''It's my theme tune, it's my theme tune, it goes on and on... It's my theme tune, my lovely theme tune, it goes on and, it goes on and, it goes on and....on!'' - Charlotte Church.
Ophelia and I went to watch the live filming of ‘The Charlotte Church show’.
Yes, she is attractive in ‘real life.’
No, you can’t see her ‘bump.’
Yes, she is just as foul mouthed in ‘real life.’
Yes, I still love her just as much as I did before.
No, I wouldn’t go again, because although it was fun, it lasted for far too long and I was pissed off at Mr Warm Up who’s job (yes, his full time position of employment) it is to make us laugh once and then use this as ammunition to make us pre record laughs and claps of various durations and volumes. Anybody would assume Charlotte wasn’t funny enough herself.
If you have yet to visit a live recording similar to this one, I suggest you go to www.sroaudiences.com and book yourself some free tickets. I am still awaiting the outcome of my application for tickets to The Dame Edna Treatment. That’ll be fun, surely.
On that note, please watch The Charlotte Church tonight. I will be on, together with other minor celebrities including John Barrowman and Danny Dyer. For those of you who have seen me, watch out. For those of you who have a mental image of Gael Garcia Bernal every time we speak, keep that dream alive won’t you?
My celebrity status aside, Ophelia and I who were both on a brink of starvation-induced-death after the show made our way to Soho and to an always reliable Japanese restaurant named Satsuma.
Two bento boxes, a plate of salmon sashimi, a bowl of edamame and a portion of (the best) ebi katsu later, we had both perhaps eaten the most (quite literally) delicious Japanese food ever. That feeling, you know, when you could eat for all of eternity and still not tire of a plate of raw salmon, perfect. Better than receiving a blowjob in fact.
Of course, telling M, later that night, that raw fish was better than sex yielded a response in the form ‘You’re so sad.’ A little message to M of the-perpetual-margarita-pizza-eating- variety…WHATEVER.
Friday, March 30, 2007
The Dame dissected (once more)
The Dame: ‘Just got in. Have been kissed and hugged for the first time in 3.5 years. Have to be up in 3 hours but it was worth it.’
It’s official. The Dame no longer remains single. If we could have a standing ovation.
‘It’s ironic’, observed The Dame last night, on the subject of our successful relationships that seem to be further flourishing at present, ‘I remember you saying you’d love to meet a policeman and you have. I was also saying that I’d love things to work out with The Doctor, and they have.’
It’s true. The irony painted by life on occasion is pretty astounding.
I really couldn’t be more pleased. Let this be testament to the fact that all things come to those who wait. And The Dame has waited more than enough Methinks. It’s great because
a) The best relationships are with those who share a similar ethos for life. I believe The Dame has found this in The Doctor. There’s nothing better than two birds perching on the same wavelength.
b) Now there is somebody intelligent who possesses a stethoscope and a pair of ever-so-delightful scrubs, to join our slag parade.
c) The Dame is truly deserving of this sort of happiness, perhaps more than anybody else I know.
Now, on the subject of ‘that fleeting feeling at the beginning of any romantic relationship’, we both agreed that it was a special sort of reckless feeling, where the pedantics of life seem to matter so less. Where we can forget that we need to wake up early in the morning in favour of loitering around the liked-one until the very early hours. I should mention the text message described above was received in the wee hours of the morning.
Currently, things are looking positively up for The Dame. Career and relationship in the bag, she’ll no doubt set herself a new set of objectives.
I wonder how long it’ll be before they don nurse outfits and fulfil perhaps the most seedy sexual enterprise going. Anybody up for a game of Doctors and Nurses?
Does having a Doctor in the circle of friendship mean one can benefit from free check ups and (where required) prescriptions to difficult-to-find penis enlarging tablets and other controversial medicines?
It’s official. The Dame no longer remains single. If we could have a standing ovation.
‘It’s ironic’, observed The Dame last night, on the subject of our successful relationships that seem to be further flourishing at present, ‘I remember you saying you’d love to meet a policeman and you have. I was also saying that I’d love things to work out with The Doctor, and they have.’
It’s true. The irony painted by life on occasion is pretty astounding.
I really couldn’t be more pleased. Let this be testament to the fact that all things come to those who wait. And The Dame has waited more than enough Methinks. It’s great because
a) The best relationships are with those who share a similar ethos for life. I believe The Dame has found this in The Doctor. There’s nothing better than two birds perching on the same wavelength.
b) Now there is somebody intelligent who possesses a stethoscope and a pair of ever-so-delightful scrubs, to join our slag parade.
c) The Dame is truly deserving of this sort of happiness, perhaps more than anybody else I know.
Now, on the subject of ‘that fleeting feeling at the beginning of any romantic relationship’, we both agreed that it was a special sort of reckless feeling, where the pedantics of life seem to matter so less. Where we can forget that we need to wake up early in the morning in favour of loitering around the liked-one until the very early hours. I should mention the text message described above was received in the wee hours of the morning.
Currently, things are looking positively up for The Dame. Career and relationship in the bag, she’ll no doubt set herself a new set of objectives.
I wonder how long it’ll be before they don nurse outfits and fulfil perhaps the most seedy sexual enterprise going. Anybody up for a game of Doctors and Nurses?
Does having a Doctor in the circle of friendship mean one can benefit from free check ups and (where required) prescriptions to difficult-to-find penis enlarging tablets and other controversial medicines?
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Poem - Words, Wide Night by Carol Ann Duffy
Some koosh to penetrate the sordid frenzie of the blog. And what beautiful koosh it is...
Words, Wide Night
Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you
and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.
Words, Wide Night
Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you
and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.
Mothers
On how to tell your mother (or any mother for that matter) of your intentions to become an escort.
Now, the thing is, the parents are currently planning a trip to Italy during the summer. How I managed to persuade them to take me along despite no reasonable grounds for spending yet more time and money on travelling after last years trip of a lifetime, is besides the point.
Needless to say, I will need to fund this trip somehow, for not only are we going to Rome, Venice and Florence, but also to Milan ( and for those of you who remain unaware, this is where you can buy a whole load of posh clothes).
‘Well you’ll have to work. If you want to buy nice clothes, you can all work for them,’ said my mother on the subject of raising funds for this trip.
‘I might just work as an escort’ I confirmed. Thankfully my grandparents who were present are unable to speak English and, much to my joy, sought no interpretation of what I’d just said and were far too caught up in an Indian film that was on the television.
‘Would you have to do whatever they asked you?’ continued my mother, a miniature frown creasing her lips. A twinkle of bewilderment in her eyes.’
‘Oh no, you can do as much as you’d like. You can just go out for meals and make a whole load of money.’ Of course, this is true. Sex is always an added extra much up to my discretion. I don’t particularly want to put up with a wrinkled fanny in the name of saving funds.
‘Oh okay.’ And that was it. She said okay. Though, a part of me wonders whether she doubts that I might actually do it. That I might have, in fact, spent a great deal of time working up to the moment where I could prostitute myself quite happily and make enough money to last me through five meals at Michelin star restaurants.
The thing about mothers, is that they always assume you’ll know right from wrong. That you wouldn’t dare do anything they themselves wouldn’t do. If I became a fully fledged whore, she’d see it as an indication of her own failings and inadequacy as opposed to my sexual emancipation.
I suppose I could just get a tattoo and shock her in that way.
On a serious note, my decision to look into escorting has nothing to do with what other people will think. It’s more an avenue I feel might reward me with intellectual discussion with a scope and variety of people I might otherwise never come across. And the sex, if I chose to have it, would be on my terms.
Needless to say, my brother and cousin who were also present at yesterday’s discussion looked slightly puzzled at my mother’s acceptance. That she didn’t pull out her rifle and shoot me there will remain a source of mystery to us all.
The thing about mothers is that sometimes they’re just as good as us, at delivering the unexpected.
So in answer to the question, how to tell your mother (or any mother for that matter) of your intentions of becoming an escort? The answer is this:
Do it with poise and confidence. And wish for the best.
Now, the thing is, the parents are currently planning a trip to Italy during the summer. How I managed to persuade them to take me along despite no reasonable grounds for spending yet more time and money on travelling after last years trip of a lifetime, is besides the point.
Needless to say, I will need to fund this trip somehow, for not only are we going to Rome, Venice and Florence, but also to Milan ( and for those of you who remain unaware, this is where you can buy a whole load of posh clothes).
‘Well you’ll have to work. If you want to buy nice clothes, you can all work for them,’ said my mother on the subject of raising funds for this trip.
‘I might just work as an escort’ I confirmed. Thankfully my grandparents who were present are unable to speak English and, much to my joy, sought no interpretation of what I’d just said and were far too caught up in an Indian film that was on the television.
‘Would you have to do whatever they asked you?’ continued my mother, a miniature frown creasing her lips. A twinkle of bewilderment in her eyes.’
‘Oh no, you can do as much as you’d like. You can just go out for meals and make a whole load of money.’ Of course, this is true. Sex is always an added extra much up to my discretion. I don’t particularly want to put up with a wrinkled fanny in the name of saving funds.
‘Oh okay.’ And that was it. She said okay. Though, a part of me wonders whether she doubts that I might actually do it. That I might have, in fact, spent a great deal of time working up to the moment where I could prostitute myself quite happily and make enough money to last me through five meals at Michelin star restaurants.
The thing about mothers, is that they always assume you’ll know right from wrong. That you wouldn’t dare do anything they themselves wouldn’t do. If I became a fully fledged whore, she’d see it as an indication of her own failings and inadequacy as opposed to my sexual emancipation.
I suppose I could just get a tattoo and shock her in that way.
On a serious note, my decision to look into escorting has nothing to do with what other people will think. It’s more an avenue I feel might reward me with intellectual discussion with a scope and variety of people I might otherwise never come across. And the sex, if I chose to have it, would be on my terms.
