I think the bar’s name was “Las Tucas.” It is across the calle from Las Margaritas. When I was in the neighborhood, usually with one friend or another down for a holiday, we stop by for a few reasonably priced beers and check out the talent, such as it might be.
It was a pretty small place, with a bar to the left, some chairs where hopeful unaccompanied ladies sat and a handful of tables farther in, where customers could sit, and if the mood struck, invite one of the girls to sit and have a drink with him. As to the ladies, they catered to locals on limited budgets. They tended to be a little more full-figured or a little older than the chicas who worked slightly more pricey places.
Still, as so often happens, an 8 would sometimes appear among the 4 to 6s. There was one lady I saw there a few times who was a bit older but still lovely. I would have pulled the trigger for her in a heartbeat, but she seemed to have a regular client who would monopolize all her time. I waited patiently, but never got my opportunity.
I had made the mistake of waiting too long more than once, but when I saw Dalia walk in and sit down, I decided the situation called for action, so I went over to her, chatted a bit, propositioned her, and off we went to one of the rooms upstairs.
She was a slim girl of about thirty, with an attractive face and an alive expression on her face, unlike so many zombie chicas who work these places. At any rate, upstairs we went. The first thing she did was to take a napkin and wipe off her lipstick. I surmised this meant she liked to kiss, and I was not disappointed. The body beneath her clothes was as nice as I could have asked for, and once we got started it was total GFE. I was very pleased with my companion of the evening.
Fast forward a couple of years, and I hadn’t seen her in quite a while, when, standing on the corner about a block from the Poas, whom should I spy but Dalia, standing with a group of transvestite hookers. I waved to her and she recognized me. I motioned her to come down to the bar and she complied. I bought her a drink and asked her why she was working the streets with transvestites. I KNEW she was all female, why work the streets with the transvestites? Her answer was that it was just more fun. I guess we all have our own definitions of fun. I asked her if she’d like to come back to my apartment with me and she said yes. The sex was the same as in that bar, good if not quite amazing. After we were done she asked me how much I was going to pay her. I said $40. She nodded, thanked me, and got dressed.
“Need to make some more money,” were her parting words, as she headed off to rejoin her transvestite friends. Fair enough.