Resuming my journey home, I walked up the stairs to my second story apartment. It was a shithole apartment, in a shithole part of town. The only AC wa... a stinking window unit swamp cooler, they did little to cool the stifling heat of August even at two in the morning. I fumbled with the keys to the front door. When I unlocked the door and opened it, a man from behind grabbed me and forced himself into the apartment with me."Let go of me!" I cried. He held onto me roughly as he slammed the door.. On the other hand, almost all of the American working girls that I've dated were primarily interested in completing the date as soon as possible. This business-like approach was even reflected in the bars on the street level. The girls generally did not approach a man but, instead, waited for a man to approach them. When a match was made, the man generally had the option of either going to the hotel above after one drink or first spending some time with the girl in the bar drinking, talking,. More

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