As much as I enjoy the fact that my workplace doesn't have any Internet access policy, I'm still overly chuffed at the Internet Access that's coming my way later this week, at the flat.
Finally I can download porn, google 'Gay orgy', Gay Speed dating', 'Sacred Rose Party', 'Bondage and Leather Club- London' and 'Gay Saunas - south of the river'.
Exciting!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Sauna (again) (!)
Alright, the truth of the matter is this:
Saunas are a quick fix solution for people as sex obsessed as I am.
What is also true is that I always go with high expectations, you know, wanting there to be a harem of young dashing men, all of whom wouldn't mind pulling their swords out for a piece of me. Alas, the sauna has never met these expectations, and most probably, never will.
So, why do I go? Because I just can't help myself.
Having said this, I have vowed not to go to a sauna for another four weeks at least..longer if I can manage it.
Earlier that day I received a text:
'(My name)! Are you in London?'
'Yes I am. Your name hasn't come up on my phone, who is this?' - my reply.
'Achilles' (boy from a few weeks back, if you recall)
'Hi, how are you doing? what are you up to?'
'Was thinking a possible Sauna sesh ;)'
'Well, I have some work on today, but perhaps we could meet at six later, go to some uncharted territory?'
'Oh, that's too late for me'
'Maybe next time then'
At 4pm that evening I text him again, as I was on my way out to PleasureDrome in Waterloo. He said he was in back home ('home' being another county altogether)
So, I went alone.
Pleasuredrome is the place, if you'll recall, where I lost my sauna virginity.
It has improved so much in that it's now fully refurbished, has a greater range of males present (then again, it was a Sunday afternoon), and the range of rooms is far seedier than other saunas I've visited.
We now have a glory hole/orgy section, a stand up sauna, a jacuzzi, a range of private cubicles and all of these in very dark lighting. The steam room and saunas were the same as before.
There were two studs, fifty unattractive men and about ten in-betweens. I managed to pull a man who was a dancer. A good firm body, awesome kissing ability and moist hair which I was fully able to grab a hold of and play with as we made out in a private cubicle.
I've come to realise, I judge men based on their penis size and kissing ability. It's quite simple. If they have these, and a flat stomach, we're 90% there, I would say.
I came out feeling emptied (good), but still a little unsatisfied (Puh!).
And then came the vow to Katerina, once I was back at the flat.
'Don't let me go for at least four weeks'.
'Are you sure?' she asked, her eyebrows arched, her lips bemused.
Saunas are a quick fix solution for people as sex obsessed as I am.
What is also true is that I always go with high expectations, you know, wanting there to be a harem of young dashing men, all of whom wouldn't mind pulling their swords out for a piece of me. Alas, the sauna has never met these expectations, and most probably, never will.
So, why do I go? Because I just can't help myself.
Having said this, I have vowed not to go to a sauna for another four weeks at least..longer if I can manage it.
Earlier that day I received a text:
'(My name)! Are you in London?'
'Yes I am. Your name hasn't come up on my phone, who is this?' - my reply.
'Achilles' (boy from a few weeks back, if you recall)
'Hi, how are you doing? what are you up to?'
'Was thinking a possible Sauna sesh ;)'
'Well, I have some work on today, but perhaps we could meet at six later, go to some uncharted territory?'
'Oh, that's too late for me'
'Maybe next time then'
At 4pm that evening I text him again, as I was on my way out to PleasureDrome in Waterloo. He said he was in back home ('home' being another county altogether)
So, I went alone.
Pleasuredrome is the place, if you'll recall, where I lost my sauna virginity.
It has improved so much in that it's now fully refurbished, has a greater range of males present (then again, it was a Sunday afternoon), and the range of rooms is far seedier than other saunas I've visited.
We now have a glory hole/orgy section, a stand up sauna, a jacuzzi, a range of private cubicles and all of these in very dark lighting. The steam room and saunas were the same as before.
There were two studs, fifty unattractive men and about ten in-betweens. I managed to pull a man who was a dancer. A good firm body, awesome kissing ability and moist hair which I was fully able to grab a hold of and play with as we made out in a private cubicle.
I've come to realise, I judge men based on their penis size and kissing ability. It's quite simple. If they have these, and a flat stomach, we're 90% there, I would say.
I came out feeling emptied (good), but still a little unsatisfied (Puh!).
And then came the vow to Katerina, once I was back at the flat.
'Don't let me go for at least four weeks'.
'Are you sure?' she asked, her eyebrows arched, her lips bemused.
Rampant
Home at 4am on Saturday morning
Went to bed and got up at 11am
Washed dishes and cleaned the flat, making myself a snack along the way
1pm, off to my Cinema Group (now that I host one of my own) to watch 'Eastern Promises'. Film = Amazing.
Back home for 6.30pm in time for a meal of Toad in the Hole, roasted potato wedges and lashings of gravy. A true perk of living with a culinary queen/fellow foodie.
Then, back out to catch a film 'Talk to me' at the London Film Festival. Yet again, another red carpet event, celebrities everywhere and there was I.
A hilarious film which taught me a lot about a man of whom I had no prior knowledge - Petey Greene
Home at 11.30pm and in time to meet Lady Capulet and Lady Montague and their respective BoyFs for drinks in Clapham.
'Did you watch that programme the other night on Channel five? Something about sex? They showed full blown hardcore penetration. If you want to stop your man cumming too quickly, you make him withdraw moments before the climax, grab the base of the bell-end and press firmly using your thumb and second finger. Slowly the erection will be lost, as will his desire to squirt'. I said, five minutes after seeing them.
To demonstrate the point, I did, of course, also draw an accompanying diagram.
Needless to say, it was a great night out.
Went to bed and got up at 11am
Washed dishes and cleaned the flat, making myself a snack along the way
1pm, off to my Cinema Group (now that I host one of my own) to watch 'Eastern Promises'. Film = Amazing.
Back home for 6.30pm in time for a meal of Toad in the Hole, roasted potato wedges and lashings of gravy. A true perk of living with a culinary queen/fellow foodie.
Then, back out to catch a film 'Talk to me' at the London Film Festival. Yet again, another red carpet event, celebrities everywhere and there was I.
A hilarious film which taught me a lot about a man of whom I had no prior knowledge - Petey Greene
Home at 11.30pm and in time to meet Lady Capulet and Lady Montague and their respective BoyFs for drinks in Clapham.
'Did you watch that programme the other night on Channel five? Something about sex? They showed full blown hardcore penetration. If you want to stop your man cumming too quickly, you make him withdraw moments before the climax, grab the base of the bell-end and press firmly using your thumb and second finger. Slowly the erection will be lost, as will his desire to squirt'. I said, five minutes after seeing them.
To demonstrate the point, I did, of course, also draw an accompanying diagram.
Needless to say, it was a great night out.
Aliena
Text from Aliena the day after her birthday party in response to me calling her:
' Got NO battery call u tomo. Lush night, I puked, feel shit, goin 2 house party, may have hangover sex.'
It's funny how the very thought of sex can make somebody feel so much better.
And the day after that, she did indeed call to tell me that she had had'Hangover sex' (whatever that is! - I thought hangover sex often led to people under performing, but she was adamant that all was good.
'He has a girlfriend already. And we're fuck buddies. And he booked a hotel room in advance. We got there at 4 in the morning and had sex until 11am, at which time we had to check out.'
The knowledge I have of Aliena's previous sexual draught/famine, call it what you will, leads me to celebrate her 'hangover sex'.
' I don't need sex anymore' she added - as though I might assume she was still gagging, which, to be fair, I may have done.
' Got NO battery call u tomo. Lush night, I puked, feel shit, goin 2 house party, may have hangover sex.'
It's funny how the very thought of sex can make somebody feel so much better.
And the day after that, she did indeed call to tell me that she had had'Hangover sex' (whatever that is! - I thought hangover sex often led to people under performing, but she was adamant that all was good.
'He has a girlfriend already. And we're fuck buddies. And he booked a hotel room in advance. We got there at 4 in the morning and had sex until 11am, at which time we had to check out.'
The knowledge I have of Aliena's previous sexual draught/famine, call it what you will, leads me to celebrate her 'hangover sex'.
' I don't need sex anymore' she added - as though I might assume she was still gagging, which, to be fair, I may have done.
Social Butterflies
Friday the 25th - All I recall is being busy.
Belated birthday meal and drinks with Aliena (formerly known as 24-&-Feisty)
It was a case of rushing in for the meal, eating earlier than the others, rushing out in order to catch the Premiere (!) of 'Brick Lane' at the London Film Festival and then rushing back to the club (Club 49), where the after dinner par-tay was mid swing.
Now, the film was great. For those of you who have read the book, the film should live up to your expectations. It's a beautiful film about hopeless people finding hope in a foreign land. About affairs and the emancipation they often afford. About the need we have for relationships which allow us to be ourselves.
Of course it was nice to walk the red carpet, to be snapped by the paparazzi, to mingle with the stars and to partake in a question and answer session with the director and cast...of course it was. I felt awfully important.
I went to premiere with Katerina, Belle de Bengal and another friend of mine, Norah.
Norah and Belle de Bengal were plastered before they even arrived at the Premiere and BdB found herself chuckling uncontrollably throughout. Sigh.
That said, the film did sobre them up well i thought, only for them to continue the lash afterwards.
And that's when Katerina and I went down our own path to Club 49.
Of all the things you need to know about Katerina, these are perhaps the fundamentals:
a) She's gorgeous - never has, in the time I've seen her, a bad hair day or looks like shyte. Never.
b) She has unparalleled confidence and sex appeal.
c) Now imagine that girl you know who, whenever she steps into a bar, people (men especially) fall over themselves trying to talk to her/grab of piece of her.
d) She loves clubbing and, at times, loves the attention she gets because she is always so damn confused as to the reason behind it.
It's true, she's totally unapologetic about the way she behaves of what she believes (a little like myself), but fundamentally she doesn't give a dog's arse what other people (any people) think of her. Now this is what I admire. This is what I would call total liberation.
So, It'll come as little surprise that she attracted the same stares, the herd of men and the poised bitchy look of certain women once we entered the club and made ourselves comfortable.
'Are you a couple?' asked the lady behind the bar. 'Because if you are, you both look so beautiful'.
Ah, bless her, I thought.
And then she pulled a waiter (with whom there came a flurry of free drinks) - who then kissed her whenever he was 'doing the rounds'. She let this happen of course. Free drinks are a gift which far outbalance the refusal to kiss a guy who was in fact, a very good kisser.
And she has a BoyF already, doesn't she? Yes. But you see, it doesn't matter.
Now the funny thing is, another man, who'd clearly been able to see her all over the waiter grabbed a hold of her and promised her a night she'd never forget if only she let him.
'Doesn't it bother you, the fact that I've just been all over some other man'?
'No, I'm better', he said.
Needless to say, nothing happened.
You see, what Katerina does has nothing to do with the man. It has everything to do with the chase, the excitement, the free spirit running wild when free from the clasps of an otherwise fairly oppressive relationship.
On Sunday night, Katerina ended her relationship with the BoyF.
Then last night, he stayed at ours.
Belated birthday meal and drinks with Aliena (formerly known as 24-&-Feisty)
It was a case of rushing in for the meal, eating earlier than the others, rushing out in order to catch the Premiere (!) of 'Brick Lane' at the London Film Festival and then rushing back to the club (Club 49), where the after dinner par-tay was mid swing.
Now, the film was great. For those of you who have read the book, the film should live up to your expectations. It's a beautiful film about hopeless people finding hope in a foreign land. About affairs and the emancipation they often afford. About the need we have for relationships which allow us to be ourselves.
Of course it was nice to walk the red carpet, to be snapped by the paparazzi, to mingle with the stars and to partake in a question and answer session with the director and cast...of course it was. I felt awfully important.
I went to premiere with Katerina, Belle de Bengal and another friend of mine, Norah.
Norah and Belle de Bengal were plastered before they even arrived at the Premiere and BdB found herself chuckling uncontrollably throughout. Sigh.
That said, the film did sobre them up well i thought, only for them to continue the lash afterwards.
And that's when Katerina and I went down our own path to Club 49.
Of all the things you need to know about Katerina, these are perhaps the fundamentals:
a) She's gorgeous - never has, in the time I've seen her, a bad hair day or looks like shyte. Never.
b) She has unparalleled confidence and sex appeal.
c) Now imagine that girl you know who, whenever she steps into a bar, people (men especially) fall over themselves trying to talk to her/grab of piece of her.
d) She loves clubbing and, at times, loves the attention she gets because she is always so damn confused as to the reason behind it.
