Thanks, but absolutely no blame, to Turkana a few threads down for helping to inspire this one.

What were the circumstances that "necessitated" your "stay" at that location?

What exactly made it the sleaziest?  Describe fully in all the grusome detail you can bring yourself to recall.

And, BTW, did you enjoy your date in spite of your surroundings?  Or for the more perverse among us, perhaps because of those surroundings?

And, in spite of everything, did you ever go back?

With a $2 hooker, in another life, a long, long time ago, back before I accepted that I was TS, and was trying to "be a man."

It was a horrid place in a horrid part of town.  I kept my pistol in reach the entire time. And when we were done she peed in a bucket in the corner of the filthy room.

She actually was a pretty nice girl, we had some good sex and then a soda afterwards at a nearby cafe, and she gave me Clymidia to remember her by, which cost me $300 in doctor bills to get rid of, making it my most expensive date ever.

Just one of the reasons I have a unique perspective.  I've been on both sides of the game.  And I have to say it's been fun either way!  But I learned to use condoms...

Giggle,
TS Jamie  

-- Modified on 8/10/2007 12:12:18 AM

ROFL Jamie !!!  I always love your  sincerity and honesty ...

Now I have to look back on mine ...
Does doing it in a court house  count ??

It was some sort of welfare hotel on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.  Nope, that's not true.  It was a house that 2 girls and one of their kids were squatting in.  They were stealing electricity from their neighbors line in the back yard.  Yeah, that was in Brooklyn.

The sleaziest location I ever experienced was right near the Metro-North line in Manhattan (Harlem). It made a crack hose look like Utopia.

I mostly limit myself to high $$$$$ per hour providers and have visited some nice incalls. Went to one in NYC expecting a nice place based upon the pics on her site. When I arrived (in a very nice section of the city), the place was a little bigger than a one-car garage. Now, size doesn't matter to me but in my mind, the smaller the place, the easier it should be to keep it clean.

Well, the bed just had a fitted sheet on it, nothing else, not even pillows, and there was a three inch stain on it. I went to hop in a quick shower, and the tile grout was black in some places, and the shower curtain was getting slimey. Heck, you can get a new shower curtain for a dollar at dollar stores! $$$$$ - one dollar still leaves a decent sum. And to top it off, since it was basically a one-roomer with a little kitchenette, there were dirty dishes in the sink and clutter on the one counter. No place to sit down since the one 'chair' didn't have any support. Put my clothes there and when I went to get dressed, found hair and lint all over it. I had to go out and buy a lint brush before I went home, otherwise suspicions would have been raised.

Now, I can understand if a lady is just new to the business, but this is a well-reviewed lady who has been in the area for a while. Nice lady, horrible incall. One hour of her hobbying fee money could do a lot to clean the place up and provide a nice chair or two, along with a few decent cups/plates/etc.

Amazing. I wonder if she realizes she's probably losing repeats with that place? It was better when she rented hotel rooms in the city before getting her own place. At least in the hotel room you didn't worry about critters/dirt/etc. If she only charged $$$ maybe it would be more acceptable. But not $$$$$ an hour!

As mentioned below, at that time 8th Avenue in the Times Square area was teeming with "massage parlors."  The girls would stand outside if the weather was good, luring the passers-by in.

I'm a sucker for redheads, so when I saw her, with milky skin and lank, orange hair, I knew I had to see her.  "Wanna date?" she asked.  I nodded and she took me inside and down a hall, then through another door.  

We were in a large room that had been divided into cubicles with sheets hanging from lines stretched wall-to-wall just above head level.  She pulled back a sheet and we were in a tiny cubicle with a cot.  I could hear the sounds of heavy breathing and slurping, and muffled whispers on both sides of me.  Fuck! I thought.  I'm only separated from some other guy by a sheet!

"Whattaya want?" she asked.  I wanted FS, but it was $30; I had little money, so I had to settle for a HJ at 15.  We stripped off our clothes and I lay on the cot.  She sat at the edge, grabbed my member and did her work.

