Thread Subject: Vietnamese free spirit in Toronto
Date & Time of Session: March 5, 2020
Location: Toronto
Name: Sistina Day  
Link: none (retired)
Agent: none
Nationality & Language: Canadian Vietnamese (English and Vietnamese)
Age: 21 (at the time)
Face:  5/5
Body: 4/5
Height:  5'2"
Skill: 4/5
Service: 5/5
GFE: 5/5
PSE: NA
Price & Session Length: 1 hour lunch in public + 1 hour private session, (from memory) CAD 250-300? for public hour, CAD 400-500? for private hour (I will report on another session the same evening in a subsequent post)
Repeat: I only wish I could but she is out of the game

This is my first report on this forum. I did live in Hong Kong for over a decade until moving away about three years ago, during which time this site was a welcome resource. So, long overdue, I’ve resolved to try to give back as best I can (I plan to post some reports of recollections from my Hong Kong days but thought I would post one from more recent history, to get the juices flowing and hopefully draw out the memories). An in-advance proviso for this and many of the subsequent posts I hope to contribute: this is an experience from a while ago, with a WG who has since moved-on to other things, so I can only hope to regale you with some engaging content that will unfortunately be of bugger-all practical use to you.

Sistina Day is a lithe, Canadian-born Vietnamese sylph, living in Toronto. Maybe 5’2” with a well-toned build, slender so that the subtle curves of her hips, firm little tits and all the rest really pop. She’s got long black hair, smoldering brown almond eyes and luscious lips that remain on the verge between a pout and a smirk. This somehow all adds up not to a slutty impression but rather that of the best-case scenario of the girl-next-door, if you have somehow won the real estate lottery in that regard.

This much I knew before ever meeting her, as I had been low-key popping in to her website from time to time for months without specific intent. The pics on her page built-up a whole visual mythology that I swallowed – hook, line, and sinker. They sketched-out the story of an arty, serene and somewhat bookish student-girl-about-town with a somewhat wry and ironic lens on the world, who – oops! – will occasionally be captured on camera lounging around, doing yoga or practicing ballet, all in the nude or in sexy lingerie.

Then, one glorious day, as if by fate, the stars aligned and a two-day business trip to Toronto materialized in my calendar!

Through a flurry of email exchanges, I booked two sessions with her: one for lunch at a public place of her choosing, followed by a more private “dessert course” back at her place, and a second, longer, appointment for that evening into the night, after I had dispensed with all of my meetings for the day.

On the day, coming out of my morning meeting, I arrived a little early at the appointed place, lingering outside, hopefully inconspicuously, for the fun of seeing if I could recognize her when she arrived. And arrive she did, right at the agreed-upon hour, and my quest for that tingle of first recognition paid off. It still being late in the Canadian winter when we met up, she was shrouded in a long coat that I knew from some of her online pictures and, when she took that off, a figure-disguising sweater that only made me more aroused as we sat and chatted, knowing, from my (ahem) prior due diligence, what was hidden beneath. Lunch was all small talk and innocuous compliments: a nice first date feel that made me regret never having done this before on my first meeting with a working girl, extending the anticipation before diving right in to carnal knowledge.

After lunch, we walked the short distance to her studio apartment, grabbing a couple of coffees on the way and conversing for all the world like a couple of colleagues on the way back to the office. Arriving at her place, we set down our stuff and divested ourselves of jackets, spectacles and other extraneities. At this juncture, I would be sorely remiss in not mentioning that, while the whole “removes glasses and turns from timid librarian to raucous sex vixen” is certainly one of the most over-played clichés in erotic media of all stripes, damned if I didn’t find myself happily inhabiting that cliché as she took off her specs and the cute nerdy Asian girl at the back of the classroom turned into a smoldering erotic kitten (over-analyzing this as I am wont to do, those big glasses become the most prominent feature of that small face when she is wearing them, downplaying the playful, come-hither brown almond eyes and those luscious lips that emerge like a revelation when she takes them off).

