Monday, June 04, 2007
The Tale
So bored of revision, I could write a novel. And so I did. At least, it's a continuation of The Dame's tale from previous entries. I write from the point of view of the wife...
That moment. The moment you know that your husband is cheating. It’s so clearly defined. Round and tangible, an apple. And the guilt, the sorrow, or, the indifference, is so utterly edible.
It was the sex we had, you see. Very careless, very hurried, very passionate, very unlike us post-marriage. Eleven minutes of intercourse and during the seventh minute, it hit me. He had changed. He was trying to fuck the guilt out of his system. To test where things had gone wrong.
And so I let him continue. Of course, the orgasm I don’t recall. Nor do I recall looking into his eyes. After all, I always felt that that’s what I’d do; look into his eyes, spot the serpent and turn away from him. It’s almost as though I’d planned this to happen.
All I remember is asking him, two minutes after he’d come inside me, whether he was cheating. And he responded with a grunt, turning away as though he hadn’t heard. Of course, at that very point, our marriage was over.
When I say over, I don’t mean I threw his clothes out onto the patio, or take my rage out on the children.
Rage, you see, it’s best kept inside. It cements the soul, prevents it cracking. In fact, we said nothing about it what had happened for a long time after.
I wanted to keep him with me you see. I wanted to punish him through my indifference. I wanted so much to show him just how slowly a marriage could crumble. And just at the point when I felt he’d start to re build our family, I’d show him that the breaks had long been transported.
That’s the only way I know how to teach a man a lesson. Slowly.
So, it was in the thick of this rage that we held our anniversary ‘celebration’. And I thought it the perfect opportunity to invite her along. The third person in our relationship.
And the other woman. Oh, well she was my sister.
Rampancy
Never has cock featured on my mind as frequently or as relentlessly as it has these past few days. Whether this is because I am in the middle of exams and am thus spending a great deal of time bored to the core of my being, or because there has been a testosterone inflation in my genes, I need a good hard surface to play with.
Am also fatigued at having to masturbate time and again over the five pornographic videos I have managed to download onto my computer. I crave variety and my Internet connection is playing up as usual. Sigh.
In need of good wholesome porn. Anything with a cage and leather would really hit the spot. The way a cold coke hits the spot on a summer's day. Ah yes, I feel better already.
Also, at present, I am seeing as much action as I am football. And that, really, is none at all.
Am also fatigued at having to masturbate time and again over the five pornographic videos I have managed to download onto my computer. I crave variety and my Internet connection is playing up as usual. Sigh.
In need of good wholesome porn. Anything with a cage and leather would really hit the spot. The way a cold coke hits the spot on a summer's day. Ah yes, I feel better already.
Also, at present, I am seeing as much action as I am football. And that, really, is none at all.
The Dame's Review
Written by by dear friend 'The Dame'...
I've taken it upon myself to indulge in a few blog entries to stand in for dear old Tainted who is in the thicket of exams at the moment. Poor boy.
My first effort is a film review. A film everyone must see.
Wicker Park
When desire becomes deceit and passion becomes possession.
A story of love in all its many forms - obsessional, delusional, the quickness with which it can consume you, uncontrollable, and long lasting. The story involves one Mr Josh Hartnett (one of very few men on this planet who could turn even me), who works in a photography shop, and who believes that all things innately beautiful can be captured on film. One day whilst filming in the street he captures a woman, the gorgeous Diane Kruger, who is his One. They indulge in a love affair that consumes them both and the audience.
It is a love that comes along rarely. They walk together in the park, dance together, create their special place, indulge in every day activities together that we all take for granted and do not see the beauty in, culminating in a night of passion - after which their love only seems to prosper. He asks her to move in with him and although she knows she is going to accept wholeheartedly, before she has chance to do so, she goes away on a trip leaving that all important letter with her 'best friend'. The letter of course does not get to Mr Hartnett and he is left heartbroken and confused as to why the girl for him appears to have left without explanation.
The story is very cleverly told from the perspectives of all characters and the audience is predictably left in the dark until the very end as to what really happened. The couple are kept apart by the 'best friend' unbeknown to them both and it is difficult to watch at some points, with the couple missing each other by seconds whilst going about their lives.
Upon watching the film for the first time (and come to think of it, the numerous times since then) I am always struck by the questions: what happened to this all consuming type of love? Why are only some people blessed with true love? and What ingredients were present here to make these two characters know they were meant to be together? Ultimately, what is true love?
The couple are separated for 2 years, him thinking she had disappeared without explanation and her thinking (with help from the 'best friend') that he hadn't replied to her letter as he had slept with someone else. And yet they never give up hope of finding each other again. He tries to see another girl but his every waking moment he is thinking of her, chasing clues to try and find her. She sees other men but never gives up hope that he will come back to her.
I am always amazed that upon their reconcilliation in a busy airport, just as she is about to leave for good, it's almost as if they haven't even been apart. The look, the way they hold each other, the way they kiss - all take place whilst the resonating genius that is Coldplay's The Scientist chimes away in the background, never failing to bring a tear to the eye. How often do we really see that and why don't we see more of it? It's an exceptional piece of acting on the part of Hartnett and Kruger because as the viewer you actually believe they are in love (of course this is helped along some by the clever camera work and jigsaw style delivery of the story which gives an almost poetic feel to the film). Quite simply the film is venustus exquisitus validus...
Although the dominating theme is the romance between Hartnett and Kruger, events are also considered from the point of view of the 'best friend' in the piece. In this respect the film demonstrates quite nicely that love can also be destructive. The best friend wants what she cannot have, namely Hartnett, and it breaks her. Of course, it is not intended that we feel sorry for her because this is a consequence of her own design. However, the viewer does feel a sense of sorrow for her because she is holding on to something that does not want her anymore.
There are a lot of films out there that try to uncover the meaning of love and what it means to feel that way for someone else - but this certainly is one of the more beautiful of those films. Perhaps I'm bias because I like a film that provokes questions, like films that get me thinking and this certainly does that, hence the positive review.
And its not just because Josh Hartnett is the lead male.
I went to the seaside today (and sat in the sun with my book and notebook for most of the day). I find the sun therapeutic. Here's something to make you smile, my father is quite possibly the only person I know who needs a pair of elastic bands to hold his plimsolls together whilst visiting the sea...made me smile anyway...
-The Dame-
I've taken it upon myself to indulge in a few blog entries to stand in for dear old Tainted who is in the thicket of exams at the moment. Poor boy.
My first effort is a film review. A film everyone must see.
Wicker Park
When desire becomes deceit and passion becomes possession.
A story of love in all its many forms - obsessional, delusional, the quickness with which it can consume you, uncontrollable, and long lasting. The story involves one Mr Josh Hartnett (one of very few men on this planet who could turn even me), who works in a photography shop, and who believes that all things innately beautiful can be captured on film. One day whilst filming in the street he captures a woman, the gorgeous Diane Kruger, who is his One. They indulge in a love affair that consumes them both and the audience.
It is a love that comes along rarely. They walk together in the park, dance together, create their special place, indulge in every day activities together that we all take for granted and do not see the beauty in, culminating in a night of passion - after which their love only seems to prosper. He asks her to move in with him and although she knows she is going to accept wholeheartedly, before she has chance to do so, she goes away on a trip leaving that all important letter with her 'best friend'. The letter of course does not get to Mr Hartnett and he is left heartbroken and confused as to why the girl for him appears to have left without explanation.
The story is very cleverly told from the perspectives of all characters and the audience is predictably left in the dark until the very end as to what really happened. The couple are kept apart by the 'best friend' unbeknown to them both and it is difficult to watch at some points, with the couple missing each other by seconds whilst going about their lives.
Upon watching the film for the first time (and come to think of it, the numerous times since then) I am always struck by the questions: what happened to this all consuming type of love? Why are only some people blessed with true love? and What ingredients were present here to make these two characters know they were meant to be together? Ultimately, what is true love?
The couple are separated for 2 years, him thinking she had disappeared without explanation and her thinking (with help from the 'best friend') that he hadn't replied to her letter as he had slept with someone else. And yet they never give up hope of finding each other again. He tries to see another girl but his every waking moment he is thinking of her, chasing clues to try and find her. She sees other men but never gives up hope that he will come back to her.
I am always amazed that upon their reconcilliation in a busy airport, just as she is about to leave for good, it's almost as if they haven't even been apart. The look, the way they hold each other, the way they kiss - all take place whilst the resonating genius that is Coldplay's The Scientist chimes away in the background, never failing to bring a tear to the eye. How often do we really see that and why don't we see more of it? It's an exceptional piece of acting on the part of Hartnett and Kruger because as the viewer you actually believe they are in love (of course this is helped along some by the clever camera work and jigsaw style delivery of the story which gives an almost poetic feel to the film). Quite simply the film is venustus exquisitus validus...
Although the dominating theme is the romance between Hartnett and Kruger, events are also considered from the point of view of the 'best friend' in the piece. In this respect the film demonstrates quite nicely that love can also be destructive. The best friend wants what she cannot have, namely Hartnett, and it breaks her. Of course, it is not intended that we feel sorry for her because this is a consequence of her own design. However, the viewer does feel a sense of sorrow for her because she is holding on to something that does not want her anymore.
There are a lot of films out there that try to uncover the meaning of love and what it means to feel that way for someone else - but this certainly is one of the more beautiful of those films. Perhaps I'm bias because I like a film that provokes questions, like films that get me thinking and this certainly does that, hence the positive review.
And its not just because Josh Hartnett is the lead male.
I went to the seaside today (and sat in the sun with my book and notebook for most of the day). I find the sun therapeutic. Here's something to make you smile, my father is quite possibly the only person I know who needs a pair of elastic bands to hold his plimsolls together whilst visiting the sea...made me smile anyway...
-The Dame-
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The Question
The question feared by all lesbians...
Of course, the question feared by singletons everywhere and indeed Bridget Jones herself (an ingenius woman I adore) is ... "So, hows the love life?". Authenticity is added here with either/or; a drunken drawl or pissed old man you understand. Nevertheless, it is a feared question is it not? In a few short words the singleton in question has only a few moments to consider why in fact they are single, what is wrong with them (if anything), what inadequacies they possess, why are they unlucky in love and also if they are happy being single or not. All of this will be considered by the poor singleton but the dear old soul must also leave time to formulate an adequate reply which provokes no further questions. Sigh.
Anyhow, lesbians also possess a similar dilema. Being the rare breed that we are, one would assume that no such pickle exists but I can assure you it does. So let me enlighten you. The god given question feared by all lesbians is thus; "How exactly do lesbians have sex?". It's at this point I always release a somewhat melodramatic sigh followed by my own standard response to all such questions, which is as follows - did God not give you all imaginations?
-The Dame-
PS Just in case you were wondering, and for those of you who have seen the film, my place at the 'smug married couples dinner' has been well and truly booked...
Of course, the question feared by singletons everywhere and indeed Bridget Jones herself (an ingenius woman I adore) is ... "So, hows the love life?". Authenticity is added here with either/or; a drunken drawl or pissed old man you understand. Nevertheless, it is a feared question is it not? In a few short words the singleton in question has only a few moments to consider why in fact they are single, what is wrong with them (if anything), what inadequacies they possess, why are they unlucky in love and also if they are happy being single or not. All of this will be considered by the poor singleton but the dear old soul must also leave time to formulate an adequate reply which provokes no further questions. Sigh.
Anyhow, lesbians also possess a similar dilema. Being the rare breed that we are, one would assume that no such pickle exists but I can assure you it does. So let me enlighten you. The god given question feared by all lesbians is thus; "How exactly do lesbians have sex?". It's at this point I always release a somewhat melodramatic sigh followed by my own standard response to all such questions, which is as follows - did God not give you all imaginations?
-The Dame-
PS Just in case you were wondering, and for those of you who have seen the film, my place at the 'smug married couples dinner' has been well and truly booked...
The Celebrations
Thursday 24th May 2007
Happy Birthday Miss Unravel.
Went out for a spot of cocktail drinking and Japanese food eating for Miss Unravel's birthday party. As always, it was fun. I still haven't come to terms with the reason behind my inability to drink any more than three cocktails without feeling all funny inside. The mere knowledge that, given half a chance, the world and his wife could drink you under the table, is very unsettling to a budding sexpert/socialite. How exactly am I supposed to climb the rungs of success, have delicious sex and maintain my intelligence without the ability to drink as much and for as long as I'd like.
Having said this, I still haven't been drunk (the way most of the people mentioned on this blog will have been). And for this I am thankful. Drink and be merry I believe the saying goes. Nothing about drinking and having hallucinations and vomit induced fits.
Back to the party, the people present were Mr Tech, Mr ProPlus, Lady Capulet, Miss Unravel, Moi and Miss Unravel's friend and boyfriend (i refer, of course, to two separate people). Since when were lovers friends in the purest sense? Er...never.
Thirst bar (as usual). Satsuma (as usual). Delicious (as usual).
And, let's not forget, I now find (very unflattering bordering on ghastly) photos of myself all over facebook. I thought my pledge to save myself from the virus would have afforded protection enough. Clearly not. Clearly, words need to be had.
Friday 25th May 2007
Happy Birthday Adriana.
The venue was Navaro Joes in Covent Garden (an interesting blend of American style food presented well and tasting, for the most part (and strictly avoiding the sugar ridden peach sorbet) and interesting although expensive cocktails). Had never been there before, so that's always a plus. And yes, I would go back.
One of Adriana's friends who was present, is 'best mates' with Michelle Bass from Big Brother (you know,Michelle and Stu Michelle?) Michelle is currently engaged to her psycho-therapist. I love that, the breaking of the Hippocratic oath that quite clearly stipulates, 'Thou Shalt Not Fuck the Patient and then marry her'. The wedding is planned for next summer and Ophelia tried her very best to nab an invite. Dare I say, knowing Ophelia, she'll be attending. If I manage to go myself, expect to see me on the cover of Heat Magazine the following week won't you.
The dinner took so long that we had no time for post dinner drinks. That said, it was a delicious meal and I'd happily return. It was also lovely seeing Adriana after a long time. Unfortunately, her Boyf was in Spain and unable to attend. We kept an empty seat, just in case.
Happy Birthday Miss Unravel.
Went out for a spot of cocktail drinking and Japanese food eating for Miss Unravel's birthday party. As always, it was fun. I still haven't come to terms with the reason behind my inability to drink any more than three cocktails without feeling all funny inside. The mere knowledge that, given half a chance, the world and his wife could drink you under the table, is very unsettling to a budding sexpert/socialite. How exactly am I supposed to climb the rungs of success, have delicious sex and maintain my intelligence without the ability to drink as much and for as long as I'd like.
Having said this, I still haven't been drunk (the way most of the people mentioned on this blog will have been). And for this I am thankful. Drink and be merry I believe the saying goes. Nothing about drinking and having hallucinations and vomit induced fits.
Back to the party, the people present were Mr Tech, Mr ProPlus, Lady Capulet, Miss Unravel, Moi and Miss Unravel's friend and boyfriend (i refer, of course, to two separate people). Since when were lovers friends in the purest sense? Er...never.
Thirst bar (as usual). Satsuma (as usual). Delicious (as usual).
And, let's not forget, I now find (very unflattering bordering on ghastly) photos of myself all over facebook. I thought my pledge to save myself from the virus would have afforded protection enough. Clearly not. Clearly, words need to be had.
Friday 25th May 2007
Happy Birthday Adriana.
The venue was Navaro Joes in Covent Garden (an interesting blend of American style food presented well and tasting, for the most part (and strictly avoiding the sugar ridden peach sorbet) and interesting although expensive cocktails). Had never been there before, so that's always a plus. And yes, I would go back.
One of Adriana's friends who was present, is 'best mates' with Michelle Bass from Big Brother (you know,Michelle and Stu Michelle?) Michelle is currently engaged to her psycho-therapist. I love that, the breaking of the Hippocratic oath that quite clearly stipulates, 'Thou Shalt Not Fuck the Patient and then marry her'. The wedding is planned for next summer and Ophelia tried her very best to nab an invite. Dare I say, knowing Ophelia, she'll be attending. If I manage to go myself, expect to see me on the cover of Heat Magazine the following week won't you.
The dinner took so long that we had no time for post dinner drinks. That said, it was a delicious meal and I'd happily return. It was also lovely seeing Adriana after a long time. Unfortunately, her Boyf was in Spain and unable to attend. We kept an empty seat, just in case.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Christianity - The end
My flirtation with Christianity has come to and end. It's a shame really. I met some incredibly friendly and interesting people, learnt so much more about a faith so different to the one I was raised in, and the supper got better and better as the weeks progressed. Sigh.
If our subject wasn't religion, I think I'd feel more tempted to stay on. Am I a Christian? I doubt it. I am left unable to completely believe that much of what The Bible teaches is anything more than an interpretation that has gained weight over time. Further, accepting the Christian faith would mean that I would have to accept that things were, at the moment, dire. Believing in the power of death rather than life itself is something I would struggle to do.
Having said this, there are a number of things the Christian faith has taught me, about responsibility, faith, loyalty and forgiveness.
I think I'd quite like to learn about Buddhism now. Onwards and upwards I guess.
If our subject wasn't religion, I think I'd feel more tempted to stay on. Am I a Christian? I doubt it. I am left unable to completely believe that much of what The Bible teaches is anything more than an interpretation that has gained weight over time. Further, accepting the Christian faith would mean that I would have to accept that things were, at the moment, dire. Believing in the power of death rather than life itself is something I would struggle to do.
Having said this, there are a number of things the Christian faith has taught me, about responsibility, faith, loyalty and forgiveness.
I think I'd quite like to learn about Buddhism now. Onwards and upwards I guess.
The Tale 2
Certain 'comments' on the blog deserve a full blown entry on the main page. The Dame has, in response to the opening of the tale I posted on here, sent her take on the story so far.
Enjoy...
It was her beauty you see. I do not recall seeing beauty like it to this day. Four years on as I sit here behind my laptop in this cramped coffee shop I can still see her face behind the counter, I can still feel her next to me. Four years on and I am here to tell a story, so that is what I will do.
