I have been on dates where I wish I were dead. I have been on dates where I was sure she was dead. Originally Posted by charlestudor2005
- Naomi4u
- 03-08-2011, 07:44 AM
- Naomi4u
- 03-08-2011, 07:54 AM
...
- charlestudor2005
- 03-08-2011, 08:09 AM
This thread just resurrected my paranoia about things that can go wrong on a date. I have often worried about things like my car getting stolen, heart attack, etc. How do you explain your whereabouts to the SO. I guess you just as well die cause you will get killed anyway. Originally Posted by jj_coolIt's one of the reasons why I insist on picking the venue and do outcalls only.
- pjorourke
- 03-08-2011, 08:13 AM
Well look at the bright side. If you die on a date, your wife can't kill you for screwing around. 
- charlestudor2005
- 03-08-2011, 08:22 AM
- Marcus Aurelius
- 03-08-2011, 08:24 AM
Tax free as well.
- Valerie
- 03-08-2011, 08:33 AM
Thanks Charlie, I needed a good laugh this morning!
- Rakhir
- 03-08-2011, 01:28 PM
I will myself confess to having wished for a straight razor to slash my wrists to get out of a date. But that was only with a stalking civilian I couldn't get away from years ago. Tried to fake my own demise several times but somehow she was able to pierce the veil of secrecy every time. But fate intervened and and a buddy of mine hooked up with the nut case and took a bullet for me! To this day when I run across the guy he looks like a cup of hemlock would suit him just fine!
- TexTushHog
- 03-08-2011, 07:19 PM
If I die while in flagrante delicto with a provider, I'll let my executors worry about that problem. I've got enough to worry about already.
- Guest083011
- 03-08-2011, 07:20 PM
- ashwednesday666
- 03-08-2011, 10:33 PM
I seen the question was for ladies but it I'm going to answer it. 2005 Christmas night. Just got to work. They call for a mert member - me. Runnig on generators after katrina. No phones did cpr oxygen difibulator (can't spell fu) until fire dept came they took over ambulance came.. Worked 13 hours, then cried on the drive home. Hope this answers your question
- Rakhir
- 03-09-2011, 12:01 PM
This thread and a chance encounter/admission by provider last evening had me wondering how the men would react to a provider expiring on them as well. This provider recently had a minor stroke and confessed to not taking blood pressure medicine properly. Makes me wonder how one would handle this turn of events.
- Guest083011
- 03-09-2011, 01:37 PM
Dial 911. Evaluate the victim. Do CPR, etc. The guidelines for CPR have changed radically in the past few years. Compressions to keep the blood moving is the most important. Breathing is now way secondary (if the blood isn't moving, there's no need for oxygen). You are buying time until the EMS/EMTs get there. It is those golden minutes/hour that are most important.
- Guest050715-1
- 03-09-2011, 05:52 PM
A funny thing happened on the way to the coliseum………………….
A month or so ago I just happened to be blindfolded in my bedroom. I don’t know how it happened, it was just one of those things – lol. So, like I said, there I was blindfolded and having fun with a buttery, velvety, red suede flogger, and all of a sudden I hear, “Oh, I don’t feel so good.”
Well naturally I retorted; it just seemed to be the thing to do
. I can’t remember exactly so I’ll paraphrase, “Well neither does my bottom.” Anyone who is in the know will know soft, supple floggers don’t hurt, they are just wickedly scurry fun that make a lot of noise.
A little bit quieter I hear, “Really, I don’t feel well.”
Fun’s clearly over; clearly time for high profile problem solving mode. First things first; take off the blindfold fast. And, no, he wasn’t feeling well. He was broken out in a sweat and breathing erratically. Second thing; get him to the fainting couch. Third thing; call 911. Won’t you know, he reached up, grabbed my cell, hung up and said he was – now listen to me now – he said he was "ok". Whatever that means.
I assured him he was not “ok”, and informed him that 911 was just going to call me back. So now I hear even quieter, “Ok.” Again with that word lol. It was totally the word de noir.
I talked to the 911 operator and got the ‘bam-u-lance on the way. I was pretty sure he wasn’t having a heart attack, but he was still sweating profusely, breathing in weird puffs and having trouble focusing. Clearly he needed an ambulance, but CPR wasn’t needed. I decided now was the time to attack the delicate issue of whitewashing the scene.
He was starting to get his breathing under control and focusing much better now. So……………… I wiped his brow off, took his face in my hands and calmly said, “Listen to me. The ambulance is on the way. I need to take the butt plug out and put all the sex toys up. Do you need help getting dressed?”
Proceed with the stated plan seemed to be in order. I ran off to the master’s bath to hide the incriminating evidence. When I came back into my bedroom from the bathroom, he had DILIGENTLY tucked in his dress shirt and was sitting on the couch like a child trying to look like he wasn’t guilty of having wild sex and drinking champagne when this little blip happened.
Anyway, the EMT’s got there about two minutes late and called a second ambulance with the cardio-trained EMT’s and equipment . So there we were. At my house – house not my incall with two ambulances out front; poured champagne; completely dressed; sitting on my fainting couch in my bedroom; dogs laying at our feet; and no sex toys about the room greeting our guests. Ya……….no raised eyebrows here.
Insurance was asked for. Tests were conducted. Things were discussed. It was decided he had had an arrhythmiaic (sp) episode. Basically, as it was explained to me, is heart got to beating too fast. I don’t know why. These are everyday activities right we were playing, right?
