Tag Archives: erection

When back home in London I yearn to be back in the wonderful Cine Paris but every time I walk in I see two awful films and just walk out again without even sitting down

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When back home in London, I yearn to be back in the wonderful Cine Paris, but every time I walk in I see two awful films and just walk out again without even sitting down. Always I am like this. Cannot wait to get out. This time I forced myself to take a seat, and told myself I was not allowed to leave until I had at least got an erection. Well, I barely managed it, but even then it was only by thinking about that sexy black barmaid in —– in London the day before.

Curiosity about how much more comfortable my bottom might feel in 1st class is starting to irritate me

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Curiosity about how much more comfortable my bottom might feel in 1st class is starting to irritate me. Suddenly I feel stuck in a carriage full of plebs, when I could be breathing more rarefied air. Rosenheim. On our way to Salzburg. Suddenly my lack of a footrest here in 2nd class grows in my mind; I imagine what luxurious foot rests they might have in 1st class; lovely pouffés to put one’s feet on. Waited on by busty Bavarian maidens. This is haunting me. Their huge bosoms accidentally on purpose falling out of their low-cut dirndls as they bend to serve me. I have an erection now. Austria is picture-book beautiful (we might even still be in Bavaria). Like something out of the fairy tales you read as a child. How lovely to finally get some sleep last night (or early hours of the morning anyway)! All I could think about yesterday was my fatigue; 33 hours without sleep I went.

So yes a strangely muted and pointless trip to Brussels

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So yes a strangely muted and pointless trip to Brussels; but sitting in the Max lounge for one last Red Bull and beer, I felt sad to be leaving. On my return I would like to check out that “steampunk” bar by the Bourse, and the Palais d’Egmont “deconstruction” by street artists, and of course the Rue de Livourne at night. I would like to see Inna again in Fifth Avenue, and Mariana again in Rue d’Aerschot. The two Cine Paris films last night were a bit dull, Prison and Brigitte du Boi; I couldn’t even get an erection. Always a bad sign when you can’t get an erection in a porn cinema. There was a young man and woman behind the counter with the manager and I thought oh no, don’t say I’ve missed a live show because she is gorgeous! But it turned out they were the cleaners just about to get started. When I think they are there for sex, they turn out to be cleaners; when I think they are cleaners, they turn out to be offering sex. The girl, however, was so cute, pretty much the sexiest thing I’d seen on the whole trip. When I went back for a second beer the manager was not there, so she shyly hurried behind the counter and served me herself, with a sexy shy smile. It was her I was thinking about when I woke this morning.

Feeling quite depressed but trying to force myself to spark to life I came back to Cine Paris

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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.

Of course I do regret I did not bother to go see David Bowie’s apartment & café next door; next time!

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Of course I do regret I did not bother to go see David Bowie’s apartment & café next door; next time! If I’m going to make pilgrimage anywhere it should be to the house where they filmed La Grande Bouffe, because increasingly that is how I live my life. Dedicated to the pleasures of sex, food & drink, like a connoisseur, with no care for the consequences. I did get a proper erection in Sissi Bar and Monte Carlo last night, so maybe worth a return tonight, and at least suffer a h—job to be performed on me. [Alas, my friend Mr Google tells me the La Grande Bouffe mansion was at 68, rue Boileau in the 16th arrondissement of Paris but is now gone, its place taken by the Vietnamese Embassy].
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Back down to the bar at 845PM. I am forcing myself to drink. I cannot spend the whole night in my hotel room

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Back down to the bar at 845PM. I am forcing myself to drink. I cannot spend the whole night in my hotel room. Though that is just what I need to clear my head and recover from the previous night’s over-drinking. This holiday is turning into a damp squib. I have felt out of sorts the whole time. So I force myself to do something tonight. You never know, the sexiest girl of all time might be waiting for me in what is left of Stuttgarter Platz. I’ll probably shit myself before I get there; it’s been that kind of holiday. YMCA on the Berlin Plaza hotel radio now; that song is following me around. 946PM. I just want some sexy experience. Three days into my trip and I’ve yet to have a genuine unforced erection. 2209.
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Always a bad sign when you can’t get an erection in a porn cinema