How do you define beauty though? She wasn't your average beauty you must understand, she wouldn't grace the catwalks of Milan or the stages of Broadway. I remember the day clearly. 14th October 1989. I remember the way the wind carried the leaves down the street, grazing cobbles and landing in the frozen gutters. The condensation from the mouths of people rushing to and fro made the street look almost poetic in its innocence. I even remember the newspaper seller barking that papers were available and throwing small change into his tin, the money coming in to land with a high pitched clang. There was a distinct sense that the world was revolving and life was real. Amazing how we remember these intricacies which to others are seemingly insignificant, and which in the grand scheme of things are almost unimportant. But. I could recount the details of that day over and over, because it was the day I discovered her.
I had rushed into the coffee shop on my way to work to collect my morning paper and a few minutes to myself when I saw her. Serving behind the counter she resembled a woman you might find in a Jack Kerouac novel. She wore scruffy brown leather boots, faded denims and a t-shirt with a motif on front shouting 'save the cows, fry the hunters'. Her hair as I remember was long, brown, tied back with a few strands escaping the prison of her hair tie and hung down her face. Her face was complimented by a pair of black glasses which hung off the end of her nose and her generally scruffy attire was completed with an apron that hung untidily from her waist. She even had a few pens clipped to the outer edge of it.
Beauty. Not to everyone else, just to me. Do you know what really caught my eye though? Her hair, her feet, her arse, her eyes - no, her ears. When I saw her from my position in the doorway I wanted her. Upon my approach to the counter I wanted her. At the counter I wanted her, and her ears. I could imagine lying next to her breathing into her ear, I wanted to run my tongue around the outer edge of her ear before kissing her. I wanted to hear her call my name
'Can I help you sir?'. I shivered at the cool breeze floating through the door. An invisible conveyer belt had carried me to the counter and I noticed she had long slender fingers and eyes of such a deep blue I thought I might be drowning at sea. 'Sir? Yes, um coffee'.
She smiled that smile, oh, that smile. And that, for me, was the moment. I wanted her. I consciously turned my wedding ring around the finger it belonged to. But that's another story.
Enjoy...
It was her beauty you see. I do not recall seeing beauty like it to this day. Four years on as I sit here behind my laptop in this cramped coffee shop I can still see her face behind the counter, I can still feel her next to me. Four years on and I am here to tell a story, so that is what I will do.
How do you define beauty though? She wasn't your average beauty you must understand, she wouldn't grace the catwalks of Milan or the stages of Broadway. I remember the day clearly. 14th October 1989. I remember the way the wind carried the leaves down the street, grazing cobbles and landing in the frozen gutters. The condensation from the mouths of people rushing to and fro made the street look almost poetic in its innocence. I even remember the newspaper seller barking that papers were available and throwing small change into his tin, the money coming in to land with a high pitched clang. There was a distinct sense that the world was revolving and life was real. Amazing how we remember these intricacies which to others are seemingly insignificant, and which in the grand scheme of things are almost unimportant. But. I could recount the details of that day over and over, because it was the day I discovered her.
I had rushed into the coffee shop on my way to work to collect my morning paper and a few minutes to myself when I saw her. Serving behind the counter she resembled a woman you might find in a Jack Kerouac novel. She wore scruffy brown leather boots, faded denims and a t-shirt with a motif on front shouting 'save the cows, fry the hunters'. Her hair as I remember was long, brown, tied back with a few strands escaping the prison of her hair tie and hung down her face. Her face was complimented by a pair of black glasses which hung off the end of her nose and her generally scruffy attire was completed with an apron that hung untidily from her waist. She even had a few pens clipped to the outer edge of it.
Beauty. Not to everyone else, just to me. Do you know what really caught my eye though? Her hair, her feet, her arse, her eyes - no, her ears. When I saw her from my position in the doorway I wanted her. Upon my approach to the counter I wanted her. At the counter I wanted her, and her ears. I could imagine lying next to her breathing into her ear, I wanted to run my tongue around the outer edge of her ear before kissing her. I wanted to hear her call my name
'Can I help you sir?'. I shivered at the cool breeze floating through the door. An invisible conveyer belt had carried me to the counter and I noticed she had long slender fingers and eyes of such a deep blue I thought I might be drowning at sea. 'Sir? Yes, um coffee'.
She smiled that smile, oh, that smile. And that, for me, was the moment. I wanted her. I consciously turned my wedding ring around the finger it belonged to. But that's another story.
Monday, May 21, 2007
The Documentary
Documentary on tonight on Channel 4 at 11.05pm. The name: 'Desperate Virgins'.
'' Following the pressures and expectations placed upon adult virgins Catherine, 43, Mike, 29, and Alan 49, as they undertake an emotional journey that sees them getting closer to having intercourse for the first time.''
For those of you who recall docu-lady and her persistence in trying to make me feature in a documentary which chronicled my virginal exploits, this is the one folks.
I came across it whilst reading the metro this morning.
At this point, I'm particularly pleased at my decision not to participate. I may have been a number of things in my life, but desperate was never one of those. I think docu-lady failed to see the point. A shame that.
'' Following the pressures and expectations placed upon adult virgins Catherine, 43, Mike, 29, and Alan 49, as they undertake an emotional journey that sees them getting closer to having intercourse for the first time.''
For those of you who recall docu-lady and her persistence in trying to make me feature in a documentary which chronicled my virginal exploits, this is the one folks.
I came across it whilst reading the metro this morning.
At this point, I'm particularly pleased at my decision not to participate. I may have been a number of things in my life, but desperate was never one of those. I think docu-lady failed to see the point. A shame that.
The Beginning
''Of all the people she could have invited , it struck me as odd that she chose me. The 'other' woman was never first on the guest list, after all. I guess I should have seen that there would be more to it than the asparagus soup and fig tart.
If I'd have known, I would have torn the invitation in two as soon as I received it. That's the thing about the past. There's very little we can do to change it. Let me correct myself, there's bugger all we can do to change it...''
That's the beginning of a story and I'd like people who are reading this blog, to think of a suitable plot. I'm in need of promising ideas. What do people think went on at the party?
If I'd have known, I would have torn the invitation in two as soon as I received it. That's the thing about the past. There's very little we can do to change it. Let me correct myself, there's bugger all we can do to change it...''
That's the beginning of a story and I'd like people who are reading this blog, to think of a suitable plot. I'm in need of promising ideas. What do people think went on at the party?
Sunday, May 20, 2007
From the Ghetto to Heaven
Yes, in clubbing terms that'll mean a great deal to many gay men out there.
I used to hate clubbing. Considered it pointless and considered myself far better than those who actually went out and danced the night away.
This morning I got home at 4.38am. And it was one of those nights that are incredibly fun when you could, and do, dance the night away.
Was supposed to meet J at 8.15pm. He turned up at 9.00pm. Thankfully the weather was beautiful outside and Leicester Square is always alive and kicking. The time did pass. Needless to say, it won’t happen again. I’ll guarantee my lateness from now on. None of this waiting around like a whore.
So, after he turned up we went to the Friendly Society. Now, I have mentioned this place on previous occasions and I do like it, although, it is a little stuffy. The Barbie dolls (of every colour and creed) hanging off the ceiling more than made up for this. When I say hanging, they were firmly attached.
The difference between J and I is that whereas he is exceedingly confident within himself and his sexuality, I am not. I mean, it’s all one big experiment for me, though this is less the case now. The thing is, I admire that quality. That complete ease with oneself. It comes across in the way J is, and the way his friends behave around him. I, on the other hand, feel as though I’m inside a fish bowl, looking at the world outside.
Time should do it. Although, as it always the case, as the night progressed I felt more and more comfortable and when it came to the end, I almost didn’t want to go home.
It’s difficult to describe that feeling when you’re dancing and can almost feel the world fall away.
For once, I didn’t think it necessary to attempt to pull a handsome stranger, instead, being content with our little threesome (J, myself and The Vet – who was also incredibly attractive).
We went to Ghetto, and despite the name, it wasn’t full of Beyonces. In fact, there was quite a mixed crowd. Alcopop after alcopop, nice, though very bad for you.
And then we left and ended up, via use of a rickshaw, at Heaven. Now, I’ve always loved it there. It’s the music. Where you could almost lose yourself in a matter of seconds.
And let’s not forget the show. Drag queen supported by two body beautiful men. Good for the eye, although I did tire of the loin cloth.
I want to do it again. Soon. Although, with exams looming, will need to consult the diary more than usual this time around.
Upon returning home this morning, I wondered whether I could have had a threesome with The Vet and J. Is the morning after muddle of feelings worth a few orgasms the night before? That millionaire dollar question.
I used to hate clubbing. Considered it pointless and considered myself far better than those who actually went out and danced the night away.
This morning I got home at 4.38am. And it was one of those nights that are incredibly fun when you could, and do, dance the night away.
Was supposed to meet J at 8.15pm. He turned up at 9.00pm. Thankfully the weather was beautiful outside and Leicester Square is always alive and kicking. The time did pass. Needless to say, it won’t happen again. I’ll guarantee my lateness from now on. None of this waiting around like a whore.
So, after he turned up we went to the Friendly Society. Now, I have mentioned this place on previous occasions and I do like it, although, it is a little stuffy. The Barbie dolls (of every colour and creed) hanging off the ceiling more than made up for this. When I say hanging, they were firmly attached.
The difference between J and I is that whereas he is exceedingly confident within himself and his sexuality, I am not. I mean, it’s all one big experiment for me, though this is less the case now. The thing is, I admire that quality. That complete ease with oneself. It comes across in the way J is, and the way his friends behave around him. I, on the other hand, feel as though I’m inside a fish bowl, looking at the world outside.
Time should do it. Although, as it always the case, as the night progressed I felt more and more comfortable and when it came to the end, I almost didn’t want to go home.
It’s difficult to describe that feeling when you’re dancing and can almost feel the world fall away.
For once, I didn’t think it necessary to attempt to pull a handsome stranger, instead, being content with our little threesome (J, myself and The Vet – who was also incredibly attractive).
We went to Ghetto, and despite the name, it wasn’t full of Beyonces. In fact, there was quite a mixed crowd. Alcopop after alcopop, nice, though very bad for you.
And then we left and ended up, via use of a rickshaw, at Heaven. Now, I’ve always loved it there. It’s the music. Where you could almost lose yourself in a matter of seconds.
And let’s not forget the show. Drag queen supported by two body beautiful men. Good for the eye, although I did tire of the loin cloth.
I want to do it again. Soon. Although, with exams looming, will need to consult the diary more than usual this time around.
Upon returning home this morning, I wondered whether I could have had a threesome with The Vet and J. Is the morning after muddle of feelings worth a few orgasms the night before? That millionaire dollar question.
Eurovision
It would seem SO inappropriate to mention the waste-of-space Eurovision song contest on such a highbrow blog, although, it was SO bad, it’s definitely worth a slate.
Why on earth were we being represented as a nation by a bunch of sexual deviants dressed in air steward outfits? What the point of this humiliation was I shall never know.
J watched it, unashamedly, the entire programme. I only watched about half an hour.
My personal favourite was Ukraine. A man dressed like a woman who, strangely, coated herself in tin foil and had a cone on her head. I was never sure what I was watching, but the song was absolutely rollicking. The thrusting dance moves that went alongside the tune were, to put it mildly, diabolical.
That said, they came second, beaten by Serbia. And we nearly almost ended with nil point.
Let’s start a campaign to rid our lives of this meaningless and somewhat shameful atrocity.
Bring back the days of ‘Ooh Aah, just a little bit, Ooh Aah, a little bit more’ and the Goddess of thoughtful melody, Gina G.
Why on earth were we being represented as a nation by a bunch of sexual deviants dressed in air steward outfits? What the point of this humiliation was I shall never know.
J watched it, unashamedly, the entire programme. I only watched about half an hour.
My personal favourite was Ukraine. A man dressed like a woman who, strangely, coated herself in tin foil and had a cone on her head. I was never sure what I was watching, but the song was absolutely rollicking. The thrusting dance moves that went alongside the tune were, to put it mildly, diabolical.
That said, they came second, beaten by Serbia. And we nearly almost ended with nil point.
Let’s start a campaign to rid our lives of this meaningless and somewhat shameful atrocity.
Bring back the days of ‘Ooh Aah, just a little bit, Ooh Aah, a little bit more’ and the Goddess of thoughtful melody, Gina G.
The Last Supper
Now, as you know, my friend Mr Tech went to a posh university. Further, he joined a posh rifling club. For this reason he has somehow become a member of the Oxford and Cambridge Members club.
I love food, and I love posh things. As a result I was more than happy to go along to a meal Mr Tech had arranged for people who study at the same place that I do. 27 all in all and it was all very posh.
The Menu:
To Start - Roasted Salmon with a tomato and basil sauce.
Mains – Stuffed quail (though not entirely sure with what), new potatoes, broccoli (done to perfection I should add), and a tarragon infused gravy.
To finish – Profiteroles with chocolate sauce.
Two glasses of wine and one glass of champagne each, and then there was coffee.
All this for £35 was a reasonable, filing and delicious meal.
Of course, it seems only normal to see some of that oxford attitude (not that that’s a bad thing) shine through as the evening progressed. I’m not quite sure what it is that makes those people different to us. But they are different. It’s something about their confidence, and there’s the feeling that something within them is still quite sheltered.
Once I start my own course at one of those posh universities, I wonder if it’ll change me. Perhaps I’m old enough to know better. Perhaps once you’re in the cycle, it’s difficult to get out.
One of things I most enjoyed was watching oxford students dance around drunk, and my friend, Lady Capulet flirting outrageously with them without the intention of furthering anything. There was a balcony. There were drunkards roaming around aimlessly on it. There were pint glasses in danger of hurting onto the ground beneath and there was a pole, the end of which held a flag. The drunkards managed to get his leg over the pole and insisted on bringing it down. I’ve never laughed so much in my life. Thankfully, they saw sense and came down immediately.
Yes, I have all this to look forward to.
I love food, and I love posh things. As a result I was more than happy to go along to a meal Mr Tech had arranged for people who study at the same place that I do. 27 all in all and it was all very posh.
The Menu:
To Start - Roasted Salmon with a tomato and basil sauce.
Mains – Stuffed quail (though not entirely sure with what), new potatoes, broccoli (done to perfection I should add), and a tarragon infused gravy.
To finish – Profiteroles with chocolate sauce.
Two glasses of wine and one glass of champagne each, and then there was coffee.
All this for £35 was a reasonable, filing and delicious meal.
Of course, it seems only normal to see some of that oxford attitude (not that that’s a bad thing) shine through as the evening progressed. I’m not quite sure what it is that makes those people different to us. But they are different. It’s something about their confidence, and there’s the feeling that something within them is still quite sheltered.
Once I start my own course at one of those posh universities, I wonder if it’ll change me. Perhaps I’m old enough to know better. Perhaps once you’re in the cycle, it’s difficult to get out.
One of things I most enjoyed was watching oxford students dance around drunk, and my friend, Lady Capulet flirting outrageously with them without the intention of furthering anything. There was a balcony. There were drunkards roaming around aimlessly on it. There were pint glasses in danger of hurting onto the ground beneath and there was a pole, the end of which held a flag. The drunkards managed to get his leg over the pole and insisted on bringing it down. I’ve never laughed so much in my life. Thankfully, they saw sense and came down immediately.
Yes, I have all this to look forward to.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
3 times
I remember Arthur telling me about his '3-times rule' a few months ago. I now adopt a similar strategy.
1 - You want to contact somebody (the reason you want to call them has no bounds).
2- You call/text/email them once (although I am inclined to use FaceBook as a separate mode of communication as this seems to be the preference of many -bar myself- these days.
3- You call/text/email/facebook them twice.
4- You call/text/email/faceboo them thrice.
5- You leave them alone, consider them not worth the effort and move on swiftly with your life.
This is precisely what happened with that good looking one I quasi 'pulled'. Nevermind eh. Plenty more trout in the sea. And a few salmon.
1 - You want to contact somebody (the reason you want to call them has no bounds).
2- You call/text/email them once (although I am inclined to use FaceBook as a separate mode of communication as this seems to be the preference of many -bar myself- these days.
3- You call/text/email/facebook them twice.
4- You call/text/email/faceboo them thrice.
5- You leave them alone, consider them not worth the effort and move on swiftly with your life.
This is precisely what happened with that good looking one I quasi 'pulled'. Nevermind eh. Plenty more trout in the sea. And a few salmon.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
The Dame
The Dame is miffed that she hasn’t featured on the blog in a few weeks. Nothing self obsessed or weird about that, is there?
She seems to be better than on previous occasions. I mean, it has taken a great deal out of her, all this emotional upheaval. But she seems to be on a positive track. Also, I believe there is now a firm closure to her relationship with The Doctor.
In a conversation last week between us, I tried to make The Dame understand that things were probably difficult for The Doctor also.
If we imagine what it must feel like to be in a relationship with somebody who genuinely likes us and is faultless in their affection, and to then come across an overbearing fearing of love for somebody else which is somewhere inexplicable.
It takes a strong person to be able to end a relationship on these grounds and do it face to face. There is courage to be admired here, surely?
Sometimes, life throws things at us for which we are totally unprepared. At this moment in our lives, the choices we make are often the most crucial.
If we chose security over passion are we cowards?
If we chose instinctual passion over companionship are we selfish?
The Dame has been on a blind date recently which is most certainly a step in the right direction. I just hope her experiences haven’t frightened her and have instead formed an extra layer of protection to comfort her.
She seems to be better than on previous occasions. I mean, it has taken a great deal out of her, all this emotional upheaval. But she seems to be on a positive track. Also, I believe there is now a firm closure to her relationship with The Doctor.
In a conversation last week between us, I tried to make The Dame understand that things were probably difficult for The Doctor also.
If we imagine what it must feel like to be in a relationship with somebody who genuinely likes us and is faultless in their affection, and to then come across an overbearing fearing of love for somebody else which is somewhere inexplicable.
It takes a strong person to be able to end a relationship on these grounds and do it face to face. There is courage to be admired here, surely?
Sometimes, life throws things at us for which we are totally unprepared. At this moment in our lives, the choices we make are often the most crucial.
If we chose security over passion are we cowards?
If we chose instinctual passion over companionship are we selfish?
The Dame has been on a blind date recently which is most certainly a step in the right direction. I just hope her experiences haven’t frightened her and have instead formed an extra layer of protection to comfort her.