It's true, she's totally unapologetic about the way she behaves of what she believes (a little like myself), but fundamentally she doesn't give a dog's arse what other people (any people) think of her. Now this is what I admire. This is what I would call total liberation.
So, It'll come as little surprise that she attracted the same stares, the herd of men and the poised bitchy look of certain women once we entered the club and made ourselves comfortable.
'Are you a couple?' asked the lady behind the bar. 'Because if you are, you both look so beautiful'.
Ah, bless her, I thought.
And then she pulled a waiter (with whom there came a flurry of free drinks) - who then kissed her whenever he was 'doing the rounds'. She let this happen of course. Free drinks are a gift which far outbalance the refusal to kiss a guy who was in fact, a very good kisser.
And she has a BoyF already, doesn't she? Yes. But you see, it doesn't matter.
Now the funny thing is, another man, who'd clearly been able to see her all over the waiter grabbed a hold of her and promised her a night she'd never forget if only she let him.
'Doesn't it bother you, the fact that I've just been all over some other man'?
'No, I'm better', he said.
Needless to say, nothing happened.
You see, what Katerina does has nothing to do with the man. It has everything to do with the chase, the excitement, the free spirit running wild when free from the clasps of an otherwise fairly oppressive relationship.
On Sunday night, Katerina ended her relationship with the BoyF.
Then last night, he stayed at ours.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Later...
Later today the same bloke sent me two photos of his (nice looking) cock,a photo of his torso, two videos of himself ejaculating and a string of texts asking me to describe myself.
The strange thing is, one of those aforementioned videos depicted him cumming all over a black shoe that, I'm positive, was made of suede.
What else could I do but send him a text immediately saying 'Poor shoe'.
The shoe wasn't nice looking and probably deserved to be wanked all over, but that's not the point. How many other things in this man's life are just as disposable I wondered. It's a black shoe today and tomorrow he'll be demanding it's my mouth.
And then we have the torso which isn't exactly the best body Ive ever seen. I suppose the next step would be to see his face.
Oh, and just in case you were wondering how we ever met, I came across his 'Confession' - to which I responded.
This man was wondering why, when he saw a woman being fucked by a horse, it turned him on so much when, in contrast, seeing another woman being fucked by a dog totally repulsed him.
Of course I had to respond to that message.
And, as I glanced over the confessions section again today, I came across another response.
''I too felt that when seeing a gorgeous bird getting hammered by a big horsey cock. Anyway, i think your disgust may come from the knowledge that dog are always crapping down the pavements, and when seeing that, it makes you feel that dogs are dirty animals that have crap sticking out there arse. Whereas horses are vegetarians, and you hardly see their crap on pavements or roads. Besides, how does a man react if his girl is banging a horse. I mean, what does a man do, ask the horse for a fight or what. Anyway, I've seen these sights and think the women are brave do do those things which are shown on the sites. There was one of a bird jerking a horse off and drinking it's juice. I mean, brave or what, but i wouldn't kiss her, for love or money.''
Laugh out Loud. What a wise man, I thought.
The strange thing is, one of those aforementioned videos depicted him cumming all over a black shoe that, I'm positive, was made of suede.
What else could I do but send him a text immediately saying 'Poor shoe'.
The shoe wasn't nice looking and probably deserved to be wanked all over, but that's not the point. How many other things in this man's life are just as disposable I wondered. It's a black shoe today and tomorrow he'll be demanding it's my mouth.
And then we have the torso which isn't exactly the best body Ive ever seen. I suppose the next step would be to see his face.
Oh, and just in case you were wondering how we ever met, I came across his 'Confession' - to which I responded.
This man was wondering why, when he saw a woman being fucked by a horse, it turned him on so much when, in contrast, seeing another woman being fucked by a dog totally repulsed him.
Of course I had to respond to that message.
And, as I glanced over the confessions section again today, I came across another response.
''I too felt that when seeing a gorgeous bird getting hammered by a big horsey cock. Anyway, i think your disgust may come from the knowledge that dog are always crapping down the pavements, and when seeing that, it makes you feel that dogs are dirty animals that have crap sticking out there arse. Whereas horses are vegetarians, and you hardly see their crap on pavements or roads. Besides, how does a man react if his girl is banging a horse. I mean, what does a man do, ask the horse for a fight or what. Anyway, I've seen these sights and think the women are brave do do those things which are shown on the sites. There was one of a bird jerking a horse off and drinking it's juice. I mean, brave or what, but i wouldn't kiss her, for love or money.''
Laugh out Loud. What a wise man, I thought.
Ahhh!
Facebook does have its drawbacks.
For example, I could never have my status say
'(*) is returning from the posh work toilets where he has just had an enormous wank after spending the best part of the morning entertaining a random man who works in Wimbledon with tales of Sauna experiences and other sordid perversions.'
See...THAT would never work. Nobody would ever believe that.
For example, I could never have my status say
'(*) is returning from the posh work toilets where he has just had an enormous wank after spending the best part of the morning entertaining a random man who works in Wimbledon with tales of Sauna experiences and other sordid perversions.'
See...THAT would never work. Nobody would ever believe that.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Miniature Tiffs #1 - snoring
Katerina described one of the little tiffs her and the BoyF had the other night.
'He snores really loudly' she declared over our meal last night at the flat.'
Snoring is never a good thing. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'd have a real problem sleeping with a snorer. And just for the record, I don't snore myself and therefore what I say is totally unhypocritical.
'Normally, if I get him to turn over. the snoring stops' she continued on a more positive note.
'but the other night, he just wouldn't. He kept telling me that he was tired and that he needed sleep (this was accompanied by an impression). It's because I'm tired he said, I need to sleep.
'bullshit' she said, 'it's not because you're tired, it's because there's something stuck in your nose.'
'No, really, it's because I'm tired.'
Both Katerina and I agreed at this point that it was indeed bullshit.
'i was tempted to throw him out of my bed' she said.
'Oh, you could have come into my room and pulled out the extra mattress' I said.
The flat is big enough and offers a number of solutions in this respect - sofas, floors, mattresses - anything to avoid spending a night feeling as though you're on Old McDonald's farm.
And so we proceeded to discuss our annoyance at people who snore and thought of ways in which to combat what's clearly a physical disorder.
We also both agreed that we would research snoring in order to ascertain why on earth people do it, and to prove the boyF wrong.
A few moments ago, Katerina sent me a message on Facebook: -
''Excerpt taken from Wikipedia confirms what we discussed yesterday is correct including the 'something stuck in nasal passage theory':
'Snoring is the vibration of respiratory structures and the resulting sound, due to obstructed air movement during breathing while sleeping. The sound may be soft or loud and unpleasant. The structures are usually the uvula and soft palate. The irregular airflow is caused by a blockage, due to causes including:
Throat weakness causing the throat to close during sleep
Mispositioned jaw, often caused by tension in muscles
Fat gathering in and around the throat
Obstruction in the nasal passageway
Statistics on snoring are often contradictory, but at least 30% of adults and perhaps as many as 50% of people in some demographics snore.[1][2] One survey of 5713 Italian residents identified habitual snoring in 24% of men and 13.8% of women, rising to 60% of men and 40% of women aged 60 to 65 years; this suggests an increased susceptibility to snoring as age increases.[3]
Snoring is usually an involuntary act, but may also be produced voluntarily.
According to Dr. William C Dement, of the Stanford Sleep Center, anyone who snores and has daytime drowsiness should be evaluated for sleep disorders.''
So...now we all know.
Didn't manage to ask her if the BoyF was there to hear her presentation. Though, something tells me, he'll soon know.
'He snores really loudly' she declared over our meal last night at the flat.'
Snoring is never a good thing. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'd have a real problem sleeping with a snorer. And just for the record, I don't snore myself and therefore what I say is totally unhypocritical.
'Normally, if I get him to turn over. the snoring stops' she continued on a more positive note.
'but the other night, he just wouldn't. He kept telling me that he was tired and that he needed sleep (this was accompanied by an impression). It's because I'm tired he said, I need to sleep.
'bullshit' she said, 'it's not because you're tired, it's because there's something stuck in your nose.'
'No, really, it's because I'm tired.'
Both Katerina and I agreed at this point that it was indeed bullshit.
'i was tempted to throw him out of my bed' she said.
'Oh, you could have come into my room and pulled out the extra mattress' I said.
The flat is big enough and offers a number of solutions in this respect - sofas, floors, mattresses - anything to avoid spending a night feeling as though you're on Old McDonald's farm.
And so we proceeded to discuss our annoyance at people who snore and thought of ways in which to combat what's clearly a physical disorder.
We also both agreed that we would research snoring in order to ascertain why on earth people do it, and to prove the boyF wrong.
A few moments ago, Katerina sent me a message on Facebook: -
''Excerpt taken from Wikipedia confirms what we discussed yesterday is correct including the 'something stuck in nasal passage theory':
'Snoring is the vibration of respiratory structures and the resulting sound, due to obstructed air movement during breathing while sleeping. The sound may be soft or loud and unpleasant. The structures are usually the uvula and soft palate. The irregular airflow is caused by a blockage, due to causes including:
Throat weakness causing the throat to close during sleep
Mispositioned jaw, often caused by tension in muscles
Fat gathering in and around the throat
Obstruction in the nasal passageway
Statistics on snoring are often contradictory, but at least 30% of adults and perhaps as many as 50% of people in some demographics snore.[1][2] One survey of 5713 Italian residents identified habitual snoring in 24% of men and 13.8% of women, rising to 60% of men and 40% of women aged 60 to 65 years; this suggests an increased susceptibility to snoring as age increases.[3]
Snoring is usually an involuntary act, but may also be produced voluntarily.
According to Dr. William C Dement, of the Stanford Sleep Center, anyone who snores and has daytime drowsiness should be evaluated for sleep disorders.''
So...now we all know.
Didn't manage to ask her if the BoyF was there to hear her presentation. Though, something tells me, he'll soon know.
Artesius
Whenever I sleep with a girl, I have to show her how good I am. A sort of personal conquest. The trouble is, after you show them a good time they become attached and rather clingy. And that's when I get bored. - Artesius
Now, the trouble (or not) is this:-
a) Artesius has recently purchased a new flat with girlF of long standing.
b) Artesius is a phantom philanderer who has grave difficulties being monogamous.
c) Artesius is also currently frequenting London strip clubs and has stuck up a friendship with two of the strippers, one of whom is a 'nice girl' and the other 'a dirty girl'. Both of these turn him on equally.
d) Artesius's girlF has little idea about any of these goings on.
e) Oh, and there's an Ex girlF to contend with.
The more I think about this the more I realise that for the purposes of getting your end away, whether the girl is nice or in fact dirty or even your Ex, it really doesn't matter.
And then occasionally, Artesius will, over the telephone, express anger or surprise at the way in which he appears to be living his life. That said, the very following day, he's back on humping form.
Now, we all know what I think about monogamy, other than that lust is far too precious to expend an entire lifetimes worth on one individual.
We are young
We have lust
We desire
We like to fuck
We like to conquer
We will conquer
Just how long can a person chant this mantra until it begins, like everything else, to sound like a Amy winehouse cover version of a classic?
One thing I'm certain about is this:
Artesius is not somebody who directly places himself in the path of adventure. More often than not, the adventure comes to him. Because he's the sort of person who oozes a sort of sexual confidence/charisma. In fact, a fair few people who I know ooze this charisma. I've yet to establish something similar myself but all in due course.
And, it doesn't help matters that the strippers in question have a good heart. We all love the tale of a whore with a heart of gold. And Artesius seems to have found two of these, both of whom are 'genuine' and offer their services to him for free.
The trouble is, when it's all said and done, and he's fucked them into oblivion, I wonder whether they'll turn nasty and follow him around London town?
And all the while, the faithful girlF remains at the core of Artesius's attentions.
And this is where I become interested.
Is it acceptable to have a girlF who serves the same purpose as a security blanket/insurance policy. After all, an insurance policy is something that exists, the sole purpose of which is to enable you to have the best time, comfortably in the knowledge that if things go wrong, the security of a payout will always be there.
Why can't a girlF fulfil the same purpose?
Fundamentally however I wonder - if Artesius's girlF decided that it was okay to have an open relationship whilst sustaining the relationship, would Artesius be able to deal with the ramifications?
Something tells me not.
You see, the age old dilemma of wanting to fuck other people whilst the world remains faithful to you rears its ugly head.
I guess I just think, if you're going to fuck around, be honest about fucking around. If it's what you want, where's the shame in saying it.
