Funny, leaving Ciné Paris yesterday I was on my way to bank to draw out another 200 euros (£200) before heading to Rue d’Aerschot, DETERMINED to sleep with several of the window girls, so diverting to Fifth Avenue and staying there saved me £200! This holiday, train, hotel & spending money, ALL came out of my bank account; didn’t use my credit card for ANY of it. First holiday for years and years which I haven’t used a credit card for. A sign of how I have turned my life around, financially. I don’t want to do anything in my life except carry on drinking and pornography (pornography a broad umbrella term covering prostitutes and strippers as well).
Monthly Archives: June 2019
Hooverphonic – Sometimes
So to misquote Mark Twain rumours of Fifth Avenue’s demise (which I started on Saturday night) were found to be premature
So to misquote Mark Twain, rumours of Fifth Avenue’s demise (which I started on Saturday night) were found to be premature. Saturday night 8pm when I expected it to be fantastic it was awful. Funereal. Monday 2pm when I expected it to be funereal, it was banging, with quality girls all around! The patterns have changed here. It is now advisable to get there early. The early bird gets the worm (or the woman anyway). If the bird hadn’t already drunk himself into a state of catatonic oblivion that is. Already I want to come straight back but at £500-600 for a three-night stay, I cannot afford it right now; my debt still at £6,900. Determined to reduce my debt to zero by Christmas. With nine more pay cheques to do it, that means I’d need to reduce my debt by around £750 a month to get there. Oh God 704—have to leave soon. 852 train, need to be there 820 at latest, leave here 8 at latest.
The Dorcel chambermaid film reminded me of the wonderful Oscar Wilde films with Rupert Everett—An Ideal Husband and The Importance of Being Earnest
The Dorcel chambermaid film reminded me of the wonderful Oscar Wilde films with Rupert Everett—An Ideal Husband and The Importance of Being Earnest; the wonderful Victorian-looking rooms filled with ferns and chaise-longues and I thought I’d love them to make those films again but with pornographic scenes as well; keep the wonderful dialogue just add in the pornography as well. I’m sure Oscar of all people would not mind. These are the kind of films I want to see—marry high culture with “low”. Like I always dreamed of them making pornographic versions of the Fu Manchu books. Same plot, same dialogue, just add in the pornographic scenes. My life constantly aspires to the condition of a porn film. I go from porn cinema to hooker bar to strip club, nowhere else. If I am alcohol-dependent (NOT alcoholic—an important distinction which my ex-wife resolutely claimed not to understand) I am also pornography-dependent. It is not out of control, it is perfectly in control—I just need a certain constant amount of alcohol and a certain constant amount of pornography at all times. They are my two crutches which carry me through life. Life would feel totally empty and terrifyingly empty without both of them. They make life more pleasurable. I derive ALL my pleasure from alcohol and pornography.
I still love Brussels
I still love Brussels. As always I come to the end of a stay wishing I had spent more time in Ciné Paris. Wishing I had done something with LOTS of the beautiful girls I saw—even if I was too drunk to enjoy the sex it would have been nice to take them in a room and see them naked. Never even saw a naked woman in my three days here. That is usually the case these days. Just three days cost me around £490—that is with no sex. £78 Eurostar, £210 hotel, and took out £200 spending money, of which I have £30 left (30 euros anyway; about the same value these days).
Tuesday morning in the Max hotel lounge—Eurostar leaves 852. I don’t want to go home
Tuesday morning in the Max hotel lounge—Eurostar leaves 852. I don’t want to go home. Wish I could carry on living in suspension here in Brussels. Unreal life. Came down to the lounge to enjoy a last hour of my holiday. So what of Monday—got to Ciné Paris hoping for a quick twenty-minute arousal then up to Rue d’Aerschot but found a really really good film on—stayed for a second beer. I only forced myself to leave so I had some of the girls to look forward to later. As it was nearly 2pm I thought I would divert via Fifth Avenue before Rue d’Aerschot, but then got in Fifth and found there were quality girls everywhere! Including Maria! Two or three sexy Moroccans, then the big black bob girl I saw last time, and I knew that I would be going anywhere else. Drank too much, did nothing with anyone, grabbed a Domino’s Pizza then back to hotel to pass out. That was my Monday in Brussels. Woke 1130pm so too late to even go back to Ciné Paris. Head hurting, so I wasn’t able to get back to sleep either, so I have been up all night. Watching a bit of a Jean Rollin film of course—a Brussels tradition. On a Red Bull now, then will have to crack open a beer or two—I can’t face the journey home without beer inside me. It is too depressing otherwise.
The Stripper 