Fire and Ice...

"Good evening, ladies" I said.

The two women halted in the hotel corridor and assessed me.

"Well, it has been so far" said the blond, eyeing me cautiously. Her blond hair framed an elegant face, with ice blue eyes. Her lips were plump and succulent, her skin alabaster white and flawless.

"So has mine been - it would be a shame to let it end so early".

"Indeed, but what have you in mind?" asked the brunette, arching her eyebrow at her companion. Her blue eyes were dark and piercing. Her mid-winter tan made her glow with health.

"Well, I generally find champagne is a good place to start." I replied.

She considered the situation. Her gaze was more certain and assured. She held her slim frame confidently and, in her heels, matched me for height. She knew she could handle herself and others with ease. "Start?" she smiled.

The blond shifted her weight. Silk rubbed seductively on silk. The sound was enough to distract me and wonder what was under that wrapping.

"Well, one would always want to end the evening satisfied and sated," I suggested, recovering my concentration.

The brunette was weighing up the risks, a little unsure of how to proceed. "Hmm. I hope that you don't think we can be bought with cheap champagne." Her blond friend nodded, happy that her friend had taken the initiative.

"Far from it, ladies" I countered. "I would not be so presumptuous. I'm sure that your affections cannot be won by any but the most generous spirited of men. Perhaps, we could discuss the topic over some vintage champagne in the bar downstairs?"

"Do you think that champagne is available from room service?" asked the brunette, her blue eyes sparkling provocatively.

"But of course! Ladies, follow me..."

To be continued...

Bad fictional sex...

Just as I said that I will write my first fictional account of an erotic encounter, the Literary Review announces the longlist for its "Bad Sex in Fiction" award.

This is an omen...

Still I won't be in bad company - it turns out that eminent writers such as John Updike, Salman Rushdie, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Giles Coren and Paul Theroux can mess up writing about squelchy activities. Royally. The Guardian helpfully lets you read the passages in full.

My particular favorite is Coren's

"...he shot three more times, in thick stripes on her chest. Like Zorro."

I rather hope that is ironic. It certainly is funny...

So will I proceed in the face of this terrible karma? Hell, yes! For two reasons:

1. If these literary titans can fuck up their huge reputations with bad porn, then I feel totally empowered to blow my negligible status in one large outpouring of hackneyed prose.
2. Er... I've already written some of it and I'm too lazy not to use it...

Enjoy...

Echoes from the past III...

Sorry to go all weird on you but those escorts in New York have really been preying on my mind.

I thought that I might write some fiction about what might have happened. Just to be clear, this is the first fiction that I will have put in this blog (other than the jokes). Everything else has been a reasonable facsimile of actual events (with a few names and details changed to protect my identity).

I'm not convinced this exercise will be entirely healthy for my sanity (I guess we'll see...) and, as it will probably read like a cheesy letter from the letters section of Penthouse ("Imagine my surprise when all her sister's clothes fell off and the cheerleaders joined in..."), it might do very little for your mental well-being either...

First episode tomorrow.

Enjoy...

George Best RIP...

George Best has died.



As he is a man after my own heart – and a hero of mine, I thought that I’d record his passing with a few words, particularly as I feel that – but for a bit of self-control – I could go the same way.

Probably the greatest footballer that the UK has produced, he was a titan in his prime. A bigger (and sexier) celebrity than David Beckham (and with more skill in his little toe), he was called the greatest footballer in the world by none other than Pelé . His own comments about David Beckham were somewhat less generous, "He cannot kick with his left foot, he cannot head a ball, he cannot tackle and he doesn't score many goals. Apart from that he's alright." About Paul Gascoigne (another revered England player), he said, "I once said Gazza's IQ was less than his shirt number and he asked me: "What's an IQ?".

However, sadly, he proceeded to squander his prodigious talents by drinking and womanising. He knew that he was lost. He once said "In 1969 I gave up women and alcohol - it was the worst 20 minutes of my life." Tragically, his most famous quote was, “I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars - the rest I just squandered.”

He suffered from alcoholism. Having wrecked his own liver, he then set about destroying someone else's - the transplant that saved his life. It killed him.

The most famous story surrounding him was that he was holed up in a 5 star hotel. He ordered more champagne from room service. The waiter arrived to find George, sprawled on the bed with the then Miss World, the rather gorgeous Mary Stavin naked beside him. The bed was covered in ten pound notes (his winnings at a casino that evening) and empty champagne bottles were strewn around the room.

The waiter shook his head in disbelief, and said sadly, “George! Where did it all go wrong?”

