May 14, 2010
Harman and Smith… Chatted to some lovely gorgeous young male ‘colleagues’ yesterday evening. They seemed to share the quiet optimism of a return to better times for the industry. It seems ‘paid love’ tends to flourish under any regime with a strong bias towards traditional family values. Rather than pesky socialists who want to drag the subject of prostitution under the glaring bright spot and rescue us if necessary against our will, Tories tend to be reassuringly ambiguous. Some of the best clients are those with a very ‘clean’ moralistic image, their debauchery is only surpassed by the inclination to pay for it. Hence many young gay escorts are joyfully anticipating a fresh influx of Tory MPs. After all there is only so long Boy George can carry the gay escort market on his own….
May 13, 2010
Well, in the wake of a new dawn era government, the most pertinent question would be what will the future hold for a brazen hussy in a non brown society? Thinking back to the distant memory of the last Conservative government, the one thing that sticks out is that the Tories usually put the ‘sin’ back into their staunch family values. Along with conservative morals, one thing seemed as sure as the religious qualification for the papacy, that under the Conservative party, the sleaze-o-metre tends to rise considerably. The influx of new ‘back benchers’ will probably mean that London parks near Westminster will be full of fresh, happily married Conservative MPs accidentally stumbling into joyful nocturnal ‘naturists’ frolicking in the moonlight. Perhaps the current economic crisis can be tackled with paraphrasing slogans by former Tory legends, such as Norma ‘dont sit on your arse, sell it’ Tebbit? I predict boom times for the happily amoral! Wonder who of us will be the first to have an outcall to Westminster?
May 13, 2010
So sorry I shamefully neglected you all these weeks. What can I say? Well, life got in the way. Apart from meeting lovely gents I got caught up with a number of design projects in which I immersed myself fully. But I am still around and still delightfully amoral with a laughter just the right side of dirty…
February 20, 2010
Alright technically mid morning to early lunch – had an extra lie in. Call from a guy who sounds a little constipated but I am not quite fully awake to differentiate finer acoustic details. He tells me that he has seen and liked my profile for which I thank him graciously. He then tells me that he woke up horny – for a moment I held my breath lest this would lead him to commence a Blues number. No he continues talking and asked my availability. I quote him my earliest appointment time some 4 hours in the future based on a careful algorithm that considers overall state of moi, grogginess, extra grooming, travel and generally switching from auto pilot. He tells me having seen my site I was worth waiting for. I asked if he wanted to make the booking but instead he asks if I mind seeing big guys. I reply in the affirmative and reassure him that since I am no skinny minny myself I don’t have any issues with weight. But he already continues to tell me that ’Big girls like big guys and that he tends to get on with them’ I presume he means big girls but my mind is not completely in focus. His breathing is a little laboured. I am thinking poor guy and am contemplating to recommend extra fibre in his diet. He then asked if I minded 10 inches. I then realise he is not constipated at all. I finish the call abruptly as I hate those kinds of conversations and because my body demands ney screams for a shot of caffeine. Of course I mind ten inches! What is wrong with some people? Why can’t they be sensible and at least quote in centimetres!
January 30, 2010
It seems the inability to ask for directions might be in particular an affliction of the Anglo-Saxon Homo erectus… A French study begs to differ and rebuts the findings of an English study that claims the G-Spot does not exist. Apparently, French men do know where to look – well, if one studies the typical French movie the best way to search for this button is by plonking the woman on the kitchen table and root around, usually after a heated argument, furiously smoking a cigarette and waving ones hands around and many typical Gallic shrugs. Whatever the ritual involved finding the blasted spot, I am surprised to hear that 60% of French women have it and their English sisters apparently not. At the risk of sounding offensive (well, it is my blog so sue me lol) given on how many neurotic French women I have encountered – either I only met with those falling into the 40% group or they have not had their button pressed.
In my professional capacity as a floozy, I am not keen on the kind of dogged insistence of some guys who see it as a personal mission to locate and push that button. They are often the kind of person that fails to see the bigger picture of moi, a living breathing woman with a personality. Instead, they focus on my inner bits with some mental alternative to the Ford Escort manual and prod around where the plumbing ought to be. Luckily, I rarely encounter such ‘intrepid’ explorers as most gents realise that achieving bliss is not just pure mechanics but a combination of physical and mental stimulation as a holistic approach. However, hobbyist forums are full of the kind of men that swap notes that could easily read out of context appear to be motor repair tips. Ironically, their quest to find the Holy Grail of Punting has nothing to do with the actual lady’s feelings on the matter and is all about the equivalent of erecting an explorer’s flag up there… The type of people who post in-depth instructions of how to turn on the ‘waterworks’ i.e. to get the women squirting remind me off podgy Gary Larson ‘Far Side’ cartoon boys with milk bottle thick glasses that mount big bugs as specimen…
Anyway, all you lovely gents I can stop the agony over trying to find my G Spot – it is really easy to locate and very easy to reach – it nestles seductively inside my silk purse….