If you're not totally consumed by the person you are with, what's the point in persisting. If it's the trust and soft cushion you'll miss, that's what your friends are for after all, aren't they?
No matter how good looking the girl, I'll become bored relatively quickly.
Now, the trouble (or not) is this:-
a) Artesius has recently purchased a new flat with girlF of long standing.
b) Artesius is a phantom philanderer who has grave difficulties being monogamous.
c) Artesius is also currently frequenting London strip clubs and has stuck up a friendship with two of the strippers, one of whom is a 'nice girl' and the other 'a dirty girl'. Both of these turn him on equally.
d) Artesius's girlF has little idea about any of these goings on.
e) Oh, and there's an Ex girlF to contend with.
The more I think about this the more I realise that for the purposes of getting your end away, whether the girl is nice or in fact dirty or even your Ex, it really doesn't matter.
And then occasionally, Artesius will, over the telephone, express anger or surprise at the way in which he appears to be living his life. That said, the very following day, he's back on humping form.
Now, we all know what I think about monogamy, other than that lust is far too precious to expend an entire lifetimes worth on one individual.
We are young
We have lust
We desire
We like to fuck
We like to conquer
We will conquer
Just how long can a person chant this mantra until it begins, like everything else, to sound like a Amy winehouse cover version of a classic?
One thing I'm certain about is this:
Artesius is not somebody who directly places himself in the path of adventure. More often than not, the adventure comes to him. Because he's the sort of person who oozes a sort of sexual confidence/charisma. In fact, a fair few people who I know ooze this charisma. I've yet to establish something similar myself but all in due course.
And, it doesn't help matters that the strippers in question have a good heart. We all love the tale of a whore with a heart of gold. And Artesius seems to have found two of these, both of whom are 'genuine' and offer their services to him for free.
The trouble is, when it's all said and done, and he's fucked them into oblivion, I wonder whether they'll turn nasty and follow him around London town?
And all the while, the faithful girlF remains at the core of Artesius's attentions.
And this is where I become interested.
Is it acceptable to have a girlF who serves the same purpose as a security blanket/insurance policy. After all, an insurance policy is something that exists, the sole purpose of which is to enable you to have the best time, comfortably in the knowledge that if things go wrong, the security of a payout will always be there.
Why can't a girlF fulfil the same purpose?
Fundamentally however I wonder - if Artesius's girlF decided that it was okay to have an open relationship whilst sustaining the relationship, would Artesius be able to deal with the ramifications?
Something tells me not.
You see, the age old dilemma of wanting to fuck other people whilst the world remains faithful to you rears its ugly head.
I guess I just think, if you're going to fuck around, be honest about fucking around. If it's what you want, where's the shame in saying it.
If you're not totally consumed by the person you are with, what's the point in persisting. If it's the trust and soft cushion you'll miss, that's what your friends are for after all, aren't they?
No matter how good looking the girl, I'll become bored relatively quickly.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Urges
It pounces on you like a pitbull terrier. Lust, I mean.
One minute I'm sitting at the desk, doing whatever menial task people like me as supposed to do in a quiet office, and all of a sudden the desire to visit a sauna and partake in some hot and filthy action grips me like a vice.
And there's very little I or anybody else can do about it.
So, I moved the papers to one side, typed in PinkUK and off I went in search of London Saunas I haven't yet visited.
Whittling the list down to three, I printed off maps and directions using Multimap (arguably one of mankind's best inventions) and wrote down the telephone numbers for each.
I think I'll try either the Star Steam Sauna in Clapham, or the Chariots in Waterloo.
Do it when you have a stretch of time I tell myself. That's the downside of being cultured I suppose - people don't really care what you thought of the new David Lynch film do they. And if you're too busy watching films or reading controversial literature, you clearly don't have the time to go to a sauna.
Perhaps it isn't just men who can't multi-task. Perhaps it's all cultured slags.
One minute I'm sitting at the desk, doing whatever menial task people like me as supposed to do in a quiet office, and all of a sudden the desire to visit a sauna and partake in some hot and filthy action grips me like a vice.
And there's very little I or anybody else can do about it.
So, I moved the papers to one side, typed in PinkUK and off I went in search of London Saunas I haven't yet visited.
Whittling the list down to three, I printed off maps and directions using Multimap (arguably one of mankind's best inventions) and wrote down the telephone numbers for each.
I think I'll try either the Star Steam Sauna in Clapham, or the Chariots in Waterloo.
Do it when you have a stretch of time I tell myself. That's the downside of being cultured I suppose - people don't really care what you thought of the new David Lynch film do they. And if you're too busy watching films or reading controversial literature, you clearly don't have the time to go to a sauna.
Perhaps it isn't just men who can't multi-task. Perhaps it's all cultured slags.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Katerina
Book club last night - Moral Disorder by Margaret Atwood (Most people, myself included, enjoyed the book - one lady hated it)
Home just before ten and in the kitchen when Katerina comes in wearing a sort-of-thin-dressing-gown beneath which saucy knickers are totally visible.
'I'm having an early night' she says after I offer her some of the food I'm in the process of deep frying.
'How was your day?' I ask, pushing the spoon back and forth in the frier, trying to hurry the process up.
'It was a fuck fest' she said. Just like that.
'Ooh, how lovely'.
'All day' she continued, 'after about five times I told the boyF we had to do it twelve more times. 'Really?' he said, 'yes of course'. We have three more to go, counting down'.
By which point, the boyF came down the stairs also, hair dishevelled and I tried very desperately not to imagine him naked. It's not an attraction thing, it's a I've-just-been-told-about-your-goings-on sort of thing.
And then he was gone, upstairs, or to have a fag outside, as I ate and Katerina nibbled on the various food components that littered the table. I believe Russell Brand was on the telly, with his new show. I can't say I was overly amused, however I wasn't concentrating as hard as I perhaps should have.
And now for the science...
The dynamics of make-up sex are known to us all. The sex after an argument is generally better than, say, it was before the discourse. Very well.
Now, what surprises me the most is the onset of a fuckfest after what may have been one of the worst arguments Katerina had with the boyF last Friday. She was on the brink of ending it when she considered the merits of leaving it a week or two whilst she sorted out her parking permit and Internet access, both enterprises in which the boyF was a)involved b)proving to be rather handy. Very well.
You see, Katerina is quickly coming to realise that she is with a boyF who has no appreciation for her market value in the dating community. Now that she is in London he is faced with the reality of her living her own life as a completely separate being. Thus far, Katerina has humoured the boyF for far too long, mellowing herself to fit his regime, declaring love one day and indifference the next.
The thing is, we are both agreed that a) relationships should never be hard work b) we should never have to substantially alter ourselves in order to fit into someone else's fantasy c) we can have whatever we want as long as we have the courage to keep searching for it without ever settling.
So it saddens me that of these three things, Katerina has succumbed to two.
The security offered by a relationship is all very well. Being with somebody who would do anything for you, who loves you, who has a large penis..all of these things are fair enough. But sometimes these things simply aren't enough. Sometimes we need somebody to let go of the chains they insist on draping around us. Sometimes, we want somebody who would let us go into a brothel and trust that once we were inside, nothing would ever happen. Because until this point is reached, there is little trust, there is little relationship.
How long can two people within a relationship stay inside the bubble of that relationship and be content with just each other.
Katerina has managed this for three years. And slowly her desire to be careless with her relationships and to grab the bull by the horns is returning. Above all else, she knows full well that the moment she accepts this truth and places herself in the path of adventure, the men will flock in their herds to get a piece of her.
The ultimate question is whether she can let go of that security and push herself to the very edge of life where things can be far from safe.
Sometimes pulling ourselves out from the pool that is our relationship is very difficult to do. That there is a sun that'll dry us fairly quickly is something we must trust.
Home just before ten and in the kitchen when Katerina comes in wearing a sort-of-thin-dressing-gown beneath which saucy knickers are totally visible.
'I'm having an early night' she says after I offer her some of the food I'm in the process of deep frying.
'How was your day?' I ask, pushing the spoon back and forth in the frier, trying to hurry the process up.
'It was a fuck fest' she said. Just like that.
'Ooh, how lovely'.
'All day' she continued, 'after about five times I told the boyF we had to do it twelve more times. 'Really?' he said, 'yes of course'. We have three more to go, counting down'.
By which point, the boyF came down the stairs also, hair dishevelled and I tried very desperately not to imagine him naked. It's not an attraction thing, it's a I've-just-been-told-about-your-goings-on sort of thing.
And then he was gone, upstairs, or to have a fag outside, as I ate and Katerina nibbled on the various food components that littered the table. I believe Russell Brand was on the telly, with his new show. I can't say I was overly amused, however I wasn't concentrating as hard as I perhaps should have.
And now for the science...
The dynamics of make-up sex are known to us all. The sex after an argument is generally better than, say, it was before the discourse. Very well.
Now, what surprises me the most is the onset of a fuckfest after what may have been one of the worst arguments Katerina had with the boyF last Friday. She was on the brink of ending it when she considered the merits of leaving it a week or two whilst she sorted out her parking permit and Internet access, both enterprises in which the boyF was a)involved b)proving to be rather handy. Very well.
You see, Katerina is quickly coming to realise that she is with a boyF who has no appreciation for her market value in the dating community. Now that she is in London he is faced with the reality of her living her own life as a completely separate being. Thus far, Katerina has humoured the boyF for far too long, mellowing herself to fit his regime, declaring love one day and indifference the next.
The thing is, we are both agreed that a) relationships should never be hard work b) we should never have to substantially alter ourselves in order to fit into someone else's fantasy c) we can have whatever we want as long as we have the courage to keep searching for it without ever settling.
So it saddens me that of these three things, Katerina has succumbed to two.
The security offered by a relationship is all very well. Being with somebody who would do anything for you, who loves you, who has a large penis..all of these things are fair enough. But sometimes these things simply aren't enough. Sometimes we need somebody to let go of the chains they insist on draping around us. Sometimes, we want somebody who would let us go into a brothel and trust that once we were inside, nothing would ever happen. Because until this point is reached, there is little trust, there is little relationship.
How long can two people within a relationship stay inside the bubble of that relationship and be content with just each other.
Katerina has managed this for three years. And slowly her desire to be careless with her relationships and to grab the bull by the horns is returning. Above all else, she knows full well that the moment she accepts this truth and places herself in the path of adventure, the men will flock in their herds to get a piece of her.
The ultimate question is whether she can let go of that security and push herself to the very edge of life where things can be far from safe.
Sometimes pulling ourselves out from the pool that is our relationship is very difficult to do. That there is a sun that'll dry us fairly quickly is something we must trust.
Monday, October 22, 2007
The BFI London Film Festival 2007
The annual orgy de cinema is upon us.
That's correct, two weeks of highbrow cinema from around the world showcased in a selection of London cinema venues.
And, as you might imagine, I was there from the beginning.
Here is what I've been able to see so far and what I thought of it. If you have managed to see something different please feel free to leave a comment.
The Voyeurs - Buddhadeb Dasgupta
What I enjoyed most about this film was its humour. That and a story which was fairly original. Two men living in Kolkata who decide to place a spycam in their neighbour's room in order to perv on her. Eventually all is discovered and the men go on the run trying to avoid the police. At the same time a terrorist attack causes much damage on the local trains which operate in Kolkata and the cases of the fugitives are mixed up, causing confusion and eventually tragedy. A political film which delves into police corruption and politics as it does sex and relationships, I was left feeling fairly satisfied, if a little tired from the roller coaster ride which, in my opinion, moved ever so quickly. It was well acted and well shot. Perhaps the sort of film that poses more questions than it does provide us with answers.
The Last Lear - Rituparno Ghosh
An immensely satisfying and poetic film by one of my most favourite directors. For those of you who know me, you'll know just what a fan of Indian cinema I really am. It will therefore come as little surprise that I plan on watching as many films during the festival which come from the subcontinent as possible.
This particular film deals with relationships between people who are actors, both in terms of their personal capacity and also their professional capacity. It deals with a retired (Shakespeare obsessed) theatre actor who is persuaded to act in a film. On the final day of the shooting something happens which changes his life forever and also the lives of those around him. And as they all come together, there own problems and anxieties are revealed.
The reason I enjoyed this film so much was because a) it was so intelligent in it's depiction of people, their insecurities and their relationships and b) because it was amazing well acted by a whole host of stars including Amitabh Bachan, Preity Zinta, Divya Dutta and, my personal favourite, Shefali Shah.
A film I'd recommend time and again for those with the inclination to venture into world cinema and watch a very intelligent film.
That's correct, two weeks of highbrow cinema from around the world showcased in a selection of London cinema venues.