These stories you may have heard. However, my own favourite story is unique and was from an Irish friend. He and some London-based Irish mates had invited a team of their friends over from Dublin for a “London Irish vs Irish Irish” football match. After the match, they were ensconced in a Chelsea pub, drinking up a storm. Seamus, my friend, then spots George Best drinking at the bar. Now Seamus can charm the birds from the trees, sell refrigerators to the Eskimos: he has the gift of the gab and has not so much kissed the Blarney Stone, as swallowed it whole.

He strolls over to George and starts. About how he is a boyhood hero, how he’d watched all his matches, how all his friends had been inspired to play football because of George’s success and how those very friends had come over from Ireland to play footy one last time before they were too old. “It would be a great honour to us all (and we’d be forever in your debt),” said Seamus, “if you would present this trophy to the winning side.”

George looked at him, smiled and said, “Fuck off.”

Enjoy…

By the way (tech question)...

I used to have something that showed who the referring pages were to my blog. It used to appear below the hit counter and above the sitemeter logo.

It now seems to have disappeared (for me, at least). The code still apppears to be in my template.

Any ideas?


----

Edit - it's back of its own accord - bizarre...

Thanks for your help.

Echoes from the past II...

Thank you for the comments on my last post.

I have been forced to think about some uncomfortable home truths.

I think about being unfaithful. I want to be unfaithful. But I will not be unfaithful. I will resist. But that act of thinking and desire makes me feel guilty. My wife would be horrified if she knew that I can see a pretty girl walk by and see myself wrapping her legs around my head.

My inability to control my desires and thought processes worries me too on a longer term level.

The pangs of remembrance and the draw of forbidden fruit were brought to the rushing out of the hidden recesses of my mind in New York. They are right back at the front of my consciousness. I need to fight to submerge them once more. Like a buoy, they can be forced underwater. They can even be held there for long periods. But a moment of weakness brings them rushing back to the surface.

I wonder sometimes whether I will be ever free of temptation. A girl in a bar watching me, an internet site whose URL is seared in my memory, a fantasy that I know I can play out at the touch of a button - they all call out to me.

An alcoholic can chose to never go into a pub, avoid parties, change his friends. I cannot avoid fantasising about sex - it is hardwired into my brain. I cannot avoid sexual imagery - it surrounds us in modern society. I cannot avoid having sex - it is an integral part of my marriage.

Am I condemned to be for ever more buffeted by the memories of my past desires? Like being trapped in some ghastly tank, the ripples bounce off the inescapable sheer sides, washing over me and threatening to drown me. Every gasp for air just amplify the waves. Can I ever find inner calm?

Perhaps my salvation is in becoming old. Maybe Oscar Wilde's maxim, "An inordinate passion for pleasure is the secret of remaining young" works in reverse. Can one can lose the passion for pleasure by aging? I think not.

At least not in this reprobate - I'll be in the geriatric ward wondering if the pretty nurse can be persuaded to give me a blowjob.

Enjoy...

Echoes from the past...

This week I was in a hotel in New York. I was lonely. I was horny. A dangerous combination...

I'd taken a client to dinner. The client is female, attractive and young. We have flirted goodnaturedly throughout the dinner but we both know that it is going nowhere - we are both married and unwilling to stray. But we have fun, pretending otherwise.

It has nevertheless raised my frustration levels to ball-busting levels.

I return to my hotel a little drunk and with my libido boiling. I walk out of the lift, heading to my suite. I see two women walking towards me.

I immediately register the following facts:

• They are pretty.
• They are sexy.
• They are escorts.

Not everyone would make them - they are not streetwalkers in fishnets and thigh-high boots - these are high-end escorts, courtesans. However, to my practised eye the signs are clear - a little too much make up, a fraction too much perfume, heels that are not really practical, clothes that are a touch too revealing to be appropriate for a Tuesday evening. Their bags are larger than average (all the better for holding the lube, toys, condoms, make-up, stockings, lingerie, etc. that any self-repecting escort carts around). There is also their gaze (and gait) - confident, assured, sexual, knowing. And they are leaving a 5 star hotel at midnight (not the usual time to start a night out). They eye me up, knowing that I know.

I consider the situation - probably all it will take is for me to engage them in conversation: a greeting; an invitation for a drink; a couple of sexual innuendos... And we could be ensconced in my room, three bodies entwined. Naked, kissing, stroking, licking, tasting, testing, sighing, sweating, probing, pumping, coming... Pleasure unbounded.

God I want to.

I can feel the cash in my pocket - the key to this sexual feast.

But I smile benignly and allow them to pass. Their eyes flick downwards - I am not interested and therefore they switch off.

They are my past, not my present or future...

But the hotel porn gets a bit of a beasting...

