Letitcia's Blog

September 24, 2008

‘IN OLDEN DAYS A GLIMPSE OF STOCKING………’

On the day that I ceased employment at Jaeger, I was told by Mike, a member of the Export office, that in my 5 year tenure there, I had unwittingly (yes, really) driven the hot blooded men C-R-A-Z-Y with the odd show of fishnet encased buttocks (on the days I went commando), stocking tops (on the days I wore long skirts with deep slits at the side or back) and black underwear.
I truly had no idea.

Apparently they would make afternoon tea, settle down with a plate of chocolate hob-nobs and get a ‘ringside’ (!!!) view.
It seems they would indulge in the childish practise of taking bets as to whether I would be wearing coloured knickers (never), the usual black or none at all.
My desk was situated in ‘Correspondence’, and their ‘Export office’ was in fact a dog leg round a corner, way the other side of a very large room. But they shifted all of the furniture the requisite ten feet so that they could spy with their little eye—necessity being the mother of invention indeed.
My ‘uniform’ in those days was cutting edge ‘Young Jaeger’ knitted dresses with approximately 10 yards cut off and re-hemmed to make the ‘mini dress’ that was all the rage back in the late sixties.
Of course I got the usual: ‘you’re not going out dressed like that’ from Mother, while Dad peered silently over his spectacles and tutted.
It is important when one is young, to enjoy people telling you the things you cannot or should not do, for the days of wine and roses, dear readers, they are not long. In fact they are about as short as my frocks in the swinging sixties
Over the years my girth got bigger and the length of apparel got longer and more sedate. My legs went from Madonna to Maradonna, and the hour glass frame went way into double digits. I had completely forgotten about the ‘short skirt syndrome’ until I recently reacquainted myself with a male friend from Australia. Back in the late eighties, he would buy for me (or have especially made) extremely short pleated skirts, with silk underwear and sometimes white socks, so that I could reprise the glorious days when he would sometimes catch one of his female school chums bending over to pick up the chalk or pencil from under her desk. Men are very visually led (as we know) but his thrill was actually being CAUGHT LOOKING.
Whilst in Brighton, he spent most of his time walking along the seafront wishing and hoping that a rogue gust of wind (and we have had PLENTY of that lately) would send flowing skirts into the stratosphere to reveal various types of underwear (relax ladies, he has now gone back to Oz, with happy memories).
Now, my friend is no pervert, he merely appreciates ladies of all ages, shapes and sizes for their femininity. I therefore positively encouraged him with nudges of: ‘Short skirt at six o’clock Bruce’ and he would fall down a man hole or bump into lamp posts while his mind was on his lifelong passion.
I made the mistake of pointing out a couple of lovelies to him as we were partaking of a fine bottle of Champagne (or three) in Browns on the eve of his departure. He put down his knife and fork and glass of Verve Cliquot’s finest, and went rushing out of the door to try and catch a glimpse of two young fillies out on the raz wearing what looked like a thick belt to hide their giblets and very little else. Well, I sat, and I sat, and…er, I sat, for TWENTY FIVE MINUTES. I muttered to the waiter: ‘Hope he chuffing well comes back, because he’s paying’ He returned positively beaming full of naughty school boy(ness) cheer, and described the journey he had taken all the way down West St to the Odeon, and we all know how windy it is on that corner don’t we people? In short (oh, no pun) he was in his element, so much so, I was left for dead. A while later, I espied yet another vision of pulchritude, and bugger me, off he shot again like a rat up the proverbial drain pipe.
This got me thinking about how common the phenomenon of the ‘syndrome’ was for the men folk.
I started a thread on the ‘Punting Bible’: Punternet, to see what responses I received on the question of short skirts. It seems Bruce is not alone with his predilection. Comments ranged from: ‘It’s the "forbidden fruit" thing. It just drives me wild when I walk past a cafe and a young lady in a miniskirt sits down and you get that split second flash of panty’ to ‘a glimpse of what you are not supposed to see is always nice tho’ I suspect is it often done on purpose’. After twenty or so comments, it was neatly summed up with: ‘Yes, this is absolutely one of those little things that adds immeasurably to the enjoyment of life - that momentary frisson of excitement and arousal is priceless. The game-play part also is good - the different reactions with those who deliberately give a little peek and those with whom it is inadvertent.......’