And, as you might imagine, I was there from the beginning.
Here is what I've been able to see so far and what I thought of it. If you have managed to see something different please feel free to leave a comment.
The Voyeurs - Buddhadeb Dasgupta
What I enjoyed most about this film was its humour. That and a story which was fairly original. Two men living in Kolkata who decide to place a spycam in their neighbour's room in order to perv on her. Eventually all is discovered and the men go on the run trying to avoid the police. At the same time a terrorist attack causes much damage on the local trains which operate in Kolkata and the cases of the fugitives are mixed up, causing confusion and eventually tragedy. A political film which delves into police corruption and politics as it does sex and relationships, I was left feeling fairly satisfied, if a little tired from the roller coaster ride which, in my opinion, moved ever so quickly. It was well acted and well shot. Perhaps the sort of film that poses more questions than it does provide us with answers.
The Last Lear - Rituparno Ghosh
An immensely satisfying and poetic film by one of my most favourite directors. For those of you who know me, you'll know just what a fan of Indian cinema I really am. It will therefore come as little surprise that I plan on watching as many films during the festival which come from the subcontinent as possible.
This particular film deals with relationships between people who are actors, both in terms of their personal capacity and also their professional capacity. It deals with a retired (Shakespeare obsessed) theatre actor who is persuaded to act in a film. On the final day of the shooting something happens which changes his life forever and also the lives of those around him. And as they all come together, there own problems and anxieties are revealed.
The reason I enjoyed this film so much was because a) it was so intelligent in it's depiction of people, their insecurities and their relationships and b) because it was amazing well acted by a whole host of stars including Amitabh Bachan, Preity Zinta, Divya Dutta and, my personal favourite, Shefali Shah.
A film I'd recommend time and again for those with the inclination to venture into world cinema and watch a very intelligent film.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Katie Hopkins
It's not a regular occurrence that I foray back in time and dredge up the past.
No, I'm a firm believer in sticking to, and making the most of, the future.
And despite this, I'm still keeping tabs on the love of my life last year, Katie Hopkins from the Apprentice.
I still think she was the most deserving winner and clearly the most intelligent.
On pushing her name through Google this morning I came across an article in which a selection of female writers aired their views on her.
Finally somebody can say what I feel in better words than my own:
Lisa Jardine, academic
I'm a fan of The Apprentice and used to bore my colleagues by telling them how much they could learn from how shrewdly Alan Sugar set tasks, and judged the candidates on their outcomes.
I also have a bit of a crush on Margaret Mountford, Sugar's right-hand woman. She is consistently authoritative and shows the kind of shrewdness, calm, and lack of fuss that distinguishes experienced senior women in the workplace. I just love the air of no-nonsense she exudes, and invariably agree with her ruthlessly to-the-point assessment of the team she has been shadowing.
So, not surprisingly, Katie Hopkins (she is a bit like a younger Margaret) was my favourite from the start in this series - a woman of character who spoke her mind. She could face down the kind of male bullying that often intimidates women in the workplace, and was clearly managing admirably to juggle family and her high-powered job. I would hire her tomorrow, if I could afford her.
I took with a pinch of salt her fellow contestants' complaint that they couldn't decide who was "the real Katie". It seemed to me that they were reacting to her keen sense of how to turn occasions to her advantage, task-wise. In a man that would be called "business acumen"; in Katie it was called "being manipulative".
Sugar's handling of Katie in her final interview was disgraceful. She was bombarded with questions about her children, her willingness to relocate in order to work for him, and whether she was sincerely committed. None of these questions is any longer allowed in respectable interviews.
No wonder she wobbled and decided to stand down from the final - under that kind of pressure I would have done so too. If we were to take it seriously (which I hope we will not), Wednesday's show set back the cause of equality in the workplace and, in particular, senior women's employment prospects by about 20 years.
Deborah Hargreaves, business editor
Katie Hopkins, alpha female - good on you! Katie has become the outspoken star of The Apprentice. This week, in a supreme moment of well-calculated brinkmanship, she bowed out rather than go on to the final. I always suspected her motivation was not a job in Alan Sugar's boardroom. She has her sights set much higher. Her acerbic asides to camera throughout the series appear to have been directed at a wider audience. A media career now beckons. I hope Katie ends up running a big company - an ambition she revealed in last night's show. She also admitted the extent of her ruthlessness. She stole another woman's husband because she wanted him and she rated that an eight out of 10 on the ruthlessness scale. How much further would she go? You don't get to the top in business - or any area of public life for that matter - without being ruthless.
She could certainly get people's backs up. This is why I think she would be good at running a start-up or a small company, either of which requires a powerful personality. Her determination and spirit would be useful in negotiating with bankers and securing financing. She has also shown herself to be extremely versatile, which is important when running your own show.
Many profess to be shocked by Katie's naked ambition. But is that because it is so unusual in a woman? I believe that many women do not get to the top because they are far too nice. Nice is good in one's personal life, but nice people tend to get shafted in business. It is interesting to note that out of the three women running FTSE 100 businesses, two of them - Marjorie Scardino at the publishing group Pearson and Cynthia Carroll at the mining giant Anglo American - are from the US, where it is more acceptable for women to show their go-getting side.
Katie is clearly bright, interesting and outspoken. You can't say that about some of the grey men at the top of British business today. Way to go, girl. I am right behind you.
Lucy Porter, comedian
I have completely changed my mind about Katie. I didn't like her to start with because I had read in the tabloids that she was "a gold-digging home-wrecker". At first glance I thought that meant she tore down houses and looked for buried treasure in the foundations, but it turns out to be much more unpleasantly mundane than that. It just means that she has allegedly slept with married men who are rich.
Despite my earlier disapproval, I now find myself sticking up for Katie. This is partly because I am getting really tired of the current trend for setting up contestants in reality-TV shows as national hate figures. She has had so much stick for being vile and bitchy, when surely that is the whole point of The Apprentice. People in "business" aren't nice.
Katie's only crime is being ruthless and clever. Retiring from the game when she knew she had made the final was a masterstroke - all that publicity and she gets to stay in lovely Exeter rather than move to Brentwood. Yet she has basically been represented as the whore of Babylon in blue eye-shadow. Even the screenwriter Richard Curtis said he wanted to "kill that posh bird" in his Bafta acceptance speech, which seems a bit harsh. And hypocritical when we all know that he lives in a palace made of gold in Notting Hill.
I find it quite refreshing to see any woman on TV saying that she actually wants to work for a living rather than just become a Wag. So let's lay off Katie and all the other reality-TV contestants.
Although what about Emily from Big Brother, eh?
Kira Cochrane, women's editor
Judging Katie Hopkins feels to me like judging a pantomime character or a cartoon. Deep down she must have a soul, or a hint of humanity, but there is something uniquely unknowable about her. She comes across as an entirely self-created being, a triumph of mind over matter, duplicity over emotion, a cold, hard surface, reflecting back whatever she thinks her audience is looking for.
Watching her, I had to pinch myself occasionally as a reminder that I hadn't gone to sleep and woken up in the 1980s. Katie resembles at least three of the decade's biggest icons - the most obvious, of course, being Margaret Thatcher. Like her, Katie is ruthless, tough, unbending, but I suspect even Thatcher would have balked at some of Katie's jibes about her rivals. I can't be the only one who finds it shocking to hear someone wish violent death on another human being, however camp the delivery.
Another icon she recalled was Princess Diana, whose trademark head-tilt and eyelash-flutter Katie regularly adopted. This never seemed genuine when Diana did it, and the effect was the same with Katie - it was so clearly an act of determined flirtation that it was often quite difficult to watch.
Finally, though, as Katie power-walked and power-talked through the interview phase of the programme this week, her muscular shoulders cleaving the air, I realised who she most reminded me of: the Terminator (both the Arnold Schwarzenegger and Robert Patrick versions). Like them, she seems to home in on her prey and take them out cleanly and efficiently (not a surprise, I suppose, since she was trained as a killing machine at Sandhurst). And yet, somehow, despite her cyborgian resolve, I found myself feeling sorry for Katie, wondering what had made her like this (she was reportedly bullied as a child) and what she was really like. It was at that moment I realised that Katie is a woman capable of playing to every audience, however sceptical.
No, I'm a firm believer in sticking to, and making the most of, the future.
And despite this, I'm still keeping tabs on the love of my life last year, Katie Hopkins from the Apprentice.
I still think she was the most deserving winner and clearly the most intelligent.
On pushing her name through Google this morning I came across an article in which a selection of female writers aired their views on her.
Finally somebody can say what I feel in better words than my own:
Lisa Jardine, academic
I'm a fan of The Apprentice and used to bore my colleagues by telling them how much they could learn from how shrewdly Alan Sugar set tasks, and judged the candidates on their outcomes.
I also have a bit of a crush on Margaret Mountford, Sugar's right-hand woman. She is consistently authoritative and shows the kind of shrewdness, calm, and lack of fuss that distinguishes experienced senior women in the workplace. I just love the air of no-nonsense she exudes, and invariably agree with her ruthlessly to-the-point assessment of the team she has been shadowing.
So, not surprisingly, Katie Hopkins (she is a bit like a younger Margaret) was my favourite from the start in this series - a woman of character who spoke her mind. She could face down the kind of male bullying that often intimidates women in the workplace, and was clearly managing admirably to juggle family and her high-powered job. I would hire her tomorrow, if I could afford her.
I took with a pinch of salt her fellow contestants' complaint that they couldn't decide who was "the real Katie". It seemed to me that they were reacting to her keen sense of how to turn occasions to her advantage, task-wise. In a man that would be called "business acumen"; in Katie it was called "being manipulative".
Sugar's handling of Katie in her final interview was disgraceful. She was bombarded with questions about her children, her willingness to relocate in order to work for him, and whether she was sincerely committed. None of these questions is any longer allowed in respectable interviews.
No wonder she wobbled and decided to stand down from the final - under that kind of pressure I would have done so too. If we were to take it seriously (which I hope we will not), Wednesday's show set back the cause of equality in the workplace and, in particular, senior women's employment prospects by about 20 years.
Deborah Hargreaves, business editor
Katie Hopkins, alpha female - good on you! Katie has become the outspoken star of The Apprentice. This week, in a supreme moment of well-calculated brinkmanship, she bowed out rather than go on to the final. I always suspected her motivation was not a job in Alan Sugar's boardroom. She has her sights set much higher. Her acerbic asides to camera throughout the series appear to have been directed at a wider audience. A media career now beckons. I hope Katie ends up running a big company - an ambition she revealed in last night's show. She also admitted the extent of her ruthlessness. She stole another woman's husband because she wanted him and she rated that an eight out of 10 on the ruthlessness scale. How much further would she go? You don't get to the top in business - or any area of public life for that matter - without being ruthless.
She could certainly get people's backs up. This is why I think she would be good at running a start-up or a small company, either of which requires a powerful personality. Her determination and spirit would be useful in negotiating with bankers and securing financing. She has also shown herself to be extremely versatile, which is important when running your own show.
Many profess to be shocked by Katie's naked ambition. But is that because it is so unusual in a woman? I believe that many women do not get to the top because they are far too nice. Nice is good in one's personal life, but nice people tend to get shafted in business. It is interesting to note that out of the three women running FTSE 100 businesses, two of them - Marjorie Scardino at the publishing group Pearson and Cynthia Carroll at the mining giant Anglo American - are from the US, where it is more acceptable for women to show their go-getting side.
Katie is clearly bright, interesting and outspoken. You can't say that about some of the grey men at the top of British business today. Way to go, girl. I am right behind you.
Lucy Porter, comedian
I have completely changed my mind about Katie. I didn't like her to start with because I had read in the tabloids that she was "a gold-digging home-wrecker". At first glance I thought that meant she tore down houses and looked for buried treasure in the foundations, but it turns out to be much more unpleasantly mundane than that. It just means that she has allegedly slept with married men who are rich.
Despite my earlier disapproval, I now find myself sticking up for Katie. This is partly because I am getting really tired of the current trend for setting up contestants in reality-TV shows as national hate figures. She has had so much stick for being vile and bitchy, when surely that is the whole point of The Apprentice. People in "business" aren't nice.
Katie's only crime is being ruthless and clever. Retiring from the game when she knew she had made the final was a masterstroke - all that publicity and she gets to stay in lovely Exeter rather than move to Brentwood. Yet she has basically been represented as the whore of Babylon in blue eye-shadow. Even the screenwriter Richard Curtis said he wanted to "kill that posh bird" in his Bafta acceptance speech, which seems a bit harsh. And hypocritical when we all know that he lives in a palace made of gold in Notting Hill.
