June 26, 2005
Darryl Lee and the stretch limo
My mates in Australia---and not an inconsiderable corresponding number in the U.K, have dined out on this story for YEARS----
Why should they have all the fun-------?
There were eighty reasons why i had such a high standard of living in Australia.
They were the number of hours i toiled (and i DO mean: back breaking, sweat inducing.. 'hard yakka') for a number of years in Sydney.
On my days off, i would traditionally ensconce myself in the Palm Court of The Intercontinental Hotel...sip copious amounts of the finest champagne bubbles, and listen to the live classical quartet who performed there daily.
On this particular day i was wearing the finest apparel hard earned money could buy. There was a shop in Pitt St called MERIVALE--they imported the best clothes from all over the world.
I was swathed in designer white from head to toe--along with sheer fully fashioned white stockings and zebra/ocelot stilletos.
The Janet Reger lace underwear was on this auspicious and very hot day, conspicuous by it's absence.
It came time to leave, and the concierge duly ordered me a taxi---but what eventually arrived was definately not a rustbucket radio cab.
A beautiful stretch limo (also in white) awaited madam. It was their present to me, since every week i always called into Centerpoint Tower to pick up some of their favourite confectionary: Darryl Lee Licorice---and i always declined to take their money.
So for this Act of Noblesse Oblige i was travelling home in style.
The scrummy driver (we all love a man in uniform) seemed like a nice boy, and since i wasn't in a hurry to go straight home to a domestic argument with my current beau (i was already late)--i decided i may as well be hung for a bloody great sheep rather than a new born lamb.
(I am very perverse in that way)
'Let's go to the Botanical Gardens and watch the sun go down (no pun)----maybe we can crack open another bottle and watch a 'bluey' in the back seat' i enthused.
He thought it was a brilliant idea: there is nothing better than getting laid and paid (as i keep telling people) and he loved the double whammy of knowing that as i was a 'pro' (the staff told him)---- therefore he would have the distinction of 'getting it for free'.
Little things please little minds.
Several glasses/(bottles) imbibed over the course of the afternoon meant that i deperately required a 'toilet break', and even though the gardens were chocca with the horseshoe shape of parked limos-i figured i could retain a MODICUM of modesty by squatting beside the the limo with my bottom pointing out to Sydney Opera House.
Being able to release 10 gallons of stored up urine has GOT to be up there in the: 'This is so fanfuckingtastic' stakes of sheer relief.
I started 'PUSHING' the flow out in ecstasy----and on looking down (to make sure i was not splashing my feet) i was nonplussed to see, in the barely lit dusk:--- the spreading black fluid of an unfortunate accident---I HAD FOLLOWED THROUGH.
'If farts have lumps' the saying goes 'you have certainly shit yourself'. But it was not just over my feet. By virtue of the tightness of my skirt, i had soiled my pristine clothes, the lower half of my body, and so large was my accident practically from front to back wheel!!!!!!
I may as well have fallen into a three feet high cow pat.
You may well laugh folks, i had a handsome good sort 'hot to trot'---(he had already relocated from front to back of the limo) who was well on the way to stroking his 'tool of opression' in readiness for an evening of impromptu passion.
I banged on the back door of the car----hoping that he would not smell the rising smell of noxious fumes.
'You got any tissues?' i croaked nervously
And this is what he gave me......A snow white, monogrammed and delicately embroidered/lacy (must have come from Bruges)....lovingly pressed .....Hankie.
Talk about giving strawberries to pigs.
I gamefully tried to stem the tide of Darryl Lee Licorice effluent--- ( that was for sure the culprit)----but i may as well have tried to mop up the Sydney Harbour with a cotton bud.
Thinking on my feet, or in this case squatting with half a litre of shit covering my body, i called on a common female untruth.
'Would you mind if we went straight home' i pleaded--'i've just started my period'
A digruntled driver reclothed himself--returned to his driver's seat (which was thankfully approx 100yards from my passenger seat)and i slid/squelched into the back of my mobile portaloo.
He switched on the ignition....paused...and said........
COULD I HAVE MY HANKIE BACK.
Posted by Letitcia at 12:03 AM | Comments (0)
June 24, 2005
Sphincter Police.
