'You've had quite a few late nights this week' said Katherina (my one and only flatmate) over a most succulent meal of posh bangers and mash and even posher gravy.
And it's true, I had.
Saturday morning - Up at 6am, still slightly drunk from the night before and a cocktail rampage in Clapham Common with an old friend.
On the train to the posh university at 8am
Matriculation ceremony at 11.30am
Lunch - sandwiches and cheap champagne/orange juice - or, a 'Mimosa', as that's what I had.
After lunch - tipsy and talking about clairvoyants and spirits with my class mates.
'It was true', an American lady said, 'I saw it with my own eyes. There was a spirit in the room and I could actually see the light switch going on and off. On and off!'
Blimey.
And then, a train back to Londres in the afternoon.
Juno's birthday party was to be held that evening and so I trimmed, washed and wiped that area before I left the flat. All ready to bring somebody back with me.
Achilles - boy I wouldn't mind having a piece of (at least I thought so), and veterinary surgeon, arrived at Juno's party after remaining awake for 48 hours on the job. Tired - probably, Horny -yes, Fit - yes.
'I've just come from removing a pencil which had been inserted up a Jack Russels vagina', he said, deadly serious, as I sipped on a cocktail and talked to Cruella de'Vil about the possibility of pruning her lady garden.
'I just can't be bothered to work for men' she said. If it happens it happens.' (here, she talks about her refusal to put any work into pursuing men. That said, she's a dab hand with the old flirting and usually has men salivating at the thought of her quivering fanny)
'Working for men'- that's an entire blog on it's own.
So, Achilles and I spent quite a while talking about my sexual prowess and his resulting feeling that he was somewhat prudish.
'I like talking to you' he said, by this he meant, I like talking to somebody who talks about sex openly without apology.
'I'd never go to a sauna, it's just not me'. Fine, i thought, this sort of sexual conquest isn't for everyone. But the way in which he then persisted with the questions made me think perhaps he'd go, if pushed a little. The curiosity was certainly there.
And then we'd moved swiftly onto Achilles and Cruella's drug habits.
'You really should try some cocaine' she said, 'you'd become all Renaissance and it'd put you on another level. It'd do you good.'
No I thought, not drugs.
As the night dwindled on we ended up in Heaven, five boys, Juno Achilles and myself included.
I should have guessed it wouldn't have take long before we ended up in the cheese room at the top dancing to 'Crazy' by Beyonce. In the club's defense they also played my 'tune of the month' by Timbaland.
So we were dancing until about 6am. At 5am, Juno thought it decent to bugger off home leaving me and Achilles (who was ever so slightly plastered) alone.
And when we left the club at 6, the first thing Achilles insisted we do was visit a sauna.
'Take me somewhere where there are only young fit men'
'Listen, those sorts of places don't exist dear boy', I said.
Decisions were made quite rapidly and the cab drove us to Chariots. I wish, I really do, that there had been a better option, but the truth is, this place is the biggest and the turnover of men is greater.
'Stay with me won't you? Don't leave me anywhere' said Achilles.
'Fine'.
Only, once were we seated in the steam room, Achilles rather casually propped his leg up against a man sitting beside him. A hand up his leg and mutual wank later, we were out of there.
That's correct, Achilles was a sauna cock tease, for want of a better term. Great, I thought, he's fitted in well.
And then, as a last measure, he let 8 men lick his cock in the wank room. I wasn't there to see that, but I'm pretty sure I can imagine what went on.
Up until that point we'd been together, but for a brief while, as the fat white men's cock appreciation devoured Achilles' cock, I went for a pee and to try and see if there was somebody who I wouldn't mind having some fun with.
Twenty minutes later and there he was, asking that we go home. And so we did.
In the car Achilles insisted I 'call somebody' in order that we have a threesome.
He was drunk and wanted to try out everything in one big go, there and then.
As you'll imagine, my phone isn't full of people who'd happily wake up at 7am on a Sunday , pop down to Clapham and engage in a threesome. And what a shame that is.
Once home he was alseep before I could even pull the extra matress out.
In the morning I attempted texting Tom Ford with the offer of a threesome, determined to have one with Achilles before he left. Alas, it wasn't to happen.
But now, I'm pleased that the possibilty of a threesome is something that has entered his mind. You see, the seedling is always full of endless possibilty.
The next time I see Achilles, there'll be a threesome. At least, I darn as hell hope so.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Desdemona's Beastiality
So we've all heard the tale of the lady who fucked a horse. Yes, we all know that Horses are almost abnormally well endowed and that many women have attempted to fuck one.
Alluding to the title of this particular entry, my suggestion is not that Desdemona has fucked a horse. The title is referring, perhaps more worryingly, to her puppy.
Yes folks, Desdemona now has a dog. Toilet trained in six weeks with a keen interest in 'warm' places.
We utilised Yo! sushi vouchers last night and it was great catching up after what may have been a long few months.
And in the meantime, I'm happy to report a better sex life (for her), and much joy in (almost)all aspects of the relationship with Othello.
And after dinner we ventured into Bermondsey.
The thing is, I'd been invited to a music and art evening at a Japanese gallery. All well and good.
What we hadn't expected was not to find the gallery despite having circled the area once and to be led back to the station by a posh rough looking bloke who was studying Engineering at Kings.
My desire to dip whatever they were offering into the promised chocolate fountain and to sip on a promise of ever-flowing cocktails were diminished.
And Bermondsey is a pretty dismal area. As we walked from one end of what seemed to be the world's biggest road to the other, we felt the fear street walkers feel every day of their life. And, no, it's not pleasant.
After talking me through the procedure for toilet training a puppy she told me in fairly frank terms how the puppy loved Othello's cock.
'Er, how do you mean?' - yes, even I was slightly bewildered.
'Well, in the mornings' she continued, 'he comes into our room and goes under the duvet. He'll then start licking Othello's cock and even my private parts. He's even licked and bitten my nipples.'
Perhaps now is the time to reiterate the fact that this isn't a man she's talking about, it's a dog.
The way she described it, the puppy's lust seemed so normal, and well nobody could ever deny that she and Othello were attractive. But to allow a puppy to invade the sexual zen regions without so much as a shoo or a no!, seems to me a little inappropriate.
What did make me smile was the mild possibility that Desdemona had fallen in love with a puppy who was bisexual.
Question: How exactly do you teach a puppy NOT to give you a blow job in the morning?
Alluding to the title of this particular entry, my suggestion is not that Desdemona has fucked a horse. The title is referring, perhaps more worryingly, to her puppy.
Yes folks, Desdemona now has a dog. Toilet trained in six weeks with a keen interest in 'warm' places.
We utilised Yo! sushi vouchers last night and it was great catching up after what may have been a long few months.
And in the meantime, I'm happy to report a better sex life (for her), and much joy in (almost)all aspects of the relationship with Othello.
And after dinner we ventured into Bermondsey.
The thing is, I'd been invited to a music and art evening at a Japanese gallery. All well and good.
What we hadn't expected was not to find the gallery despite having circled the area once and to be led back to the station by a posh rough looking bloke who was studying Engineering at Kings.
My desire to dip whatever they were offering into the promised chocolate fountain and to sip on a promise of ever-flowing cocktails were diminished.
And Bermondsey is a pretty dismal area. As we walked from one end of what seemed to be the world's biggest road to the other, we felt the fear street walkers feel every day of their life. And, no, it's not pleasant.
After talking me through the procedure for toilet training a puppy she told me in fairly frank terms how the puppy loved Othello's cock.
'Er, how do you mean?' - yes, even I was slightly bewildered.
'Well, in the mornings' she continued, 'he comes into our room and goes under the duvet. He'll then start licking Othello's cock and even my private parts. He's even licked and bitten my nipples.'
Perhaps now is the time to reiterate the fact that this isn't a man she's talking about, it's a dog.
The way she described it, the puppy's lust seemed so normal, and well nobody could ever deny that she and Othello were attractive. But to allow a puppy to invade the sexual zen regions without so much as a shoo or a no!, seems to me a little inappropriate.
What did make me smile was the mild possibility that Desdemona had fallen in love with a puppy who was bisexual.
Question: How exactly do you teach a puppy NOT to give you a blow job in the morning?
Monday, October 08, 2007
Two sides of the coin
Ever since I met (the bloke who looks like)Tom Ford at the Sauna, I've wanted to meet for sex again. It hasn't happened, and I think he's interested, but I'm quickly coming to realise that I'll need to curtail my sexual ambitions until I'm in the same room with him.
Now, let's analyse this: He has yet to say the word 'Sauna' and prefers to refer to it as 'that' place. Fine, perhaps a little prudish. What I fail to understand is why a man, in his thirties, who attends saunas on a regular basis, is so coy about them. He also refers to sex as 'Hanky Panky'. Now, this is something I can't seem to grasp. At all.
'I find it both endearing and weird that you refer to sex as 'hanky panky' and to saunas as 'that place' I said, last night over the telephone. Incidentally, he'd just returned from Up North and went to the Sauna as it was en route.
'Well you never know who's listening in to our conversations' he said.
'When I say 'that' place, you know what I'm talking about and so do I'.
Paranoia. Of the severest order? I'm afraid I forgot to ask whether he had any underlying connections with the CIA.
The thing is, whenever we talk, it's late at night, because we both lead 'London Lives'. And last week I let him go because, well, people need their sleep. But last night it seemed as though he couldn't wait to get off the phone. As he was saying goodbye he made a joke about 'banging one out before bed' (why do people say these pubescent things?)
And then we digressed into a conversation about Camilla Parker Bowles and our mutual appreciation of her, me declaring my love and him declaring that the Church of England was founded on divorce and that he didn't understand why people objected to the marriage.
Anyways, so I could tell he wanted to go, but the 'bang one out' comment pushed me to ask whether he was into phone sex. Now, my saying this wasn't really a ploy to get him to fall prey to my imagination and bang one out over the phone - in my mind, all I'd asked was a question. I was curious. Earlier on when I'd asked him about any fetishes, he said he's rather not talk about 'that' over the phone.
'I need to go to bed now, goodnight'. And he was gone. I couldn't even get a word in. It was almost as if I'd offended him.
Now, I'm all for people being reserved and am able to appreciate when I should tone things down, but when you meet somebody at a Sauna for sex and they take your number, is it so wrong to assume that they probably won't mind talking a little bit about sex once the Sauna door is closed behind them?
Perhaps I'm wrong and perhaps my sexual prowess is simply too much for some people, but to avoid the issues and swerve away in any other direction is not only unnecessary, but rude.
The texts are done from my side. If he writes anything, I'll respond, but Tom ford has to realise that I'm a sexual, breathing and often hungry individual. And that I wouldn't mind shutting up, as long as he tells me to.
Now, let's analyse this: He has yet to say the word 'Sauna' and prefers to refer to it as 'that' place. Fine, perhaps a little prudish. What I fail to understand is why a man, in his thirties, who attends saunas on a regular basis, is so coy about them. He also refers to sex as 'Hanky Panky'. Now, this is something I can't seem to grasp. At all.
'I find it both endearing and weird that you refer to sex as 'hanky panky' and to saunas as 'that place' I said, last night over the telephone. Incidentally, he'd just returned from Up North and went to the Sauna as it was en route.
'Well you never know who's listening in to our conversations' he said.
'When I say 'that' place, you know what I'm talking about and so do I'.
Paranoia. Of the severest order? I'm afraid I forgot to ask whether he had any underlying connections with the CIA.
The thing is, whenever we talk, it's late at night, because we both lead 'London Lives'. And last week I let him go because, well, people need their sleep. But last night it seemed as though he couldn't wait to get off the phone. As he was saying goodbye he made a joke about 'banging one out before bed' (why do people say these pubescent things?)
And then we digressed into a conversation about Camilla Parker Bowles and our mutual appreciation of her, me declaring my love and him declaring that the Church of England was founded on divorce and that he didn't understand why people objected to the marriage.
Anyways, so I could tell he wanted to go, but the 'bang one out' comment pushed me to ask whether he was into phone sex. Now, my saying this wasn't really a ploy to get him to fall prey to my imagination and bang one out over the phone - in my mind, all I'd asked was a question. I was curious. Earlier on when I'd asked him about any fetishes, he said he's rather not talk about 'that' over the phone.
'I need to go to bed now, goodnight'. And he was gone. I couldn't even get a word in. It was almost as if I'd offended him.
Now, I'm all for people being reserved and am able to appreciate when I should tone things down, but when you meet somebody at a Sauna for sex and they take your number, is it so wrong to assume that they probably won't mind talking a little bit about sex once the Sauna door is closed behind them?
Perhaps I'm wrong and perhaps my sexual prowess is simply too much for some people, but to avoid the issues and swerve away in any other direction is not only unnecessary, but rude.
The texts are done from my side. If he writes anything, I'll respond, but Tom ford has to realise that I'm a sexual, breathing and often hungry individual. And that I wouldn't mind shutting up, as long as he tells me to.
Moving
Moved from north of the river to south of it.
For those of you unaware, the smell isn't different. In fact, the distinction many Londoners make between North and South-of-the-river London is, well, pretty pointless as there really is very little worth moaning about.
And now that I've moved, I love it. The new place is well situated and really quite modern and airy. And, I can't think of a better flatmate, or one more tolerable.
Of course, the idea of moving is far more exciting and adventurous than the actual shifting of the (far too many) boxes.
And so, Saturday night, with the help of Belle de Bengal (the sweet love), I moved back and forth above and below the river until I'd moved all of my possessions. It never fails to surprise me just how much baggage one can accumulate in the space of a year.
And yesterday, the flatmate and I spent the the entire day being driven around by the flatmate's BoyF as we gathered (essential) supplies for the nest - which just happened to include leek and honey pork sausages and bog roll from PoundLand in Croydon (not the sausages mind).
A new chapter has begun.
For those of you unaware, the smell isn't different. In fact, the distinction many Londoners make between North and South-of-the-river London is, well, pretty pointless as there really is very little worth moaning about.
And now that I've moved, I love it. The new place is well situated and really quite modern and airy. And, I can't think of a better flatmate, or one more tolerable.
Of course, the idea of moving is far more exciting and adventurous than the actual shifting of the (far too many) boxes.
And so, Saturday night, with the help of Belle de Bengal (the sweet love), I moved back and forth above and below the river until I'd moved all of my possessions. It never fails to surprise me just how much baggage one can accumulate in the space of a year.
And yesterday, the flatmate and I spent the the entire day being driven around by the flatmate's BoyF as we gathered (essential) supplies for the nest - which just happened to include leek and honey pork sausages and bog roll from PoundLand in Croydon (not the sausages mind).
A new chapter has begun.
Friday, October 05, 2007
At the office
Now, the office I work in is pretty hip.
We have quirky American traditions which include 'Bagel Day', and 'Shoe Shine Boy'.
And, as many of my friends are aware, we also have drinks on the terrace every Friday. At least, I have been since I started this job.
And then, earlier this morning the dreaded email.
'Summer has now come to an end as has the drinks run on the terrace. We do however have a few other events coming up shortly including an Oktoberfest and a Christmas Party, which I'm sure you'll all enjoy.'
Note - Oktoberfest really isn't the space ship enterprise costume drama we'd all imagined. No. It's more a drinks and canopies event at the office (in October).
Oh yes, and to top things off, today is 'Jeans for genes day!' - again far more riveting than it sounds. People are encouraged to wear jeans and to donate £2 for one course or another. That's correct. We have to pay for our dress down day - a tradition other companies have cultivated, free of charge, for generations. Huff!