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Always a bad sign when you can’t get an erection in a porn cinema. The predatory perverts following me from seat to seat, upstairs & downstairs, always just standing next to the seat I’m sitting in, a really great nuisance. Fuck off. A good film too, La Journaliste, until it kept stopping and I complained to the manager and then he changed it to boring Footballers’ Wives again! As if 4 days of that wasn’t enough! Wish I had kept quiet. Upstairs was The Education of a Young Maid, ok, but not great. How much Anna Polina now reminds me of ——-. Some great music channel in Jimmy but all in Cyrillic script so I don’t know the name of the songs. Cheers. I need to learn Cyrillic script.

Another grey rainy Berlin day

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Another grey rainy Berlin day. 0946 on the train back to Koln and Brussels. An erection all the way, thinking of the nice erotic moments I had in Berlin and those still to come on my one night back in Brussels. Christ, I am so turned on, on this train to Brussels. A really grey rainy day. Hard to believe this is summer. On the way to Bielefeld now. 1155 only. Still another 5½ hours till we arrive in Brussels. 1205. We get to Koln 1409. We just passed the big Kaiser Wilhelm statue on the hill by Minden. Now I regret I didn’t let Vanessa give me a handjob while I took out her massive breasts, and then finished off by f–king Jessie at the side. Christ, Andrea’s body felt good in my hands; her gorgeous arse, her breasts, her thighs, her pussy. I have had so many good erotic moments on this trip; and even when back in my room I was turned on constantly, my cock permanently hard. Just 1 hour 20 minutes to go till Koln now. Grab a roll then 2 hours 50 minutes in to Brussels. I am desperate to resume now. I cannot remember the last time I felt as constantly aroused as this.

I notice how they keep the vodka in the fridge

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I notice how they keep the vodka in the fridge; they don’t do that in London do they? It always hangs upside down over the bar. When the receptionist came in to the bar to talk to the bar staff, she glanced quickly right at me just as I glanced at her and our eyes met—I think she is already aware that I like her, since the first second when I arrived at the desk to check in. I must be that obvious. Feel no desire to walk to Stuttgarter Platz now. I know my signs. I will not even be able to get an erection tonight. The first night, Friday, I was excited and could hardly get it down again. Tonight the opposite. I doubt I will even GET an erection now. Anyway there is a McDonald’s there and that is all I am really looking forward to.

After leaving the Ibis bar yesterday

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After leaving the Ibis bar yesterday it seems I got through just a further 23 euros on my first day in Brussels! I already had some jumps left on the ticket in my wallet so went straight on to the metro to De Brouckere, drew some money from the machine, then went to Ciné Paris. Pleased to say no old pervert sat next to me or even followed me from screen to screen, so I enjoyed the films in peace. For the first visit in a long time I left with a full erection as I headed along Rue des Commercants. The only attractive girl was Beatrice, as always. I fancied her, I was tempted, but pressed on to Fifth Avenue. The decline continues. In my short stay there was never more than 5 or 6 girls sitting there, not even Andrea. Pretty much all of them were the usual regulation Romanians, no stars. When I first used to go to Fifth there were so many girls, and such a mixture, Moroccans, Brazilians, Romanians; now it seems all quite bland Romanians. Very poor. I came away hoping to bump into Beatrice again but did not see her. Already very drunk, I popped into the Dome just to see my black barmaid and have one more small beer, then somehow came back to the hotel, but I do not remember it.