Sun bathing, Champagne Parties in the dusk and quiet contemplation whilst looking out to sea---these are some of the wonderful things you can do if you have a seafront balcony flat.
Or so i thought----
I had a rather worried email from a neighbour the other day. It seems they had received a phone call with words to the effect: 'It was okay once, but not all the time'.
They had been winding down after a particularly sultry and clement summers day.
Did they have their ghetto blaster at warp factor 11? NO.
Were they themselves making alot of noise? NO
Were they being lewd and indecent in public? NO
Was it before or after the 11pm and 7am curfew for noise abatement? A RESOUNDING NO.
'Come on come on'---i hear your cry----'don't keep us in suspenders'
Their CRIME was to look as if they were having such a blast----(builds up the suspense with drum roll)----that the passing traffic was hooting their car horn in approval!!!!
My answer was 'not to worry' about the miserable bastards that would try to put a stealth tax on fun--(though i did remonstrate with the same neighbours last night for inhaling and exhaling their cigarettes too loudly)
God knows it's hard enough to maintain the Status Quo in this world at the moment, and if we can somehow put a smile on our dial--then i would say we have triumphed over great adversity.
SSSooooo----'Killjoys V Funsters......who is going to win?
In a killjoy's world: no child would chuckle ( when it has filled a nappy full of toxic waste), no dog would bark, and the chuckle muscle would be suppresed by a 'Hanibal Lector' mouth cage.
Taking a page from 'ground zero' regimes: No music would be allowed, indeed, fun inducing entertainment of ANY discription would be frowned upon.
Don't even THINK about moaning or uttering a gutteral, feral SIGH, whilst in sexual congress.
Hell let's just make the entire country a combination of a Somerfield Supermarket and a 'hell on wheels' jam packed commuter train.
The transition will therefore not be too difficult, since the inmates of BOTH are pretty much inately misery- ridden to start with.
Any one deemed to be stepping out of line, will be picked off by Robocop rooftop snipers---replicants cannot feel emotion, so it would be dead easy to spot someone with a rare sense of joire de vivre.
Frankly life would not be worth living---therefore i will award myself one last orgasm and one more bottle of champers, and slide (via hara kiri) from this cold cruel world.
I won't make any noise though------
Posted by Letitcia at 07:58 AM | Comments (0)
June 23, 2005
Breakfast at Tiffany's
A week ago, Brighton witnessed the strange spectacle of a woman (of a certain age) wearing Hollywood Glamour together with pearl encrusted 'Lana turneresque'sunglasses----sitting (squashed/crammed) between two distinctly grubby and paint splattered gents--in an even grubbier white van.
From the back of said van was the muffled sound from two others singing 'we're all goin' on a summer holiday.....'
Was she being abducted---about to be raped--or worse---made to listen to Country and Western music????..........
It is a prerequisite for all those living in Grade 1/11 listed buildings on the seafront, to have a 'freshen up' paint wise, at LEAST every 5 years or so. And what misery it is. Now i know what a budgerigar feels like when it has a pair of Y fronts shrouding it's cage.
When you pay the National debt of Senegal, to wake up to uninterrupted panoramic views of the sea, you want to enjoy the benefits to the maximum extent.
As soon as you hear the first scaffolding pole being erected--you know that only frustration and heartache can follow.
It's written in the scaffolder's handbook:THOU SHALT ERECT 6 MONTHS BEFORE ONE BRUSH STROKE HAS COMMENCED AND DISMANTLE YET ANOTHER SIX MONTHS AFTER PAINT JOB HAS FINISHED.
Bearing this in mind, i decided to go on a charm offensive with the men who were actively employing them.
One generally catches more flies with honey than huffiness, and i employed the former in humungeous dollops.
It wasn't hard, they were great guys---charming, erudite and articulate ('did you say they were sodding DECORATORS' i hear you cry!!)
The upshot was i was invited to join them for a 'gutbuster breakfast' at a joint they knew on the outskirts of Brighton.
'Don't dress up' they said with a grin.
Ha!!! 'fat chance' i thought.
-----I had my reputation to consider, and reasoned i might meet the soul mate of my dreams, squeezing brown sauce and ketchep at the next table.