Friday Night
Friday night was a good night because:
a) I managed to go with the Chinese guy aforementioned. Despite the discoloured teeth he really is quite a nice charming guy. The sort of man who’d treat you well. This is precisely why it’s a shame that the ‘Bolt of Lust’ (also aforementioned in this blog) wasn’t present between us. At least, not from my side.
b) I met many of his friends. 1 Chinese man soon become 17. Our venues ranged from KU Bar (lacking in talent of any sort) and GAY Late (full of talent and actually quite a find. Most certainly a better option than GAY Bar and GAY Club. I can safely say I’ve found the best of the brand here.
c) Met a Restaurant Manager who is, in my humble opinion, attractiveness personified. Dark hair, a slight rough overtone of facial hair, well dressed and a fit body. Not that I’m shallow or anything. Needless to say, confidence in full force I asked if he was Italian (because he thought he might be and yes, I now realise what a shoddy chat up line that might have appeared to be). A conversation later we exchanged numbers. Hopefully, a date will ensue this Monday. Let’s hope this one if free of ex/stupid wanker problems. A simple relationship is much desired.
d) In the Chinese Harem I was able to meet some genuinely nice and interesting guys. Was also invited to a ‘Eurovision’ evening with them the following night. That’s precisely where I drew the line. Ooh Ahh Just a little bit, Ohh Ahh a little bit more.
Friday night was ruined a little because:
a) It was raining like never before and I was without umbrella.
b) The Chinese guy asked me if I wanted to go back to his at the end if the night and I refused. Consequently, I hope we are able to remain friends and this is definitely a friendship to maintain Methinks.
c) I still don’t quite know how to ‘grind’. For me, at the onset of a man’s leg between my own on the dance floor, I can only giggle. It’s really quite embarrassing. With the Chinese guy it was a case of two steps in (him) and two steps out(me).
The positives do outweigh the negatives however.
And J’s comment about all Chinese men having small penises didn’t particularly help. Would I ever dump somebody on those grounds and be honest about it? I doubt it. I guess I’m just too nice. I suppose it’s better not to get yourself into the situation where you’d have to manhandle (or try to) a small princess. Those things are best left alone.
a) I managed to go with the Chinese guy aforementioned. Despite the discoloured teeth he really is quite a nice charming guy. The sort of man who’d treat you well. This is precisely why it’s a shame that the ‘Bolt of Lust’ (also aforementioned in this blog) wasn’t present between us. At least, not from my side.
b) I met many of his friends. 1 Chinese man soon become 17. Our venues ranged from KU Bar (lacking in talent of any sort) and GAY Late (full of talent and actually quite a find. Most certainly a better option than GAY Bar and GAY Club. I can safely say I’ve found the best of the brand here.
c) Met a Restaurant Manager who is, in my humble opinion, attractiveness personified. Dark hair, a slight rough overtone of facial hair, well dressed and a fit body. Not that I’m shallow or anything. Needless to say, confidence in full force I asked if he was Italian (because he thought he might be and yes, I now realise what a shoddy chat up line that might have appeared to be). A conversation later we exchanged numbers. Hopefully, a date will ensue this Monday. Let’s hope this one if free of ex/stupid wanker problems. A simple relationship is much desired.
d) In the Chinese Harem I was able to meet some genuinely nice and interesting guys. Was also invited to a ‘Eurovision’ evening with them the following night. That’s precisely where I drew the line. Ooh Ahh Just a little bit, Ohh Ahh a little bit more.
Friday night was ruined a little because:
a) It was raining like never before and I was without umbrella.
b) The Chinese guy asked me if I wanted to go back to his at the end if the night and I refused. Consequently, I hope we are able to remain friends and this is definitely a friendship to maintain Methinks.
c) I still don’t quite know how to ‘grind’. For me, at the onset of a man’s leg between my own on the dance floor, I can only giggle. It’s really quite embarrassing. With the Chinese guy it was a case of two steps in (him) and two steps out(me).
The positives do outweigh the negatives however.
And J’s comment about all Chinese men having small penises didn’t particularly help. Would I ever dump somebody on those grounds and be honest about it? I doubt it. I guess I’m just too nice. I suppose it’s better not to get yourself into the situation where you’d have to manhandle (or try to) a small princess. Those things are best left alone.
Ophelia
Ophelia and I went for dinner after what seemed to be forever. As usual, it was fun.
The Venue – Kaslik Lebanese Restaurant in Soho (Really nice affordable food in a distinct and unique setting).
The Drinks before and after – Guanabara (Brazilian bar/club in Covent Garden renowned for its exotic cocktails – made all the lovelier during the Happy Hour)
And after, drinks at GAY bar in Soho, surprisingly very cheap (£1.60 for a spirit and mixer). So we had two G n T’s as Ophelia boogied to le cheese musique and commented on finding two men kissing ‘sexy’ and ‘cute’. I knew there would be a girl like this somewhere. She also said that she’s quite like to pinch one man’s bottom.
Now, this is where we separate. Bums really do very little for me. Yes, shock horror, for me it’s all about the cock. I have never looked at a bum (male or female) and felt the need to kiss/lick/fuck/feel it. Ever. Does this make me odd? After all, there is most certainly more to gay sex than the bottom I imagine. It’s more about the male spirit. Don’t look at me like that.
As it happens, Ophelia talked with great anticipation about a wedding she is due to attend next weekend. It’s one of those grand affairs, you know, good food and impeccably dressed people.
On the subject of weddings, still have no idea why people insist on doing it. Wedding food is however something I am fully able to appreciate. You can all rest assured that if I ever do decide to do anything like marry, the food’ll be great.
The Venue – Kaslik Lebanese Restaurant in Soho (Really nice affordable food in a distinct and unique setting).
The Drinks before and after – Guanabara (Brazilian bar/club in Covent Garden renowned for its exotic cocktails – made all the lovelier during the Happy Hour)
And after, drinks at GAY bar in Soho, surprisingly very cheap (£1.60 for a spirit and mixer). So we had two G n T’s as Ophelia boogied to le cheese musique and commented on finding two men kissing ‘sexy’ and ‘cute’. I knew there would be a girl like this somewhere. She also said that she’s quite like to pinch one man’s bottom.
Now, this is where we separate. Bums really do very little for me. Yes, shock horror, for me it’s all about the cock. I have never looked at a bum (male or female) and felt the need to kiss/lick/fuck/feel it. Ever. Does this make me odd? After all, there is most certainly more to gay sex than the bottom I imagine. It’s more about the male spirit. Don’t look at me like that.
As it happens, Ophelia talked with great anticipation about a wedding she is due to attend next weekend. It’s one of those grand affairs, you know, good food and impeccably dressed people.
On the subject of weddings, still have no idea why people insist on doing it. Wedding food is however something I am fully able to appreciate. You can all rest assured that if I ever do decide to do anything like marry, the food’ll be great.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Church
At church on Tuesday evening, I couldn’t take the image of cocks and pussies out of my mind. I did try. I really did.
It must be one of those ever-so-frequent can’t-think-of-anything-other-than-sex phases I’ve become so used to.
You know what I’m talking about don’t you? Constantly totting up the fuckability of every person I meet. On the tube, on my way to church, at church, on the way back from church, up the elevator at Westminster tube station. Nope, not a single person managed to avoid my fiddle-fuck-o-meter.
I need a new project. A sexually experienced fuck buddy, ideally. Second choice, a pottery course, perhaps.
Not quite sure how to get myself out of this sexual rut. Hopefully I won’t have to resort to another day at the Sauna.
Two weeks of (formal) bible study to go and I must say, the journey has been rollicking. I have met a lot of nice and interesting people and have learnt a great deal about a faith different to mine. The next step, I think, might just be Buddhism.
Do any of the world religions tolerate hungry, liberated sexual appetites? Is it ever holy to fuck?
I was always ambitious, though setting up my own church of gratification seems a little extensive at the moment
It must be one of those ever-so-frequent can’t-think-of-anything-other-than-sex phases I’ve become so used to.
You know what I’m talking about don’t you? Constantly totting up the fuckability of every person I meet. On the tube, on my way to church, at church, on the way back from church, up the elevator at Westminster tube station. Nope, not a single person managed to avoid my fiddle-fuck-o-meter.
I need a new project. A sexually experienced fuck buddy, ideally. Second choice, a pottery course, perhaps.
Not quite sure how to get myself out of this sexual rut. Hopefully I won’t have to resort to another day at the Sauna.
Two weeks of (formal) bible study to go and I must say, the journey has been rollicking. I have met a lot of nice and interesting people and have learnt a great deal about a faith different to mine. The next step, I think, might just be Buddhism.
Do any of the world religions tolerate hungry, liberated sexual appetites? Is it ever holy to fuck?
I was always ambitious, though setting up my own church of gratification seems a little extensive at the moment
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Blue Blood
I love attending special screenings of films. It seems only natural that I would. For I want to be famous. Famous in an intellectual sort of way. Pah.
So when a friend of mine invited me to a special screening of the new docu-drama 'Blue Blood' I was only too happy to oblige (and take the ravishing Belle de Bengal) with me.
The film was far more enjoyable than I had first anticipated. Funny and meaningful in equal measures. Although the film is essentially about the pursuit of a group of Oxford students as they prepare for a boxing contest against Cambridge, I came away feeling it was an attempt to dispel the myth of what Oxbridge students are like and what they do. Fair enough, I thought. It was only when the cast members then clarified that many were now working within finance in London after graduating that things hit a new level of predictability.
Never mind eh? The champagne and canopes that followed in the delightful rain forest at the top of the Barbican Centre made the whole predictability worthwhile. Of particular interest was the orange cheesecake topped with a slice of duck. Rather nice.
So when a friend of mine invited me to a special screening of the new docu-drama 'Blue Blood' I was only too happy to oblige (and take the ravishing Belle de Bengal) with me.
The film was far more enjoyable than I had first anticipated. Funny and meaningful in equal measures. Although the film is essentially about the pursuit of a group of Oxford students as they prepare for a boxing contest against Cambridge, I came away feeling it was an attempt to dispel the myth of what Oxbridge students are like and what they do. Fair enough, I thought. It was only when the cast members then clarified that many were now working within finance in London after graduating that things hit a new level of predictability.
Never mind eh? The champagne and canopes that followed in the delightful rain forest at the top of the Barbican Centre made the whole predictability worthwhile. Of particular interest was the orange cheesecake topped with a slice of duck. Rather nice.
The Popcorn Trick
Now here's something interesting/absurd that I haven't yet come across...
Miss '24 and Feisty' and The Philanderer went to the cinema a few weeks ago.
'Have you heard of the Popcorn Trick?' asked The Philanderer.
and this is how he began to describe, in graphic detail, how, some people like to penetrate the bottom of the popcorn box, (whilst at the cinema) with their erect phallus.
Why? So that whenever somebody reaches into the box for the puffs of corn they a) wank him off ever-so-slightly and b) get the food to satisfy their hunger.
Of course, it all seems well and dandy until we consider it more fully...
a) Who can keep it up for the duration of an entire film? All advice gladly welcomed on this matter if you can;
b) Wouldn't it hurt? all that grating of knobbly popcorn against a sensitive skin?
c) Precisely how are we meant to concentrate on two or more acts simultaneously?
so we can all imagine the horror that must have run through Miss '24 and Feisty''s mind when, during the intermission she delved for some popcorn and felt something in amongst the little puffs.
Thankfully, it was only a straw.
Miss '24 and Feisty' and The Philanderer went to the cinema a few weeks ago.
'Have you heard of the Popcorn Trick?' asked The Philanderer.
and this is how he began to describe, in graphic detail, how, some people like to penetrate the bottom of the popcorn box, (whilst at the cinema) with their erect phallus.
Why? So that whenever somebody reaches into the box for the puffs of corn they a) wank him off ever-so-slightly and b) get the food to satisfy their hunger.
Of course, it all seems well and dandy until we consider it more fully...
a) Who can keep it up for the duration of an entire film? All advice gladly welcomed on this matter if you can;
b) Wouldn't it hurt? all that grating of knobbly popcorn against a sensitive skin?
c) Precisely how are we meant to concentrate on two or more acts simultaneously?
so we can all imagine the horror that must have run through Miss '24 and Feisty''s mind when, during the intermission she delved for some popcorn and felt something in amongst the little puffs.
Thankfully, it was only a straw.
Last week
Okay, it's disgusting. I'm not normally so slack. The truth is that I have been a little demotivated these past few weeks. But I feel back on form now. Ready and willing to explode, if you will...
What have I been doing in the past week?
I should mention now that I have been offered a place on a Creative Writing Masters Programme at a posh university. This has made me very happy. The steps up the social ladder are now clearly visible.
There are times when you are able to do things which you really and truly enjoy. This is one such thing. And I've quickly come to realise that opportunities don't come around very often, so when they do, we should grab them by the horns. Too often I see people who replace ambition with security. Isn't this the saddest thing? I think perhaps it might be.
Went out last week with, it would be fair to say, a random group of people. J, Lady Montague and Lady Capulet, Mr Tech, and a New Birdie. Drinks at Thirst (of course) followed by food at Satsuma.
I've said it long ago; three cocktails are the most I can stomach without Leicester Square looking fuzzy.
The thing about drunkards is that their whisper is more often than not a tannoy announcement.
'I have never snorted coke of a cock (rather a mouthful this one)' said New Birdie. We were playing that drinking game, you know, where we drink if we have done a certain thing and don't if we haven't. It's more a secret eliciting device. And people, it would appear, are all too happy to let their secrets come spilling out with little or no coaxing.
These days I feel as though my sexual revolution is in full swing. At least, outside of bed, it is. I'm able to talk as openly as I'd like about sex and feel a sense of peace at being able to do so. And, well, despite the number of people who'll turn their heads at the first sight of sexual discussion, it's proving easier and easier to bring out the whore within.
And then, said the Lord, let their be brothel.
At first
The first thing some people look at are the shoes. A friend of mine does this. For good shoes are clearly an early indication of a successful relationship. Personally, it’s those bit fat white trainer/smart shoes with weird designs emblazoned on the front that illicit a no-no.
Some people, in comparison, look at the finer details; teeth, toe nails (though this is rather tricky), and finger nails. Whereas bad teeth doesn’t necessarily indicate a foul kissing experience, or indeed a lack in kissing ability, brown stripes on white teeth don’t exactly…er…make one eager.
Others look at the crotch area. A sizeable bulge and they’re all yours. Some men prefer looking at panties (when they shouldn’t be) as opposed to the fully fledged fanny, as a means towards sexual gratification.
Some look at none of the above and focus on the ‘personality’. These people have the best intentions and, despite this, are left without orgasm. Mind fucking is desirable, of course it is. But occasionally, the orifices also need seeing to.
I… well I look at the neck. I also look for confidence. And then the teeth and shoes. The neck is the most attractive part of any human being Methinks. Long and sensuous. Intelligence is also key. I have always held, and continue to hold that people with intellect and wit can afford to lose so much in the looks department before there is a cry for an emergency.
Oh, and let’s not forget those who look to see whether the boy is ‘Chivalrous’ (whatever wanky bollocks that is) and pays for absolutely everything. Often, the depth of the pocket is no indication of the length of his jim-bom, let this be known.
I guess another thing I look for is equality.
Some people, in comparison, look at the finer details; teeth, toe nails (though this is rather tricky), and finger nails. Whereas bad teeth doesn’t necessarily indicate a foul kissing experience, or indeed a lack in kissing ability, brown stripes on white teeth don’t exactly…er…make one eager.
Others look at the crotch area. A sizeable bulge and they’re all yours. Some men prefer looking at panties (when they shouldn’t be) as opposed to the fully fledged fanny, as a means towards sexual gratification.
Some look at none of the above and focus on the ‘personality’. These people have the best intentions and, despite this, are left without orgasm. Mind fucking is desirable, of course it is. But occasionally, the orifices also need seeing to.
I… well I look at the neck. I also look for confidence. And then the teeth and shoes. The neck is the most attractive part of any human being Methinks. Long and sensuous. Intelligence is also key. I have always held, and continue to hold that people with intellect and wit can afford to lose so much in the looks department before there is a cry for an emergency.
Oh, and let’s not forget those who look to see whether the boy is ‘Chivalrous’ (whatever wanky bollocks that is) and pays for absolutely everything. Often, the depth of the pocket is no indication of the length of his jim-bom, let this be known.
I guess another thing I look for is equality.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
The Power of Goodbye
There are things we need to end. For in each ending there lays the promise of a new beginning. Each eye is closed to sleep and awake to dream, the day that follows, a promise of something new, something unchartered. And for this reason we love and we lose.
Some words dedicated to those of you who have and need the courage to say good bye...
The Power of Goodbye - Madonna
Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
Freedom comes when you learn to let go
Creation comes when you learn to say no
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress you had to burn
Pain is a warning that something's wrong
I pray to God that it won't be long
Do ya wanna go higher?
There's nothing left to try
There's no place left to hide
There's no greater power
Than the power of good-bye
Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress
There's nothing left to lose
There's no more heart to bruise
There's no greater power
Than the power of good-bye
Learn to say good-bye
I yearn to say good-bye
Some words dedicated to those of you who have and need the courage to say good bye...
The Power of Goodbye - Madonna
Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
Freedom comes when you learn to let go
Creation comes when you learn to say no
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress you had to burn
Pain is a warning that something's wrong
I pray to God that it won't be long
Do ya wanna go higher?
There's nothing left to try
There's no place left to hide
There's no greater power
Than the power of good-bye
Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress
There's nothing left to lose
There's no more heart to bruise
There's no greater power
Than the power of good-bye
Learn to say good-bye
I yearn to say good-bye
News
So, she’s done it. Kate Moss has revealed her collection for TopShop. The rumours that she didn’t herself design those clothes are a load of twiddlefanny, she told me so herself.
People queued for hours to get their hands on items which they then sold on eBay. Now, that’s not what fashion is about, is it?
Needless to say, Kate looked and continues to look hot. I don’t quite know whether it’s her attitude or her stunning looks that work their way up my alley towards the front gate.
The Dame was also there to grace the occasion.
Oops, sorry, slipped into dream mode there for a brief while…
Other news to catch my eye in recent press…
Shilpa Shetty: that stupid peck on the cheek! And now we all want the pair dead. Death be on Shilpa Shetty! is the chant, apparently. For frigs sake. And poor Richard. What a beastly welcome. Occasionally I look at my brown skin and yawn, I really do.
