I don’t live for saving, I live for eroticism. Constant priapism.
It may be my imagination but my cock looks permanently longer now, even in normal flaccid state. I could stand on verge of new era of pure eroticism. If the infection stays away.
I WANT to have real dirty nights like I used to back in Soho, in 1998, even as late as 2006. Surely I can still resurrect this erotic fly from the amber in Brussels or Berlin or Nuremberg?
Yes I want despair, ruin again, that is when EROTICISM comes back to life. When I come back to life. Taste my misery like blood in my mouth. Writing with blue hands in cold stoveless rooms.
Yes my old reticence will return once I get to Fifth Avenue, but if there was a great videokabin place just next door, I would be so much more rampant in Fifth Avenue. If I ran a knocking shop I would make sure there were also some high quality videokabins on site. The girls would make so much more money.
I was happy in Nuremberg because I spent my night in the superb videokabins of Caribic; that made me bursting to f—k anyone, anyone would do, just to stick this throbbing pole into somebody (willing, of course, and cheap). In Vienna I usually am left depressed and dispirited by the poor porn (disregarding what the ancient Chinese always used to say “even bad porn is good porn” or “no porn is bad”, depending on your translation). ML Revue kabins awful, Burggasse Peep kabins awful, and the Menzelstraße kabins were awful and now the place has closed down altogether. That really leaves me WSK, and while it is good to have the floozies there, Jackie in particular, the films shown are often rubbish and so it was on all three visits. That meant I reached Manhattan, Tete a Tete and Exzess in already subdued mood. It is often the case in Vienna. Berlin is poor now since Stuttgarter Platz was almost totally wiped out, but at least it has excellent kabins in BEC (Eroticpoint) which make me really desperate to walk on to Sissi or Monte Carlo to do something (I usually don’t, but the anticipation is exciting enough). If only I could choose the films at WSK Vienna would be perfect. I have often been tempted to ask a porn cinema manager if I could.
On the ICE to Brussels. A much more spacious train than the Nuremberg to Frankfurt one! Sitting in the Caribic videokabins last night I was thinking when I get to Brussels Fifth Avenue I’m going to f—k the first half-decent girl there I see, don’t care who she is; but of course that feeling has passed, and my old reticence will no doubt still be in force when I get there. And that I realise (again, re-realise) is why Vienna so often does disappoint. To really find a place erotic, to be able to really release the erotic fly from the amber, raise the woolly mammoth from the ice, there needs first of all to be a really good source of pornography.