Suddenly I feel hungry for sex. Animal sex with Inna, or Marianna. Or Adelina, even Denitsa.
Yes, so, the “northern route” to Berlin I think is over for me. I see no reason to ever go back there, now Stuttgarter Platz’s golden age is over. So the only route that remains is the “southern route”—Brussels to Munich to Vienna. Second beer gone. 925pm. I expect nothing from Intime or the Reves or the Livourne places, except real rip off expensive hostess bars, a fortune just to buy a girl a drink. Another reason why Fifth Avenue is so wonderful (despite the sad dearth of quality girls); if you want to buy a girl a drink it is normal prices, same for them as for you. Munich died for me when they put private dances up from 25 euros to 50 euros, whenever that happened. And it is funny how it is uniform across every club you go to—in every club it was 25, now in every club it’s 50. It is almost like the city government sets the price for private dances—is that the case? Part of the licencing stipulations (stripulations)? If one club was allowed to undercut the others they would do roaring trade but they do not. One can only presume they are not allowed to. A far cry from the glory days back in 2003, 2004, when Patricia let me get my man out and put some kitchen roll over her breasts to catch the result. Don’t think that kind of thing would happen now. The emasculation-sterilisation-castration of old male Europe continues. The human race will die out eventually; that is the end result of damming up men’s juices in this way. Kind of like where they burn books they will eventually burn people. Where they ban masturbation/pornography/stripclubs they will ban sex. Then the feminazis and the Islamists will be happy. For god’s sake Europe, stand up for your old Priapic rights! One fears it is too late, the tide is already irreversible.
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.
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).
After she had finished off the very happy looking Moroccan boy (Belgian boy of Moroccan descent no doubt, I mean; not wanting to be rude), she, hubby, manager, and another gentleman who had been standing with his member out were in very animated discussion for a long time at the back of the cinema (the foyer completely unguarded this whole time; any one of us could have probably robbed the till, if we’d been able to open it). Eventually the gentleman with his member out took the blonde back down to the sofa under the screen and she got it on again, hubby sitting next to them with kitchen roll in hand. I made my excuses and left.
Feeling quite depressed, but trying to force myself to spark to life, I came back to Cine Paris. Films were OK actually, but downstairs I was treated to a live show! Some curvy blonde woman was fucking some young Moroccan boy on the sofa under the screen itself, while the tubby husband (?) watched with pleasure. One or two other men were standing close by with their members out, and I moved in to stroke her beautiful naked voluptuous arse under her raised black negligee top—but her husband shooed me away. I think they are obviously swingers—the woman was really enjoying it, she seemed lost in the delirious abandon of her fucking—but I think there might be money involved too. People who wanted to partake had to pay for the privilege, I suspect. She then leant over the Moroccan boy (wearing a T-shirt only, his trousers & underwear nowhere to be seen) and proceeded to suck him off (uncovered). Amazing scenes! Of depravity! Filth!! And quite a good film on screen as well—was that Anna Polina?—but you know what, I still couldn’t feel sexy. Yes I had a full erection, but an erection in name only if you know what I mean. That is to say yes I had a full erection, of iron hard magnificence, but I didn’t feel any sexiness in my head. Still had no desire to put my erection INTO anything. It was a real lifeless erection.
“I still think there must be an Esmeralda out there with my name on her but I may never find her” I wrote in 2010 after my one night Vienna visit, where I discovered Pour Platin shut down. Well, yes I have found her haven’t I—FROM Twelfth Night 2014 trip to Vienna under Wagnerian skies and Fortuna Blonde, Amanda WSK, Andrea, Julia and Lucy in 5th Avenue, Adelina in Manhattan, not to mention the great times I had in Soho with Zara, Maria, Lavinia, Marianna, etc. Loyalty and fidelity weighed me down, and then for most of the past 12 months the pox weighed me down.