Zizzi’s, a restaurant infamous as celebrity spotting, The Dame and Tainted Visionary being two of the most frequent visitors saw a sight it thought it never would.
A man dining in the restaurant ran into the kitchen, pulled out a knife, started wielding it around before he proceeded to cut off his winkle.
Yep, apparently, it really was that simple.
They were able to sew it back on to the ungrateful bastard.
Perhaps pepperoni pizza will be off the menu for quite some time.
The things I come across in London town….shocking!
P.S Michelle Macmanus featured, as she does on an annual basis, on the cover of ‘Heat’. Not a promise to lose he entire body weight in three weeks this time. More of a declaration that she’s put on numerous pounds. How that beast makes money from her obesity is shocking. Don’t any of you buy it! Let’s not encourage her.
People queued for hours to get their hands on items which they then sold on eBay. Now, that’s not what fashion is about, is it?
Needless to say, Kate looked and continues to look hot. I don’t quite know whether it’s her attitude or her stunning looks that work their way up my alley towards the front gate.
The Dame was also there to grace the occasion.
Oops, sorry, slipped into dream mode there for a brief while…
Other news to catch my eye in recent press…
Shilpa Shetty: that stupid peck on the cheek! And now we all want the pair dead. Death be on Shilpa Shetty! is the chant, apparently. For frigs sake. And poor Richard. What a beastly welcome. Occasionally I look at my brown skin and yawn, I really do.
Zizzi’s, a restaurant infamous as celebrity spotting, The Dame and Tainted Visionary being two of the most frequent visitors saw a sight it thought it never would.
A man dining in the restaurant ran into the kitchen, pulled out a knife, started wielding it around before he proceeded to cut off his winkle.
Yep, apparently, it really was that simple.
They were able to sew it back on to the ungrateful bastard.
Perhaps pepperoni pizza will be off the menu for quite some time.
The things I come across in London town….shocking!
P.S Michelle Macmanus featured, as she does on an annual basis, on the cover of ‘Heat’. Not a promise to lose he entire body weight in three weeks this time. More of a declaration that she’s put on numerous pounds. How that beast makes money from her obesity is shocking. Don’t any of you buy it! Let’s not encourage her.
On The Game
Have had two dates with a man from China. He could turn out to be a real friend this one, so we should refrain from referring to him as ChinaMan, however endearing the term may be.
Surprisingly, he’s spawn of Gumtree and rather clever. All I can really say on the matter is posh university coupled with numbers and counting.
The only trouble is, well his teeth aren’t the best. Not white enough, not straight enough. And yes, as you all hurtle your dildos at me, can I just stipulate, you’re not the ones who’ll have to run your tongue over those grills, not now, not ever.
After our first date there was an immediate and unexpected text inquiring what I was doing and, despite my better judgement, we agreed to meet for a quick bite to eat and perhaps a drink.
I must be thankful however, for through this guy I have now come to realise that the best place to find young men is Ku Bar in China Town and the place with a certain hidden chic is The Village in Soho.
I do plan on meeting his again, although when this will be is beyond me. Soon, I tell myself. Soon.
Surprisingly, he’s spawn of Gumtree and rather clever. All I can really say on the matter is posh university coupled with numbers and counting.
The only trouble is, well his teeth aren’t the best. Not white enough, not straight enough. And yes, as you all hurtle your dildos at me, can I just stipulate, you’re not the ones who’ll have to run your tongue over those grills, not now, not ever.
After our first date there was an immediate and unexpected text inquiring what I was doing and, despite my better judgement, we agreed to meet for a quick bite to eat and perhaps a drink.
I must be thankful however, for through this guy I have now come to realise that the best place to find young men is Ku Bar in China Town and the place with a certain hidden chic is The Village in Soho.
I do plan on meeting his again, although when this will be is beyond me. Soon, I tell myself. Soon.
ming
Always the minger, never the stud, or so the saying goes...
I refer not to myself as much as the people (at least in terms of their atheistic qualities) that I tend to find myself out with on occasional Saturday nights.
We agreed to meet outside Leicester Square Tube station. At the time it seemed a great idea; central, open, public. The thousand exits seemed to somehow escape my mind. So there we were, opposite each other, at different exists, on the phone, me waving at him and him as perplexed as ever.
That he wore a hoodie, was slim to the point of anorexia and spoke like a thai ladyboy were factors I also overlooked. For that’s just the sort of person I am. Sigh.
No, in fairness, he wasn’t that bad once some time had passed and I’d had a gin n cranberry.
Now, if there’s one thing that gets on my nerves, it’s when, upon asking, ‘what will you have?’, the reply is ‘whatever you’re having’. I’ve always known gin n cranberry is an acquired taste. I suppose I should have known better than to thrust it upon him. It’s a lush drink nevertheless and well, the thought that I was widening his palette crossed my mind more than once.
So, we chatted and he came across a friend of his who was, it has to be said, on the same ugly-o-meter. Quite why or how I end up with these beautifully challenged men I have no idea. I’m not being judgemental. Promise.
So, this new guy (whose name slips my mind) clearly took a fancy to me and told me in precise terms that I was ‘hot’. It’s a sad shame that he was not. My erection had been bugging me for quite a few days and the things I would have done, bar sleeping with an ugly-un, to satisfy my appetite were vast in scope.
Thank the lord for the two edible Israelis who were a turn away from me. The thing is, after a spot of natter they too were off. A threesome would have been…er…perfect.
On our way to the Northern Line the other guy insisted in rubbing his arm over mine and grabbing my arse. It would be accurate to say, we stood apart after that. So apart that when he left at Green Park, neither names or numbers were exchanged. In stead, his face, like that of a mourning puppy bid me farewell.
Ugh.
I refer not to myself as much as the people (at least in terms of their atheistic qualities) that I tend to find myself out with on occasional Saturday nights.
We agreed to meet outside Leicester Square Tube station. At the time it seemed a great idea; central, open, public. The thousand exits seemed to somehow escape my mind. So there we were, opposite each other, at different exists, on the phone, me waving at him and him as perplexed as ever.
That he wore a hoodie, was slim to the point of anorexia and spoke like a thai ladyboy were factors I also overlooked. For that’s just the sort of person I am. Sigh.
No, in fairness, he wasn’t that bad once some time had passed and I’d had a gin n cranberry.
Now, if there’s one thing that gets on my nerves, it’s when, upon asking, ‘what will you have?’, the reply is ‘whatever you’re having’. I’ve always known gin n cranberry is an acquired taste. I suppose I should have known better than to thrust it upon him. It’s a lush drink nevertheless and well, the thought that I was widening his palette crossed my mind more than once.
So, we chatted and he came across a friend of his who was, it has to be said, on the same ugly-o-meter. Quite why or how I end up with these beautifully challenged men I have no idea. I’m not being judgemental. Promise.
So, this new guy (whose name slips my mind) clearly took a fancy to me and told me in precise terms that I was ‘hot’. It’s a sad shame that he was not. My erection had been bugging me for quite a few days and the things I would have done, bar sleeping with an ugly-un, to satisfy my appetite were vast in scope.
Thank the lord for the two edible Israelis who were a turn away from me. The thing is, after a spot of natter they too were off. A threesome would have been…er…perfect.
On our way to the Northern Line the other guy insisted in rubbing his arm over mine and grabbing my arse. It would be accurate to say, we stood apart after that. So apart that when he left at Green Park, neither names or numbers were exchanged. In stead, his face, like that of a mourning puppy bid me farewell.
Ugh.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Poem - Mrs Darwin
7th April 1852
Went to the Zoo.
I said to him -
Something about that Chimpanzee over there reminds me of you.
by Carol Ann Duffy
A poem that tickled The Dame.
Went to the Zoo.
I said to him -
Something about that Chimpanzee over there reminds me of you.
by Carol Ann Duffy
A poem that tickled The Dame.
The Virginal
A friend of mine celebrates her birthday this Tuesday. She, like me, during our time at university together were both virgins. She’s one of the few that don’t know of the existence of this blog. She’d feel utterly betrayed that she didn’t feature in it, the way, say The Dame does.
Needless to say, my virginity is a distant memory that I enjoy recycling every now and again. As for her, she lost it last night, and her non-virgin status was probably cemented this morning.
She and her new (and only) boyfriend, came to London, booked themselves into a posh hotel and spent the evening with The Dame and myself as we ate at the Boulevard Brassiere. We then found some pub in Soho and took a taxi back to the hotel where we drank in the hotel bar up until the early hours.
That she was to lose her virginity last night was a fact known to us all. It proved surprisingly difficult to be able to talk to her separately and gage how much of this cock she had actually seen. As it transpired, she’s seen none of it.
Over dinner we discussed sex, as is completely normal wherever I’m around.
‘I don’t carry condoms around’ said the boy ‘it looks as though I was expecting sex if I pull one out easily’.
‘No’, I disagreed, ‘it shows you are careful and organised’.
Not sure what we settled on, though I’m positive I’m right.
Anyways, my friend was also without condom and so, we wondered how the virginity would be lost when taking into account her need (and rightly so) for protection. As yet, I have still to ascertain precisely what happened, although, rest assured we have an MSN appointment booked in half an hour to discuss the minutiae of the sacrifice.
Text I sent this morning. I know there were probably having yet more sex, but I couldn’t resist;
‘Hello you! Did you manage to tame the beast? The Dame and I are going out for an early luncheon, if sweet pea would care to join us.’
To which she replied
‘the beast is tamed. It was great. I will tell you all about it on msn later!’
During lunch earlier this afternoon I tried to look into her eyes for any sign of change. I looked forever. A light bulb turned on. A spark of orgasm left behind. Disappointingly, it all seemed pretty normal. I’m just glad that she , like me, gave it away when she could properly think about what she was giving.
Needless to say, my virginity is a distant memory that I enjoy recycling every now and again. As for her, she lost it last night, and her non-virgin status was probably cemented this morning.
She and her new (and only) boyfriend, came to London, booked themselves into a posh hotel and spent the evening with The Dame and myself as we ate at the Boulevard Brassiere. We then found some pub in Soho and took a taxi back to the hotel where we drank in the hotel bar up until the early hours.
That she was to lose her virginity last night was a fact known to us all. It proved surprisingly difficult to be able to talk to her separately and gage how much of this cock she had actually seen. As it transpired, she’s seen none of it.
Over dinner we discussed sex, as is completely normal wherever I’m around.
‘I don’t carry condoms around’ said the boy ‘it looks as though I was expecting sex if I pull one out easily’.
‘No’, I disagreed, ‘it shows you are careful and organised’.
Not sure what we settled on, though I’m positive I’m right.
Anyways, my friend was also without condom and so, we wondered how the virginity would be lost when taking into account her need (and rightly so) for protection. As yet, I have still to ascertain precisely what happened, although, rest assured we have an MSN appointment booked in half an hour to discuss the minutiae of the sacrifice.
Text I sent this morning. I know there were probably having yet more sex, but I couldn’t resist;
‘Hello you! Did you manage to tame the beast? The Dame and I are going out for an early luncheon, if sweet pea would care to join us.’
To which she replied
‘the beast is tamed. It was great. I will tell you all about it on msn later!’
During lunch earlier this afternoon I tried to look into her eyes for any sign of change. I looked forever. A light bulb turned on. A spark of orgasm left behind. Disappointingly, it all seemed pretty normal. I’m just glad that she , like me, gave it away when she could properly think about what she was giving.
Poem - Birth of a Drag Queen
And suddenly, the world is new
I’ve never seen it from this point view.
Amazing the difference a few inches can make
To change the reality which I now create.
And though my feet are squeezed like stumps
Inside these six-inch stiletto pumps
A testimonial I must profess
How wonderful it is to be a boy in a dress!
Teetering on the edge of insanity
Trying to find a center of gravity
Cutting off my circulation
In order to make this declaration
About my queen-born ability
To walk with such fabulosity
Though this gown’s a monstrosity
My hair, a curiosity
There’s much about this lofty gait
That I did not anticipate
Like how the swinging of my hips
Counters the sway of my fingertips
Who knew there would be such an orchestration
– A body in concert – a standing ovation!
And every step another encore
Deliriously shouting, “More! More! More!”
- By Jason (a member of the funnypoet society)
I’ve never seen it from this point view.
Amazing the difference a few inches can make
To change the reality which I now create.
And though my feet are squeezed like stumps
Inside these six-inch stiletto pumps
A testimonial I must profess
How wonderful it is to be a boy in a dress!
Teetering on the edge of insanity
Trying to find a center of gravity
Cutting off my circulation
In order to make this declaration
About my queen-born ability
To walk with such fabulosity
Though this gown’s a monstrosity
My hair, a curiosity
There’s much about this lofty gait
That I did not anticipate
Like how the swinging of my hips
Counters the sway of my fingertips
Who knew there would be such an orchestration
– A body in concert – a standing ovation!
And every step another encore
Deliriously shouting, “More! More! More!”
- By Jason (a member of the funnypoet society)
The Dame Edna Treatment
Dame Edna Everage is most certainly the man. I adore her. It’s not really a gay thing as much as a sucker for bitchy sharp humour thing.
I ended up going to see the purple haired minx with Adriana who, I must say, It was lovely to see after such a long time!
Miss methodical (her other name) talked me through her recent dating conquests and declared that she was five dates through with someone and that things were going well. If I say he’s a Project Manager it won’t be giving too much away. After all, every second person in London is a Project Manager of sorts, surely?
And to the show
Yes we had to clap on cue, but it was nowhere as near as bad as Charlotte Church.
Yes they made us do the Dame Edna Karaoke. YMCA, that sort of thing. Utterly pointless. I must admit, I didn’t quite know the YMCA dance. Ha! I think it’s the clear result of not enough cheesy summer holidays in places including Spain as Adriana quite rightly pointed out. Whether I’m ashamed of this remains a source of mystery.
The guests were k.d.lang (spelling it in lower case is imperative apparently. Pah), James Nesbit and Ivana Trumph. And, though not a guest, the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, Valmay, the Dame’s daughter. Have you ever met anybody who makes you laugh by merely existing? That’s her.
It was the final episode of the series and also a celebration of the Dame’s 50th year in showbiz. Now, there’s an achievement.
All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable time.
And then to the Hummus bar in Soho. A very decent meal at very affordable prices. A friend had told me about this place and I must say, it was worth the money. Hummus with a topping of your choice accompanied by warm pitta bread. Well, I was impressed anyways.
I ended up going to see the purple haired minx with Adriana who, I must say, It was lovely to see after such a long time!
Miss methodical (her other name) talked me through her recent dating conquests and declared that she was five dates through with someone and that things were going well. If I say he’s a Project Manager it won’t be giving too much away. After all, every second person in London is a Project Manager of sorts, surely?
And to the show
Yes we had to clap on cue, but it was nowhere as near as bad as Charlotte Church.
Yes they made us do the Dame Edna Karaoke. YMCA, that sort of thing. Utterly pointless. I must admit, I didn’t quite know the YMCA dance. Ha! I think it’s the clear result of not enough cheesy summer holidays in places including Spain as Adriana quite rightly pointed out. Whether I’m ashamed of this remains a source of mystery.
The guests were k.d.lang (spelling it in lower case is imperative apparently. Pah), James Nesbit and Ivana Trumph. And, though not a guest, the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, Valmay, the Dame’s daughter. Have you ever met anybody who makes you laugh by merely existing? That’s her.
It was the final episode of the series and also a celebration of the Dame’s 50th year in showbiz. Now, there’s an achievement.
All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable time.
And then to the Hummus bar in Soho. A very decent meal at very affordable prices. A friend had told me about this place and I must say, it was worth the money. Hummus with a topping of your choice accompanied by warm pitta bread. Well, I was impressed anyways.
The Book Quiz
The Dame, much to her wrist-slashing misery, was unable to attend The Book Quiz the following day. I went on my own and, actually, had a jolly good time.
Unlike Charlotte Church, there was little laughter and silly behaviour required, and the subject matter, literature, is so far up my street it’s almost ringing the bell.
That said, the show comprises a series of rounds, each based on books and two panels are quizzed against each other.
Well, it was free. What more could I ask for? A complimentary meal?
Unlike Charlotte Church, there was little laughter and silly behaviour required, and the subject matter, literature, is so far up my street it’s almost ringing the bell.
That said, the show comprises a series of rounds, each based on books and two panels are quizzed against each other.
Well, it was free. What more could I ask for? A complimentary meal?
Rewinding to The Dame
Apologies for my distinct lack of entry on the blog. It’s simply been one of those weeks.
Rewind to last weekend.
Saturday - The Dame came down to London and we spent time in the glorious sunshine walking up and down the Southbank. The purpose behind our meeting was to participate in The Book Quiz, a BBC 4 production. Our desire to eat a nice lunch at Wagamama coupled with a ticking clock, meant however that we were one of the few who didn’t manage it in time to be seated. Everything happens for the best: Breathe.
Priorty tickets for the same show the following day in hand, we continued our walk and talk in the sunshine and just happened to go to the National Theatre where I’d seen the production ‘Rafta Rafta’ advertised.
WE bought the last two tickets and suddenly our evening was planned.
The play, about a joint Indian family and a newly married couple living in the Holy City of Bolton, was excellent. It was funny, quirky and entertaining, and most importantly wasn’t riddled with the clichés that often attach themselves to Indian drama. I suggest those of you who like something light-hearted which makes you laugh and think at the same time, should check this production out. It stared the ever dependable Meera Syal ( of the Goodness Gracious Me variety ) and Harish Patel (of the dripping bollywood variety).
That done, our attentions rested firmly on our stomachs and we made our way to the (ever dependable) Satsuma restaurant in Soho.
The Dame
-still looked sad and spent time pondering the demise of her relationship
-had her first portion of raw fish and, though she refused to say it was better than sex, happily dipped the fresh delicate pieces in soy sauce before eating them.
-told me that she had been set up on a blind date. Now this is more like it. As the story unfolds, I shall, as ever, let my blog fiends know.
-enjoyed Satsuma which now features in the ‘Slags list of Top Ten places to dine’.
Rewind to last weekend.
Saturday - The Dame came down to London and we spent time in the glorious sunshine walking up and down the Southbank. The purpose behind our meeting was to participate in The Book Quiz, a BBC 4 production. Our desire to eat a nice lunch at Wagamama coupled with a ticking clock, meant however that we were one of the few who didn’t manage it in time to be seated. Everything happens for the best: Breathe.
