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Mozilla to Develop Mobile Firefox
Kelson writes "Mozilla has announced a new initiative to bring Mozilla to the mobile web, including a fully functional mobile version of Firefox (yes, with extensions). The focus will be part of Mozilla 2, the big revision coming after Gecko 1.9 and Firefox 3. Minimo, the previous attempt to port Mozilla to mobile platforms, is apparently dead, but 'has already provided us with valuable information about how Gecko operates in mobile environments, has helped us reduce footprint, and has given us a platform for initial experimentation in user experience.'"
I can't even change the threshold with this thing.
Niggers are bad.
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There is an Opera mobile browser available, and it acts quite nice. And it's here already!
However, downloadable extensions might be something interesting - if they are usefull on the smallish screen.
Bite my shiny metal... oops... Nevermind!
This is not considered classy, but I generally charged by the "pop" not the clock, choosing to invest the time it took to leave my customer satisfied. You tell me what you what me to do, and I'll tell you how much it will cost for me to come over and do that thing until you cum. My lenient attitude toward pricing was kind of a sexual honor system-sure a guy could waste hours of my time deliberately not cumming, but it didn't usually work out that way. They didn't want to be rushed, I didn't want our encounter to take forever, and we met somewhere in the middle. And for every client that went 20 minutes over the hooker's hour, there was another one that only took 10 minutes altogether, so I figured it evened out.
For the most part guys were quick and considerate; even if they wanted to stretch their dollar, the sheer novelty of the situation usually made it hard to control themselves. But every once in awhile I would come across a client who was determined to milk everything he could out of his donated C-notes. These guys would stop and pull out every time orgasm seemed imminent, sometimes announcing "Stop, I don't want to cum yet." A few times these encounters went on so long I completely ran out of steam and had to take a breather myself.
Paid sex is much more athletic than regular sex. In relationships, we've all had lazy sex; I've become the master of giving lying-down handjobs while sleepy or drunk, and in a time of real malaise a nice face-fucking can usually do the job. But when you're fucking for work, you have to bring the energy of a crazed nymphomanic to every sexual act. It's a lot like being a porn star, with the added mental energy expended trying to figure out what the client wants you to do even when he's too uncomfortable or embarrassed to tell you. You have to get yourself into positions you've only tried in yoga classes, sometimes while manufacturing an attraction and arousal that doesn't exist. In short, it's a workout, and it's exhausting.
Early into my illustrious career I met a guy named Jack who owned (or at least claimed to own) a large hotel in Midtown. We met there for a gfe session one afternoon after class. I like having sex in hotels even in real life, mostly because of the liberal use of mirrors in hotel room décor, allowing me to watch myself sucking and fucking from every angle. As someone who is insecure about her body, it's counterintuitive that I like sex in front of a mirror, but I find it's actually reassuring. I always look a lot better than I think I do.
Jack was, incidentally, the ONLY customer who ever put a condom on for oral without being asked. It was the one gentlemanly thing about him; the rest was mostly a barrage of "Suck that cock you slut"s and "Look at yourself sucking that cock, whore"s. By the time he was ready to stick it in, I had told him how much I loved his cock so many different ways I was beginning to wish I knew a second language.
Once positioned on the bed, he invited me to sit on his cock and ride him. I don't get how woman-on-top supposedly feels better for chicks; for me, it's just a sloppier version of an aerobics class. I did it so long I'd tried pretty much all my moves: leaning forward so my tits dangle in his face and riding him horizontally, sitting up and bouncing on his cock with my feet flat on the bed, and reverse cowgirl bent over so he could stare at my ass. At this point in my life, I was working out for an hour or two every day, and used to this particular kind of workout, but even so this went on long enough that I was dripping sweat and starting to lose momentum. Even more delightful, every time I slowed down Jack would slap my ass and yell something along the lines of "C'mon, FUCK." I gritted my teeth and worked through my burning quads thinking "I AM FUCKING, ASSHOLE." I signed up for sex, I ended up in spin class.
Luckily, you don't last long in this business without learning a few tricks of the trade. So, without further ado:
College Callgirl's Top Ten Tips to Get Him to Hurry the Hel