Enjoy...

OK, one last and final reason...

I was reading Temptation musing on how she would like a cage for Christmas (some women are just soooo easy to buy for...) and it reminded me of a funny story.

We'd got a puppy and, as part of the house training, bought a big cage for the puppy to sleep in. The theory is, if you are interested (No, not really. Ed.), that the dog will not soil it's own bedding, so confining it trains it to control its bodily functions overnight. Are you still reading? (With barely contained excitement... [yawn] Ed.)

My kids however, loved the idea of the cage and were playing at being "the puppy in the cage".

Anyway, I was having an important conference call one week-end. Clients, lawyers and colleagues were all hanging on my every word as I outlined the next big deal. I have the phone on hands-free, speakerphone mode, as it was going to be a loooong call.

Into the library walks my then 4yo boy. "Daddy, daddy!" he cries. I tried to continue my monologue but it was obvious that the boy wasn't going to wait for daddy to finish.

"Hold on chaps," said I. "I'll just sort out my son..." I didn't mute the phone... "Yes, D, what do you want?"

"Daddy! Can you put me in the cage again?!"

That took some explaining...

Enjoy...

Yet more reasons...

More lazy blogging from me. I really ought to apologise but I can't be arsed - I'm that fucking indolent*.

In fact this isn't just lazy, it's plagarism. I saw this on Alex Asks and thought, "That's close enough - no one will notice". Alex Asks, by the way is a fine repository of stories and jokes that really shouldn't be allowed out in polite company. He is probably the UK equivalent of God hates kittens and his attitude is summed up by his profile: "I got a blowjob last nite. And not just any old blowjob, but a full on, swallowing every last drop, blowjob. Ah, I love my girlfriend’s mum." My only excuse for not linking to him earlier is that I am bone idle...

A first-grade teacher, Ms. Brooks, was having trouble with one of her students. The teacher asked, "Harry, what's your problem?"
Harry answered, "I'm too smart for the 1st grade. My sister is in the 3rd grade and I'm way smarter than she is! I think I should be in the 3rd grade too!"
Ms. Brooks had had enough. She took Harry to the principal's office. While Harry waited in the outer office, the teacher explained to the principal what the situation was. The principal told Ms. Brooks he would give the boy a test. If he failed to answer any of his questions he was to go back to the 1st grade and behave.
She agreed.
Harry was brought in and the conditions were explained to him and he consented to take the test.
Principal: "What is 3 x 3?"
Harry: "9."
Principal: "What is 6 x 6?"
Harry: "36."
And so it went with every question the principal thought a 3rd grader should know.
The principal looks at Ms. Brooks and tells her, "I think Harry can go to the 3rd grade."
Ms. Brooks says to the principal, "Let me ask him some questions."
She asks, "What does a cow have four of that I have only two of?"
Harry, after a moment: "Legs."
Ms. Brooks: "What is in your trousers that you have but I do not have?"
The principal wondered why would she ask such a question!
Harry replied: "Pockets."
Ms. Brooks: "What does a dog do that a man steps into?"
Harry: "Pants."
Ms. Brooks: "What starts with a 'C', ends with a 'T', is hairy, oval, delicious and contains thin, whitish liquid?"
Harry: "Coconut."
The principal sat forward with his mouth hanging open.
Ms. Brooks: "What goes in hard and pink then comes out soft and sticky?"
The principal's eyes opened really wide and before he could stop the answer, Harry replied, "Bubble gum."
Ms. Brooks: "What does a man do standing up, a woman does sitting down and a dog does on three legs?"
Harry: "Shake hands."
The principal was trembling.
Ms. Brooks: "What word starts with an 'F' and ends in 'K' that means a lot of heat and excitement?"
Harry: "Firetruck."
The principal breathed a sigh of relief and told the teacher, "Put Harry in the fifth-grade, I got the last seven questions wrong......"

Enjoy...

* Actually, I am rushed off my feet at work and blogging eats into valuable down time. Sadly, there is not much action at home - work, sickness, tiredness. Bah!

More reasons not to mess with children...

Following yesterday's post, I was sent this stuff by a loyal reader (thanks Dave).

1. A kindergarten pupil told his teacher he'd found a cat, but it was dead.
   "How do you know that the cat was dead?" she asked her pupil.
   "Because I pissed in its ear and it didn't move," answered the child innocently.
   "You did WHAT?!?" the teacher exclaimed in surprise.
   "You know," explained the boy, "I bent over and went 'Pssst!' and it didn't move."
   