'Make sure the front seat's clean', i shouted over my shoulder as i bade farewell the night before.
The next morning, they tapped lightly on my window and cried: 'is Madam ready?'
Shouting to them in the affirmative, i met them at the front door--only to be confronted by a Cam -Corder. This trip was deemed worthy of recording for posterity.
'Shoot me from above and don't get my jowls' i laughed.
Steve (2nd in command) was given the honour of strapping me in to my safety belt--with much hilarious guffaws from the others.
One mile from our destination we had to go over what i laughingly call 'zen policemen' or 'speed bumps'---and there were quite a few.
This seemed to please Steve, since every bump that we approached, meant that he looked side ways and down---at my breasts wobbling from the shudders of the suspension.
I took it in the spirit of; WHAT JOLLY JAPES OLD CHAPS and thought nothing more of it-----until afew days later, when i recounted the story to a friend who knew the 'GUT BUSTER EMPORIUM' and also the roads that led TO it.
'Took you THAT WAY round did they' he said knowingly.
The naughty little drongos!! Ten out of ten for initative. And after all, i can't be angry with them, i've nicked their milk for a cuppa (When mine's gone off), gained a new broom (when they broke MINE and were too afraid to own up) AND bought my BOOK: Body Worship.
That's what i call: 'TIT FOR TAT'
Posted by Letitcia at 07:19 AM | Comments (0)
June 22, 2005
Care in the community.
The number of men that i have inveigled to join me in my 'lair'--purely from sitting on my balcony, is ....ONE.
It is a source of much amusement to lots of my mates--the reason being-----
---It was one of those perfect English Summer days. The horizon had joined the sea, and it was like being in a 'Trueman Show' Biosphere. Zero wind factor and 25 degrees at 7.pm in the evening.
Having imbibed a few refreshing G&T's, i was relaxed and all was well in the universe.
From across the road i espied a likely lad, he saw me luxuriating in my opulent and splendiferous vantage point--and crossed the road, intent upon making my acquaintance.
He looked like a cheeky scallywag, with a cheery smile and oversized unlaced bovver boots--
'Gee, i 'd love to join you in a drink up there' he shouted.
I looked down--and couldn't help but smile at the NERVE of the guy
'Don't move' i cried
30seconds later (as he stood expectantly at the door of the building) I threw down to him---a BIC RAZOR.
'Get yourself shaved' i said
'No way, i've had my beard and moustache for ever' he remonstrated.
'Then you'll be on your way i expect' i called----as i closed the french window doors.
After 5 10 or maybe 15 minutes, (i guess while he wrestled with his manhood, conscience and proposed sex life)--i watched him slope off into the distance.
Thirty minutes later, he was back--with a spring in his step, which said: 'I've just fought the crusades and now i have come to have my way with YOU ,woman'
My throat tightened--this was SSSOOOOOOOooooexciting!!!!!
I let him in,---i have never seen a more pathetic figure in my entire life.
He may have sacrificed his hirsute manhood for me, but he had also cut his face to within 3 strokes of anaemia through severe blood loss.
'All the toilets were closed---i had to do it with cold water' he wailed.
And a right mess he had made too.
I made like Flo nightingale--and by the time i had tidied up the topiary of his face i was overcome by : fatigue, sun,--and playing 'MUM' to a prospective lover.
'If you want to stay, then fine--but lay one hand on me and you are a dead man---is that clear???' i barked
For once, i found a man who did what he was told.
In the morning (he had an early job interview) he slowly aroused me and---ahem---was a very UNSELFISH LOVER.
Now let's get this euphemism straight---he gave me beautiful, soft, gentle, wet,- caring-- (and any other adjective you can think of) oral------and did not require the same in return.
Four hours later, he was back. He had left a one quarter full, bottle of cider in my fridge---and had COME TO PICK IT UP.
I was too happy and tired to wonder why----but all became apparent 8 hours later.
It was a tradition (until i bloody well changed it) for a church association to feed the waifs, strays and homeless--adjacent to my apartment.
My eyes fixed upon an UNLACED PAIR OF BOVVER BOOTS..in the scrum of the dispossesed feeding frenzy.
Some weeks later, an acerbic mate of mine opined: 'must hand it to ya, you are an equal opportunity kind of gal.'