Priorty tickets for the same show the following day in hand, we continued our walk and talk in the sunshine and just happened to go to the National Theatre where I’d seen the production ‘Rafta Rafta’ advertised.
WE bought the last two tickets and suddenly our evening was planned.
The play, about a joint Indian family and a newly married couple living in the Holy City of Bolton, was excellent. It was funny, quirky and entertaining, and most importantly wasn’t riddled with the clichés that often attach themselves to Indian drama. I suggest those of you who like something light-hearted which makes you laugh and think at the same time, should check this production out. It stared the ever dependable Meera Syal ( of the Goodness Gracious Me variety ) and Harish Patel (of the dripping bollywood variety).
That done, our attentions rested firmly on our stomachs and we made our way to the (ever dependable) Satsuma restaurant in Soho.
The Dame
-still looked sad and spent time pondering the demise of her relationship
-had her first portion of raw fish and, though she refused to say it was better than sex, happily dipped the fresh delicate pieces in soy sauce before eating them.
-told me that she had been set up on a blind date. Now this is more like it. As the story unfolds, I shall, as ever, let my blog fiends know.
-enjoyed Satsuma which now features in the ‘Slags list of Top Ten places to dine’.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Gumtree
Okay, so I couldn't resist. Have been at Gumtree yet again. And here's the pick of the lot...
#1
''Hi,
I am genuine, good looking, white straight guy. I want to come to your place, unbutton my jeans and have you bring me off expertly with your mouth. You must also swallow. I want my whole length to disappear.
You must be experienced as it is my first time and I don't want it to be disappointing.
I need to hear how you will do it and why you are so good at it.If I enjoy what you have done, I might be persuaded to fuck your arse and may return the favour. I want to see all types of pics, and if there is no pic - no reply.This is a genuine ad, so no timewasters. Look forward to hearing from you. Sx''
Sometimes arranging a blowjob can prove to be even more tedious than arranging a job; what with the application and portfolio to hand in two weeks before the interview. Sigh.
#2
''and sadly, back on here after having a serious attack of timewaster wanker problems. Pre-op TS (transexual), in need of firm discipline and control. I understand that in surrendering control I will be punished as my Master sees fit, be it with slipper, paddle or cane, will dress however he wishes, be it schoolgirl, demure secretary or whore, will expect him to use my sexually inert body for himself and also for others should he deem to make me available. I am looking for firm, hard control, not casual, not vanilla and any message I get looking for casual or vanilla will be ignored. All genuine replies will get a reply plus pic.''
Finally, a woman (stop it) who knows what she wants. There's hope after all. And...er... is the 'paddle' being refered to...er...an actual paddle? If i were older and firmer, I would, I really would.
#3
''I'm 28, 5'9" single, straight (never been with a guy), looking for an OLDER guy to introduce me to new experiences.To be honest I DON'T find men attractive, but like the thought of playing with cock. I'm looking for someone who'll be patient, maybe we could start by meeting for a beer, see how we feel... swap cock pics, or maybe cam at first? If I feel comfortable then we could meet again, I can't accommodate so you'd have to have your own place (would rather not meet at a sauna as some guys have suggested). And we can see where things go from there. I've placed an ad before and all I found was impatient guys who want to shag straight away... don't get me wrong, I want to shag too But this'll be my first time with a guy so want to make sure I'm doing the right thing I'm sure it was nerve wracking for you the first time?
Last few requests...
Must be OLDER!
Educated
Disease free a MUST!
DISCRETE!PATIENT!
NSA (no strings attached)
GENUINE!
A picture would be good. Although as I'm probably going to merit on personality rather than attraction (which probably won't be there as I don't 'fancy' men). Cock pictures very welcome. I'll send mine in return.''
so, the definition of 'straight' now means - never been with a guy. A straight man who comes with his own wish list. Can hardly wait! Sorry, PATIENCE!
#4
''Any guys into the thought of having a circle jerk with a few other lads? I'm only looking for blokes into wanking - nothing else - so if you are looking for blow jobs or fuck mates really don't bother replying as it's not what I'm looking for. I am 29 and email back now and I'll add you to msn so we can talk about arranging a group wank.''
What's a circle jerk? Sounds far too athletic for me. Might it include a trapeze?
#1
''Hi,
I am genuine, good looking, white straight guy. I want to come to your place, unbutton my jeans and have you bring me off expertly with your mouth. You must also swallow. I want my whole length to disappear.
You must be experienced as it is my first time and I don't want it to be disappointing.
I need to hear how you will do it and why you are so good at it.If I enjoy what you have done, I might be persuaded to fuck your arse and may return the favour. I want to see all types of pics, and if there is no pic - no reply.This is a genuine ad, so no timewasters. Look forward to hearing from you. Sx''
Sometimes arranging a blowjob can prove to be even more tedious than arranging a job; what with the application and portfolio to hand in two weeks before the interview. Sigh.
#2
''and sadly, back on here after having a serious attack of timewaster wanker problems. Pre-op TS (transexual), in need of firm discipline and control. I understand that in surrendering control I will be punished as my Master sees fit, be it with slipper, paddle or cane, will dress however he wishes, be it schoolgirl, demure secretary or whore, will expect him to use my sexually inert body for himself and also for others should he deem to make me available. I am looking for firm, hard control, not casual, not vanilla and any message I get looking for casual or vanilla will be ignored. All genuine replies will get a reply plus pic.''
Finally, a woman (stop it) who knows what she wants. There's hope after all. And...er... is the 'paddle' being refered to...er...an actual paddle? If i were older and firmer, I would, I really would.
#3
''I'm 28, 5'9" single, straight (never been with a guy), looking for an OLDER guy to introduce me to new experiences.To be honest I DON'T find men attractive, but like the thought of playing with cock. I'm looking for someone who'll be patient, maybe we could start by meeting for a beer, see how we feel... swap cock pics, or maybe cam at first? If I feel comfortable then we could meet again, I can't accommodate so you'd have to have your own place (would rather not meet at a sauna as some guys have suggested). And we can see where things go from there. I've placed an ad before and all I found was impatient guys who want to shag straight away... don't get me wrong, I want to shag too But this'll be my first time with a guy so want to make sure I'm doing the right thing I'm sure it was nerve wracking for you the first time?
Last few requests...
Must be OLDER!
Educated
Disease free a MUST!
DISCRETE!PATIENT!
NSA (no strings attached)
GENUINE!
A picture would be good. Although as I'm probably going to merit on personality rather than attraction (which probably won't be there as I don't 'fancy' men). Cock pictures very welcome. I'll send mine in return.''
so, the definition of 'straight' now means - never been with a guy. A straight man who comes with his own wish list. Can hardly wait! Sorry, PATIENCE!
#4
''Any guys into the thought of having a circle jerk with a few other lads? I'm only looking for blokes into wanking - nothing else - so if you are looking for blow jobs or fuck mates really don't bother replying as it's not what I'm looking for. I am 29 and email back now and I'll add you to msn so we can talk about arranging a group wank.''
What's a circle jerk? Sounds far too athletic for me. Might it include a trapeze?
A Letter from The Dame
''Hi everyone,
I'm sorry I've been a stranger recently but this week has easily been the worst of my life.
I appear to be in the thick of some dark place at the moment which seems very reluctant to release me. I am consumed with an overwhelming sense of emptiness, demotivation and above all, sadness - and to be honest I'm not quite sure how to cope with it.
I have a wealth of mixed emotions continually racing around my head ranging from 'please let this not be true, contact me and tell me it was one big mistake', through to, every word that came from her mouth must have been a lie because how can you tell someone some of the things she told me only days ago, and then finish what we had for someone else you have slept with and ate with once?
My head keeps thinking of all the times and things that happened during my time with her, trying to piece together the lies to make myself feel worse than I already do - when in fact on her part it was all just one big lie in which I clearly meant absolutely nothing. It makes no sense to me at all and I'm finding it all very difficult to deal with.
It has been suggested to me that perhaps she took the course of action she did to protect/save me from herself. If this was the case, why not have spared me this nightmare and told me this was the case. We could have sorted it out together. More importantly though, perhaps I didn't need saving from a girl I was falling in love with and could quite easily have spent my life with.
Ultimately I do not know what to think. Though the one thing I do know is that I will never know the answers to these thoughts that plague me daily and as such I must somehow learn to accept her choice has been made and it wasn't me. Once again, I wasn't important enough. It was never going to be me. I just hope this cloud soon passes and I can either learn to be happy with myself again, or find someone who possesses the ability to both remain faithful and make me happy.
Thank you all so much for your support and time at the moment, I thought it would be easier to post this rather than text you all individually.
How about dinner in London sometime soon?
-The Dame-''
I'm sorry I've been a stranger recently but this week has easily been the worst of my life.
I appear to be in the thick of some dark place at the moment which seems very reluctant to release me. I am consumed with an overwhelming sense of emptiness, demotivation and above all, sadness - and to be honest I'm not quite sure how to cope with it.
I have a wealth of mixed emotions continually racing around my head ranging from 'please let this not be true, contact me and tell me it was one big mistake', through to, every word that came from her mouth must have been a lie because how can you tell someone some of the things she told me only days ago, and then finish what we had for someone else you have slept with and ate with once?
My head keeps thinking of all the times and things that happened during my time with her, trying to piece together the lies to make myself feel worse than I already do - when in fact on her part it was all just one big lie in which I clearly meant absolutely nothing. It makes no sense to me at all and I'm finding it all very difficult to deal with.
It has been suggested to me that perhaps she took the course of action she did to protect/save me from herself. If this was the case, why not have spared me this nightmare and told me this was the case. We could have sorted it out together. More importantly though, perhaps I didn't need saving from a girl I was falling in love with and could quite easily have spent my life with.
Ultimately I do not know what to think. Though the one thing I do know is that I will never know the answers to these thoughts that plague me daily and as such I must somehow learn to accept her choice has been made and it wasn't me. Once again, I wasn't important enough. It was never going to be me. I just hope this cloud soon passes and I can either learn to be happy with myself again, or find someone who possesses the ability to both remain faithful and make me happy.
Thank you all so much for your support and time at the moment, I thought it would be easier to post this rather than text you all individually.
How about dinner in London sometime soon?
-The Dame-''
Asia de Cuba and Crystal
People – an odd bunch with whom I study, most lawyers, a few bankers.
Venue- The ever-so-posh Asia de Cuba in the St Martins Lane hotel.
The food – five appetisers, five mains and three sides for ten people.
The price - £40 per person minimum.
Worth it? – Not worth the money though absolutely delicious. Does that make any sense?
It was nice, going to dinner with people you’ve never really formed a solid friendship with. What was even nicer was meeting a friend of a friend who was incredibly beautiful looking. She did leave early, although the hope to meet her again has firmly been planted.
Now, the food really was very nice and the venue, despite the slightly odd décor was buzzing almost of the verge being noisy. That such a prestigious restaurant offered a share between people menu was also a novel factor one must address and this meant we had to reach across the table and fear a blob on mashed potato landing on our ever-so-lovely trousers.
And no desert, although the Mexican doughnuts did sounds pretty delicious. This is precisely the reason I seek financial independence. For with this, comes the ability to eat unashamedly at the top restaurants without the fear of running yourself into bankruptcy. Having said that, this is probably the most I’ve ever spent on a meal.
The (very) hot banker guy and his girlF were then off to a club. I wouldn’t have bothered them had it not been for my hearing the words ‘Crystal club’ as they were about to leave. It was more a reflex action than anything else as I asked them whether I could tag along.
Crystal club is a place Arthur has told me about on many previous occasions. The reason it stuck in my mind was for this alone. Arthur knows how to work his way up the social ladder and has done so quite successfully. Further, he knows which clubs are good, which ones are bad which ones provide the best experience.
After having been to Crystal himself I remember him saying it was the best club he’d ever been to. It’s true to say, I was expecting something pretty spectacular.
The Banker told me I was more than welcome to join them however nothing was guaranteed. This is London and guest list placings come before charm and wit anytime any day. I
Fine, I said, if I get in then that’ll be great and if not, then there’s always Soho.
A group of us, including Mr Tech (whose latest quest for modern technology has resulted in him building a generator which spits fire at the same temperature as the middle of the sun.) Now, I’m no Mr Tech myself, (In fact, my technological knowledge, I have concluded, allows me to check me emails, write this blog and watch copious amounts of pornography, and this is more than enough), however this sounds pretty impressive. In fact, he showed me a picture of the burning device he had taken on his telephone. Smile.
So, we managed it. It took very little persuasion in fact. And I was in.
What an amazing club this was. Imagine the sort of party Paris Hilton might attend. Even better, the sort of place that is an orgy of glamour, music and beautiful rich people. The prices are extortionate, I should clarify this from the outset. Whether it was the strength of my Lychee Martinee or my inbuilt budgeting device (which these days fails me miserably), that drink lasted me three hours.
So, I thought, this is what rich people with too much money and a free Friday evening do? Just watch them gulp down huge bottles of vodka at £200 each, or cocktails at £10 each. And then watch as they sprawl themselves up against any flat surface, and regardless of age or boogieing ability, jive into the early morning. That’s correct, it was actually like watching an MTV music video, minus P Diddy, although I’m sure he was around somewhere.
The décor of this place was awesome. At times it looked like a glacier, or underground ice cave. At other times it looked like Paris Hilton’s boudoir. At all times it looked ‘fabulous’.
It’s a shame I didn’t know more people there. That would have been perfect. Although, for £50 total, it wasn’t a bad, or even average night out, it was cool and has me hungry for more.
Venue- The ever-so-posh Asia de Cuba in the St Martins Lane hotel.
The food – five appetisers, five mains and three sides for ten people.
The price - £40 per person minimum.
Worth it? – Not worth the money though absolutely delicious. Does that make any sense?
It was nice, going to dinner with people you’ve never really formed a solid friendship with. What was even nicer was meeting a friend of a friend who was incredibly beautiful looking. She did leave early, although the hope to meet her again has firmly been planted.
Now, the food really was very nice and the venue, despite the slightly odd décor was buzzing almost of the verge being noisy. That such a prestigious restaurant offered a share between people menu was also a novel factor one must address and this meant we had to reach across the table and fear a blob on mashed potato landing on our ever-so-lovely trousers.
And no desert, although the Mexican doughnuts did sounds pretty delicious. This is precisely the reason I seek financial independence. For with this, comes the ability to eat unashamedly at the top restaurants without the fear of running yourself into bankruptcy. Having said that, this is probably the most I’ve ever spent on a meal.
The (very) hot banker guy and his girlF were then off to a club. I wouldn’t have bothered them had it not been for my hearing the words ‘Crystal club’ as they were about to leave. It was more a reflex action than anything else as I asked them whether I could tag along.
Crystal club is a place Arthur has told me about on many previous occasions. The reason it stuck in my mind was for this alone. Arthur knows how to work his way up the social ladder and has done so quite successfully. Further, he knows which clubs are good, which ones are bad which ones provide the best experience.
After having been to Crystal himself I remember him saying it was the best club he’d ever been to. It’s true to say, I was expecting something pretty spectacular.
The Banker told me I was more than welcome to join them however nothing was guaranteed. This is London and guest list placings come before charm and wit anytime any day. I
Fine, I said, if I get in then that’ll be great and if not, then there’s always Soho.
A group of us, including Mr Tech (whose latest quest for modern technology has resulted in him building a generator which spits fire at the same temperature as the middle of the sun.) Now, I’m no Mr Tech myself, (In fact, my technological knowledge, I have concluded, allows me to check me emails, write this blog and watch copious amounts of pornography, and this is more than enough), however this sounds pretty impressive. In fact, he showed me a picture of the burning device he had taken on his telephone. Smile.
So, we managed it. It took very little persuasion in fact. And I was in.
What an amazing club this was. Imagine the sort of party Paris Hilton might attend. Even better, the sort of place that is an orgy of glamour, music and beautiful rich people. The prices are extortionate, I should clarify this from the outset. Whether it was the strength of my Lychee Martinee or my inbuilt budgeting device (which these days fails me miserably), that drink lasted me three hours.
So, I thought, this is what rich people with too much money and a free Friday evening do? Just watch them gulp down huge bottles of vodka at £200 each, or cocktails at £10 each. And then watch as they sprawl themselves up against any flat surface, and regardless of age or boogieing ability, jive into the early morning. That’s correct, it was actually like watching an MTV music video, minus P Diddy, although I’m sure he was around somewhere.
The décor of this place was awesome. At times it looked like a glacier, or underground ice cave. At other times it looked like Paris Hilton’s boudoir. At all times it looked ‘fabulous’.
It’s a shame I didn’t know more people there. That would have been perfect. Although, for £50 total, it wasn’t a bad, or even average night out, it was cool and has me hungry for more.
Common Julie
I have great pleasure in introducing Common Julie (a dear friend of The Dame).
It’s always interesting to meet people who are common and witty in equal measures.
The last time The Dame came and visited me we ate noodles, if you recall. They were lovely. The funniest moments of that evening were however enshrined in a text conversation we had with Common Julie.
Common Julie (in a text to The Dame) - ‘What are you up to fart breath?’
To which we replied – ‘Hello Common Julie, we’re enjoying a meal in fact. Only the underclass is able to greet friends in such a vulgar fashion.’
2 minutes later…
Common Julie – ‘what are you eating? Pork sword and kebabs? You pair of queers. I’m in the shower, shaving my growler.
To which we replied – ‘Pork sword and kebabs? That’s more food for the commoner, to be fair. Anyways, careful not to shave it all off. Imagine a world without growler. Unthinkable.’
Yes friends, welcome to Common Julie.
It’s always interesting to meet people who are common and witty in equal measures.
The last time The Dame came and visited me we ate noodles, if you recall. They were lovely. The funniest moments of that evening were however enshrined in a text conversation we had with Common Julie.
Common Julie (in a text to The Dame) - ‘What are you up to fart breath?’
To which we replied – ‘Hello Common Julie, we’re enjoying a meal in fact. Only the underclass is able to greet friends in such a vulgar fashion.’
2 minutes later…
Common Julie – ‘what are you eating? Pork sword and kebabs? You pair of queers. I’m in the shower, shaving my growler.
