Lesson #1 of 1:
If considering prostitution as a possible enterprise, who better to ask the advice of than a prostitute.
And so I did. In fact, I asked my favourite prostitute.
Belle De Jour is now officially a fully fledged Facebooker. You can poke her, send her a message and, as I found out today, may even get one in return.
Message from me To Belle:
I require some advice.
I have just finished my formal education and have a job lined up for a couple of years.
In the meantime, although I don't require financial support, I would love to work as a (gay) male escort.
Do you think that by doing this I am somehow making a mockery of prostitutes? The reason I say this is because many of them do what they do as they feel they have no other choice (something I disagree with).
I am asking your advice because you are somebody who was a prostitute through choice and somebody who remains very unapologetic about your lifestyle (a quality I truly admire).
Is it wrong to want to get paid for sex in order to feed a sexual desire, meet new people and have interesting sex? Above all, would I be mad to ruin a potential career by going off on a sexual whim such as this?
Another point that really interests me is how I may be able to have sex with people for whom I feel no desire. I think that would be interesting.
Any advice?
Belle's reply:
Hello (*), no, I don't think it makes a mockery at all.
I presume you'd be using Gumtree or Gaydar or similar to find clients? If you feel comfortable with the idea, then by all means do it - though of course, you would be well advised to talk to some men doing the same line of work first.
My general advice would be, stay away from drugs and anyone who uses them, keep your working life and your real life separate so as not to impact any future career, NEVER date your clients, keep an eye on the money and always get paid up front, and never, never, stay in a situation where you feel out of control (hence no drugs) or threatened.
Oh, and ALWAYS have an absolutely trusted friend you can contact in case you get in a sticky situation. Good luck, and remember you can leave it any time if it isn't for you. Play safe, I'll be thinking of you. Bxx
There you have it, straight from the horses mouth. And what an inspirational one she is.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Cunt Cunt Cunt Cunt Cunt
Other than to feed my desire for totally useless gossip, Facebook is, on occasion, full of much needed information.
See the following example:
On my quick jolly around Facebook this morning, I came to realise that Common Julie has joined a Facebook Group entitled 'The Campaign To Make 'CUNT' a More Globally Accepted Word'.
I joined immediately.
The word CUNT deserves much more than global appreciation. It needs a Nobel Prize for being so darn powerful and sexual.
And on delving further into the group I came across what might possibly be, one of the most important pieces of information to feature on this blog:
"Cunt is believed to derive from a Germanic root *kunton "female genitalia", which also gave rise to Old Norse kunta (ancestor of Norwegian and Swedish dialectical kunta and Danish dialectical kunte), Old Frisian, Middle Low German and Middle Dutch kunte, and the English doublet quaint.
And, by the way, the word wasn't always considered derogatory, even though it is today. Be careful about assuming that a word's modern connotations must have governed its formation. By the way, no connection has been made between the Germanic words and Latin cunnus. The proto-Germanic root of cunt is ku- "hollow place", while the Indo-European root of Latin cunnus is (s)keu- "to cover, to conceal", the etymological meaning of cunnus being "sheath"."
This shower of wisdom is from one of the groups' members.
Whoever you are, we salute you.
See the following example:
On my quick jolly around Facebook this morning, I came to realise that Common Julie has joined a Facebook Group entitled 'The Campaign To Make 'CUNT' a More Globally Accepted Word'.
I joined immediately.
The word CUNT deserves much more than global appreciation. It needs a Nobel Prize for being so darn powerful and sexual.
And on delving further into the group I came across what might possibly be, one of the most important pieces of information to feature on this blog:
"Cunt is believed to derive from a Germanic root *kunton "female genitalia", which also gave rise to Old Norse kunta (ancestor of Norwegian and Swedish dialectical kunta and Danish dialectical kunte), Old Frisian, Middle Low German and Middle Dutch kunte, and the English doublet quaint.
And, by the way, the word wasn't always considered derogatory, even though it is today. Be careful about assuming that a word's modern connotations must have governed its formation. By the way, no connection has been made between the Germanic words and Latin cunnus. The proto-Germanic root of cunt is ku- "hollow place", while the Indo-European root of Latin cunnus is (s)keu- "to cover, to conceal", the etymological meaning of cunnus being "sheath"."
This shower of wisdom is from one of the groups' members.
Whoever you are, we salute you.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Rules
How long are we supposed to wait before broaching the subject of rope fuelled S n M, and watersports with our sexual partner?
The reason I ask is because I'm sure that somewhere there exists a set of rules, or at least a bible of etiquette in this respect. Left to our devices i dread to think what we'd allow ourselves to do.
How long before you can completely let loose without any fear that your lover might bolt out of the door quicker than you can say 'harder'.
Of course, by the term 'lover' I mean, someone who you've had occasional sexual intimacy me. Note: 'LOVE' has nothing to do with actual roses or pangs of uncontrollable non-sexual emotion. I mean, the term's used very loosely.
So you've partaken in some sucky sucky, wanky wanky, licky licky and it's, say the third time you and the fuckbuddy (ah! that's the term I was after) are meeting.
Is it then okay to say you wouldn't actually mind them pissing on you, so long as they don't get any in your mouth or ear? Men can't aim. And so we need to collectively guide the flow of piss through our verbal instructions.
On telling a fuck buddy that you'd like him to wee all over your chest, he will have a number of options...
a) say 'no' politely and tell his friends what a weird freak you are, thereby ruling out the possibility that you might ever sleep with half of the Soho population who just happen to be within his friends circle.
b) say 'no' in an abrupt, hostile manner, thereby diminishing your lust, your erection and making you feel stupid, just before he remembers that he was supposed to meet his mum for supper and would you be terribly offended if he went earlier than planned?
c) say 'yes' but get overly excited with the onset of this sexual freedom. Suddenly the image of man pissing into my ear comes to mind.
d) say 'yes' and it all be perfect.
and for all this talk of weeing, I don't know how people do it. I find it hard enough to urinate in public cubicles whilst somebody releases their stream next door.
In situations such as this, i find gently rubbing the bell end eases out the piss. Focus your attention on thoughts of pale white nothingness and all should be dandy.
And as for S n M induced rope burns, well, they might just have to wait for another day.
The reason I ask is because I'm sure that somewhere there exists a set of rules, or at least a bible of etiquette in this respect. Left to our devices i dread to think what we'd allow ourselves to do.
How long before you can completely let loose without any fear that your lover might bolt out of the door quicker than you can say 'harder'.
Of course, by the term 'lover' I mean, someone who you've had occasional sexual intimacy me. Note: 'LOVE' has nothing to do with actual roses or pangs of uncontrollable non-sexual emotion. I mean, the term's used very loosely.
So you've partaken in some sucky sucky, wanky wanky, licky licky and it's, say the third time you and the fuckbuddy (ah! that's the term I was after) are meeting.
Is it then okay to say you wouldn't actually mind them pissing on you, so long as they don't get any in your mouth or ear? Men can't aim. And so we need to collectively guide the flow of piss through our verbal instructions.
