« February 2006 | Main | April 2006 »
March 31, 2006
Hard Ons and Headaches at the Sydney Hilton.
'Letitcia, you have a 4 hours booking at the Hilton....we will ring a cab for you now'
Damn!!!.....i HATED outcalls, you never knew if the entire Paramatta footie team was hiding in the bathroom ready to pounce......
It was with a heavy heart that i set off to my imagined doom......
Pitt St ----Sydney, up the long ramp to the grey monolithic structure which was Sydney Hilton International,up the escalators, past the reception where they they give you the gimlet eye (or is it my imagination)........turn right to the lifts (pays to know where they are)...and to the penthouse (good sign).
When i say: HUBBA HUBBA HUBBA, you will know what i mean.
What a vision!! He looked like the winner of the annual Aussie Iron Man competition....the epitome of physical wholesomeness and triathlete honed athleticism....and his manners were inplausably (for an aussue male) impeccable.
'Please come in,..... can i get you some champagne,..... i bought you a present (beautifully wrapped choclates with a posy of flowers),....... take a seat and make your self comfortable, ......kick your shoes off, wow they are high, would you like a foot massage?' (Though in his own strangled accent)
These are the times when you ponder: 'I wonder what the poor people are doing right now?'
Now normally upon arrival at a hotel escort job, the first thing to do is a) ask to use the bathroom (so you can see the entire Aussie Rules Squad are not waiting to ambush you), and then ring back to base to let them know everything is ok...and that the job can commence from that time.
I was in flagrant breach of the prossie protocol...i was having such a spiffing time.
'Ken aye git youse a strawb to sling in thet possum' he asked in his broad Queenslander accent......
He most certainly could cobber, and we had a glass or three ..before the phone rang.
It was the Parlour wondering what had happened to me. I assured them everything was okay and went to phase two of the well oiled Modus: 'May i use your bathroom please?'
'Are youse sure yer don' wanna tinkle on ma tonsils bubbalah?' my cheeky dream date enquired.
I assured him the conventional method suited me just fine.
AND THERE IT WAS. Every cream, perfume, lotion -potion,accoutrement....that a self respecting WOMAN would wear.
BOLLOCKS!!!!
It could mean only two things.
I wasn't going to see my unborn children in his cornflower blue eyes....and there was an unspecified Sheila around.
'Er, i hate to beg the question....but i am assuming the paraphenalia in the bathroom is not yours....or your mother's' i mumbled with embarassment.
'Oh ya drongo teesha, it's me ball an' chain'
'And she is WHERE precisely?' i enquired
'SHOPPING!!!!'
'But not in town surely'
'Yeah'
'Did she say when she would be back' i asked with mounting panic
'Oh sheeel be ages, she's a reel dag for shoppin' prob'ly late arvo at least'
It was 12.30 and all thoughts of having a spiffing time and getting paid for it faded and in its place a major tension migraine arrived.
There is not a section in the Hooker's handbook which says: 'How to handle a potential disaster without having a contretemp with the tosser who created it'
Funny how one can go from wet vagina to angina.
The stress was KILLING me.
'Toss- -Testicles' was BLOODY GETTING OFF ON IT!!!!! The thought of BEING CAUGHT was making his pre cum seep through his moleskins.
I'm not supposed to nag my customers, but his jolly jape was endangering my health.
'Look, i can't relax...i'm waiting for the key in the door...i won't be able to come (he had indicated my pleasure was HIS pleasure)'
He made soothing noises and started to seduce me....and you know what...after a sustained and prolonged fabulous spot of frottage, my legs were akimbo and inviting the first of several earth shattering orgasms for the afternoon.
I felt so good i frankly DID NOT GIVE A GIRAFFE'S GENITALS for what would happen if his shopping sheila arrived back before i had earned not only a shit load of dollars but broken the record for girlie ghee expelled in a 4 hour period.
On this occasion, nothing untoward happened...but there have been many close calls, and one life threatening experience......