I love drinking

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I love drinking. Already down in the Westbahn Hotel bar for a very large bottle of Ottakringer (1837). 5.2% like all the beers seem to be in Europe; I think our lagers in London are more like 4.5% aren’t they? I look back on the old Berlin nights from 2004 when I used to get so turned on, and would speed up to Stuttgarter Platz with a flagpole erection in my pants not going down a bit. It has been a long time since I felt that kind of lust. Couple of nice girls in Fifth Avenue, some attractive busty girls in Le Coin, nice girls in Angelique 1 & 2 and Manhattan but I don’t feel the lust I would need to be able to go to the room with them. To overcome the drooping effect of the drink I need a very high degree of lust before I can do anything, and I don’t seem to feel it these days. I will try Fortune Kino and WSK and Burggasse Peep today; start out early afternoon hopefully, then I can be back in bed quite early. Back out anywhere tonight? There seems no point: if I don’t want to do anything with Lily, or the Manhattan girls, what else is there? Tete a Tete is always absolutely empty so I feel uncomfortable going in and having that process of girls coming up to you one after the other. I should be like Smiley in the Hamburg sex club and just tip the barman to tell him I didn’t want the girls disturbing me! That would go down like a lead balloon I expect. Really I just like to have my drink and cast my eye around, ogle them for a while, and only then if I see one I fancy give them the nod. This is how Fifth Avenue and Le Coin work in Brussels and I think it is a good model. I wish the Vienna clubs would do this; leave the man alone unless he invites you to introduce yourself. So tiresome to have to answer the same questions from ten girls in a row one after the other. I am a curmudgeonly old sod I know.
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Why I did nothing with the Brussels girls on my last trip?

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Why I did nothing with the Brussels girls on my last trip? I was too numb from the beer. In Berlin I always used to drink as much and for as long but then I would go and spend some hours in the videokabins of Sarah Young (now gone) and Berlin Erotic Centre (last time only about 5% of those remaining), and would then head up the road to the hooker bars so incredibly turned on that the erection would not go down at all. In Brussels I tend to go straight from drinking to the hooker bars without any arousal in between. This is the problem in London, too, now all the Soho porn cinemas are gone. It means I very rarely do anything with the hookers anymore, which saves me money at least.

So I saved my money on the whores (3 days of no naughtiness)

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So I saved my money on the whores (3 days of no naughtiness) so let me indulge in Brussels Grill steaks instead, as bad as the salad is. I will follow it up with a Mc Donald’s AS WELL to take back to the hotel with me. This is what my trips are now—drinking & eating, and nothing else. And SLEEPING. Not one single erotic flicker on this 3-day trip to Brussels. I had an erection all the way to Lille on Eurostar; after that it went away and never really came back again. I planned to f–k a different girl every day and ended up f–king nobody. This is the end of Brussels I say, but as soon as I say it I think I might come back in Summer and find Rue de Commercants full of the most amazing girls, and 5th Avenue full of the most amazing girls and I will change my mind again. It is just like the weather.

Well I cannot remember a day when I felt so NOT in the mood for anything naughty

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Well I cannot remember a day when I felt so NOT in the mood for anything naughty. Maybe it is the “strong” Belgian beer, 5.2%. I feel completely anaesthetised. I went to Cine Paris, with no enthusiasm, and could not even manage a proper erection, and then the perverts started to descend on me & would not leave me alone, and that killed my ardour completely. They don’t even let me sit down and start to enjoy the film for a while. I left after about 5 minutes and passed Bulgarian Beatrice again in the Rue des Commercants, but felt nothing for her. Fifth Avenue was the worst it has ever been; Andrea and Lorena but that was it. Not a single flicker of desire in me I walked back along the Rue des Commercants, brief chat with Beatrice then back to Dome. Let me continue my descent into the oblivion of drink then pass out paralytically. I checked out two or three shoe shops and even they are rubbish now. The newspapers talk of Peak Oil; I think I’ve reached and passed Peak Brussels. This new Brussels Golden Age I proclaimed is already over. Cine Paris is totally boring; 5th Avenue is appalling; the street girls just do not excite me. Summer may improve all of these things of course. But for now, Brussels is finished for me. It should certainly be the turn of Berlin, except I feel no enthusiasm for Berlin. More likely I will go to Vienna again. I do think maybe it is the Belgian beer that is completely anaesthetising me. Even my face feels numb. But honestly I think even if I was less drunk the Cine Paris films would have bored me, and 5th Avenue would have bored me.