To which we replied – ‘Pork sword and kebabs? That’s more food for the commoner, to be fair. Anyways, careful not to shave it all off. Imagine a world without growler. Unthinkable.’
Yes friends, welcome to Common Julie.
Slag meeting
‘I’m still not completely over the lesbian thing,’ declared Desdemona as she sat beside me and opposite Othello (her boyfriend) and we ordered food, after waiting for...er…ages at the bar that’s part and parcel of ‘Fire and Stone’ restaurant in Covent Garden.
So…she’d still quite like to sleep with a woman and it has long been decided that Desdemona finds woman far more attractive than men. Perhaps she’s a man eating lesbian. Now there’s a thought.
And, why wouldn’t she pursue these homosexual desires? Because she is attached? Probably.
A few entries earlier you may recall my entry on her, shall we say, dismal sex life. I believe it has improved. I believe they, as the most successful of couples do, ‘talked’. In fact, she used, as many women would, a reverse psychology approach.
‘I don’t think it’s working,’
(translation: I don’t want it to be over at all, however feel this is what I should say so that I can then be honest about the dismal sex life when you ask me what precisely is wrong)
‘I think we have become complacent in our relationship. We don’t do things together, we don’t go out, we don’t have sex and when we do it’s nothing above average’ (translation: The sex life is the aspect of this conversation which you know is true and which should now be highlighted in your mind. If we increase the passion and frequency of sex, our relationship will be better. If I am to continue our relationship and marry you eventually, I need the promise of a buzzing sex life, or at the least, a promise of your willingness to try).
Othello (on the subject of adultery and sexual ‘openness’) - ‘I wouldn’t mind watching Desdemona with another woman as this would turn me on’. I couldn’t however deal with her and another man as this would repulse me and she would be cheating.’
Hang on, hang on. I believe both of the actions described above fall within the definitions of adultery. Being with someone, anyone, other than your lover would be seen as cheating. So then, why does the sex of the person with whom your partner is having an affair cause such a distinct reaction?
What Othello was saying was essentially this:
I don’t want you to cheat, but if you do cheat I’ll forgive you as long as it’s with another woman as the negativity of the adultery is somewhat balanced by the levels to which I am turned on. If you cheat with a man, Ill have no pleasure, be racked with jealousy and dump you.
It was at this point that the scent of double standard made its way across my nose. If you think ‘cheating’ is wrong, then the fact that some cheating gives you an erection doesn’t justify your acceptance of it does it?
And what would happen is Desdemona said ‘I want to sleep with this girl and we want to be alone’ (ie. You can bugger off for a few hours). Would Othello like it? No. Would he let her do it? He says yes, though I say no! If she is alone, then he is not being turned on.
On the topic of threesomes, Othello shies away and claims that he is traditional. It should just be you two and nobody else.
Of course, the good thing for Othello is that Desdemona appears to understand where he is coming from and what his definition of tradition encompasses. Given a partner who’d let her dip her nib, sot o speak, in the other ink, I think she’d happily take her chances. But, with Othello, she won’t. Probably because she equally wouldn’t be able to tolerate his straying, even though this may be their mutual decision.
It’s true, love makes us selfish. It fills us with greed and irrational behaviour. It tosses us into the air and, sometimes, catches us when we fall. Whether you fall into the arms of your lover, or of somebody else, is a matter, it would appear, of definitions.
And onto the food: Pizzas at ‘Fire and Stone’ are described so well that you can’t help but expect the world. Unfortunately, they don’t taste as nice as the description and mine was pretty bland. Also, it is a very popular and busy restaurant. Conequently, if you are impatient and hungry, you’d be better off across the road at ‘The gourmet burger kitchen’.
So…she’d still quite like to sleep with a woman and it has long been decided that Desdemona finds woman far more attractive than men. Perhaps she’s a man eating lesbian. Now there’s a thought.
And, why wouldn’t she pursue these homosexual desires? Because she is attached? Probably.
A few entries earlier you may recall my entry on her, shall we say, dismal sex life. I believe it has improved. I believe they, as the most successful of couples do, ‘talked’. In fact, she used, as many women would, a reverse psychology approach.
‘I don’t think it’s working,’
(translation: I don’t want it to be over at all, however feel this is what I should say so that I can then be honest about the dismal sex life when you ask me what precisely is wrong)
‘I think we have become complacent in our relationship. We don’t do things together, we don’t go out, we don’t have sex and when we do it’s nothing above average’ (translation: The sex life is the aspect of this conversation which you know is true and which should now be highlighted in your mind. If we increase the passion and frequency of sex, our relationship will be better. If I am to continue our relationship and marry you eventually, I need the promise of a buzzing sex life, or at the least, a promise of your willingness to try).
Othello (on the subject of adultery and sexual ‘openness’) - ‘I wouldn’t mind watching Desdemona with another woman as this would turn me on’. I couldn’t however deal with her and another man as this would repulse me and she would be cheating.’
Hang on, hang on. I believe both of the actions described above fall within the definitions of adultery. Being with someone, anyone, other than your lover would be seen as cheating. So then, why does the sex of the person with whom your partner is having an affair cause such a distinct reaction?
What Othello was saying was essentially this:
I don’t want you to cheat, but if you do cheat I’ll forgive you as long as it’s with another woman as the negativity of the adultery is somewhat balanced by the levels to which I am turned on. If you cheat with a man, Ill have no pleasure, be racked with jealousy and dump you.
It was at this point that the scent of double standard made its way across my nose. If you think ‘cheating’ is wrong, then the fact that some cheating gives you an erection doesn’t justify your acceptance of it does it?
And what would happen is Desdemona said ‘I want to sleep with this girl and we want to be alone’ (ie. You can bugger off for a few hours). Would Othello like it? No. Would he let her do it? He says yes, though I say no! If she is alone, then he is not being turned on.
On the topic of threesomes, Othello shies away and claims that he is traditional. It should just be you two and nobody else.
Of course, the good thing for Othello is that Desdemona appears to understand where he is coming from and what his definition of tradition encompasses. Given a partner who’d let her dip her nib, sot o speak, in the other ink, I think she’d happily take her chances. But, with Othello, she won’t. Probably because she equally wouldn’t be able to tolerate his straying, even though this may be their mutual decision.
It’s true, love makes us selfish. It fills us with greed and irrational behaviour. It tosses us into the air and, sometimes, catches us when we fall. Whether you fall into the arms of your lover, or of somebody else, is a matter, it would appear, of definitions.
And onto the food: Pizzas at ‘Fire and Stone’ are described so well that you can’t help but expect the world. Unfortunately, they don’t taste as nice as the description and mine was pretty bland. Also, it is a very popular and busy restaurant. Conequently, if you are impatient and hungry, you’d be better off across the road at ‘The gourmet burger kitchen’.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Poem - A Moments Indulgence by Rabindranath Tagore
I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works
that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.
that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.
Anticipation
The email I've been waiting for has finally arrived. Farewell to far fetched masturbatory fantasies including Penelope Cruz, Ewan McGregor and Gael Garcia Bernal and hello to sordid realisation of my sordid (almost frightening) sexual fantasies.
''Hey,
Thanks for the mail. The sex party will start at 10pm Saturday 5 May. The address is X. The party will end at 4am, with last entry being 3:15am. There is a £5 admission just to cover the venue, you can bring your own drinks if you wish. You won't be required to do anything that you don't want to do, there are no rules, except to play safely! There will be a good mix of guys there so hopefully everyone will have a great time.
Look forward to seeing you on the 5th.
Cheers,
X
Of course, if any of you (men) are genuinely interested and would like to come along to this, a quick message and I'll send you the full details.
Aim: To get J to come with me. For, this is the sort of thing where moral support is most certainly a requirement. Also, I can think of no other way to divert his attention from the sadness of his recent heartbreak. Although the insertion of cock doesn't necessarily push out any sadness you may have inside your heart, it might just help disguise it for a few hours. When it comes to sex, can we really ask for any more?
J, if you're reading this, do get back to me won't you?
''Hey,
Thanks for the mail. The sex party will start at 10pm Saturday 5 May. The address is X. The party will end at 4am, with last entry being 3:15am. There is a £5 admission just to cover the venue, you can bring your own drinks if you wish. You won't be required to do anything that you don't want to do, there are no rules, except to play safely! There will be a good mix of guys there so hopefully everyone will have a great time.
Look forward to seeing you on the 5th.
Cheers,
X
Of course, if any of you (men) are genuinely interested and would like to come along to this, a quick message and I'll send you the full details.
Aim: To get J to come with me. For, this is the sort of thing where moral support is most certainly a requirement. Also, I can think of no other way to divert his attention from the sadness of his recent heartbreak. Although the insertion of cock doesn't necessarily push out any sadness you may have inside your heart, it might just help disguise it for a few hours. When it comes to sex, can we really ask for any more?
J, if you're reading this, do get back to me won't you?
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Clearing it up
Thinking about it now, I doubt that it is The Bunny Boiler who Pc X has returned to.
On Pc X's own blog, he posted many of the texts and comments that he had received from The Bunny Boiler. There was also a real confusion in Pc X as to why The Bunny Boiler said the cruel things he did. I do believe that he no longer found The Bunny boiler attractive.
Leading on from this, I don't believe it was in fact The Bunny Boiler that Pc X was referring to when he mentioned his ex.
I believe the ex he refers to is an Indian boy, although of this I cannot be sure. I mean, we never really discussed Exs and, after the Bunny Boiler incidents I made a point that I had no interest in Pc X's past, merely his present.
I feel well and truly over that episode now. There really isn't the room in my life, nor the patience to wait for this to ever resurrect itself. What's done is done.
Off home now to catch The Apprentice (getting better and better as the weeks progress), and am torn, as usual, between Grand Designs and Desperate Housewives. The choices we make as humans can sometimes be unbearable.
On Pc X's own blog, he posted many of the texts and comments that he had received from The Bunny Boiler. There was also a real confusion in Pc X as to why The Bunny Boiler said the cruel things he did. I do believe that he no longer found The Bunny boiler attractive.
Leading on from this, I don't believe it was in fact The Bunny Boiler that Pc X was referring to when he mentioned his ex.
I believe the ex he refers to is an Indian boy, although of this I cannot be sure. I mean, we never really discussed Exs and, after the Bunny Boiler incidents I made a point that I had no interest in Pc X's past, merely his present.
I feel well and truly over that episode now. There really isn't the room in my life, nor the patience to wait for this to ever resurrect itself. What's done is done.
Off home now to catch The Apprentice (getting better and better as the weeks progress), and am torn, as usual, between Grand Designs and Desperate Housewives. The choices we make as humans can sometimes be unbearable.
Monday, April 16, 2007
The end of The Doctor
I have never heard The Dame cry. Until today that is. An hour ago, to be precise. Over the telephone she told me how The Doctor had ended their relationship.
It was true, a few weeks ago, before The Dame’s relationship became ‘serious’ she had forgiven The Doctor a night of ‘crashing’ in someone’s bed once they’d declare themselves an item. By crash of course, I mean sleep, and so did she. The Doctor went to a ball, if my facts are correct, and spent the night with two girls. She said she ‘pulled’ one of these. Here we are, yet again, in the realm of ambiguous definition.
So The Dame forgave her, because this is in The Dame’s nature. For once she choose her own happiness and forgave lines of deceit that were creeping into her relationship. We both agreed that our definition of ‘pulling’ didn’t include mere crashing in a stranger’s bed. Our definitions included sex and tongues. There must be more to this, we thought. But no, if you’re going to attempt to forgive and forget, you have to do it wholeheartedly, and so she did.
Now it transpires that our definition ‘pulling’ was perfectly correct. The Doctor slept with the (let’s call her) plum. Further, when she should have been with The Dame, she went for dinner with the plum and, this afternoon, declared how strong her feelings for the plum were to The Dame. Let’s be thankful she came clean before anymore damage was done.
Now, I’ve always had such respect for people who follow their desires in the face of adversity. But, do we really have to trample over people in the process of it all. Can’t we be dignified in the approaches we take to our love lives?
So, The Dame is distraught. Because she laid herself bare, her insecurities, her fears to somebody she thought might understand her. And The Doctor ripped this respect to shreds and did the worst thing she possibly could. I won’t say that I hope that the plum is worth any of this, for I’m certain she won’t be. What I hope for instead is a day of reckoning where she comes to realise what she has lost with The Dame.
The more brains people have, it would appear, the less they know how to use them.
Of course, a part of me will always hope that The Doctor too will on day be ditched in favour of a lust filled thunderbolt. That she too will have to put up with deceit when she is perhaps at her most happy and most vulnerable. It seems only fair.
As for The Dame and myself, I suppose we’ve had enough. That people think they can trample over us and blame their private parts is shocking and, quite frankly, demoralising. Onwards and upwards, for there are bigger, better, cleverer fish in the sea.
It was true, a few weeks ago, before The Dame’s relationship became ‘serious’ she had forgiven The Doctor a night of ‘crashing’ in someone’s bed once they’d declare themselves an item. By crash of course, I mean sleep, and so did she. The Doctor went to a ball, if my facts are correct, and spent the night with two girls. She said she ‘pulled’ one of these. Here we are, yet again, in the realm of ambiguous definition.
So The Dame forgave her, because this is in The Dame’s nature. For once she choose her own happiness and forgave lines of deceit that were creeping into her relationship. We both agreed that our definition of ‘pulling’ didn’t include mere crashing in a stranger’s bed. Our definitions included sex and tongues. There must be more to this, we thought. But no, if you’re going to attempt to forgive and forget, you have to do it wholeheartedly, and so she did.
Now it transpires that our definition ‘pulling’ was perfectly correct. The Doctor slept with the (let’s call her) plum. Further, when she should have been with The Dame, she went for dinner with the plum and, this afternoon, declared how strong her feelings for the plum were to The Dame. Let’s be thankful she came clean before anymore damage was done.
Now, I’ve always had such respect for people who follow their desires in the face of adversity. But, do we really have to trample over people in the process of it all. Can’t we be dignified in the approaches we take to our love lives?
So, The Dame is distraught. Because she laid herself bare, her insecurities, her fears to somebody she thought might understand her. And The Doctor ripped this respect to shreds and did the worst thing she possibly could. I won’t say that I hope that the plum is worth any of this, for I’m certain she won’t be. What I hope for instead is a day of reckoning where she comes to realise what she has lost with The Dame.
The more brains people have, it would appear, the less they know how to use them.
Of course, a part of me will always hope that The Doctor too will on day be ditched in favour of a lust filled thunderbolt. That she too will have to put up with deceit when she is perhaps at her most happy and most vulnerable. It seems only fair.
As for The Dame and myself, I suppose we’ve had enough. That people think they can trample over us and blame their private parts is shocking and, quite frankly, demoralising. Onwards and upwards, for there are bigger, better, cleverer fish in the sea.
The end of Pc X
What am I? fuming! Although, after this little rant, I'm sure i'll feel much better and able to benefit properly from the glorious sunshine outside.
So, I emailed Pc X, as you know, to no avail. I worried myself that all matter of things might have happened. I thought Pc X's declaration that he 'wasn't into meeting guys anymore', or that he had 'had some bad news' and wanted 'space' and to be 'left alone' might be an indication that he had great troubles. I even for a while, thought perhaps an HIV positive result may have lay on the cards. I thought, well it must be so difficult to come to terms with something so terrifying.
So, this afternoon, when I finally recieved the email I'd been waiting for, you'll fully appreciate why I had to post it on here and blow my fuse (a little), at this excuse for a man.
''Hey you,
I'm sorry to have left you in the dark like this but I felt it was the best way. I thought you would just forget about me and then get on with your life. I have decided to give it another go with my x and we both decided we would have a fresh start and I started by getting rid of my numbers and phone and anyone who might pop up and make things difficult for me and him in the future. Sorry to be like this but I need space. I need to concentrate on me and him. I have enjoyed your company and our chats. I hope you understand and I wish you all the best for your future. I'm sure you will meet a nice guy and get all the enjoyment and benefits it can offer. Please don't feel bad about any of this. you have done nothing wrong.
Take care mate,
Pc X.''
I suppose I should have listened to the bunny boiler whilst I had a chance. In fact, a part of me now wonders whether the 'x' is in fact that bunny boiler himself. Or perhaps he's the guy who keep swanning off to india in search of a bride.
Desdemona, 'welcome to the world of relationships' indeed. I'm here, and I don't like a damn thing. Whatever happened to being polite and understanding.
Anyways, I feel better. The sun is out, I have a delicious Red Leicester and Spring Onion sandwich in my bag, a whole load of work to do and time to forget about Pc X.
Mental note: before committing, make sure the baggage is fully out in the open, or that it's locked away tightly beneath some stairs, never to be recovered.
So, I emailed Pc X, as you know, to no avail. I worried myself that all matter of things might have happened. I thought Pc X's declaration that he 'wasn't into meeting guys anymore', or that he had 'had some bad news' and wanted 'space' and to be 'left alone' might be an indication that he had great troubles. I even for a while, thought perhaps an HIV positive result may have lay on the cards. I thought, well it must be so difficult to come to terms with something so terrifying.
So, this afternoon, when I finally recieved the email I'd been waiting for, you'll fully appreciate why I had to post it on here and blow my fuse (a little), at this excuse for a man.
''Hey you,
I'm sorry to have left you in the dark like this but I felt it was the best way. I thought you would just forget about me and then get on with your life. I have decided to give it another go with my x and we both decided we would have a fresh start and I started by getting rid of my numbers and phone and anyone who might pop up and make things difficult for me and him in the future. Sorry to be like this but I need space. I need to concentrate on me and him. I have enjoyed your company and our chats. I hope you understand and I wish you all the best for your future. I'm sure you will meet a nice guy and get all the enjoyment and benefits it can offer. Please don't feel bad about any of this. you have done nothing wrong.
Take care mate,
Pc X.''
I suppose I should have listened to the bunny boiler whilst I had a chance. In fact, a part of me now wonders whether the 'x' is in fact that bunny boiler himself. Or perhaps he's the guy who keep swanning off to india in search of a bride.
Desdemona, 'welcome to the world of relationships' indeed. I'm here, and I don't like a damn thing. Whatever happened to being polite and understanding.
Anyways, I feel better. The sun is out, I have a delicious Red Leicester and Spring Onion sandwich in my bag, a whole load of work to do and time to forget about Pc X.