Stay tuned for examples of how men will jeopardise EVERYTHING for hot hussy and sweet poontang.......
Posted by Letitcia at 07:59 PM | Comments (1)
March 27, 2006
Back in the saddle again
A recently divorced young man stretched languidly on my mink covered bed and exclaimed: 'I don't just feel like a man... I feel like TWO!!!!!'
By rote I quipped: 'Gee I don’t know where you are going to find them at this time of night'
He later strode from my apartment bearing no relation to the quivering wreck who had arrived several hours earlier
Before you get hold of the proverbial wrong end of the stick, allow me to explain.
The breakdown of a long term relationship, the slow tortuous ‘freezing out’ affection/intimacy wise—subsequent separation of bedrooms and then onto the final push for divorce----leaves a mere husk of what was once the golden ripe corn of a MAN.
After the traditional period of wondering: ‘what the **** am I going to do with the rest of my life’ there comes an inevitable mountain of courage to climb. Yes, you have got to start ALL OVER AGAIN and throw yourself into the fray.
Confidence is at an all time low, and the only ugly head being reared is that of palm- clamming insecurity.
Yes, it’s time for one’s manhood to be gainfully employed once (or even twice) again!!!! You can make the classic mistake of opting for the various scenarios described below in option one:
You glug with indecent haste a vat of alcohol and prepare for your fate at a nightclub of choice.
Blue Stratos, Brut and Old Spice went out with the Ark, but you spray an extra bit in your M&S cotton gusset just in case. You find some rubbers …they are 20 years out of date; therefore a mad dash to Boots ensues. You are so confused by what’s on offer you nearly purchase the Femidom.
Standing in the queue at the Pink coconut or the Blue taboo nightclubs, a spotty embryo …with a strange chewing and gurning disposition turns round , looks you up and down and comments with derision ‘Awl right granddad?’
His mates laugh, and the whole conga line of Britain’s youth turn to scorn the oldest swinger in town (make that MINGER if you are female).
You rue the decision to wear the ‘Mr T starter kit’ and ‘sovereign ring’ as you down the steps to the unfamiliar thud of house/garage/indie music.
Replicate this scenario a few times and your heart will be as leaden as your personal Mr Wiggly.
There will be a crisis of wondering, not only if you can ride the bike ....but even ring the bell at all.
You try Viagra and a quirky pair of underpants--- and end up with a three day old headache and the disbanding of underwear bearing the legend: ‘Uk Meat packers’………PRIME BEEF .
Your doctor recommends injecting your dick with a wonder serum which SHOULD make it rise 45 minutes after the procedure. You are so nervous you miss the flaccid target…… your FINGERS however look like ‘Fat Boy Slim’ givin’ it large at a rave.
This is the time to take stock and realise CLUBS AND DISCOS (at this juncture) ARE NOT FOR YOU.
OR, --------go to option two------ you experience an epiphany, and call in the '4th emergency service' (not the AA)
It’s at times like these that you need a dab hand and an adept practitioner to guide you through the 'worried willy wilderness'.
You will need the caring and professional experience of a bona fide 'comforter of men'----preferably one who (age wise) is mature.
Performance panic eventually becomes self prophetic, and it will require the wisdom and deft touch of a doyenne.
How did I transform MY sexual Zero to Hero?? It's DEAD easy if you know how!!!!
You simply release the poor unfortunate of ALL RESPONSIBILITY for anything to do with climactic matters. The onus is completely taken away from HIS performance
You avoid at all costs going to the MEAT (no pun) of the matter and use various methods of distraction. This Modus Operandi can be physical or mental.
It's just like waving a cuddly toy or pulling faces at a child about to be inoculated!!!!
I find laughter works for me. In this case I was looking down at my quarry and saying: 'WOULD YOU LIKE A FARLEY'S RUSK TO GO WITH THAT SIR?'
Bingo eyes down and look in as they say. Most anxiety was forgotten in a torrent of helpless giggles. The 'Erectile Empress' had triumphed yet again!!!