I delved deeper, and found there were forums/chat rooms which dealt specifically with this subject matter, I will spare you the glorious gory details, save to comment: ‘Everybody’s doing it’. By that I mean, Bruce is not alone in getting up at 4.30 in the morning to position himself at a Sydney railway station to seek out the odd sighting of the unsuspecting, skirt wearing siren.
I suggested he salve his desires (whilst in Brighton) with a visit to local shops to purchase magazines devoted to this very theme.
Alas, the cupboard was bare, save for the glamour of Betty Page, and some dreadful publications showing very young lasses being spanked rather harshly by much older (sadistic) men.

This was not what the short skirt doctor ordered.
Instead, Bruce bought a: ‘grow a toy boy’ figure encased in plastic packaging. It claimed that if immersed in water the figure
would/could grow to 600 times its size.
I nixed the idea on the grounds that I would wake up and find myself imprisoned by a rampant man shaped bouncy castle of room sized proportions.
It got me thinking that, if this is a pleasing innocent pastime of the lesser spotted rampant British Male, why is this not being catered for?
Answers on a post card please.
I personally think the time is ripe for coming full circle, less of the crass and more of the auto suggestion.
Over to Cole Porter: “Good authors, too, who once knew better words Now use only four-letter words Writing prose - Anything goes”
I will take that under advisement!!

L

Posted by Letitcia at 08:31 PM | Comments (1)

July 15, 2007

Big Brother..Best line by far

I don't watch it BUTi was looking for 30seconds and thought.........

That's the most intelligent thing that ANY one has ever said.
POLITICS IS JUST SHOWBUSINESS FOR UGLY PEOPLE
Quite......

Posted by Letitcia at 11:35 AM | Comments (0)

June 19, 2007

The Indie Grand Prix

I never thought that someone could top Murry 'GO,GO,GO,' Walker for sheer entertainment in Formula one, but i was wrong........

Martin Brundle is a GOD, there he is busting along the drivers and visitors for last gasp soundbite, handling a monosyllabic Pharrel, who eventually sprang to life to talk in veiled terms about race (as in colour), when another commentator mentioned that there was oil spillage on the track
What was Martin's reposte: 'Having been up close to the track promotion girls i assume it is their makeup sliding off'
Excellent stuff!!!

Posted by Letitcia at 03:25 PM | Comments (0)

March 19, 2007

Formula 1 back on track

Now that Top Gear is resting for the summer....there has to be something to take up the slack.
Thank God for the Grand Prix season, and fresh meat.........

Albert Park in Melbourne did us proud, and as Murray used to say, it was GO GO GO.
The best bit for me was when Bernie Ecclestone told Brundle to collar the Prime Minister of some country or other....poor Martin wades into a group of blokes and asks Bernie: 'Which one is he????'
As he himself commented: 'That's why sport and politics never mix'
Priceless.
All hail to the new Tiger Woods of F.1......... Lewis Hamilton

Posted by Letitcia at 07:10 AM | Comments (0)

February 16, 2007

Multi tasking at Chez Letitcia

If you are a hit man with a mission to kill me...then (just to make your mission easier)you may do so at my regular haunt...THE RED ROASTER..........

It has the best coffee in the universe and the very WORST accoustics.
The peripheral noise seems irritating and agitates me.

I bumped into Conny the German coputer whiz a few days ago...and he also suffers from the same affliction.
'Its called Party Syndrome in my country' he explained.

As a woman, supposedly i am meant to conform to type---as in: do the washing up, dance, feed imaginary dogs and cats, tend to an even more imaginary tiny tot ankle biter -----then stick a broom up my butt so that i might sweep up at the same time.
But i'm buggered if i can hear myself THINK to have a conversation, while there is a dirge of music and the echo of others chatting in my designated coffee house.

Neither can Connie (though he CAN sip coffee and simultaneously leer at the embryonic female coffee lovers).

Yes i can tickle a man's spine with my soft bouncy orbs while fondling his toes or kissing his neck..
I can massage his shoulders whilst stroking his cajones, and if i removed a few ribs and vertebrae i could damn well cuck cock while using my black leather strap-on (not for the faint hearted)

Poor George Bush Snr couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time ...though our Tone can be in office AND lie his ass off, but i digress......