Needless to say, my brother and cousin who were also present at yesterday’s discussion looked slightly puzzled at my mother’s acceptance. That she didn’t pull out her rifle and shoot me there will remain a source of mystery to us all.
The thing about mothers is that sometimes they’re just as good as us, at delivering the unexpected.
So in answer to the question, how to tell your mother (or any mother for that matter) of your intentions of becoming an escort? The answer is this:
Do it with poise and confidence. And wish for the best.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Friday night
I liked the way he took his shoes off and lay on my bed without so much as a care in the world.
The kissing is perhaps what I remember the most. Greedy, deep kisses which left my boxers stretched and moist.
I refer to my night with Pc X.
That I felt comfortable with someone so easily has surprised me/turned on in equal measures.
I can feel the wetness of his mouth washing over my tongue as though it were happening to me right now.
As things currently stand, the very thought of Pc X is enough to give me an erection. Partly because he is so horny and confident with his sexuality, and partly because he is so unaware of the power he exudes.
If he were food, I would have eaten him whole on Friday night. Or, should I say, he might have eaten me.
His chest is smooth and defined. He has dark hairs over his leg, the very thought of which turn me on. He smelt clean almost sweet.
As I took his cock into my mouth, it tastes different to those that previously passed my lips. The size was big enough to fill my mouth.
Pushing me onto the floor his cock and my mouth were equidistant. Pulling his cock out of his shorts he guided it firmly into my mouth and proceeded to fuck me mouth.
That he, or anybody, could feel as though they could do whatever they wanted to me was what I’d been craving all along. That unapologetic fierce of lust where boundaries seem to dissolve instantly.
Had I been as prepared as I should have been (with a gallon of lubricant at the ready), I would have let him fuck me. And I would have enjoyed it.
And then we made the mistake of reading a text from the bunny boiler.
The bunny boiler took my orgasm and ran with it as fast as he could. And for this, he shall never be forgiven.
If you are a bunny boiler, please note, what you do is not funny, nor is it necessary or sexy. It is rude and an indication of mental instability. Kindly, kiss my arse.
The kissing is perhaps what I remember the most. Greedy, deep kisses which left my boxers stretched and moist.
I refer to my night with Pc X.
That I felt comfortable with someone so easily has surprised me/turned on in equal measures.
I can feel the wetness of his mouth washing over my tongue as though it were happening to me right now.
As things currently stand, the very thought of Pc X is enough to give me an erection. Partly because he is so horny and confident with his sexuality, and partly because he is so unaware of the power he exudes.
If he were food, I would have eaten him whole on Friday night. Or, should I say, he might have eaten me.
His chest is smooth and defined. He has dark hairs over his leg, the very thought of which turn me on. He smelt clean almost sweet.
As I took his cock into my mouth, it tastes different to those that previously passed my lips. The size was big enough to fill my mouth.
Pushing me onto the floor his cock and my mouth were equidistant. Pulling his cock out of his shorts he guided it firmly into my mouth and proceeded to fuck me mouth.
That he, or anybody, could feel as though they could do whatever they wanted to me was what I’d been craving all along. That unapologetic fierce of lust where boundaries seem to dissolve instantly.
Had I been as prepared as I should have been (with a gallon of lubricant at the ready), I would have let him fuck me. And I would have enjoyed it.
And then we made the mistake of reading a text from the bunny boiler.
The bunny boiler took my orgasm and ran with it as fast as he could. And for this, he shall never be forgiven.
If you are a bunny boiler, please note, what you do is not funny, nor is it necessary or sexy. It is rude and an indication of mental instability. Kindly, kiss my arse.
Admirers
On admirers…
Every now and again I come across people who have read/continue to read this blog who I don’t know.
The message I received a few days ago however was probably unlike anything I’ve received before.
‘I been reading your blog with much enthusiasm. I think its fantastic and ur expressions and feelings of such fantasies makes me excited to meet you. What makes it more interesting is that I am from Leicester, and I am anxious in meeting you. What do you think? I am leaving my number here for you. Please text me in the first instance. (his number).’
Who could this be, I wondered…
a) somebody trying to catch me out
b) yet another bunny boiler for me to contend with
c) an idea from the current bunny boiling loon I’m dealing with
d) somebody genuine, somebody who likes the blog and would truly like to meet.
Of course, curiosity always gets the better of me, so I sent a text last night to the admirer and this is the conversation (of a textual nature) that went on between us;
Me – ‘Hi – I hope you’re well. I’m glad you’re enjoying the blog. What do you think us meeting would achieve? Tell me some more about yourself perhaps?’
Admirer – ‘Hi, I’m just reading your blog and was about to post a message to ask you why you hadn’t replied to my message yet. You sound like a top bloke and you write well. I’m from the states originally and currently in Leicester. Whereabouts in Leicester are you from?’
Me – ‘Well thank you, I enjoy being able to write so openly. I live in the city centre-ish. I’m currently in London and expect to be in Leicester from the 3rd onwards. Are you a student here? And do you have an American accent? (perhaps the most important question of all).’
Admirer – ‘I sure do have an American accent! I’m here on business formulating new plans and strategy for (a big accountancy firm). I’m 28 by the way. Are you single?’
Me – ‘Well we can meet once I’m in Leicester. I am single although things with Pc X are going well. Where did you come across my blog?’ (something he failed to answer)
Admirer – ‘Oh cool have you guys had sex yet? Can I join in? J
Me – ‘No and not yet. I’ll let you know when I’m in Leicester. Enjoy your strategy planning.’
Admirer – ‘Cool let me know when you are in Leicester. Do you have a picture you can send me on this phone? Do you have a picture of Pc x as well? Would be cool for a threesome. Keep me posted.
Now now, photos can wait can’t they…surely?
Every now and again I come across people who have read/continue to read this blog who I don’t know.
The message I received a few days ago however was probably unlike anything I’ve received before.
‘I been reading your blog with much enthusiasm. I think its fantastic and ur expressions and feelings of such fantasies makes me excited to meet you. What makes it more interesting is that I am from Leicester, and I am anxious in meeting you. What do you think? I am leaving my number here for you. Please text me in the first instance. (his number).’
Who could this be, I wondered…
a) somebody trying to catch me out
b) yet another bunny boiler for me to contend with
c) an idea from the current bunny boiling loon I’m dealing with
d) somebody genuine, somebody who likes the blog and would truly like to meet.
Of course, curiosity always gets the better of me, so I sent a text last night to the admirer and this is the conversation (of a textual nature) that went on between us;
Me – ‘Hi – I hope you’re well. I’m glad you’re enjoying the blog. What do you think us meeting would achieve? Tell me some more about yourself perhaps?’
Admirer – ‘Hi, I’m just reading your blog and was about to post a message to ask you why you hadn’t replied to my message yet. You sound like a top bloke and you write well. I’m from the states originally and currently in Leicester. Whereabouts in Leicester are you from?’
Me – ‘Well thank you, I enjoy being able to write so openly. I live in the city centre-ish. I’m currently in London and expect to be in Leicester from the 3rd onwards. Are you a student here? And do you have an American accent? (perhaps the most important question of all).’
Admirer – ‘I sure do have an American accent! I’m here on business formulating new plans and strategy for (a big accountancy firm). I’m 28 by the way. Are you single?’
Me – ‘Well we can meet once I’m in Leicester. I am single although things with Pc X are going well. Where did you come across my blog?’ (something he failed to answer)
Admirer – ‘Oh cool have you guys had sex yet? Can I join in? J
Me – ‘No and not yet. I’ll let you know when I’m in Leicester. Enjoy your strategy planning.’
Admirer – ‘Cool let me know when you are in Leicester. Do you have a picture you can send me on this phone? Do you have a picture of Pc x as well? Would be cool for a threesome. Keep me posted.
Now now, photos can wait can’t they…surely?
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Moan
Things that I find upsetting/demoralising/a damn right piss take:
a) Going on a really good date with someone I really like, only for the night to be ruined by a pathetic bunny boiler who is now spreading rumours about me being a prostitute in Leicester and fleeing from my disgrace to London. What I have to say to you is this, KISS MY ASS in the nastiest possible sense.
b) Reading about Mika (yes, the new pop sensation) receiving death threats from people who want him to 'come out'. Who these people are or what their purpose in life is are both beyond me. What his sexuality is, is nobody's business. I don't ever hear about other singers ever receiving death threats requesting them to declare their heterosexuality. This sort of behaviour is obnoxious and an example of mental instability.
c)Peaches Geldof (who I used to like very much) dissing Madonna and stating that the Award for Style Icon should go to somebody more 'relevant'. Madonna is over the hill, she said, of perhaps the most famous woman in the world. She's no longer cool apparently. Peaches, my advice to you: lose the surname, make something of your life, get a job, achieve something, anything, and then open that trap of yours.
d) Have I mentioned that bunny boiling twat head? People who reduce me to the state where I have to use words like twat head, should be shot. Where's my rifle?
a) Going on a really good date with someone I really like, only for the night to be ruined by a pathetic bunny boiler who is now spreading rumours about me being a prostitute in Leicester and fleeing from my disgrace to London. What I have to say to you is this, KISS MY ASS in the nastiest possible sense.
b) Reading about Mika (yes, the new pop sensation) receiving death threats from people who want him to 'come out'. Who these people are or what their purpose in life is are both beyond me. What his sexuality is, is nobody's business. I don't ever hear about other singers ever receiving death threats requesting them to declare their heterosexuality. This sort of behaviour is obnoxious and an example of mental instability.
c)Peaches Geldof (who I used to like very much) dissing Madonna and stating that the Award for Style Icon should go to somebody more 'relevant'. Madonna is over the hill, she said, of perhaps the most famous woman in the world. She's no longer cool apparently. Peaches, my advice to you: lose the surname, make something of your life, get a job, achieve something, anything, and then open that trap of yours.
d) Have I mentioned that bunny boiling twat head? People who reduce me to the state where I have to use words like twat head, should be shot. Where's my rifle?