Yep, i had taken in the 'homeless' for one night.
I WILL NEVER LIVE IT DOWN.
Posted by Letitcia at 10:01 PM | Comments (0)
June 21, 2005
Has this world gone completely bonkers???
I read the other day that some enterprising chap had CAPTURED CELEBRITY AIR--by being in close proximity to Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.
He had the foresight to take a picture of himself capturing the rarified essence--and is now FREAKING SELLING IT!!!
In the spirit of this utter madness, and with tongue firmly in my OWN cheek....all interested buyers can now avail themselves online to:
All domestic vacuum dust from every part of Letitcia's home.
Naturally the closer the dust collected and retreived from Madame's boudoir, the more expensive the price.
You want my rubbish?---then come and collect---collection times are in line with my own refuse contractors, that way, if you stuff up and miss your allotted time for extraction, it will still be out of my way.
Alternatively you can chase it up the road and beg for my rubbish. They may think you are a complete TOSSER, but hey no guts..no glory.
Public and Bank holidays mean that collections are usually one day after normal times.
If you want the sweat from my fevered brow and/or rung from 'intimate'
pieces of my apparel, kindly review meterological charts for the hottests days of the year..it doesn't matter which day, i'm ALWAYS working my bollocks off.
Hell, i've just had an epiphany--lets cut out the middle man---COME ROUND AND DO MY SODDING HOUSE WORK and BATHE ME AND WASH MY CLOTHES.
that way you get the desired effluent and i get treated like a Goddess---which in any case is what i deserve.
The X rated part of this fantasy will be continued when i have the inclination---so until then--SUFFER BABY SUFFER.
Posted by Letitcia at 08:04 PM | Comments (0)
June 20, 2005
Birthday Blues.
It was my Birthday a few days ago.
'Did you do something special?' interested parties ask.
The resounding answer is : 'No,i would rather dice with a dead Dingo's donger'
The reason being from an incident precisely 20 years ago---
Sydney, Australia---and my workmates decide to throw a not entirely surprising birthday bash for the 'pommie bird'
Just off the sleazy strip of Darlinghurst Rd was the equivelent of Studio 54, years ago----if you didn't 'look right'--you couldn't enter the hallowed portals of: The Cauldren.
I had been there a few times myself--the doormen/security were familiar with me in BOTH senses!!! It was nothing more than an expensive meat market, but for some reason it was deemed as THE place to see and be seen.
A sit down dinner for approx 60 people was organised, they had a 'Gorrila gram' as i recall----and (unbeknownst to me) they sat my FIVE boyfriends at the time, WITH ME at the head of the main table.
For a while, they didn't realise who each of their neighbouring place settings were--though they were puzzled as to why (since they individually thought they were my one and only)they were not sitting right next to their little cupie doll.
HAPPY Birthday??--you have GOT to be kidding.
The main table was going into a meltdown of testosterone and veiled threats as to what they were ALL going to do with me when they got me home.
I excused myself to go to the toilet, toying briefly with the idea of scarpering completely--then figured 'the hell with it'
I wasn't married to ANY of them. They would simply have to put up or shut up.
Locking myself in the cubicle, i wondered which one i should take home, or indeed, if ANY of them would want to. It was all going so terribly wrong.
I heard girlie voices outside my stall: 'D'ya know whose party this is' one said
'Its that Pommie working girl from the 'Golden Apple'---you know the one with the big tits and long blonde hair' said another
'Shit, i can't STAND that woman--she's always the top earner--i HATE HER' said one of my co-workers.
I knew it was Lisa Leiderhosen (as we called her) from her gutteral German/Austrian delivery.
Let's take stock here--i am trapped in a 'dunny' from which there is no escape...i have people actively celebrating my Bithday who actually dislike me...and my love life looks like it is going down the pan in one fell swoop, since if they don't actully all KILL one another (and it seemed on the cards when i left them)...they will all dump me in a fit of pique.
All i can say is if your bowels turn to water, sitting on the toilet is the place you want to be. THERE IS A GOD!!!
This subject (having 2 parts) will be concluded at a later date.
So to that yearly question: 'doin anything nice?'--my answer is a resounding: 'YES, SPENDING IT IN SPLENDID ISOLATION!!!'