I really look forward to those ice cold cans of Stella

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I really look forward to those ice cold cans of Stella from my Max Hotel vending machine now (unless the machine has gone warm again). Yesterday was the first time I tried my new idea of just drinking in my room before going out and missing out the hotel bar. It went very well, and I was fascinated to discover the exact point where I lose my erection. As soon as I started my 6th bottle of Gösser the erection had fallen to half mast, and would not go any more vertical. By the time I finished the 6th it would not come up at all. I had a 7th bottle then headed to WSK where I with difficulty at least managed some kind of erection, and a bit better again in Burggasse Peep, as the drink started to wear off. If the vending machine in Max Hotel is still cold I will try it again, taking my cans of Stella back up to the room with me (presuming my internet is working as well of course). And then if I don’t have too much, heading up to Dome café with a swelling in my trousers only just subsiding.
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I know sometimes if I put shower gel on my penis

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I know sometimes if I put shower gel on my penis, it dries the skin up so much and makes it rough, and then I get the splitting whenever I get an erection, I mean a really powerful erection. My hand too has this rough flaky feel to it all around the little cuts. What is the answer? Wash less? Don’t wash my hands? I certainly won’t be using the soap on my penis again. I used to write about philosophy and culture, and art; now I write about the skin around my penis splitting. Have I gone backwards, I mean intellectually?

My pattern in Brussels is quite set

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My pattern in Brussels is quite set: to the Dome as soon as it opens to get a bit drunk; to Cine Paris for 10-15 minutes just to get an erection in my trousers; then walk along the Rue des Commercants with that erection bulging my trousers, only slowly subsiding, past the beautiful street girls, to 5th Avenue to carry on drinking amidst the beautiful bar girls. Later I will maybe go for a steak, then return to Cine Paris to doze for the last few hours till it closes. How relaxing. It will all be wiped out soon enough, when Belgium like the rest of castrated, emasculated Europe adopts ‘the Swedish model’ (and god knows I would love to adopt a Swedish model); so for now let me enjoy it and indulge it as much as possible. All I want to do for the rest of my life is travel. To Brussels-Berlin-Munich-Vienna. When the BBC come to  make the Arena documentary of my life, the nightscapes of these 4 cities will dominate the programme, to a soundtrack of Icona Pop, no doubt, Alizee, et al. The beautiful women of Brussels keep me in a state of permanent semi-arousal.

Whenever I go to a violin recital I feel like Sherlock Holmes

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Whenever I go to a violin recital I feel like Sherlock Holmes, at a recital by Sarasate. The day before the D’Alba concert, with no enthusiasm whatsoever I checked half dozen or so Soho doorways, but there was nothing but mediocrity, so I gave up and headed to the bus stop at the Piccadilly Circus end of Shaftesbury Avenue, and there standing outside the Japanese food place was a businesswoman with long straight hair, black jacket, black skirt, white blouse, massively voluptuous. All the time she was talking on her phone, and my eyes met hers and we just gazed at each other for some time, while she continued to talk. I developed a full erection as I watched her, so pleasurable now I do not wear underwear. She strolled towards me while still on her phone and turned and stood there very close with her back to me, as if showing me her beautiful curvaceous bottom. It was the greatest excitement of the day, and it was her I thought of her before I went to sleep that night. I find myself becoming aroused just thinking about her now.

Waiting at the Vienna airport bus stop the sexiest most beautiful little thing

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Waiting at the Vienna airport bus stop the sexiest, most beautiful little thing—blood red hair, black sleeveless vest, see through around shoulders, pale blue jeans over most gorgeous curvy bottom. So sexy. The kind of girl who instantly enters your list of ‘most beautiful girls you have ever seen in your life’. I got on coach behind her and had an erection for most of the journey thinking about her. Lost sight of her as we got off at Westbahnhof. Checked in by the same receptionist as last time, with the black fingernails. She is sexy too. Then passing the Dorint as I crossed road blonde in black leather jacket and blue jeans over the most gorgeous voluptuous bottom. A fine start, anyway. About 1PM now.

