An anecdote from my fascinating life:
Quite a few years ago, I was mates with a Taiwanese gangster. He was a nice bloke, had spent seven years in America (admittedly, most of them in prison), and could speak excellent English.
During the football World Cup in 2006, I would take him to my favorite pub ( a cool, underground place run by a Macedonian), to watch the games.
When my birthday rolled around, he had a guan xi moment, and called me up.
“Hey, jimi! I have a surprise birthday gift for you!”
“Meet me at my place at seven.”
He lived in Yong He, so I took the 30-minute taxi there.
Dude’s put on his best clothes, and has a 1 liter bottle of Johnny Walker Blue in his hand.
“Tonight we’re going to party!”
I’m like “fuck, yeah!”
We get into a taxi and end up at a KTV joint.
I’m thinking "Yeah, okay. Not what I had in mind, but I do enjoy singing KTV as long as I’m not with a crowd of Taiwanese who enjoy those maudlin Mando-pop songs.
We’re in our little lounge, pumping in songs, chugging down the Scotch, and he makes a call on the in-house phone.
"Here comes your birthday gift!’, he says.
Through the door comes this really gorgeous woman, wearing nothing but a g-string and high heels.
Now, at the time, I didn’t have a girlfriend, and was horny as hell.
“Jumping Jesus on a crutch! This is the best birthday gift EVER!”
She takes my arms and places them firmly on the outside of my legs.
“You no touch!”
Then she starts rubbing my groin with her butt. Turns around and slaps her tits against my face. After about 15 minutes of this, she gets up and leaves.
So I say to my buddy “So where must I go to shag her?”
He looks astonished.
“No no no. This isn’t that type of place. It’s high-class”
I don’t want to say anything, because this was apparently a wonderful birthday gift, but I’m thinking “Seriously? What’s the point?”
Hence the title. I really don’t understand why men would pay women relatively large sums of money to make them frustrated.