Little did i realise that the ability to wear jeans constituted a proper dress down day for the boys in Accounts who came in clad in hoodies and that token brown belt to give the jeans a certain je ne cest quoi. I, on the other hand, rippled the water with my skinny jeans, a shirt and a blazer. If I'd have known, the recycled leather jacket would have made an entrance.
An let's not even begin to discuss how annoyed I am that women can get away with wearing virtually ANYTHING (Yes, I'm shouting) at the office. Paisley tops, floral skirts and lacey shorts are all up there with the inappropriate forms of clothing that piss me right off. More so because the best a man can manage is a tie less shirt. This sort of discrimination doesn't make me feel good at all.
We have quirky American traditions which include 'Bagel Day', and 'Shoe Shine Boy'.
And, as many of my friends are aware, we also have drinks on the terrace every Friday. At least, I have been since I started this job.
And then, earlier this morning the dreaded email.
'Summer has now come to an end as has the drinks run on the terrace. We do however have a few other events coming up shortly including an Oktoberfest and a Christmas Party, which I'm sure you'll all enjoy.'
Note - Oktoberfest really isn't the space ship enterprise costume drama we'd all imagined. No. It's more a drinks and canopies event at the office (in October).
Oh yes, and to top things off, today is 'Jeans for genes day!' - again far more riveting than it sounds. People are encouraged to wear jeans and to donate £2 for one course or another. That's correct. We have to pay for our dress down day - a tradition other companies have cultivated, free of charge, for generations. Huff!
Little did i realise that the ability to wear jeans constituted a proper dress down day for the boys in Accounts who came in clad in hoodies and that token brown belt to give the jeans a certain je ne cest quoi. I, on the other hand, rippled the water with my skinny jeans, a shirt and a blazer. If I'd have known, the recycled leather jacket would have made an entrance.
An let's not even begin to discuss how annoyed I am that women can get away with wearing virtually ANYTHING (Yes, I'm shouting) at the office. Paisley tops, floral skirts and lacey shorts are all up there with the inappropriate forms of clothing that piss me right off. More so because the best a man can manage is a tie less shirt. This sort of discrimination doesn't make me feel good at all.
Conversations
Now, The Dame's mother and I share, what one might call, a special connection. In other words, she hasn't a clue about my cock hunger and wants me to marry The Dame in order to save her daughter from the doom that is, more so after reading her latest entry, lesbian induced. For as we all know, if she accepts that her daughter is a lesbian, she will, of course, become one herself.
Failing that, she'll wonder whether it was her fault that he daughter loss of sense of normality. Or whether she ate something too big during her pregnancy which, whilst she was in the womb, pushed The Dame far too close to the vagina. Mothers eh! It's all somehow about them.
Needless to say, the poor Dame is suffering at the hands of many fucked up emotional fuck-witt women. I do however firmly believe that it's one of those bad patches of evil luck. A couple of female-less months will do her the world of good, providing her with a new source of energy with which to combat later in the future.
So, I've somewhat drifted. The point I was wanting to make was actually this...
On the phone to The Dame a few nights back, I could hear her mother say something in the background. On listening more closely I could hear
'You're not my favourite boy any more!'
I'd imagined, at this point, that The Dame had, to save herself the humiliation of my marriage proposal, told her mother that I'd been sucking cock for a few months.
'Never mind' I said, 'The love in my heart is enough for both of us S****.'
'I can't believe you like Camilla! Off with you!'
There it was. The Dame's mother had dragged the monarchy into our little friendship circle. A Camilla supporter could never marry The Dame.
'I love Camilla', I howled over the telephone speaker, 'she's dignified and knows how to play her part. She'll be a fantastic queen. and Diana was a gobby cow'.
Now, I could have been a little more diplomatic in that last sentence, but The Dame's mother caught me off guard.
My love for Camilla is fairly deep rooted and my admiration for the 'other woman' is something that'll never diminish. Fact.
'Oh S****', I said.
So I'm no longer a favourite of The Dame's mother. And a previous invitation to The Dame's yard for a Sunday roast was shoved quickly and firmly back into the envelope. Sigh.
If I do ever see S**** again, I'll have her on this one. I will.
Failing that, she'll wonder whether it was her fault that he daughter loss of sense of normality. Or whether she ate something too big during her pregnancy which, whilst she was in the womb, pushed The Dame far too close to the vagina. Mothers eh! It's all somehow about them.
Needless to say, the poor Dame is suffering at the hands of many fucked up emotional fuck-witt women. I do however firmly believe that it's one of those bad patches of evil luck. A couple of female-less months will do her the world of good, providing her with a new source of energy with which to combat later in the future.
So, I've somewhat drifted. The point I was wanting to make was actually this...
On the phone to The Dame a few nights back, I could hear her mother say something in the background. On listening more closely I could hear
'You're not my favourite boy any more!'
I'd imagined, at this point, that The Dame had, to save herself the humiliation of my marriage proposal, told her mother that I'd been sucking cock for a few months.
'Never mind' I said, 'The love in my heart is enough for both of us S****.'
'I can't believe you like Camilla! Off with you!'
There it was. The Dame's mother had dragged the monarchy into our little friendship circle. A Camilla supporter could never marry The Dame.
'I love Camilla', I howled over the telephone speaker, 'she's dignified and knows how to play her part. She'll be a fantastic queen. and Diana was a gobby cow'.
Now, I could have been a little more diplomatic in that last sentence, but The Dame's mother caught me off guard.
My love for Camilla is fairly deep rooted and my admiration for the 'other woman' is something that'll never diminish. Fact.
'Oh S****', I said.
So I'm no longer a favourite of The Dame's mother. And a previous invitation to The Dame's yard for a Sunday roast was shoved quickly and firmly back into the envelope. Sigh.
If I do ever see S**** again, I'll have her on this one. I will.
Return of The Dame
Written by The Dame...
Shit on The Dame...sorry, The Dame - shit on again
You might be inclined to think that what follows is inconceivable. I wish it was but it really isn't.
I have been faced with some pretty sobering moments at work over the last few months. A punch in the chops, being confronted by a man with a kitchen knife, a good fight and chasing/flooring a man who decided to run away from me could all be described as such moments. However, none of these things come close to the mesmerising sobering moment of having Beatrice tell me (mid cuddle in bed) that she has been sleeping with my housemate behind my back. Such a confession has the ability to shatter the (un)reality you have been living in, prompting a feeling of complete deception from two people you really quite liked and trusted, and initiating a move to another pile of bricks in work town.
Its funny how such things can ruin the mood and ironic that my world, again, came crashing down in the exact same spot it did with a certain medical professional.
The Dame has all the luck.
Shit on The Dame...sorry, The Dame - shit on again
You might be inclined to think that what follows is inconceivable. I wish it was but it really isn't.
I have been faced with some pretty sobering moments at work over the last few months. A punch in the chops, being confronted by a man with a kitchen knife, a good fight and chasing/flooring a man who decided to run away from me could all be described as such moments. However, none of these things come close to the mesmerising sobering moment of having Beatrice tell me (mid cuddle in bed) that she has been sleeping with my housemate behind my back. Such a confession has the ability to shatter the (un)reality you have been living in, prompting a feeling of complete deception from two people you really quite liked and trusted, and initiating a move to another pile of bricks in work town.
Its funny how such things can ruin the mood and ironic that my world, again, came crashing down in the exact same spot it did with a certain medical professional.
The Dame has all the luck.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
New beginnings
For some proper gossip...
I have started a new course in Creative Writing. That's correct, this blog, as much as I love her, isn't enough.
If I tell you that I'm now at a posh university, you'll probably guess and so I shall leave that to your imagination.
Now, together with a hundred archaic traditions and a million words to describe them, I thought I would feel, well, out of place. Like a gold fish in the ocean. Or a monk at a sauna, say.
Incredible! I friggin love it!
Writing, eating good food, meeting awesome and incredibly talented writers/buzzing creative spirits and, I might add, sleeping in a nice 'post graduate' room. None of those spunked up walls and hair chocked bath holes. No, I said it was posh.
Never in my life have I been exposed to so many Americans in such a short space of time, many of them flying down specifically for this course. But I like them, these Americans. At least the ones with the Texan accent. Although I'm as yet unsure which American accent it is that annoys me the most, I was thankful that there was nothing of the sort where I was over the past four days.
Oh, and I made a new snappy-little-journalist-friend.
Something extra which'll need my attention now - the writing, not the friend.
I missed the fresher's fair. Drat! All those sweating, excited teenagers would have been reason enough to go. Shame there was hardly any room for anything other than work. I musn't complain, I had an amazing time.
You see, it's sort of like putting a child in a Sweetshop, or a granny in M&S.
and of course, the best bit came when we were all required to read ' a short extract' of our work, in a pretty famous bookshop.
One of the girls read something that resembled '...like you're giving head to a guy and you just know he ain't gonna cum'. At that moment, I knew precisely what she meant. At this point however, most guy's will tell you. The man in her novel didn't.
Poetic, I thought.
And no, this isn't a whore writing academy.
I have started a new course in Creative Writing. That's correct, this blog, as much as I love her, isn't enough.
If I tell you that I'm now at a posh university, you'll probably guess and so I shall leave that to your imagination.
Now, together with a hundred archaic traditions and a million words to describe them, I thought I would feel, well, out of place. Like a gold fish in the ocean. Or a monk at a sauna, say.
Incredible! I friggin love it!
Writing, eating good food, meeting awesome and incredibly talented writers/buzzing creative spirits and, I might add, sleeping in a nice 'post graduate' room. None of those spunked up walls and hair chocked bath holes. No, I said it was posh.
Never in my life have I been exposed to so many Americans in such a short space of time, many of them flying down specifically for this course. But I like them, these Americans. At least the ones with the Texan accent. Although I'm as yet unsure which American accent it is that annoys me the most, I was thankful that there was nothing of the sort where I was over the past four days.
Oh, and I made a new snappy-little-journalist-friend.
Something extra which'll need my attention now - the writing, not the friend.
I missed the fresher's fair. Drat! All those sweating, excited teenagers would have been reason enough to go. Shame there was hardly any room for anything other than work. I musn't complain, I had an amazing time.
You see, it's sort of like putting a child in a Sweetshop, or a granny in M&S.
and of course, the best bit came when we were all required to read ' a short extract' of our work, in a pretty famous bookshop.
One of the girls read something that resembled '...like you're giving head to a guy and you just know he ain't gonna cum'. At that moment, I knew precisely what she meant. At this point however, most guy's will tell you. The man in her novel didn't.
Poetic, I thought.
And no, this isn't a whore writing academy.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Advice
Lesson #1 of 1:
If considering prostitution as a possible enterprise, who better to ask the advice of than a prostitute.
And so I did. In fact, I asked my favourite prostitute.
Belle De Jour is now officially a fully fledged Facebooker. You can poke her, send her a message and, as I found out today, may even get one in return.
Message from me To Belle:
I require some advice.
I have just finished my formal education and have a job lined up for a couple of years.
In the meantime, although I don't require financial support, I would love to work as a (gay) male escort.
Do you think that by doing this I am somehow making a mockery of prostitutes? The reason I say this is because many of them do what they do as they feel they have no other choice (something I disagree with).
I am asking your advice because you are somebody who was a prostitute through choice and somebody who remains very unapologetic about your lifestyle (a quality I truly admire).
Is it wrong to want to get paid for sex in order to feed a sexual desire, meet new people and have interesting sex? Above all, would I be mad to ruin a potential career by going off on a sexual whim such as this?
Another point that really interests me is how I may be able to have sex with people for whom I feel no desire. I think that would be interesting.
Any advice?
Belle's reply:
Hello (*), no, I don't think it makes a mockery at all.
I presume you'd be using Gumtree or Gaydar or similar to find clients? If you feel comfortable with the idea, then by all means do it - though of course, you would be well advised to talk to some men doing the same line of work first.
My general advice would be, stay away from drugs and anyone who uses them, keep your working life and your real life separate so as not to impact any future career, NEVER date your clients, keep an eye on the money and always get paid up front, and never, never, stay in a situation where you feel out of control (hence no drugs) or threatened.
Oh, and ALWAYS have an absolutely trusted friend you can contact in case you get in a sticky situation. Good luck, and remember you can leave it any time if it isn't for you. Play safe, I'll be thinking of you. Bxx
There you have it, straight from the horses mouth. And what an inspirational one she is.
If considering prostitution as a possible enterprise, who better to ask the advice of than a prostitute.
And so I did. In fact, I asked my favourite prostitute.
Belle De Jour is now officially a fully fledged Facebooker. You can poke her, send her a message and, as I found out today, may even get one in return.
Message from me To Belle:
I require some advice.
I have just finished my formal education and have a job lined up for a couple of years.
In the meantime, although I don't require financial support, I would love to work as a (gay) male escort.
Do you think that by doing this I am somehow making a mockery of prostitutes? The reason I say this is because many of them do what they do as they feel they have no other choice (something I disagree with).
I am asking your advice because you are somebody who was a prostitute through choice and somebody who remains very unapologetic about your lifestyle (a quality I truly admire).
Is it wrong to want to get paid for sex in order to feed a sexual desire, meet new people and have interesting sex? Above all, would I be mad to ruin a potential career by going off on a sexual whim such as this?
Another point that really interests me is how I may be able to have sex with people for whom I feel no desire. I think that would be interesting.
Any advice?
Belle's reply:
Hello (*), no, I don't think it makes a mockery at all.
I presume you'd be using Gumtree or Gaydar or similar to find clients? If you feel comfortable with the idea, then by all means do it - though of course, you would be well advised to talk to some men doing the same line of work first.
My general advice would be, stay away from drugs and anyone who uses them, keep your working life and your real life separate so as not to impact any future career, NEVER date your clients, keep an eye on the money and always get paid up front, and never, never, stay in a situation where you feel out of control (hence no drugs) or threatened.
Oh, and ALWAYS have an absolutely trusted friend you can contact in case you get in a sticky situation. Good luck, and remember you can leave it any time if it isn't for you. Play safe, I'll be thinking of you. Bxx
There you have it, straight from the horses mouth. And what an inspirational one she is.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Cunt Cunt Cunt Cunt Cunt
Other than to feed my desire for totally useless gossip, Facebook is, on occasion, full of much needed information.
See the following example:
On my quick jolly around Facebook this morning, I came to realise that Common Julie has joined a Facebook Group entitled 'The Campaign To Make 'CUNT' a More Globally Accepted Word'.
I joined immediately.
The word CUNT deserves much more than global appreciation. It needs a Nobel Prize for being so darn powerful and sexual.
And on delving further into the group I came across what might possibly be, one of the most important pieces of information to feature on this blog:
"Cunt is believed to derive from a Germanic root *kunton "female genitalia", which also gave rise to Old Norse kunta (ancestor of Norwegian and Swedish dialectical kunta and Danish dialectical kunte), Old Frisian, Middle Low German and Middle Dutch kunte, and the English doublet quaint.
And, by the way, the word wasn't always considered derogatory, even though it is today. Be careful about assuming that a word's modern connotations must have governed its formation. By the way, no connection has been made between the Germanic words and Latin cunnus. The proto-Germanic root of cunt is ku- "hollow place", while the Indo-European root of Latin cunnus is (s)keu- "to cover, to conceal", the etymological meaning of cunnus being "sheath"."
This shower of wisdom is from one of the groups' members.
Whoever you are, we salute you.
See the following example:
On my quick jolly around Facebook this morning, I came to realise that Common Julie has joined a Facebook Group entitled 'The Campaign To Make 'CUNT' a More Globally Accepted Word'.
I joined immediately.
The word CUNT deserves much more than global appreciation. It needs a Nobel Prize for being so darn powerful and sexual.