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Poem - Tea by Carol Ann Duffy
Tea
I like pouring your tea, lifting
the heavy pot, and tipping it up,
so the fragrant liquid streams in your china cup.
Or when you’re away, or at work,
I like to think of your cupped hands as you sip,
as you sip, of the faint half-smile of your lips.
I like the questions – sugar? – milk? –
and the answers I don’t know by heart, yet,
for I see your soul in your eyes, and I forget.
Jasmine, Gunpowder, Assam, Earl Grey, Ceylon,
I love tea’s names. Which tea would you like? I say
but it’s any tea for you, please, any time of day,
as the women harvest the slopes
for the sweetest leaves, on Mount Wu-Yi,
and I am your lover, smitten, straining your tea.
I like pouring your tea, lifting
the heavy pot, and tipping it up,
so the fragrant liquid streams in your china cup.
Or when you’re away, or at work,
I like to think of your cupped hands as you sip,
as you sip, of the faint half-smile of your lips.
I like the questions – sugar? – milk? –
and the answers I don’t know by heart, yet,
for I see your soul in your eyes, and I forget.
Jasmine, Gunpowder, Assam, Earl Grey, Ceylon,
I love tea’s names. Which tea would you like? I say
but it’s any tea for you, please, any time of day,
as the women harvest the slopes
for the sweetest leaves, on Mount Wu-Yi,
and I am your lover, smitten, straining your tea.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Acting
‘I want to do it to say thank you for being so understanding.’
‘Aw, that’s very interesting, and raunchy.’
By ‘do it’, Lady Montague (referred to in a previous entry as ‘Miss get-a-room’) meant, of course, dressing up in a school uniform and seducing her BoyF. Now, one of these people in a sort-of-banker and the other, a sort-of-lawyer, but don’t let that take away from the sordid pleasures that were being promised.
You know, I love nothing more than giving when it comes to sex and this Is precisely what Lady Montague was doing. Giving herself so that her BoyF could have his fantasies realised in a safe and protective environment.
When it comes to role play, I don’t really understand why people shy away. It’s easy to understand why you might trip over in laughter at the first sight of your boyfriend in a studded collar bound by a leash, but I’m a firm believer in the ‘once-in-the-role-everything-is-possible principle of life (both generally and more specifically).
I believe Lady Montague ended up doing something similar the other night, though not quite as raunchy. Having said this, some of us in life, including Lady Montague, have partners who can hump us all night, one after the other, orgasm after orgasm without so much as a flinch. Yes, some of us, it would be appear, don’t have to resort to role play.
Though, surely, it’s more than just that. An effective role play intervention might just push you into the sixth final orgasm/over the edge into orgasmic darkness.
How a man can come five times in one night is, and until someone horny teaches me otherwise, beyond me.
The beginning of any sexual relationship, it has to be said, is totally exciting. Where to put the erection once you’ve got it, and in the absence of any hole, is an entirely separate issue.
On that note, perhaps I should mention the phone-sex-induced-orgasm I gave Pc X last night. Our first – my first since M , and hopefully not the last.
Delicious.
‘Aw, that’s very interesting, and raunchy.’
By ‘do it’, Lady Montague (referred to in a previous entry as ‘Miss get-a-room’) meant, of course, dressing up in a school uniform and seducing her BoyF. Now, one of these people in a sort-of-banker and the other, a sort-of-lawyer, but don’t let that take away from the sordid pleasures that were being promised.
You know, I love nothing more than giving when it comes to sex and this Is precisely what Lady Montague was doing. Giving herself so that her BoyF could have his fantasies realised in a safe and protective environment.
When it comes to role play, I don’t really understand why people shy away. It’s easy to understand why you might trip over in laughter at the first sight of your boyfriend in a studded collar bound by a leash, but I’m a firm believer in the ‘once-in-the-role-everything-is-possible principle of life (both generally and more specifically).
I believe Lady Montague ended up doing something similar the other night, though not quite as raunchy. Having said this, some of us in life, including Lady Montague, have partners who can hump us all night, one after the other, orgasm after orgasm without so much as a flinch. Yes, some of us, it would be appear, don’t have to resort to role play.
Though, surely, it’s more than just that. An effective role play intervention might just push you into the sixth final orgasm/over the edge into orgasmic darkness.
How a man can come five times in one night is, and until someone horny teaches me otherwise, beyond me.
The beginning of any sexual relationship, it has to be said, is totally exciting. Where to put the erection once you’ve got it, and in the absence of any hole, is an entirely separate issue.
On that note, perhaps I should mention the phone-sex-induced-orgasm I gave Pc X last night. Our first – my first since M , and hopefully not the last.
Delicious.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
The Filth(y)
‘Tell me about the best sex you’ve ever had?’ I asked Pc X as I lay on my bed, speaking with him last night over the telephone, semi erection in hand.
‘Well, I like doing it in the outdoors’ he confessed giggling nervously afterwards. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you all of this when I’ve only known you for ten minutes’.
But that’s what makes it fun, I thought to myself.
‘He’s much shyer than I'd imagined, though very down to earth and, as you’ll soon come to realise, full of seedy promise.
‘Outdoors?’ I asked. Great! Another man who likes to do it anywhere but the comfortable single divan.
‘Well, in the park near where I live for example, I’ve done it quite a few times.’
‘So, is it the fact that there’s a chance you might be seen that turns you on, or is it the fact that it’s in the open?’
‘Both.’
‘Are we talking up against a tree or down on the grass?’ I was getting somewhere with this I thought.
And as he spoke about his fantasies more and more, the rise in my trousers gained in stature.
‘I like rough sex,’ he said. By this he means, of course, being the poker and poking hard and fast.
‘That sounds good,’ I said trying desperately to sound un-orgasmic at the prospect of being fucked up against a pine in the local preservation area.
‘I recall a time when my ex came to see me, I closed the door and we couldn’t make it past the hall way without me fucking him on the ground. He had carpet burns to show for it later on.’
‘Mmm.’
‘And tell me what you’d like to do with a guy if there were no boundaries and he was willing to do whatever you wanted,’ I persisted.
‘Kiss him fiercely, rip his clothes off and bend him over the bonnet of my car before I fucked him.’
The promise of good wholesome sex has entranced me, I admit. Is there anything better in life than submitting to a night of earnest fucking from a policeman who turns me on more than he’ll ever know? I think not.
And let’s not forget the admission that Pc X had fucked people in his garden shed, whilst his family slept indoors. Adventurous is most definitely a quality to ask for when on a sexual rampage. Ravenous, Raunchy, Right up my alley way (so to speak).
Mental note: Do dogs ever sleep? Find out. Pc X has a dog who doubles up as a son. Getting his cock out with the dog watching is most certainly a no no. Must think of way around this in the future.
‘Well, I like doing it in the outdoors’ he confessed giggling nervously afterwards. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you all of this when I’ve only known you for ten minutes’.
But that’s what makes it fun, I thought to myself.
‘He’s much shyer than I'd imagined, though very down to earth and, as you’ll soon come to realise, full of seedy promise.
‘Outdoors?’ I asked. Great! Another man who likes to do it anywhere but the comfortable single divan.
‘Well, in the park near where I live for example, I’ve done it quite a few times.’
‘So, is it the fact that there’s a chance you might be seen that turns you on, or is it the fact that it’s in the open?’
‘Both.’
‘Are we talking up against a tree or down on the grass?’ I was getting somewhere with this I thought.
And as he spoke about his fantasies more and more, the rise in my trousers gained in stature.
‘I like rough sex,’ he said. By this he means, of course, being the poker and poking hard and fast.
‘That sounds good,’ I said trying desperately to sound un-orgasmic at the prospect of being fucked up against a pine in the local preservation area.
‘I recall a time when my ex came to see me, I closed the door and we couldn’t make it past the hall way without me fucking him on the ground. He had carpet burns to show for it later on.’
‘Mmm.’
‘And tell me what you’d like to do with a guy if there were no boundaries and he was willing to do whatever you wanted,’ I persisted.
‘Kiss him fiercely, rip his clothes off and bend him over the bonnet of my car before I fucked him.’
The promise of good wholesome sex has entranced me, I admit. Is there anything better in life than submitting to a night of earnest fucking from a policeman who turns me on more than he’ll ever know? I think not.
And let’s not forget the admission that Pc X had fucked people in his garden shed, whilst his family slept indoors. Adventurous is most definitely a quality to ask for when on a sexual rampage. Ravenous, Raunchy, Right up my alley way (so to speak).
Mental note: Do dogs ever sleep? Find out. Pc X has a dog who doubles up as a son. Getting his cock out with the dog watching is most certainly a no no. Must think of way around this in the future.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Pc X
Being a bunny boiler, either in the past, in the present, or (dare we say it) doomed to be one in the future isn’t a good thing. This much is fact. I would suggest, in fact, that all bunny boilers, in my humble view, should be hung drawn and quartered. Cynical obsession was never in fashion, and, unlike Vivienne Westwood pirate boots, never will be.
With this point of view firmly in our minds we progress…
Date - Friday Night
Venue – G A Y (Astoria)
Reason – I had been invited to the club by a friend of mine from back home. It’ll be a good opportunity to catch up I thought, and he was due to bring his harem with him. A wider pool of men to choose from. Hurrah.
So, after watching a snippet of Comic relief, getting over the travesty that was three repeats of Ugly Betty (when I’d stayed at home to watch a much needed new episode) and pruning myself to look even more edible than I currently am, I made my way to the venue, handed my coat into the cloakroom and went in search of my friend, his harem, and any other good looking men that might be around.
At this point, it’s worth mentioning that Friday nights at GAY are titled ‘Camp Attack’. No comment. Although, I will say, it wasn’t anything like 28 Days Later with Queens, honest.