On telling a fuck buddy that you'd like him to wee all over your chest, he will have a number of options...
a) say 'no' politely and tell his friends what a weird freak you are, thereby ruling out the possibility that you might ever sleep with half of the Soho population who just happen to be within his friends circle.
b) say 'no' in an abrupt, hostile manner, thereby diminishing your lust, your erection and making you feel stupid, just before he remembers that he was supposed to meet his mum for supper and would you be terribly offended if he went earlier than planned?
c) say 'yes' but get overly excited with the onset of this sexual freedom. Suddenly the image of man pissing into my ear comes to mind.
d) say 'yes' and it all be perfect.
and for all this talk of weeing, I don't know how people do it. I find it hard enough to urinate in public cubicles whilst somebody releases their stream next door.
In situations such as this, i find gently rubbing the bell end eases out the piss. Focus your attention on thoughts of pale white nothingness and all should be dandy.
And as for S n M induced rope burns, well, they might just have to wait for another day.
The meaning of delicious
As I opened the fridge door at work and groped the inside for a bottle of Lucozade, my worst fears were confirmed.
We've now entered a zero zone. Each soft drink in the fridge was 'Zero'.
There are two things, in this regard, that might help you understand why this is a problem for me:
1) I have a slender body and enjoy food which includes full fat and full sugar content. As it happens I also enjoy salad and fruit and generally eat very healthily (having to suffer more than I have to is something I flatly refuse to do),
2) I am on a mission to find the person who came up with this zero nonsense. Fizzy drinks were never supposed to be healthy for you and this inventor, whoever s/he is, should be shot, and immediately.
Thankfully, during lunch I was able to spot an untainted can of Coke.
Also, at lunch today we finished part two of a 'training session'.
Thankfully I work for a company that pays great attention to its employees. This is why, instead of the usual fare of sandwiches, posh crisps and fruit salad, we had Pizza and an assortment of salads. And then I ate, paying little attention to what was actually being said. In this regard, I can say I've heard it all before.
And next friday, in the office, we'll have 'scone day' - for those of you unaware of this custom from your own working lives, this is where we recieve a firm wide email telling us that scones, clotted cream and jam are available in the kitchen from 3pm onwards for our consumption. The last time I took advantage of this cake phenomenon, I nearly came.
We've now entered a zero zone. Each soft drink in the fridge was 'Zero'.
There are two things, in this regard, that might help you understand why this is a problem for me:
1) I have a slender body and enjoy food which includes full fat and full sugar content. As it happens I also enjoy salad and fruit and generally eat very healthily (having to suffer more than I have to is something I flatly refuse to do),
2) I am on a mission to find the person who came up with this zero nonsense. Fizzy drinks were never supposed to be healthy for you and this inventor, whoever s/he is, should be shot, and immediately.
Thankfully, during lunch I was able to spot an untainted can of Coke.
Also, at lunch today we finished part two of a 'training session'.
Thankfully I work for a company that pays great attention to its employees. This is why, instead of the usual fare of sandwiches, posh crisps and fruit salad, we had Pizza and an assortment of salads. And then I ate, paying little attention to what was actually being said. In this regard, I can say I've heard it all before.
And next friday, in the office, we'll have 'scone day' - for those of you unaware of this custom from your own working lives, this is where we recieve a firm wide email telling us that scones, clotted cream and jam are available in the kitchen from 3pm onwards for our consumption. The last time I took advantage of this cake phenomenon, I nearly came.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Clean, Clear and Under Control
So, I promised myself that at least two nights this week would be spent watching episodes of 'Six Feet under' and eating Salami, indoors. As it worked out, I could only manage Monday evening and on Tuesday we had 'drinks and canopes' at work, so I paritially managed it, getting home at 8.30.
The thing is, more and more I find myself having no free time in the evenings. You see, the first sign of a friend in the vicinity and the prospect of food and decent conversation and my diary opens and closes more rapidly than Jordan's legs.
In keeping with the tradition of never-going-home-until-at least-10pm, I spent last night eating at Yo! Sushi with Ophelia.
A fantastic night as per usual, eating and talking and then going for cocktails.
As a peripheral matter, those of you who enjoy Sushi are strongly recommended to sign up for the Rainbow Offer. A dish of every colour for £10. Now that's what I call marvellous.
And for those of you who don't imagine raw fish and rice to be filling, you're wrong.
There still is very little in life, I imagine, that tastes better than chilled,fresh,raw salmon sashimi.Better than receiving a blow job, and that's probably saying enough.
And now to the conversation...
'I'm not liking ladies toilets these days' said Ophelia.
'Oh?'
'Yes, especially at work. I mean, I work with middle aged women and there's just something not quite right about them coming into the cubicle next to you and you being overcome by a smell of a fish market moments later.'
Hmm. I thought women were the cleaner sex.
'Perhaps it's because they are dry down there' she pondered.
A dismal middle-aged sex life is no excuse to stop caring for your pussy, I thought.
And that brings me nicely onto the subject of wet wipes.
It's now a firm belief of mine that wet wipes are the must have accessory for any single person regardless of sex.
Taking time to 'use the bathroom' before sex not only kills some of the mood, but also showcases our insecurities and vanity. What we must do instead is, on concluding that sex is an eventuality, pop to the lav, take out the small compact packet of wet wipes and have a quick rub...down there.
This coupled with a liberal application of bacteria removal cream and we should be ready. The thing about the cream is that it dries instantly leaving you smelling and feeling clean and fresh.
As a man, the sex of which determines often hurried sexual fumblings, I can think of no better way to ease the way. So to speak. Not that the bacterial scrub is a form of alternative for lubricant. It isn't. So don't.
The thing is, more and more I find myself having no free time in the evenings. You see, the first sign of a friend in the vicinity and the prospect of food and decent conversation and my diary opens and closes more rapidly than Jordan's legs.
In keeping with the tradition of never-going-home-until-at least-10pm, I spent last night eating at Yo! Sushi with Ophelia.
A fantastic night as per usual, eating and talking and then going for cocktails.
As a peripheral matter, those of you who enjoy Sushi are strongly recommended to sign up for the Rainbow Offer. A dish of every colour for £10. Now that's what I call marvellous.
And for those of you who don't imagine raw fish and rice to be filling, you're wrong.
There still is very little in life, I imagine, that tastes better than chilled,fresh,raw salmon sashimi.Better than receiving a blow job, and that's probably saying enough.
And now to the conversation...
'I'm not liking ladies toilets these days' said Ophelia.
'Oh?'
'Yes, especially at work. I mean, I work with middle aged women and there's just something not quite right about them coming into the cubicle next to you and you being overcome by a smell of a fish market moments later.'
Hmm. I thought women were the cleaner sex.
'Perhaps it's because they are dry down there' she pondered.
A dismal middle-aged sex life is no excuse to stop caring for your pussy, I thought.
And that brings me nicely onto the subject of wet wipes.
It's now a firm belief of mine that wet wipes are the must have accessory for any single person regardless of sex.
Taking time to 'use the bathroom' before sex not only kills some of the mood, but also showcases our insecurities and vanity. What we must do instead is, on concluding that sex is an eventuality, pop to the lav, take out the small compact packet of wet wipes and have a quick rub...down there.
This coupled with a liberal application of bacteria removal cream and we should be ready. The thing about the cream is that it dries instantly leaving you smelling and feeling clean and fresh.
As a man, the sex of which determines often hurried sexual fumblings, I can think of no better way to ease the way. So to speak. Not that the bacterial scrub is a form of alternative for lubricant. It isn't. So don't.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Common Julie
Common Julie’s Mum
Common Julie - "Can you kill 2 spiders i spotted in my room this morning? On bedroom ceiling otherwise i can't sleep in there"
Common Julie's Mum - "Is that why you didn't sleep in there last night"?
