While YMMV, my buddy was bang-on. Taylor is a petite girl, about 5'2", from California, so she speaks English (a big plus in this city), but with a pierced nose with a nose ring and hair in partial braids or dreadlocks (not overly sexy). She was tanned, and had bare arms, but seemed to have a problem in getting the old Gillette or Philips underneath the pits, if you know what I mean.
Other than those 2 flaws, she spent innumerable time around my rear entry portal (wish my laptop was as easy to hook up and turn on), and let her soft hands play with the ever-hardening visage of Woody Fryman's namesake until he was warmed up and ready to let it fly into home plate.
I was led to believe that a culinary experience in the massageplaneteteria of the Y, and assistance in providing her with a liquid treat from my Sunbeam magic milk shake maker, might be on the menu upon my next visit if I should care to bring with me a sample or 2 of the new Andrew Jackson portraits that were unveiled this week.