The music to begin with was dismal, and when I saw him I was pleased to just be having a drink whilst he introduced me to somebody he would refer to as his ‘ex’. That’s find, I thought, although I had been previously warned that they had split amicably and preferred not to refer to themselves as ‘ex’s’. Fine with me.
That this ‘ex’ was a policeman had me excited, it’s true. That this ‘ex’ and I got on well and could muster decent conversation was also true. That we sat next to each other and both thanked the lord for the music being loud so that we could whisper into each others’ ears is perhaps also true (although I might have to get his confirmation on this tiny matter). That we both talked about our respective blogs and exchanged addresses is also another truth. That I had an erection for much of this time, true again.
You see, things you should know about me, in order for this to make any sense, is that I have, like most other people, sexual fantasies. Whether those fantasises involve being handcuffed, stripped and intimately searched before the copper licks various parts of my body, is a different matter entirely.
So there we were, chatting away, having fun. And then he had to leave. Policemen work shifts you know. It’s not all cups of coffee and feet up on the desk, like many of us might imagine this section of society to function. Again, that was fine. Minutes after he left I received a text from him, telling me how much he’s like to meet me again. That he thought I was hot. He is hot too.
At this point I wondered what might have happened had he stayed a little longer. Whether, out of the view of my friend, he and I might have had a grope, or a deep erotic kiss or something of that sort. I wondered whether, had I pushed him up against a wall in the club, I would have been able to feel his throbbing cock against my leg. One thing I know is this; if he’d stayed, I would have tried.
‘Did you and (let’s call him) Pc X exchange numbers then?’ said my friend.
‘No’, I replied. A part truth, a part lie. Because I didn’t want it to cause tension and also because they were ‘exs’ and it was none of his business.
‘You don’t want to get mixed up with him you know’ he continued ‘He has a girlfriend who works as a Tesco Checkout girl. That’s why I ended it with him.’
‘How long have guys been together?’ I pressed.
‘Five years’ he said.
‘Ahh, got you.’
So, we danced some more, my arse was felt up some more, my butt cheeks pinched some more. The music got better (the highlight being ‘Into the groove’ by Madonna. It was a fun night out all in all.
So I got home and quickly text Pc X telling him that I’d love to see him again and to send me a text the next time he’s in London. The bit about my cock being hard thinking about him I decided to save for another time.
The following morning…
‘Did you text Pc X already?’ my friend asked over the phone as I was just about ready to dive back into my pillow for four extra hours of much needed ‘away time.’
‘No’ I lied.
‘Oh, well he just called me and said that you did and he asked me whether you were easy.’
‘Hang on a minute, what did he say?’
‘He just said you were easy and told me to tell you that he isn’t into ‘any of that stuff’.’
Fuck me, I thought, they’ve me deciphering me and I haven’t even woken up.
Needless to say, these sorts of occurrences I don’t take very well, so I blasted off a text message to PC X immediately, asking him about it all and seeking a few answers. He called me straight away.
Apparently (and this is where I get all bitchy and unreasonable) my ‘friend’ –please note the use of inverted commas to signify past tense, has suggested that Pc X should be careful of me because I ‘hang out with dodgy people.’ Damn, I thought, my involvement in the London Mafia has finally scuppered my chances of finding the perfect orgasm.
Apparently Pc X and the ‘friend’ had never as much been in a relationship. I think somebody was stirring up a whole load of shit weren’t they, before I bit the bullet, so to speak. 3
Jealousy is understandable. But if you’re going to be a bunny boiler, don’t ask two people out when there are chances that they might like each other. It’s simple.
To the positive…
PC X is horny, attractive and I spent the entire day thinking about what I’d like to do to his body. Not so sure what he’ll think when he reads this.
My fantasy containing a pair of handcuffs, a truncheon and a uniform might be realised after all. I get the impression Pc X is untapped territory. I’m going to push his sexual boundaries as far as they’ll go. The sex we’ll have is going to be toe curling, mark my words. I can say this, because sometimes in life, you just know.
With this point of view firmly in our minds we progress…
Date - Friday Night
Venue – G A Y (Astoria)
Reason – I had been invited to the club by a friend of mine from back home. It’ll be a good opportunity to catch up I thought, and he was due to bring his harem with him. A wider pool of men to choose from. Hurrah.
So, after watching a snippet of Comic relief, getting over the travesty that was three repeats of Ugly Betty (when I’d stayed at home to watch a much needed new episode) and pruning myself to look even more edible than I currently am, I made my way to the venue, handed my coat into the cloakroom and went in search of my friend, his harem, and any other good looking men that might be around.
At this point, it’s worth mentioning that Friday nights at GAY are titled ‘Camp Attack’. No comment. Although, I will say, it wasn’t anything like 28 Days Later with Queens, honest.
The music to begin with was dismal, and when I saw him I was pleased to just be having a drink whilst he introduced me to somebody he would refer to as his ‘ex’. That’s find, I thought, although I had been previously warned that they had split amicably and preferred not to refer to themselves as ‘ex’s’. Fine with me.
That this ‘ex’ was a policeman had me excited, it’s true. That this ‘ex’ and I got on well and could muster decent conversation was also true. That we sat next to each other and both thanked the lord for the music being loud so that we could whisper into each others’ ears is perhaps also true (although I might have to get his confirmation on this tiny matter). That we both talked about our respective blogs and exchanged addresses is also another truth. That I had an erection for much of this time, true again.
You see, things you should know about me, in order for this to make any sense, is that I have, like most other people, sexual fantasies. Whether those fantasises involve being handcuffed, stripped and intimately searched before the copper licks various parts of my body, is a different matter entirely.
So there we were, chatting away, having fun. And then he had to leave. Policemen work shifts you know. It’s not all cups of coffee and feet up on the desk, like many of us might imagine this section of society to function. Again, that was fine. Minutes after he left I received a text from him, telling me how much he’s like to meet me again. That he thought I was hot. He is hot too.
At this point I wondered what might have happened had he stayed a little longer. Whether, out of the view of my friend, he and I might have had a grope, or a deep erotic kiss or something of that sort. I wondered whether, had I pushed him up against a wall in the club, I would have been able to feel his throbbing cock against my leg. One thing I know is this; if he’d stayed, I would have tried.
‘Did you and (let’s call him) Pc X exchange numbers then?’ said my friend.
‘No’, I replied. A part truth, a part lie. Because I didn’t want it to cause tension and also because they were ‘exs’ and it was none of his business.
‘You don’t want to get mixed up with him you know’ he continued ‘He has a girlfriend who works as a Tesco Checkout girl. That’s why I ended it with him.’
‘How long have guys been together?’ I pressed.
‘Five years’ he said.
‘Ahh, got you.’
So, we danced some more, my arse was felt up some more, my butt cheeks pinched some more. The music got better (the highlight being ‘Into the groove’ by Madonna. It was a fun night out all in all.
So I got home and quickly text Pc X telling him that I’d love to see him again and to send me a text the next time he’s in London. The bit about my cock being hard thinking about him I decided to save for another time.
The following morning…
‘Did you text Pc X already?’ my friend asked over the phone as I was just about ready to dive back into my pillow for four extra hours of much needed ‘away time.’
‘No’ I lied.
‘Oh, well he just called me and said that you did and he asked me whether you were easy.’
‘Hang on a minute, what did he say?’
‘He just said you were easy and told me to tell you that he isn’t into ‘any of that stuff’.’
Fuck me, I thought, they’ve me deciphering me and I haven’t even woken up.
Needless to say, these sorts of occurrences I don’t take very well, so I blasted off a text message to PC X immediately, asking him about it all and seeking a few answers. He called me straight away.
Apparently (and this is where I get all bitchy and unreasonable) my ‘friend’ –please note the use of inverted commas to signify past tense, has suggested that Pc X should be careful of me because I ‘hang out with dodgy people.’ Damn, I thought, my involvement in the London Mafia has finally scuppered my chances of finding the perfect orgasm.
Apparently Pc X and the ‘friend’ had never as much been in a relationship. I think somebody was stirring up a whole load of shit weren’t they, before I bit the bullet, so to speak. 3
Jealousy is understandable. But if you’re going to be a bunny boiler, don’t ask two people out when there are chances that they might like each other. It’s simple.
To the positive…
PC X is horny, attractive and I spent the entire day thinking about what I’d like to do to his body. Not so sure what he’ll think when he reads this.
My fantasy containing a pair of handcuffs, a truncheon and a uniform might be realised after all. I get the impression Pc X is untapped territory. I’m going to push his sexual boundaries as far as they’ll go. The sex we’ll have is going to be toe curling, mark my words. I can say this, because sometimes in life, you just know.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
The truth about blowjob
Okay, I have to admit it. The blowjob I gave at the sauna bored me.
'I just hope that when you do eventually have sex, it meets your expecations,' I recall Desdemona telling me before my sexual spell was in full gear. I'd hate to think she was right.
The thing is, after you've sucked the cock for a while, I always get bored. What else could I possibly do to this meat (apart from ride it of coruse) that would give us both pleasure, I wondered.
Usually, I find my mouth is always too dry: and gobbing over someone else's prize possession is really not my thing. Then again, the blowjobs in porn always look completey fantastic. Also, in my defence, I should say the room we were in was very very small and I was, of course, cautious about missing the last tube home. This coupled with our acrobatic positions up against the bench didn't really help the mood.
So to wanking. The man at the sauna clearly had a foreskin complex. I like to wank people off quickly and whole heartedly. His oversensitive foreskin didn't help matters in this respect. Apart from his constant reminders that i shoudn't 'pull it too hard', I lost interest with the fear that it might just come off in my hand.
I've come across quite a few men who don't like to be tugged too hard. How else am I meant to grant pleasure? Soft wanks are pointless surely, aren't they?
With blowjobs, the wetter the better they say. Mental note: carry lube.