Common Julie - "No, i went to see another creepy crawlie last night".
Common Julie's Mum - "I hope he didn't sit on your tuffett Mr. Incey Wincey".
Common Julie - "No, but he ate my muffet".
Common Julie's Mum - "You've just crossed the line with that last one"!
Common Julie’s Dad
Common Julie got a lift to the train station today in her dad's van.
Dad: What time did you leave his then this morning to get back home?
Common Julie: 5.15am
Dad: Bloody hell, I hope the shag was worth it!
Oh dear.
Common Julie was in fact with her latest shag bag last night. According to information passed to The Dame from Common Julie, he knows how to use 'his piece' and his tongue, and incidentally has not given her the clap (as yet) so it can't be bad. And everyone wonders why The Dame is a big gay. . . .
Common Julie - "Can you kill 2 spiders i spotted in my room this morning? On bedroom ceiling otherwise i can't sleep in there"
Common Julie's Mum - "Is that why you didn't sleep in there last night"?
Common Julie - "No, i went to see another creepy crawlie last night".
Common Julie's Mum - "I hope he didn't sit on your tuffett Mr. Incey Wincey".
Common Julie - "No, but he ate my muffet".
Common Julie's Mum - "You've just crossed the line with that last one"!
Common Julie’s Dad
Common Julie got a lift to the train station today in her dad's van.
Dad: What time did you leave his then this morning to get back home?
Common Julie: 5.15am
Dad: Bloody hell, I hope the shag was worth it!
Oh dear.
Common Julie was in fact with her latest shag bag last night. According to information passed to The Dame from Common Julie, he knows how to use 'his piece' and his tongue, and incidentally has not given her the clap (as yet) so it can't be bad. And everyone wonders why The Dame is a big gay. . . .
Literature
What is SO shameful about asking a lady, whose job it is to work in a bookshop, where to find titles including 'Confessions of a Working Girl', 'Submission', and 'The Surrender'?
Nothing. And so I did.
In fact I returned to her time and again as these titles popped into my head only the other week. Of these, two I have read an another I hadn't. The reason behind my asking her wasn't to humiliate her, or to embarrass myself, or to 'rock' the old mama's boat. Although, as an occupational hazard, I can think of much worse.
And no, there is no 'criteria' by which I select these unsuspecting 'victims'.
She who agrees to work in a bookshop should be open, from the very start, to the possibility of her job requiring her to venture into unknown territory.
The third time I asked her for an author's name, she led me straight to a table on the second floor. In the middle was a sign 'love and erotica'.
'If you're looking for THOSE sorts of books, you'll probably find a wider selection here' she said.
'Oh! How delightful!' I concluded.
By which time she'd disappeared.
Now, I have many friends who read THESE sorts of books, however very few of them would be comfortable enough to ask where exactly the erotica section was.
Could it possibly be that they are scared of what the lady behind the counter might think? Or might it be that they are too embarrassed at themselves.
Either way, I don't see why there should be any difference in asking for a book on 'Italian Cookery made easy' and 'Tantric sex for beginners'. After all, it's all recreation.
People exist in order to make assumptions. If you didn't know this, know you do.
Imagine what they will, say what they will once I've left the shop, curse how they will, pray for me even. It really doesn't matter.
Because, all said and done, in the evening, it is I who'll be stretching the sexual mind as they fall asleep beside their lover of twenty years whose body really does end at the groin. And the next day, she'll come in that little bit early just so she can read whatever book it was 'that filthy boy wanted, yesterday'.
Nothing. And so I did.
In fact I returned to her time and again as these titles popped into my head only the other week. Of these, two I have read an another I hadn't. The reason behind my asking her wasn't to humiliate her, or to embarrass myself, or to 'rock' the old mama's boat. Although, as an occupational hazard, I can think of much worse.
And no, there is no 'criteria' by which I select these unsuspecting 'victims'.
She who agrees to work in a bookshop should be open, from the very start, to the possibility of her job requiring her to venture into unknown territory.
The third time I asked her for an author's name, she led me straight to a table on the second floor. In the middle was a sign 'love and erotica'.
'If you're looking for THOSE sorts of books, you'll probably find a wider selection here' she said.
'Oh! How delightful!' I concluded.
By which time she'd disappeared.
Now, I have many friends who read THESE sorts of books, however very few of them would be comfortable enough to ask where exactly the erotica section was.
Could it possibly be that they are scared of what the lady behind the counter might think? Or might it be that they are too embarrassed at themselves.
Either way, I don't see why there should be any difference in asking for a book on 'Italian Cookery made easy' and 'Tantric sex for beginners'. After all, it's all recreation.
People exist in order to make assumptions. If you didn't know this, know you do.
Imagine what they will, say what they will once I've left the shop, curse how they will, pray for me even. It really doesn't matter.
Because, all said and done, in the evening, it is I who'll be stretching the sexual mind as they fall asleep beside their lover of twenty years whose body really does end at the groin. And the next day, she'll come in that little bit early just so she can read whatever book it was 'that filthy boy wanted, yesterday'.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Ice cream
Haagen Daaz in Leicester Square have removed the Fig and Marsala flavoured ice cream from their selection.
At first, the Raspberry Sorbet was no longer available anywhere other than in the shop. Handy little tubs which one might have otherwise devoured in private seemed to become a thing of the past. I was truly saddened.
If they'd listened to me I think i would have spread the sticky cool red stuff all over a male joint and licked it off. Even the fig and Marsala.
So, how precisely do they decide which flavours to stop and which ones to make available only in the parlour.
If anybody can find either of these flavours in this country, in a shop other than one owned by Haagen Daaz, let me know petals. And there may even be a reward.
Now that I have a potential fuck buddy on the cards, it seems only right and proper that I have a tub of sorbet in the freezer. One simply doesn't seem to fit without the other.
At first, the Raspberry Sorbet was no longer available anywhere other than in the shop. Handy little tubs which one might have otherwise devoured in private seemed to become a thing of the past. I was truly saddened.
If they'd listened to me I think i would have spread the sticky cool red stuff all over a male joint and licked it off. Even the fig and Marsala.
So, how precisely do they decide which flavours to stop and which ones to make available only in the parlour.
If anybody can find either of these flavours in this country, in a shop other than one owned by Haagen Daaz, let me know petals. And there may even be a reward.
Now that I have a potential fuck buddy on the cards, it seems only right and proper that I have a tub of sorbet in the freezer. One simply doesn't seem to fit without the other.
The C Word - poetry
...and on the subject of the C word, let's have a few poems. The first, written by a man and the second, written by a woman. Compare and contrast them won't you. Who do you think wrote each?
A)Cunt Poem
That smelly puss filled dripping old cunt keeps leaving the same stench everywhere.
I walk into the bathroom and fucking swear it's in my clothes and in my hair.
Is it not washed? Is something rotting in there?
Really I think that it just doesn't care.
It's the combination of rotting meat skunk and ass.
I truly think that I'm about to pass
OUT
B)the cunt poem
wherever there's earth, dirt and the moon, someone
is going to write a "woman" poem
all spirals and delicate shells blood and the bloody moon. Someone
is gonna talk about their cunt.