His return visit (to be sure to be sure) has guaranteed that he is now a fully fledged stud muffin and not the walking wounded.
He has now been unleashed onto the unsuspecting female population with the swagger of an Alpha Male (Look out Oxfordshire) and the certainty of a proud Lion released into a pride of Lionesses.
Cue for a musical rendition of Born Free!!!!!
He will start to enjoy his freedom and cut a swathe through the ladies as if to the manor born-----until the next crisis.
He will then at least know which number to speed dial.
Posted by Letitcia at 09:28 PM | Comments (0)
March 24, 2006
It's just a little prick sir
Aaaaahhhh, the first day of spring, at least that's how it felt perusing my Sunday Newspapers with a trusty cuppa on my sun drenched Balcony yesterday...........
So, scanning past the latest sleaze story for Mr Smear Blair, and the update of the body count in Iraq, the 'kitten in the tree' and 'doggie that does remarkable tricks' fluffy stories....and the ubiquitous shock horror from some celeb who needs to shift some records/books/tour tickets : 'MY BREAST/TESTICULAR/LUNG/BLOOD CANCER HELL.....and the omnipresent football scandal involving either inanimate objects or live human beings of either sex (though NOT the missus)....i saw a small news story.
German Prostitutes are being offered the OPPORTUNITY to retrain as......(wait for it) GERIATRIC NURSES
I tried every which way to assimilate this in my feeble brain, but could not for the life of me make the quantum leap from one profession to another.
The word: OPPORTUNITY bothered me as well!!!
What humourous hubris was this?
What in the name of a beaver's butt does one profession have to do with another??
That has got to be the most nutty 'noblesse oblige' i have ever seen.
I don't see them asking Damon Hill or Nigel Mansell if they would like to retrain as head honcho in an abattoir----or Micheal Johnson/Kelly Holmes if they would like to learn how to star in a Punch and freaking Judy show.
How about David Beckham becoming a WC attendant???
What a bloody cheek.
Opportunity?? Oh yes, all the Hamburg hookers will be snapping the beaurocrat's arm off with this kind offer, what a chance for career advancement, how terribly kind of the powers that be,....they will be sprinting to city hall like Flo Jo...'pick me.....bagsy I get to learn this spiffing trade.....if only i can be the lucky one!!!'
What utter tripe!!!
With all the years of experience that a Working Girl in ANY part of the globe has....you would think any 'retraining' might be, say: Psycology,Sociology, Physiology, Agony Aunt, Sex pundit, creative writing, certificate in reflexology, aromatherapy -----or some such area WHICH CORROLATES TO THE PREVIOUS POSITION HELD (no pun!)
But THIS IS PLAIN INSULTING.
Gee i bet the gels from germany are Mega happy to have hung up their G strings
After years of sucking cock and dicking around on a bed...you have to wipe OCTOGENARIAN ARSE???
Now THAT'S what i call a career advancement.......
Posted by Letitcia at 04:46 PM | Comments (0)
March 18, 2006
Bend over little girl
The guys in the Export office must have thought they had died and gone to nubile heaven........
I worked in the adjoining Correspondence office and my desk was right in their line of sight.
I was a bona -fide paper shuffler and this tedium was worth £4.50 a week (daylight robbery).....i remember my first pay packet, it was spent with indecent girlie haste on shoes.
The only style i ever wanted was the impossibly high stilettos which glamour women from the bygone Hollywood -Age wore...the pointier the toe and the thinner the heel the better.
They looked dead kinky!!!!
My office wear was chosen from the diffusion line of the company i worked for: JAEGER.....and it was cutting edge fashion,
I felt terribly grown up. This was Couture stuff which i could (as an employee) pick up for a fraction of the expensive going rate.
Naturally all the knitted dress i purchased got about 18" lopped off, so as to skim my 'barely out of school' buttocks.
The cashmere..... or even vicuna jumpers were skin tight and clung to my alabaster orbs and my ubiquitous erect nipples.