Anywho, our thus unburdened selves sat down, fully clothed, on the couch in her studio apartment, sipped our coffees, and… just chatted, both of us earnestly (and, in retrospect, hilariously) play-acting the “will we?, won’t we?” tentativeness of an actual non-transactional date. Well played, ma’am!

Eventually, the awkward teenager in me, summoned back from the depths of my consciousness by this ritual, finally got up the courage to lean in, unsure of myself (again, rofl in hindsight), for a kiss. The exchange of increasingly probing kisses that ensued led to touching, escalating to groping as the pubescent Poindexter, that I had somehow morphed into, became increasingly bold, not believing his luck. Clothes were gradually shed in a haphazard way to afford increasing access, which we both exploited hungrily.

We navigated the one-meter commute from couch to bed as we helped each other strip off the remaining remnants of our garments, kneeling on the mattress at first, as our hands greedily wandered over the now fully unimpeded surfaces of each other’s bodies, slipping into a reclining position as our respective groping settled on the regions between the legs. Her kneading turned to tugging as my shaft hardened, and my caressing turned to fingering as I began to feel her pelvis squirm sinuously and her juices begin to flow, our bodies melting into each other and our writhing synchronizing.

OK, adolescent-me, thanks for getting me this far, but it’s time for you to step aside and let the big boy take over. Watch and learn.

At some point, the “Spidey sense” just tells you when it’s time to clear the appetizer from the table and get down to the main course. Disengaging from our symbiotic squirming, I took the steering wheel and, in a heartbeat, she was on her back and spread-eagled with my ravenous maw lapping vigorously at her slit. She jolted and shuddered, letting out a gasp of pleasure, with the surprise of this sudden scene change. After a few minutes of this, another alert from the oven timer lodged deep in my reptile brain cued me to slide the short distance up that petite quivering frame to complete the delivery. I should give rock climbing a try, because those small firm breasts, endowed with rock-hard nipples of a size and degree of definition usually reserved for mammaries of much greater magnitude, gave me sufficient purchase to haul myself up and anchor my member firmly in her crevice.

The cadence of her sigh as I entered her tripped the “slow-it-down” switch and I started into a rhythm of long, glacially slow pumps, from just-the-tip to balls-deep with every thrust. I could feel her dissolving into a pool of simmering arousal. My build-up was gradual, accompanied by a reconstitution of her liquified body into a taut and agitated bundle of sinews, her lower set of lips clenching at my entrapped LB like a vice. Technique be damned at this point. I suddenly shifted into full turbo mode, sealing the fate of millions of my unborn children as I gushed uncontrollably into the loins of my captor (of course via the mediator of a valiant condom that had more than earned a hero’s burial for the service it had rendered. Practice safe sex, kids).

Now I know that a big part of the service that we pay for in such transaction is the boost to our fragile egos, and real pros know this and know exactly how to play us, so when I mention that the first words out of her mouth after she was able to recompose herself were “my god, you know how to fuck!” and that this gave me a flush of pride, I am fully aware that I am most likely putting my own gullibility and insecurity on display. But fuck it, I’ll take it.  

The rest of the production was a vignette of two spent bodies lying next to each other, lazily metabolizing the rigors of the shared performance, us staring into each other’s eyes until the real world drifted back into view.

As she had homework to catch up on and I had meetings to get to, I bid her adieu for now, as I shuffled off into an unfocused afternoon of flagrant dereliction of duty as my mental faculties were fully occupied with the afterglow of that nooner session and the anticipation of the evening to come.

(part 1 of 2, stay tuned for the evening edition…)

Dudes, not trying to piss anyone off. A couple of bros on another thread suggested that I dig back into the deep memory banks and post some stories of experiences with working girls past. Just trying to contribute a type of post that they said would be appreciated, but I completely understand that I am not offering up any actionable knowledge. Fair enough that it will therefore not be of interest to everyone.