I find it quite refreshing to see any woman on TV saying that she actually wants to work for a living rather than just become a Wag. So let's lay off Katie and all the other reality-TV contestants.
Although what about Emily from Big Brother, eh?
Kira Cochrane, women's editor
Judging Katie Hopkins feels to me like judging a pantomime character or a cartoon. Deep down she must have a soul, or a hint of humanity, but there is something uniquely unknowable about her. She comes across as an entirely self-created being, a triumph of mind over matter, duplicity over emotion, a cold, hard surface, reflecting back whatever she thinks her audience is looking for.
Watching her, I had to pinch myself occasionally as a reminder that I hadn't gone to sleep and woken up in the 1980s. Katie resembles at least three of the decade's biggest icons - the most obvious, of course, being Margaret Thatcher. Like her, Katie is ruthless, tough, unbending, but I suspect even Thatcher would have balked at some of Katie's jibes about her rivals. I can't be the only one who finds it shocking to hear someone wish violent death on another human being, however camp the delivery.
Another icon she recalled was Princess Diana, whose trademark head-tilt and eyelash-flutter Katie regularly adopted. This never seemed genuine when Diana did it, and the effect was the same with Katie - it was so clearly an act of determined flirtation that it was often quite difficult to watch.
Finally, though, as Katie power-walked and power-talked through the interview phase of the programme this week, her muscular shoulders cleaving the air, I realised who she most reminded me of: the Terminator (both the Arnold Schwarzenegger and Robert Patrick versions). Like them, she seems to home in on her prey and take them out cleanly and efficiently (not a surprise, I suppose, since she was trained as a killing machine at Sandhurst). And yet, somehow, despite her cyborgian resolve, I found myself feeling sorry for Katie, wondering what had made her like this (she was reportedly bullied as a child) and what she was really like. It was at that moment I realised that Katie is a woman capable of playing to every audience, however sceptical.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Confessions
So there is more to Gumtree than people with clear, often controversial sexual perversions - not that these are a bad thing, but it's nice to discover something even quirkier.
Note: Work is definitely not busy these days and I spent an awful lot of time refreshing the Face book page and writing this blog.
And then, in the middle of all this, I take fullest advantage of the open internet policy and browse Gumtree.
Today I came across a section entitled 'Confessions'. That's correct, people write whatever they feel like confessing.
I've selected a few of these confessions for you to ponder. I didn't realise people had so much going on in their lives. To some, the following may prove to be sad, or worrying (those totting up the cost of sadness for humanity), for me, these are inspirational. People with stories to tell make life worth living after all.
Confession # 1
I'd like to seduce a woman in a relationship with someone else. I'd entertain her, take her out, give her plenty of kinky sex. I can be romantic or down to earth. I can draw her portraits or just photograph her cunt. And each time she'd return home and say "Hello darling, I'm back!
Confession # 2
I confess that my boyfriend admitted last night that he has never loved me and he never will and that he has been cheating on me for the past 4 months. We were together for 4 years! And it came to me as a complete shock, but I didn't shed a single tear because I didn't love him either. I haven't loved anyone since my ex broke my heart. And I think I never will.
Confession # 3
I am heterosexual and don’t fancy men but have had reoccurring dreams and fantasies about sleeping with a she-male, letting her dominate me and doing stuff I couldn’t let my friends know about.
I have even downloaded transsexual porn too to watch in order to try and get it out of my system, although it just makes me worse, Now I really want to try and sleep with one..
Am I the only one? Am I gay even?
Confession # 4
I am the seediest person I know.
Real seedy. I live for smut. And peanut butter sandwiches. But that's another post entirely. Although, I have been known to mix my smutty activities with peanut butter. On occasions. Now I am confused. Maybe it does concern this post. One time I didn't have any peanut butter so I used Nutella. It was a smoother sensation because I like to use crunchy peanut butter. Because I was trying something new I decided to live life on the edge so I wore a swimming cap while I diddled myself with the Nutella. I could smell the hazelnuts. Or was that just my imagination.
All this talk of peanut butter and Nutella is getting me off track...
Today I masturbated at work. No peanut butter or hazelnut or even raw eggs this time though. I just knelt down by the old window, unzipped, spat into the anxious palm of my right hand and diddled myself. Hard for a little bit. Then slow and at leisure. I didn't take my eyes off her for a second. I had no choice, my memory is terrible. I watched as she bent down in those tight pants and gathered more paint on the end of her paintbrush. Then she would stand erect and reach up high and paint showing of her round, slightly chubby ass. Did she know I was watching?
I quickened my pace once more and my wrist, arm and shoulder were working at a frantic pace. I finished myself off while I muttered obscenities at her. Mostly about her father being a used car salesman.
I zipped up. Satisfied. Slightly tired.
I found myself hoping that the old man who lived in the house didn't suspect anything. He is near deaf and even nearer to blind.
Confession # 5
I have a confession to make...which I cant do anywhere else but here... See I’ve been married for a couple of years and my dear hubby has no whatsoever interest in sex or anything related to family matters...He is a very selfish man and only think of himself all the time.
Now I met someone 10 years younger than me, which i never thought would happen....believe it or not, this wasn’t planned. One night we went out in a group but ended up only the two of us together in the car... We had the best sex I’ve had in ages...Best part of it all is that this guy lasts for ever and ever and ever.
Me and my hubby has been separated from bed and table for 8 months already....Do you people think that what I did is wrong...Gee man a women has needs too...and I’m almost sure his doing the same. How does a man survive without sex for so long.
OK to make matters worse I did it about 5 times afterwards, which every time was like being in heaven.
So tell me your opinion....I have asked my so called husband for a divorce but he wont give it to me...because I cook, clean and pay almost everything in the house or around the house...so his got it all nice.
And in the mean time I'll enjoy my Toy boy...which is only in his early twenty's as MUCH as possible
Confession # 6
I hate my ex so much that when I bagged up his clothes after he left I put baby poo in his shoes and in the pockets of his leather trousers, ha ha ha big fat pig
He left them bagged up for ages after too
And I used to clean the toilet and shower head with his toothbrush on a regular basis as he still came to the house that was half his every day just because he was an awkward cunt!
So ha ha I hope you get trapped next time you use the sun beds and roast like a fat pig.
Note: Work is definitely not busy these days and I spent an awful lot of time refreshing the Face book page and writing this blog.
And then, in the middle of all this, I take fullest advantage of the open internet policy and browse Gumtree.
Today I came across a section entitled 'Confessions'. That's correct, people write whatever they feel like confessing.
I've selected a few of these confessions for you to ponder. I didn't realise people had so much going on in their lives. To some, the following may prove to be sad, or worrying (those totting up the cost of sadness for humanity), for me, these are inspirational. People with stories to tell make life worth living after all.
Confession # 1
I'd like to seduce a woman in a relationship with someone else. I'd entertain her, take her out, give her plenty of kinky sex. I can be romantic or down to earth. I can draw her portraits or just photograph her cunt. And each time she'd return home and say "Hello darling, I'm back!
Confession # 2
I confess that my boyfriend admitted last night that he has never loved me and he never will and that he has been cheating on me for the past 4 months. We were together for 4 years! And it came to me as a complete shock, but I didn't shed a single tear because I didn't love him either. I haven't loved anyone since my ex broke my heart. And I think I never will.
Confession # 3
I am heterosexual and don’t fancy men but have had reoccurring dreams and fantasies about sleeping with a she-male, letting her dominate me and doing stuff I couldn’t let my friends know about.
I have even downloaded transsexual porn too to watch in order to try and get it out of my system, although it just makes me worse, Now I really want to try and sleep with one..
Am I the only one? Am I gay even?
Confession # 4
I am the seediest person I know.
Real seedy. I live for smut. And peanut butter sandwiches. But that's another post entirely. Although, I have been known to mix my smutty activities with peanut butter. On occasions. Now I am confused. Maybe it does concern this post. One time I didn't have any peanut butter so I used Nutella. It was a smoother sensation because I like to use crunchy peanut butter. Because I was trying something new I decided to live life on the edge so I wore a swimming cap while I diddled myself with the Nutella. I could smell the hazelnuts. Or was that just my imagination.
All this talk of peanut butter and Nutella is getting me off track...
Today I masturbated at work. No peanut butter or hazelnut or even raw eggs this time though. I just knelt down by the old window, unzipped, spat into the anxious palm of my right hand and diddled myself. Hard for a little bit. Then slow and at leisure. I didn't take my eyes off her for a second. I had no choice, my memory is terrible. I watched as she bent down in those tight pants and gathered more paint on the end of her paintbrush. Then she would stand erect and reach up high and paint showing of her round, slightly chubby ass. Did she know I was watching?
I quickened my pace once more and my wrist, arm and shoulder were working at a frantic pace. I finished myself off while I muttered obscenities at her. Mostly about her father being a used car salesman.
I zipped up. Satisfied. Slightly tired.
I found myself hoping that the old man who lived in the house didn't suspect anything. He is near deaf and even nearer to blind.
Confession # 5
I have a confession to make...which I cant do anywhere else but here... See I’ve been married for a couple of years and my dear hubby has no whatsoever interest in sex or anything related to family matters...He is a very selfish man and only think of himself all the time.
Now I met someone 10 years younger than me, which i never thought would happen....believe it or not, this wasn’t planned. One night we went out in a group but ended up only the two of us together in the car... We had the best sex I’ve had in ages...Best part of it all is that this guy lasts for ever and ever and ever.
Me and my hubby has been separated from bed and table for 8 months already....Do you people think that what I did is wrong...Gee man a women has needs too...and I’m almost sure his doing the same. How does a man survive without sex for so long.
OK to make matters worse I did it about 5 times afterwards, which every time was like being in heaven.
So tell me your opinion....I have asked my so called husband for a divorce but he wont give it to me...because I cook, clean and pay almost everything in the house or around the house...so his got it all nice.
And in the mean time I'll enjoy my Toy boy...which is only in his early twenty's as MUCH as possible
Confession # 6
I hate my ex so much that when I bagged up his clothes after he left I put baby poo in his shoes and in the pockets of his leather trousers, ha ha ha big fat pig
He left them bagged up for ages after too
And I used to clean the toilet and shower head with his toothbrush on a regular basis as he still came to the house that was half his every day just because he was an awkward cunt!
So ha ha I hope you get trapped next time you use the sun beds and roast like a fat pig.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The need to conform
Who invented monogamy?
Who did it?
Probably an insecure woman who was too frightened of being abandoned. She must have gathered all the other women she knew, the way a Shepperd gathers his flock, and brainwashed them into believing that men who are faithful are the better sort. And the women, gullible that they were, believed everything she said and returned home to declare monogamy the latest in a string of family laws.
At this point in time, that women had little idea that down the line she would crave sex with a man who wasn't in fact her husband and that the law she had pioneered was in fact the very law that was causing her miserable dissatisfaction.
And then, I bet my life on it, she went out there and shagged him regardless.
So...fingers up to her Law and fingers up to everybody who believed it when their grandmother told them the tale of monogamy and its inception.
After all, if the world and his wife tell you something, you're bound to believe it, if no other argument is put forward.
And here we are, a billion years later, still abiding by that lady's warped imagination and the Law she decided to impose on humanity.
Fucking is perhaps as natural as breathing, but nobody will ever tell you to stick to the square metre of air around you. No, air is for all.
So why oh why can't people be for all. Why can't WE be for all?
Who did it?
Probably an insecure woman who was too frightened of being abandoned. She must have gathered all the other women she knew, the way a Shepperd gathers his flock, and brainwashed them into believing that men who are faithful are the better sort. And the women, gullible that they were, believed everything she said and returned home to declare monogamy the latest in a string of family laws.
At this point in time, that women had little idea that down the line she would crave sex with a man who wasn't in fact her husband and that the law she had pioneered was in fact the very law that was causing her miserable dissatisfaction.
And then, I bet my life on it, she went out there and shagged him regardless.
So...fingers up to her Law and fingers up to everybody who believed it when their grandmother told them the tale of monogamy and its inception.
After all, if the world and his wife tell you something, you're bound to believe it, if no other argument is put forward.
And here we are, a billion years later, still abiding by that lady's warped imagination and the Law she decided to impose on humanity.
Fucking is perhaps as natural as breathing, but nobody will ever tell you to stick to the square metre of air around you. No, air is for all.
So why oh why can't people be for all. Why can't WE be for all?
Work Ethics
Now then, what are the tell tale signs of a work colleague fancying you?
The reason I pose this question is because I have absolutely no idea.