And on delving further into the group I came across what might possibly be, one of the most important pieces of information to feature on this blog:
"Cunt is believed to derive from a Germanic root *kunton "female genitalia", which also gave rise to Old Norse kunta (ancestor of Norwegian and Swedish dialectical kunta and Danish dialectical kunte), Old Frisian, Middle Low German and Middle Dutch kunte, and the English doublet quaint.
And, by the way, the word wasn't always considered derogatory, even though it is today. Be careful about assuming that a word's modern connotations must have governed its formation. By the way, no connection has been made between the Germanic words and Latin cunnus. The proto-Germanic root of cunt is ku- "hollow place", while the Indo-European root of Latin cunnus is (s)keu- "to cover, to conceal", the etymological meaning of cunnus being "sheath"."
This shower of wisdom is from one of the groups' members.
Whoever you are, we salute you.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Rules
How long are we supposed to wait before broaching the subject of rope fuelled S n M, and watersports with our sexual partner?
The reason I ask is because I'm sure that somewhere there exists a set of rules, or at least a bible of etiquette in this respect. Left to our devices i dread to think what we'd allow ourselves to do.
How long before you can completely let loose without any fear that your lover might bolt out of the door quicker than you can say 'harder'.
Of course, by the term 'lover' I mean, someone who you've had occasional sexual intimacy me. Note: 'LOVE' has nothing to do with actual roses or pangs of uncontrollable non-sexual emotion. I mean, the term's used very loosely.
So you've partaken in some sucky sucky, wanky wanky, licky licky and it's, say the third time you and the fuckbuddy (ah! that's the term I was after) are meeting.
Is it then okay to say you wouldn't actually mind them pissing on you, so long as they don't get any in your mouth or ear? Men can't aim. And so we need to collectively guide the flow of piss through our verbal instructions.
On telling a fuck buddy that you'd like him to wee all over your chest, he will have a number of options...
a) say 'no' politely and tell his friends what a weird freak you are, thereby ruling out the possibility that you might ever sleep with half of the Soho population who just happen to be within his friends circle.
b) say 'no' in an abrupt, hostile manner, thereby diminishing your lust, your erection and making you feel stupid, just before he remembers that he was supposed to meet his mum for supper and would you be terribly offended if he went earlier than planned?
c) say 'yes' but get overly excited with the onset of this sexual freedom. Suddenly the image of man pissing into my ear comes to mind.
d) say 'yes' and it all be perfect.
and for all this talk of weeing, I don't know how people do it. I find it hard enough to urinate in public cubicles whilst somebody releases their stream next door.
In situations such as this, i find gently rubbing the bell end eases out the piss. Focus your attention on thoughts of pale white nothingness and all should be dandy.
And as for S n M induced rope burns, well, they might just have to wait for another day.
The reason I ask is because I'm sure that somewhere there exists a set of rules, or at least a bible of etiquette in this respect. Left to our devices i dread to think what we'd allow ourselves to do.
How long before you can completely let loose without any fear that your lover might bolt out of the door quicker than you can say 'harder'.
Of course, by the term 'lover' I mean, someone who you've had occasional sexual intimacy me. Note: 'LOVE' has nothing to do with actual roses or pangs of uncontrollable non-sexual emotion. I mean, the term's used very loosely.
So you've partaken in some sucky sucky, wanky wanky, licky licky and it's, say the third time you and the fuckbuddy (ah! that's the term I was after) are meeting.
Is it then okay to say you wouldn't actually mind them pissing on you, so long as they don't get any in your mouth or ear? Men can't aim. And so we need to collectively guide the flow of piss through our verbal instructions.
On telling a fuck buddy that you'd like him to wee all over your chest, he will have a number of options...
a) say 'no' politely and tell his friends what a weird freak you are, thereby ruling out the possibility that you might ever sleep with half of the Soho population who just happen to be within his friends circle.
b) say 'no' in an abrupt, hostile manner, thereby diminishing your lust, your erection and making you feel stupid, just before he remembers that he was supposed to meet his mum for supper and would you be terribly offended if he went earlier than planned?
c) say 'yes' but get overly excited with the onset of this sexual freedom. Suddenly the image of man pissing into my ear comes to mind.
d) say 'yes' and it all be perfect.
and for all this talk of weeing, I don't know how people do it. I find it hard enough to urinate in public cubicles whilst somebody releases their stream next door.
In situations such as this, i find gently rubbing the bell end eases out the piss. Focus your attention on thoughts of pale white nothingness and all should be dandy.
And as for S n M induced rope burns, well, they might just have to wait for another day.
The meaning of delicious
As I opened the fridge door at work and groped the inside for a bottle of Lucozade, my worst fears were confirmed.
We've now entered a zero zone. Each soft drink in the fridge was 'Zero'.
There are two things, in this regard, that might help you understand why this is a problem for me:
1) I have a slender body and enjoy food which includes full fat and full sugar content. As it happens I also enjoy salad and fruit and generally eat very healthily (having to suffer more than I have to is something I flatly refuse to do),
2) I am on a mission to find the person who came up with this zero nonsense. Fizzy drinks were never supposed to be healthy for you and this inventor, whoever s/he is, should be shot, and immediately.
Thankfully, during lunch I was able to spot an untainted can of Coke.
Also, at lunch today we finished part two of a 'training session'.
Thankfully I work for a company that pays great attention to its employees. This is why, instead of the usual fare of sandwiches, posh crisps and fruit salad, we had Pizza and an assortment of salads. And then I ate, paying little attention to what was actually being said. In this regard, I can say I've heard it all before.
And next friday, in the office, we'll have 'scone day' - for those of you unaware of this custom from your own working lives, this is where we recieve a firm wide email telling us that scones, clotted cream and jam are available in the kitchen from 3pm onwards for our consumption. The last time I took advantage of this cake phenomenon, I nearly came.
We've now entered a zero zone. Each soft drink in the fridge was 'Zero'.
There are two things, in this regard, that might help you understand why this is a problem for me:
1) I have a slender body and enjoy food which includes full fat and full sugar content. As it happens I also enjoy salad and fruit and generally eat very healthily (having to suffer more than I have to is something I flatly refuse to do),
2) I am on a mission to find the person who came up with this zero nonsense. Fizzy drinks were never supposed to be healthy for you and this inventor, whoever s/he is, should be shot, and immediately.
Thankfully, during lunch I was able to spot an untainted can of Coke.
Also, at lunch today we finished part two of a 'training session'.
Thankfully I work for a company that pays great attention to its employees. This is why, instead of the usual fare of sandwiches, posh crisps and fruit salad, we had Pizza and an assortment of salads. And then I ate, paying little attention to what was actually being said. In this regard, I can say I've heard it all before.
And next friday, in the office, we'll have 'scone day' - for those of you unaware of this custom from your own working lives, this is where we recieve a firm wide email telling us that scones, clotted cream and jam are available in the kitchen from 3pm onwards for our consumption. The last time I took advantage of this cake phenomenon, I nearly came.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Clean, Clear and Under Control
So, I promised myself that at least two nights this week would be spent watching episodes of 'Six Feet under' and eating Salami, indoors. As it worked out, I could only manage Monday evening and on Tuesday we had 'drinks and canopes' at work, so I paritially managed it, getting home at 8.30.
The thing is, more and more I find myself having no free time in the evenings. You see, the first sign of a friend in the vicinity and the prospect of food and decent conversation and my diary opens and closes more rapidly than Jordan's legs.
In keeping with the tradition of never-going-home-until-at least-10pm, I spent last night eating at Yo! Sushi with Ophelia.
A fantastic night as per usual, eating and talking and then going for cocktails.
As a peripheral matter, those of you who enjoy Sushi are strongly recommended to sign up for the Rainbow Offer. A dish of every colour for £10. Now that's what I call marvellous.
And for those of you who don't imagine raw fish and rice to be filling, you're wrong.
There still is very little in life, I imagine, that tastes better than chilled,fresh,raw salmon sashimi.Better than receiving a blow job, and that's probably saying enough.
And now to the conversation...
'I'm not liking ladies toilets these days' said Ophelia.
'Oh?'
'Yes, especially at work. I mean, I work with middle aged women and there's just something not quite right about them coming into the cubicle next to you and you being overcome by a smell of a fish market moments later.'
Hmm. I thought women were the cleaner sex.
'Perhaps it's because they are dry down there' she pondered.
A dismal middle-aged sex life is no excuse to stop caring for your pussy, I thought.
And that brings me nicely onto the subject of wet wipes.
It's now a firm belief of mine that wet wipes are the must have accessory for any single person regardless of sex.
Taking time to 'use the bathroom' before sex not only kills some of the mood, but also showcases our insecurities and vanity. What we must do instead is, on concluding that sex is an eventuality, pop to the lav, take out the small compact packet of wet wipes and have a quick rub...down there.
This coupled with a liberal application of bacteria removal cream and we should be ready. The thing about the cream is that it dries instantly leaving you smelling and feeling clean and fresh.
As a man, the sex of which determines often hurried sexual fumblings, I can think of no better way to ease the way. So to speak. Not that the bacterial scrub is a form of alternative for lubricant. It isn't. So don't.
The thing is, more and more I find myself having no free time in the evenings. You see, the first sign of a friend in the vicinity and the prospect of food and decent conversation and my diary opens and closes more rapidly than Jordan's legs.
In keeping with the tradition of never-going-home-until-at least-10pm, I spent last night eating at Yo! Sushi with Ophelia.
A fantastic night as per usual, eating and talking and then going for cocktails.
As a peripheral matter, those of you who enjoy Sushi are strongly recommended to sign up for the Rainbow Offer. A dish of every colour for £10. Now that's what I call marvellous.
And for those of you who don't imagine raw fish and rice to be filling, you're wrong.
There still is very little in life, I imagine, that tastes better than chilled,fresh,raw salmon sashimi.Better than receiving a blow job, and that's probably saying enough.
And now to the conversation...
'I'm not liking ladies toilets these days' said Ophelia.
'Oh?'
'Yes, especially at work. I mean, I work with middle aged women and there's just something not quite right about them coming into the cubicle next to you and you being overcome by a smell of a fish market moments later.'
Hmm. I thought women were the cleaner sex.
'Perhaps it's because they are dry down there' she pondered.
A dismal middle-aged sex life is no excuse to stop caring for your pussy, I thought.
And that brings me nicely onto the subject of wet wipes.
It's now a firm belief of mine that wet wipes are the must have accessory for any single person regardless of sex.
Taking time to 'use the bathroom' before sex not only kills some of the mood, but also showcases our insecurities and vanity. What we must do instead is, on concluding that sex is an eventuality, pop to the lav, take out the small compact packet of wet wipes and have a quick rub...down there.
This coupled with a liberal application of bacteria removal cream and we should be ready. The thing about the cream is that it dries instantly leaving you smelling and feeling clean and fresh.
As a man, the sex of which determines often hurried sexual fumblings, I can think of no better way to ease the way. So to speak. Not that the bacterial scrub is a form of alternative for lubricant. It isn't. So don't.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Common Julie
Common Julie’s Mum
Common Julie - "Can you kill 2 spiders i spotted in my room this morning? On bedroom ceiling otherwise i can't sleep in there"
Common Julie's Mum - "Is that why you didn't sleep in there last night"?
Common Julie - "No, i went to see another creepy crawlie last night".
Common Julie's Mum - "I hope he didn't sit on your tuffett Mr. Incey Wincey".
Common Julie - "No, but he ate my muffet".
Common Julie's Mum - "You've just crossed the line with that last one"!
Common Julie’s Dad
Common Julie got a lift to the train station today in her dad's van.
Dad: What time did you leave his then this morning to get back home?
Common Julie: 5.15am
Dad: Bloody hell, I hope the shag was worth it!
Oh dear.
Common Julie was in fact with her latest shag bag last night. According to information passed to The Dame from Common Julie, he knows how to use 'his piece' and his tongue, and incidentally has not given her the clap (as yet) so it can't be bad. And everyone wonders why The Dame is a big gay. . . .
Common Julie - "Can you kill 2 spiders i spotted in my room this morning? On bedroom ceiling otherwise i can't sleep in there"
Common Julie's Mum - "Is that why you didn't sleep in there last night"?
Common Julie - "No, i went to see another creepy crawlie last night".
Common Julie's Mum - "I hope he didn't sit on your tuffett Mr. Incey Wincey".
Common Julie - "No, but he ate my muffet".
Common Julie's Mum - "You've just crossed the line with that last one"!
Common Julie’s Dad
Common Julie got a lift to the train station today in her dad's van.
Dad: What time did you leave his then this morning to get back home?
Common Julie: 5.15am
Dad: Bloody hell, I hope the shag was worth it!
Oh dear.
Common Julie was in fact with her latest shag bag last night. According to information passed to The Dame from Common Julie, he knows how to use 'his piece' and his tongue, and incidentally has not given her the clap (as yet) so it can't be bad. And everyone wonders why The Dame is a big gay. . . .
Literature
What is SO shameful about asking a lady, whose job it is to work in a bookshop, where to find titles including 'Confessions of a Working Girl', 'Submission', and 'The Surrender'?
Nothing. And so I did.
In fact I returned to her time and again as these titles popped into my head only the other week. Of these, two I have read an another I hadn't. The reason behind my asking her wasn't to humiliate her, or to embarrass myself, or to 'rock' the old mama's boat. Although, as an occupational hazard, I can think of much worse.
And no, there is no 'criteria' by which I select these unsuspecting 'victims'.
She who agrees to work in a bookshop should be open, from the very start, to the possibility of her job requiring her to venture into unknown territory.
The third time I asked her for an author's name, she led me straight to a table on the second floor. In the middle was a sign 'love and erotica'.
'If you're looking for THOSE sorts of books, you'll probably find a wider selection here' she said.
'Oh! How delightful!' I concluded.
By which time she'd disappeared.
Now, I have many friends who read THESE sorts of books, however very few of them would be comfortable enough to ask where exactly the erotica section was.
Could it possibly be that they are scared of what the lady behind the counter might think? Or might it be that they are too embarrassed at themselves.
Either way, I don't see why there should be any difference in asking for a book on 'Italian Cookery made easy' and 'Tantric sex for beginners'. After all, it's all recreation.
People exist in order to make assumptions. If you didn't know this, know you do.
Imagine what they will, say what they will once I've left the shop, curse how they will, pray for me even. It really doesn't matter.
Because, all said and done, in the evening, it is I who'll be stretching the sexual mind as they fall asleep beside their lover of twenty years whose body really does end at the groin. And the next day, she'll come in that little bit early just so she can read whatever book it was 'that filthy boy wanted, yesterday'.
Nothing. And so I did.
In fact I returned to her time and again as these titles popped into my head only the other week. Of these, two I have read an another I hadn't. The reason behind my asking her wasn't to humiliate her, or to embarrass myself, or to 'rock' the old mama's boat. Although, as an occupational hazard, I can think of much worse.
And no, there is no 'criteria' by which I select these unsuspecting 'victims'.
She who agrees to work in a bookshop should be open, from the very start, to the possibility of her job requiring her to venture into unknown territory.
The third time I asked her for an author's name, she led me straight to a table on the second floor. In the middle was a sign 'love and erotica'.
'If you're looking for THOSE sorts of books, you'll probably find a wider selection here' she said.
'Oh! How delightful!' I concluded.
By which time she'd disappeared.
Now, I have many friends who read THESE sorts of books, however very few of them would be comfortable enough to ask where exactly the erotica section was.
Could it possibly be that they are scared of what the lady behind the counter might think? Or might it be that they are too embarrassed at themselves.