I don't think my cunt wants to hang out in poems
dripping with beautiful analogy, trying to blend into the ground
its sick of playing nature to my culture. My cunt wants to go to the opera,
it wants to stride through atriums looking at paintings,
it wants to resemble
quantum mechanics and theories as dry
and bloodless as the bones of dead seabirds. It wants
sartorial elegance and a high standard of living; subtlety beyond the lowly
biblical reference and heavy fisted metaphor
It'd like to take this opportunity to point out
the absence of chaos in its structure, it wants to take an opportunity to see if
opportunity knocks, it'd like to remember its no pussy cat
it'd like to take out a hit on the moon Yeah,
it wants to be a know it all a charlatan a diva.
it wont be caught dead in a couple of dead end lines
in the core of an elegy to a lover
it's gotta have the title track it's got to have the starring role:
it wants
the first choice and it wants the last word
A)Cunt Poem
That smelly puss filled dripping old cunt keeps leaving the same stench everywhere.
I walk into the bathroom and fucking swear it's in my clothes and in my hair.
Is it not washed? Is something rotting in there?
Really I think that it just doesn't care.
It's the combination of rotting meat skunk and ass.
I truly think that I'm about to pass
OUT
B)the cunt poem
wherever there's earth, dirt and the moon, someone
is going to write a "woman" poem
all spirals and delicate shells blood and the bloody moon. Someone
is gonna talk about their cunt.
I don't think my cunt wants to hang out in poems
dripping with beautiful analogy, trying to blend into the ground
its sick of playing nature to my culture. My cunt wants to go to the opera,
it wants to stride through atriums looking at paintings,
it wants to resemble
quantum mechanics and theories as dry
and bloodless as the bones of dead seabirds. It wants
sartorial elegance and a high standard of living; subtlety beyond the lowly
biblical reference and heavy fisted metaphor
It'd like to take this opportunity to point out
the absence of chaos in its structure, it wants to take an opportunity to see if
opportunity knocks, it'd like to remember its no pussy cat
it'd like to take out a hit on the moon Yeah,
it wants to be a know it all a charlatan a diva.
it wont be caught dead in a couple of dead end lines
in the core of an elegy to a lover
it's gotta have the title track it's got to have the starring role:
it wants
the first choice and it wants the last word
The C Word
On a daily basis (ever since I started this new job) I pay a visit to Belle de Jour's blog.
For those of you unfamiliar with her work, she's an ex-London call girl who writes about her exploits, has gained rather a large readership and fan base, and her 'memoirs' are now being turned into a TV mini-series starring Billie Piper.
In her latest blog entry she mentions how the media has taken offence at the use of the word 'Cunt' on the drama. Apparently, the word, it is reported, is likely to cause offence.
I have always thought of the word as rather...delightful. I mean, it's a powerful sounding word which has connotations of power and sexuality. In fact, when it comes to sex I wonder if I've ever come across a better one. Whenever I imagine a cunt I think of a firm fruit hanging from a tree. Sort of like a coconut.
Belle says that there are far worse forms of insult in the world. I agree.
Of course, the saddest thing is, this cunt tale will make the front page of London Lite, and poor Madeline will be left to page three.
p.s It strikes me as odd how people in today's society can still be so offended by a word. That it can warrant a press release or generate a debate.
Cunt! There, I said it.
And now it's over.
For those of you unfamiliar with her work, she's an ex-London call girl who writes about her exploits, has gained rather a large readership and fan base, and her 'memoirs' are now being turned into a TV mini-series starring Billie Piper.
In her latest blog entry she mentions how the media has taken offence at the use of the word 'Cunt' on the drama. Apparently, the word, it is reported, is likely to cause offence.
I have always thought of the word as rather...delightful. I mean, it's a powerful sounding word which has connotations of power and sexuality. In fact, when it comes to sex I wonder if I've ever come across a better one. Whenever I imagine a cunt I think of a firm fruit hanging from a tree. Sort of like a coconut.
Belle says that there are far worse forms of insult in the world. I agree.
Of course, the saddest thing is, this cunt tale will make the front page of London Lite, and poor Madeline will be left to page three.
p.s It strikes me as odd how people in today's society can still be so offended by a word. That it can warrant a press release or generate a debate.
Cunt! There, I said it.
And now it's over.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The Dame's Chronicles
Written by my dear friend The Dame:
I saw Beatrice last night for the first time socially in a while, our work has got in the way somewhat lately. The venue: The Arts Theatre in work town. The time: 6pm. The film: Atonement by Ian McEwan.
Firstly, my thoughts on the film. I think one word should describe it quite well. Amazing. The film from the very beginning was pretty, crisp and summery. The direction was quite arty as were the scenes the film portrayed. Both Keira Knightly and the male lead were very convicing. Watching the film you would actually think they were both in love, the scenes between them were palpable with sexual tension. The role of sister Briony was performed very well, she was again very convincing as the evil little sister completely at one with sinning against those closest to her. The film does have a lot of emphasis on the war, perhaps to much in Tainted's opinion, but I think although some of these scenes could have been shortened or cut out completely, they added to the general ambiance of the film - she wanted the greatest love of her life to come back to her from war so they could be together. A very touching piece that I would most certainly go and see again (and probably will with friends). I smell Oscars on the horizon.
Now to Beatrice. I think it would be apt to say The Dame is gutless. We watched the film and then made our way to Zizzi for a nice meal. I have not been in this restaurant since myself and The Doctor dined there when we began seeing one another. Beatrice and I sat by the window along from where we had sat and at the start of the meal I did wonder if the right choice of restaurant had been made considering the thoughts that were rolling around my head. I still think about her a lot but Beatrice did not deserve that during dinner after giving up her evening to spend with me, so I cut that thought short.
We had a lovely dinner which involved a lot of talking, flirting and smiling and then took a slow walk across green space to her car. There wasn't really an opportunity to be alone during the evening and I was on the verge of asking her what was going on between us because I just did not know. I didn't ask. I don't see this as such a bad thing, she does not need to be rushed and I certainly don't. I like her a lot and I think the feeling is mutual but I can physically feel my body holding itself back for fear of being hurt again. I just cannot do it again. What does it take to really let go and give your mind and body to someone? Answers on a post card please.
Yours,
-The Dame-
I saw Beatrice last night for the first time socially in a while, our work has got in the way somewhat lately. The venue: The Arts Theatre in work town. The time: 6pm. The film: Atonement by Ian McEwan.
Firstly, my thoughts on the film. I think one word should describe it quite well. Amazing. The film from the very beginning was pretty, crisp and summery. The direction was quite arty as were the scenes the film portrayed. Both Keira Knightly and the male lead were very convicing. Watching the film you would actually think they were both in love, the scenes between them were palpable with sexual tension. The role of sister Briony was performed very well, she was again very convincing as the evil little sister completely at one with sinning against those closest to her. The film does have a lot of emphasis on the war, perhaps to much in Tainted's opinion, but I think although some of these scenes could have been shortened or cut out completely, they added to the general ambiance of the film - she wanted the greatest love of her life to come back to her from war so they could be together. A very touching piece that I would most certainly go and see again (and probably will with friends). I smell Oscars on the horizon.