Posted by Letitcia at 07:31 PM | Comments (0)
June 19, 2005
Looking for Mr Good bar
'You have a message from Lurve Central-----Matey Date----Dancing and Prancing Direct----' And so the litany of horrors continue.
Yes, MORE shite dating sites with whom i have wasted time.Temporary insanity/drink/ bordom can be the only reasonable explanation for the returning emails that ensue. The first set of problems begin right there.
Form filling and registering , whilst in my altered state, means there are Login names and Passwords to navigate---and i couldn't recall them all if my love-life depended upon it.
It's only polite to reply if somebody has taken the time to correspond,therefore i eventually start to wade through the applications--and i DO mean wade.. and it is quite arduous...for there are literally HUNDREDS of likely lads (and idiotic ladies) who are vying for my attention and 'maybe more' as they say in online dating parlance.
I have learnt to reject out of hand any one who is: Female, Bi curious, illiterate, boorish, offensive--along with those who do not even inhabit the same country--much less the county where i reside.
Then there are those who seem to have ommited (for me) the most important feature: A BLOODY PHOTO OF THE FACE.
They offer plenty of 'front and back bum'shots, honed torsos.... and curiously, photos where they are dressed in fatigues and posing (with guns) in front of Mig Fighters, Tanks and Warships.
They seem to have read the book WHAT DO WOMEN WANT and misconstrued our needs COMPLETELY.
Phase 3 begins with a strange game of dating 'chicken' or 'who blinks first'. Getting a telephone number is as likely as a tip from a Scotsman.
They want to do tedious tag emailing/messaging and whilst one might actually get to speak to a few, they sound so inept and lacking in charisma and charm ----that sticking drawing pins through an eyeball is a more inviting prospect.
Ignoring the mail of those that are not of 'Merchantable quality' merely delays having to reject them eventually.They play the pathetic card (i'm lonely), the guilt trip (i signed up ESPECIALLY for you).
Or they just turn like a black snake: 'should have known you'd be a stuck up cow'---'you're not THAT hot'---ad nauseum.
And then the games commence in earnest--'you look very familiar' ---'AAAaaahhh, i've seen you somewhere else'----'you're an AUTHOR?...i DONT THINK SO', they cry. They could not seem more pleased with themselves and their perceived 'good detective work' than Sherlock Holmes himself.
It never occurs to these internet inspectors that they are revealing the fact that they look on sex sites, though they are accusing me of 'straying' from my avowed turf.
I had a particularly nasty email, which from memory said: 'people like you make me sick, there are people on this site genuinely looking for love, and you are just playing with their affections....when you know you are only here looking for customers'
And eventually that is all you end up with---a misguided argument with an aggressive cynic. Hmmmm--not the outcome i was looking for.
As frustrating as knitting custard.
There are many pitfalls to working in the sex industry and navigating the labyrinth of dating sites in one's (literally) free time.
If one moves upmarket and starts paying serious money, the problems get worse----but more of that later.
Time for my hot cocoa and jim jams.
Posted by Letitcia at 01:38 AM | Comments (0)
June 18, 2005
Dirty Weekend
The term: Dirty Weekend-is synonymous with the word Brighton.
If one travels to Amsterdam, a spot of jolly rogering is de rigeur.
In Thailand, one simply HAS to check out the little Lotus Blossoms.
Therefore it would be terribly remiss and rude not to get laid in OUR fair city----
Life has moved on somewhat from the days of Kenneth More in the delightful movie: Genevieve.
From saucy postcards like:'OOooohhhh, will i really sink if you take your finger out Mr Badcock?'....to salacious phone cards like: 'BLOW YOUR MIND WITH MY BEHIND'
The days when a hungry lick of Mr Whippy ice cream and a 'kiss me quick hat', whilst promenading, have progressed to (amongst other things) a whipping of another kind--where hats are an optional extra.
B&B's with yellow net curtains and a harridanesque landlady barking:'breakfast is between 6.15 and 6.30', are now supplanted by boutique hotels with 'themed rooms' to encourage romance and a general loosening of the gusset.