Either way, I don't see why there should be any difference in asking for a book on 'Italian Cookery made easy' and 'Tantric sex for beginners'. After all, it's all recreation.
People exist in order to make assumptions. If you didn't know this, know you do.
Imagine what they will, say what they will once I've left the shop, curse how they will, pray for me even. It really doesn't matter.
Because, all said and done, in the evening, it is I who'll be stretching the sexual mind as they fall asleep beside their lover of twenty years whose body really does end at the groin. And the next day, she'll come in that little bit early just so she can read whatever book it was 'that filthy boy wanted, yesterday'.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Ice cream
Haagen Daaz in Leicester Square have removed the Fig and Marsala flavoured ice cream from their selection.
At first, the Raspberry Sorbet was no longer available anywhere other than in the shop. Handy little tubs which one might have otherwise devoured in private seemed to become a thing of the past. I was truly saddened.
If they'd listened to me I think i would have spread the sticky cool red stuff all over a male joint and licked it off. Even the fig and Marsala.
So, how precisely do they decide which flavours to stop and which ones to make available only in the parlour.
If anybody can find either of these flavours in this country, in a shop other than one owned by Haagen Daaz, let me know petals. And there may even be a reward.
Now that I have a potential fuck buddy on the cards, it seems only right and proper that I have a tub of sorbet in the freezer. One simply doesn't seem to fit without the other.
At first, the Raspberry Sorbet was no longer available anywhere other than in the shop. Handy little tubs which one might have otherwise devoured in private seemed to become a thing of the past. I was truly saddened.
If they'd listened to me I think i would have spread the sticky cool red stuff all over a male joint and licked it off. Even the fig and Marsala.
So, how precisely do they decide which flavours to stop and which ones to make available only in the parlour.
If anybody can find either of these flavours in this country, in a shop other than one owned by Haagen Daaz, let me know petals. And there may even be a reward.
Now that I have a potential fuck buddy on the cards, it seems only right and proper that I have a tub of sorbet in the freezer. One simply doesn't seem to fit without the other.
The C Word - poetry
...and on the subject of the C word, let's have a few poems. The first, written by a man and the second, written by a woman. Compare and contrast them won't you. Who do you think wrote each?
A)Cunt Poem
That smelly puss filled dripping old cunt keeps leaving the same stench everywhere.
I walk into the bathroom and fucking swear it's in my clothes and in my hair.
Is it not washed? Is something rotting in there?
Really I think that it just doesn't care.
It's the combination of rotting meat skunk and ass.
I truly think that I'm about to pass
OUT
B)the cunt poem
wherever there's earth, dirt and the moon, someone
is going to write a "woman" poem
all spirals and delicate shells blood and the bloody moon. Someone
is gonna talk about their cunt.
I don't think my cunt wants to hang out in poems
dripping with beautiful analogy, trying to blend into the ground
its sick of playing nature to my culture. My cunt wants to go to the opera,
it wants to stride through atriums looking at paintings,
it wants to resemble
quantum mechanics and theories as dry
and bloodless as the bones of dead seabirds. It wants
sartorial elegance and a high standard of living; subtlety beyond the lowly
biblical reference and heavy fisted metaphor
It'd like to take this opportunity to point out
the absence of chaos in its structure, it wants to take an opportunity to see if
opportunity knocks, it'd like to remember its no pussy cat
it'd like to take out a hit on the moon Yeah,
it wants to be a know it all a charlatan a diva.
it wont be caught dead in a couple of dead end lines
in the core of an elegy to a lover
it's gotta have the title track it's got to have the starring role:
it wants
the first choice and it wants the last word
A)Cunt Poem
That smelly puss filled dripping old cunt keeps leaving the same stench everywhere.
I walk into the bathroom and fucking swear it's in my clothes and in my hair.
Is it not washed? Is something rotting in there?
Really I think that it just doesn't care.
It's the combination of rotting meat skunk and ass.
I truly think that I'm about to pass
OUT
B)the cunt poem
wherever there's earth, dirt and the moon, someone
is going to write a "woman" poem
all spirals and delicate shells blood and the bloody moon. Someone
is gonna talk about their cunt.
I don't think my cunt wants to hang out in poems
dripping with beautiful analogy, trying to blend into the ground
its sick of playing nature to my culture. My cunt wants to go to the opera,
it wants to stride through atriums looking at paintings,
it wants to resemble
quantum mechanics and theories as dry
and bloodless as the bones of dead seabirds. It wants
sartorial elegance and a high standard of living; subtlety beyond the lowly
biblical reference and heavy fisted metaphor
It'd like to take this opportunity to point out
the absence of chaos in its structure, it wants to take an opportunity to see if
opportunity knocks, it'd like to remember its no pussy cat
it'd like to take out a hit on the moon Yeah,
it wants to be a know it all a charlatan a diva.
it wont be caught dead in a couple of dead end lines
in the core of an elegy to a lover
it's gotta have the title track it's got to have the starring role:
it wants
the first choice and it wants the last word
The C Word
On a daily basis (ever since I started this new job) I pay a visit to Belle de Jour's blog.
For those of you unfamiliar with her work, she's an ex-London call girl who writes about her exploits, has gained rather a large readership and fan base, and her 'memoirs' are now being turned into a TV mini-series starring Billie Piper.
In her latest blog entry she mentions how the media has taken offence at the use of the word 'Cunt' on the drama. Apparently, the word, it is reported, is likely to cause offence.
I have always thought of the word as rather...delightful. I mean, it's a powerful sounding word which has connotations of power and sexuality. In fact, when it comes to sex I wonder if I've ever come across a better one. Whenever I imagine a cunt I think of a firm fruit hanging from a tree. Sort of like a coconut.
Belle says that there are far worse forms of insult in the world. I agree.
Of course, the saddest thing is, this cunt tale will make the front page of London Lite, and poor Madeline will be left to page three.
p.s It strikes me as odd how people in today's society can still be so offended by a word. That it can warrant a press release or generate a debate.
Cunt! There, I said it.
And now it's over.
For those of you unfamiliar with her work, she's an ex-London call girl who writes about her exploits, has gained rather a large readership and fan base, and her 'memoirs' are now being turned into a TV mini-series starring Billie Piper.
In her latest blog entry she mentions how the media has taken offence at the use of the word 'Cunt' on the drama. Apparently, the word, it is reported, is likely to cause offence.
I have always thought of the word as rather...delightful. I mean, it's a powerful sounding word which has connotations of power and sexuality. In fact, when it comes to sex I wonder if I've ever come across a better one. Whenever I imagine a cunt I think of a firm fruit hanging from a tree. Sort of like a coconut.
Belle says that there are far worse forms of insult in the world. I agree.
Of course, the saddest thing is, this cunt tale will make the front page of London Lite, and poor Madeline will be left to page three.
p.s It strikes me as odd how people in today's society can still be so offended by a word. That it can warrant a press release or generate a debate.
Cunt! There, I said it.
And now it's over.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The Dame's Chronicles
Written by my dear friend The Dame:
I saw Beatrice last night for the first time socially in a while, our work has got in the way somewhat lately. The venue: The Arts Theatre in work town. The time: 6pm. The film: Atonement by Ian McEwan.
Firstly, my thoughts on the film. I think one word should describe it quite well. Amazing. The film from the very beginning was pretty, crisp and summery. The direction was quite arty as were the scenes the film portrayed. Both Keira Knightly and the male lead were very convicing. Watching the film you would actually think they were both in love, the scenes between them were palpable with sexual tension. The role of sister Briony was performed very well, she was again very convincing as the evil little sister completely at one with sinning against those closest to her. The film does have a lot of emphasis on the war, perhaps to much in Tainted's opinion, but I think although some of these scenes could have been shortened or cut out completely, they added to the general ambiance of the film - she wanted the greatest love of her life to come back to her from war so they could be together. A very touching piece that I would most certainly go and see again (and probably will with friends). I smell Oscars on the horizon.
Now to Beatrice. I think it would be apt to say The Dame is gutless. We watched the film and then made our way to Zizzi for a nice meal. I have not been in this restaurant since myself and The Doctor dined there when we began seeing one another. Beatrice and I sat by the window along from where we had sat and at the start of the meal I did wonder if the right choice of restaurant had been made considering the thoughts that were rolling around my head. I still think about her a lot but Beatrice did not deserve that during dinner after giving up her evening to spend with me, so I cut that thought short.
We had a lovely dinner which involved a lot of talking, flirting and smiling and then took a slow walk across green space to her car. There wasn't really an opportunity to be alone during the evening and I was on the verge of asking her what was going on between us because I just did not know. I didn't ask. I don't see this as such a bad thing, she does not need to be rushed and I certainly don't. I like her a lot and I think the feeling is mutual but I can physically feel my body holding itself back for fear of being hurt again. I just cannot do it again. What does it take to really let go and give your mind and body to someone? Answers on a post card please.
Yours,
-The Dame-
I saw Beatrice last night for the first time socially in a while, our work has got in the way somewhat lately. The venue: The Arts Theatre in work town. The time: 6pm. The film: Atonement by Ian McEwan.
Firstly, my thoughts on the film. I think one word should describe it quite well. Amazing. The film from the very beginning was pretty, crisp and summery. The direction was quite arty as were the scenes the film portrayed. Both Keira Knightly and the male lead were very convicing. Watching the film you would actually think they were both in love, the scenes between them were palpable with sexual tension. The role of sister Briony was performed very well, she was again very convincing as the evil little sister completely at one with sinning against those closest to her. The film does have a lot of emphasis on the war, perhaps to much in Tainted's opinion, but I think although some of these scenes could have been shortened or cut out completely, they added to the general ambiance of the film - she wanted the greatest love of her life to come back to her from war so they could be together. A very touching piece that I would most certainly go and see again (and probably will with friends). I smell Oscars on the horizon.
Now to Beatrice. I think it would be apt to say The Dame is gutless. We watched the film and then made our way to Zizzi for a nice meal. I have not been in this restaurant since myself and The Doctor dined there when we began seeing one another. Beatrice and I sat by the window along from where we had sat and at the start of the meal I did wonder if the right choice of restaurant had been made considering the thoughts that were rolling around my head. I still think about her a lot but Beatrice did not deserve that during dinner after giving up her evening to spend with me, so I cut that thought short.
We had a lovely dinner which involved a lot of talking, flirting and smiling and then took a slow walk across green space to her car. There wasn't really an opportunity to be alone during the evening and I was on the verge of asking her what was going on between us because I just did not know. I didn't ask. I don't see this as such a bad thing, she does not need to be rushed and I certainly don't. I like her a lot and I think the feeling is mutual but I can physically feel my body holding itself back for fear of being hurt again. I just cannot do it again. What does it take to really let go and give your mind and body to someone? Answers on a post card please.
Yours,
-The Dame-
Monday, September 10, 2007
Chariots @ Shoreditch - Part 1
Well...
I've never come across so many naked gay men in my life. And so many, elderly gentlemen.
Thankfully, most of the elderly men weren't following the whore circle and instead, preferred to sit in the lounge and exchange postcards from their latest travels. Is cute too strong a word? I mean, why did they have to do it naked.
And this is the first sauna I've been to where I lost the shorts. And yes, there were a few comments on how 'above average' the size of my...is.
After the last unsuccessful (in terms of sex alone) Sauna experience, I didn't have the highest of expectations, granted.
And I never for a second thought that too many men would be too much of a problem. But it was, sort of.
Let me clarify. I visited the UK's largest Gay Sauna. Three floors worth of men. Every type of man you could imagine. And the bodies that these men had. The bodies! Let's just say, my inadequacies were placed elsewhere this time round.
1st Floor - Lounge area, changing rooms and a gym.
2nd Floor - An assortment of large and small rooms with wipeable ma tresses, a large darkroom, and men spilling out of every door and corridor in sight. Blimey I thought...this is going to be a mission.
3rd Floor - 2 Saunas, 2 Steam Rooms, a swimming pool, another dark room, a spa and a jacuzzi.
After doing the rounds twice and getting myself to grips with the maze I lay down on a deck chair and watched the men come, one by one, to the third floor.
Sexually speaking, this trip wasn't wasted either. I pulled. And boy, was he hot. If I say he looked like a younger version of Tom Ford, many of you will realise a) my surprise at having procured someone so edible and b) that he really was good looking.
His body was firm and he was one of the best kissers I've ever experienced. There was something so assured about the way he kissed me. And I could tell from the way he behaved that this guy really had the hots for me. I think it was nice to come across a gay man who didn't really believe in playing any mind games so that you're left wondering.
Here was a guy who liked me, made it clear and remarkably took a chance. And he was hot. Hot enough for me to follow him down to the second floor and whisper something into his ear...
I've never come across so many naked gay men in my life. And so many, elderly gentlemen.
Thankfully, most of the elderly men weren't following the whore circle and instead, preferred to sit in the lounge and exchange postcards from their latest travels. Is cute too strong a word? I mean, why did they have to do it naked.
And this is the first sauna I've been to where I lost the shorts. And yes, there were a few comments on how 'above average' the size of my...is.
After the last unsuccessful (in terms of sex alone) Sauna experience, I didn't have the highest of expectations, granted.
And I never for a second thought that too many men would be too much of a problem. But it was, sort of.
Let me clarify. I visited the UK's largest Gay Sauna. Three floors worth of men. Every type of man you could imagine. And the bodies that these men had. The bodies! Let's just say, my inadequacies were placed elsewhere this time round.
1st Floor - Lounge area, changing rooms and a gym.
2nd Floor - An assortment of large and small rooms with wipeable ma tresses, a large darkroom, and men spilling out of every door and corridor in sight. Blimey I thought...this is going to be a mission.
3rd Floor - 2 Saunas, 2 Steam Rooms, a swimming pool, another dark room, a spa and a jacuzzi.
After doing the rounds twice and getting myself to grips with the maze I lay down on a deck chair and watched the men come, one by one, to the third floor.
Sexually speaking, this trip wasn't wasted either. I pulled. And boy, was he hot. If I say he looked like a younger version of Tom Ford, many of you will realise a) my surprise at having procured someone so edible and b) that he really was good looking.
His body was firm and he was one of the best kissers I've ever experienced. There was something so assured about the way he kissed me. And I could tell from the way he behaved that this guy really had the hots for me. I think it was nice to come across a gay man who didn't really believe in playing any mind games so that you're left wondering.
Here was a guy who liked me, made it clear and remarkably took a chance. And he was hot. Hot enough for me to follow him down to the second floor and whisper something into his ear...
Saturday
Busy weekend this weekend as I lived the London Life:
Part 1
Flat hunting has finally yielded results. Am now a few weeks away from moving South Of The River with a friend of mine who I've possibly known the longest. Things have worked out well and, as the position currently stands, me and the The Goddess are planning our dinners and frantically job hunting.
She's somebody who can cook and clean, has a huge sex drive (although this characteristic is more practically wasted on me) and oozes confidence.
As a result I feel I can and intend on:
a) absorbing her energies
b) learning how really not to give a shit about what people say or think about me
c) making the best use of having a domestic goddess in the house. At least, that will make two of us. For I'm rather a dab hand in the kitchen, even If I do say so myself.
The Goddess is somebody who doesn't quite realise her market value out there in the dating community. There are very few men, here or abroad, straight, who would say no. Currently she has a boyF but I'm urging her to end it. You see, as a friend i see that she is mellowing herself to fit the man's love groove. Nope, I said..you shouldn't do that. You should be able to be yourself. God knows that wild streak is so darned hard to get back once it's gone.
Part 2
Cinema club - Atonement based on the Novel by Ian McEwan.
