on my last passages through Lisbon, I have concentrated on M.K. and on Classic Ladies.

Vanessa, my M.K. muse, seems to be not there for the moment. Diana was out also, on my last visit. I went with a Portuguese girl whose name I do not remember now. It was good, but not memorable.

Classic Ladies, lately the trio of Alexandra, Raquel and Luciana, under the auspices of the lovely Ana, is the cream of the cream of the offer that I know of in Lisbon.

Alexandra won't be there much longer. She'll finish her doctorate and she'll return to her country. Meanwhile, she'll certainly keep being, and I say this with all my respect and admiration and gratitude, the best fuck in Lisbon.

Raquel is a very close second. I actually prefer her to Alexandra, even if objectively Alexandra is a grand dame and Raquel is not as much into it.

Luciana, the black last (graduate) year university student is the more lovely of them and does a BBBJ that's probably reason enough for a man to feel that life's worth to be lived just for the experience.

I'll try to worry about morals sometime tomorrow, after lunch...

Cheers.

Upon reading the feedback to my report (and reading it again myself) I feel obliged to make a few amendments.

Firstly, my very "emotional" mood at the time allowed me to get carried away with my statements. My original intention had been to debate the wrecked situation most prostitutes found themselves in. Given that I did not correctly convey this, I would like to issue a sincere apology to Carlos Primeros. What you do in your private life is none of my business.

Secondly, I have also greatly benefited from these girls' plight. If they were non-existent I would probably still not know very much about a woman's more intimate anatomy. Meaning that I would either have gone crazy or jumped off a bridge. They have also made my life so much more interesting. So perhaps they do have some positive role to play in society.

Thirdly, after much reflection I have realized that I don't really have the will to abstain indefinitely from all mongering activities. The prospects of getting a girlfriend remain pretty dim, and my raging hormones remain a powerful influence in my decision-making. So it's back to the status quo, it seems.

Ah, and I thank you Mur for once again providing a humorous report and at the same time effectively conveying your message across. Rest assured that your points are not lost on me.

Pedrassi

Being quite conservative when a lady pleases my body and soul, I usually repeat the same choice many times, thus having the chance to know better the mind (and certainly the body!) of the lady in question.

Unfortunately (or not) in my many years of mongering I was able to know only a tiny bit of that huge world. However only once – and I consider only those I think I knew – I sensed a real drama. And she was a Portuguese lady, in her homeland.

Probably most of the ladies of pleasure do not like what they do. But they like the pay. And a lot of them are gifted, even when they prefer to be watching tv or doing something else they perform fairly well. Doesn’t it happen in other lines of work? How many of us are lucky enough to always like what we do? At some point all of us have some doubts.

IMHO Murilloa gave a very good example of the way it goes:

18Jul06 about Martinha:

"...she says the boys in blue treated her beautifully and even offered her a female counsellor in case she needed help getting over the terrifying experience of being ‘trafficked’. No, she insisted, but if you really want to help me, just let me stay and continue fucking older English guys for loads and loads of lovely money..."

Too much thinking may be hazardous to your life… so today I had another marvellous massage.

No remorse, no guilt, no inner turmoil.
All the ladies I make love to, I MAKE LOVE TO THEM. When I refer to them as "Goddesses" I mean every single syllable of the word. I worship their bodies and no one will ever be able to say that she was treated with less kindness and gentleness than a "regular" lover would. Sad and troubled stories they may have (many certainly do) but, as far as I'm concerned, I wish my fleeting moment with them to be as much pleasurable to them as it shall be to me.
As for the "moral" issue, being the agnostic that I am, jewish-christian morality always was nothing but a repulsive nuisance: we all sell some part of our body, be that the brain, the arms, the legs or the pussy. None of them are sacred and all are. Ronaldinho's legs, Jorge Luis Borges's brain, Tapies's hands and eyes, Alexandra's pussy, mouth and bottom, all deserve to be paid for and dutifully loved and respected.
That's as perfect as my world gets.

First of all I must apologize for my English, it's been getting worse and worse, maybe due to some neurological disease (at least is not neuro syphilis)... sorry, I understand that these kind of jokes may not be welcome so I'll just shut the freak up. Enough about first statements, my gentlemen!

