Repressed and randy back in London, I dream of —— black bob in 5th Avenue and Inna and Mariana.
My first beer of the “evening shift” completed. 9pm. When on holiday I want to be randy, and f–k like a rabbit; but it hasn’t happened this time. Rarely does. I have to see someone quite special before I feel like that. Like my first sight of Lucy in Fifth Avenue last year; first sight of Adelina in Manhattan in Vienna last year. In fact, this year I have not had any moments like that. Just take my time tonight. Walk down to the Justice Palace and Rue de Livourne as slowly as I like; and as slowly as I like coming back. There is no hurry.
Well a totally disturbed sleep today, waking constantly, checking time to see it still early. A sexy dream about office to everyone’s steamy lubricious rising priapic shock determinedly turning towards Brexit, and it felt an Italianate Brexit. Woke with erection, feeling so steamy lubricious. Is this the start of the countdown to my Brussels holiday? So randy now.
I always feel randy at this time of year, fuck Christmas and its holiness; it is the pagan roots, the heathen roots of our end of year rituals and celebrations and feasts and orgies that enliven my blood, quicken my blood. The hairy nights, the smoky nights of Germanic heathen tribes, The Wild Hunt, Odin riding out on his wild hunt.
I am so randy and sex obsessed now, like I haven’t been since perhaps back in Egon Schiele Night days. 1997. Maybe only now I can really start to enjoy sex and enjoy that mature sensual decadence, that new golden age of erotic freedom.
Woke up thinking so much of that tiny short ponytail girl on Eurostar in grey cardigan over those massive massive huge bosoms. Sensational. I am so randy these days, I don’t think I need worry about my testosterone after all.