I was young and full of lust; she was young and totally beautiful, but totally bored and uninterested.  She looked off into the distance as she jerked me off, and I stared at her porcelain face, cursing myself that I had no more money.  Her indifference, her focus on some dream that I was no part of, made me want her even more, made my longing for her more intense.  I heard footsteps and grunts, and the sheet at my right billowed a bit.  

I popped and she sighed, still not looking at me.  She leaned forward to the floor and tore off a paper towel from a roll and handed it to me, then stood and got dressed.  

Other than the talk about money, we said nothing.

A few moments later, I was back in the bright lights of Broadway.

the $2 experience.  Me, in "Boys Town," Neuvo Laredo Mexico, 1965. Rows of one-room wooden shanties, each with only a bed and a basin of water (not running).  A girl stands outside until a man comes along....

It was my first bj.  Never had a one quite like it since; she licked the tip like a cat might lick up milk.  When she was done, she smiled and said, "Eees good, no?"  

On the way out something caught my eye.  The picture of Jesus she had hung over the door way.  

-- Modified on 8/10/2007 6:08:58 AM

Nashville used to have a thriving "studio scene", where you'd come in and some girls would be waiting in a room, you'd pick a lady and a session length, and they would take you back to a small room for the session.  Unless you picked a "Jacuzzi session", you generally got a small office or bedroom (about 10'x10') with a table.

One of my favorite ladies (name was Jenny) had gone over to a new studio, and when I got the address, I had trouble finding it at first.  It was isolated -- there was a number on a mailbox, but you couldn't see the place from the road.  It was actually a house that had been gutted and was being redone, and the "sign" was a hastily-painted message on a board.

When I pulled up, I could hear someone using a nail gun, but I saw the lady I was looking for sitting under a tree drinking lemonade reading a magazine.  She informed me that the owner was still working on getting the interior walls up, and the only option  currently available was the house's bathroom, which at least had sheets hung around it on the framing.

I looked at her and said, "Why in the hell did you leave to come work with this outfit?"  She shrugged and said that she thought they were further along, and that she'd burned her bridges by mouthing off to the guy who ran the other studio before she left.  She did say that the session would be deeply discounted, and I knew she gave good service, so I figured "What the hell".

The only light was a bare lightbulb.  There was a sink, a toilet, and not much else.  The floor was concrete, and the only "music" was the sound of some guys working in another part of the building.  I got that porn-movie classic, the "BJ from girl sitting on toilet", and we had to fuck standing up because there wasn't anyplace besides the toilet to sit or to lie down.

Did I enjoy it?  Yes, to some extent.  Jenny always gave great head, there was a great feeling of "oooh, we're doing this is someplace forbidden", and I enjoy it when a lady is still partly dressed in street clothes.  Still, if I'd had to pay full studio price, I'd have felt ripped off. (This was 1993, I think, so I don't recall the fee precisely.  I think the normal rate for an FS hour was $160, and I seem to remember paying $80 this time).  I saw Jenny again, but not at that location; she went to another place, and then went solo for a bit before moving on.  I never went back to that house.

I don't know if I'd call it the sleaziest, but picked up a lady in a bar in the PI in 81.  We stayed and got drunk, then back to her place. Two rooms, one the bedroom completely filled by a pine bed and straw mattress.  Bathroom outside, 3 plywood sheets and an old blanket and a hole in the ground.  Woke up in the middle of the night to pee (ugghh), heard some noise,turned on the kitchen-dining room-living room and at least 50 2 inch cockroaches dived for cover, including a 3-4 incher inside an open bag of rice.  Dressed and split.  They had marshall law back then, so had to hide inside a friends bar all night till curfew was lifted.  Thought I had forgotten that night!

Met her at a bar, got drunk of course, had $5 on me so no hotel room that night.  Walked her home and miraculously didn't get stomped or worse by the local cowboys who loved to catch a GI in their turf.  She went in the basement to pee in a porceline potty sitting all by itself in the middle of the concrete floor, then we went upstairs to her room - heard several people snoring on the way up, and there was a teenage boy in the bed, who she kicked out.  Bare mattress, bare bulb on the ceiling, about 110 degrees, no fan.  She actually was a good fuck, and repeated again the next morning.  Snuck out and luckily caught a side-car scooter-taxi right outside her door so I didn't have to run the gauntlet of cowboys on the way back to town.  Probably a much closer near-death experience than I ever had in combat.