For whom remembers I had an encounter with this girl which I called "catarina, the czarina", where I couldn't reach to any conclusion so I had to go there again. Well, there I went! I did as recommended so I paid first as a sign of trust and tipped her 5 as a act of good will. She thanked and striped, cleaned and laid down spreading her legs. Kiss? No, no kiss, naaawww. Well, she was a real doll. Frustrated I took my time and she started hurting and hurrying so I came anyway and left. No money for you! - says the monger nazi.

My dear friends it was a busy summer which involved sex, oversex, hypersex and bankruptcy. Though I'd like to brag about my accomplishments I should not.

Anyway, I'm in sex prison now. There's a common saying in Portugal: "no money no vices", well, it's true. But even though, I still read with enthusiasm your reports (I have been granted internet access here in prison due to good behaviour), so keep on posting mates. I see new names here and in GPGuia, the same for portalprivado, correio da manha, etc, which makes me very happy. It's good to see that this beloved hobby of mine is proliferating! Just remember to always treat the girls nicely, stay protected, and… whatever. Go ahead my friends I shall join you later!

Big props for the great, the one and only, the professor and Father, the internet Shakespeare Murilloa! Best regards and good luck to y'all!

A sudden bip of my phone announces the chance of a promising afternoon. The Brazilian petite jewel, joyful and fun that I mentioned earlier is available and I jump to meet her in a room she borrowed for the occasion. The unexpected adds a special flavour to it, as it often guarantees a good experience.

In fact I had been twice with her several months ago, just before she went to Brazil leaving me wishing for her return.

Long black curly hair (my style), she is short and has a nice face. Gained some unwanted weight (not my style) that she has definitely to lose. Very affectionate, a kind of very spicy girlfriend, she took me to heaven and back. I even remembered Cohen:

Oh baby I waited so long for your kiss
for something to happen
oh for something like this.

An hour later I went away walking weightless in the clouds, my limbs barely supporting this body for I had left behind all my strength. I wish I could recharge faster: my batteries, my wallet, my mind. Can’t wait to do it again.

She is not yet “established” (I’ll let you know when she is. Right now I couldn’t hold my joy just to myself), but a rather intricate fate made me belong to the group of the chosen to deserve the favours of this young girl and have the privilege of providing the means she needs meanwhile.

That’s life.

good conversation recently: this is what it means to have a community rather than isolated reports.

friday mur was tortured by a professional development seminar.

most mongers concede that squalor, decadence and depravity have their own special fascination. if you disagree, why, what are you doing here, reading about a low-life like murilloa? however, the regulations and practices of the international insurance, finance and banking system contrive to be simultaneously immoral, disgusting and tedious.

so after a nauseating day, muri set off to research his own seminar paper, entitled, [i]‘informal modes of amatory service exchange in a volatile trans-european financial context: an empirical data-driven investigation.’[/i]

there was only one place for the fieldwork.

‘nauseating’ is no exaggeration, for he reached rossio with stomach churning. his flatulence, matching that of the day’s presenters, was such that he had to walk about for ten minutes deflating. round the historic square he went, rep001tering the pigeons with rifle-crack farts. about time those flying fucks learned what it feels like to live in fear of being crapped on.

once he was sure the fit was over – for who, gentlemen, would wish to intoduce a bad smell into that pristine pensão? – he entered the poço, horns sprouting from his head, forked tail lashing, cloven hooves drumming, teeth stained with the blood of virgins.

and the first sight to gratify his crimson eyes was the long-absent tsarina katarina herself, returned from visiting other outposts of her empire.

at the very foot of the fourfold stairway to heaven, they met a junior monger (?pedrassi?) descending with the magnificent sabina, in white blouse, long red skirt and almost no makeup (sorry, ambiguous sentence, we are talking about sabina, not pedrassi).

she looked entirely chaste and pure, like a bridesmaid at an e. european village wedding. had you seen her in the street you would surely have gazed but you'd have said ‘cutsie’ not ‘sexy’. you would have no idea that here is a girl whose working day is a multiplicity of cocks, some of them unrubbered.

anyway she has decided to heal her relationship with mur, because as they passed each other she poker-faced him rather than breaking out into abuse.

upstairs, katarina pursed €30 and gave a satisfactory service at this modest price. afterwards mur tried to talk to the lady.

now the tsarina’s admirers, and this writer is one, would describe her as a svelte marble goddess, an exquisite raven-haired odalisque, a statuesque enchantress, a secretive sensuous sphinx, a luscious long-limbed lovebird, a pretty purring panther...