You know, for this film I had such high hopes. The highest! The hype..oh the hype. And the first third of the film had me pretty much spell bound. And then....I sort of lost it.
When watching a film it's important, in my opinion, to be able to follow a view point. Where this film fails, in my opinion, is in this respect. We never stay with a single character long enough to have any connection form between us. Without giving away the story, the person who atones isn't really the focus of the film when they really should be. As a result, I felt as though i were hanging in mid air. The film is stylish and well acted although I'll be damned if I think Miss Knightly deserves an Oscar for her limited role. The more I see her the more I realise that what we have in her is the female Hugh Grant.
Part 3
A friend's birthday party at Ruby Blue Club in Leicester Square.
The venue wasn't the plushest but I had a good time. Because I could dance and was surrounded by people who I liked. The birthday girl was plastered and insisted on grinding with me as her finance watched. Great!
And then the Bo-hos made an entrance. Now, I LOVE bohemian chicks and perhaps this is the reason I can't seem to control the spray of sexual rampage that often comes out of my mouth.
Ten minutes into our conversation and I'd managed, somehow, to ask whether they had been in an threesome and expressed sadness at being rejected by the orgy-organiser (see previous post).
'A kiss is just a kiss' said one of them. 'For fucks sake, it doesn't mean anything. Big deal. Get over it.' - She was talking about cheating and whether she would. I think the principle behind her conviction was that so many people allow something so small to come in the way of something so..well...big. I do agree with her I must say. Often the lust takes full charge and we're left with choices. Sleeping with somebody who isn't your partner whilst in the midst of a relationship isn't about trust or respect or love. It's about wanting to fuck somebody different before you return to your lover. And if you're both able to cut the ties after you've cum, then...I don't see the problem.
Anyways, before things got too heavy and we had to deal with all the emotional turmoil that often accompanies drunken women, another friend and I caught (it was a close call) the last tube home.
Part 1
Flat hunting has finally yielded results. Am now a few weeks away from moving South Of The River with a friend of mine who I've possibly known the longest. Things have worked out well and, as the position currently stands, me and the The Goddess are planning our dinners and frantically job hunting.
She's somebody who can cook and clean, has a huge sex drive (although this characteristic is more practically wasted on me) and oozes confidence.
As a result I feel I can and intend on:
a) absorbing her energies
b) learning how really not to give a shit about what people say or think about me
c) making the best use of having a domestic goddess in the house. At least, that will make two of us. For I'm rather a dab hand in the kitchen, even If I do say so myself.
The Goddess is somebody who doesn't quite realise her market value out there in the dating community. There are very few men, here or abroad, straight, who would say no. Currently she has a boyF but I'm urging her to end it. You see, as a friend i see that she is mellowing herself to fit the man's love groove. Nope, I said..you shouldn't do that. You should be able to be yourself. God knows that wild streak is so darned hard to get back once it's gone.
Part 2
Cinema club - Atonement based on the Novel by Ian McEwan.
You know, for this film I had such high hopes. The highest! The hype..oh the hype. And the first third of the film had me pretty much spell bound. And then....I sort of lost it.
When watching a film it's important, in my opinion, to be able to follow a view point. Where this film fails, in my opinion, is in this respect. We never stay with a single character long enough to have any connection form between us. Without giving away the story, the person who atones isn't really the focus of the film when they really should be. As a result, I felt as though i were hanging in mid air. The film is stylish and well acted although I'll be damned if I think Miss Knightly deserves an Oscar for her limited role. The more I see her the more I realise that what we have in her is the female Hugh Grant.
Part 3
A friend's birthday party at Ruby Blue Club in Leicester Square.
The venue wasn't the plushest but I had a good time. Because I could dance and was surrounded by people who I liked. The birthday girl was plastered and insisted on grinding with me as her finance watched. Great!
And then the Bo-hos made an entrance. Now, I LOVE bohemian chicks and perhaps this is the reason I can't seem to control the spray of sexual rampage that often comes out of my mouth.
Ten minutes into our conversation and I'd managed, somehow, to ask whether they had been in an threesome and expressed sadness at being rejected by the orgy-organiser (see previous post).
'A kiss is just a kiss' said one of them. 'For fucks sake, it doesn't mean anything. Big deal. Get over it.' - She was talking about cheating and whether she would. I think the principle behind her conviction was that so many people allow something so small to come in the way of something so..well...big. I do agree with her I must say. Often the lust takes full charge and we're left with choices. Sleeping with somebody who isn't your partner whilst in the midst of a relationship isn't about trust or respect or love. It's about wanting to fuck somebody different before you return to your lover. And if you're both able to cut the ties after you've cum, then...I don't see the problem.
Anyways, before things got too heavy and we had to deal with all the emotional turmoil that often accompanies drunken women, another friend and I caught (it was a close call) the last tube home.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Slagiversary
I've officially crossed the one year mark!
That's correct, I've had a year of promising sexual adventure and the nib has truly been dipped in a variety of inks. A full blown submersion has yet to take place but I'm rather pleased at how far I've come in this time.
To think, a year ago I used to fold my underpants.
In the coming year I intend on:
A) Participating in an orgy. Oh YES, I will
B) Dining out at a Michelin Star restaurant once a month. Perhaps we might call this endeavour the 'Monthly Michelin'. First on the list is The Ritz and second, Benares.
C) Have a threesome (one short of an orgy)
D) Perhaps consider finding someone to test the waters of faithfulness with - To be decided
E)Finally write the novel I've been wanting to for what seems an eternity
F) Continue to help The Dame and any other slag on the slag parade find that perfect orgasm before her fanny really does crumble in her bare hands
Wish me luck won't you.
That's correct, I've had a year of promising sexual adventure and the nib has truly been dipped in a variety of inks. A full blown submersion has yet to take place but I'm rather pleased at how far I've come in this time.
To think, a year ago I used to fold my underpants.
In the coming year I intend on:
A) Participating in an orgy. Oh YES, I will
B) Dining out at a Michelin Star restaurant once a month. Perhaps we might call this endeavour the 'Monthly Michelin'. First on the list is The Ritz and second, Benares.
C) Have a threesome (one short of an orgy)
D) Perhaps consider finding someone to test the waters of faithfulness with - To be decided
E)Finally write the novel I've been wanting to for what seems an eternity
F) Continue to help The Dame and any other slag on the slag parade find that perfect orgasm before her fanny really does crumble in her bare hands
Wish me luck won't you.
Belle de Bengal's Birthday
Last Friday I attended the Belle de Bengal's Birthday party at Zebrano's. I took along a friend of mine and we got there a little late, only to find at least 40 people had turned up to wish, what I now consider a social magnet, her a happy birthday.
First things first. The cocktails were immaculate. I mean this sincerely. I had a 'Sex on the roof'. It was far more smooth than I'd imagined. A cocktail made of lychee liqueur and ACTUAL lychees. It was lush.
And then as the night progressed I met a lot of Belle's friends and continued to talk rather openly about my orgy rejection for some strange reason.
If in doubt, blame the dimmed lighting and copious amounts of alcohol.
And of course there was the usual
'Oh, so how do you know her then?'
'Well...we met at a cinema club and then have been regular friends since'
'Ah (arched eyebrow in full force at this point), a cinema club'
'Yes (spoken with the greatest pride I can muster'
And there was this one guy
'Are you Indian?' I asked hinting a skin tone only slightly lighter than mine
'Nah mate, I'm a bag of mixed nationalities innit. If I go to Morocco they think I'm Moroccan, If I go to Brazil they think I'm Brazilian..etc. Nobody ever knows.
'Ah' I said, thinking back to a time when somebody had ever quizzed me about my own ethnicity. Nah, Indian every time.
Earlier this week at dinner with Belle de Bengal (Venue: Katana @ The International Hotel in Leicester Square: Lovely)
'So, why don't any of your friends know that you go a cinema club and a book club and that we meet most Wednesdays?' I asked.
'Ahh, I have many layers to my personality/social life, came her reply.
Happy birthday Belle de Bengal. Let the social orgies continue!
First things first. The cocktails were immaculate. I mean this sincerely. I had a 'Sex on the roof'. It was far more smooth than I'd imagined. A cocktail made of lychee liqueur and ACTUAL lychees. It was lush.
And then as the night progressed I met a lot of Belle's friends and continued to talk rather openly about my orgy rejection for some strange reason.
If in doubt, blame the dimmed lighting and copious amounts of alcohol.
And of course there was the usual
'Oh, so how do you know her then?'
'Well...we met at a cinema club and then have been regular friends since'
'Ah (arched eyebrow in full force at this point), a cinema club'
'Yes (spoken with the greatest pride I can muster'
And there was this one guy
'Are you Indian?' I asked hinting a skin tone only slightly lighter than mine
'Nah mate, I'm a bag of mixed nationalities innit. If I go to Morocco they think I'm Moroccan, If I go to Brazil they think I'm Brazilian..etc. Nobody ever knows.
'Ah' I said, thinking back to a time when somebody had ever quizzed me about my own ethnicity. Nah, Indian every time.
Earlier this week at dinner with Belle de Bengal (Venue: Katana @ The International Hotel in Leicester Square: Lovely)
'So, why don't any of your friends know that you go a cinema club and a book club and that we meet most Wednesdays?' I asked.
'Ahh, I have many layers to my personality/social life, came her reply.
Happy birthday Belle de Bengal. Let the social orgies continue!
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Textage beginnings
Background - The man I messaged on Gaydar came back with a quick response. His torso is very promising even though he is 39. I have yet to see his face but yesterday evening I told myself to give him a try and let go of my superficial method, this once. The texts started at midnight and so far we have the following. Oh yes, and The Man has a certain circumcision fetish. Boo Hoo I said, mine is all there.
The Man - OK, so what do you want to know?
Me - Anything worth knowing I guess. How would I be able to please you without a foreskin to play with? Would I have to make it moist and workable? And does my foreskin bother you? I'm sure I could teach you to work with it. What do you think?
The Man - Interesting questions. Have you never had a cut one before? Are you proud of your foreskin? By the way, it can be workable dry too.
Me - Proud is a strong word :) think it gives me a little extra that's all. I have had a cut one before but spent far too long wondering what to do with it ;) something tells me a man this obsessed with his dick would be great between the sheets. And open minded enough to have me asking for more. Tell me, are you?
The Man - I am a catastrophe between the sheets but then again it takes two. There's not really that much too it for you to get confused by - 5.5" of de-foreskinned dick, I', sure you'd not get too lost. Of course part of what makes it different is that I'm always aware of it whereas you, I'm guessing, are not?
Me - Aware of my dick? Yes. For example at the moment it is straining in my trousers ;). A catastrophe? Elaborate please? And what would you like to do with your dick once we've made it past dinner? What would turn you on the most? Also, what do you do in terms of a career?
The Man - Blimey! Now it's talk of dinner, a raging hard on and careers... I can't keep up. Am out of work at present, trying to find something as have just done a course. Am a catastrophe in as much as most sex bores me and unless there is a certain frisson, chemistry, whatever, I switch off. Oh, the dick's just about forgotten why it's there... Your foreskin stay forward when hard?
Me - Ha. No it doesn't stay forward. It's pulled back firmly. That should please you. I'm inexperienced myself but have the mind and imagination of a whore. Re boring sex, I'm the same way inclined. If it doesn't make my toes curl, it might as well not have happened. OK, so what course? Anything exciting?
The Man - Am now qualified to teach (subject name). What do you do? Are you a permanent retractor? Sex has to flow, that's the bit I lost somewhere along the way. What is it you find intriguing, is it just about tossing off a cut guy or is there more to it?
Me - What makes you think I'm a retractor? I have just finished ...... and am training to be a ...... Alongside this I enjoy painting and writing and am doing a Masters in ...... . The idiosyncrasies of your dick mean nothing. I like that you have a fetish and a desire to explore unusual sex. I think I could learn something from you. My own fetishes include kissing and..nice fingers. At least, if a man can use his tongue and fingers well, he is half there. so, do you think you might like to meet?
The Man - Nice to come across someone who exercises their brain a bit. Why a retractor? Because you seemed more in touch than most, are you?
Me - In touch with what? My sexuality? I am aware of it but still need the experiences to enable my CV to glow. The sort of sex I like has thought behind it I guess. Once you start your job, can we fuck in the stock room? Crickey, that would be horny.
The Man - So, are you a retractor?
Me - No I wouldn't say so.
The Man - Good.
Me - And are you free to meet sometime soon where we might try and establish a click?
The Man - I think meeting is a good idea.
Mental note - Must think about this 'retractor' definition.
The Man - OK, so what do you want to know?
Me - Anything worth knowing I guess. How would I be able to please you without a foreskin to play with? Would I have to make it moist and workable? And does my foreskin bother you? I'm sure I could teach you to work with it. What do you think?
The Man - Interesting questions. Have you never had a cut one before? Are you proud of your foreskin? By the way, it can be workable dry too.
Me - Proud is a strong word :) think it gives me a little extra that's all. I have had a cut one before but spent far too long wondering what to do with it ;) something tells me a man this obsessed with his dick would be great between the sheets. And open minded enough to have me asking for more. Tell me, are you?
The Man - I am a catastrophe between the sheets but then again it takes two. There's not really that much too it for you to get confused by - 5.5" of de-foreskinned dick, I', sure you'd not get too lost. Of course part of what makes it different is that I'm always aware of it whereas you, I'm guessing, are not?
Me - Aware of my dick? Yes. For example at the moment it is straining in my trousers ;). A catastrophe? Elaborate please? And what would you like to do with your dick once we've made it past dinner? What would turn you on the most? Also, what do you do in terms of a career?
The Man - Blimey! Now it's talk of dinner, a raging hard on and careers... I can't keep up. Am out of work at present, trying to find something as have just done a course. Am a catastrophe in as much as most sex bores me and unless there is a certain frisson, chemistry, whatever, I switch off. Oh, the dick's just about forgotten why it's there... Your foreskin stay forward when hard?
Me - Ha. No it doesn't stay forward. It's pulled back firmly. That should please you. I'm inexperienced myself but have the mind and imagination of a whore. Re boring sex, I'm the same way inclined. If it doesn't make my toes curl, it might as well not have happened. OK, so what course? Anything exciting?
The Man - Am now qualified to teach (subject name). What do you do? Are you a permanent retractor? Sex has to flow, that's the bit I lost somewhere along the way. What is it you find intriguing, is it just about tossing off a cut guy or is there more to it?
Me - What makes you think I'm a retractor? I have just finished ...... and am training to be a ...... Alongside this I enjoy painting and writing and am doing a Masters in ...... . The idiosyncrasies of your dick mean nothing. I like that you have a fetish and a desire to explore unusual sex. I think I could learn something from you. My own fetishes include kissing and..nice fingers. At least, if a man can use his tongue and fingers well, he is half there. so, do you think you might like to meet?
The Man - Nice to come across someone who exercises their brain a bit. Why a retractor? Because you seemed more in touch than most, are you?
Me - In touch with what? My sexuality? I am aware of it but still need the experiences to enable my CV to glow. The sort of sex I like has thought behind it I guess. Once you start your job, can we fuck in the stock room? Crickey, that would be horny.
The Man - So, are you a retractor?
Me - No I wouldn't say so.
The Man - Good.
Me - And are you free to meet sometime soon where we might try and establish a click?
The Man - I think meeting is a good idea.
Mental note - Must think about this 'retractor' definition.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Strike
Just the way our parents teach us right from wrong and how to deal with sadness in our lives, they should teach us how to deal with a complete shutdown of the London Underground.
Here's an eventuality my mother failed to prepare me for and today I pay the price.
