On Sam’s first time heading to a brothel, his heart pounded in adrenaline induced excitement, and he was filled with a lascivious feeling that comes when a lecher is in anticipation of having heated sex with a paramour: The covert den of iniquity was located in an area in the Bronx, New York. One of his Puerto Rican buddies named Tito brought him there. Tito was the same age as Sam, seventeen, but their counterfeit identification cards indicated that they’re twenty-one.
    The moment Sam stepped inside, he spotted her and she was an eyeful who captured his fancy. Her, and all the other females, were scantily clad. She was hispanic, five foot seven, plump, young and delicate. Sam guessed her to be no older than twenty-five.
    As Sam sat on the plush sofa, he ogled her from a distance and noticed her conspicuously large thighs, piercing brown eyes, slim waist and ponderous breasts. Suddenly, churning thoughts of a blow job began burning in his head. It inflamed his sex-drugged mind, until he could no longer maintain his composure. So he signaled her with his hand, and as she noticed his signal, she began mincing her way towards him.
    Finally, she was facing him, and although he knew she was fluent in English, he’s a polyglot, so he decided to employ that gift by addressing her in her own vernacular. He said, “Chula tentadar, ya tu sabes, eres tu que yo quiero. Cuanto costa?” That is translated, “Flashy temptress, you already know, it is you I want. What’s the cost?”
    “One hundred for half an hour, Senor.” she replied coyly.
    “What!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “Porque tanto(why so much?) Besides, I just want a blow job.”
    “It’s still the same Senor. You’ve come to the right place. We’re the finest mama citas around. We’re good at what we do. Guaranteed satisfaction.” She was emphatic with her words. But, she won him over. Had it not been for his wanton mind, he would have got up and left. He was financially unstable, so money was scarce in his pocket. Six hundred is what he had, and it came from his pay check which he cashed two days prior.
    So he said to her, “Chula, you sure drive a hard bargain, but I’m all yours. Let’s get busy now.” She immediately led him into a room, and after he doffed his clothes, she began pleasuring his tool with her mouth. “Oh yeah…, fantastic!” he mumbled over and over again. Then, suddenly, he began to tremble and felt feeble in the knees. He gritted his teeth and moaned as he was spent. “Woman, this was only five minutes!” he voiced his disappointment. “I want my money back. And if you won’t give it back, at least let me twist you out for the rest of the twenty-five minutes. I know I have a strong back.”
    “But Senor,” she replied, “it’s not my fault you was spent so quickly. You should have controlled it.”
    As the reality of her words registered, Sam’s head began to spin, and he felt a rush of madness shoot through his body like adrenaline. She was right, it isn’t her fault he was inflamed by his lust and couldn’t control his orgasm. But still, he couldn’t seem to allow a harlot, whom he was paying for her service, to talk to him in any manner. So he looked her cruelly in the eyes and snarled, “It’s your fault, not mine! Seduction is your field of specialty, you should have done something. And if you wasn’t so damn drop-dead-gorgeous, maybe I would have controlled myself. Now give me sex, I have a strong back!”
    “Okay, papi, your wish is my command. You don’t have to be so feisty about it. Just slip on the protection and let’s do it.” She swiftly doffed her scant clothes, and as Sam noticed her bushy private part, he felt so vivified, fully ready for action.