Mental note: before committing, make sure the baggage is fully out in the open, or that it's locked away tightly beneath some stairs, never to be recovered.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Conclusions
“The bonds that unite another person to our self exist only in our mind.”-Marcel Proust
Perhaps this it true. Perhaps this is the reason I feel cheated by the end of my relationship with Pc X. By relationship I mean, of course, two meetings, one bunny boiler, half an episode of intimacy and many attempts at trying to find out what on earth’s gone wrong.
Was it all in my head that Pc X and I were just a tad more than mere ‘guys checking each other out’, for want of a far better phrase? The fact that things have ended so abruptly and without a formal conclusion being drawn suggests to me this is indeed the case. And what a stick in the mud this one has turned out to be.
When you enter a relationship it has always been my belief that we should keep a piece of ourselves firmly to ourselves for fear of losing our sleep and mind when things eventually crumble.
It’s not a good thing; to expect the worst in every situation. In fact, I am, more often that not, drawn to see the positive and firmly believe that whatever happens is for the best. Sometimes however, we’re faced with a dilemma from which there is no solution. Yes, Pc X wants me to ‘leave him alone’ and ‘give him some space’, all of which I would happily do, if I knew that after this space was given, I’d still have a friend available. It’s not so much why Pc X has said this, but it’s more how he has said it. Cutting off all ties with a series of text messages early one morning. Declaring he is not ‘interested in meeting guys anymore’. No reason why, just an expectation that I will leave him be. Of course there are issues, of which I am as yet unaware, but really, is it that difficult to explain why you want time out without going into the specifics of your sadness. Didn’t Pc X owe me at least this?
It’s difficult to write this because I know that Pc X, despite this, isn’t a bad person. Nor is this in his character. But the way he behaves with me is something most certainly within his control. And yet, at the end of all this, It will be me who will come across as obsessive and unjustifiably unreasonable in my endeavours to gage what the bleeding hell is going on.
The thing Is, when you like somebody and you talk most days with them, it’ll strike you as odd when all of a sudden you are required to stop.
So now, I’m left expecting the worst in every relationship. Treading on eggshells in very relationship, for fear of waking up to text messages declaring the whole episode over. Anything good to happen will then be a bonus, surely?
I’ve tried emailing (no reply), texting (the phone is now disconnected) and calling (something I really don’t enjoy doing and after being told that I should get the message, have deleted the number).
Then again, I myself probably have a part to play in this demise. Harping on about how good to sex was going to be, how he really turned me on more than other guys, allowing myself to become embroiled in it. I probably jinxed the damn thing myself.
And after it’s all over, all we can do is wait. Wait for a phone call. Wait for a text. Wait for somebody else as good looking and intelligent who’ll double your erection span within minutes.
When people need space, I guess they just need space. Although, I have promised myself this: if ever I find myself in a position where I receive bad news and need some time to think. I’ll explain it a whole lot better to people I’m in the process of ‘seeing’.
It’s ironic this, only the other day The Dame and I were discussing how much potential we saw in our newly sprung relationships. That buzzing feeling made its way over our conversation. And now, we’re both having difficulties. Sometimes you wish you could just say (and mean it), fuck the lot of them.
Perhaps this it true. Perhaps this is the reason I feel cheated by the end of my relationship with Pc X. By relationship I mean, of course, two meetings, one bunny boiler, half an episode of intimacy and many attempts at trying to find out what on earth’s gone wrong.
Was it all in my head that Pc X and I were just a tad more than mere ‘guys checking each other out’, for want of a far better phrase? The fact that things have ended so abruptly and without a formal conclusion being drawn suggests to me this is indeed the case. And what a stick in the mud this one has turned out to be.
When you enter a relationship it has always been my belief that we should keep a piece of ourselves firmly to ourselves for fear of losing our sleep and mind when things eventually crumble.
It’s not a good thing; to expect the worst in every situation. In fact, I am, more often that not, drawn to see the positive and firmly believe that whatever happens is for the best. Sometimes however, we’re faced with a dilemma from which there is no solution. Yes, Pc X wants me to ‘leave him alone’ and ‘give him some space’, all of which I would happily do, if I knew that after this space was given, I’d still have a friend available. It’s not so much why Pc X has said this, but it’s more how he has said it. Cutting off all ties with a series of text messages early one morning. Declaring he is not ‘interested in meeting guys anymore’. No reason why, just an expectation that I will leave him be. Of course there are issues, of which I am as yet unaware, but really, is it that difficult to explain why you want time out without going into the specifics of your sadness. Didn’t Pc X owe me at least this?
It’s difficult to write this because I know that Pc X, despite this, isn’t a bad person. Nor is this in his character. But the way he behaves with me is something most certainly within his control. And yet, at the end of all this, It will be me who will come across as obsessive and unjustifiably unreasonable in my endeavours to gage what the bleeding hell is going on.
The thing Is, when you like somebody and you talk most days with them, it’ll strike you as odd when all of a sudden you are required to stop.
So now, I’m left expecting the worst in every relationship. Treading on eggshells in very relationship, for fear of waking up to text messages declaring the whole episode over. Anything good to happen will then be a bonus, surely?
I’ve tried emailing (no reply), texting (the phone is now disconnected) and calling (something I really don’t enjoy doing and after being told that I should get the message, have deleted the number).
Then again, I myself probably have a part to play in this demise. Harping on about how good to sex was going to be, how he really turned me on more than other guys, allowing myself to become embroiled in it. I probably jinxed the damn thing myself.
And after it’s all over, all we can do is wait. Wait for a phone call. Wait for a text. Wait for somebody else as good looking and intelligent who’ll double your erection span within minutes.
When people need space, I guess they just need space. Although, I have promised myself this: if ever I find myself in a position where I receive bad news and need some time to think. I’ll explain it a whole lot better to people I’m in the process of ‘seeing’.
It’s ironic this, only the other day The Dame and I were discussing how much potential we saw in our newly sprung relationships. That buzzing feeling made its way over our conversation. And now, we’re both having difficulties. Sometimes you wish you could just say (and mean it), fuck the lot of them.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Tickets available
Being the social butterfly I am (yes, that's correct), there is nothing more pleasing than recieving a number of free tickets to attend television recordings. Charlotte Church saw the beginning of this and the following two shows will probably symbolize the end:
If any of you are interested in attending, post me a message and we can go from there.
Show 1 - The Book Quiz - 21st April 2007 - doors open at 2.15pm - 3 tickets available
The Book Quiz is a new BBC4 panel game about literature in which two teams of book-loving guests face questions on all things literary, from classic works to the contemporary works we're all reading and talking about. This will be an informed, entertaining panel game aimed at the tv audience who already enjoy programmes such as QI, Late Review and Have I Got News For You.
Hosted by David Baddiel, the guest panellists this series will include Joan Bakewell, Simon Hoggart, Daisy Goodwin, Toby Young, Val McDermid and India Knight.
Show 2 - The Dame Edna Treatment - 19th April 2007 - doors open at 6.45pm -3 tickets available
Hello Possums!
Everyone's favourite global 'gigastar', Dame Edna Everage is back where she belongs in a brand new ITV Saturday night prime time chat show! The Dame Edna Treatment finds Dame Edna running a high-class, exclusive treatment centre to care for stressed out superstars in need of some pampering. Each week a host of huge names will join Dame Edna in her resort to de-stress and be carefully looked after using Dame Edna's 'unique' methods. They'll also be gently grilled about their lives - but will they survive the Dame Edna Treatment?
If any of you are interested in attending, post me a message and we can go from there.
Show 1 - The Book Quiz - 21st April 2007 - doors open at 2.15pm - 3 tickets available
The Book Quiz is a new BBC4 panel game about literature in which two teams of book-loving guests face questions on all things literary, from classic works to the contemporary works we're all reading and talking about. This will be an informed, entertaining panel game aimed at the tv audience who already enjoy programmes such as QI, Late Review and Have I Got News For You.
Hosted by David Baddiel, the guest panellists this series will include Joan Bakewell, Simon Hoggart, Daisy Goodwin, Toby Young, Val McDermid and India Knight.
Show 2 - The Dame Edna Treatment - 19th April 2007 - doors open at 6.45pm -3 tickets available
Hello Possums!
Everyone's favourite global 'gigastar', Dame Edna Everage is back where she belongs in a brand new ITV Saturday night prime time chat show! The Dame Edna Treatment finds Dame Edna running a high-class, exclusive treatment centre to care for stressed out superstars in need of some pampering. Each week a host of huge names will join Dame Edna in her resort to de-stress and be carefully looked after using Dame Edna's 'unique' methods. They'll also be gently grilled about their lives - but will they survive the Dame Edna Treatment?
Thursday, April 12, 2007
A day with The Dame
A day with The Dame
Every once in a while I meet The Dame for food and conversation. Yesterday was such a day, the only difference being our geographical location. Rather than meet in London she drove up north to come and visit me at home.
We sipped apple and mango smoothies beneath the midday sun and dissected our lives, the way we always do. I should mention here, that the smoothies I refer to were in fact made by myself with the help of a juicer and blender. It’ll take a long time to forget the look of marvel in The Dame’s eyes as she watched the apples disappear into the contraption and reform into liquid. Perhaps the debate over whether the best invention was in fact that juicer as opposed to the toasted sandwich maker, will continue. M’s theory that once could juice easily without the aid of a juicer leads me to ask..show me exactly how you’d juice a carrot without the use of a juicer?
Pizza, chilli chips, coleslaw and chilli paneer for lunch. We can eat rather a lot between us, The Dame and I. Did feel full. Sort of understood how Michelle McManus feels on the daily basis.
We then watched a film. At this point, it seems most appropriate to lower our heads and thank the Lord for Orange Wednesdays. Although, more often than not, this subjects us to a gruelling jostle from outside the cinema as we make our way to the tickets stalls. And as much as I hate to admit this, the increased Asian population in Leicester is solely to blame. Tight fisted buggers we can be, honestly.
The benefits of a tight fitting leather jacket…
You can bury two bottles of alcopops inside and fold your arms giving off the impression that you’re cold and perhaps slightly odd. Though, on an Orange Wednesday, nobody really has the time to pay any attention.
As The Dame and I sipped our bottled drink (purchased from the pub next to the cinema) we settled down to watch the film ‘Provoked’ starring Aiswariya Rai, Miranda Richardson and Naveen Andrews. Miss Rai was perfect in her depiction of a victim turned victor in this true life story of domestic violence, murder and the English law. I think people should see this film for the very fact that it shows courage. In today’s word, there seems to be a lack of it wherever we turn.
And in the evening, food. ( don’t look at me like you knew that was coming). We went to a noodle bar in the city centre and ordered rather a large quantity of food for two people.
Oh and let’s not forget my trying to harass The Dame into listening to some of my beloved Indian music. Yes, she grew to like it, and yes, she too, sang away quite happily.
Every once in a while I meet The Dame for food and conversation. Yesterday was such a day, the only difference being our geographical location. Rather than meet in London she drove up north to come and visit me at home.
We sipped apple and mango smoothies beneath the midday sun and dissected our lives, the way we always do. I should mention here, that the smoothies I refer to were in fact made by myself with the help of a juicer and blender. It’ll take a long time to forget the look of marvel in The Dame’s eyes as she watched the apples disappear into the contraption and reform into liquid. Perhaps the debate over whether the best invention was in fact that juicer as opposed to the toasted sandwich maker, will continue. M’s theory that once could juice easily without the aid of a juicer leads me to ask..show me exactly how you’d juice a carrot without the use of a juicer?
Pizza, chilli chips, coleslaw and chilli paneer for lunch. We can eat rather a lot between us, The Dame and I. Did feel full. Sort of understood how Michelle McManus feels on the daily basis.
We then watched a film. At this point, it seems most appropriate to lower our heads and thank the Lord for Orange Wednesdays. Although, more often than not, this subjects us to a gruelling jostle from outside the cinema as we make our way to the tickets stalls. And as much as I hate to admit this, the increased Asian population in Leicester is solely to blame. Tight fisted buggers we can be, honestly.
The benefits of a tight fitting leather jacket…
You can bury two bottles of alcopops inside and fold your arms giving off the impression that you’re cold and perhaps slightly odd. Though, on an Orange Wednesday, nobody really has the time to pay any attention.
As The Dame and I sipped our bottled drink (purchased from the pub next to the cinema) we settled down to watch the film ‘Provoked’ starring Aiswariya Rai, Miranda Richardson and Naveen Andrews. Miss Rai was perfect in her depiction of a victim turned victor in this true life story of domestic violence, murder and the English law. I think people should see this film for the very fact that it shows courage. In today’s word, there seems to be a lack of it wherever we turn.
And in the evening, food. ( don’t look at me like you knew that was coming). We went to a noodle bar in the city centre and ordered rather a large quantity of food for two people.
Oh and let’s not forget my trying to harass The Dame into listening to some of my beloved Indian music. Yes, she grew to like it, and yes, she too, sang away quite happily.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Infidelity - The rules
‘Infidelity doesn’t mean a thing. It’s like having a wank, except a wo(man)’s body happens to be involved’ - The Dame (who no doubt pinched it from someone higher ranking)
Now, I’ve never had much time for people who happily go about fucking anything that moves and then declare themselves ‘hurt’ when it’s done right back to them.
The strength and dignity that comes with being able to stop a relationship in favour of another is something people so easily forget. It’s all too easy to have your cake and eat it.
A number of recent discussions I have had with friends of mine (all circling the maze that is infidelity) have posed a few interesting questions.
What actually constitutes infidelity? Take the example of two friends, one of who has a partner, sharing a bed and getting quite passionate. No kissing, no cumming and no touching of privates. Nevertheless, very intimate. Perhaps even, I would suggest, the most lethal type of intimacy. Are they cheating? Does there have to be sex in order to cheat? Does it all depend on ones own definition? And if it does, how do we ever catch a cheater?
And if you are the one who has been cheated on, under what grounds is it okay to welcome somebody back into your duvet? Are we back to the relative definitions category where the phantom stupid ponce is forgiving and forgetting more than they really should be?
Once is a mistake, twice is a habit? Two times and the relationship is over? Is this correct?
On the face of things, I suppose it is easy to forgive. By that same token it is also impossible to forget. Though, I do wonder, if you can’t forget, can you truly forgive?
One thing I’m firm on is this:
If you are the person doing the forgiving, make the utmost effort to forget. And if you’re making the decision to forgive, don’t use the infidelity as a weapon throughout the course of your relationship..
(Boyfriend and girlfriend five years after infidelity took place)
Boyfriend – ‘I hope nothing’s going on with you two.’ (refering to GirlF and some other boy)
Girlfriend – ‘Don’t worry, I’m not like you.’
Boyfriend- (saying anything that goes against the girlfriend)
Girlfriend – ‘But you’re the one who cheated five years ago.'
This is neither forgiving nor forgetting. Holding past infidelities the way you might ammunition isn’t a good idea. If you decide to put up, you should also learn to shut up. This is why, when faced with an adulterous lover, you need to think carefully before you let them back. Sometimes loneliness is far better than spiralling regret and misery.
Now, I’ve never had much time for people who happily go about fucking anything that moves and then declare themselves ‘hurt’ when it’s done right back to them.
The strength and dignity that comes with being able to stop a relationship in favour of another is something people so easily forget. It’s all too easy to have your cake and eat it.
A number of recent discussions I have had with friends of mine (all circling the maze that is infidelity) have posed a few interesting questions.
What actually constitutes infidelity? Take the example of two friends, one of who has a partner, sharing a bed and getting quite passionate. No kissing, no cumming and no touching of privates. Nevertheless, very intimate. Perhaps even, I would suggest, the most lethal type of intimacy. Are they cheating? Does there have to be sex in order to cheat? Does it all depend on ones own definition? And if it does, how do we ever catch a cheater?
And if you are the one who has been cheated on, under what grounds is it okay to welcome somebody back into your duvet? Are we back to the relative definitions category where the phantom stupid ponce is forgiving and forgetting more than they really should be?
Once is a mistake, twice is a habit? Two times and the relationship is over? Is this correct?
On the face of things, I suppose it is easy to forgive. By that same token it is also impossible to forget. Though, I do wonder, if you can’t forget, can you truly forgive?
One thing I’m firm on is this:
If you are the person doing the forgiving, make the utmost effort to forget. And if you’re making the decision to forgive, don’t use the infidelity as a weapon throughout the course of your relationship..
(Boyfriend and girlfriend five years after infidelity took place)
Boyfriend – ‘I hope nothing’s going on with you two.’ (refering to GirlF and some other boy)
Girlfriend – ‘Don’t worry, I’m not like you.’
Boyfriend- (saying anything that goes against the girlfriend)
Girlfriend – ‘But you’re the one who cheated five years ago.'
This is neither forgiving nor forgetting. Holding past infidelities the way you might ammunition isn’t a good idea. If you decide to put up, you should also learn to shut up. This is why, when faced with an adulterous lover, you need to think carefully before you let them back. Sometimes loneliness is far better than spiralling regret and misery.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Pc X
Oh, there really isn’t much sordid going on in my humble existence. This is due, in equal measures, to my being at ‘home’ over Easter and away from Pc X who was, over the weekend, in Paris.
Why Paris? Well, it was a Da Vinci Code trip. That’s correct, I am in anticipation for Pc X returning with the Holy Grail. And of course, there is hope that my personal ties to Jesus Christ are unveiled. I have, as yet, to badger Pc X into giving me the minutiae of his trip. Though, I’m sure Paris was thrilling, because, well it’s Paris.
I have been so horny over the past few days. Waking up with an erection. Always ridding myself of an erection before I fall asleep. The anticipation of Pc X seems to be working wonders (for Methinks this longing is what he probably wanted all along). I now believe the lust that forms a part of anticipation is the purest form. It grips you from inside and this, coupled with my overactive and fluid imagination has made me want it even more.
Prior to Paris however the conversations between Pc X and myself were flourishing. Dissecting his profession is always rather fun. Capital punishment and Police Powers were also highly debated areas of discussion. It’s nice to be able to fuck the mind and have it fucked, wouldn’t you agree? I get the impression Pc X is very good at his job. I also quite enjoy making poor jokes about him arresting and searching me. Any opportunity to flash his badge and I’ll be at him. Our conversations comprise a heavy dose of flirting, me taking the Michael out of his Estuary English (yea mate innit) and him calling me a geek and threatening to arrest me. Well, where would I be without hope.