   
2. A small boy is sent to bed by his father.
   Five minutes later....."Da-ad...."
   "What?"
   "I'm thirsty. Can you bring me a drink of water?"
   "No, You had your chance. Lights out."
   Five minutes later, "Da-aaaad....."
   "WHAT?"
   "I'm THIRSTY. Can I have a drink of water??"
   "I told you NO! If you ask again, I'll have to spank you!!"
   Five minutes later......"Daaaa-aaaad...."
   "WHAT!"
   "When you come in to spank me, can you bring a drink of water?"
   
   
3. An exasperated mother, whose son was always getting into mischief, finally asked him, "How do you expect to get into Heaven?"
   The boy thought it over and said, "Well, I'll run in and out and in and out and keep slamming the door until St Peter says, 'For Heaven's sake, Dylan, come in or stay out!'"
   
   
4. One summer evening during a violent thunderstorm a mother was tucking her son into bed. She was about to turn off the light when he asked with a tremor in his voice, "Mommy, will you sleep with me tonight?"
   The mother smiled and gave him a reassuring hug.
   "I can't dear," she said. "I have to sleep in Daddy's room."
   A long silence was broken at last by his shaky little voice: "The big sissy."
   
   
5. It was that time, during the Sunday morning service, for the children's sermon. All the children were invited to come forward. One little girl was wearing a particularly pretty dress and, as she sat down, the pastor leaned over and said, "That is a very pretty dress. Is it your Easter Dress?"
   The little girl replied, directly into the pastor's clip-on microphone, "Yes, and my Mom says it's a bitch to iron."
   
   
6. When a woman was six months pregnant with her third child, her three year old came into the room when I was just getting ready to get into the shower. She said, "Mommy, you are getting fat!"
   She replied, "Yes, honey, remember Mommy has a baby growing in her tummy."
   "I know," she replied, "but what's growing in your butt?"
   
   
7. A little boy was doing his math homework. He said to himself,
   "Two plus five, that son of a bitch is seven. Three plus six, that son of a bitch is nine..."
   His mother heard what he was saying and gasped, "What are you doing?"
   The little boy answered, "I'm doing my math homework, Mom."
   "And this is how your teacher taught you to do it?" the mother asked.
   "Yes," he answered.
   Infuriated, the mother asked the teacher the next day, "What are you teaching my son in math?"
   The teacher replied, "Right now, we are learning addition."
   The mother asked, "And are you teaching them to say two plus two, that son of a bitch is four?"
   After the teacher stopped laughing, she answered, "What I taught them was, two plus two, THE SUM OF WHICH, is four."
   
   
8. One day the first grade teacher was reading the story of Chicken Little to her class. She came to the part of the story where Chicken Little tried to warn the farmer. She read, ".... and so Chicken Little went up to the farmer and said, "The sky is falling, the sky is falling!" The teacher paused then asked the class, "And what do you think that farmer said?"
   One little girl raised her hand and said, "I think he said: 'Holy Shit! A talking chicken!'"
   The teacher was unable to teach for the next 10 minutes.
   
   
9. A certain little girl, when asked her name, would reply, "I'm Mr. Sugarbrown's daughter."
   Her mother told her this was wrong, she must say, "I'm Jane Sugarbrown."
   The Vicar spoke to her in Sunday School, and said, "Aren't you Mr. Sugarbrown's daughter?"
   She replied, "I thought I was, but mother says I'm not."
   
   
10. A little girl asked her mother, "Can I go outside and play with the boys?"
    Her mother replied, "No, you can't play with the boys, they're too rough."
    The little girl thought about it for a few moments and asked, "If I can find a smooth one, can I play with him?"
    
    
11. A little girl goes to the barber shop with her father.
    She stands next to the barber chair, while her dad gets his hair cut, eating a snack cake
    The barber says to her, "Sweetheart, you're gonna get hair on your Twinkie."
    She says, "Yes, I know, and I'm gonna get boobs too."

Enjoy...

7 reasons not to mess with a child...

I think most parents will be able to relate to these stories...

1. A little girl was talking to her teacher about whales.
   The teacher said it was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human because even though it was a very large mammal its throat was very small.
   The little girl stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. Irritated, the teacher reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it was physically impossible.
   The little girl said, "When I get to heaven I will ask Jonah."
   The teacher asked, "What if Jonah went to hell?"
   The little girl replied, "Then you ask him. "
   
   
2. A Kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they were drawing. She would occasionally walk around to see each child's work. As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was.
   The girl replied, "I'm drawing God."
   The teacher paused and said, "But no one knows what God looks like."
   Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied, "They will in a minute."
   
   
3. A Sunday school teacher: was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six year olds. After explaining the commandment to "honour" thy Father and thy Mother, she asked, "Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?"
   Without missing a beat one little boy (the oldest of a family) answered, "Thou shall not kill."
   