I once had occasion to see a peerless multi tasker up close and personal. Boy was this bloke good!!!!

He was/is an exceptionally well known character in the the media, though i call him V.G (just to get you thinking)
He was invited by various national and international radio stations to give an informed comment about the decision (of guilty) in the Geoffrey Archer perjory case.
Since he was lunching 'a deux' with myself and a mate, he arranged for the phone in to be conducted at my home on my phone.
He had always had the hots for my friend and i could see from the twinkle in his eye and the extra bottles of champagne, that he was going in for the kill.

I happened to have been given a dodgy 'Animal Farm' tape (again --not for the faint hearted) and my two guests decreed that we must watch it.
I busied myself with keeping the bubbles flowing and generally tinkering around in the kitchen....while trying not to vomit.
It was woeful and beyond gross......... there was a veritable menagerie of live stock being stroked and sucked and cajoled to do unspeakable things to swedish /danish farm hands.
V.G was making time with his prey on my sofa...and then the phone rang.
I put the tape on mute but kept the gory images switched on

Without missing a beat he gave a stellar performance and a snappy oration ('if you live by the sword you die likewise, and when you sup with the devil.......etc....') while stroking his burgeoning dick and nuzzling his intended victim...all this, while watching a blonde beauty with a black hairy pudenda pissing on an Alstation's tonsils (true)

I have never seen such calm amid such chaos.
Mr V.G the multi tasking Yoda........ i salute you!!!!!

Posted by Letitcia at 01:25 AM | Comments (0)

January 31, 2007

The Mean Streets of Brighton

I finally went to HMV to spend my Christmas vouchers.....

I realised that i would i would either have to stop buying videos (since they no longer have the format) or acquire a DVD player.
I plumped for C.D's instead, and started strolling home..........

At the Clock Tower, one of nature's rejects----accompanied by 8 of her multi coloured hoodie mates, decided to act the goat and 'diss me large'
This is what she shouted: 'OI, YOU, 'HAT LADY....'OW MUCH D'YA CHARGE'

I had an immediate fantasy of grabbing her by her undernourished, Posh Spice throat....and ripping her cheap hair extensions from her tossing head...i then would have liked to kick her over used, black boyfriend receiving, rotten crutch------ all the way up to the clap clinic.....but not before i smeared/erased her crayoned on eyebrows and obliterated the aquamarine eyeshadow and poorly applied warpaint from her plain and inbred face.

But i walked on, smug in the knowledge that i charged quadruple what her grandmother did.

Whatever happened to respect for one's elders???

Posted by Letitcia at 11:48 PM | Comments (0)

January 03, 2007

Letitcia finds God

I always opine that i am never happier than when it is Jan 1st on any given year, but sadly this year was NOT the case.........

What bright spark thought it would be a spiffing idea to plonk freaking FAT BOY SLIM yards from my luxury domain?
OI YOU COUNCIL PERLONKERS (for i assume they are the miscreants who have the yay or nay say regarding this intrusion) NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo!!!!
How bloody dare you subject me to a noise which is like Sooty and Sweep playing the Xylophone....**** off and do something useful (like get the present Mayor OUT of office...the randy crass git) instead of ruining the very first day of the year with a lamentable DIN.
Well, i gritted my teeth and waited for the window to shudder with the metronomic thud- thud -thud of asinine sampling----and----NOTHING.
The wind and the rain raged and i heard not a peep
God is ever so merciful ----THANK YOU BABY JESUS

Posted by Letitcia at 07:50 PM | Comments (0)

December 29, 2006

'Tis a pity he's a bore

According to http://www.brighton-hove.gov.uk/index.cfm?request=c278----' The Mayor is also the first citizen of Brighton & Hove and represents the council at public affairs, civic and ceremonial events both in and outside the city. The Mayor has a social/ambassadorial role to play and is a figurehead for the community.........WELL YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME.........