I didn't wear a bra (i didn't need to)....they were like the continental shelf......or like an army they single handedly constituted an entire second front.They stood out like dog's balls.
My 'uniform' of this apparel, together with my flaxen hair and triple decker false eyelashes (which the cat used to occasionally swat from the mantle piece), fishnet tights and stellies seemed (with hindsight) to cause quite a stir...both in and out of the office.
I was young, dumb, and full of so many lover's cum...i would practically squelch (this was in the age of free love and pre Compulsary condoms for nookie).
The village bus would deposit my elder sister outside work in the morning, but i would stay on to get dropped off in town...and then walk BACK. Also rather than pick the bus up outside for the return journey home at 5.45...i would walk INTO town
I often walked (actually it was more a wiggle) into town in my lunch break.
Those 3 'walks' were punctuated by a cacophony of horns and hooters (but not THOSE SORT) of admiring drivers...i also picked up my fair share of stalkers too.
At first i was unaware of the commotion i was causing (no really)...then i started to like the attention, by the second year of my employment at this office sweat shop...i was positively THRIVING on it.
The ADULATION was brill.
Inside the office, co workers were foaming at the mouth...or so Kevin from the Export office informed me one day.
It was an unguarded moment..someone's leaving do or a Christmas office party ..... and he boasted :'We love it when you bend over your desk, we can see the crack of your arse!!!!'
I didn't wear knickers....just tights..normally black fishnets .....
Apparently they had to keep tissues in their desk drawers to deal with the pre cum......
I was young and stupid and continued to encourage this kind of sniggering activity.
Then one day, one particular stalker (who i often encountered on my walks) decided to put thought into action.....he came closer to me and wacked my behind with a rolled up Newspaper (probably the Eastern Daily Press)
I didn't like it and got scared.
Secondly, the men in the office were so emboldened by this idiot prick teaser (me) that they started to touch me or speak to me in a desultory and derisive manner.
The Coup de Grace was one lunch time as i returned to work from my 1.PM walk and a white transit full of builders drunk from their lunchtime Summer Bank Holiday drink passed me.
The back doors were open...they screamed: 'COME ON BLONDIE HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO SUCK THIS........SIT ON MY FACE AND PEDDLE MY EARS ALL ROUND NORFOLK......'ELLO DARLIN FANCY A FUCK.......YA DON'T GET MANY OF THOSE TO THE POUND......YOU FILTHY SLUT YOU KNOW YOU WANNIT.......''
The reason i heard all of this was that the Bank holiday traffic made them grind to a halt a few yards from me...and they were crawling at walking pace in the SAME direction.
There was only ONE man who was strangely quiet as his other chums bayed for my quim (or whichever orrifice they required)......THAT MAN WAS MY FATHER.
Oooooooooh the shameful AGONY of it all. That he had to witness his workmates acting that way...and that the trollop was his daughter.
I never forgot the look he gave me, and it was NEVER mentioned....but it made me realise that i was the author of my own demise.
From that day i started to act in a slightly more responsible manner.
The hemlines came down a couple of inches, my tights were changed to a more respectable opaque...and although my boobs still had a mind and movement of thier own ( a bra was not remotely in my lexicon of lingerie)...i toned down the whole 'HELLO BOYS' caricature.
I also took control of my butt swiping stalker by growling at him to 'stay the hell out of my way'....or words to that effect. Apparently men who like to exert some kind of sexual power over a woman dislike INTENSELY a cupie doll rounding on them and spewing a torrent of vile swear words. It seemed to do the trick.
As for the Export office....i shifted my desk JUST out of their line of vision.....WHAT A PRICK TEASER!!!!!!
Posted by Letitcia at 08:04 PM | Comments (0)
March 17, 2006
High class sluts
Just because a woman marries Royalty they think their chuffs are so special that if you flung it up in the air it would spin out gold nuggets.......Well bollocks to that......