For the first two hours of the train journey to Berlin I have had an erection

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For the first two hours of the train journey to Berlin, I have had an erection. This is a good sign. The Brocken. This is somewhere I still need to go in Germany. The Brocken. The Harz Mountains. I so much wanted to get my cock out and start masturbating on the train. I travel to expose myself to different cultures and different women, but mostly I just travel to expose myself.

London is for work

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London is for work, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, to save the money for my travels. I want to resume travelling again and again and again. The more nights I work the less time I have to waste money on my days off wandering lost around London searching in angry frustration for anything worthwhile to do, searching in vain for anything that might provoke me into any priapic excitement whatsoever. To put it bluntly, it is now impossible to get an erection in London. There is nowhere I can go where I know I am going to get turned on. And to get turned on was always the only point of going outside the door.

I have always regarded pornography as my opium

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I have always regarded pornography as my opium, and read the great opium exploits of Coleridge and Thomas de Quincey’s Confessions of an English Opium Eater in that light. For its curative properties, its restorative properties, its health benefits, its consolations, pornography seemed absolutely the match for opium. If I am suddenly frightened, and turned to ice, and my blood run cold, I put some delicious pornographic picture on my phone and look at that for a few moments until I feel that pleasurable warm sensation of an erection stirring, then I can go on with all fear forgotten. If I am feeling deathly tired and cannot keep my eyes open or my head upright, I just need to watch a few pornographic clips to become absolutely mentally razor sharp and alert again, all fatigue gone. Drink, too, gives me confidence and banishes my mortifying shyness. Drink and pornography are my opium. Coleridge would never travel without having some opium in his bags, and I will never travel without some pornography always close to hand. If I ever run out while between destinations, I rush gasping for a big city like Vienna, or Munich, or Berlin, to replenish. Drugs as such, cigarettes, cocaine, marijuana and such like, I have never tried and have no desire to.
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Whenever my w–e and I split up I will not replace her

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Whenever my w–e and I split up I will not replace her with another woman (even if another woman would touch me with a barge pole); I would replace her with priapism, persistent and rampant erection of the penis; with onanism. With “my old addiction to pornography and prostitution, to travelling alone around Europe, for the sleaziness, the smut, the lush life”. I will always hope to be reconciled with my w–e. She is the woman I want to grow old with. She is the woman I want holding my hand when I take my last breath.

I managed to catch the last day of the Paul Delvaux exhibition

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I managed to catch the last day of the Paul Delvaux exhibition at Blain di Donna in Mayfair. An absolute pleasure. All his paintings have naked women in them and it makes you think he must have painted with an erection all the time. In the sweltering heat back to the Abcat Cinema in Caledonian Road where I was dismayed to discover they no longer show scenes from lots of different films—which was the main attraction of the Abcat for me—but just whole films like everywhere else, at the Council’s insistence apparently. Why the Council would interfere in this matter is beyond me. They also now are not allowed to put their rubbish out before 9pm which is rather unfair as they close at 8.
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You can settle down to married life and settle down to not travelling anymore in ice and high mountains

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You can settle down to married life, and settle down to not travelling anymore, in ice and high mountains, and settle down to not going to strip clubs, and prostitutes, and adult cinemas anymore; but then you might be tempted to feel you have settled down to slippers and a blanket over your knees, you have settled down to your coffin. Some people are not cut out for married life, as curative as it is for your soul and your spirit. Oh but how totally bored and miserable I was for four days in Vienna—Vienna! capital of Viennese Eroticism! city of Schoenberg, Berg, Webern, Karl Kraus! Not one single full erection in the entire duration of my stay no matter how hard I tried. How totally bored and miserable I was on the two day trip to Brussels and Cologne the year before! Again not one single full erection during the entire duration. You carry the weather with you. I am sad to have left her behind. From the moment my door closes behind me I am sad to be leaving her behind.