First of all, my gaydar doesn't work. That's entirely correct. I look at very few people and think immediately that they must be gay. And even for those few assumptions I'm sorry, for my judgemental side is most unflattering.
Secondly, in the working testosterone fuelled environment in which i work, it becomes even more difficult to make any sort of assertion regarding a person's sexuality.
what I do know, is that people will go out of their way to hide their sexuality (including myself) if they think it might in any way, hinder their chances of conquering the world.
Having said this, this German bloke at work who just happens to be gorgeous has been smiling at me rather frequently.
The only German people I've ever come into contact with are obtrusive and pretty brutal with their tongue. When I was travelling I met a German lady who, before each excursion, readied herself the way you might at the onset of world war II, you know, with that look of unashamed conquering spirit in her eyes. Nevermind the fact that we were going for a stroll in the woods and then to a hot dinner.
So, might I, as i imagine I have, have stumbled across a dying breed of German?
Is a smile in the office a sign of friendliness or a sign of flirtation, god only knows that most men in the office don't venture past the nodding head in the corridor.
The German isn't camp, plays volleyball (must get out of this frame of mind which stipulates that all sports-playing men are straight) and is deeply attractive.
Now, I'm not friends with The Dame for no reason- This mixing-work-with-play-and-getting-bitten-in-the-fanny is something i know about, through her, only too well. And this makes me cautious. But then, if what the bloke told me is true, he is only in our office for two months.
As a general guiding principle I think it's fine to mix business and pleasure in the above situation, my only reservation being whether or not the bloke fancies me.
The only way I'd have the guts to ask him is if were alone and out of the office - something fairly unlikely to happen.
Again I'm faced with that age old scenario of not quite knowing where to pitch the tent. Yawn.
The reason I pose this question is because I have absolutely no idea.
First of all, my gaydar doesn't work. That's entirely correct. I look at very few people and think immediately that they must be gay. And even for those few assumptions I'm sorry, for my judgemental side is most unflattering.
Secondly, in the working testosterone fuelled environment in which i work, it becomes even more difficult to make any sort of assertion regarding a person's sexuality.
what I do know, is that people will go out of their way to hide their sexuality (including myself) if they think it might in any way, hinder their chances of conquering the world.
Having said this, this German bloke at work who just happens to be gorgeous has been smiling at me rather frequently.
The only German people I've ever come into contact with are obtrusive and pretty brutal with their tongue. When I was travelling I met a German lady who, before each excursion, readied herself the way you might at the onset of world war II, you know, with that look of unashamed conquering spirit in her eyes. Nevermind the fact that we were going for a stroll in the woods and then to a hot dinner.
So, might I, as i imagine I have, have stumbled across a dying breed of German?
Is a smile in the office a sign of friendliness or a sign of flirtation, god only knows that most men in the office don't venture past the nodding head in the corridor.
The German isn't camp, plays volleyball (must get out of this frame of mind which stipulates that all sports-playing men are straight) and is deeply attractive.
Now, I'm not friends with The Dame for no reason- This mixing-work-with-play-and-getting-bitten-in-the-fanny is something i know about, through her, only too well. And this makes me cautious. But then, if what the bloke told me is true, he is only in our office for two months.
As a general guiding principle I think it's fine to mix business and pleasure in the above situation, my only reservation being whether or not the bloke fancies me.
The only way I'd have the guts to ask him is if were alone and out of the office - something fairly unlikely to happen.
Again I'm faced with that age old scenario of not quite knowing where to pitch the tent. Yawn.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Threesomes
I was on my way out when it happened. The urge to venture inside the darkroom one final time before I left the Sauna.
The thing about visiting the same Sauna more than once is that you begin to realise who the regulars are, where the best action is likely to be found and how many times you can walk around in circles before you officially become bored.
And so, there they were. Two guys I'd seen before. A couple. A meditteranean hottie and a Phillipino grew-on-me-with-time hottie.
Pulling me close, the med started working his hands over my cock and led my hands towards his and his boyFs. A ring of wank ensued before I suggested we move to a room.
'We're a couple' said the Med as soon as we were in the light.
'We have some rules - No kissing, no sucking, no fucking'.
Great! A tiring wank session after which I'd be diagnosed with repetitive strain injury.
Of course, the cock said yes and minutes later we were in a room.
Once inside the (tiny) room,we proceeded to jerk each other off, the Med guy being in posession of what may just be the biggest thickest dick I've ever seen.
'Are you sure I can't suck?' I asked.
'Do you want to suck?'
'Er, yes'
'Well go on, do it'
And so I did.
It was whilst I was sucking him off that I came to realise precisley what my position in this scenario was. I was merely a pleasure giver -nothing more, nothing less. For once, the sex wasn't about me, but was, instead, about them.
And this balance of control and submission had me strangely turned on.
There was a moment in this all when the med looked me in the eyes. Or rather, I attempted to, and succeeded in, catching his gaze. And it was then, after the rules had been explained, that he leaned over and began to suck on my balls, one by one.
'Is this ok?' he then asked his boyfriend. Smile.
'Yea, you can suck him if you like, he's hot'. Smile.
And, of course, there was no swallowing. Instead there was a chain of masturbation until we all spewed our loads over each other.
It then dauned on us that the tissue dispenser was empty.
Bidding farewell I wiped myself clean with a towel, showered, dressed and went home to meet Katerina for dinner.
The threesome fantasy had been fulfiled, at least, partially.
The best thing about identifying Sauna regulars is that the possibility of further fun is always there. It's just that next time, i think I'll make the rules up myself.
The thing about visiting the same Sauna more than once is that you begin to realise who the regulars are, where the best action is likely to be found and how many times you can walk around in circles before you officially become bored.
And so, there they were. Two guys I'd seen before. A couple. A meditteranean hottie and a Phillipino grew-on-me-with-time hottie.
Pulling me close, the med started working his hands over my cock and led my hands towards his and his boyFs. A ring of wank ensued before I suggested we move to a room.
'We're a couple' said the Med as soon as we were in the light.
'We have some rules - No kissing, no sucking, no fucking'.
Great! A tiring wank session after which I'd be diagnosed with repetitive strain injury.
Of course, the cock said yes and minutes later we were in a room.
Once inside the (tiny) room,we proceeded to jerk each other off, the Med guy being in posession of what may just be the biggest thickest dick I've ever seen.
'Are you sure I can't suck?' I asked.
'Do you want to suck?'
'Er, yes'
'Well go on, do it'
And so I did.
It was whilst I was sucking him off that I came to realise precisley what my position in this scenario was. I was merely a pleasure giver -nothing more, nothing less. For once, the sex wasn't about me, but was, instead, about them.
And this balance of control and submission had me strangely turned on.
There was a moment in this all when the med looked me in the eyes. Or rather, I attempted to, and succeeded in, catching his gaze. And it was then, after the rules had been explained, that he leaned over and began to suck on my balls, one by one.
'Is this ok?' he then asked his boyfriend. Smile.
'Yea, you can suck him if you like, he's hot'. Smile.
And, of course, there was no swallowing. Instead there was a chain of masturbation until we all spewed our loads over each other.
It then dauned on us that the tissue dispenser was empty.
Bidding farewell I wiped myself clean with a towel, showered, dressed and went home to meet Katerina for dinner.
The threesome fantasy had been fulfiled, at least, partially.
The best thing about identifying Sauna regulars is that the possibility of further fun is always there. It's just that next time, i think I'll make the rules up myself.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Busy
'You've had quite a few late nights this week' said Katherina (my one and only flatmate) over a most succulent meal of posh bangers and mash and even posher gravy.
And it's true, I had.
Saturday morning - Up at 6am, still slightly drunk from the night before and a cocktail rampage in Clapham Common with an old friend.
On the train to the posh university at 8am
Matriculation ceremony at 11.30am
Lunch - sandwiches and cheap champagne/orange juice - or, a 'Mimosa', as that's what I had.
After lunch - tipsy and talking about clairvoyants and spirits with my class mates.
'It was true', an American lady said, 'I saw it with my own eyes. There was a spirit in the room and I could actually see the light switch going on and off. On and off!'
Blimey.
And then, a train back to Londres in the afternoon.
Juno's birthday party was to be held that evening and so I trimmed, washed and wiped that area before I left the flat. All ready to bring somebody back with me.
Achilles - boy I wouldn't mind having a piece of (at least I thought so), and veterinary surgeon, arrived at Juno's party after remaining awake for 48 hours on the job. Tired - probably, Horny -yes, Fit - yes.
'I've just come from removing a pencil which had been inserted up a Jack Russels vagina', he said, deadly serious, as I sipped on a cocktail and talked to Cruella de'Vil about the possibility of pruning her lady garden.
'I just can't be bothered to work for men' she said. If it happens it happens.' (here, she talks about her refusal to put any work into pursuing men. That said, she's a dab hand with the old flirting and usually has men salivating at the thought of her quivering fanny)
'Working for men'- that's an entire blog on it's own.
So, Achilles and I spent quite a while talking about my sexual prowess and his resulting feeling that he was somewhat prudish.
'I like talking to you' he said, by this he meant, I like talking to somebody who talks about sex openly without apology.
'I'd never go to a sauna, it's just not me'. Fine, i thought, this sort of sexual conquest isn't for everyone. But the way in which he then persisted with the questions made me think perhaps he'd go, if pushed a little. The curiosity was certainly there.
And then we'd moved swiftly onto Achilles and Cruella's drug habits.
'You really should try some cocaine' she said, 'you'd become all Renaissance and it'd put you on another level. It'd do you good.'
No I thought, not drugs.
As the night dwindled on we ended up in Heaven, five boys, Juno Achilles and myself included.
I should have guessed it wouldn't have take long before we ended up in the cheese room at the top dancing to 'Crazy' by Beyonce. In the club's defense they also played my 'tune of the month' by Timbaland.
So we were dancing until about 6am. At 5am, Juno thought it decent to bugger off home leaving me and Achilles (who was ever so slightly plastered) alone.
And when we left the club at 6, the first thing Achilles insisted we do was visit a sauna.
'Take me somewhere where there are only young fit men'
'Listen, those sorts of places don't exist dear boy', I said.
Decisions were made quite rapidly and the cab drove us to Chariots. I wish, I really do, that there had been a better option, but the truth is, this place is the biggest and the turnover of men is greater.
'Stay with me won't you? Don't leave me anywhere' said Achilles.
'Fine'.
Only, once were we seated in the steam room, Achilles rather casually propped his leg up against a man sitting beside him. A hand up his leg and mutual wank later, we were out of there.
That's correct, Achilles was a sauna cock tease, for want of a better term. Great, I thought, he's fitted in well.
And then, as a last measure, he let 8 men lick his cock in the wank room. I wasn't there to see that, but I'm pretty sure I can imagine what went on.
Up until that point we'd been together, but for a brief while, as the fat white men's cock appreciation devoured Achilles' cock, I went for a pee and to try and see if there was somebody who I wouldn't mind having some fun with.
Twenty minutes later and there he was, asking that we go home. And so we did.
In the car Achilles insisted I 'call somebody' in order that we have a threesome.
He was drunk and wanted to try out everything in one big go, there and then.
As you'll imagine, my phone isn't full of people who'd happily wake up at 7am on a Sunday , pop down to Clapham and engage in a threesome. And what a shame that is.
Once home he was alseep before I could even pull the extra matress out.
In the morning I attempted texting Tom Ford with the offer of a threesome, determined to have one with Achilles before he left. Alas, it wasn't to happen.
But now, I'm pleased that the possibilty of a threesome is something that has entered his mind. You see, the seedling is always full of endless possibilty.
The next time I see Achilles, there'll be a threesome. At least, I darn as hell hope so.
And it's true, I had.
Saturday morning - Up at 6am, still slightly drunk from the night before and a cocktail rampage in Clapham Common with an old friend.
On the train to the posh university at 8am
Matriculation ceremony at 11.30am
Lunch - sandwiches and cheap champagne/orange juice - or, a 'Mimosa', as that's what I had.
After lunch - tipsy and talking about clairvoyants and spirits with my class mates.
'It was true', an American lady said, 'I saw it with my own eyes. There was a spirit in the room and I could actually see the light switch going on and off. On and off!'
Blimey.
And then, a train back to Londres in the afternoon.
Juno's birthday party was to be held that evening and so I trimmed, washed and wiped that area before I left the flat. All ready to bring somebody back with me.
Achilles - boy I wouldn't mind having a piece of (at least I thought so), and veterinary surgeon, arrived at Juno's party after remaining awake for 48 hours on the job. Tired - probably, Horny -yes, Fit - yes.