It's not so much that I don't like taking the bus into work, I HATE the very idea of it. All that waiting around and in my experience buses are never on time.
That's right, I'm a fan of the underground. It gets me from A to B in a matter of moments and is, more often than not, bang on time.
So, it perplexes me to think that a whole vital section of London employees have gone on strike whilst the rest of us suffer in the gas chamber that is the Piccadilly Line.
Thankfully, I don't get told off if I stroll into work half an hour late. It's the glory of God I'm sure- my virtuous employer.
So, what am I to do? Perhaps walk to Leicester Square and pop into g-star on route.
Let's hope these underground employees see the light whilst the sun is still out. If I have to walk in the winter, there'll be trouble.
Here's an eventuality my mother failed to prepare me for and today I pay the price.
It's not so much that I don't like taking the bus into work, I HATE the very idea of it. All that waiting around and in my experience buses are never on time.
That's right, I'm a fan of the underground. It gets me from A to B in a matter of moments and is, more often than not, bang on time.
So, it perplexes me to think that a whole vital section of London employees have gone on strike whilst the rest of us suffer in the gas chamber that is the Piccadilly Line.
Thankfully, I don't get told off if I stroll into work half an hour late. It's the glory of God I'm sure- my virtuous employer.
So, what am I to do? Perhaps walk to Leicester Square and pop into g-star on route.
Let's hope these underground employees see the light whilst the sun is still out. If I have to walk in the winter, there'll be trouble.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Sauna Spa @ Covent Garden
Lessons of the Sauna #2
This time my visit to a gay sauna wasn't calculated. If anything it was a surprise. On texting the Chinese boy (whose discoloured teeth seem to have faded. Still, that...you know..simply isn't available in order for me to become caught up in his lust), he called and asked whether I would, instead of going to a club, accompany him to a sauna. To be fair, it didn't take much convincing.
My views have slightly altered from when I last went to one. They're not only for desperate fat old men who'd be massacred in a club setting. No. Saunas are for boys who want some quick action or just some time to relax. And, all said and done, it's the experience of a sauna, whether it be interesting or disappointing, that counts.
The Chinese boy was understandably nervous the way I was during my first time. The only difference here is that he had somebody to vocalise his nerves towards whereas I didn't. Consequently, I don't think he was half as nervous as I had been, due simply to the fact that he had somebody to talk to. And this in turn become easier for me.
The Sauna Bar in Covent Garden is a relatively small venue, with its fair share of fit and attractive men to counterbalance against the obese Europeans who seemed to be ever so fond of me.
The voyeuristic element was far greater in this place, admittedly. During the course of 4 hours I was able to see
a) a threesome which including interracial fucking;
b) a black man receiving a blow job from two, or was it three other white men - at which point the Chinese boy told me he wanted to 'touch' and proceeded to finger the man's nippled, and jerk off his large plank as another man sucked away;
c) a standing couple in the midst of a blow job in the steam room; and
d) two men who were laid bare in their own private rooms masturbating ferociously.
If anything, the sauna experience is a little tiresome. Walking from one part to another, then over to the darkrooms in the hope that somebody might hold your gaze.
Of course, not everybody you find attractive feels the same. And not everybody who likes you is worthy of your efforts.
So, I didn't pull. It was a shame as there were some attractive men. A mental note: must make quick use of subsidised gym membership.
But the experience filled me with images. Images with meant that I came at least five times the following day.
The poor Chinese Boy was distraught and threatened to pay someone to fuck him. Don't be silly I told him....paying for sex immediately after coming out a sauna is desperate. Waiting a day and then paying someone is liberated. I haven't managed as yet to ask him if he did end up paying somebody for it after all. I could have obliged I suppose. He does like me. But then, why should I show mercy. A mercy fuck really wouldn't be the best way to go under these circumstances. The limits to our friendship are finally firmly in place. And this is what I wanted.
As with everything else in life the ability to fuck somebody was always there. It was simply a question of how far i was going to let my standards fall. Not very far was the answer.
We plan on venturing to a larger venue next time. A greater pool of people, a greater chance of finding somebody to eat who'll want to eat you just as much. And a few more areas in which to pass the time.
Oh yes, and I now fully understand the concept of 'cruising'. Find somebody you like and look at them. They'll look at you and if the gaze is held then you're on.
On how to say no without ever speaking - a quick shift of the towel always does the trick. And for the amount of libido that spreads throughout a sauna, the men are always surprisingly quick to get the message and polite enough not to persist.
There's something about saunas. The greedy uninhibited sexual parade pleases me. I think I'll visit Chariots next time. Although I remain unsure as to whether the Chinese boy will be coming with me.
This time my visit to a gay sauna wasn't calculated. If anything it was a surprise. On texting the Chinese boy (whose discoloured teeth seem to have faded. Still, that...you know..simply isn't available in order for me to become caught up in his lust), he called and asked whether I would, instead of going to a club, accompany him to a sauna. To be fair, it didn't take much convincing.
My views have slightly altered from when I last went to one. They're not only for desperate fat old men who'd be massacred in a club setting. No. Saunas are for boys who want some quick action or just some time to relax. And, all said and done, it's the experience of a sauna, whether it be interesting or disappointing, that counts.
The Chinese boy was understandably nervous the way I was during my first time. The only difference here is that he had somebody to vocalise his nerves towards whereas I didn't. Consequently, I don't think he was half as nervous as I had been, due simply to the fact that he had somebody to talk to. And this in turn become easier for me.
The Sauna Bar in Covent Garden is a relatively small venue, with its fair share of fit and attractive men to counterbalance against the obese Europeans who seemed to be ever so fond of me.
The voyeuristic element was far greater in this place, admittedly. During the course of 4 hours I was able to see
a) a threesome which including interracial fucking;
b) a black man receiving a blow job from two, or was it three other white men - at which point the Chinese boy told me he wanted to 'touch' and proceeded to finger the man's nippled, and jerk off his large plank as another man sucked away;
c) a standing couple in the midst of a blow job in the steam room; and
d) two men who were laid bare in their own private rooms masturbating ferociously.
If anything, the sauna experience is a little tiresome. Walking from one part to another, then over to the darkrooms in the hope that somebody might hold your gaze.
Of course, not everybody you find attractive feels the same. And not everybody who likes you is worthy of your efforts.
So, I didn't pull. It was a shame as there were some attractive men. A mental note: must make quick use of subsidised gym membership.
But the experience filled me with images. Images with meant that I came at least five times the following day.
The poor Chinese Boy was distraught and threatened to pay someone to fuck him. Don't be silly I told him....paying for sex immediately after coming out a sauna is desperate. Waiting a day and then paying someone is liberated. I haven't managed as yet to ask him if he did end up paying somebody for it after all. I could have obliged I suppose. He does like me. But then, why should I show mercy. A mercy fuck really wouldn't be the best way to go under these circumstances. The limits to our friendship are finally firmly in place. And this is what I wanted.
As with everything else in life the ability to fuck somebody was always there. It was simply a question of how far i was going to let my standards fall. Not very far was the answer.
We plan on venturing to a larger venue next time. A greater pool of people, a greater chance of finding somebody to eat who'll want to eat you just as much. And a few more areas in which to pass the time.
Oh yes, and I now fully understand the concept of 'cruising'. Find somebody you like and look at them. They'll look at you and if the gaze is held then you're on.
On how to say no without ever speaking - a quick shift of the towel always does the trick. And for the amount of libido that spreads throughout a sauna, the men are always surprisingly quick to get the message and polite enough not to persist.
There's something about saunas. The greedy uninhibited sexual parade pleases me. I think I'll visit Chariots next time. Although I remain unsure as to whether the Chinese boy will be coming with me.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Slag Parade
Venue: Satsuma (ever so reliable)
Event: Slag parade (as The Dame insists on calling them)
Persons present : Common Julie, The Dame and I. The Art Teacher didn't come, as expected, after all.
Me - So, we'll have one Edamame, three chicken katsu Bento, one Salmon Tatami and one Tempura Roll please.
Common Julie - And a fork.
The meal was great and we spent, what seems, an awful lot time bluetoothing photos The Dame had taken in the doorway of a brothel. ' 1st Floor, a Fantastic Service - with a wonderful lady'. In response to this Common Julie protested 'The bitch stole my pitch'.
Common Julie didn't enjoy the thin slices of raw salmon coated in a sweet miso sauce. No, it was the 'texture' apparently. And the edamame, which are always enough to send The Dame and I to Japanese heaven were described as 'Green beans with salt on'.
After a while, one has to come to terms with the fact that some people never change.
My personal shocker for the evening came when The Dame stood up half way through our meal to visit 'the bog'. If I wasn't such a walkover I'd have demoted her there and then to the post of Duchess of Common County.
And in amongst this there was a class debate, Common Julie and I describing The Dame as (almost) middle class, much to her surprise and horror, and me remaining unsure what is was about me that made Common Julie think I was middle class also. Living in the back streets of Leicester is a far cry from the London dreams I've been imaging of late, let me tell you.
Oh yes, and Common Julie has found her a Common chavtastic boyF. Chavin.
All in all a successful 'parade' through the mean streets of Soho. And The Dame still isn't reaping the benefits that her profession brings. Sigh.
Event: Slag parade (as The Dame insists on calling them)
Persons present : Common Julie, The Dame and I. The Art Teacher didn't come, as expected, after all.
Me - So, we'll have one Edamame, three chicken katsu Bento, one Salmon Tatami and one Tempura Roll please.
Common Julie - And a fork.
The meal was great and we spent, what seems, an awful lot time bluetoothing photos The Dame had taken in the doorway of a brothel. ' 1st Floor, a Fantastic Service - with a wonderful lady'. In response to this Common Julie protested 'The bitch stole my pitch'.
Common Julie didn't enjoy the thin slices of raw salmon coated in a sweet miso sauce. No, it was the 'texture' apparently. And the edamame, which are always enough to send The Dame and I to Japanese heaven were described as 'Green beans with salt on'.
After a while, one has to come to terms with the fact that some people never change.
My personal shocker for the evening came when The Dame stood up half way through our meal to visit 'the bog'. If I wasn't such a walkover I'd have demoted her there and then to the post of Duchess of Common County.
And in amongst this there was a class debate, Common Julie and I describing The Dame as (almost) middle class, much to her surprise and horror, and me remaining unsure what is was about me that made Common Julie think I was middle class also. Living in the back streets of Leicester is a far cry from the London dreams I've been imaging of late, let me tell you.
Oh yes, and Common Julie has found her a Common chavtastic boyF. Chavin.
All in all a successful 'parade' through the mean streets of Soho. And The Dame still isn't reaping the benefits that her profession brings. Sigh.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
The Dame - At last!
The Dame and Beatrice are finally making progress it would appear.
It's a fact of life....too many people spend too long a time fretting over the details of the future of their currently 'non existent' romantic relationship. Why?
a) in order to assess the situation fully before committing time and energy
b)so that they don't look like a fool and are totally sure of the other person's feelings before jumping them in the corridor
c)because we all suffer from insecurities and it's easier to do nothing and risk losing what may have been rather than suffer heartbreak once again
All of these reasons are valid of course. But then, I wonder, whatever happened to guts and that instinct that things are going well. What if you bit the bullet. What if you took that plunge. What's the worst that could possibly happen? They say no and you remain friends? Isn't this reality worth an ounce of gumshan? For when we ask 'what if?' we're often left wondering 'what if'...and that's one of the worst feelings in the world. The feeling of watching the wave slip away from beneath your feet.
So, after debating this long and hard with herself and her friends The Dame took the plunge and thins appear to have paid off. You see, we have a kiss on the tables. A prospective kiss the next time her and Beatrice meet.
Sometimes the confidence that we display is enough even to surprise us.
And, as a peripheral point, The Dame, in her lack of confidence beforehand has clearly gone against the rules of our revolution. Shame on her.
It's a fact of life....too many people spend too long a time fretting over the details of the future of their currently 'non existent' romantic relationship. Why?
a) in order to assess the situation fully before committing time and energy
b)so that they don't look like a fool and are totally sure of the other person's feelings before jumping them in the corridor
c)because we all suffer from insecurities and it's easier to do nothing and risk losing what may have been rather than suffer heartbreak once again
All of these reasons are valid of course. But then, I wonder, whatever happened to guts and that instinct that things are going well. What if you bit the bullet. What if you took that plunge. What's the worst that could possibly happen? They say no and you remain friends? Isn't this reality worth an ounce of gumshan? For when we ask 'what if?' we're often left wondering 'what if'...and that's one of the worst feelings in the world. The feeling of watching the wave slip away from beneath your feet.
So, after debating this long and hard with herself and her friends The Dame took the plunge and thins appear to have paid off. You see, we have a kiss on the tables. A prospective kiss the next time her and Beatrice meet.
Sometimes the confidence that we display is enough even to surprise us.
And, as a peripheral point, The Dame, in her lack of confidence beforehand has clearly gone against the rules of our revolution. Shame on her.
K
It was one of those instances, you know, where you you progress from being 'msn buddies' to 'real life buddies'.
Las Iguanas, Latino food...quite a chatty and liberated conversation focusing primarily on...sex. All in all a huge success.
I've known this particular guy (K) for 8 months and we've always got on. He has that thing. That laid back attitude and he's also fairly clever. The prospect of meeting him didn't scare me or make me nervous. Instead I quite looked forward to it.
Although, I should mention here, he was half an hour late. Being the punctual person that I am...I don't much like standing around like a whore in some underground station. But sometimes it has to be done. There was a pre-warning text mind.
The food was delicious and we were both pretty full, although, thinking about it now, we were eating continuously for most of the evening. And there was none of that awkward sex-pausing. You know the sort, when you're being analysed for your levels of sexual prowess/ compatibility. No, we just got on with forming our friendship and he is perhaps the first e-buddy I have met who I actually think might be good for me.
And no, there was no sex. Just lots of talking.
Las Iguanas, Latino food...quite a chatty and liberated conversation focusing primarily on...sex. All in all a huge success.
I've known this particular guy (K) for 8 months and we've always got on. He has that thing. That laid back attitude and he's also fairly clever. The prospect of meeting him didn't scare me or make me nervous. Instead I quite looked forward to it.
Although, I should mention here, he was half an hour late. Being the punctual person that I am...I don't much like standing around like a whore in some underground station. But sometimes it has to be done. There was a pre-warning text mind.
The food was delicious and we were both pretty full, although, thinking about it now, we were eating continuously for most of the evening. And there was none of that awkward sex-pausing. You know the sort, when you're being analysed for your levels of sexual prowess/ compatibility. No, we just got on with forming our friendship and he is perhaps the first e-buddy I have met who I actually think might be good for me.
And no, there was no sex. Just lots of talking.
Performance
Now that I'm over the shock of the orgy rejection, things appear to be back on track.
Still haven't had any action for a week. And this has me thinking. Perhaps I should set myself up with a 'bed four men in two weeks'- challenge. As with all areas of my life, I'm a firm believer in the philosophy that targets ensure performance.
With this in mind, I propose sleeping with entirely different men and comparing the experiences to identify
a) the better lover and
b) whether I can deal as effectively with lots of random sex as I'd hoped I would.
So, these are my hardcore objectives.
Still haven't had any action for a week. And this has me thinking. Perhaps I should set myself up with a 'bed four men in two weeks'- challenge. As with all areas of my life, I'm a firm believer in the philosophy that targets ensure performance.
With this in mind, I propose sleeping with entirely different men and comparing the experiences to identify
a) the better lover and
b) whether I can deal as effectively with lots of random sex as I'd hoped I would.