The next time I'm in the position where I have someone's pulsating cock in my hands, I think I'll put my skills-learnt-from-copious-amounts-of-pornography into practice.
There must be more to cock than this, surely?
'I just hope that when you do eventually have sex, it meets your expecations,' I recall Desdemona telling me before my sexual spell was in full gear. I'd hate to think she was right.
The thing is, after you've sucked the cock for a while, I always get bored. What else could I possibly do to this meat (apart from ride it of coruse) that would give us both pleasure, I wondered.
Usually, I find my mouth is always too dry: and gobbing over someone else's prize possession is really not my thing. Then again, the blowjobs in porn always look completey fantastic. Also, in my defence, I should say the room we were in was very very small and I was, of course, cautious about missing the last tube home. This coupled with our acrobatic positions up against the bench didn't really help the mood.
So to wanking. The man at the sauna clearly had a foreskin complex. I like to wank people off quickly and whole heartedly. His oversensitive foreskin didn't help matters in this respect. Apart from his constant reminders that i shoudn't 'pull it too hard', I lost interest with the fear that it might just come off in my hand.
I've come across quite a few men who don't like to be tugged too hard. How else am I meant to grant pleasure? Soft wanks are pointless surely, aren't they?
With blowjobs, the wetter the better they say. Mental note: carry lube.
The next time I'm in the position where I have someone's pulsating cock in my hands, I think I'll put my skills-learnt-from-copious-amounts-of-pornography into practice.
There must be more to cock than this, surely?
Freedom Writers -The movie
The Belle de Bengal and I went to watch ‘Freedom Writers’ the other (Wednes) day. I thought the movie was gripping and really quite enjoyable. My infatuation with and love of everything to do with Hilary Swank has absolutely nothing to do with it.
Upon recommending the film to C2 she decided to place her spanner firmly in my works exclaiming that it was just a copy of Dangerous Minds and that they were ‘all apparently inspired by true events.’ ‘But this one most truly was, and I really enjoyed it,’ I argued. Ugh! She hasn’t even seen the film.
Why this films stands out, in my opinion, is that it has a certain edge. It is based on a series of true events which have been recorded and it shows people changing in a society so eaten up with racial divides and gang crime. I found it, in many senses, inspirational. To be able to choose truth over conformity is no new suggestion. This film shows us what can be achieved the moment somebody lights a match within our souls.
Check it out!
The Chinese buffet beforehand was also quite nice. And for once in my life it’s safe to say, Chinese food left my feeling full for more than three hours. No, honestly.
Upon recommending the film to C2 she decided to place her spanner firmly in my works exclaiming that it was just a copy of Dangerous Minds and that they were ‘all apparently inspired by true events.’ ‘But this one most truly was, and I really enjoyed it,’ I argued. Ugh! She hasn’t even seen the film.
Why this films stands out, in my opinion, is that it has a certain edge. It is based on a series of true events which have been recorded and it shows people changing in a society so eaten up with racial divides and gang crime. I found it, in many senses, inspirational. To be able to choose truth over conformity is no new suggestion. This film shows us what can be achieved the moment somebody lights a match within our souls.
Check it out!
The Chinese buffet beforehand was also quite nice. And for once in my life it’s safe to say, Chinese food left my feeling full for more than three hours. No, honestly.
The Dame
‘Hello Lover’ crooned The Dame.
‘Hello dearest, what’s up?’ I replied as I sat opposite the Belle de Bengal on our regular Wednesday night meal-before-film.
‘Well, I’ve just this minute returned from a date with The Doctor.’
‘Oh!, that’s fantastic’ (it truly was).
We decided to speak later once I was home.
As it transpired, The Dame and The Doctor met up for a drink and got on rather well. Understandably, after the last lack of post date communication, The Dame is remains cautious in the dating arena.
For this reason, I’m pleased to announce a second date is firmly on the cards.
I do hope it all works out for The Dame. For the sake of her vagina if nothing else.
‘Hello dearest, what’s up?’ I replied as I sat opposite the Belle de Bengal on our regular Wednesday night meal-before-film.
‘Well, I’ve just this minute returned from a date with The Doctor.’
‘Oh!, that’s fantastic’ (it truly was).
We decided to speak later once I was home.
As it transpired, The Dame and The Doctor met up for a drink and got on rather well. Understandably, after the last lack of post date communication, The Dame is remains cautious in the dating arena.
For this reason, I’m pleased to announce a second date is firmly on the cards.
I do hope it all works out for The Dame. For the sake of her vagina if nothing else.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Pleasuredrome
‘Umm, excuse me. I haven’t been here before. Are all the guys naked in there?’ I asked, as I got changed and ready to enter the abyss that is the gay sauna.
‘No, they wear towels,’ came the response from an ageing oriental man.
‘Can I wear shorts? I mean, is it okay to wear shorts in there?’ I persisted.
‘No, just wear your towel.’
I wore my shorts anyways. Not everyone is comfortable enough to nude it up from the word go methinks.
My first hour (of the eventual 4.5 I spent in there) in Pleasuredrome @ Waterloo were possibly the most frightening of my life. You see, the lights in these places are dim and the place was much smaller than the website promised. The place is like a maze. So as I wandered around the first floor I came across a spa, two (tiny tiny) saunas, one steam room, two open dark rooms with video screens and a lounge area with pornographic materials scattered across the table. If ever sex had a mood, this was it.
The second floor consisted of a number or small and larger ‘dark rooms’ with men loitering outside. As I walked past these the ageing oriental man from before opened a door and pointed directly inside.
‘No’.
Next I went into the steam room where a man from Columbia thought it might be nice to run his hand up my leg and tell me I have the most beautiful face. I should have known all this before I ventured inside. I guess I thought the place would offer a bit more tact, a bit more, erotica. This place, just like all the others I’m led to conclude, is essentially a brothel. Never have I seen sex being so openly exercised. It’s my fault entirely and I don’t know why I was so shocked.
Another thing I didn’t much like was that people, given the option, prefer to remain silent, allowing their eyes to do the work. For example, two guys came into the Sauna, exchanged ‘the look’ and were off to a dark room quicker than you can say come.
Now, I’ve always understood the importance of lust, the greed that often comes with it. I have just never seen it so close up. The place smelt of lust.
So, ten minutes in and I’ve learnt exactly what this is all about, been hit on three times and received a countless number of looks from fat old and middle aged men.
In their defence, once you say no, nobody will bother you again. This is perhaps the biggest benefit of silence.
Quickly I came to realise that people weren’t here for the sauna, or the steam room. They wanted sex and if they didn’t get it, they felt their £13 entry fee was wasted.
I also found it hard to find many people who were English. It was as much a tourist attraction as the London Eye.
I also realised that there was a process most men in this place worked through until the orgasm was achieved.
Step 1 – settle into the sauna or steam room and move along the first floor spending minimal time in each area to gage an idea as to who you’d like to fuck if the opportunity arises, who’d like to fuck you and who you’d like to avoid.
Step 2 – when you finally decide that it’s time for sex, give somebody the eye and if it all works out, find a dark room quickly.
Step 3 – if nobody seems to be interested in you make your way to the darkrooms on the second floor and loiter around for there may be a man you like and a vacant room.
Step 4 – if ten minutes after step 3 you haven’t had your end away go back to step 1 and repeat the process. Most people have sex. The question is where and when the levels of desperation will boil over.
As an intermediate step, you may decide you’d like to watch old men wank themselves off in public. If this is the case, go to the open dark rooms and take a quick peek of what you may never see again.
Of course I looked! And it was perhaps the most unerotic thing I’ve ever come across.
So, you keep going over the cycle until you get laid/sucked or whatever it is you’d like to do.
Later that evening…
‘Would you mind if I watched you and somebody have sex?’ I asked. ‘That would turn me on.’
‘I wouldn’t mind, as long as the other guy is okay with it,’ came the response.
Great I thought, a voyeuristic experience might well be on the cards if nothing else.
Of course, the precise method of coupling two attractive men, getting them into a room, and asking whether I could watch proved, as you can imagine, futile. I did try though. I guess it’s one of those things where you have to be in the right place at the right time. These occurrences seldom happen in my life as a matter of fact.
Even later…
Whilst speaking with a guy from Manchester.
I should point out here that not all the men were old and fat. There were some young ones though not near enough to feed my appetite. In hindsight I wonder whether a weekend might prove to yield a greater level of success.
‘I know you want to watch’ he said, ‘but what if we just played?’
Mental check list –
Is he attractive – yes
Is he of firm mind and body – yes
Does he have a nice voice – no
Two out of three isn’t bad and well, I thought it’d be quite the opportunity to utilise one of those dark rooms and see what they’re all about. Dark rooms do have lights too I should add.
We got ourselves into a dark room and noticed there was a glory hole joining it and the room next to it. But nobody was inside the other room so we began.
We were barely naked when he whispered in my ear ‘There’s someone looking through that hole.’
I tried to get a view and could swear I saw a cock in the darkness, the luminous things that they are. Okay, so it freaked me out. It freaked me out even more when a hand appeared through the hole and began to massage the guy’s bum.
‘Shall we find a holeless room,’ he said.
‘Let’s.’
So, we both stumbled across the floor in search of a ‘normal’ room, erections pressed firmly against my shorts and well his, hanging out, sort of. Yikes.
Finally we found one that was without glary hole, without bars to the other side and was in fact, very vanilla.
As I look his (very erect) cock into my mouth, I recall being surprised by the taste of nothingness that always comes with cocks. ‘What a pity,’ I thought.
In among the sucking and kissing and licking the man carried a sense of urgency. Lifting my legs over my shoulders I’m sure he would have liked to fuck me had it not been for the line we’d drawn in our minds before all this even started. Most of the action that goes on in the darkroom comprises oral fun. Actual penetration seldom occurs. And, well, in a place like that, I don’t think I’d much like to be buggered.