Now to Beatrice. I think it would be apt to say The Dame is gutless. We watched the film and then made our way to Zizzi for a nice meal. I have not been in this restaurant since myself and The Doctor dined there when we began seeing one another. Beatrice and I sat by the window along from where we had sat and at the start of the meal I did wonder if the right choice of restaurant had been made considering the thoughts that were rolling around my head. I still think about her a lot but Beatrice did not deserve that during dinner after giving up her evening to spend with me, so I cut that thought short.
We had a lovely dinner which involved a lot of talking, flirting and smiling and then took a slow walk across green space to her car. There wasn't really an opportunity to be alone during the evening and I was on the verge of asking her what was going on between us because I just did not know. I didn't ask. I don't see this as such a bad thing, she does not need to be rushed and I certainly don't. I like her a lot and I think the feeling is mutual but I can physically feel my body holding itself back for fear of being hurt again. I just cannot do it again. What does it take to really let go and give your mind and body to someone? Answers on a post card please.
Yours,
-The Dame-
Monday, September 10, 2007
Chariots @ Shoreditch - Part 1
Well...
I've never come across so many naked gay men in my life. And so many, elderly gentlemen.
Thankfully, most of the elderly men weren't following the whore circle and instead, preferred to sit in the lounge and exchange postcards from their latest travels. Is cute too strong a word? I mean, why did they have to do it naked.
And this is the first sauna I've been to where I lost the shorts. And yes, there were a few comments on how 'above average' the size of my...is.
After the last unsuccessful (in terms of sex alone) Sauna experience, I didn't have the highest of expectations, granted.
And I never for a second thought that too many men would be too much of a problem. But it was, sort of.
Let me clarify. I visited the UK's largest Gay Sauna. Three floors worth of men. Every type of man you could imagine. And the bodies that these men had. The bodies! Let's just say, my inadequacies were placed elsewhere this time round.
1st Floor - Lounge area, changing rooms and a gym.
2nd Floor - An assortment of large and small rooms with wipeable ma tresses, a large darkroom, and men spilling out of every door and corridor in sight. Blimey I thought...this is going to be a mission.
3rd Floor - 2 Saunas, 2 Steam Rooms, a swimming pool, another dark room, a spa and a jacuzzi.
After doing the rounds twice and getting myself to grips with the maze I lay down on a deck chair and watched the men come, one by one, to the third floor.
Sexually speaking, this trip wasn't wasted either. I pulled. And boy, was he hot. If I say he looked like a younger version of Tom Ford, many of you will realise a) my surprise at having procured someone so edible and b) that he really was good looking.
His body was firm and he was one of the best kissers I've ever experienced. There was something so assured about the way he kissed me. And I could tell from the way he behaved that this guy really had the hots for me. I think it was nice to come across a gay man who didn't really believe in playing any mind games so that you're left wondering.
Here was a guy who liked me, made it clear and remarkably took a chance. And he was hot. Hot enough for me to follow him down to the second floor and whisper something into his ear...
I've never come across so many naked gay men in my life. And so many, elderly gentlemen.
Thankfully, most of the elderly men weren't following the whore circle and instead, preferred to sit in the lounge and exchange postcards from their latest travels. Is cute too strong a word? I mean, why did they have to do it naked.
And this is the first sauna I've been to where I lost the shorts. And yes, there were a few comments on how 'above average' the size of my...is.
After the last unsuccessful (in terms of sex alone) Sauna experience, I didn't have the highest of expectations, granted.
And I never for a second thought that too many men would be too much of a problem. But it was, sort of.
Let me clarify. I visited the UK's largest Gay Sauna. Three floors worth of men. Every type of man you could imagine. And the bodies that these men had. The bodies! Let's just say, my inadequacies were placed elsewhere this time round.
1st Floor - Lounge area, changing rooms and a gym.
2nd Floor - An assortment of large and small rooms with wipeable ma tresses, a large darkroom, and men spilling out of every door and corridor in sight. Blimey I thought...this is going to be a mission.
3rd Floor - 2 Saunas, 2 Steam Rooms, a swimming pool, another dark room, a spa and a jacuzzi.
After doing the rounds twice and getting myself to grips with the maze I lay down on a deck chair and watched the men come, one by one, to the third floor.
Sexually speaking, this trip wasn't wasted either. I pulled. And boy, was he hot. If I say he looked like a younger version of Tom Ford, many of you will realise a) my surprise at having procured someone so edible and b) that he really was good looking.
His body was firm and he was one of the best kissers I've ever experienced. There was something so assured about the way he kissed me. And I could tell from the way he behaved that this guy really had the hots for me. I think it was nice to come across a gay man who didn't really believe in playing any mind games so that you're left wondering.
Here was a guy who liked me, made it clear and remarkably took a chance. And he was hot. Hot enough for me to follow him down to the second floor and whisper something into his ear...
Saturday
Busy weekend this weekend as I lived the London Life:
Part 1
Flat hunting has finally yielded results. Am now a few weeks away from moving South Of The River with a friend of mine who I've possibly known the longest. Things have worked out well and, as the position currently stands, me and the The Goddess are planning our dinners and frantically job hunting.
She's somebody who can cook and clean, has a huge sex drive (although this characteristic is more practically wasted on me) and oozes confidence.
As a result I feel I can and intend on:
a) absorbing her energies
b) learning how really not to give a shit about what people say or think about me
c) making the best use of having a domestic goddess in the house. At least, that will make two of us. For I'm rather a dab hand in the kitchen, even If I do say so myself.
The Goddess is somebody who doesn't quite realise her market value out there in the dating community. There are very few men, here or abroad, straight, who would say no. Currently she has a boyF but I'm urging her to end it. You see, as a friend i see that she is mellowing herself to fit the man's love groove. Nope, I said..you shouldn't do that. You should be able to be yourself. God knows that wild streak is so darned hard to get back once it's gone.
Part 2
Cinema club - Atonement based on the Novel by Ian McEwan.
You know, for this film I had such high hopes. The highest! The hype..oh the hype. And the first third of the film had me pretty much spell bound. And then....I sort of lost it.
When watching a film it's important, in my opinion, to be able to follow a view point. Where this film fails, in my opinion, is in this respect. We never stay with a single character long enough to have any connection form between us. Without giving away the story, the person who atones isn't really the focus of the film when they really should be. As a result, I felt as though i were hanging in mid air. The film is stylish and well acted although I'll be damned if I think Miss Knightly deserves an Oscar for her limited role. The more I see her the more I realise that what we have in her is the female Hugh Grant.
Part 3
A friend's birthday party at Ruby Blue Club in Leicester Square.
The venue wasn't the plushest but I had a good time. Because I could dance and was surrounded by people who I liked. The birthday girl was plastered and insisted on grinding with me as her finance watched. Great!
And then the Bo-hos made an entrance. Now, I LOVE bohemian chicks and perhaps this is the reason I can't seem to control the spray of sexual rampage that often comes out of my mouth.
Ten minutes into our conversation and I'd managed, somehow, to ask whether they had been in an threesome and expressed sadness at being rejected by the orgy-organiser (see previous post).
'A kiss is just a kiss' said one of them. 'For fucks sake, it doesn't mean anything. Big deal. Get over it.' - She was talking about cheating and whether she would. I think the principle behind her conviction was that so many people allow something so small to come in the way of something so..well...big. I do agree with her I must say. Often the lust takes full charge and we're left with choices. Sleeping with somebody who isn't your partner whilst in the midst of a relationship isn't about trust or respect or love. It's about wanting to fuck somebody different before you return to your lover. And if you're both able to cut the ties after you've cum, then...I don't see the problem.