So no I did not manage to crack the Vienna nut

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So no, I did not manage to crack the Vienna nut, and never will now. There feels nothing here for me. I have not found even one, or two places, to make me feel at home here. The hotel meal was poor and the Augustinerkeller meal was even worse. A relief to grab a McDonald’s from Westbahnhof on my way back tonight. I did manage to find my way to Fortuna Kino in Favoritenstraße. At last, a good old-fashioned adult cinema, and a good Italian film. I think Italian pornography is the best. At last, finally, I managed to sustain a full erection. It took me three nights to even manage a proper erection—that says it all. The Gurtel was meant to be the biggest red light district in Vienna, and back in the snow in 2005 I came down it and was going in one club after another, they never seemed to end. And to find the only place where I slept with a girl in Vienna totally gone, an empty lot where it used to be, was particularly disspiriting, and is really a great symbol of how pointless this trip now feels. As much as I love this hotel, I will never come to Vienna again. Good riddance, they cry!

A dark wet and windy 5am Tuesday start to my latest trip

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A dark, wet and windy 5am Tuesday start to my latest trip. I don’t have the money to lavish on these trips anymore. I think that is part of the reason they are not so enjoyable anymore. Every 1 pound I earn buys me a naked dance from a sex dancer. Will I see one great huge breasted-girl on this trip? A Martina, an Emily, a Clarisse, an Olga & Alla, a Yulia, a Diana. Will I find someone as pretty as a —–, a ——-, a ——? Will I have one genuine erection this time? Perhaps a return to the Mona Lisa of Munich, Die Sunde, will restore my sensual fortunes. Wonderful September dark autumnal weather anyway. It was on a day like this that I went to my first ever strip club and saw my first ever naked woman. The train is stuck at the entrance to the tunnel again (like some Freudian omen), the same thing that happened to me the second time I ever travelled. I am in great danger of missing my connection to Munich. Sometimes it is only in setbacks that great new things are discovered. If I had not had my card stolen in Brussels in 2004 I would never have met Martina in Nuremberg. If I had not missed my connection to Vienna I would never have spent my first night in a Brussels hotel.

So the highlights of this holiday were the Turkish blonde newsreader on TRT [I did not go out in Brussels Monday night because I thought I would keep my powder dry for Cologne]

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So the highlights of this holiday were the Turkish blonde newsreader on TRT [I did not go out in Brussels Monday night because I thought I would keep my powder dry for Cologne, but I needn’t have worried] and the incredible blonde ponytail girl in green cowl neck top over massive huge breasts in Koln Hauptbahnhof. I have never seen so many pretty girls in a station as I saw in the Hauptbahnhof last night. I have not had one genuine unforced erection on this entire trip, remaining in a state of flaccidness the whole time. I think of Alice at the Sports Bar and Alina at the Axe, the last two genuine erections I got. So what for my September trip—it has to be Frankfurt or Berlin, where one is guaranteed some bang for one’s buck. Nostalgia may take me first to Munich, for the same feeble girls I saw in Stardust last night? So far for so little point. What is the use of travelling at all. To live in suspension, that is all. In an unreal bubble. I saw there were some videokabins in Dr Muellers in Hohenzollern but Hohenzollernring is the busy beating heart of Cologne nightlife, so nothing at all private about it. On the way back to the hotel I saw another place in Friesenwall, Café Manouche, with a quite sexy-looking girl sitting at the bar, but I was so depressed and pissed off by now, I did not go in. Cologne is no town for dirty old men. And finally my little pen has run out.

Have I had a single erotic spark since I started my journey? No

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Have I had a single erotic spark since I started my journey? No. I wonder if I will get a single genuine erection on this trip. The TV before I fell asleep was the best thing. The Turkish newsreader with blonde bob. I am a beast. I am a minotaur. I had a most vivid dream about some girl next to me in a porn cinema who got completely covered—monica’d—from head to toe by some other man’s cum, she was quite upset, “oh what a stupid dirty cow I am! So clumsy!”. I offered to get her some tissues, and then bizarrely was travelling around on the London Underground to get them.