Our ‘session’ was quick. We were done in less than ten minutes. Whether this was because I wanted to catch the last tube home or whether we were sexually inadequate, I have no idea.
How would I rate my experience? 7 out of 10. It was different to how I’d imagined. Too many older men. Perhaps even too claustrophobic. If you want sex and absolutely no strings then this is the place to go without a doubt. I’d feel more at ease were I to go again, though I’m not sure I’d return to Pleasuredrome again. There are many many more saunas and clubs to try.
It was an experience that opened my eyes and I got an orgasm out of it. I also fell into a great sleep once I got home. Saunas and steam rooms are a perfect relaxant. My £13 were well spent.
‘No, they wear towels,’ came the response from an ageing oriental man.
‘Can I wear shorts? I mean, is it okay to wear shorts in there?’ I persisted.
‘No, just wear your towel.’
I wore my shorts anyways. Not everyone is comfortable enough to nude it up from the word go methinks.
My first hour (of the eventual 4.5 I spent in there) in Pleasuredrome @ Waterloo were possibly the most frightening of my life. You see, the lights in these places are dim and the place was much smaller than the website promised. The place is like a maze. So as I wandered around the first floor I came across a spa, two (tiny tiny) saunas, one steam room, two open dark rooms with video screens and a lounge area with pornographic materials scattered across the table. If ever sex had a mood, this was it.
The second floor consisted of a number or small and larger ‘dark rooms’ with men loitering outside. As I walked past these the ageing oriental man from before opened a door and pointed directly inside.
‘No’.
Next I went into the steam room where a man from Columbia thought it might be nice to run his hand up my leg and tell me I have the most beautiful face. I should have known all this before I ventured inside. I guess I thought the place would offer a bit more tact, a bit more, erotica. This place, just like all the others I’m led to conclude, is essentially a brothel. Never have I seen sex being so openly exercised. It’s my fault entirely and I don’t know why I was so shocked.
Another thing I didn’t much like was that people, given the option, prefer to remain silent, allowing their eyes to do the work. For example, two guys came into the Sauna, exchanged ‘the look’ and were off to a dark room quicker than you can say come.
Now, I’ve always understood the importance of lust, the greed that often comes with it. I have just never seen it so close up. The place smelt of lust.
So, ten minutes in and I’ve learnt exactly what this is all about, been hit on three times and received a countless number of looks from fat old and middle aged men.
In their defence, once you say no, nobody will bother you again. This is perhaps the biggest benefit of silence.
Quickly I came to realise that people weren’t here for the sauna, or the steam room. They wanted sex and if they didn’t get it, they felt their £13 entry fee was wasted.
I also found it hard to find many people who were English. It was as much a tourist attraction as the London Eye.
I also realised that there was a process most men in this place worked through until the orgasm was achieved.
Step 1 – settle into the sauna or steam room and move along the first floor spending minimal time in each area to gage an idea as to who you’d like to fuck if the opportunity arises, who’d like to fuck you and who you’d like to avoid.
Step 2 – when you finally decide that it’s time for sex, give somebody the eye and if it all works out, find a dark room quickly.
Step 3 – if nobody seems to be interested in you make your way to the darkrooms on the second floor and loiter around for there may be a man you like and a vacant room.
Step 4 – if ten minutes after step 3 you haven’t had your end away go back to step 1 and repeat the process. Most people have sex. The question is where and when the levels of desperation will boil over.
As an intermediate step, you may decide you’d like to watch old men wank themselves off in public. If this is the case, go to the open dark rooms and take a quick peek of what you may never see again.
Of course I looked! And it was perhaps the most unerotic thing I’ve ever come across.
So, you keep going over the cycle until you get laid/sucked or whatever it is you’d like to do.
Later that evening…
‘Would you mind if I watched you and somebody have sex?’ I asked. ‘That would turn me on.’
‘I wouldn’t mind, as long as the other guy is okay with it,’ came the response.
Great I thought, a voyeuristic experience might well be on the cards if nothing else.
Of course, the precise method of coupling two attractive men, getting them into a room, and asking whether I could watch proved, as you can imagine, futile. I did try though. I guess it’s one of those things where you have to be in the right place at the right time. These occurrences seldom happen in my life as a matter of fact.
Even later…
Whilst speaking with a guy from Manchester.
I should point out here that not all the men were old and fat. There were some young ones though not near enough to feed my appetite. In hindsight I wonder whether a weekend might prove to yield a greater level of success.
‘I know you want to watch’ he said, ‘but what if we just played?’
Mental check list –
Is he attractive – yes
Is he of firm mind and body – yes
Does he have a nice voice – no
Two out of three isn’t bad and well, I thought it’d be quite the opportunity to utilise one of those dark rooms and see what they’re all about. Dark rooms do have lights too I should add.
We got ourselves into a dark room and noticed there was a glory hole joining it and the room next to it. But nobody was inside the other room so we began.
We were barely naked when he whispered in my ear ‘There’s someone looking through that hole.’
I tried to get a view and could swear I saw a cock in the darkness, the luminous things that they are. Okay, so it freaked me out. It freaked me out even more when a hand appeared through the hole and began to massage the guy’s bum.
‘Shall we find a holeless room,’ he said.
‘Let’s.’
So, we both stumbled across the floor in search of a ‘normal’ room, erections pressed firmly against my shorts and well his, hanging out, sort of. Yikes.
Finally we found one that was without glary hole, without bars to the other side and was in fact, very vanilla.
As I look his (very erect) cock into my mouth, I recall being surprised by the taste of nothingness that always comes with cocks. ‘What a pity,’ I thought.
In among the sucking and kissing and licking the man carried a sense of urgency. Lifting my legs over my shoulders I’m sure he would have liked to fuck me had it not been for the line we’d drawn in our minds before all this even started. Most of the action that goes on in the darkroom comprises oral fun. Actual penetration seldom occurs. And, well, in a place like that, I don’t think I’d much like to be buggered.
Our ‘session’ was quick. We were done in less than ten minutes. Whether this was because I wanted to catch the last tube home or whether we were sexually inadequate, I have no idea.
How would I rate my experience? 7 out of 10. It was different to how I’d imagined. Too many older men. Perhaps even too claustrophobic. If you want sex and absolutely no strings then this is the place to go without a doubt. I’d feel more at ease were I to go again, though I’m not sure I’d return to Pleasuredrome again. There are many many more saunas and clubs to try.
It was an experience that opened my eyes and I got an orgasm out of it. I also fell into a great sleep once I got home. Saunas and steam rooms are a perfect relaxant. My £13 were well spent.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Public obscenity
On how to talk about foreskin and other such matters whilst in a very public place. By public I mean, of course, Leicester Square tube station.
If you are going to talk about foreskin increasing a man’s propensity to smell at the onset of a blow job, do it with confidence. There’s nothing worse than half whispering dirty things because, believe it or not, this makes them sound even more sordid than they might otherwise sound.
If people stare at you disapprovingly, smile back and find an appropriate place to halt the conversation to save yourself looks of mortification from the old prude across the escalators. She who doesn’t embrace your filth will find her pussy coming off in her hand in matter of hours later, fear not.
Make sure those with you appear to be engrossed in the conversation. For silence is better than spraying sexual anecdotes to what may as well be a brick wall. If you’re going to make an impact with your perversions at least make sure there are people around to absorb the information.
More often than not people will be interested in what you have to say, despite the look of utter revulsion on their pretty little faces. And chances are that you’ll be the talk of their dinner party a few hours later.
British people don’t talk about sex, that’s what we’re led to believe. Of course, the complete quote is as follows:
‘The British don’t like to talk about sex, until they meet somebody who talks openly about it and all of a sudden it’s all piss tit and cocks’.
If people give you a look of pity/sympathy/pain, pull out your machete immediately and shoot, for it’s now or never.
This, dearest bloggers, is how you leave behind a sexual legacy.
If you are going to talk about foreskin increasing a man’s propensity to smell at the onset of a blow job, do it with confidence. There’s nothing worse than half whispering dirty things because, believe it or not, this makes them sound even more sordid than they might otherwise sound.
If people stare at you disapprovingly, smile back and find an appropriate place to halt the conversation to save yourself looks of mortification from the old prude across the escalators. She who doesn’t embrace your filth will find her pussy coming off in her hand in matter of hours later, fear not.
Make sure those with you appear to be engrossed in the conversation. For silence is better than spraying sexual anecdotes to what may as well be a brick wall. If you’re going to make an impact with your perversions at least make sure there are people around to absorb the information.
More often than not people will be interested in what you have to say, despite the look of utter revulsion on their pretty little faces. And chances are that you’ll be the talk of their dinner party a few hours later.
British people don’t talk about sex, that’s what we’re led to believe. Of course, the complete quote is as follows:
‘The British don’t like to talk about sex, until they meet somebody who talks openly about it and all of a sudden it’s all piss tit and cocks’.
If people give you a look of pity/sympathy/pain, pull out your machete immediately and shoot, for it’s now or never.
This, dearest bloggers, is how you leave behind a sexual legacy.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Night out
Miss Joss-Stone-hater, Mr Tech, Mr ProPlus and I all went out for cocktails, falafel and more alcohol after or day of formal lectures this Thursday.
Miss Joss-Stone-Hater regaled us with stories of her successful baking enterprises. Her scones have gone from strength to strength and she much enjoys her new role as domestic goddess. I won’t pretend that I’m not eaten up with jealousy at her baking success when my own failures in the oven are infinite. I simply don’t know how to bake a cake. I need to learn how to deal with it. Of course, The Priory doesn’t offer rehabilitation services for this sort of disorder. They prefer the likes of Jade stupid-trout Goddy. Puh.
Mr Tech told us about his inventions and his achievements. Oh how I wish I knew which wires to plug in where to make a small miracle. Perhaps my idea of a spinning/singing/flashing dildo won’t go untested with a friend like Mr Tech.