Anyways, before things got too heavy and we had to deal with all the emotional turmoil that often accompanies drunken women, another friend and I caught (it was a close call) the last tube home.
Part 1
Flat hunting has finally yielded results. Am now a few weeks away from moving South Of The River with a friend of mine who I've possibly known the longest. Things have worked out well and, as the position currently stands, me and the The Goddess are planning our dinners and frantically job hunting.
She's somebody who can cook and clean, has a huge sex drive (although this characteristic is more practically wasted on me) and oozes confidence.
As a result I feel I can and intend on:
a) absorbing her energies
b) learning how really not to give a shit about what people say or think about me
c) making the best use of having a domestic goddess in the house. At least, that will make two of us. For I'm rather a dab hand in the kitchen, even If I do say so myself.
The Goddess is somebody who doesn't quite realise her market value out there in the dating community. There are very few men, here or abroad, straight, who would say no. Currently she has a boyF but I'm urging her to end it. You see, as a friend i see that she is mellowing herself to fit the man's love groove. Nope, I said..you shouldn't do that. You should be able to be yourself. God knows that wild streak is so darned hard to get back once it's gone.
Part 2
Cinema club - Atonement based on the Novel by Ian McEwan.
You know, for this film I had such high hopes. The highest! The hype..oh the hype. And the first third of the film had me pretty much spell bound. And then....I sort of lost it.
When watching a film it's important, in my opinion, to be able to follow a view point. Where this film fails, in my opinion, is in this respect. We never stay with a single character long enough to have any connection form between us. Without giving away the story, the person who atones isn't really the focus of the film when they really should be. As a result, I felt as though i were hanging in mid air. The film is stylish and well acted although I'll be damned if I think Miss Knightly deserves an Oscar for her limited role. The more I see her the more I realise that what we have in her is the female Hugh Grant.
Part 3
A friend's birthday party at Ruby Blue Club in Leicester Square.
The venue wasn't the plushest but I had a good time. Because I could dance and was surrounded by people who I liked. The birthday girl was plastered and insisted on grinding with me as her finance watched. Great!
And then the Bo-hos made an entrance. Now, I LOVE bohemian chicks and perhaps this is the reason I can't seem to control the spray of sexual rampage that often comes out of my mouth.
Ten minutes into our conversation and I'd managed, somehow, to ask whether they had been in an threesome and expressed sadness at being rejected by the orgy-organiser (see previous post).
'A kiss is just a kiss' said one of them. 'For fucks sake, it doesn't mean anything. Big deal. Get over it.' - She was talking about cheating and whether she would. I think the principle behind her conviction was that so many people allow something so small to come in the way of something so..well...big. I do agree with her I must say. Often the lust takes full charge and we're left with choices. Sleeping with somebody who isn't your partner whilst in the midst of a relationship isn't about trust or respect or love. It's about wanting to fuck somebody different before you return to your lover. And if you're both able to cut the ties after you've cum, then...I don't see the problem.
Anyways, before things got too heavy and we had to deal with all the emotional turmoil that often accompanies drunken women, another friend and I caught (it was a close call) the last tube home.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Slagiversary
I've officially crossed the one year mark!
That's correct, I've had a year of promising sexual adventure and the nib has truly been dipped in a variety of inks. A full blown submersion has yet to take place but I'm rather pleased at how far I've come in this time.
To think, a year ago I used to fold my underpants.
In the coming year I intend on:
A) Participating in an orgy. Oh YES, I will
B) Dining out at a Michelin Star restaurant once a month. Perhaps we might call this endeavour the 'Monthly Michelin'. First on the list is The Ritz and second, Benares.
C) Have a threesome (one short of an orgy)
D) Perhaps consider finding someone to test the waters of faithfulness with - To be decided
E)Finally write the novel I've been wanting to for what seems an eternity
F) Continue to help The Dame and any other slag on the slag parade find that perfect orgasm before her fanny really does crumble in her bare hands
Wish me luck won't you.
That's correct, I've had a year of promising sexual adventure and the nib has truly been dipped in a variety of inks. A full blown submersion has yet to take place but I'm rather pleased at how far I've come in this time.
To think, a year ago I used to fold my underpants.
In the coming year I intend on:
A) Participating in an orgy. Oh YES, I will
B) Dining out at a Michelin Star restaurant once a month. Perhaps we might call this endeavour the 'Monthly Michelin'. First on the list is The Ritz and second, Benares.
C) Have a threesome (one short of an orgy)
D) Perhaps consider finding someone to test the waters of faithfulness with - To be decided
E)Finally write the novel I've been wanting to for what seems an eternity
F) Continue to help The Dame and any other slag on the slag parade find that perfect orgasm before her fanny really does crumble in her bare hands
Wish me luck won't you.
Belle de Bengal's Birthday
Last Friday I attended the Belle de Bengal's Birthday party at Zebrano's. I took along a friend of mine and we got there a little late, only to find at least 40 people had turned up to wish, what I now consider a social magnet, her a happy birthday.
First things first. The cocktails were immaculate. I mean this sincerely. I had a 'Sex on the roof'. It was far more smooth than I'd imagined. A cocktail made of lychee liqueur and ACTUAL lychees. It was lush.
And then as the night progressed I met a lot of Belle's friends and continued to talk rather openly about my orgy rejection for some strange reason.
If in doubt, blame the dimmed lighting and copious amounts of alcohol.
And of course there was the usual
'Oh, so how do you know her then?'
'Well...we met at a cinema club and then have been regular friends since'
'Ah (arched eyebrow in full force at this point), a cinema club'
'Yes (spoken with the greatest pride I can muster'
And there was this one guy
'Are you Indian?' I asked hinting a skin tone only slightly lighter than mine
'Nah mate, I'm a bag of mixed nationalities innit. If I go to Morocco they think I'm Moroccan, If I go to Brazil they think I'm Brazilian..etc. Nobody ever knows.
'Ah' I said, thinking back to a time when somebody had ever quizzed me about my own ethnicity. Nah, Indian every time.
Earlier this week at dinner with Belle de Bengal (Venue: Katana @ The International Hotel in Leicester Square: Lovely)
'So, why don't any of your friends know that you go a cinema club and a book club and that we meet most Wednesdays?' I asked.
'Ahh, I have many layers to my personality/social life, came her reply.
Happy birthday Belle de Bengal. Let the social orgies continue!
First things first. The cocktails were immaculate. I mean this sincerely. I had a 'Sex on the roof'. It was far more smooth than I'd imagined. A cocktail made of lychee liqueur and ACTUAL lychees. It was lush.
And then as the night progressed I met a lot of Belle's friends and continued to talk rather openly about my orgy rejection for some strange reason.
If in doubt, blame the dimmed lighting and copious amounts of alcohol.
And of course there was the usual
'Oh, so how do you know her then?'
'Well...we met at a cinema club and then have been regular friends since'
'Ah (arched eyebrow in full force at this point), a cinema club'
'Yes (spoken with the greatest pride I can muster'
And there was this one guy
'Are you Indian?' I asked hinting a skin tone only slightly lighter than mine
'Nah mate, I'm a bag of mixed nationalities innit. If I go to Morocco they think I'm Moroccan, If I go to Brazil they think I'm Brazilian..etc. Nobody ever knows.
