<div class="floatleft"> (https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/00a1/yi9x9z7skl8jbis6g.jpg) <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Anastasia <br/>____<br/>aka Nasty</span></strong></div></div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">I see the big boys, the Warcaofs, before they see me.  They’re with a smallish woman and they seem to be in deep conversation.  This is not unusual as customers oftentimes lay out their desires to their chosen girl after much thought, with detail, emphasizing the importance of doing it ‘just so’.  <span class="bbc_u">Except</span> neither Warcaof was at all interested in any of the varied offerings I suggested at my Zurich establishment.  <br/><br/>Once the working girls realized that no matter how lascivious they might be or suggest erotic exotic games, the Warcaofs were thinking otherwise, a certain esprit fell upon them.  They were likable.  Fun.  <em>Oh no, I don’t know that Peter (or Ari) would go for that</em>—a focus of collective concern for them down to the setting of the room temperature or food or whatever.  I could be wrong, but a few even chimed in with a <em>Hee-hee!</em> during their stay.<br/><br/>I’m wondering what charm this one sitting between the big boys offers.  I’m not against learning new kinks.  <br/><br/>I catch the eye of my bartender who slides a flute of champagne into the midst of the three.  I take the champagne.  “Hello boys.  Tell me.  Who gets the top and who gets the bottom or is that to be determined?”  I raise my glass and tip it toward the woman, “I’m Anastasia, often called Nasty, but I’m only that, . . . mostly.”  (Smile). <br/></span>