-- Modified on 8/10/2007 9:38:24 AM

Two really awful places in Manhattan stand out in my mind.

One was on east 34th street, appx 5 doors east of third avenue.  It's long since been demolished [along with most of that block] and replaced by luxury housing.  The other was on west 27th street between near 7th avenue.  It's no doubt in the way of the redevelopment of that area, which a few years ago finally claimed Billy's Topless Bar on 24th street, a really low-rent but fun topless joint.  [And where, in January 1989, a guy tried to pick me up.  I digress, but i suspect that was a college fraterity initiation thing.]

In each case, let's say the accomodations were not of 4-star quality. Dimly lit, not real clean, furniture such as it was quite aged and dated, stuffy with no ventillation, an interesting cross section of insect and animal life abounded.  Very dangerous-looking males frequently and loitered in the lobby of each, proving the hobbyist availing himself of those accomodations had far more testosterone [or courage] than he did common sense.

The place on 34th street actually asked you to sign a guest register.  In June of 1984, my mind both beclouded and enflamed [neat trick that one] with alcohol and lust and desperation, i registered as Richard Nixon.  The "clerk" did not even bat an eye.

Have you ever experience Shoney's, a chain in the Southeast?

she said because she had overslept we were going to use the sofa in her livingroom instead of the bed.  The place was an older apt. and not very clean.  When I used her restroom the towels were all fringed from use and there was stuff all over.  One and done for me with her.  Didn't even try to have a 2nd cup.

When I was eighteen me and my mates decided to shag a couple of burds after clubbing it up. We went to some massage parlor in Kings Cross (London) .It was down a dark alley And I never would have gone down it if I wasn't with a couple of other Lads.Prime Location to get mugged or stabbed up.

There were condoms all over the floor and syringes. But we was all randy as fook so we pressed on. We go to the place which was basically a small flat and entered.There facing me was a middle aged lady. We told her what we wanted and I explained that I wanted to do mine up the arsehole.And the old bird said they do whatever you want just no rough stuff.  

She brought out a string of girls . Who seriously looked like they didn't want to be here. I picked one and gave the old dear the fee and went to a room. When i get to the room I kind of thought something isn't right here. Grubby stained bed used cigarrettes on the floor. The girl looked scared big time and I had heard about girls being forced to work. So I sat down and gave her a couple of hundred quid and tried to talk to her but she couldn't speak no English. I didn't leave straight away as I didn't want the old dear to get suspicious but I didn't hit it as it all seemed wrong.

My friends did though apart from one who couldn't get it up. The next the day when I sobered up I called the Police and had a chat with them and gave the address. Don't know what happened.

Curious as to why you would mention a restaurant chain?  The way the thread was progressing, one who didn't know better would think that Shoney's was a cheap hotel and not a cheesy restaurant.  Now, if what you're suggesting is that you had a romp at a Shoney's, then you really should elaborate more.  Because, that's worth hearing about.

During a long ago drive through several southeastern states [1989] I saw numerous signs for Shoneys.  I did not stop at any, and was under the impression that it was an economy motel chain.  Apparently, I'm in error.

Apologies if I spoke out of turn.

I'd like to salvage this with a quip about "even though it featured an all-you-can-eat buffet..." but let me quit while i'm behind.

Neither of those two dives could by any stretch of the imagination be called "charming," though they did have an undeniable, if very ragged, utilitarian function.

Having been raised in a neighborhood of NYC which, as far as I can tell from the history og the city, has NEVER been a nice place to live, I'm not totally taken aback by gentrification, crappy as it's effects no doubt are for the many residents on the wrong side of the economic forces producing gentrification.

It's the best of times, it's the worst of time.  Trite as it is, change is a constant of life.

No apology needed.  You were smart not to stop and eat at one.  In fact, about the only reason you could get me to stop at one is if I knew I was somehow gonna get laid.