I have had an amazing life—for the first 30 years it is true I did live like a rabbit in a hutch, but only after that did I start to bloom & blossom and live like a normal human being; and I felt the need to make up for lost time. After all those years of sexual repression, the dam burst and après that, le deluge indeed. So many beautiful girls in Brussels. Really casually stunning. Not “beach body ready” in that rather stupid phrase, but just curvy, cuddly, totally sexy. But my life HAS, belatedly, been amazing. When I think of the stunning girls (floozies, 90% of them) I have slept with, it is absolutely mindblowing. 100 or more of the most beautiful women you have ever seen in your life, and I have —— them, for very little money. What a life, of sexual adventure (and misadventure).
More than ever I can become pure Priapism. I have not even started. Now I must re-boot and start again. I have the —– now, and I am free of the infection, and I have more money than ever before. And I am free. This can become the start of the most rampant time in my life. I started using the —– last summer but at one and same time, chance or not, was crippled by this pox. At same time I got new job with more money. Only now I have beaten the infection can I start my rampant life for real. Inna and Mariana were just the start of it.
There is a kind of dangerous desire for defeat, for only in complete abject defeat and despair can one experience that release of pure nihilism, that eroticism of despair that enables real sexual ecstacy to flower, to bloom and blossom from the absolute fertiliser of shit in which one is now wallowing. For instance one can yearn for a wonderful blessed marriage to a beautiful woman to be lost because it restricts one’s true desire too much so one can be free to wallow in shame and degradation again, one can yearn for wonderful job and career to be ruined because it would allow one not to refrain from certain practices, so one can be free to wallow in shame and degradation again. This yearning for disaster, defeat, shame, humiliation, as only then can you achieve real sexual highs. Only in the most abject lows can you experience the most sublime sexual and spiritual highs. A real Sadeian Nihilism. A French cyclist who wants never to win stages of the Tour de France or to ever again win the race itself so the despair and the bitterness can become richer and richer, like a child biting down on a loose tooth to release that amazing sweet taste of blood and feel that amazing pain. This whole attitude is prevalent through the life of the Marquis de Sade, and I recognise it so strongly in myself. It is both terrifying, and disgusting, and makes me want to cry, at the same time as filling me with a dangerous excitement, a devilish desire, a feeling that is my true desire. So sitting with my beautiful never to be unloved wife in a pub together looking at some lonely old man sitting alone all afternoon with his pint, quietly and with dignity speaking to no one, but just periodically returning to the bar to politely take another drink, I find myself yearning to be that lonely old man myself as I get older. There is a dignity to them, a beauty. Like sad abused old dogs recovering from their terrible wounds in some dog sanctuary seem so much more lovable and noble than happy dogs.
Yes Fifth Avenue is poor but better just to see it as a stopping off point on the way to Rue d’Aerschot where you are guaranteed to find at least one girl you fancy. As always I have my Stations of the Cross. I had it in Soho back in the 1990s fin-de-siecle, had it in Berlin during the Mon Cheri/Stutti golden age, and I have it now in Brussels. Start with Jupiler in the hotel, then a brief stop in Cine Paris, then one in Café Jimmy, then walk along the street girls to Fifth Avenue. Only then can I head up to Rue d’Aerschot. Perhaps a Brussels Grill or Domino’s Pizza on the way back. Later that night if I wake up in time, a last visit to Cine Paris.
So, yes, I went to Cine Paris, and felt nothing. Went to Jimmy, and Fifth Avenue, and felt nothing. So, rather than flog this dead horse even further, I came straight to Brussels Grill. Maybe I will go on to Rue d’Aerschot afterwards; I doubt it. The horse has bolted. No point locking the stable doors now, my cow. My Eros has gone, sodden, like a drowned rat. Nothing left. Still early, 430pm, though, Friday night. If even Cine Paris and Fifth Avenue do not arouse me, then what chance do I have? I am mentally dead, subdued; as I say, sodden. Nothing can spark when it is so flooded, flooded with 5 solid days of booze. Even before the steak arrives, I am thinking about another Domino’s Pizza. Or a burger in the bar next to my hotel. 1659 This has been an UNUSUALLY long wait for my steak. Because I tried to order before I even sat down? No, she said, you must sit down first. Did she deliberately delay my food because of that?
So I finally burnt a big hole in my money. Cine Paris, Café Jimmy, Fifth Avenue (twice), Sexyworld kabins, Rue d’Aerschot, Fiesta Café, Domino’s Pizza (large!), and Empire to finish. I take back a lot of what I said yesterday. The Cine Paris films must have changed Tuesday or Wednesday, and these ones were much better. I in fact went in FOUR times yesterday. The street girls had some promise—two petite curvy black haired Bulgarians outside Jimmy, who could be sisters, are quite cute. There was a Colombian outside Europe 2000 hotel who really tempted me. And Fifth Avenue has a blonde girl who looks the splitting image of Perrie from Little Mix, and a black-bobbed girl who is all right. Inna was not there yesterday. And in Rue d’Aerschot I found Marianna, like Nicole Scherzinger but with huge bosoms. The kabin films, however, were poor. The machines are in good working order but the selection of films gets worse every time I go. In Empire to finish the night, Jennifer was there but as usual eluded me—stepping off stage and going straight into private dance with someone. Though at 60 euros for a private dance (maybe she charges more) and 10 euros for each 25cl beer, maybe it is better if she does elude me. Don’t think I will go back.
One day, one day, I still want to go to the Reichenbach Falls, and the Brocken Mountain, and to Italy, all of Italy; and to Sils Maria. But for now my narrow erotic interests in quick thrills lead me always back to Brussels, and Vienna, and the dwindling last few red lights. I have lost much in London (Carnival, Astral, Sunset Cinema, Soho Cinema, Flying Scotsman, so many models’ flats), lost so much in Berlin, Stuttgarter Platz almost entirely, lost so much in Brussels, Cine ABC, California, Paradise, I must treasure the last few resources that are left before they too are gone. In Vienna already I have lost Fortuna Kino and Pour Platin.