I opined on an open forum that Princess Diana was nothing more than a high class slut.
I caught some flak for it, though more i fear because of the terminology i used.
That was very lazy and sloppy of me...i meant high class SLAPPER.
Oh yes sure she was aesthetically pleasing (if you like someone who looks like the 3.15 entry at the Haringay Dog racing track)and Charles was up to his royal nuts in Cammie baby (amazing how women are blind to the facially challenged).......but she used her alleged beauty as a tool to grab whatever man took her fancy......it was practically a royal command performance, (though thankfully the chosen men did not have to be introduced by Jimmie Tarbuck and line up to meet and shake hands the mother in law afterwards.)
Perversely she liked to wield her power over attatched or married men.
She was so fucked in the head that it gave her pleasure to just TAKE whatever she wanted from another woman....BECAUSE SHE COULD.
Not once did she pause for thought about the damage or pain she was causing. Because she was chronically unhappy she made sure that others would join her in heartbreak.
She was in emotional pain and made sure that she spread that pain with impunity.
She was a selfish bitch who did not for one minute think how her sons would have to cope with the fallout media wise regarding the role call of her conquests.
To think Mother Teresa's funeral was overshadowed by her's because of the public adulation for a good looking broad is puke making.
She is (or rather WAS) a product of this: 'doesn't matter how rotten you are inside...as long as the carapace is burnished with gold you are IT.'
What's that i hear you cry???....oh yes....the men were as much to blame too????.....oh PURLESE......they would crawl through broken glass and eat a million turd bagettes for a chance to stick it to her.
Like i said: A SLAPPER
Posted by Letitcia at 09:36 PM | Comments (0)
March 16, 2006
I'm hot for teacher
I hated school. The best bits for me were watching the boys coming in from a P.E lesson covered in sweat and mud....and the piece de resistance: THE GORGEOUS MR PLUM..........
He taught History, but us young gels didn't give a stuff about The Great Fire, Guy Fawkes or The Crimea, all we knew was...when we had (whoopppeeee!!) a double class of History..... our navy blue knickers were so moist with adolecsent excitement, we practically had to wipe the seat with our the embroidered hankies (the only time grandma's Christmas present came in useful).
The man was a shambles...he had the gait of Herman Munster, and the dress sense of...of....well... a Historian, meaning NONE AT ALL.
He wore the same bottle green, oversized, handknitted (by his missus we found out)jumper. It was going baggy at the hem and there were one or two stitches which needed a touch of knit one and pearling two.
His shoes were a hightly burnished antiquey browny aubergine.......and they were so old (yet beautifully preserved)they squeaked and creaked as he strode into class.
I cannot remember the style of his hair, but he continually touched it and swept his hand through it distractedly. Fuck he was driving us girlies CRAZY!!!
It was JET BLACK.
His eyes were the kindest and most compassionate limpid pools of yumscrumptiousness (barring baby seals and bambi)...and i longed to bathe and luxuriate in them as his favourite pupil.
Any modern razor would find his stubble rising up a nano second after the sweep of a triple blade. He had a permanent brutish and thug like shadow. We longed for him to crush our delicate schoolgirl faces with his inbuilt 'please grater'..we would have worn our bruised lips and facial rashes as a badge of pride and a 'rite de passage'
And oh those rosebud lips....they soared and dipped with alarming aesthetic beauty. He licked them all the time and when he SPOKE...we all collectively keeled over with the honey/treacle/warmth effect.
His manner of speech was so soft and shy that we yearned to do well in our studies to make him more confident.
HE WAS SOOOOOO SHY!!!!
HE DIDN'T REALISE HOW BLOODY GOOD LOOKING HE WAS. And that is a killer combination.
My best mate Beverly used to purposely unbutton her summer uniform so that he could get a REAL good look. She was wasting her time...he seemed oblivious to the dreamy far away look that the female of the class wore.