   
4. One day a little girl was sitting and watching her mother do the dishes at the kitchen sink. She suddenly noticed that her mother had several strands of white hair sticking out in contrast on her brunette head.
   She looked at her mother and inquisitively asked, "Why are some of your hairs white, Mom?"
   Her mother replied, "Well, every time that you do something wrong and make me cry or unhappy, one of my hairs turns white."
   The little girl thought about this revelation for a while and then said, "Momma, how come ALL of grandma's hairs are white?"
   
   
5. The children had all been photographed, and the teacher was trying to persuade them each to buy a copy of the group picture. "Just think how nice it will be to look at it when you are all grown up and say, 'There's Jennifer, she's a lawyer,' or 'That's Michael, He's a doctor.'
   A small voice at the back of the room rang out, "And there's the teacher, She's dead. "
   
   
6. A teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood.
   Trying to make the matter clearer, she said, "Now, class, if I stood on my head, the blood, as you know, would run into it, and I would turn red in the face.."
   "Yes," the class said.
   "Then why is it that while I am standing upright in the ordinary position the blood doesn't run into my feet?"
   A little fellow shouted, "Cause your feet ain't empty."
   
   
7. The children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic elementary school for lunch.
   At the head of the table was a large pile of apples. The nun made a note, and posted on the apple tray: "Take only ONE. God is watching."
   Moving further along the lunch line, at the other end of the table was a large pile of chocolate chip cookies.
   A child had written a note, "Take all you want. God is watching the apples.

Enjoy...

Sex on the beach...

Strange to relate but my first orgasm with another person was not with Sue.

Shortly after Sue and I began our exploration of the carnal arts, I went away on holiday. By coincidence, I met a girl I vaguely knew on the plane. We chatted and worked out that we were staying quite close,so we agreed to meet up during the holiday.

I really wasn't very interested - she so wasn't my type - not very bright and yet seemed to have a head two sizes too large for her body (I occasionally wondered if her brain actually rattled in there...). She thought herself a "looker" - and quite a few men agreed - but she did nothing for me. However, that lack of interest proved to be a powerful aphrodisiac as far as she was concerned. She wanted me and wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.

So... We went out drinking as a foursome (my male mate and her female mate making up the numbers). We drank too much. I was still uninterested, even with beer goggles on. This only served to steel her determination further. She engineered it that her mate distracted my friend so we would be left alone.

We walked on the beach in the moonlight. A romantic cliche but I was unmoved. So, she jumped on me.

Now, I could have resisted but what man can turn down sex when it's offered on a plate? Not this one for sure. To my credit, I actually thought about my relationship with Sue and whether I should let this go any further. Er, but to my debit, I decided unilaterally that it was not an "exclusive relationship" (ironically, she also came to the same decision independently too - but that is another story...).

I thought, "Well a snog won't matter." She put her hand inside my shorts and I thought some sticky finger action wouldn't necessarily make me a bad person. I reciprocated, massaging her breasts and tweaking her rock-hard nipples softly through the thin material of her sundress. As we kissed, my hands roamed and slid up her tanned thighs, lifting her flippy skirt to reveal white cotton panties. My fingers sought out her moist folds, she came almost immediately once my squealing and biting my neck, all the while giving my hard cock the attention he required to ensure my brain was never going to have a say in what happened next.

I pushed her back onto the sand, cool and soft in the late evening darkness. I pulled off her panties and rammed my cock fully home - she was so wet there was no resistance. She hooked her legs around my back and pumped away vigorously looking for that second orgasm. I turned her over and slipped two fingers inside her pussy, whispering in her ear that I was going to fuck her hard. I pulled her onto her knees and pounded away with little regard for her comfort and every consideration of my own pleasure. Slightly surprised, I exploded in her (sad to say but this was unprotected teenage sex). She screamed loudly in pleasure (so loudly that we thought we better move to more private surroundings).

Why could I come with this girl and not my girlfriend? Was it the frisson of sex in the open? Partly, yes. However, I think the clue was that I didn't care about her. I had no interest in her pleasure (though she enjoyed herself immensely) whereas, with my girlfriends, I wanted them to get the pleasure and cared little for myself.

However, this incident was like breaking the floodgates, breaching the dam. Back in the UK, I could now orgasm with Sue (something she put down to my two week absence and abstinence rather than a spell of uninhibited shagging with a holiday "slapper").

That was my first case of infidelity. It was also the first time I justified it by telling myself that it didn't matter because I didn't care about the person I was fucking. And so the die was cast for my future as a sexual predator...

Enjoy...