The Original Dangerous Drug (Can Coffee Wreck Your Marriage?) “Back in 17th-century England, King Charles wasn’t the only person who thought coffee was a social vice”

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The Original Dangerous Drug (Can Coffee Wreck Your Marriage?) “Back in 17th-century England, King Charles wasn’t the only person who thought coffee was a social vice. The Women’s Petition Against Coffee of 1674 claimed all-male coffee houses were responsible for “a very sensible Decay of that Old English Vigour . . .” by promoting “the excessive use of that Newfangled, Abominable, Heathenish liquor called Coffee, which . . . has so Eunucht our Husbands and Crippled our more kind gallants they come from it with nothing moist but their snotty noses, nothing stiffe but their Joints . . .” prompting the men’s response that it “makes the erection more Vigorous, the Ejaculation more full, adds spiritualescency to the Sperme”.” It was nice going on a pub crawl with —–. The Spouter’s Corner, The Angel, The William Blake, The Masque Haunt. Perhaps she is trying to do with me the things that I like doing to keep me happy. She was even incredibly enthused about the idea of us moving to live in Belgium, or Berlin, “why don’t we go? Why don’t we start to plan to go?”, and coming to the dirty night-time places with me so we can do those dirty things together where no one knows us. She was so excited by the idea, despite its evident impracticality. Wouldn’t it be lovely if we won the lottery to spend the rest of our lives touring the fleshpots of Europe together!

No time for the Secession building & the Beethoven frieze on this brief flying visit or the Schoenberg Foundation

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No time for the Secession building & the Beethoven frieze on this brief flying visit, or the Schoenberg Foundation, Karl Kraus’s house, the Belvedere, KHM, Zentralfriedhof. No Third Man sites. How I have blossomed and bloomed since the cerebral, mind-obsessed pages of Autismus is quite extraordinary, yet in another way I have not moved on at all. I have become more relaxed and at ease in my own skin, but still the eternal battle between love, art and eros rages in me. Like scratching a mark above a child’s head every year to measure how fast they are growing, it will be interesting to see how different I feel in Vienna this time; from the neurotic first 4 day stay in 1998, to the three days of exquisite masturbation on the way to Oslo, then falling in love with Lotta & Sophia, to my last time six years ago when I finally lost my Vienna virginity. Now I am living in Moloch with a sex dancer from The ———, after an affair with another Tallulah from the same place, and before that an Esmeralda, a sumptuous Siberian Cleopatra, with a big cat’s face, purple fingernails and blonde highlighted bob. Back in 1998 I never imagined I would ever be with a woman, or could ever be. Eroticism is the motor of life, it is what makes the world go around, and I have no shame in admitting I have devoted my life to it. Let those who are family men be family men, those who are businessmen be businessmen, but I live for eros alone. Priapism, persistent erection of the penis, has been my guiding philosophy since I was almost old enough to walk. There is no pleasure to compare with the swelling of one’s member, feeling all the warm blood beginning to fill it; it is even better than orgasm. Anticipation is everything. Resolution is merely putting the lid on it so one can return home, over Dowson’s Shaftesbury Avenue, across a rain-swept torrential Leicester Square, pass the statue of Oscar Wilde, into the bosom of the Charing Cross Hotel; or across a beautiful vast tree-canopied Kurfurstendamm with a bulge that still refuses to go down one little bit, around Olivaer Platz and its erotic window-display mannequins, back to the Plaza; back around the Gurtel to the Dorint; around the corner of Schillerstraße on shaking legs over the tramlines back to the Intercity; or back down the interminable never ending Boulevard Adolphe Max to the Ibis. Oh these high nights of erotic swooning, those high moments that “persuade us to put off suicide”. This my career in infamy has brought me. I like Nietzche am grateful to what my years of sickness have wrought in me.