So, these are my hardcore objectives.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Science/Vanity
Jeans down to the ankles I looked into the mirror. It's so female...this standing naked in front of the mirror so that you can assess and feel sorry for your body.
Thankfully, my gazing was purely for scientific purposes. What I was there to assess was whether my body was proportionate. A slight bulge is developing where a flat stomach used to be. Thankfully the cock looks in proportion with the rest of my body.
As much as it paints me to say this, I think it's time I developed a six pack and pecks. A fit and healthy body surely is the answer to a lagging sex life. That, and putting some weight onto this slender frame of mine.
And my pubic hair is too messy, it has to be said. Trimming ought to do it.
And, as Juno recommended, Veet hair removal cream for the butt crack. Smooth bum is so much easier and more pleasurable to lick out.
Thankfully, my gazing was purely for scientific purposes. What I was there to assess was whether my body was proportionate. A slight bulge is developing where a flat stomach used to be. Thankfully the cock looks in proportion with the rest of my body.
As much as it paints me to say this, I think it's time I developed a six pack and pecks. A fit and healthy body surely is the answer to a lagging sex life. That, and putting some weight onto this slender frame of mine.
And my pubic hair is too messy, it has to be said. Trimming ought to do it.
And, as Juno recommended, Veet hair removal cream for the butt crack. Smooth bum is so much easier and more pleasurable to lick out.
Marriage
This had me in stitches. STITCHES!
A conversation between The Dame's homophobic mother( let's call her The Priestess) who has blocked the lesbian confession from her living memory forever, and The Dame. Bear in mind, The Priestess doesn't quite know about my cock fumblings:
The Priestess: How's Tainted (me), have you spoken to him lately?
The Dame: Yeh, we speak nearly everyday
The Priestess: I like him, he's funny and clever
The Dame: Yeh
The Priestess: Well why don't you marry him then
The Dame: What? WhhhhHHHyy?
The Priestess: Well you've got so much in common it's unbelievable
The Dame: Nooooooooooo.
Picking myself up from the floor I quickly came to the conclusion that this was wrong. On so many different levels. And hilarious.
The days of mine and The Dame's wedded bliss are long long away.
'If I'm single in 10 years time' she said, 'I'll marry you'.
She'd be lucky.
A conversation between The Dame's homophobic mother( let's call her The Priestess) who has blocked the lesbian confession from her living memory forever, and The Dame. Bear in mind, The Priestess doesn't quite know about my cock fumblings:
The Priestess: How's Tainted (me), have you spoken to him lately?
The Dame: Yeh, we speak nearly everyday
The Priestess: I like him, he's funny and clever
The Dame: Yeh
The Priestess: Well why don't you marry him then
The Dame: What? WhhhhHHHyy?
The Priestess: Well you've got so much in common it's unbelievable
The Dame: Nooooooooooo.
Picking myself up from the floor I quickly came to the conclusion that this was wrong. On so many different levels. And hilarious.
The days of mine and The Dame's wedded bliss are long long away.
'If I'm single in 10 years time' she said, 'I'll marry you'.
She'd be lucky.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Rejection
There aren't many instances in life where I get upset.
Received a rejection from my Orgy application earlier today. THAT upset me.
I failed to make it to the shortlist of 30 even though I'd made it to the long list of 90. Grr. They're sooo going regret this.
I refuse to get into a state of panic and insecurity about my looks over this. Instead, what I'll do is blame the world and the organiser for not realising my full potential. For it is they who are blind. And it is they who have missed out on my thundering sexual presence.
'Don't be upset', read the rejection email, 'I can only invite a certain amount of people. The fact that I took your details means that you are suitable to attend and there's nothing stopping you applying next time'.
Just like with all the other aspects of my life, I'm quickly beginning to realise that this endeavour too will require persistence and bucket loads of shyte thrown at the door before some of it will eventually stick.
And in the meantime....hope somebody drops out and my invite is sent straight away. Or better still....find a bigger place to live quickly and organise my own.
If the orgy won't come to me...it is I who should go to the orgy.
Received a rejection from my Orgy application earlier today. THAT upset me.
I failed to make it to the shortlist of 30 even though I'd made it to the long list of 90. Grr. They're sooo going regret this.
I refuse to get into a state of panic and insecurity about my looks over this. Instead, what I'll do is blame the world and the organiser for not realising my full potential. For it is they who are blind. And it is they who have missed out on my thundering sexual presence.
'Don't be upset', read the rejection email, 'I can only invite a certain amount of people. The fact that I took your details means that you are suitable to attend and there's nothing stopping you applying next time'.
Just like with all the other aspects of my life, I'm quickly beginning to realise that this endeavour too will require persistence and bucket loads of shyte thrown at the door before some of it will eventually stick.
And in the meantime....hope somebody drops out and my invite is sent straight away. Or better still....find a bigger place to live quickly and organise my own.
If the orgy won't come to me...it is I who should go to the orgy.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Lines
Must not spend the entire day refreshing your Facebook page.
Must not spend the entire day refreshing your Facebook page.
Must not spend the entire day refreshing your Facebook page.
Must not spend the entire day refreshing your Facebook page.
Must not spend the entire day refreshing your Facebook page.
Must stop masturbating over that same old porno that is now a crummy old MP3 on your not so crummy laptop.
Must stop masturbating over that same old porno that is now a crummy old MP3 on your not so crummy laptop.
Must stop masturbating over that same old porno that is now a crummy old MP3 on your not so crummy laptop.
Must stop masturbating over that same old porno that is now a crummy old MP3 on your not so crummy laptop.
Must stop masturbating over that same old porno that is now a crummy old MP3 on your not so crummy laptop.
Must find a trendy place to live South of the river which has everything AND is reasonably priced.
Must find a trendy place to live South of the river which has everything AND is reasonably priced.
Must find a trendy place to live South of the river which has everything AND is reasonably priced.
Must find a trendy place to live South of the river which has everything AND is reasonably priced.
Must find a trendy place to live South of the river which has everything AND is reasonably priced.
Must get some good porn soon.
Must get some good porn soon.
Must get some good porn soon.
Must get some good porn soon.
Must get some good porn soon.
Must be successful in life.
Must be successful in life.
Must be successful in life.
Must be successful in life.
Must be successful in life.
Must finish this and refresh the Facebook home
Must not spend the entire day refreshing your Facebook page.
Must not spend the entire day refreshing your Facebook page.
Must not spend the entire day refreshing your Facebook page.
Must not spend the entire day refreshing your Facebook page.
Must stop masturbating over that same old porno that is now a crummy old MP3 on your not so crummy laptop.
Must stop masturbating over that same old porno that is now a crummy old MP3 on your not so crummy laptop.
Must stop masturbating over that same old porno that is now a crummy old MP3 on your not so crummy laptop.
Must stop masturbating over that same old porno that is now a crummy old MP3 on your not so crummy laptop.
Must stop masturbating over that same old porno that is now a crummy old MP3 on your not so crummy laptop.
Must find a trendy place to live South of the river which has everything AND is reasonably priced.
Must find a trendy place to live South of the river which has everything AND is reasonably priced.
Must find a trendy place to live South of the river which has everything AND is reasonably priced.
Must find a trendy place to live South of the river which has everything AND is reasonably priced.
Must find a trendy place to live South of the river which has everything AND is reasonably priced.
Must get some good porn soon.
Must get some good porn soon.
Must get some good porn soon.
Must get some good porn soon.
Must get some good porn soon.
Must be successful in life.
Must be successful in life.
Must be successful in life.
Must be successful in life.
Must be successful in life.
Must finish this and refresh the Facebook home
Monday, August 13, 2007
Indian Barbecue
If people ever tire of barbecue food which is undercooked or charcoal black.
If people ever tire of bland burgers, slabs of steak and sausages.
If people ever want to escape the eternal disappointment that is the English Barbecue, let me introduce you to the Indian variety.
Spent the weekend in Leicester with Le Famille. It's nothing new that when I am with Le Famille, all i do is eat and gossip. A Barbecue is in many ways a posher and all the more organised way of doing the same. And the weather was glorious.
A selection of recipes for my fellow foodies:
Sheesh kebabs
Lamb mince (which ought ideally to have been minced three times)
fresh ground chillies
fresh ground garlic
fresh ground ginger
Tandoori Masala
Salt
Lemon Juice
Garam Masala
Incredibly finely diced onion
Chopped Coriander
a spoonful of rice flour
Add spices/onions/coriander to the meat until it tastes the way you want it to, then mix rigorously and leave in the fridge for half an hour. Press the mixture over the skewers and place over BBQ turning occasionally to ensure equal browning. Done
Tandoori Chicken wings
Fleshy chicken wings without the skin
for the marinade:
yogurt
lemon juice
sugar
salt
turmeric
tandoori masala
chillies/garlic/ginger
oil
sesame seeds
ground cumin seeds
form the marinade and rub into the meat until fully coated
slap on the BBQ and turn occasionally to ensure an even cooking. Done
Corn on the cob (the perfect way)
Leave the husks on.
Soak the corn in a bucket of water and place on the BBQ straight from there removing excess water which threatens to put out the BBQ
Each kernel should be steamed and soft without any of that black rubbish that might stain your teeth.
Melt some margarine and combine with some sunflower oil. Brush over the corn and sprinkle with salt and or chili powder. Done
If people ever tire of bland burgers, slabs of steak and sausages.
If people ever want to escape the eternal disappointment that is the English Barbecue, let me introduce you to the Indian variety.
Spent the weekend in Leicester with Le Famille. It's nothing new that when I am with Le Famille, all i do is eat and gossip. A Barbecue is in many ways a posher and all the more organised way of doing the same. And the weather was glorious.
A selection of recipes for my fellow foodies:
Sheesh kebabs
Lamb mince (which ought ideally to have been minced three times)
fresh ground chillies
fresh ground garlic
fresh ground ginger
Tandoori Masala
Salt
Lemon Juice
Garam Masala
Incredibly finely diced onion
Chopped Coriander
a spoonful of rice flour
Add spices/onions/coriander to the meat until it tastes the way you want it to, then mix rigorously and leave in the fridge for half an hour. Press the mixture over the skewers and place over BBQ turning occasionally to ensure equal browning. Done
Tandoori Chicken wings
Fleshy chicken wings without the skin
for the marinade:
yogurt
lemon juice
sugar
salt
turmeric
tandoori masala
chillies/garlic/ginger
oil
sesame seeds
ground cumin seeds
form the marinade and rub into the meat until fully coated
slap on the BBQ and turn occasionally to ensure an even cooking. Done
Corn on the cob (the perfect way)
Leave the husks on.
Soak the corn in a bucket of water and place on the BBQ straight from there removing excess water which threatens to put out the BBQ
Each kernel should be steamed and soft without any of that black rubbish that might stain your teeth.
Melt some margarine and combine with some sunflower oil. Brush over the corn and sprinkle with salt and or chili powder. Done
Beatrice
The golden rule of business is never to mix business with pleasure. In simplified terms this means that we should avoid having sex (of any description) with the people we work with. My own exceptions to this rule apply as follows:
a) If a quick shag will get you that promotion you SOO want, then why not use the physical assets you have alongside your mental ones. This way, everything will have been achieved as a result of your own merit;
b)If gin is the thing to blame, allow yourself a blowjob/spell of cunnilingus. Anything further and you won't be able to look into their eyes the day after;
c)Sleeping with somebody who is in a lower position than you is far more appropriate than going for the boss. With this comes control. The boss may develop a quick dislike to you and may ACTUALLY be able to do something about it.
d) If you are desperate need of moisture, just do it. Bite the bullet and deal with the wound.
I remain unsure which of these exceptions apply to The Dame, but mix business with pleasure she has. She and Beatrice work together, flirt together and very shortly will be giving each other dirty fountains. It's something she said she would never do. And here she is, adding fuel to the fire, or rain to the river (whichever seems more appropriate). In light of this, I feel rather pleased that she has managed to come over the hurdle that is her past and make a direct contribution to her future.
Perhaps if i were doing what The Dame does for a living, I'd be just as open to the possibility.
There's nothing like a new one to get you past that old one. Indeed this is true.
a) If a quick shag will get you that promotion you SOO want, then why not use the physical assets you have alongside your mental ones. This way, everything will have been achieved as a result of your own merit;
b)If gin is the thing to blame, allow yourself a blowjob/spell of cunnilingus. Anything further and you won't be able to look into their eyes the day after;
c)Sleeping with somebody who is in a lower position than you is far more appropriate than going for the boss. With this comes control. The boss may develop a quick dislike to you and may ACTUALLY be able to do something about it.
d) If you are desperate need of moisture, just do it. Bite the bullet and deal with the wound.
I remain unsure which of these exceptions apply to The Dame, but mix business with pleasure she has. She and Beatrice work together, flirt together and very shortly will be giving each other dirty fountains. It's something she said she would never do. And here she is, adding fuel to the fire, or rain to the river (whichever seems more appropriate). In light of this, I feel rather pleased that she has managed to come over the hurdle that is her past and make a direct contribution to her future.
Perhaps if i were doing what The Dame does for a living, I'd be just as open to the possibility.
There's nothing like a new one to get you past that old one. Indeed this is true.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Moving
J would like us to rent a flat south of the river. It's nice enough, and Lady Montague lives in that area, so I don't have issue. However, it's just not the city. The buzzing electric pulse is ever-so-necessary. I do however feel that working (as I do) North of the river and living (as I will) South of the river, will provide for an all together more 'rounded' experience of living in London.
And there is a gay pub in Clapham, or so i'm led to believe. Something tells me FHM's head offices are elsewhere however.
And then J wants to get a dog. I've agreed as long as it is solely his responsibility. The shitting and pissing can be done places other than my bedroom and the lounge/kitchen....in fact...anywhere in the entire house.
Woof.
And there is a gay pub in Clapham, or so i'm led to believe. Something tells me FHM's head offices are elsewhere however.
And then J wants to get a dog. I've agreed as long as it is solely his responsibility. The shitting and pissing can be done places other than my bedroom and the lounge/kitchen....in fact...anywhere in the entire house.
Woof.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Men
It's not so much men in general that piss me off. No. It's more men who think they could do better than me and let their judgemental arsehole self guide their penis. The truth is simple - they can't. AND, they won't.
We all have our types, it has to be said. But whatever happened to meeting before dismissing? and some of these men!? Some of these men would have grave difficulty humping George Michael in the night bushes at Hampstead Heath.
And so to my new plan of action:
a) change my profile pic on Gaydar to something topless, fun and sexy. In fact, let's put a whole portfolio up there for these gifts of the Lord to see.
b) be a little more proactive in social settings, especially where these concern herds of gay men. Talk openly and tell them you find them hot. Because, although some may turn their heads or attempt to disguise a frown with a smile, somebody out there will have their day made and you, yes, independent, strong, confident, sexy, intellectual you, may even get laid.
c) only date people who you find attractive. There is little point in meeting a man, enjoying the conversation but feeling an urge to leave without an imprint of his cock on the palm of your hand.
d) When dating somebody over the age of thirty exercise due caution. Convince yourself and be utterly convinced that the photos you have seen aren't pre-fat, pre-age, pre-stretch marks, pre-marriage. Because, whilst many of these things are bearable, you can do better than a pretentious (desperate) liar.
e) keep up the levels of confidence. Because if you don't get it, nobody is going to give it to you.
We all have our types, it has to be said. But whatever happened to meeting before dismissing? and some of these men!? Some of these men would have grave difficulty humping George Michael in the night bushes at Hampstead Heath.
