Înc? o dat? am avut dreptate

Când la seminariile pe tema “Berea obliga?ie sau hobby” ?inute cu prietenii le ziceam c? mi-a? dori ca job s? fiu tester de “fete” la un stabiliment serios (poate din Amsterdam) toat? lumea râdea printre halbe ?i sticle ca la Cascadorii râsului. ?i a?a de tare râdeau ?i de a?a multe ori râdeau încât am zis ?i io ca rusu care privind  girafa de la Zoo î?i zicea tov?r??e?te-n barba “a?a ceva nu se exist?”. A?a c? am abandonat ideea cu testeru. Pân? azi. Am avut dreptate b?i ??tia care râde?i de visele omului (v? scot io ochii la urm?torul seminar). Lectur? pl?cut? (e netradus, dar de aia exist? Google translate, nu?).

Jaime Rascone is no different than the rest of us in that the erstwhile DJ needs to grab the occasional odd job to make ends meet. But the Chilean lothario has all of us beat by holding the type of fantasy job that just sounds too good to be true: Quality Control in a brothel.
Rascone, an occasional male model and DJ, first happened upon Fiorella Companions in Santiago, Chile while working on a story about the country’s sexual revolution. He was offered the gig by Madam Fiorella, who needed somebody to provide that final “interview” in her hiring process. It goes like this: girls who are interested in working as VIP escorts for Fiorella have to undergo interviews, psychological testing, and a photo session. The applicants are whittled down to a final six, who are then fucked one after the other in a single day by Jaime. He takes diligent notes on, say, how they moved their hips and whether their groans were adequate, and makes recommendations to the madam. There is paperwork involved, which we find hysterical.
The strain of the job is actually such that he can only do it once a month, testing around seventy girls or so a year. And, in fact, the article closes with a kind of haunting image of the guy getting dressed after a hard day’s work with huge dark bags under his eyes. Of course, that comes after an intense description of a volcanic threesome that ended the day so, y’know.

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