'Ah' I said, thinking back to a time when somebody had ever quizzed me about my own ethnicity. Nah, Indian every time.
Earlier this week at dinner with Belle de Bengal (Venue: Katana @ The International Hotel in Leicester Square: Lovely)
'So, why don't any of your friends know that you go a cinema club and a book club and that we meet most Wednesdays?' I asked.
'Ahh, I have many layers to my personality/social life, came her reply.
Happy birthday Belle de Bengal. Let the social orgies continue!
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Textage beginnings
Background - The man I messaged on Gaydar came back with a quick response. His torso is very promising even though he is 39. I have yet to see his face but yesterday evening I told myself to give him a try and let go of my superficial method, this once. The texts started at midnight and so far we have the following. Oh yes, and The Man has a certain circumcision fetish. Boo Hoo I said, mine is all there.
The Man - OK, so what do you want to know?
Me - Anything worth knowing I guess. How would I be able to please you without a foreskin to play with? Would I have to make it moist and workable? And does my foreskin bother you? I'm sure I could teach you to work with it. What do you think?
The Man - Interesting questions. Have you never had a cut one before? Are you proud of your foreskin? By the way, it can be workable dry too.
Me - Proud is a strong word :) think it gives me a little extra that's all. I have had a cut one before but spent far too long wondering what to do with it ;) something tells me a man this obsessed with his dick would be great between the sheets. And open minded enough to have me asking for more. Tell me, are you?
The Man - I am a catastrophe between the sheets but then again it takes two. There's not really that much too it for you to get confused by - 5.5" of de-foreskinned dick, I', sure you'd not get too lost. Of course part of what makes it different is that I'm always aware of it whereas you, I'm guessing, are not?
Me - Aware of my dick? Yes. For example at the moment it is straining in my trousers ;). A catastrophe? Elaborate please? And what would you like to do with your dick once we've made it past dinner? What would turn you on the most? Also, what do you do in terms of a career?
The Man - Blimey! Now it's talk of dinner, a raging hard on and careers... I can't keep up. Am out of work at present, trying to find something as have just done a course. Am a catastrophe in as much as most sex bores me and unless there is a certain frisson, chemistry, whatever, I switch off. Oh, the dick's just about forgotten why it's there... Your foreskin stay forward when hard?
Me - Ha. No it doesn't stay forward. It's pulled back firmly. That should please you. I'm inexperienced myself but have the mind and imagination of a whore. Re boring sex, I'm the same way inclined. If it doesn't make my toes curl, it might as well not have happened. OK, so what course? Anything exciting?
The Man - Am now qualified to teach (subject name). What do you do? Are you a permanent retractor? Sex has to flow, that's the bit I lost somewhere along the way. What is it you find intriguing, is it just about tossing off a cut guy or is there more to it?
Me - What makes you think I'm a retractor? I have just finished ...... and am training to be a ...... Alongside this I enjoy painting and writing and am doing a Masters in ...... . The idiosyncrasies of your dick mean nothing. I like that you have a fetish and a desire to explore unusual sex. I think I could learn something from you. My own fetishes include kissing and..nice fingers. At least, if a man can use his tongue and fingers well, he is half there. so, do you think you might like to meet?
The Man - Nice to come across someone who exercises their brain a bit. Why a retractor? Because you seemed more in touch than most, are you?
Me - In touch with what? My sexuality? I am aware of it but still need the experiences to enable my CV to glow. The sort of sex I like has thought behind it I guess. Once you start your job, can we fuck in the stock room? Crickey, that would be horny.
The Man - So, are you a retractor?
Me - No I wouldn't say so.
The Man - Good.
Me - And are you free to meet sometime soon where we might try and establish a click?
The Man - I think meeting is a good idea.
Mental note - Must think about this 'retractor' definition.
The Man - OK, so what do you want to know?
Me - Anything worth knowing I guess. How would I be able to please you without a foreskin to play with? Would I have to make it moist and workable? And does my foreskin bother you? I'm sure I could teach you to work with it. What do you think?
The Man - Interesting questions. Have you never had a cut one before? Are you proud of your foreskin? By the way, it can be workable dry too.
Me - Proud is a strong word :) think it gives me a little extra that's all. I have had a cut one before but spent far too long wondering what to do with it ;) something tells me a man this obsessed with his dick would be great between the sheets. And open minded enough to have me asking for more. Tell me, are you?
The Man - I am a catastrophe between the sheets but then again it takes two. There's not really that much too it for you to get confused by - 5.5" of de-foreskinned dick, I', sure you'd not get too lost. Of course part of what makes it different is that I'm always aware of it whereas you, I'm guessing, are not?
Me - Aware of my dick? Yes. For example at the moment it is straining in my trousers ;). A catastrophe? Elaborate please? And what would you like to do with your dick once we've made it past dinner? What would turn you on the most? Also, what do you do in terms of a career?
The Man - Blimey! Now it's talk of dinner, a raging hard on and careers... I can't keep up. Am out of work at present, trying to find something as have just done a course. Am a catastrophe in as much as most sex bores me and unless there is a certain frisson, chemistry, whatever, I switch off. Oh, the dick's just about forgotten why it's there... Your foreskin stay forward when hard?
Me - Ha. No it doesn't stay forward. It's pulled back firmly. That should please you. I'm inexperienced myself but have the mind and imagination of a whore. Re boring sex, I'm the same way inclined. If it doesn't make my toes curl, it might as well not have happened. OK, so what course? Anything exciting?
The Man - Am now qualified to teach (subject name). What do you do? Are you a permanent retractor? Sex has to flow, that's the bit I lost somewhere along the way. What is it you find intriguing, is it just about tossing off a cut guy or is there more to it?
Me - What makes you think I'm a retractor? I have just finished ...... and am training to be a ...... Alongside this I enjoy painting and writing and am doing a Masters in ...... . The idiosyncrasies of your dick mean nothing. I like that you have a fetish and a desire to explore unusual sex. I think I could learn something from you. My own fetishes include kissing and..nice fingers. At least, if a man can use his tongue and fingers well, he is half there. so, do you think you might like to meet?
The Man - Nice to come across someone who exercises their brain a bit. Why a retractor? Because you seemed more in touch than most, are you?
Me - In touch with what? My sexuality? I am aware of it but still need the experiences to enable my CV to glow. The sort of sex I like has thought behind it I guess. Once you start your job, can we fuck in the stock room? Crickey, that would be horny.
The Man - So, are you a retractor?
Me - No I wouldn't say so.
The Man - Good.
Me - And are you free to meet sometime soon where we might try and establish a click?
The Man - I think meeting is a good idea.
Mental note - Must think about this 'retractor' definition.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Strike
Just the way our parents teach us right from wrong and how to deal with sadness in our lives, they should teach us how to deal with a complete shutdown of the London Underground.
Here's an eventuality my mother failed to prepare me for and today I pay the price.
It's not so much that I don't like taking the bus into work, I HATE the very idea of it. All that waiting around and in my experience buses are never on time.
That's right, I'm a fan of the underground. It gets me from A to B in a matter of moments and is, more often than not, bang on time.
So, it perplexes me to think that a whole vital section of London employees have gone on strike whilst the rest of us suffer in the gas chamber that is the Piccadilly Line.