Why Paris? Well, it was a Da Vinci Code trip. That’s correct, I am in anticipation for Pc X returning with the Holy Grail. And of course, there is hope that my personal ties to Jesus Christ are unveiled. I have, as yet, to badger Pc X into giving me the minutiae of his trip. Though, I’m sure Paris was thrilling, because, well it’s Paris.
I have been so horny over the past few days. Waking up with an erection. Always ridding myself of an erection before I fall asleep. The anticipation of Pc X seems to be working wonders (for Methinks this longing is what he probably wanted all along). I now believe the lust that forms a part of anticipation is the purest form. It grips you from inside and this, coupled with my overactive and fluid imagination has made me want it even more.
Prior to Paris however the conversations between Pc X and myself were flourishing. Dissecting his profession is always rather fun. Capital punishment and Police Powers were also highly debated areas of discussion. It’s nice to be able to fuck the mind and have it fucked, wouldn’t you agree? I get the impression Pc X is very good at his job. I also quite enjoy making poor jokes about him arresting and searching me. Any opportunity to flash his badge and I’ll be at him. Our conversations comprise a heavy dose of flirting, me taking the Michael out of his Estuary English (yea mate innit) and him calling me a geek and threatening to arrest me. Well, where would I be without hope.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
The tale
There was a time. A time when my sordid fantasies manifested themselves in various weird and wonderful ways. There was also a time when Desdemona and decided to write an erotic tale together. This is the beginning I wrote. I wonder if Desdemona has something to add a year down the line...
Ten years ago, Sister Beatrice, the nun whose convent I was raised in, took me aside after having caught me with my fingers dug deeply inside my panties, and told me that the pleasure I sought to consume was dirty, a sin, something that good little catholic girls would never do. More than her words, it was the look in her eyes that made me question whether in fact she right.
Despite this, I remember turning greedily, night after night, in my bed and gently invading the maze between my legs, pressing down firmly. I remember those moments fondly, I remember it feeling good, and for those few moments every night I was lost, and happily so.
As time moved on, I came to realise that what I felt wasn’t in fact strange or wrong as I had been led to believe, in fact, I came to learn that most of the girls in the convent had found a way of manifesting their desires. One girl would in fact find love in a priest and divulged the details of what went on beneath his robe as we lay in our dorms at night. At first I remember feeling shocked and repulsed. But really, there was no difference between Mary Jane and myself. We were both exploring our desire, doing what makes us happy. In fact I came to admire Mary Jane for grabbing her desire by the bollocks and allowing it to fill her to the brim with lust, quite literally.
It was perhaps this realisation that desire was in fact a desirable thing, these many years ago that led me to accept an invitation, ten years later, to a blind date whilst I was a student in London.
And it was this longing for excitement that kept my lips closed as my date, a handsome banker with the most addictive eyes I had ever seen, wrapped a silk scarf tightly around my eyes and led me into the back of his sleek black Lexus.
I have little idea why I obliged the way I did, but I did and my lips remained closed as he locked the door to his car. Nor did my lips open as he begun to drive the car, or as it slowly came to a halt twenty minutes later, or even as I stepped outside of the car, his firm hand pressed against the base of my spine. I could feel his breath wash against my ear as he told me we had ‘arrived’. That this, he hoped, would be a night to remember.
Slowly, he undid the blindfold and ran his finger over my eyelids until I had opened my eyes fully. I recall being surprised by what seemed an acre of moist green lawn which grew beneath my feet, the wet blades working their way between my exposed toes. I wondered how we had managed to get so far from central London in what seemed such a short space of time…
Only once I’d been standing for five minutes did I fully absorb that we were in fact at the foot of a mansion lit by a number of floodlights. Taking my hand, James guided me to the front door where he pressed a button on the intercom machine. There was a slight crackle at which he leaned forward and whispered the word ‘blackcurrant’. As soon as the word had escaped his lips the front door opened and we were welcomed into what was perhaps the most astonishing house I had ever seen. People were walking with their flutes filled with champagne in and around the various rooms, making their way up the vast spiral staircase. The butler came and took my coat and handing me a glass of champagne, left James and I to explore. It was only once we’d climbed the stairs to the first floor of this mansion that I begun to realise what this place was. At the time I had no idea, but that night would become a part of my life, and what a night it would turn out to be….
Ten years ago, Sister Beatrice, the nun whose convent I was raised in, took me aside after having caught me with my fingers dug deeply inside my panties, and told me that the pleasure I sought to consume was dirty, a sin, something that good little catholic girls would never do. More than her words, it was the look in her eyes that made me question whether in fact she right.
Despite this, I remember turning greedily, night after night, in my bed and gently invading the maze between my legs, pressing down firmly. I remember those moments fondly, I remember it feeling good, and for those few moments every night I was lost, and happily so.
As time moved on, I came to realise that what I felt wasn’t in fact strange or wrong as I had been led to believe, in fact, I came to learn that most of the girls in the convent had found a way of manifesting their desires. One girl would in fact find love in a priest and divulged the details of what went on beneath his robe as we lay in our dorms at night. At first I remember feeling shocked and repulsed. But really, there was no difference between Mary Jane and myself. We were both exploring our desire, doing what makes us happy. In fact I came to admire Mary Jane for grabbing her desire by the bollocks and allowing it to fill her to the brim with lust, quite literally.
It was perhaps this realisation that desire was in fact a desirable thing, these many years ago that led me to accept an invitation, ten years later, to a blind date whilst I was a student in London.
And it was this longing for excitement that kept my lips closed as my date, a handsome banker with the most addictive eyes I had ever seen, wrapped a silk scarf tightly around my eyes and led me into the back of his sleek black Lexus.
I have little idea why I obliged the way I did, but I did and my lips remained closed as he locked the door to his car. Nor did my lips open as he begun to drive the car, or as it slowly came to a halt twenty minutes later, or even as I stepped outside of the car, his firm hand pressed against the base of my spine. I could feel his breath wash against my ear as he told me we had ‘arrived’. That this, he hoped, would be a night to remember.
Slowly, he undid the blindfold and ran his finger over my eyelids until I had opened my eyes fully. I recall being surprised by what seemed an acre of moist green lawn which grew beneath my feet, the wet blades working their way between my exposed toes. I wondered how we had managed to get so far from central London in what seemed such a short space of time…
Only once I’d been standing for five minutes did I fully absorb that we were in fact at the foot of a mansion lit by a number of floodlights. Taking my hand, James guided me to the front door where he pressed a button on the intercom machine. There was a slight crackle at which he leaned forward and whispered the word ‘blackcurrant’. As soon as the word had escaped his lips the front door opened and we were welcomed into what was perhaps the most astonishing house I had ever seen. People were walking with their flutes filled with champagne in and around the various rooms, making their way up the vast spiral staircase. The butler came and took my coat and handing me a glass of champagne, left James and I to explore. It was only once we’d climbed the stairs to the first floor of this mansion that I begun to realise what this place was. At the time I had no idea, but that night would become a part of my life, and what a night it would turn out to be….
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
The Desdemona Dilemma
There are fewer things in life, let it be said, than good food and good conversation. The coupling of Desdemona and a highly individualistic Japanese restaurant provide ample support for this theory.
The Venue: Benihana restaurant in Piccadilly. Diners are seated in groups of 7 around a semi circular table, the middle of which is taken up by a grill. A chef then personally cooks an assortment of vegetables/fish/meat in front of you, culminating in a constant stream of eating. Small portions of food over a long period of time. 6 courses to be precise (excluding deserts). It wasn’t the cheapest meal despite a booking through top table. The money is essentially for some good healthy food and the experience of having a chef prepare it a metre away from your eyes. A personal chef, divided by seven if you will.
I hadn’t seen Desdemona in a long time and it was, as usual, a pleasure to meet with her. The thing is, and we both agreed on this matter, true friendship is the sort that can leave two friends as comfortable with each other two months after their previous meeting the same as had it been a day earlier. With true friends, it’s almost as though you were never apart.
And now for the sex…
‘We’ve only had sex five or six times in the past few months.’(Desdemona on the subject of her sex life once my sexual probing was in full swing)
For those of you familiar with Desdemona, this is indeed, for want of a better word, a shocker. For somebody whose sexual antics were and remain a great source of inspiration to me, to reveal something so, wrong, caught me completely off guard.
The problem, as far as I understand it, is that their sexual synchrony is completely conflicting. Hardly ever wanting it at the same time, coupled with complacency at being in a ‘secure’ relationship with a dash of the predictable thrown in for good measure. That Desdemona and Othello are on the verge of marriage is unsettling.
I don’t know whether it is me who is placing too much emphasis on sexual fulfilment, or whether, as Desdemona pointed out, sex isn’t really the be all and end all of a relationship. I know that we are very different in terms of our experience and that whereas I am greedy for kinky experimental sex, she has experienced rather a lot in terms of sexual gratification.
I think sex is important in any relationship and I think a life without it might be lacking in something quite fundamental. If the love is there and the intentions are there, is sex (or lack of exciting sex) enough to justify the end of a relationship? Why can’t we, at least when we’re young and excited, have it all? Is it really an impossible feat?
Issue No 1) She compares her present sex to that she was having with her ex, who was the best sex she’s ever had. Is this wrong? How does one put an end to the comparison?
Issue 2) Othello doesn’t seem interested in what turns her on, isn’t particularly good at sex (according to Desdemona) and she is faced with the decision between frequent sex of an average nature, or no sex at all.
Issue 3) the lack of pleasurable intercourse has meant that Desdemona has lost her libido.
I’m worried. Suggestions from you, dear readers, might be highly interesting in this matter.
How important is sex really, in the grand scheme of things. Can love and comfort compensate for an unfulfilling sex life. When your lover has the sexual potential ( as Othello does), is it right to be annoyed when he refuses to nurture this to your benefit?
The Venue: Benihana restaurant in Piccadilly. Diners are seated in groups of 7 around a semi circular table, the middle of which is taken up by a grill. A chef then personally cooks an assortment of vegetables/fish/meat in front of you, culminating in a constant stream of eating. Small portions of food over a long period of time. 6 courses to be precise (excluding deserts). It wasn’t the cheapest meal despite a booking through top table. The money is essentially for some good healthy food and the experience of having a chef prepare it a metre away from your eyes. A personal chef, divided by seven if you will.
I hadn’t seen Desdemona in a long time and it was, as usual, a pleasure to meet with her. The thing is, and we both agreed on this matter, true friendship is the sort that can leave two friends as comfortable with each other two months after their previous meeting the same as had it been a day earlier. With true friends, it’s almost as though you were never apart.
And now for the sex…
‘We’ve only had sex five or six times in the past few months.’(Desdemona on the subject of her sex life once my sexual probing was in full swing)
For those of you familiar with Desdemona, this is indeed, for want of a better word, a shocker. For somebody whose sexual antics were and remain a great source of inspiration to me, to reveal something so, wrong, caught me completely off guard.
The problem, as far as I understand it, is that their sexual synchrony is completely conflicting. Hardly ever wanting it at the same time, coupled with complacency at being in a ‘secure’ relationship with a dash of the predictable thrown in for good measure. That Desdemona and Othello are on the verge of marriage is unsettling.
I don’t know whether it is me who is placing too much emphasis on sexual fulfilment, or whether, as Desdemona pointed out, sex isn’t really the be all and end all of a relationship. I know that we are very different in terms of our experience and that whereas I am greedy for kinky experimental sex, she has experienced rather a lot in terms of sexual gratification.
I think sex is important in any relationship and I think a life without it might be lacking in something quite fundamental. If the love is there and the intentions are there, is sex (or lack of exciting sex) enough to justify the end of a relationship? Why can’t we, at least when we’re young and excited, have it all? Is it really an impossible feat?
Issue No 1) She compares her present sex to that she was having with her ex, who was the best sex she’s ever had. Is this wrong? How does one put an end to the comparison?
Issue 2) Othello doesn’t seem interested in what turns her on, isn’t particularly good at sex (according to Desdemona) and she is faced with the decision between frequent sex of an average nature, or no sex at all.
Issue 3) the lack of pleasurable intercourse has meant that Desdemona has lost her libido.
I’m worried. Suggestions from you, dear readers, might be highly interesting in this matter.
How important is sex really, in the grand scheme of things. Can love and comfort compensate for an unfulfilling sex life. When your lover has the sexual potential ( as Othello does), is it right to be annoyed when he refuses to nurture this to your benefit?
Tanya
First things first. Tanya, I miss you too. And the news of your engagement is wonderful. You’re still so very young though!
Ensure the following checklist is ticked won’t you?
1) Conversations can last for hours on end and cover a diverse range of topics.
2) Most important fetishes have been disclosed.
3) There are still parts of your being that you know he’ll never know.
4) He makes you the happiest.
If all four are ticked, you’re probably onto a winner I suspect.
As for the pic n mix, I’m glad to see you have remembered! Yes, think fruity flavours, unusual flavours and maybe a fizzy one or two. And for those of you who are wondering whether I’m referring to pic of mix sexual contraptions (which is quite understandable), I’m not. Think Woolworths. Think Haribo. Hong Kong is the best place for pic n mix. Delicious.
Also, I think this is a good time to introduce J into my seedy equations. J is a friend of mine who studies with me. So witty it puts me to shame. Currently with parents in Australia. Humping an ozzy bloke, or even better, a kangaroo, I hope. This might prove to be insightful blog fodder. I shall question him on his return, fear not.
Ensure the following checklist is ticked won’t you?
1) Conversations can last for hours on end and cover a diverse range of topics.
2) Most important fetishes have been disclosed.
3) There are still parts of your being that you know he’ll never know.
4) He makes you the happiest.
If all four are ticked, you’re probably onto a winner I suspect.
As for the pic n mix, I’m glad to see you have remembered! Yes, think fruity flavours, unusual flavours and maybe a fizzy one or two. And for those of you who are wondering whether I’m referring to pic of mix sexual contraptions (which is quite understandable), I’m not. Think Woolworths. Think Haribo. Hong Kong is the best place for pic n mix. Delicious.
Also, I think this is a good time to introduce J into my seedy equations. J is a friend of mine who studies with me. So witty it puts me to shame. Currently with parents in Australia. Humping an ozzy bloke, or even better, a kangaroo, I hope. This might prove to be insightful blog fodder. I shall question him on his return, fear not.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Factory Girl - The Movie
Was she really acting? Sienna Miller? In the film ‘Factory girl’?
A part of me wonders whether the English press (who are currently being very unfair to Miss Miller), are scuppering her chances of success too early on after the film’s release. I also wonder whether, if the press are to be believed, Sienna Miller is an out-and-out party girl who doesn’t actually do much work, is a bit naïve, and a bit famous? If so, her portrayal of Eddie Sedgwick seems a little too easy a part a play.
If she is different, a reputable actor who just happens to be funky and famous (as I expect), she plays this role, of an emotionally vulnerable fame hungry minor celebrity, exceedingly well. I don’t think she the most stunning actress to look at, although a host of people I know would heartedly disagree. I think she is unconventionally attractive, but nothing extraordinary and nothing to merit the pages and pages that fashion magazines seem to dedicate to her.
A part of me does imagine her life to be a somewhat watered down version of the part she was playing.
Without giving too much of the story away, this is a film that delves head first into the relationship between Eddie Sedgwick, Andy Warhol and (in part) Bob Dylon. How they find each other, are inspired by each other, choose between each other and ultimately betray each other. That the central point of this film is very much about Eddie’s slow crumble into the depths of drug addiction makes for interesting viewing.
And to be fair, and oppose those people who thought Andy Warhol was portrayed as a cold manipulator, I think he was played fantastically by Guy Pearce. I came away thinking he was a man so messed up yet so still, and thus very stagnant throughout the entire movie. The homosexual man builds a great friendship, only for the friend to be a female. Her sexual void is filled by another, hugely successful man, who he becomes jealous of. The control shown by Guy Pearce, in what was a very complex character, should earn him his fair share of roses.
The film was shot very well. The insular world of art, Warhol’s infamous factory, the funk-art movement and the almost carefree poise that so many artists possess was shown to perfection. And, not forgetting, the claustrophobia of it all.
I’d recommend this one to those of you who are interested in art. Who, given half the chance, would run up the social ladder and become the next IT girl or boy. For those of you who like a slice of funky reality. Creativity and ambition come at a price, let us not forget.
A part of me wonders whether the English press (who are currently being very unfair to Miss Miller), are scuppering her chances of success too early on after the film’s release. I also wonder whether, if the press are to be believed, Sienna Miller is an out-and-out party girl who doesn’t actually do much work, is a bit naïve, and a bit famous? If so, her portrayal of Eddie Sedgwick seems a little too easy a part a play.
If she is different, a reputable actor who just happens to be funky and famous (as I expect), she plays this role, of an emotionally vulnerable fame hungry minor celebrity, exceedingly well. I don’t think she the most stunning actress to look at, although a host of people I know would heartedly disagree. I think she is unconventionally attractive, but nothing extraordinary and nothing to merit the pages and pages that fashion magazines seem to dedicate to her.
A part of me does imagine her life to be a somewhat watered down version of the part she was playing.
Without giving too much of the story away, this is a film that delves head first into the relationship between Eddie Sedgwick, Andy Warhol and (in part) Bob Dylon. How they find each other, are inspired by each other, choose between each other and ultimately betray each other. That the central point of this film is very much about Eddie’s slow crumble into the depths of drug addiction makes for interesting viewing.
And to be fair, and oppose those people who thought Andy Warhol was portrayed as a cold manipulator, I think he was played fantastically by Guy Pearce. I came away thinking he was a man so messed up yet so still, and thus very stagnant throughout the entire movie. The homosexual man builds a great friendship, only for the friend to be a female. Her sexual void is filled by another, hugely successful man, who he becomes jealous of. The control shown by Guy Pearce, in what was a very complex character, should earn him his fair share of roses.
The film was shot very well. The insular world of art, Warhol’s infamous factory, the funk-art movement and the almost carefree poise that so many artists possess was shown to perfection. And, not forgetting, the claustrophobia of it all.
I’d recommend this one to those of you who are interested in art. Who, given half the chance, would run up the social ladder and become the next IT girl or boy. For those of you who like a slice of funky reality. Creativity and ambition come at a price, let us not forget.
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