A long time ago, at the beginning of my hobbying career I had a rip-off/newbie/stupid-ass-idiot moment in London. Before that trip, I'd had my very first initiation into the AMP world in San Francisco. That was a doubles session with Janet and Jennifer at the legendary Sophia's Spa. AMPing in San Francisco is downright civilized, easy, low cost and in those days there was no threat from LE.
Anyway, I know nothing of the World Sex Guide, the internet isn't even functional for the masses and so my sole experience is this one, off-the-charts AMP time in SF. Armed with this 'experience' I jet off to London on assignment and, with time on my hands, go wandering late one night into the sucker-punch that is Piccadilly Circus. I mean, how bad can it be??  After strolling the streets I get up the gumption to try a little basement hole in the wall place with a girl at the door coaxing any passers by to come in. She hawked it as a "sex show" with girls for your "private pleasure" and I found myself thinking, 'Hmmm, Janet and Jennifer but blonde and with english accents!'  Suckerrrrrrrrr! 
I pay my 'cover charge', hey it's just a house fee right? And descend the stairs into a dimly lit rathskellar kind of place with little booths along the walls and with a bed in the center of the room. 'Oh, this must be what she meant by, "Bed Show"', and I'm thinking that I hope there's somewhere more private for me to bang the comely english versions of Janet and Jennifer that will soon be waltzing my way.  I'm slightly taken aback by the fact that I'm the only person in the room.
Sure enough, a fairly attractive blonde enters from behind curtains at the back of the room and saunters over to my table. She smiles and is a fairly engaging, if big, girl. She asks if she can sit with me and of course I say yes. Immediately, like a bolt of lightning another girl, a really big girl (we're talking linebacker big  ), a waitress is at our table with drinks, drinks I didn't order. When I say I didn't order champagne she says it comes with the entry. Oh, o.k. then, this is turning out well. Behind the waittress is now a second girl, a statuesque redhead who probably outweighs me, and she asks to sit down too. Well . . . um . . . O.K., these two aren't exactly the trim little spinners that Janet and Jennifer were, but hey they had British accents and in two seconds they were going to blow me right? 
Anyway, I don't get more than halfway through a glass before the waitress returns with the bill and asks to settle up. Settle up? I thought the drinks were included with the entry? No she says, not the GIRLS' drinks,  So I give her a look, take the folder and try and read in the dim light and convert the pounds to dollars. The conversion I get can't be right because it's like $400 dollars, so I figure I had put the decimal in the wrong place and stuff $40 in the folder. Nope, Ms. Linebacker the waitress really meant for it to be $400! and demands immediate payment PLUS $500 for the girls' "companionship!"
Finally the reality of my situation dawns on me.  Ah the painful apprenticeship of the newbie!  I lie and tell fatso I ain't got $400 let alone $900 in my wallet. She and the two girls reply in a unison chorus that they, "take credit cards"  like I'm going to give these shysters my credit card number!
So I push past Red, who's got me boxed into the booth and is trying to body block me but I roll across her lap (giving her titties a good squeeze in the process . . . clearly they were real  ) once out into the open I'm now blocked by the waitress: Jabba the Hut and Blondie, soon to be joined by Red frustrated at my getting past her. Each time I go right or left they block my way. No one grabs me, but they shuffle this way and that, a well practiced and effective jiggling barricade of female cellulite, all the time ordering me to, "pay the bill." This goes on for a minute and a half before I regain my wits (such as they were ) and fake a move to the left followed by a quick roll around the right as the girls jig in the wrong direction. A split second later and I'm dashing up the stairs with Jabba and her entourage in tow. I exit the top stairs just as the charming barker girl is taking another "cover fee" from the next sap and without thinking I grab his arm yelling "don't do it!!" Miss Charming Barker instantly transforms into the nastiest looking witch from Hell, spewing every foul thing she can think of as I drag the poor unsuspecting customer off, yelling at him "run! run!" The dude hesitates for a second (shit, what would you do in his place? ), then he sees Jabba and the evil jigglies coming up the stairs and turns and runs with me, muttering something like, "Holy Shit!"
The pursuit isn't long, and my fellow hobbyist and I stop, breathless and laughing our asses off after an alley or two where I fill him in on the rip-off. Turns out he'd already paid his 'cover fee' so it was a goner, but he was still out less than I was for the evening. Being ripped off truly sucks, being ripped off because you were stupid really really sucks | |
After strolling the streets I get up the gumption to try a little basement hole in the wall place with a girl at the door coaxing any passers by to come in. She hawked it as a "sex show" with girls for your "private pleasure" and I found myself thinking, 'Hmmm, Janet and Jennifer but blonde and with english accents!' 
Suckerrrrrrrrr! 
I'm slightly taken aback by the fact that I'm the only person in the room.
), a waitress is at our table with drinks, drinks I didn't order. When I say I didn't order champagne 
So I give her a look, take the folder and try and read in the dim light and convert the pounds to dollars. The conversion I get can't be right because it's like $400 dollars, so I figure I had put the decimal in the wrong place and stuff $40 in the folder. Nope, Ms. Linebacker the waitress really meant for it to be $400! 
Ah the painful apprenticeship of the newbie! 
I lie and tell fatso I ain't got $400 let alone $900 in my wallet. She and the two girls reply in a unison chorus that they, "take credit cards" 
like I'm going to give these shysters my credit card number!
) once out into the open I'm now blocked by the waitress: Jabba the Hut and Blondie, soon to be joined by Red frustrated at my getting past her. Each time I go right or left they block my way. No one grabs me, but they shuffle this way and that, a well practiced and effective jiggling barricade of female cellulite, all the time ordering me to, "pay the bill." This goes on for a minute and a half before I regain my wits (such as they were