Ch. 4 – Puerto Vallarta
I woke at seven in the morning the day we pulled into our first port of call. Puerto Vallarta holds special memories for me. Never one for the excursions, I took a taxi to the shopping district to pick up some jewelry for my girlfriends. Then lunch at the Hard Rock Café and a stroll on the beach.
Late in the afternoon I flagged another taxi and went to my special spot. Anyone who didn't know about this place would think it is just a very elegant house in a very rich district. But those of us who are regulars know it is the classiest whorehouse in town.
I was greeted at the door by Raoul, the doorman. I slipped him a twenty, as was the custom of the house. He took me into the bar and I ordered a beer.
One of the great appeals of the house was its elegant ambiance. It has the look and feel of a high-society affair, rather than a flesh market. There are no hawkers, no pimps, and no half-dressed girls making crude comments. The girls, all pretty and well educated, are dressed in evening gowns. None of them have tattoos, piercing, fake boobs, or shaved pussies. If you met one on the street, you would think they were the daughters of bankers or politicians.
There were a dozen customers in the bar, watching a soccer match and sipping their drinks. Gradually the girls would drift through, striking up conversations. The dress code for the gentlemen was just as strict as for the girls. No one wore t-shirts or jeans, most wore ties even with the summer heat.
I talked with one of the girls who came up to me, buying her a drink. I enquired about Maria Elena, the girl I had spent time with on my last visit. Rosa, my companion, told me that Maria had left the house, marrying a local jeweler and moved to the United States. After a few minutes Rosa moved on with a smile, seeing that I wasn't interested in her. Within minutes she left with the man sitting next to me, departing for the bedrooms upstairs.
I ordered another beer, still not seeing a girl that appealed to me. I was in the mood for a very small girl, not the usual buxom model that is my normal taste. Being a big man (over six feet and 225) I sometimes get turned on by physically dominating a smaller girl by my sheer size.
Mexico scored a goal in the game and the room erupted in cheers. Before my third Corona arrived, the girl I was looking for walked into the room. She was about five feet tall, very skinny, and except for the long black hair and the small bumps on her chest, looked like a boy. Her dress was a very tight, green satin sheath. Two perfect pearls adorned her ears and her black heels completed the package.
"Hello," she said in a high-pitched, girlish voice. "I am Carlotta."
"Joe. Nice to meet you."