We worshipped him. He was a 6' 5" (oh yes.....he was a tall mother fucker)..he was everything we wanted..TALL DARK AND HANDSOME AND OBLIVIOUS TO THE FACT.
We would have drunk his bath water, loved him in sickness and health, even SHARED him ..if it meant we could get close to him for a short while.
There was only 2 ways to ensnare him: TO BE A TOP PUPIL AND GET COPIOUS GOLD STARS----OR BE CRAP AND REQUIRE EXTRA TUITION.
I took the second route and was catatonic when he came so close i could smell his SOAP (it was Lifebouy).
He would put one arm on my desk, and the cuff of his grandad shirt would ride up to reveal the blackest shiniest and softest hairs creeping out of the pristine whiteness of his sleeve.
His whole body seemed to ENVELOP my 13 yr old frame....i was in a world of deep smit and i was about to freaking well EXPLODE!!
If i did not find something to stick up my school girl vagina..i was going to bloody well SELF COMBUST.
I think most fondly of the padded, satin covered coat hanger when ever i visit home and i feel so horny typing this that i will have to sort myself out right now......Oh Mr Plum, you beautiful hunk of manhood you!!!!!
Posted by Letitcia at 06:55 PM | Comments (1)
March 13, 2006
Village of the damned
They say if you 'lie down with dogs you wake up with fleas'
If that homily applied to my neighbourhood i would have scratched myself to death by now.........
I have lived in some scum suckingly rancid pieces of real estate in my life, by default, by mistake or in fiscally sorrowful circumstances.
Even though my weekly payments would feed a whole street on a social security housing project....i am living cheek to jowl with the entrails of life.
****Prospective Patrons fear not....i am talking of a street further in******
Though i live in relative spendour in 'Millionaires Row' in a sea facing eerie...we all have to do our shopping sometime (no i don't have a hired help).
Welcome to MY world: I dodge the electric buggies (converted to go at Maserati speed), the zimmer frames (where the users are so STUPID they CARRY them rather than LEAN on them), winos and 'street people'with their perenially bashed up faces and amputated limbs (from shooting up one time too many)' Big issue sellers (one in particular, who with monotonous regularity croons 'where DID you get that hat??)
I go to coffee shops where the SMELL of people in the queue forces me to reconsider my caffiene needs,i pass bus stops where foul mouthed school kids take bets as to who DARES bump into me and touch my tits.
I pass spunk receptacles/baby making machines from social housing estates who bash the bejeezus out of their offspring with either their fists or their swear words.
I dodge so much dog shit i swerve like the best downhill slalem by Jean Claude Killey.
I pass women dressed as men and vice versa, transexuals (one in particular that is so beautiful it makes you want to cry)people with animals of indeterminate breed on their shoulders, a gaggle of bretheren with tourettes syndrome (my favourite being the irishman that goes:'FECK FECK COCK FECK COCK FECK) inmates from the neighbouring bail hostels who clearly are part of the (unworkable) 'care in the community' strategy.....and once i even encountered two entirely naked people (where not one person batted a surprised eylid)
Sometimes it's Gay men who HATE not only the fact that i am a woman, but the fact that i appear to celebrate it with copious lippy and feminine fripperies (fur, hat, lace gloves, gallons of perfume) and that my gait states 'say it load and say it proud'...and one particular nutter who proclaims 'I'M GONNA FUCKIN' KILL YOU'
Seemingly the entire street is on a 'come down' from Monday to Thursday and therefore by osmosis dragging you down with it.....Friday to Sunday the same people are talking bollocks.......which leaves me with the feeling that i have nothing in common with ANYBODY.
Yes, how can i soar like an Eagle if i am surrounded by a pack of turkeys?
Posted by Letitcia at 03:12 PM | Comments (0)
March 10, 2006
Toy Boys
I asked a patron once: 'WHAT IS IT WITH THESE BARELY ABOVE THE AGE OF CONSENT DUDES COMING TO VISIT ALL OF A SUDDEN???'
'Oh that's dead easy....it's the movie AMERICAN PIE 1 and 2.......'