Eventually, my friend was strapped into the gurney, and I packed an overnight bag for him. You know water, his underwear that didn’t make it back on his person; the really important things. Except his shoes; I forgot those. Idiot me! And off he went off to joy ride with the boyz of Houston’s Fire Department.
Now, here’s the funny part. You do realize it was decided he was basically fine, and now we can laugh at the situation. lol
So the fireman says to me, “I have to ask you, because he won’t tell the truth.”
Me,”Sure.”
The Fireman, “Has he taken anything?”
Me, “No, we don’t do drugs.”
The Fireman, “I mean something other than illegal drugs.”
Me, “We’ve been drinking. Probably a bottle and a half of wine and champagne.”
The Fireman, [A look of comforting and “Is this woman stupid or something?” plays across the Fireman’s face.] “No, something different. Something to help.”
Me, “With what?” [A light goes on in her head. The look of understanding comes over her face.] “You mean something blue?”
The Fireman, “Y……es.”
Me, “No. He doesn’t need that.”
The Fireman, [Smiles] “You have a good night ma’am. He’ll be just fine.”
Believe it or not, he was in the hospital for three more days. I visited him. Took him “Stalingrad” for something to do and his shoes so he didn’t look like a silly hillbilly when he left the hospital.
It’s funny now, but it wasn’t terribly funny that Saturday evening
A month or so ago I just happened to be blindfolded in my bedroom. I don’t know how it happened, it was just one of those things – lol. So, like I said, there I was blindfolded and having fun with a buttery, velvety, red suede flogger, and all of a sudden I hear, “Oh, I don’t feel so good.”
Well naturally I retorted; it just seemed to be the thing to do
. I can’t remember exactly so I’ll paraphrase, “Well neither does my bottom.” Anyone who is in the know will know soft, supple floggers don’t hurt, they are just wickedly scurry fun that make a lot of noise. A little bit quieter I hear, “Really, I don’t feel well.”
Fun’s clearly over; clearly time for high profile problem solving mode. First things first; take off the blindfold fast. And, no, he wasn’t feeling well. He was broken out in a sweat and breathing erratically. Second thing; get him to the fainting couch. Third thing; call 911. Won’t you know, he reached up, grabbed my cell, hung up and said he was – now listen to me now – he said he was "ok". Whatever that means.
I assured him he was not “ok”, and informed him that 911 was just going to call me back. So now I hear even quieter, “Ok.” Again with that word lol. It was totally the word de noir.
I talked to the 911 operator and got the ‘bam-u-lance on the way. I was pretty sure he wasn’t having a heart attack, but he was still sweating profusely, breathing in weird puffs and having trouble focusing. Clearly he needed an ambulance, but CPR wasn’t needed. I decided now was the time to attack the delicate issue of whitewashing the scene.
He was starting to get his breathing under control and focusing much better now. So……………… I wiped his brow off, took his face in my hands and calmly said, “Listen to me. The ambulance is on the way. I need to take the butt plug out and put all the sex toys up. Do you need help getting dressed?”
Proceed with the stated plan seemed to be in order. I ran off to the master’s bath to hide the incriminating evidence. When I came back into my bedroom from the bathroom, he had DILIGENTLY tucked in his dress shirt and was sitting on the couch like a child trying to look like he wasn’t guilty of having wild sex and drinking champagne when this little blip happened.
Anyway, the EMT’s got there about two minutes late and called a second ambulance with the cardio-trained EMT’s and equipment . So there we were. At my house – house not my incall with two ambulances out front; poured champagne; completely dressed; sitting on my fainting couch in my bedroom; dogs laying at our feet; and no sex toys about the room greeting our guests. Ya……….no raised eyebrows here.
Insurance was asked for. Tests were conducted. Things were discussed. It was decided he had had an arrhythmiaic (sp) episode. Basically, as it was explained to me, is heart got to beating too fast. I don’t know why. These are everyday activities right we were playing, right?
Eventually, my friend was strapped into the gurney, and I packed an overnight bag for him. You know water, his underwear that didn’t make it back on his person; the really important things. Except his shoes; I forgot those. Idiot me! And off he went off to joy ride with the boyz of Houston’s Fire Department.
Now, here’s the funny part. You do realize it was decided he was basically fine, and now we can laugh at the situation. lol
So the fireman says to me, “I have to ask you, because he won’t tell the truth.”
Me,”Sure.”
The Fireman, “Has he taken anything?”
Me, “No, we don’t do drugs.”
The Fireman, “I mean something other than illegal drugs.”
Me, “We’ve been drinking. Probably a bottle and a half of wine and champagne.”
The Fireman, [A look of comforting and “Is this woman stupid or something?” plays across the Fireman’s face.] “No, something different. Something to help.”
Me, “With what?” [A light goes on in her head. The look of understanding comes over her face.] “You mean something blue?”
The Fireman, “Y……es.”
Me, “No. He doesn’t need that.”
The Fireman, [Smiles] “You have a good night ma’am. He’ll be just fine.”
Believe it or not, he was in the hospital for three more days. I visited him. Took him “Stalingrad” for something to do and his shoes so he didn’t look like a silly hillbilly when he left the hospital.
It’s funny now, but it wasn’t terribly funny that Saturday evening
- charlestudor2005
- 03-09-2011, 08:33 PM
@Olivia
You are truly a classy and composed lady. Great story!!
You are truly a classy and composed lady. Great story!!