her detractors might call her a hardened hooker.

but nobody could accuse her of being a generous expansive conversationalist. in reply to courtly questions in perfect portuguese, she offered nods, grunts, and that flash of a wan smile that occasionally lifts her face from interesting to beautiful. luckily our monosyllabic muse was dealing with an ex-boy scout, trained in morse code, who was able to glean that she has been home a month and will spend the next three here, the duration of her visa.

glad to use a trivial factoid from the training day, mur commented that romania is to join the eu in 2007, enabling her and all her friends to buy a mansion in sintra or a golf course in the algarve and live there happily ever after. “mmh”, she said, which is katarina-speak for, “oh, thank you so much, these are glad tidings indeed, muri, proud prince of my pussy and hope of my heart”.

then she lit a cigarette and headed streetwards. she had taken just ten paces when a tall, wide fuckin’ man-mountain of a dude took her back inside. mur skipped over the road, sidestepping the tourist tram, to get a beer, keeping an anxious eye on the pensão which he half expected to come crashing down into the street. not to worry. it took thirteen minutes, or two imperiais, for the tsarina to emerge, the next cigarette between her lips and the next client in her sights.

while sipping his sparkling brew, mur glimpsed the busy lili, and also noted the return of brown gypsy larissa, who has put on weight and still wears circus-clown lipstick and make-up, but who is eminently ‘comestivel’ as our brothers in the guia would say.

and thus the pale-gold autumnal sun sank behind the ancient rooftops to set on another day in the poço. what a wordy report for one quick fuck. apologies, gentlemen, but blame the friday seminar: it appears that windy verbosity is an std, seminar-transmitted disease.

While I did go to the Poço area on friday, I did not take Sabina up to the pensão. I did see a girl with a "long red skirt" standing around shortly before I left, though. The girl I took upstairs (I believe her name was Alina, something along those lines) treated me pretty badly. No kissing (second working girl to directly refuse me DFK in person; although in her case this was understandable - she didn't want to smear her lipstick as she had to get back to the street in 20 mins), no oral, as soon as I gave her the money she just lay down on the bed, patiently waiting for me to fuck her. When I tried to take her bra off, she said that would cost an extra 5€. While she had perfect text-book genitalia, I ended up not fucking her as I really did not want to try having sex with the live equivalent of a life-size doll. She did not seem minimally interested in me which was very exasperating.

After getting dressed she asked me for my mobile so she could call her mother (quite the cheeky lass!). I told her I did not have cash to burn for international calls, to which she replied that it would be a quick call. Ended up agreeing in exchange for her giving me the privilege of feeling her young body. She made a very long call, fully using up the 4 euros in my account.

I reckon that this first incursion into the SW scene in Lisbon will very probably be my last.

Pedrassi

Reading the negative lines (here and in the other forum) on several girls in Poço, especially about Jessica, Alina, Catarina and Sabina, some of them confirmed by my own experience, I cannot help remembering (by contrast) the former princess of them all: Elena. I saw her the first time more than one year ago, by pure accident, and that sight made me climb those stairs for the first time in my life, hence changing my mongering routines.

After that first occasion never she mentioned money again nor asked for anything, she had always a fresh scent, after the first time DFK and BBBJ were standard, she seemed happy with me around and we usually had some good laughs. Conversation was fairly easy using a mix of Portuguese/Spanish/Romanian. What more could I desire?

Sure, she was not perfect, and in some particular items far from it, but all summed up, for me she was the best, and when she left to her homeland for the whole winter I was devastated, but spring brought her again to the joy of her admirers. However after a short visit home in July she has now changed her way of living.

As homage, I post 2 pictures in the appropriate section.

Piotr, that’s a pity – although falling in l*** with a working girl, inescapable at times, is never really a wise move. Has she truly changed her lifestyle? With all respect to her good intentions, won’t she eventually get sick of the hard, ill-paid job she is doing now, and return to little Bucharest of Borratem? And if not -since you got on so well together, couldn’t she make you a special friend, as retired ladies sometimes do? At least the separation means you will continue to entertain us with reports of your quest for a new princess and of your progress with the Romanian language. If you get fluent, you can lead Muri’s proposed Portuguese Expeditionary Force on their mission to Bucharest to celebrate Romania joining the EU next year. And be sure to keep your promise to let us know when your petite Brazilian returns to Active Service.