'You mean they think i'm an apple pie and their spunk is the custard????'
He rolled his eyes in a 'don't you know nuffink' (he was barely 18 himself) and said 'Duh, Nooooooooo...it's that 'yummy mummy thing innit, you're called MILFS'
As i struggled with the acronym he volunteered: MOTHERS I'D LIKE TO FUCK SENSELESS.....
'Y'see, we're not innerested in birds our own age innit...we wanna do it wiv you mature ladies'
That is another of 'god's little tricks'...make a lad incapable of stringing a sentence together, but give him the ability to make a lady howl like a demented banshee with his tongue and sweet touch.
Evolution is amazing
What a wonderful equation.
When i was young, i yearned for the days when i would no longer be pestered wherever i went (it truly was irritating). I figured that i would reach a certain age (in one's youth 35 seems ancient)and then i could just go about my business incognito.
If anything, the problem has become worse.
Oh sure there is a section of manhood for whom i no longer hold an allure...but they are the very ones that i would never have wanted anyway.
I would never have wanted to be an accessory, or to be traded in for a younger or better looking model as i aged.
I read once that Britt Ekland said: 25 goes into 50 much better than the reverse....and oh i could NOT agree more.
Posted by Letitcia at 07:31 PM | Comments (1)
March 08, 2006
Charitable Hookers.
Below is an exchange on a Cyberspace Forum:------
Originally posted by Letitcia:
'And your point IS Marky Mark???
Please substantiate that remark...'
You are a hooker and purported to be charitable, this is an oxymoron.
The fact that my 'job title' has been relegated to one of illegality is obviously intentional.
My reply was:
Originally posted by Letitcia.
I am posting as a PERSON and not a profession.
Whatever it is you do to keep the wolf from the door, i would have imagined that you do not provide a service nor manufacture a product for zero monetary gain.
If i were an ice cream salesperson would you be happier if i gave a way my lollygobblechocbombs for free?
Tell you what, next time i go to Somerfields/Tesco/Waitrose, i will announce at the check out that due to you having a problem with me being paid in my chosen field.....i should take the goods for free.I'm sure they will be EQUALLY charitable........
What follows is his infuriatingly, ill informed and ignorant reply.
If a cross section of the nation think along these lines, i truly give up
But I make my money legally, that is the point. You exist on the black market fringes of society inhabiting the same space as drug pushers and con artists, I assume having been spreading your legs as a profession for so many years, you must have done some time, surely at your age you do not fancy that anymore.
Give it up and retire gracefully, your writing is quite good, make that work for you.On the points of legality, black market fringes---- laughably 'doing time' and the conceit of a person who tries to tell me when i should stop enjoying myself----- he (though it could be a she) is BANG OUT OF ORDER.
Posted by Letitcia at 06:37 PM | Comments (0)
March 01, 2006
Brighton Big Tits
I glanced down at the lover who was buried in the fulsomeness of my billowy, soft breasts.
I sat back....so that he might admire and fully appreciate the womanly voluptuous curves of his dreams....and said.........
.....'would you like a Farley's Rusk to go with that?'
My boobs have gotten me into all sorts of difficulties over the years.
Stand up/knockdown arguments with my first boyfriend who insisted upon me wearing a bra (i wouldn't)
Being sent home from the Income Tax office (twice) because i was deemed as being 'inappropreately dressed'
Being followed round half of London by some Psycho (until i had to jump in a cab to shake him off)
Having them fall into my mouth and smother me when i was doing a complicated gym workout
Being ordered away from simply STANDING outside of a mosque (supposedly bringing the strumpet slur to the holy building by my very presence)
Watching with horror, motorists swivelling by 180 degrees and crashing into a bollard.
Having complete strangers prod my venus like mounds and ask: are they real.....
The list is endless.
I think i might market a Letitcia Pillow.....then you can all snuggle to your heart's content.....
Posted by Letitcia at 11:02 PM | Comments (0)