And so to my new plan of action:
a) change my profile pic on Gaydar to something topless, fun and sexy. In fact, let's put a whole portfolio up there for these gifts of the Lord to see.
b) be a little more proactive in social settings, especially where these concern herds of gay men. Talk openly and tell them you find them hot. Because, although some may turn their heads or attempt to disguise a frown with a smile, somebody out there will have their day made and you, yes, independent, strong, confident, sexy, intellectual you, may even get laid.
c) only date people who you find attractive. There is little point in meeting a man, enjoying the conversation but feeling an urge to leave without an imprint of his cock on the palm of your hand.
d) When dating somebody over the age of thirty exercise due caution. Convince yourself and be utterly convinced that the photos you have seen aren't pre-fat, pre-age, pre-stretch marks, pre-marriage. Because, whilst many of these things are bearable, you can do better than a pretentious (desperate) liar.
e) keep up the levels of confidence. Because if you don't get it, nobody is going to give it to you.
Rocking
Those that know me will be surprised to hear that I unleashed the RockGod inside me last night, courtesy of and much to the horror of Belle de Bengal.
It started out (as it always does) easily enough. We were due to have our regular Wednesday catch up/civilised supper (this normally involves two hours of gossip and two hours of a film).
Turning up half an hour late she dragged me off to the Kerrang pre-awards party, an event so exclusive that she had to plead and sob in order to gain me entrance.
Initially it would have been the 'exclusive' nature of this invitation that would have swung my vote. Let's face facts...Hard rock really isn't my sort of music. That said, an open mind is something I fiercely possess. Onwards and Upwards I thought. I'll try harder this time to make out the lyrics and seem interested in the music. I may even catch a celeb or two i thought. Of course, things never work out the way we plan.
The lyrics I didn't understand in the slightest. As far as I'm concerned, hard rock is all about whinny angry skinny little men who rant and rave about some childhood misery. I also know that all the 'crazy people' collect in a mosh pit and hit each other. Thankfully there was no mosh pit.
What we had instead is a lot of loud music, small hamburgers and cones filled with fries. Grungy.
I didn't recognise a soul, although I did take a photograph of Charlie (who? ) from Busted (who?). I feel safe in the knowledge that this will mean something to someone out there. Honest.
And for the real corker. I actually began to really enjoy the music. Prodigy. Iron Maiden. Fightstar. And a few others. The drinks were free. 10 measures of Vodka later I was raving the way only the truly dedicated do. And I loved it. Three hours of earnest and obsessive thumping on the roof terrace, vodka and redbull in hand, fists resembling the 'sign of rock' and a true and proper belief that I was actually playing the drums and the guitar.
Bloody amazing.
It started out (as it always does) easily enough. We were due to have our regular Wednesday catch up/civilised supper (this normally involves two hours of gossip and two hours of a film).
Turning up half an hour late she dragged me off to the Kerrang pre-awards party, an event so exclusive that she had to plead and sob in order to gain me entrance.
Initially it would have been the 'exclusive' nature of this invitation that would have swung my vote. Let's face facts...Hard rock really isn't my sort of music. That said, an open mind is something I fiercely possess. Onwards and Upwards I thought. I'll try harder this time to make out the lyrics and seem interested in the music. I may even catch a celeb or two i thought. Of course, things never work out the way we plan.
The lyrics I didn't understand in the slightest. As far as I'm concerned, hard rock is all about whinny angry skinny little men who rant and rave about some childhood misery. I also know that all the 'crazy people' collect in a mosh pit and hit each other. Thankfully there was no mosh pit.
What we had instead is a lot of loud music, small hamburgers and cones filled with fries. Grungy.
I didn't recognise a soul, although I did take a photograph of Charlie (who? ) from Busted (who?). I feel safe in the knowledge that this will mean something to someone out there. Honest.
And for the real corker. I actually began to really enjoy the music. Prodigy. Iron Maiden. Fightstar. And a few others. The drinks were free. 10 measures of Vodka later I was raving the way only the truly dedicated do. And I loved it. Three hours of earnest and obsessive thumping on the roof terrace, vodka and redbull in hand, fists resembling the 'sign of rock' and a true and proper belief that I was actually playing the drums and the guitar.
Bloody amazing.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
On infidelity
Okay, well let's see. If somebody is unfaithful and the marriage ends as a consequence, there will undoubtedly be somebody to blame. It might be one party or both. What I'm wondering is why so many women become complacement once they're married. So many women think that after marriage their obligations of keeping the marriage lustful have somehow disappeared. Which leads me to the ultimate question..if so many women in long term relationships feel that their body ends where their skirt begins, how can anybody blame a husband for getting elsewhere what he obviously can't have at home?
When a man has an affair...is it fair to blame the wife? Or should we blame the man for acting on his natural instincts.
And let's leave The Mistress out of this.
When a man has an affair...is it fair to blame the wife? Or should we blame the man for acting on his natural instincts.
And let's leave The Mistress out of this.
Opening wide
Some men are tops, other men are bottoms.
Some men like to poke and occasionally like to be poked themselves whilst others simply declare themselves versatile. The versatile man is one who has little preference and is, he would have us believe, able to use both his cock and his anus equally well. My own experience of these definitions has however painted a different picture.
The versatile man in the gay kingdom is actually just a bottom. A bottom who doesn't much like the idea of being a submissive. By submissive, i refer of course to the 'wife' in the relationship.
Versatile to gay is bisexual to straight. Denial.
I have only poked once and have yet to be poked myself. If sources are to be believed, the feeling of having a pulsating cock firmly inside you is incredible.
I say this because I have now decided that it is time. Time for me to open wide.
Some men like to poke and occasionally like to be poked themselves whilst others simply declare themselves versatile. The versatile man is one who has little preference and is, he would have us believe, able to use both his cock and his anus equally well. My own experience of these definitions has however painted a different picture.
The versatile man in the gay kingdom is actually just a bottom. A bottom who doesn't much like the idea of being a submissive. By submissive, i refer of course to the 'wife' in the relationship.
Versatile to gay is bisexual to straight. Denial.
I have only poked once and have yet to be poked myself. If sources are to be believed, the feeling of having a pulsating cock firmly inside you is incredible.
I say this because I have now decided that it is time. Time for me to open wide.
Sin
Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
I spent my entire lunch break sourcing the nearest McDonalds and eating a McChicken Sandwich Meal despite your guidance and against my better judgement.
I find it difficult to describe the urge that grabbed a hold of me yesterday afternoon and eventually led me to commit this sin. That the restaurant was a posher version of the chain and full of men dressed in suits shall not, will not and cannot, be of any excuse.
I ask for your forgiveness and pray that you may cleanse me of all my sins.
Amen
I spent my entire lunch break sourcing the nearest McDonalds and eating a McChicken Sandwich Meal despite your guidance and against my better judgement.
I find it difficult to describe the urge that grabbed a hold of me yesterday afternoon and eventually led me to commit this sin. That the restaurant was a posher version of the chain and full of men dressed in suits shall not, will not and cannot, be of any excuse.
I ask for your forgiveness and pray that you may cleanse me of all my sins.
Amen
Friday, August 03, 2007
Prince
It's nice to have friends in high places.
In this case I refer to Belle de Bengal and her ability to provide me with free concert tickets to see Prince (tonight) and Tori Amos (a few weeks ago).
I have read some of the most promising reviews of Prince's concert over the last few days and needless to say, go to it with great expectation. Arthur is also due to attend, although I believe he bulk bought his tickets.
When thinking about Prince one can't help but forget his lack of ribs and the flowing ability to self fellate. At least I can't. And tonight, If i were able, I'd take my binoculars and have a good old perv. Because, even ribless, Prince is funky. Funkier than anybody else I know.
In this case I refer to Belle de Bengal and her ability to provide me with free concert tickets to see Prince (tonight) and Tori Amos (a few weeks ago).
I have read some of the most promising reviews of Prince's concert over the last few days and needless to say, go to it with great expectation. Arthur is also due to attend, although I believe he bulk bought his tickets.
When thinking about Prince one can't help but forget his lack of ribs and the flowing ability to self fellate. At least I can't. And tonight, If i were able, I'd take my binoculars and have a good old perv. Because, even ribless, Prince is funky. Funkier than anybody else I know.
Paid Employment
I write this entry whilst sitting at my desk. Not the one laden with text books and sticky tabs. No, I refer to my desk at work, for I now have a job. A proper job.
The first week is as expected. Lots of names and bucket loads of information to absorb. And the odd actual work. It's the job I wanted (for now) and I'm pleased that I'm here.
The people are 'ever-so-friendly' which is 'ever-so-good'.
Working where I do, or even in a firm similar to mine puts one in the best working office environment. Our (for now I am one of the team) fridge is filled with:
every carbonated drink you could possibly imagine including Lucozade (both original and Lemon)
Juices
Smoked Salmon and Cream cheese
and on the shelf
Fruit
teas of every sort from all over the world
and a tea and coffee machine
we occasionally also have a bagel or a cake day.
Bagel because this firm is American.
I wonder just how long it'll take me to tell anybody here about my blog. If I'm decent about it, never. But I'm not, so I'll give myself 6 months. Although, I wonder...is sexual gratification worth jeopardising my imminent career? Arched eyebrows
The first week is as expected. Lots of names and bucket loads of information to absorb. And the odd actual work. It's the job I wanted (for now) and I'm pleased that I'm here.
The people are 'ever-so-friendly' which is 'ever-so-good'.
Working where I do, or even in a firm similar to mine puts one in the best working office environment. Our (for now I am one of the team) fridge is filled with:
every carbonated drink you could possibly imagine including Lucozade (both original and Lemon)
Juices
Smoked Salmon and Cream cheese
and on the shelf
Fruit
teas of every sort from all over the world
and a tea and coffee machine
we occasionally also have a bagel or a cake day.
Bagel because this firm is American.
I wonder just how long it'll take me to tell anybody here about my blog. If I'm decent about it, never. But I'm not, so I'll give myself 6 months. Although, I wonder...is sexual gratification worth jeopardising my imminent career? Arched eyebrows
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Ugh
The thing about facebook is that I can see photos of Common Julie's birthday bash and realise that there wasn't a single ethnic to be seen. Even the Ku Klux people know that the token asian is a must for any party.
Heaven on a week night
Heaven on week nights is a perfect kind of place. Just enough men to feed the eyes. Just enough flicker of the red lights to make you believe you're the world's best porn star. Just enough space to move your hips, shake your leg and make (often) pointless conversation with absolutely anybody.
I went there with a girl. A sister of a friend who is also now a friend in her own right. She's tall and glam and oozes sex appeal. In fact, all three sisters do. I try harder and harder each time to fight off the envy. Of course, what is one supposed to do when the gay men flock to the straight glam puss and shun the guy? I'd avoid causing any commotion for fear of being attacked with a manbag. Such is the life of those with better looking friends.
Then again, I assume, some people must assume we are a couple. For we are both brown and much of society is narrow minded.
We got there at midnight and were back home at 5.30. And it was fun. Great fun to be able to watch the men as they flew around my friend who flickered like a candle in the centre. These women, I quickly came to realise, are the first that made me believe they could turn a gay man. If they wanted to.
and let's not forget the Asian 'dude' who insisted on performing the waltz with her in the middle of the dance floor. I wouldn't have minded so much if the music they were waltzing to was anything but Cher. Sigh
I went there with a girl. A sister of a friend who is also now a friend in her own right. She's tall and glam and oozes sex appeal. In fact, all three sisters do. I try harder and harder each time to fight off the envy. Of course, what is one supposed to do when the gay men flock to the straight glam puss and shun the guy? I'd avoid causing any commotion for fear of being attacked with a manbag. Such is the life of those with better looking friends.
Then again, I assume, some people must assume we are a couple. For we are both brown and much of society is narrow minded.
We got there at midnight and were back home at 5.30. And it was fun. Great fun to be able to watch the men as they flew around my friend who flickered like a candle in the centre. These women, I quickly came to realise, are the first that made me believe they could turn a gay man. If they wanted to.
and let's not forget the Asian 'dude' who insisted on performing the waltz with her in the middle of the dance floor. I wouldn't have minded so much if the music they were waltzing to was anything but Cher. Sigh
Common, so Common!
Yesterday it was Common Julie's birthday.
Let this be a public warning that I wasn't invited. In fact, it was only through The Dame that I heard about her Common Shenanigans.
It was probably just a drink at the local old man's pub followed by vodka induced vomiting in the taxi home. Entirely common.
Who does Common Julie think she is?
Let this be a public warning that I wasn't invited. In fact, it was only through The Dame that I heard about her Common Shenanigans.
It was probably just a drink at the local old man's pub followed by vodka induced vomiting in the taxi home. Entirely common.
Who does Common Julie think she is?
Belle de Bengal
Last Thursday I spent the entire day with Belle de Bengal at her pad up North (London).
Suburbia isn't such a bad place is it? What with those picket fences and community watch committees. No
What we did during our time together was pretty simple. Eat starters and watch movies:
Amelie by Jean Pierre Jeunet
Mandi by Shyam Benegal
Elizabeth by Shekar Kapur
Ek Je Aache Kanya (There was a girl) by Sabrata Sen
All in all an excellent way to chill out/gossip and sit on our asses all day without a care in the world.
It was during this time that I applied for a place on the Islington Orgy (a venture a friend of J's had introduced me to earlier that week). Updating my gaydar profile was the first step in the application. A black and white photo of me looking like a CK model, it has to be said.
A week has passed and I have yet to hear back. I've been warned the competition is fierce.
Met up with Belle de Bengal yet again last night for an amazing meal at the fairly new restaurant Sitaarey in Covent Garden. A beautiful buffet of exotic kebabs brought straight out of the fire. With its bollywood themed decor and A R Rahman songs playing on the various television screens, it was sort of like finding myself in heaven. This place is definitely worth checking out.
Belle de Bengal also surprised me a little...as she considered her romantic options. Sleeping with underpaid inferior men really isn't her cup of tea it would appear. That, and sleeping with anybody with brown skin. It surprised me therefore to hear that her mother is mid process trying to marry her off to a partner in a law firm. Think of the money I said...think of the money. This said, if all is to be believed, Belle de Bengal is also on a cracking salary herself.
Ambition is such a wonderful thing.
Suburbia isn't such a bad place is it? What with those picket fences and community watch committees. No
What we did during our time together was pretty simple. Eat starters and watch movies:
Amelie by Jean Pierre Jeunet
Mandi by Shyam Benegal
Elizabeth by Shekar Kapur
Ek Je Aache Kanya (There was a girl) by Sabrata Sen
All in all an excellent way to chill out/gossip and sit on our asses all day without a care in the world.
It was during this time that I applied for a place on the Islington Orgy (a venture a friend of J's had introduced me to earlier that week). Updating my gaydar profile was the first step in the application. A black and white photo of me looking like a CK model, it has to be said.
A week has passed and I have yet to hear back. I've been warned the competition is fierce.
Met up with Belle de Bengal yet again last night for an amazing meal at the fairly new restaurant Sitaarey in Covent Garden. A beautiful buffet of exotic kebabs brought straight out of the fire. With its bollywood themed decor and A R Rahman songs playing on the various television screens, it was sort of like finding myself in heaven. This place is definitely worth checking out.
Belle de Bengal also surprised me a little...as she considered her romantic options. Sleeping with underpaid inferior men really isn't her cup of tea it would appear. That, and sleeping with anybody with brown skin. It surprised me therefore to hear that her mother is mid process trying to marry her off to a partner in a law firm. Think of the money I said...think of the money. This said, if all is to be believed, Belle de Bengal is also on a cracking salary herself.
Ambition is such a wonderful thing.
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