'I've just come from removing a pencil which had been inserted up a Jack Russels vagina', he said, deadly serious, as I sipped on a cocktail and talked to Cruella de'Vil about the possibility of pruning her lady garden.
'I just can't be bothered to work for men' she said. If it happens it happens.' (here, she talks about her refusal to put any work into pursuing men. That said, she's a dab hand with the old flirting and usually has men salivating at the thought of her quivering fanny)
'Working for men'- that's an entire blog on it's own.
So, Achilles and I spent quite a while talking about my sexual prowess and his resulting feeling that he was somewhat prudish.
'I like talking to you' he said, by this he meant, I like talking to somebody who talks about sex openly without apology.
'I'd never go to a sauna, it's just not me'. Fine, i thought, this sort of sexual conquest isn't for everyone. But the way in which he then persisted with the questions made me think perhaps he'd go, if pushed a little. The curiosity was certainly there.
And then we'd moved swiftly onto Achilles and Cruella's drug habits.
'You really should try some cocaine' she said, 'you'd become all Renaissance and it'd put you on another level. It'd do you good.'
No I thought, not drugs.
As the night dwindled on we ended up in Heaven, five boys, Juno Achilles and myself included.
I should have guessed it wouldn't have take long before we ended up in the cheese room at the top dancing to 'Crazy' by Beyonce. In the club's defense they also played my 'tune of the month' by Timbaland.
So we were dancing until about 6am. At 5am, Juno thought it decent to bugger off home leaving me and Achilles (who was ever so slightly plastered) alone.
And when we left the club at 6, the first thing Achilles insisted we do was visit a sauna.
'Take me somewhere where there are only young fit men'
'Listen, those sorts of places don't exist dear boy', I said.
Decisions were made quite rapidly and the cab drove us to Chariots. I wish, I really do, that there had been a better option, but the truth is, this place is the biggest and the turnover of men is greater.
'Stay with me won't you? Don't leave me anywhere' said Achilles.
'Fine'.
Only, once were we seated in the steam room, Achilles rather casually propped his leg up against a man sitting beside him. A hand up his leg and mutual wank later, we were out of there.
That's correct, Achilles was a sauna cock tease, for want of a better term. Great, I thought, he's fitted in well.
And then, as a last measure, he let 8 men lick his cock in the wank room. I wasn't there to see that, but I'm pretty sure I can imagine what went on.
Up until that point we'd been together, but for a brief while, as the fat white men's cock appreciation devoured Achilles' cock, I went for a pee and to try and see if there was somebody who I wouldn't mind having some fun with.
Twenty minutes later and there he was, asking that we go home. And so we did.
In the car Achilles insisted I 'call somebody' in order that we have a threesome.
He was drunk and wanted to try out everything in one big go, there and then.
As you'll imagine, my phone isn't full of people who'd happily wake up at 7am on a Sunday , pop down to Clapham and engage in a threesome. And what a shame that is.
Once home he was alseep before I could even pull the extra matress out.
In the morning I attempted texting Tom Ford with the offer of a threesome, determined to have one with Achilles before he left. Alas, it wasn't to happen.
But now, I'm pleased that the possibilty of a threesome is something that has entered his mind. You see, the seedling is always full of endless possibilty.
The next time I see Achilles, there'll be a threesome. At least, I darn as hell hope so.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Desdemona's Beastiality
So we've all heard the tale of the lady who fucked a horse. Yes, we all know that Horses are almost abnormally well endowed and that many women have attempted to fuck one.
Alluding to the title of this particular entry, my suggestion is not that Desdemona has fucked a horse. The title is referring, perhaps more worryingly, to her puppy.
Yes folks, Desdemona now has a dog. Toilet trained in six weeks with a keen interest in 'warm' places.
We utilised Yo! sushi vouchers last night and it was great catching up after what may have been a long few months.
And in the meantime, I'm happy to report a better sex life (for her), and much joy in (almost)all aspects of the relationship with Othello.
And after dinner we ventured into Bermondsey.
The thing is, I'd been invited to a music and art evening at a Japanese gallery. All well and good.
What we hadn't expected was not to find the gallery despite having circled the area once and to be led back to the station by a posh rough looking bloke who was studying Engineering at Kings.
My desire to dip whatever they were offering into the promised chocolate fountain and to sip on a promise of ever-flowing cocktails were diminished.
And Bermondsey is a pretty dismal area. As we walked from one end of what seemed to be the world's biggest road to the other, we felt the fear street walkers feel every day of their life. And, no, it's not pleasant.
After talking me through the procedure for toilet training a puppy she told me in fairly frank terms how the puppy loved Othello's cock.
'Er, how do you mean?' - yes, even I was slightly bewildered.
'Well, in the mornings' she continued, 'he comes into our room and goes under the duvet. He'll then start licking Othello's cock and even my private parts. He's even licked and bitten my nipples.'
Perhaps now is the time to reiterate the fact that this isn't a man she's talking about, it's a dog.
The way she described it, the puppy's lust seemed so normal, and well nobody could ever deny that she and Othello were attractive. But to allow a puppy to invade the sexual zen regions without so much as a shoo or a no!, seems to me a little inappropriate.
What did make me smile was the mild possibility that Desdemona had fallen in love with a puppy who was bisexual.
Question: How exactly do you teach a puppy NOT to give you a blow job in the morning?
Alluding to the title of this particular entry, my suggestion is not that Desdemona has fucked a horse. The title is referring, perhaps more worryingly, to her puppy.
Yes folks, Desdemona now has a dog. Toilet trained in six weeks with a keen interest in 'warm' places.
We utilised Yo! sushi vouchers last night and it was great catching up after what may have been a long few months.
And in the meantime, I'm happy to report a better sex life (for her), and much joy in (almost)all aspects of the relationship with Othello.
And after dinner we ventured into Bermondsey.
The thing is, I'd been invited to a music and art evening at a Japanese gallery. All well and good.
What we hadn't expected was not to find the gallery despite having circled the area once and to be led back to the station by a posh rough looking bloke who was studying Engineering at Kings.
My desire to dip whatever they were offering into the promised chocolate fountain and to sip on a promise of ever-flowing cocktails were diminished.
And Bermondsey is a pretty dismal area. As we walked from one end of what seemed to be the world's biggest road to the other, we felt the fear street walkers feel every day of their life. And, no, it's not pleasant.
After talking me through the procedure for toilet training a puppy she told me in fairly frank terms how the puppy loved Othello's cock.
'Er, how do you mean?' - yes, even I was slightly bewildered.
'Well, in the mornings' she continued, 'he comes into our room and goes under the duvet. He'll then start licking Othello's cock and even my private parts. He's even licked and bitten my nipples.'
Perhaps now is the time to reiterate the fact that this isn't a man she's talking about, it's a dog.
The way she described it, the puppy's lust seemed so normal, and well nobody could ever deny that she and Othello were attractive. But to allow a puppy to invade the sexual zen regions without so much as a shoo or a no!, seems to me a little inappropriate.
What did make me smile was the mild possibility that Desdemona had fallen in love with a puppy who was bisexual.
Question: How exactly do you teach a puppy NOT to give you a blow job in the morning?
Monday, October 08, 2007
Two sides of the coin
Ever since I met (the bloke who looks like)Tom Ford at the Sauna, I've wanted to meet for sex again. It hasn't happened, and I think he's interested, but I'm quickly coming to realise that I'll need to curtail my sexual ambitions until I'm in the same room with him.
Now, let's analyse this: He has yet to say the word 'Sauna' and prefers to refer to it as 'that' place. Fine, perhaps a little prudish. What I fail to understand is why a man, in his thirties, who attends saunas on a regular basis, is so coy about them. He also refers to sex as 'Hanky Panky'. Now, this is something I can't seem to grasp. At all.
'I find it both endearing and weird that you refer to sex as 'hanky panky' and to saunas as 'that place' I said, last night over the telephone. Incidentally, he'd just returned from Up North and went to the Sauna as it was en route.
'Well you never know who's listening in to our conversations' he said.
'When I say 'that' place, you know what I'm talking about and so do I'.
Paranoia. Of the severest order? I'm afraid I forgot to ask whether he had any underlying connections with the CIA.
The thing is, whenever we talk, it's late at night, because we both lead 'London Lives'. And last week I let him go because, well, people need their sleep. But last night it seemed as though he couldn't wait to get off the phone. As he was saying goodbye he made a joke about 'banging one out before bed' (why do people say these pubescent things?)
And then we digressed into a conversation about Camilla Parker Bowles and our mutual appreciation of her, me declaring my love and him declaring that the Church of England was founded on divorce and that he didn't understand why people objected to the marriage.
Anyways, so I could tell he wanted to go, but the 'bang one out' comment pushed me to ask whether he was into phone sex. Now, my saying this wasn't really a ploy to get him to fall prey to my imagination and bang one out over the phone - in my mind, all I'd asked was a question. I was curious. Earlier on when I'd asked him about any fetishes, he said he's rather not talk about 'that' over the phone.
'I need to go to bed now, goodnight'. And he was gone. I couldn't even get a word in. It was almost as if I'd offended him.
Now, I'm all for people being reserved and am able to appreciate when I should tone things down, but when you meet somebody at a Sauna for sex and they take your number, is it so wrong to assume that they probably won't mind talking a little bit about sex once the Sauna door is closed behind them?
Perhaps I'm wrong and perhaps my sexual prowess is simply too much for some people, but to avoid the issues and swerve away in any other direction is not only unnecessary, but rude.
The texts are done from my side. If he writes anything, I'll respond, but Tom ford has to realise that I'm a sexual, breathing and often hungry individual. And that I wouldn't mind shutting up, as long as he tells me to.
Now, let's analyse this: He has yet to say the word 'Sauna' and prefers to refer to it as 'that' place. Fine, perhaps a little prudish. What I fail to understand is why a man, in his thirties, who attends saunas on a regular basis, is so coy about them. He also refers to sex as 'Hanky Panky'. Now, this is something I can't seem to grasp. At all.
'I find it both endearing and weird that you refer to sex as 'hanky panky' and to saunas as 'that place' I said, last night over the telephone. Incidentally, he'd just returned from Up North and went to the Sauna as it was en route.
'Well you never know who's listening in to our conversations' he said.
'When I say 'that' place, you know what I'm talking about and so do I'.
Paranoia. Of the severest order? I'm afraid I forgot to ask whether he had any underlying connections with the CIA.
The thing is, whenever we talk, it's late at night, because we both lead 'London Lives'. And last week I let him go because, well, people need their sleep. But last night it seemed as though he couldn't wait to get off the phone. As he was saying goodbye he made a joke about 'banging one out before bed' (why do people say these pubescent things?)
And then we digressed into a conversation about Camilla Parker Bowles and our mutual appreciation of her, me declaring my love and him declaring that the Church of England was founded on divorce and that he didn't understand why people objected to the marriage.
Anyways, so I could tell he wanted to go, but the 'bang one out' comment pushed me to ask whether he was into phone sex. Now, my saying this wasn't really a ploy to get him to fall prey to my imagination and bang one out over the phone - in my mind, all I'd asked was a question. I was curious. Earlier on when I'd asked him about any fetishes, he said he's rather not talk about 'that' over the phone.
'I need to go to bed now, goodnight'. And he was gone. I couldn't even get a word in. It was almost as if I'd offended him.
Now, I'm all for people being reserved and am able to appreciate when I should tone things down, but when you meet somebody at a Sauna for sex and they take your number, is it so wrong to assume that they probably won't mind talking a little bit about sex once the Sauna door is closed behind them?
Perhaps I'm wrong and perhaps my sexual prowess is simply too much for some people, but to avoid the issues and swerve away in any other direction is not only unnecessary, but rude.
The texts are done from my side. If he writes anything, I'll respond, but Tom ford has to realise that I'm a sexual, breathing and often hungry individual. And that I wouldn't mind shutting up, as long as he tells me to.
Moving
Moved from north of the river to south of it.
For those of you unaware, the smell isn't different. In fact, the distinction many Londoners make between North and South-of-the-river London is, well, pretty pointless as there really is very little worth moaning about.
And now that I've moved, I love it. The new place is well situated and really quite modern and airy. And, I can't think of a better flatmate, or one more tolerable.
Of course, the idea of moving is far more exciting and adventurous than the actual shifting of the (far too many) boxes.
And so, Saturday night, with the help of Belle de Bengal (the sweet love), I moved back and forth above and below the river until I'd moved all of my possessions. It never fails to surprise me just how much baggage one can accumulate in the space of a year.
