September 19, 2005
The unluckiest patron on the planet
Several weeks ago, i sat in a restaraunt/bar with a view overlooking the sea and the Brighton Pier.
Tears were streaming down my face.......
They were however tears of great hilarity.
Oh how my sides ached.
****ISSUES DISCLAIMER*****:the source of the story has given me full permission to tell the World Wide Web--i have merely changed the name.
Bruce was his name, and for 4 years he was my weekly patron (regular as clockwork)at one of the largest and best 'cathouses' in Sydney.
When i left---to go on my travels, and to eventually return to the U.K, he was obviously 'left in the lurch'.
We did however stay in touch---he was very kind to me in many number of ways---and i was very happy to see him again after an absence of ELEVEN YEARS.
For ELEVEN YEARS, Bruce had not been inside a woman...(maybe the Statue of Liberty....but that doesn't count!!)
Now in that time, my working practices have segued to the point that i DO NOT OFFER SERVICES OF A PENETRATIONAL NATURE.(
(And it has not ecaped my notice that i have been castigated for that, by of all people---- fellow service providers----like they don't have the bloody CHOICE)
'Body Worship' had been honed to such a point (or skill) which ever way you want to view it-------that it was no longer necessary and indeed was hardly EVER asked for
My dilema was: DO I TELL HIM BEFORE HE STARTS THE 13,000 MILE ARDUOUS JOURNEY FROM OZ???????
I decided to wing it---though several of my good mates were appalled at my treachery: "you mean he's coming all that way, after all this time----and you're not even going to FUCK him" they screamed.
I admit this line of reasoning did rather tickle my chuckle muscle---to the point that i self combusted with laughter when ever i thought of this connundrum.
He arrived, and over a convivial lunch---related the difficulty he had in finding an adequate 'replacement' after my departure.
Bruce was pedantic regarding personal hygine/cleanliness/diet and exercise----I mean, his underpants alone were starched and bleached to the most brilliant of white--------which is why i found his account of looking for comfort most amusing
He sought succour in the arms of: A CHUFFING STREET CRACK HEAD!!!!!
She was apparently 19, with a voluptuous hour flass figure and tumbling raven coloured hair,----that, and the full ruby lips sealed his fate.
She didn't actually have anywhere to take him for his pleasure----and he found himself in the back of a dirty mag shop in Darlinghurst Road-- in effect it was a wank room for the soiled raincoat brigade----
He paid her the money----AND SHE LEFT TO GET A FIX.
My poor bruce was left in a cum splattered cubicle with the detritus of fisting and doggie mags and the odd foil or stray needle---
Apon her return she disregarded dearest 'clean freak' and anally retentive Bruce----AND PROCEEDED TO JACK UP complete with tournique.
As if this wasn't bad enough, she bought back an Aussie staple---no, NOT a can of Recsh's Beer (brewed and ONLY found in N.S.W)--NOT a violet crumble (like a crunchie bar)--nor a 'sanger sarnie' (sausage sandwich)------A VANILLA SLICE.---this culinary treasure is basically COLD CUSTARD BETWEEN FLAKY PASTRY DUSTED WITH ICING SUGAR.
It's real messy!!!
She shoved the needle in her arm and the pastry between her scarlett lips--AND SIMULTANEOUSLY grabbed the dick of what must have been a mortified/terrified ex patron of yours truly.
My belly simply ACHED with mirth and merriment....and what was making me giggle even more was, after hearing this account of a disasterous coupling...did i confess that after 11 years and a not inconsiderable distance...THAT HE STILL WOULD NOT BE RAM RAIDING DOGGY FASHION.?????
Having mopped my tears ( i truly have never laughed so much) we made a date for the next day.
No worries, as they say in Oz-----guess what, ............HIS PREFERENCES HAD CHANGED TOO
Posted by Letitcia at 10:58 PM | 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)