Pedrassi, you are to be commended on taking the time to describe your misadventure on two sites and in two languages. You do not get a pat on the back, however, for allowing yourself to be exploited by naughty Aline. These delightful minxes chat and laugh a lot together about us mongers, and they try to tease and squeeze every last cent out of us, just as much for the mischievous fun of it, as for the money. There must have been tears of laughter in the pub last night as Aline told her compatriots how she called her mother to tell her she was having a break from her job as a chambermaid, while Pedrassi was running his feverish hands over her pert breasts…

Do not give up on the Poço, try again and by going regularly, and paying just a little extra, you will find that these girls drop the rubber doll mode and make more of an effort. But you will rarely get DFK here, and if that is your thing, you must move further up market. If you can steal €100 and drive your getaway vehicle to Avenida 5 Outubro, Alexandra of Classic Ladies will offer the kind of unforgettable lesson in all-round orality that should be on the curriculum of every good university.

Getting back to the Poço, Portuguese ‘putanheiros’ at the Guia are giving the wrong impression by describing it as irredeemably squalid and dangerous. It is, in fact, totally safe by day, being on the tourist circuit: two major squares are nearby, there are respectable hotels, restaurants and pensões in the area as well as our inferno-in-the-sky, the quaint old tram runs through, and there are always extrangeiros milling around on their way to and from the castle.

Indeed part of the ‘comédie humaine’ of the scene is to watch couples of tourists and the different ways the man and woman react as they realise that they have wandered into a street market. The other day from his lair in the ‘Carmar’ Mur saw two Scandinavian adolescents with their eyes out on stalks and their tongues hanging down to their knees as gypsy Larissa sauntered by, wiggling her fine butt with a ‘fuck-me’ look in her big brown eyes. But the boys were trailing behind Momma and Pop – there was nothing they could do but wait to get back to the hotel for a frantic five-finger exercise.

This area is also rendered safe by police presence, which is reassuring except on the days when the boys in blue have nothing better to do than herd our eastern lovelies into a van and take them to the station house. Perhaps the pensão itself is a little grubby, but most of the girls are scrupulous about hygiene, and for those of us on a budget – and Muri will be in that number until Christmas at least – the Poço remains a source of pretty young women and much innocent amusement. Even the bad experiences are funny there.

Muri did splash big bucks on a visit to beautiful Diana last week. She is second to Lori on his list of ‘girls-to-marry-after-winning-the-lottery-and-becoming-a-born-again-Christian’. He didn’t write a report because he has said all that words can say about this lovely woman. But it was good to see, reading the Guia this Sabbath morning, that a local guy with a good literary nickname has done something like justice to the Diana experience in the language of Camões and Ronaldinho. Also recommended, for those who read that language, is a wonderfully long vivid and sleazy account of the late-night club scene written by our own Zé Duron.

OK, now, Muri, shut the fuck up and do some work for once in your life, you idle chattering scumbag.

Fellow Murilloa,

Interesting the idea of commemorating the EU enlargement with such Expeditionary Corps.

Amazingly, as the enlargement expectations work both ways, imagine an industrious SW in Poço tired of her current life, leaning on a wall during her idle hours and thinking:

“…how can I get some personal gain from it? I already have a rented apartment here in Lisbon where I know my way around, a few € put aside, my flexible and consenting husband has found what seems to be a good job here, the language is not a problem anymore, why not shall I go to Bucharest and bring my kid and my mother to live here with me? And the cat and the canary will also like this milder climate. I could find a more conventional job, through it sooner or later the legal fuss will be solved, my kid could get an education in a public school here, my mother who is still young and healthy will certainly find something to do, and we all will be happy ever after… “

“…whereas if I return home I’ll have no job, little help from my family who struggles to survive, and when my last euros fade away I’ll be just another mouth… “

The hymn is now playing, the 12 stars shinning in a perfect circle and all is blue. Or else we’ll see a recycled SW in Poço.

Ah! of course! we are also members of another community that includes Brazil…

And you Pedrassi listen to Murilloa, if I may tell you so. The life of a monger isn’t always joyful, being try and error the game to play. Discard Alina and others alike, but not Poço. As you know It’s a kind of self contained micro cosmos where the girls have little in common with the standard SW elsewhere. Perhaps a case study.