Mr ProPlus and I decided to disagree about absolutely everything. Him deciding he felt ‘uncomfortable’ when he felt he was being eyed up by a gay (oh yes, I should have mentioned I dragged them into the ‘Friendly Society’ which also happens to be a gay bar)and putting this down to a general dislike of people who look disconcertingly at him whereas I (upon smelling the double standard) said it was only because it was a man and not a woman, the later of which might have conversely, caused his arousal. Agree to disagree or give up and agree with me, that’s my simple truth.
The falafel place is delicious (Maoz on Old Compton Street). A real find (Ophelia, you would love it). A quick bite to eat, inexpensive and so wholesome and tasty I can, in fact, think of no better falafel around.
And of course, Thirst bar needs little in terms of explanation. Cocktails of an incredible calibre. Super concoctions which alcoholics should steer well clear of. I saw Arthur’s once-upon-a-time love interest behind the bar. I wonder if they’ll ever sleep together again. She’s just returned from Poland she said. She is attractive, there is no denying. One wonders what kind of guy she’d most like to marry. A polite polish boy seems out of the question for this vixen I must admit.
Miss Joss-Stone-Hater regaled us with stories of her successful baking enterprises. Her scones have gone from strength to strength and she much enjoys her new role as domestic goddess. I won’t pretend that I’m not eaten up with jealousy at her baking success when my own failures in the oven are infinite. I simply don’t know how to bake a cake. I need to learn how to deal with it. Of course, The Priory doesn’t offer rehabilitation services for this sort of disorder. They prefer the likes of Jade stupid-trout Goddy. Puh.
Mr Tech told us about his inventions and his achievements. Oh how I wish I knew which wires to plug in where to make a small miracle. Perhaps my idea of a spinning/singing/flashing dildo won’t go untested with a friend like Mr Tech.
Mr ProPlus and I decided to disagree about absolutely everything. Him deciding he felt ‘uncomfortable’ when he felt he was being eyed up by a gay (oh yes, I should have mentioned I dragged them into the ‘Friendly Society’ which also happens to be a gay bar)and putting this down to a general dislike of people who look disconcertingly at him whereas I (upon smelling the double standard) said it was only because it was a man and not a woman, the later of which might have conversely, caused his arousal. Agree to disagree or give up and agree with me, that’s my simple truth.
The falafel place is delicious (Maoz on Old Compton Street). A real find (Ophelia, you would love it). A quick bite to eat, inexpensive and so wholesome and tasty I can, in fact, think of no better falafel around.
And of course, Thirst bar needs little in terms of explanation. Cocktails of an incredible calibre. Super concoctions which alcoholics should steer well clear of. I saw Arthur’s once-upon-a-time love interest behind the bar. I wonder if they’ll ever sleep together again. She’s just returned from Poland she said. She is attractive, there is no denying. One wonders what kind of guy she’d most like to marry. A polite polish boy seems out of the question for this vixen I must admit.
The Big Picture
In order to mourn the ending of ‘Christianity Explored’ (a jolly through Mark’s Gospel), I have started a further course entitled ‘The Big Picture’ ( a 12 week jolly through the entire Bible). And although the last meeting was rather unexciting, I have faith.
We started with Ephesians, and from this point on we move right to beginning. The perfect world, the perfect people and that blasted tree of temptation.
The people on this course are also fewer and, as much as it pains me to say, the good lookers have gone.
C2 and I are still together in this enterprise (and she makes it fun).
We started with Ephesians, and from this point on we move right to beginning. The perfect world, the perfect people and that blasted tree of temptation.
The people on this course are also fewer and, as much as it pains me to say, the good lookers have gone.
C2 and I are still together in this enterprise (and she makes it fun).
Friday, March 09, 2007
Nobody knows me - Lyrics
Ah, I knew there were a thousand reasons I idolised Madonna, here's one of those...
Nobody knows me - Lyrics
I've had so many lives
Since I was a childAnd I realise
How many times I've died
I'm not that kind of guy
Sometimes I feel shy
I think I can fly
Closer to the sky
No one's telling you how to live your life
But it's a setup until you're fed up
This world is not so kind
People trap your mindIt's so hard to find
Someone to admire
I, I sleep much better at night
I feel closer to the light
Now I'm gonna try
To improve my life
No one's telling you how to live your life
But it's a setup until you're fed up
It's no good when you're misunderstood
But why should I care
What the world thinks of me
Won't let a stranger
Give me a social disease
Nobody, nobody knows me
Nobody knows me
Nobody knows me
Like you know me
Nobody knows me - Lyrics
I've had so many lives
Since I was a childAnd I realise
How many times I've died
I'm not that kind of guy
Sometimes I feel shy
I think I can fly
Closer to the sky
No one's telling you how to live your life
But it's a setup until you're fed up
This world is not so kind
People trap your mindIt's so hard to find
Someone to admire
I, I sleep much better at night
I feel closer to the light
Now I'm gonna try
To improve my life
No one's telling you how to live your life
But it's a setup until you're fed up
It's no good when you're misunderstood
But why should I care
What the world thinks of me
Won't let a stranger
Give me a social disease
Nobody, nobody knows me
Nobody knows me
Nobody knows me
Like you know me
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Recipe - Instant Ice Cream
Yes Ophelia, all for you my dear..
To make (almost) instant (slightly) tangy ice cream...
Zest and juice one and a half limes.
Pour into a bowl and mix in 175g of icing sugar and whisk until the two ingredients have mixed nicely together.
Now, for my own touch, add the flesh of two/three passion fruit and mix into the lime/sugar.
Add a big 568ml tub of double cream to the lime/sugar/passion mix and whisk until we hit the soft peak stage.
Pour mixture into an air tight container and place in the freezer for three to four hours.
Lick the bowl clean (if that's your sort of thing)
In three/four hours, take out of the freezer and eat (perhaps a garnish of raspberries might add a certain oomph here.
Tell me how good it was.
It really is a very delicious, if slightly rich ice cream and so easy to make. Long gone are the days when one had to mix the ice cream every two hours for fear of disaster.
And no, I didn't lick the bowl, though, in my defence, there wasn't much to lick anyways.
To make (almost) instant (slightly) tangy ice cream...
Zest and juice one and a half limes.
Pour into a bowl and mix in 175g of icing sugar and whisk until the two ingredients have mixed nicely together.
Now, for my own touch, add the flesh of two/three passion fruit and mix into the lime/sugar.
Add a big 568ml tub of double cream to the lime/sugar/passion mix and whisk until we hit the soft peak stage.
Pour mixture into an air tight container and place in the freezer for three to four hours.
Lick the bowl clean (if that's your sort of thing)
In three/four hours, take out of the freezer and eat (perhaps a garnish of raspberries might add a certain oomph here.
Tell me how good it was.
It really is a very delicious, if slightly rich ice cream and so easy to make. Long gone are the days when one had to mix the ice cream every two hours for fear of disaster.
And no, I didn't lick the bowl, though, in my defence, there wasn't much to lick anyways.
Over the weekend
Back to the hustle and bustle of Landan life.
Came back yesterday in fact.
One feels the need to skip back in time in order to fill you all in about the things I got up to.
Over the weekend I
a) went out with K for a lovely meal at a newly opened 'Bistro de Paris'. Scrummy,
b) went to any exclusive members bar in Leicester. By exclusive I mean, of course, free guest passes sent to me in the post as a result of technical failure. By exclusive I mean, of course, a thug at the front entrance and no real visible entrance. By exclusive I mean, drinks were more expensive than most other bars in the vicinity. Exclusivity comes at a price, don't you know.
c) ate my entire body weight in Indian food and drank my body weight in orange and pomegranate juice (two separate juices you understand, though one wonders how a mash of the two might taste ever so slightly icky).
K and I had a mini-debate over the table.
Me (on the subject of films)- 'I enjoy certain films, but that doesn't make them great films.'
K - Yes it does. In fact, that's the only thing that makes them great. As long as you enjoy them, what else is there?'
I wasn't quite sure of which direction our debate might progress in, although I'm sure I'm correct on this (and every) occasion. Methinks, great films require more. Great films require a certain craft, a certain oomph, a certain something-more-than-personal-enjoyment. I'm sure somebody enjoyed 'Dirty Sanchez - the movie' though that wasn't a great film. In fact, I might add, it was perhaps categorically the worst film, alongside 'Bride and Prejudice' that I've ever had the misfortune of seeing.
Films where the ambition far exceeds the talent (in every respect) should be banned. Completely.
Anyways, so am now back in London and last night received a telephone call from Prospero inviting me to dine with him. Of course, If there's one thing I can't say no to, it's an invitation to dinner. I'd probably say yes even though I may potentially have just finished a plate of whatever. It's the idea of eating out that wins over the functionality of it, every time.
You remember Prospero don't you? 'I only sleep with friends'. Yes, I thought that may ring a bell. Sigh.
Needless to say, after a meal at Wagamamas, he and I went to a seedy little gay bar in the hope of catching a demi-god man. Do these exist? you may ask. No, they bloody don't.
Arthur! I can think of nobody else to ask, but you've got to get me into the dating circuit and immediately, before it all comes away in my hand and doomsday is upon us. I have a list of places I want to visit in London and it's your job to tick the list off as quickly as possible. This dating scene and my search for a fuck buddy is proving futile. Futile!
Breathe. Breathe.
Came back yesterday in fact.
One feels the need to skip back in time in order to fill you all in about the things I got up to.
Over the weekend I
a) went out with K for a lovely meal at a newly opened 'Bistro de Paris'. Scrummy,
b) went to any exclusive members bar in Leicester. By exclusive I mean, of course, free guest passes sent to me in the post as a result of technical failure. By exclusive I mean, of course, a thug at the front entrance and no real visible entrance. By exclusive I mean, drinks were more expensive than most other bars in the vicinity. Exclusivity comes at a price, don't you know.
c) ate my entire body weight in Indian food and drank my body weight in orange and pomegranate juice (two separate juices you understand, though one wonders how a mash of the two might taste ever so slightly icky).