They take this to extremes in Tokyo, where the 'love hotel's rooms' actually MOVE--though personally i would probably give the TITANIC and the HINDENBURG rooms a miss.
The Brits love to think they are being naughty or doing something which is forbidden (years ago, the frisson of actually making it to the hotel room as a 'married couple' was almost enough)--consequently, as soon as love birds check into their digs--more often than not (in MY experience) the man extricates himself from the 'little lady' and starts the weekend with a 'bang'.
The Wives/girlfriends have NO IDEA what their partner is up to---and the men proceed to get off on paid-for rumpypumpy....a mere few HUNDRED YARDS from where their partner sips champagne and applies lip gloss for the evening ahead.
Brit Man excuses himself from stag nights, trade fairs, conventions and the almost weekly London-Brighton reunion of myriad vehicles---since they like the SIDE TOUR of their fun run to be a secret.
It's extra curricula, furtive and fraught with all sorts of guilt and danger and THAT'S what makes it dirty.
Welcome to MY world.
Posted by Letitcia at 02:37 PM | Comments (0)
June 17, 2005
Oh goodness
We have all surely done it...woken up with the detritus of soggy chips and a half eaten big mac, squashed by the dead weight of a drunken sot...namely ME.
If one is lucky enough not to have compounded the horror by having a 'hyena job' of a person also lying in the bed, then one can count one's blessings and move onto phase 2.
This is where it becomes apparent what mischief the alcohol addled mind has spawned.
Log on to the computer:AND THERE IT IS.
Somehow i managed to start a thread on AN AUSTRALIAN FORUM--with the title: AUSSIE LOVERS.
And what did i write? Well, that every Oz man (barring few exceptions)were 'woeful in the cot' To further compound this squirm making mess, i had most thoughtfully provided (what I thought was) a very becoming photo.
Big mistake--HUGE.
Some while after they started questioning my parentage,the personal insults flew---and continued unabaited with one visceral comment after another.
This Australian Forum virgin was rooted (no pun)to the spot, so mesmerised was i by the vitriol and spitting bile....that i started to press their hate buttons,in the form of posting yet more images for their delectation.
I was deemed to be the most unattractive 'bushpig' known to the Great Okker country...and it was reasoned that with my lack of ANY vestiges of beauty and the fact that not only was i an old crone, but a seriously obese one---that i somehow (by their reasoning) deserved a bad bedding technique.
'Thank God they don't realise that i worked in the Premiere massage parlours of Sydney' i thought--shivering inwardly.
Too late, with ever MORE mounting horror i realised that i had started YET another thread with words to that effect.
The reaction to that post was a template of the 'woeful in bed' one--by virtue of the fact that i had yet again plastered another picture of myself.
Their off kilter reasoning was predictable.
As a sex worker, that was all i deserved.They also unkindly added that anyone who was blind enough to pay even one dollar for my dubious charms...was a dolt of the highest order.
The nastier they become, the more esoteric the pictures i uploaded.
I tried to tell them that even young beautiful nubile NON workers had almost to a woman, complained to me about the Oz man's lack of finesse and had corroborated my finding that they were metronomic pounding champians.
Hell i even devoted an entire chapter about it in my book: Body Worship.
They were sad sods of the highest order, there were only 3 or 4 of them (and i bet they all came from Queensland).
One or two very gallantly came to my rescue and requested more photos or asked when i would be back in Oz, whilst another asked me to email him directly--away from the starkness of the forum.
I ignored it, but he (i ASSUMED it was a he) was persistant and i capitulated.
Several days passed when i recieved an email from THE SODDING AUSTRALIAN MINISTRY OF DEFENCE.They kept it simple.
'who the hell are you' was pretty much the subtext.
I had been duped. The email address which was given to me piqued my interest, because of the word: Uniform.--and that means the words:'bull and red rag to'
What a sucker i am (no pun).
I hurridly explained that i was not a danger to national security and that the prospect of World War 111 was not indeed a happening thing.
All this excitement from a few glasses of bubbles.
Say what you like about me, but i am very cost and time effective.
I can have Cyber arguments with misogynistic dullards from the outback and put the country's security on a DEF CON 2 footing.
I must insist though..i cannot remember doing ANY of it.
Posted by Letitcia at 10:47 AM | Comments (0)