Thankfully, I don't get told off if I stroll into work half an hour late. It's the glory of God I'm sure- my virtuous employer.
So, what am I to do? Perhaps walk to Leicester Square and pop into g-star on route.
Let's hope these underground employees see the light whilst the sun is still out. If I have to walk in the winter, there'll be trouble.
Here's an eventuality my mother failed to prepare me for and today I pay the price.
It's not so much that I don't like taking the bus into work, I HATE the very idea of it. All that waiting around and in my experience buses are never on time.
That's right, I'm a fan of the underground. It gets me from A to B in a matter of moments and is, more often than not, bang on time.
So, it perplexes me to think that a whole vital section of London employees have gone on strike whilst the rest of us suffer in the gas chamber that is the Piccadilly Line.
Thankfully, I don't get told off if I stroll into work half an hour late. It's the glory of God I'm sure- my virtuous employer.
So, what am I to do? Perhaps walk to Leicester Square and pop into g-star on route.
Let's hope these underground employees see the light whilst the sun is still out. If I have to walk in the winter, there'll be trouble.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Sauna Spa @ Covent Garden
Lessons of the Sauna #2
This time my visit to a gay sauna wasn't calculated. If anything it was a surprise. On texting the Chinese boy (whose discoloured teeth seem to have faded. Still, that...you know..simply isn't available in order for me to become caught up in his lust), he called and asked whether I would, instead of going to a club, accompany him to a sauna. To be fair, it didn't take much convincing.
My views have slightly altered from when I last went to one. They're not only for desperate fat old men who'd be massacred in a club setting. No. Saunas are for boys who want some quick action or just some time to relax. And, all said and done, it's the experience of a sauna, whether it be interesting or disappointing, that counts.
The Chinese boy was understandably nervous the way I was during my first time. The only difference here is that he had somebody to vocalise his nerves towards whereas I didn't. Consequently, I don't think he was half as nervous as I had been, due simply to the fact that he had somebody to talk to. And this in turn become easier for me.
The Sauna Bar in Covent Garden is a relatively small venue, with its fair share of fit and attractive men to counterbalance against the obese Europeans who seemed to be ever so fond of me.
The voyeuristic element was far greater in this place, admittedly. During the course of 4 hours I was able to see
a) a threesome which including interracial fucking;
b) a black man receiving a blow job from two, or was it three other white men - at which point the Chinese boy told me he wanted to 'touch' and proceeded to finger the man's nippled, and jerk off his large plank as another man sucked away;
c) a standing couple in the midst of a blow job in the steam room; and
d) two men who were laid bare in their own private rooms masturbating ferociously.
If anything, the sauna experience is a little tiresome. Walking from one part to another, then over to the darkrooms in the hope that somebody might hold your gaze.
Of course, not everybody you find attractive feels the same. And not everybody who likes you is worthy of your efforts.
So, I didn't pull. It was a shame as there were some attractive men. A mental note: must make quick use of subsidised gym membership.
But the experience filled me with images. Images with meant that I came at least five times the following day.
The poor Chinese Boy was distraught and threatened to pay someone to fuck him. Don't be silly I told him....paying for sex immediately after coming out a sauna is desperate. Waiting a day and then paying someone is liberated. I haven't managed as yet to ask him if he did end up paying somebody for it after all. I could have obliged I suppose. He does like me. But then, why should I show mercy. A mercy fuck really wouldn't be the best way to go under these circumstances. The limits to our friendship are finally firmly in place. And this is what I wanted.
As with everything else in life the ability to fuck somebody was always there. It was simply a question of how far i was going to let my standards fall. Not very far was the answer.
We plan on venturing to a larger venue next time. A greater pool of people, a greater chance of finding somebody to eat who'll want to eat you just as much. And a few more areas in which to pass the time.
Oh yes, and I now fully understand the concept of 'cruising'. Find somebody you like and look at them. They'll look at you and if the gaze is held then you're on.
On how to say no without ever speaking - a quick shift of the towel always does the trick. And for the amount of libido that spreads throughout a sauna, the men are always surprisingly quick to get the message and polite enough not to persist.
There's something about saunas. The greedy uninhibited sexual parade pleases me. I think I'll visit Chariots next time. Although I remain unsure as to whether the Chinese boy will be coming with me.
This time my visit to a gay sauna wasn't calculated. If anything it was a surprise. On texting the Chinese boy (whose discoloured teeth seem to have faded. Still, that...you know..simply isn't available in order for me to become caught up in his lust), he called and asked whether I would, instead of going to a club, accompany him to a sauna. To be fair, it didn't take much convincing.
My views have slightly altered from when I last went to one. They're not only for desperate fat old men who'd be massacred in a club setting. No. Saunas are for boys who want some quick action or just some time to relax. And, all said and done, it's the experience of a sauna, whether it be interesting or disappointing, that counts.
The Chinese boy was understandably nervous the way I was during my first time. The only difference here is that he had somebody to vocalise his nerves towards whereas I didn't. Consequently, I don't think he was half as nervous as I had been, due simply to the fact that he had somebody to talk to. And this in turn become easier for me.
The Sauna Bar in Covent Garden is a relatively small venue, with its fair share of fit and attractive men to counterbalance against the obese Europeans who seemed to be ever so fond of me.
The voyeuristic element was far greater in this place, admittedly. During the course of 4 hours I was able to see
a) a threesome which including interracial fucking;
b) a black man receiving a blow job from two, or was it three other white men - at which point the Chinese boy told me he wanted to 'touch' and proceeded to finger the man's nippled, and jerk off his large plank as another man sucked away;
c) a standing couple in the midst of a blow job in the steam room; and
d) two men who were laid bare in their own private rooms masturbating ferociously.
If anything, the sauna experience is a little tiresome. Walking from one part to another, then over to the darkrooms in the hope that somebody might hold your gaze.
Of course, not everybody you find attractive feels the same. And not everybody who likes you is worthy of your efforts.
So, I didn't pull. It was a shame as there were some attractive men. A mental note: must make quick use of subsidised gym membership.
But the experience filled me with images. Images with meant that I came at least five times the following day.
The poor Chinese Boy was distraught and threatened to pay someone to fuck him. Don't be silly I told him....paying for sex immediately after coming out a sauna is desperate. Waiting a day and then paying someone is liberated. I haven't managed as yet to ask him if he did end up paying somebody for it after all. I could have obliged I suppose. He does like me. But then, why should I show mercy. A mercy fuck really wouldn't be the best way to go under these circumstances. The limits to our friendship are finally firmly in place. And this is what I wanted.
As with everything else in life the ability to fuck somebody was always there. It was simply a question of how far i was going to let my standards fall. Not very far was the answer.
We plan on venturing to a larger venue next time. A greater pool of people, a greater chance of finding somebody to eat who'll want to eat you just as much. And a few more areas in which to pass the time.
Oh yes, and I now fully understand the concept of 'cruising'. Find somebody you like and look at them. They'll look at you and if the gaze is held then you're on.
On how to say no without ever speaking - a quick shift of the towel always does the trick. And for the amount of libido that spreads throughout a sauna, the men are always surprisingly quick to get the message and polite enough not to persist.
There's something about saunas. The greedy uninhibited sexual parade pleases me. I think I'll visit Chariots next time. Although I remain unsure as to whether the Chinese boy will be coming with me.
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