Now the voluptuous nubile girls of Brussels are really starting to show their faces (their buttocks). Amazing. They are ALL so curvy. Full, voluptuous thighs & buttocks. They eat well here, these girls; they do not starve themselves to look like stick insects. Bravo madames. Mes jeunes filles.
During my long vigil on platform 11 waiting for the Wörgl train, amazed at the number of nubile young German girls heading to & from the trains. Innumerable. Later a DB employee came and told me my train was in fact leaving from platform 13, otherwise I’d probably have missed it. But apart from that, and the beautiful hotel receptionist and barmaid, I did not see any really beautiful girls in Munich. Nothing to compare with Brussels where they come thick & fast, in a manner of speaking, as would I, given half a chance.
Oh effortlessly brilliant; effortlessly beautiful; these Brussels girls.
The usual INNUMERABLE beautiful nubile young Brussels girls, both of white European and Moroccan stock, on the way from the station to the hotel (Max). Just curvy curvy girls, everywhere. I am more aware of the CURVACEOUSNESS of a woman’s body here than in any other city I ever go to; and that is a recurrent strong impression, not just a one-off. The drinks machine in the Max was once more warm! Warm beer! What is this nonsense? One stay it is warm, next ice cold, next warm. I didn’t bother to complain on this occasion, as I had just arrived, and the duty manager seemed to be hiding from me out of sight. Went up to Dome and had to wait a couple of minutes at the bar unattended, before, from the kitchen, there she appeared—my Rubenesque black girl. Have I ever asked her name? Probably, every time I come here, never remembered though. Belgian beer (indeed European beer) is just that bit stronger than the beer I drink in London and blanks my brain quicker than I expect.