Did those things really happen? (13th August 2006)

Did those things really happen? Patricia, B Rosa, Susi, Irina, Emily, Yulia, Riccarda, Iga, Diana, Maria? It seems too fantastical. Incredible, unbelievable nights. Did that pink top blonde with the massive breasts on the plane to Munich really happen or did I imagine her? “The world is a book, and he who does not travel reads only one page”–St Augustine. Sunny dancing to No One Knows. Getting completely lacerated, pulled limb from limb, absolutely fucking soul murdered, when I went to Norway. Another missed call from Olga at 6:34PM. Did those things truly happen? Truly Munich and Berlin were my Cities of the Autumn Stars. Will I ever have a night as magical as watching England v Turkey under the bulb-lit trees beside the Frauenkirche before walking back to Atlantic City and entering with Irina approaching me smiling and saying she wants to come back to my hotel! Or going back in January to find Heidi Klum on the billboard outside my window, then walking into Atlantic City, hardly able to breathe, going into kabins first, but hearing Junior Senior, J-Lo Let’s Get Loud, Hip Teens Don’t Wear Blue Jeans blaring out from inside, to sit there drunk & dazed as B Rosa danced along the catwalk to Jay-Z’s Threat “dig the desert, they build The Sands on you”, Elena to Tu M’a Promis, before going into separee with Patricia and her letting me wank over her breasts with people standing just a couple of feet away from us! Or going back two weeks later into the separee again with Patricia but this time she told me “B Rosa, I-love-you”, so I staggered out into the deep deep snow & continuing never-ending snowstorm, to find the unbelievable Emily in see through black top, and going into the separee to have the greatest sexual experience of my life, as I pulled down her knickers and pulled out my cock, as she ran the champagne-soaked cotton wool bud around the tip of my penis, before letting me wank over her huge huge breasts! Or going to the brothels for the first time in Berlin, walking around the corner from my Kanthotel to Stutti Frutti and fucking the incredible big breasts black haired Yulia in that Charles Rennie Mackintosh bedroom on the four poster bed! Or going back to Berlin a month later & going into Mon Cheri for the first time to meet Riccarda, back to the Mackintosh bedroom, the same bed, where I felt like I was fucking Marilyn Monroe! Meeting her two nights later as she was slowly stripping on stage! Or going back to Berlin to meet the incredible white haired black dressed Iga! “Liebling. Darling. Will you kiss me?” Or going from Staatsoper’s La Traviata to the Erotic Centre, coming out with the erection into the falling snow, to go back to Diana, the huge breasts blonde in black catsuit, and sucking her pussy on that same Mackintosh four poster bed! 

In Munich and Berlin, in particular, I have had nights so magical, that I can scarcely believe that they really did happen. Did they really happen? Why then have my last six trips, Berlin twice, Munich twice, Frankfurt and Brussels, been so unmagical? I think it is because of the steadily accumulating crippling debt which weighed like an ever heavier millstone around my neck, and I become over-emotionally involved just looking for Riccarda, Iga, Diana, Viktoriya, instead of having new, exciting, open experiences. I will feel fresh and open to new experiences when I go back, I will walk with the huge swinging cock between my legs, pulsing, sore, swollen, swinging from side to side like a ship in a storm, looking for the first voluptuous whore I can find, be it Clarisse, or Alla & Olga, or Erika. I will use Brussels to get me turned on so I am bursting to release it in Berlin. I will use Munich to get me turned on so I am bursting to release it in Vienna. Let us not forget that magical night I met Martina, walking around and lounging around the Pils Bar with the most massive breasts you will ever see in your life! The magical night I met Clarisse in Brussels dancing on stage when I went in with breasts every bit as big! I have got to go back to Copenhagen and Malmo and Oslo one day. Will I ever have a night as magical as watching England v Turkey in the Cafe Belge of the Brussels Ibis and having Nephania come to me & then come to my room! And I haven’t even mentioned the night I walked back into Atlantic City to be hugged by Patricia, then finding Susi up on stage in diamond dress smiling down at me, then peeking into separee to find naked Irina on some man’s lap in a white phosphorescent light, and ending with Viktoriya! I could not enjoy Pils Bar the second & third times I went there, because I could not afford to even buy a girl a drink, let alone touch her. My debt is the reason for everything going flat and dull. 

If I can keep up my hoarding ways, I can be free of the debt.  Already in one week I have saved 130 Euros. By the time the clocks go back at the end of October & the start of the witching months, I should have saved 1,300 Euros. Enough to fuck every whore I want in Brussels and Berlin. Still I wonder if I shouldn’t go to Munich & Vienna first. But the end of October has Violetta Urmana in Berlin & Elena Prokina in Boccanegra in Hamburg. Although January in Berlin has Anna Samuil in Staatsoper’s La Traviata! 

