A question about Apartments in central Lisbon
Muri
thanks for the advice. I revised my plans imediately and I arive in Lisbon in middle September! Since the last time I was in Lisbon was almost two years ago I was wondering if the local people can give us an update on the apartments situation. From my last visit I remember MK, Gissele, Classic Ladies and New center. And from the recent posts I also have the address of Miaus Klub. Is my list still valid or perhaps some of these places are closed?
To Muri and all other Masters
Hi Muri
I will definetively post after the trip...but on the spanish board.
I have just visited Diana at MK, and believe it or not I ended up refering that I was finally meeting her after so many times I had been there without ever seeing her around and that I had had the best recommendations about her...
Of course she had to ask me 100 times who had been the flattering gentleman and I ended up saying it was Muri, a british modern knight!
She was delighted...and sends you big kisses!
Back to the subject of the Peinador...
I have been going tru the spanish board but found nothing!! To bad!
Did you stay at the Peinador overnight or is that not a possibility?
I am looking forward to mingle with a few of the ladies, and I hope that they won´t find it to strange if I stay there for 5 or 6 hours! LOL!
Omni? Tried to MP you but it was not possible...anyway
Lets make the trip happen! Email information is on the last post or just MP me!
Well after meeting big Muri I am looking forward to meet Mr Omnimaster!
Have fun
Peinador - for explorer69
hotel peinador,
[url]http://www.hotelpeinador.com/[/url]
is a first class example of how p4p happens in spain, and a lesson to the rest of the world.
on the fringe of every spanish conurbation, usually 10km or more out of town, along the main carreteras, or brightening grim industrial parks, you will find neon letters thrusting skywards to announce ‘club’ or ‘hotel’.
gliding your porsche into the discreet car park, you proceed to a lobby where low-profile security boys briefly eye you up. if you are not drug-deranged or bearing an assault rifle, you may follow the sound of tropical music to the bar.
where you will find as few as half a dozen or as many as fifty women, unmistakeably putas in heels, bikinis, miniskirts, hot pants. they prowl around the customers, who sip their drinks reflectively, pondering when, and upon whom, to pounce.
the bar is illuminated by a curious fluorescence – mur is ignorant of the technical term – which lends a shiny glow to white clothing, increasing the piquancy of our shy maidens as they strut and gyrate. it recalls that cliché of a muslim paradise, although the sceptic may harbour a fleeting doubt as to how many of the girls are virgins…
etiquette varies. at some clubs it is ‘comme il faut’ for mademoiselle to approach the lone drinker in search of true love, while others prefer to let the punter make the running. either way, you choose a companion and go upstairs to seek a private room where you can discuss recent global economic trends in a quieter environment.
you pay €60, at a counter where you also disburse €3 to the attendant who provides a towel, condoms and a room key. this functionary is also responsible for keeping the lady’s scorecard so that there are no misunderstandings when her earnings are electronically transferred to her high-yield hedge fund in london.
the three blue notes entitle you to a half-hour meeting, covering the standard business agenda of strip, bj (usually covered) and several positions. of course, protracted discussion in greater academic depth, or concerning more esoteric questions, is a matter of negotiation with your delightful temporary colleague.
if you are enjoying a ‘weekend special’, like lucky-fuckin’-bastard zé duron tonight, you may then return to the bar, refresh yourself with invigorating liquors, and select another partner... and another... and another. most of these establishments are 24/7, but even the most avidly mercenary enchantress has to eat and sleep, so there may be more or less choice at different hours.
at a populous venue like peinador, there are women of all shapes, ages and colours, catering for every taste. on his visit, mur spotted no fewer than three girls corresponding in every detail to his platonic ideal: why, it almost seemed like too much of a good thing, and he had to order a second cerveza in order to make up what passes for his mind.
but you will seldom find a spanish chica, – if you lust for native talent you must browse the classifieds in the local rag, or haunt pubs in search of freebies if you are the wealthy, young and handsome type. many of the lovely putitas hail from spain’s erstwhile transatlantic empire, with colombia and the dominican republic strongly represented; but brazilians and eastern europeans also abound, and a handful of africans enrich the chiaroscuro.
this exemplary establishment is situated some 200 metres from the airport of the splendid galician seaside city of vigo, an attractive place, with accommodation at all prices, as well as shopping, history, culture, beaches, fine seafood, a respectable soccer team, and thousands of beautiful women on view at all hours.
the peinador also runs a ‘normal’ hotel and restaurant, but it is cheaper to get bed and board downtown. to reach this peerless brothel, take the airport bus, €2 from the city centre, twenty minutes. or a taxi to the airport, €20. throughout spain these oases are far outside city limits, making it useful to get your head round local bus routes, rather than paying for a long return taxi ride.
at the tourist information kiosk in downtown vigo, mur stood in line silently rehearsing his awkward spanish, and when his turn came, he inquired of the (eminently doable) teenager, “¿dónde se coge el autobus para el aeropuerto?”, and little beauty replied, in english, “funny, the last two guys asked me the same thing.”
if anyone thinks sex-crazed muri has invented this, a recent non-fiction best-seller devotes several pages to the phenomenon. in ‘ghosts of spain’ (faber, 2006) giles tremlett of ‘the guardian’ newspaper discusses the country’s past and present. much of the book is acute and interesting, but his puta section (chapter 7, ‘clubs and curas’) is typical of the sad shite that journalists dump when they examine the bought sex scene. you can only write perceptively about this subject if you have done practical research, which in plain english means paying euros and fucking girls. most journos do exactly what tremlett does: ‘this was my first ever visit to a brothel’… ‘i was not sure what i was expecting’… etc.
¡fer fuck’s sake!
either these journos are dedicated mongers but have to pretend that they didn’t sample because wifey and all the politically correct homosexuals back at head office will read their copy – in which case they can have nothing interesting to say…
or they really are as simon-pure as they claim: they came, saw, made their excuses, and left - in which case they can have nothing interesting to say.
end of rant, and now that your curiosity is satisfied, explorer69, you must also understand that the existence of peinador and other such glimpses of paradise are among the many reasons why you should visit spain, soon.
¡arrrrriba españaaaa, coño! (¡dáme tu lechita, papi!)