I am no stranger to the Mayor's parlour.....and by that, i mean i have interviewed the last Mayor in those surroundings....yes, LETITCIA WAS AT CITY HALL......i have become ALMOST respectable.
With this new found respectability comes invites to prestigeous events....none more so than THE BLACK AND WHITE BALL.
This was (as i was so fond of bragging to everyone) the society event of the year, and at £95 a ticket one would imagine (present company excepted) that the movers and shakers of impeccable taste and manners would be there.
WRONG
It all started off so well, i trowelled on the makeup, set hat at the jauntiest of angles and gave my impossibly glamourous satin wrap its first outing. I then tottered down the road like a poor man's Dick Emery and caught the especially laid on courtesy bus.
The great and the good were ferried to the imposing Stanmer House in Stanmer park, the magical winter wonderland was achieved with jugglers and snow machines, and the ubiquitous mulled wine awaited all arrivals in the reception hall.
Mulled bloody wine? 'Tastes like sausages doesn't it' opined a city columnist mate of mine.
He was right....this wasn't good enough, i went in search of pink bubbles of the Champagne variety.....but they didn't sell it by the glass
We were then coralled en masse to partake of the 5 course extravaganza....and i naturally assumed it would be hosted in a stunning ballroom of epic proportions within the opulent house.
WRONG
As i followed the other diners, i became aware of the terrific drop in temperature.....WHAT THE FUCK was happening?????
It transpires that we were dining in a bloomin' TENT!!!!!
I was led to my table.....flippin' 'eck.......i was on the top table......and i was pointedly sitting next to the Mayor of Brighton.
I had heard reports that there had been a semi scandal (NOT involving me) where he had left his wife.....and therefore i didn't know what to make of the lady who was his date for the night.
It was obvious they were not married....they looked too happy.

Introductions were made and i was known on the place setting in my CIVILIAN NAME and introduced as a writer, author and journalist....which wasn't a lie.

I made pleasantaries to people i would not normally give the time of day to....and maybe that was vice versa----BUT WHAT I DIDN'T EXPECT WAS FOR HIS RIGHT WORSHIPFUL MAYOR FOR THE CITY OF BRIGHTON AND HOVE TO REACH ACROSS, GRAB MY AMPLE CHARMS AND ASK: 'ARE THEY REAL????'
What a pig -------and a study in boorishnessand utter crassness
If a guy is in a position of 'FIGURE HEAD OF THE COMMUNITY'.....then he can keep his chuffing hands to himself.
It got me thinking: His job (description) is supposed to make him a lauded figure and mine is,....well, THE REVERSE....but in reality....he is not fit to lick my shoe leather.

GIVE ME A TABLE AT THE BACK WITH THE PLEBIANS ANY DAY OF THE WEEK

Posted by Letitcia at 12:32 AM | Comments (0)

December 09, 2006

Utility Futility Part 2

So, i have told them what the deal is,....'It is NOT my meter that has been read, and THAT is NOT my meter NUMBER'

I told then NOT to send a Reminder for my unpaid gas bill, since it bore no relation to what would have been used....
and what do i get?...........

A STUPID STUPID STUPID, auto generated Reminder.

I'm BACK to do battle with the round the sodding houses of options on the British Gas phone menu.

DON'T TRY AND SOUND SO CALM AND FRIENDLY...BECAUSE I AM NOT.....AND DON'T PLAY THAT STOOOOOOOPID JAUNTY JINGLE, LIKE THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A JOLLY EXERCISE.....IT IS NOT.....I HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO ON THIS, THE FIRST NICE DAY OF WEATHER FOR 3 WEEKS.

I hang on for 7-8 minutes since i CANNOT repeat the misery of listening to automated voices commanding me to do a) b) or c)......
Thank goodness i do not get the previous nonchalant: 'Wanker of Wales' phone operator

This time i was not interrogated to within an inch of my aureola, and i proceeded to relate precisely the same information that i had given to them 2 weeks before.
The outcome was the same....until there could be a time agreed for me to be in situ and for them to send an official Meter Reader....we were at stale mate.

'Could you at the very least, stop sending reminders, because it serves no purpose whatsoever' i asked.
This was agreed, and we have deferred negotiation until January.

One thing struck me over this exasperating and pointless exercise...while waiting for someone to deal with my query/complaint.....i have a benevolent voice ......FUCKING TELLING ME HOW TO WASH MY DISHES AND CLEAN MY TEETH IN AN EFFORT TO SAVE ENERGY/WATER
If they are so concerned about 'energy conservation'....they would SCRAP BRITISH GAS COMPLETELY

*****froth and foam of frustration drools from Letitcia's ruby lips*********

Posted by Letitcia at 05:02 PM | Comments (0)

December 03, 2006

Take That and my Video collection

When a stranger enters my flat, there is the inevitable ritual they are determined to perform: rooting through either your, music,book or video collection to try and discern or psychoanalize the Letitcia persona.

