Not a sad tale, not a sexy tale, a tale that is in my heart and in my head and looking for a forum. I've been actively engaged in the "hobby," as it has so cleverly been come to be known, since approximately the fall of 1990. I was working full-time in a very demanding job. I was a successful young man, but I was still a virgin in many ways. Realizing my limitations, following one particular late, lonely Saturday night in the King of Prussia area, I drove into Center City Philadelphia to take my chances at the only place I suspected I might be able to change my "luck," Doc Johnson's Leisure Time Products at the corner of 12th and Arch. There I wandered in, saw the performing spaces in the back, paid my upfront fee, sat down, and started chatting with a pleasant enough girl in a booth who had a nice smile. Talking back and forth, she realized what I was after, and arranged for me to meet her in a private booth in the back. Only there did I realize that she didn't have hands, more or less a thalidomide child working as best as she could. She got on top of me, I got inside her, she rode me hard, I think I came, the seal had been broken, I wandered off a little sweatier, a little dizzier, and a little...disappointed. The next morning, a Sunday, my body felt like I had fallen off a cliff. Stiff muscles in legs, arms, back, neck. Took several days for that feeling to fade, at which point I had to dive back into my work. Then I started thinking about other ways, other methods. Which led me to the late, lamented newsprint world of Philly Action, City Paper, and Philadelphia Weekly.
. I, too, remember STEAM, the old Joy's (haven't been to her place in 20 years), FairyTales in Old City, a few other places I've now forgotten. Didn't have reviews, but also didn't have to plan days in advance to get an appointment. Sittin' here online tonight because no one was free at last minute.