K and I had a mini-debate over the table.
Me (on the subject of films)- 'I enjoy certain films, but that doesn't make them great films.'
K - Yes it does. In fact, that's the only thing that makes them great. As long as you enjoy them, what else is there?'
I wasn't quite sure of which direction our debate might progress in, although I'm sure I'm correct on this (and every) occasion. Methinks, great films require more. Great films require a certain craft, a certain oomph, a certain something-more-than-personal-enjoyment. I'm sure somebody enjoyed 'Dirty Sanchez - the movie' though that wasn't a great film. In fact, I might add, it was perhaps categorically the worst film, alongside 'Bride and Prejudice' that I've ever had the misfortune of seeing.
Films where the ambition far exceeds the talent (in every respect) should be banned. Completely.
Anyways, so am now back in London and last night received a telephone call from Prospero inviting me to dine with him. Of course, If there's one thing I can't say no to, it's an invitation to dinner. I'd probably say yes even though I may potentially have just finished a plate of whatever. It's the idea of eating out that wins over the functionality of it, every time.
You remember Prospero don't you? 'I only sleep with friends'. Yes, I thought that may ring a bell. Sigh.
Needless to say, after a meal at Wagamamas, he and I went to a seedy little gay bar in the hope of catching a demi-god man. Do these exist? you may ask. No, they bloody don't.
Arthur! I can think of nobody else to ask, but you've got to get me into the dating circuit and immediately, before it all comes away in my hand and doomsday is upon us. I have a list of places I want to visit in London and it's your job to tick the list off as quickly as possible. This dating scene and my search for a fuck buddy is proving futile. Futile!
Breathe. Breathe.
Death
1st woman: Hi! My name is Wanda.
2nd woman: Hi! I'm Sylvia. How'd you die?
1st woman: I Froze to Death.
2nd woman: How Horrible!
1st woman: It wasn't so bad. After I quit shaking from the cold, I began
to get warm & sleepy, and finally died a peaceful death. What about you?
2nd woman: I died of a massive heart attack. I suspected that my husband
was cheating, so I came home early to catch him, but instead, I found
him all by himself in the den watching TV.
1st woman: So, what happened?
2nd woman: I was so sure there was another woman there somewhere that I
started running all over the house looking. I ran up into the attic and
searched, and down into the basement. Then I went through every
closet and checked under all the beds. I kept this up until I had looked
everywhere, and finally I became so exhausted that I just keeled over
with a heart attack and died.1st woman: Too bad you didn't look in the freezer
,we'd both still be alive.
2nd woman: Hi! I'm Sylvia. How'd you die?
1st woman: I Froze to Death.
2nd woman: How Horrible!
1st woman: It wasn't so bad. After I quit shaking from the cold, I began
to get warm & sleepy, and finally died a peaceful death. What about you?
2nd woman: I died of a massive heart attack. I suspected that my husband
was cheating, so I came home early to catch him, but instead, I found
him all by himself in the den watching TV.
1st woman: So, what happened?
2nd woman: I was so sure there was another woman there somewhere that I
started running all over the house looking. I ran up into the attic and
searched, and down into the basement. Then I went through every
closet and checked under all the beds. I kept this up until I had looked
everywhere, and finally I became so exhausted that I just keeled over
with a heart attack and died.1st woman: Too bad you didn't look in the freezer
,we'd both still be alive.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Teeth
I can think of only one way in which teeth might find their way into the sexual equations of my life: gently nibbling over a swollen bell end. That's it. Do other purposes (of a sexual nature) exist?
To the issue in question, my wisdom tooth and the pain that attaches to its existence are pissing me right off. Is it my fault that the gums have grown right over the wisdom tooth in such a way causing a gap to be formed in which food can get stuck, thus causing me considerable pain all bloody day long?
Is it my fault that I now have to use the right side of my mouth to eat?
Is it fair that I am now actually rather frightened of my mouth and the damage I might do to it, or it might do to me?
Is it fair that the dentist charged me a small fortune to have a quick peek and tell me a) that there was nothing that he could really do, b) that I should go out and purchase medicine having the equivalent value to a packet of super soft ribbed condoms AND a designer buttplug, c) that there is a waiting list for these 'sorts of things' for between 1 and 2 years on the NHS, d) that, were he to do it privately, I could expect to fork out £300 quid (at which moment my buttplug comparison failed to match up completely). I have a tooth ache and they are all intent on pissing me off. Well they can all kiss my sweet little cherry arse.
Actually, today the tooth feels generally better (now that I've spent my entire life savings on three packets of pills and (potentially) the most vile tasting mouth wash ever invented.
My father is also doing my head in as he slowly comes to terms with the fact that unlike himself in the year 1974, I have to pay for check ups and medicine and that being a student over the age of 19 provides no concessionary benefits in today's world, none whatsoever. Oops, I forget the much needed discounts of Topman merchandise. Forgive me won't you. So, the price I paid for all this has clearly kept the man awake at night and I've frequent visits during the course of the evening as he tries to gage his levels of bankruptcy.
Other than that, being at home is wonderful. Saw a good few films and spent good time gossiping with my aunt. The food (something I have missed more than my taste buds could ever describe) is also ample enough to quench my thirst, for now.
Visited the grandparents earlier this afternoon as they fed me a soup consisting of all things green (or a shade of green) under the sun. Perhaps the most delicious soup I've ever tasted, and each time I have it I enjoy it more. Although today it was hot. Hot enough to have me run through a box of kleenex.
Miss Joss-Stone-Hater and I spoke earlier this evening as she described how she was feeling 'very tired'.
'Yes, so am I' I replied. 'I guess it's all of this revision catching up with us.'
I have been feeling every so able-to-sleep-at-every-opportunity. Ah well, If I don't do it now, I suppose I never will.
As I write this entry I've managed to work my way through a bag of big chocolate covered rose flavoured Turkish Delights. These along side Haribo Strawbs, Pear Drops and Cadbury's Fruit and Nut are reason enough to put up with a bitchy wisdom tooth and gum flaps.
Mental Note -Before you go back to London on Monday, rid yourself of all pain, bring yourself up to sexual peek, because finally you have some time on your hands (and perhaps the much needed inclination) to go out and get yourself a string of fierce orgasms.
The plan for tomorrow -
M has given me Nigella's recipe for instant orange and lime ice cream. I am impressed and will add my own twist with mango and passion fruit. If it all works out, I'll post the ingredients up for you all to see tomorrow evening. Just make sure a big pot of double cream is at your disposal. With a big pot, there are always heaps of things one might do if one were in the mood. Personally, as cream-over-penis isn't really one of my culinary masterpieces, I will pour all that's left over down the sink.
To the issue in question, my wisdom tooth and the pain that attaches to its existence are pissing me right off. Is it my fault that the gums have grown right over the wisdom tooth in such a way causing a gap to be formed in which food can get stuck, thus causing me considerable pain all bloody day long?
Is it my fault that I now have to use the right side of my mouth to eat?
Is it fair that I am now actually rather frightened of my mouth and the damage I might do to it, or it might do to me?
Is it fair that the dentist charged me a small fortune to have a quick peek and tell me a) that there was nothing that he could really do, b) that I should go out and purchase medicine having the equivalent value to a packet of super soft ribbed condoms AND a designer buttplug, c) that there is a waiting list for these 'sorts of things' for between 1 and 2 years on the NHS, d) that, were he to do it privately, I could expect to fork out £300 quid (at which moment my buttplug comparison failed to match up completely). I have a tooth ache and they are all intent on pissing me off. Well they can all kiss my sweet little cherry arse.
Actually, today the tooth feels generally better (now that I've spent my entire life savings on three packets of pills and (potentially) the most vile tasting mouth wash ever invented.
My father is also doing my head in as he slowly comes to terms with the fact that unlike himself in the year 1974, I have to pay for check ups and medicine and that being a student over the age of 19 provides no concessionary benefits in today's world, none whatsoever. Oops, I forget the much needed discounts of Topman merchandise. Forgive me won't you. So, the price I paid for all this has clearly kept the man awake at night and I've frequent visits during the course of the evening as he tries to gage his levels of bankruptcy.
Other than that, being at home is wonderful. Saw a good few films and spent good time gossiping with my aunt. The food (something I have missed more than my taste buds could ever describe) is also ample enough to quench my thirst, for now.
Visited the grandparents earlier this afternoon as they fed me a soup consisting of all things green (or a shade of green) under the sun. Perhaps the most delicious soup I've ever tasted, and each time I have it I enjoy it more. Although today it was hot. Hot enough to have me run through a box of kleenex.
Miss Joss-Stone-Hater and I spoke earlier this evening as she described how she was feeling 'very tired'.
'Yes, so am I' I replied. 'I guess it's all of this revision catching up with us.'
I have been feeling every so able-to-sleep-at-every-opportunity. Ah well, If I don't do it now, I suppose I never will.
As I write this entry I've managed to work my way through a bag of big chocolate covered rose flavoured Turkish Delights. These along side Haribo Strawbs, Pear Drops and Cadbury's Fruit and Nut are reason enough to put up with a bitchy wisdom tooth and gum flaps.
Mental Note -Before you go back to London on Monday, rid yourself of all pain, bring yourself up to sexual peek, because finally you have some time on your hands (and perhaps the much needed inclination) to go out and get yourself a string of fierce orgasms.
The plan for tomorrow -
M has given me Nigella's recipe for instant orange and lime ice cream. I am impressed and will add my own twist with mango and passion fruit. If it all works out, I'll post the ingredients up for you all to see tomorrow evening. Just make sure a big pot of double cream is at your disposal. With a big pot, there are always heaps of things one might do if one were in the mood. Personally, as cream-over-penis isn't really one of my culinary masterpieces, I will pour all that's left over down the sink.
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