Without fail (untill i shifted it all to another room) their eye would fall on........

.....My TAKE THAT music video.

'I CANNOT believe you have THIS in your collection' they scream
True, it is pretty much incongruous to the rest of my audio/visual collection...which has a fair representation of the very best of kick ass rock music. I make a perfunctuary stab at defending the inclusion, even telling the presposterous lie that 'A mate left it here'

The fact is, watching the Video had a 'feelgood factor' of energy and youth and the songs were so ANTHEMIC, catchy and well sung.

In short, they were talented.

Gary always copped flak for being THE FAT ONE, but i tell you what....after seeing 'An Audience with TAKE THAT' after my 'X factor fix'............i can only conclude that having a few extra pounds is where it is at as one grows older.

He looked really well. As for the other three, all the stage make up in the world cannot hide the hollow, haunted gauntness that 10 years in the wilderness can bring.
It's wonderful that they are 'Back'....i don't know if they are back for good, but they will appreciate it all the more for being older and wiser.

So my message is: LADS, PUT A BIT OF LARD ON.......after all, it works for me.......

Posted by Letitcia at 10:54 PM | Comments (0)

October 13, 2006

Get yer tits out for the lads 2

'So you have finally put your prices up' was the message on my phone the other morning.

This was news to me.....(though i AM thinking about it!!).

I simply HAD TO INVESTIGATE!!!

I rang back the message leaver. He was a patron of longstanding, and having arrived in Brighton after 5 months of globe trotting (he is some kind of big shot)...he had sauntered to the North Laine area of Brighton.

'There i was, looking in the window of an art gallery....and your boobs winked out at me. I cannot leave you alone for a minute before you are up to all mannner of nefarious stuff'

What he meant was: I am featured as 'Face (and more besides) of Brighton' for a series of Avant Guarde portraits of people who STAND OUT.

This is very flattering, and i duly did the original photo shoot----standing in a piss stained, revolting smelling Bus Shelter.

HOW WE HAVE TO SUFFER FOR OUR ART!!!!

A WEEK BEFORE THE 'OPENING' OF THE PORTFOLIO-----THE PHOTOGRAPHER DECIDED THAT I SHOULD PRESENT A MORE GLAMOUROUS IMAGE.

Who am i to say no. We arranged for them to convene at Chez Letitcia.

The problem being, it was blowing up to Gale/Typhoon proportions---and i had to try and hold on to my chosen hat.
We decided to use my balcony as the site for the shoot.

Within 5 minutes, there was a honk, honk, honking of car horns...and a small but dedicated band of 'fans' standing on the pavement TAKING BLOODY SNAPS OF ME WITH THEIR MOBILE PHONES.

I was valiently holding onto my fur stole, hat and dignity......i mean, a bit of tit never harmed anyone hey what????

So i am occupying prime position (first thing(s) you see as you walk in the door)...and my price is £250 or 'price on application'

DON'T SAY YOU HAVE NOT BEEN WARNED LADS!!!!!

Posted by Letitcia at 09:39 PM | Comments (0)

June 12, 2006

Spunk alert

The Aussies have a word for it.
'He's a spunk' they (the sheilas) will exclaim.

Well i stood in a queue at the Redroaster coffee emporium... and i saw the very thing....from the BACK.........

Believe me when i say that this apparition was akin to spotting a snow leopard in the desert, hearing a cucko in the winter and encountering a footballer's wife whose fashion sense i didn't want to headbutt.

I ached to reach out and touch the back of his neck and stroke the soft tendrils of his pitch black hair. Unfortunately there was an elderly hippie and a smelly oik between me and Mr Wonderful.

He even STOOD like a demi god---i checked out his shoes: they were lizard skin designer original---and when he turned round i almost spontaneously combusted. WOW----Hubba Hubba.

'There is no way that this bloke is English' i reasoned.

He grabbed his coffee and sought out a seat. There were no free tables and he had to share with some lucky people.

I grabbed decaf latte and sat outside in the rain---with the canvas awning acting as protection against the Bank Holiday elements.