And yesterday, the flatmate and I spent the the entire day being driven around by the flatmate's BoyF as we gathered (essential) supplies for the nest - which just happened to include leek and honey pork sausages and bog roll from PoundLand in Croydon (not the sausages mind).
A new chapter has begun.
For those of you unaware, the smell isn't different. In fact, the distinction many Londoners make between North and South-of-the-river London is, well, pretty pointless as there really is very little worth moaning about.
And now that I've moved, I love it. The new place is well situated and really quite modern and airy. And, I can't think of a better flatmate, or one more tolerable.
Of course, the idea of moving is far more exciting and adventurous than the actual shifting of the (far too many) boxes.
And so, Saturday night, with the help of Belle de Bengal (the sweet love), I moved back and forth above and below the river until I'd moved all of my possessions. It never fails to surprise me just how much baggage one can accumulate in the space of a year.
And yesterday, the flatmate and I spent the the entire day being driven around by the flatmate's BoyF as we gathered (essential) supplies for the nest - which just happened to include leek and honey pork sausages and bog roll from PoundLand in Croydon (not the sausages mind).
A new chapter has begun.
Friday, October 05, 2007
At the office
Now, the office I work in is pretty hip.
We have quirky American traditions which include 'Bagel Day', and 'Shoe Shine Boy'.
And, as many of my friends are aware, we also have drinks on the terrace every Friday. At least, I have been since I started this job.
And then, earlier this morning the dreaded email.
'Summer has now come to an end as has the drinks run on the terrace. We do however have a few other events coming up shortly including an Oktoberfest and a Christmas Party, which I'm sure you'll all enjoy.'
Note - Oktoberfest really isn't the space ship enterprise costume drama we'd all imagined. No. It's more a drinks and canopies event at the office (in October).
Oh yes, and to top things off, today is 'Jeans for genes day!' - again far more riveting than it sounds. People are encouraged to wear jeans and to donate £2 for one course or another. That's correct. We have to pay for our dress down day - a tradition other companies have cultivated, free of charge, for generations. Huff!
Little did i realise that the ability to wear jeans constituted a proper dress down day for the boys in Accounts who came in clad in hoodies and that token brown belt to give the jeans a certain je ne cest quoi. I, on the other hand, rippled the water with my skinny jeans, a shirt and a blazer. If I'd have known, the recycled leather jacket would have made an entrance.
An let's not even begin to discuss how annoyed I am that women can get away with wearing virtually ANYTHING (Yes, I'm shouting) at the office. Paisley tops, floral skirts and lacey shorts are all up there with the inappropriate forms of clothing that piss me right off. More so because the best a man can manage is a tie less shirt. This sort of discrimination doesn't make me feel good at all.
We have quirky American traditions which include 'Bagel Day', and 'Shoe Shine Boy'.
And, as many of my friends are aware, we also have drinks on the terrace every Friday. At least, I have been since I started this job.
And then, earlier this morning the dreaded email.
'Summer has now come to an end as has the drinks run on the terrace. We do however have a few other events coming up shortly including an Oktoberfest and a Christmas Party, which I'm sure you'll all enjoy.'
Note - Oktoberfest really isn't the space ship enterprise costume drama we'd all imagined. No. It's more a drinks and canopies event at the office (in October).
Oh yes, and to top things off, today is 'Jeans for genes day!' - again far more riveting than it sounds. People are encouraged to wear jeans and to donate £2 for one course or another. That's correct. We have to pay for our dress down day - a tradition other companies have cultivated, free of charge, for generations. Huff!
Little did i realise that the ability to wear jeans constituted a proper dress down day for the boys in Accounts who came in clad in hoodies and that token brown belt to give the jeans a certain je ne cest quoi. I, on the other hand, rippled the water with my skinny jeans, a shirt and a blazer. If I'd have known, the recycled leather jacket would have made an entrance.
An let's not even begin to discuss how annoyed I am that women can get away with wearing virtually ANYTHING (Yes, I'm shouting) at the office. Paisley tops, floral skirts and lacey shorts are all up there with the inappropriate forms of clothing that piss me right off. More so because the best a man can manage is a tie less shirt. This sort of discrimination doesn't make me feel good at all.
Conversations
Now, The Dame's mother and I share, what one might call, a special connection. In other words, she hasn't a clue about my cock hunger and wants me to marry The Dame in order to save her daughter from the doom that is, more so after reading her latest entry, lesbian induced. For as we all know, if she accepts that her daughter is a lesbian, she will, of course, become one herself.
Failing that, she'll wonder whether it was her fault that he daughter loss of sense of normality. Or whether she ate something too big during her pregnancy which, whilst she was in the womb, pushed The Dame far too close to the vagina. Mothers eh! It's all somehow about them.
Needless to say, the poor Dame is suffering at the hands of many fucked up emotional fuck-witt women. I do however firmly believe that it's one of those bad patches of evil luck. A couple of female-less months will do her the world of good, providing her with a new source of energy with which to combat later in the future.
So, I've somewhat drifted. The point I was wanting to make was actually this...
On the phone to The Dame a few nights back, I could hear her mother say something in the background. On listening more closely I could hear
'You're not my favourite boy any more!'
I'd imagined, at this point, that The Dame had, to save herself the humiliation of my marriage proposal, told her mother that I'd been sucking cock for a few months.
'Never mind' I said, 'The love in my heart is enough for both of us S****.'
'I can't believe you like Camilla! Off with you!'
There it was. The Dame's mother had dragged the monarchy into our little friendship circle. A Camilla supporter could never marry The Dame.
'I love Camilla', I howled over the telephone speaker, 'she's dignified and knows how to play her part. She'll be a fantastic queen. and Diana was a gobby cow'.
Now, I could have been a little more diplomatic in that last sentence, but The Dame's mother caught me off guard.
My love for Camilla is fairly deep rooted and my admiration for the 'other woman' is something that'll never diminish. Fact.
'Oh S****', I said.
So I'm no longer a favourite of The Dame's mother. And a previous invitation to The Dame's yard for a Sunday roast was shoved quickly and firmly back into the envelope. Sigh.
If I do ever see S**** again, I'll have her on this one. I will.
Failing that, she'll wonder whether it was her fault that he daughter loss of sense of normality. Or whether she ate something too big during her pregnancy which, whilst she was in the womb, pushed The Dame far too close to the vagina. Mothers eh! It's all somehow about them.
Needless to say, the poor Dame is suffering at the hands of many fucked up emotional fuck-witt women. I do however firmly believe that it's one of those bad patches of evil luck. A couple of female-less months will do her the world of good, providing her with a new source of energy with which to combat later in the future.
So, I've somewhat drifted. The point I was wanting to make was actually this...
On the phone to The Dame a few nights back, I could hear her mother say something in the background. On listening more closely I could hear
'You're not my favourite boy any more!'
I'd imagined, at this point, that The Dame had, to save herself the humiliation of my marriage proposal, told her mother that I'd been sucking cock for a few months.
'Never mind' I said, 'The love in my heart is enough for both of us S****.'
'I can't believe you like Camilla! Off with you!'
There it was. The Dame's mother had dragged the monarchy into our little friendship circle. A Camilla supporter could never marry The Dame.
'I love Camilla', I howled over the telephone speaker, 'she's dignified and knows how to play her part. She'll be a fantastic queen. and Diana was a gobby cow'.
Now, I could have been a little more diplomatic in that last sentence, but The Dame's mother caught me off guard.
My love for Camilla is fairly deep rooted and my admiration for the 'other woman' is something that'll never diminish. Fact.
'Oh S****', I said.
So I'm no longer a favourite of The Dame's mother. And a previous invitation to The Dame's yard for a Sunday roast was shoved quickly and firmly back into the envelope. Sigh.
If I do ever see S**** again, I'll have her on this one. I will.
Return of The Dame
Written by The Dame...
Shit on The Dame...sorry, The Dame - shit on again
You might be inclined to think that what follows is inconceivable. I wish it was but it really isn't.
I have been faced with some pretty sobering moments at work over the last few months. A punch in the chops, being confronted by a man with a kitchen knife, a good fight and chasing/flooring a man who decided to run away from me could all be described as such moments. However, none of these things come close to the mesmerising sobering moment of having Beatrice tell me (mid cuddle in bed) that she has been sleeping with my housemate behind my back. Such a confession has the ability to shatter the (un)reality you have been living in, prompting a feeling of complete deception from two people you really quite liked and trusted, and initiating a move to another pile of bricks in work town.
Its funny how such things can ruin the mood and ironic that my world, again, came crashing down in the exact same spot it did with a certain medical professional.
The Dame has all the luck.
Shit on The Dame...sorry, The Dame - shit on again
You might be inclined to think that what follows is inconceivable. I wish it was but it really isn't.
I have been faced with some pretty sobering moments at work over the last few months. A punch in the chops, being confronted by a man with a kitchen knife, a good fight and chasing/flooring a man who decided to run away from me could all be described as such moments. However, none of these things come close to the mesmerising sobering moment of having Beatrice tell me (mid cuddle in bed) that she has been sleeping with my housemate behind my back. Such a confession has the ability to shatter the (un)reality you have been living in, prompting a feeling of complete deception from two people you really quite liked and trusted, and initiating a move to another pile of bricks in work town.
Its funny how such things can ruin the mood and ironic that my world, again, came crashing down in the exact same spot it did with a certain medical professional.
The Dame has all the luck.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
New beginnings
For some proper gossip...
I have started a new course in Creative Writing. That's correct, this blog, as much as I love her, isn't enough.
If I tell you that I'm now at a posh university, you'll probably guess and so I shall leave that to your imagination.
Now, together with a hundred archaic traditions and a million words to describe them, I thought I would feel, well, out of place. Like a gold fish in the ocean. Or a monk at a sauna, say.
Incredible! I friggin love it!
Writing, eating good food, meeting awesome and incredibly talented writers/buzzing creative spirits and, I might add, sleeping in a nice 'post graduate' room. None of those spunked up walls and hair chocked bath holes. No, I said it was posh.
Never in my life have I been exposed to so many Americans in such a short space of time, many of them flying down specifically for this course. But I like them, these Americans. At least the ones with the Texan accent. Although I'm as yet unsure which American accent it is that annoys me the most, I was thankful that there was nothing of the sort where I was over the past four days.
Oh, and I made a new snappy-little-journalist-friend.
Something extra which'll need my attention now - the writing, not the friend.
I missed the fresher's fair. Drat! All those sweating, excited teenagers would have been reason enough to go. Shame there was hardly any room for anything other than work. I musn't complain, I had an amazing time.
You see, it's sort of like putting a child in a Sweetshop, or a granny in M&S.
and of course, the best bit came when we were all required to read ' a short extract' of our work, in a pretty famous bookshop.
One of the girls read something that resembled '...like you're giving head to a guy and you just know he ain't gonna cum'. At that moment, I knew precisely what she meant. At this point however, most guy's will tell you. The man in her novel didn't.
Poetic, I thought.
And no, this isn't a whore writing academy.
I have started a new course in Creative Writing. That's correct, this blog, as much as I love her, isn't enough.
If I tell you that I'm now at a posh university, you'll probably guess and so I shall leave that to your imagination.
Now, together with a hundred archaic traditions and a million words to describe them, I thought I would feel, well, out of place. Like a gold fish in the ocean. Or a monk at a sauna, say.
Incredible! I friggin love it!
Writing, eating good food, meeting awesome and incredibly talented writers/buzzing creative spirits and, I might add, sleeping in a nice 'post graduate' room. None of those spunked up walls and hair chocked bath holes. No, I said it was posh.
Never in my life have I been exposed to so many Americans in such a short space of time, many of them flying down specifically for this course. But I like them, these Americans. At least the ones with the Texan accent. Although I'm as yet unsure which American accent it is that annoys me the most, I was thankful that there was nothing of the sort where I was over the past four days.
Oh, and I made a new snappy-little-journalist-friend.
Something extra which'll need my attention now - the writing, not the friend.
I missed the fresher's fair. Drat! All those sweating, excited teenagers would have been reason enough to go. Shame there was hardly any room for anything other than work. I musn't complain, I had an amazing time.
You see, it's sort of like putting a child in a Sweetshop, or a granny in M&S.
and of course, the best bit came when we were all required to read ' a short extract' of our work, in a pretty famous bookshop.
One of the girls read something that resembled '...like you're giving head to a guy and you just know he ain't gonna cum'. At that moment, I knew precisely what she meant. At this point however, most guy's will tell you. The man in her novel didn't.
Poetic, I thought.
And no, this isn't a whore writing academy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