I always let girls ripen and then turn rotten and die. There’s a couple of new ones ripening right now. Oh man, I cannot wait to get back to Munich! Isn’t this amazing after the awful January visit? Every time I see the pictures on the Beate Uhse website I want to get back there–but this time only as a turn on before the consummation in Vienna. Atlantic City can suddenly come back to life because I am using it only as a warm up, it no longer is the be all and end all that everything depends on. That takes the pressure off it, I can go there & relax because I know the real climax is still to come. It is funny how I am thinking so much about Vienna and Munich now? The other night feeling filled with Vienna Westbahnhof and now thinking so much of Munich. Everything except Berlin in fact. Maybe Berlin is something I know I can sink back into at journey’s end, when I have got everything else out of the way. So it maybe will be Berlin in January, and Brussels, Munich and Vienna in October when the clocks go back. But I miss the Berlin Radisson SAS! I miss the Berlin Plaza! I miss the knesepfanne! But really it seems I still miss Atlantic City, Lamm's, and the Dorint more? Let me get Munich and Vienna out of the way first. Two days in Brussels for Wiertz, Modern Art, Empire and Gare du Nord, just two nights in Munich for Atlantic City, Nuremberg Caribic, before pushing on to Vienna for Butterfly House, KHM, Belvedere, Manhattan and Pour Platin. Oh God I cannot wait to get back to Vienna! Fridays & Saturdays Atlantic City is open to 5! 

Now I feel the cold icy air of the mountains. I cannot wait to get back to Europe. In the meantime I will have some drinks at the Calcutta on Saturday night, drinking myself into oblivion just three pints at a time, to get these three months over with as cheaply as possible. For all these magic trips, how can I regret owing £6,000 on my cards?? I regret the £4,000 I have spent in London on nothing but drink & strippers that is what I regret. If not for that I could be free to travel now.

For the true connoisseurs of smut (5th August 2006)

For the true connoisseurs of smut. I preferred Munich before it was overrun by Ukrainians, due to the visa scandal whereby the German Embassy in Kiev were giving passports out like smarties, as stunning as many of them undoubtedly are. I preferred it when there was more of a balance, between Brazilians, Slovakians, Romanians, Russians, Ukrainians. Now it is wall to wall Ukrainians. Similarly I preferred Moloch before it became overrun by Brazilians, again as stunning as many of them are. Sunset Strip certainly used to be better when there was a balance, and much more interesting variety of girls, when it was more like a burlesque show, and the Carnival I have never ceased to mourn. Where is silver dressed Fat Bottomed Girl now? It is amazing how often when you first go to a place, the first girl you see turns out to be the most legendary and stunning you will ever see. When I first walked into Carnival there was silver dress girl up there on stage, the most voluptuous stripper I have ever seen in my life. As good as all the Carnival girls were, no one surpassed silver dress girl. How the first time I stepped downstairs into Sunset Strip, the girl came on dancing to My Name Is Tallulah, Tallulah since becoming my word for that whole world. That whole way of life. That whole addiction. An addiction, I might add, that has suddenly becoming crashingly dull to me. 

The first time I ever set foot in Stutti Frutti in Berlin the first girl I saw was the extraordinary Yulia. A month later the first time I set foot in Mon Cheri I met the stunning Riccarda, and recorded in my journal at the time that I felt like I had just fucked Marilyn Monroe. A month later the first time I set foot in the Golden Gate, I met Iga. Three of the greatest women of my life and all were met the first time I set foot in their respective establishments, all of which have been desolate wastelands whenever I return to them now. The last time I went to  Berlin I made my first visits to the Mazurka and met the extraordinary sisters Alla & Olga and I have no doubt I will never see them again, and I carried on down the road to make my first visit to Ciro and met the mindblowing Erika, again who I am sure will have disappeared from the face of the earth if I ever go back & no one will even admit to having heard of her. When the Esmeraldas and Tallulahs I have met in my life have been so extraordinary and stimulating and life enhancing, how can I give them up? 

The closest I have come to a real relationship has been with the Esmeraldas I have met in Moloch, namely Lela from Romania, Ana Maria from Spain, Olga from Russia, and latterly Pamela from Sweden. I can only fall in love with Esmeraldas. I do not think I am capable of loving a normal girl, a respectable girl. There is so much of me that I have to hide from them, so much of the double life that I must keep secret from them, which is never necessary with Esmeraldas, because we know everything about each other from the beginning. What a relief to be able to talk so openly and honestly with an Esmeralda, when by necessity only one word out of every hundred I would like to say to a normal girl can be said out loud. Ninety-nine per cent of what is the most essential me must remain concealed from a normal girl, like a portrait in my attic, whereas with Esmeraldas I can be 100% open. That is why I love Esmeraldas so much. As much as for the sex, it is to just be able to be myself and speak freely. I have felt closer to true friendship with Esmeraldas than I ever have with a normal girl. 

The amazing hour I spent laying with the Turkish girl when I had no more money but she just let me lay there, as she lay in my arms, as she talked to me about her life as I stroked her hair, and her beautiful bottom. She told me how she loved reading, Guy de Maupassant her favourite, and how her father told her as long as you have books you are always rich. Ayeesha. I do not think I have ever had a happier hour than that one. In Munich, because of its strict conservatism, there basically are no Esmeraldas as such, accept for very huge sums of money. The roles of Esmeralda and Tallulah have become merged, and  the dancers will do a lot more than just dance, and the whores will stop short of going all the way, which is both more exciting and yet ultimately frustrating. The single greatest liberating moment of my life I regard as the time I took Patricia into one of the White Coffin separees in Munich. At that moment a Rubicon was crossed, and I have never looked back. Two weeks later, on The Night of the Snow, I took the Romanian Emily into one of the Three Cats separee and enjoyed the greatest sexual experience of my life, again without any actual sex taking place.