Noah (my web designer) and Lydia (his fragrant shy lover) arrived and i told them that i had seen a stunning stud muffin within.

'Why don't you go and sit at his table?' they urged

I wasn't in the best of moods, and i was not feeling particularly on form where the art of 'picking up' was concerned...but a dare is a dare.

Back into the Coffee shop i went, and wouldn't you just know it.....the only seat available was NEXT TO HIM!!!!

I purchased my second (unwanted) cuppa and scythed ..nay...SPRINTED, through the pattern of full tables to arrive at the alter of all that was beautiful and said: 'is this seat taken'

He didn't exactly take a hankie and dust my chair seat down in acknowledgment..but he lazily suggested that my presence at his table was fine.
Noah and Lydia were giving me the thumbs up sign from 5 yards away and i took in the preposterous pulchritude of the dude up close and semi personal.

FUCK ME HE WAS STUNNING

He was studying a Suduko game....and as luck would have it, this is precisely what my mate Noah develops for National broadsheets.

I very gauchely rang him, i needed an IN to this vision of loveliness.

'What's he reading' Noah whispered from two tables away.
I tried to convey that i needed to say something cool and clever about Suduko to get into this guy's head.

Noah was most unhelpful, so i was left metaphorically with my clit in my hand, hung out to dry saying: 'that looks real hard'.

OH HOW BLOODY PAINFUL WAS THE LOOK THIS YOUNG MAN GAVE ME?

Not to be outdone, i compounded my awful chat up technique with: 'They're great shoes...where did you buy them?'
I was fixed with an even more painful look that said: 'Fuck off and leave me alone you twat'

So i did. I know when i am beaten. If at first you don't succeed try and try again...but after that, beat a hasty retreat......no point in making a complete eejit of yourself!!!!

Posted by Letitcia at 03:21 PM | Comments (0)

April 05, 2006

Oral Angel at the adjoining table

The great thing about being 'self employed' is that one can take a coffee break whenever you feel like it.........

....so i found myself seated at my local yokel coffee outlet-- with my libation of choice, when i saw a woman seated in my direct line of vision.
Now i think that it's uncool to look for more than two and a half seconds...anything after that is STARING...and that is just plain RUDE.
But this woman was....she was just.......

Firstly when i glanced at her approaching my peripheral vison i sub- conciously thought: 'OH, sweet Jesus, more on clothes and less on chocolate Missus'
Now, i have a certain robust charm but this was a 'who ate all the >pies' football chant personified.

THEN THE FOOD ARRIVED.
It took THREE waiters to deliver the calorific needs of this lady lump.
And she started.
The world stood still for this female feeder of frankly farcical proportions.
She swooped eagle like to her prey.
The table was her altar...and she worshipped with the devoutness of a true believer........BOY DID SHE LOVE HER TUCKER.

I mean, she REALLY FUCKING LOVED IT.
She had ordered: not one, not two but THREE SALMON BAGUETTES WITH CREME CHEESE. There was a forest of salad and she squeezed (with her dinner lady arms)lemon all over the heavily laden plate....like a lover spraying his 'bit of filth' with spunk.
She had a smoothie and an edible edifice of carrot cake as back up, in case she keeled over due to malnutrition.

BUT IT WASN'T THE AMOUNT OF FOOD, IT WAS THE WAY SHE PROCEEDED TO DEMOLISH IT.With a certain beatific look on her face she started to devour her lunch with such longing and lust that it was embarassing.
She was a mountain of mastication. The morsels were barely given 3 chews before she was shovelling the next forkful (should have been a shovel)toward her jaws, which were moving up and down as quickly as the piston engine legs of an Olympic sprint champion.
Give this lady a gold for gorging.
She gazed longingly at the rapidly diminishing fodder. Had a psycho run amok with a Samurai Sword and cut a swathe through the lunchtime crowd...she would NEVER have noticed.
She salivated and relished, her focus was completely and utterly the food.
Had the meaty morsels been a man...his testicles would have been searingly sucked up until they burst out of his eye sockets.

I left her on the home straight of her oral odessey...as i walked along the road i could not help thinking: I BET SHE IS AN ABSOLUTE ANIMAL IN THE SACK.......

Posted by Letitcia at 10:09 PM | Comments (0)

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 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)

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