I don’t ever want to stop enjoying the naughty places, and the big-breasted Esmeraldas, because to me it is the only sign of life in me, it is the only thing that keeps me feeling alive. It is the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning. In Brussels I want everything at once: I want Brussels Grill steaks, I want Ciné Paris, I want Fifth Avenue girls. I don’t know what to do first because I want all at once.
Tag Archives: esmeraldas
I love Esmeraldas because I do not want any involvement whatsoever
I love Esmeraldas because I do not want any involvement whatsoever. Involvement is like being stuck in a giant spider web, glued to it, waiting for the giant spider to come back and eat you, like in Lord of the Rings. I have to enjoy Belgium & Germany & Austria while I can, before Najat and her ilk take over Europe.
I was thinking I have not seen any sexy girls this time in Berlin
I was thinking I have not seen any sexy girls this time in Berlin, but my god, they all came out today. Pretty, beautiful, sexy, mindblowing, they were all around me today, especially on the bus journey back from Friedrichstraße to Zoo. Too many to mention. Best memories of this trip to Berlin then: almost nothing. King George was a really interesting & enjoyable experience, and better than Caligula, in terms of beauty of the girls and just general ambience of the club. Lovely to see Sissi again; she is one of the Esmeraldas you meet who you would definitely like to have as a girlfriend.
Fifth Avenue was packed on Friday night. It was ridiculous
Fifth Avenue was packed on Friday night. It was ridiculous. More and more guys just kept pouring in, there was standing room only; the strip clubs of Munich were packed every night; once again I ask the eternal question: where do all the men go in Berlin? Where do all the men go in Vienna? At night they are like ghost towns. What few night bars remain are always totally empty. You will be the only man there with all the girls coming up to you one after the other, and some getting quite rude, “if you don’t want to do anything you have to leave”. “You aren’t allowed to just drink”. Although even here in Brussels Gascogne and Empire are nearly always empty. Why do Fifth Avenue get it so right that they can be so packed every night? They have absolutely hit on the magic formula, whatever it is. This is how Mon Cheri and Golden Gate should have been, still thriving every night. Why don’t the Berlin men young and old pour into those places the way the Brussels men young and old do here? I think big part of Fifth Avenue’s success is down to the fact the beers are just 3 euros each and it is free to get in. it’s just like your local pub, it just happens to be full of big bottomed Esmeraldas. Another attraction is the girls never approach you, they leave you in peace if that is what you want. The jukebox is really loud pounding music. It really is the most fascinating brothel I have ever been to. Sex, apparently, is 50 euros to the girl plus 25 euros to rent the room for half an hour—more than enough time for anyone!
How absurdly proud and full of myself I feel
How absurdly proud and full of myself I feel when these Tallulahs and Esmeraldas ask me “Wo kommst du?” and I say “London”. Their eyes widen and they say “Oh! London!” When I am in London I hate it, can’t wait to get away, but once I get away I am so proud to say I come from London. So yes it is Sunday. Let me do nothing more than get very drunk here in Rechthaler Hof on ice cold Spaten beer and then stuff myself with 1 (or 2?!) Wiener Rostbratens.
By any measure in Nuremberg and here in Munich I have seen some of the most beautiful Tallulahs and Esmeraldas I have ever seen
By any measure, in Nuremberg and here in Munich I have seen some of the most beautiful Tallulahs and Esmeraldas I have ever seen, and yet I have done nothing with any of them. I have been in every club just to look, study, on reconnaissance. If I had travelled in despair, in some black tunnel that I was so familiar with in my former years, in what I called my “golden age” of travelling, then I would certainly have done something with one of the stunning window girls of Nuremberg, or in Munich with the extraordinary Natalia in Cabaret Imperial; yes, a young naughtier Steve Nicks, but now I realise more than anything a potential new Riccarda. Even busty Dara in the Dolly Bar, or blonde Claudia in Atlantic City.
So my second day in Munich and I head first to Rechthaler Hof
So my second day in Munich and I head first to Rechthaler Hof, of course, after picking up my Guardian from the station. I spent 180 euros on my one day in Nuremberg, and 150 euros on my first day in Munich. At this rate, I will have nothing left even before I reach Berlin—but, after all, this is what I came for. To indulge in eating, drinking and sleeping, while enjoying the Tallulahs and Esmeraldas in the evening, although these days not indulging. I met a very beautiful girl in Tiffany, slim again, like the Ukrainian Natalia in Imperial, when I always say I like big girls only; she looked like Olga Kurylenko. She is a student of psychomatrix and taking my date of birth she worked out we are compatible, as well as both being scorpios, although this made her hang her head, “Oh no!”. She guessed my birth year as 1979, however, and I did not want to disabuse her so her calculations will not have been accurate.
These days I travel for the pleasure of drinking, eating and sleeping
These days I travel for the pleasure of drinking, eating and sleeping. Yes, of course in the evenings I can leisurely stroll out to have a look at the Tallulahs and Esmeraldas, but I have no real desire to indulge or get involved with them, as I once did. I get close enough to enjoy the petals without being pricked by the thorns. I come back to Munich, Berlin and Vienna regularly, because I have left so much blood on the tracks in these places. It is the sex addict’s “euphoric recall”. I am not capable of falling in love with a Tallulah or Esmeralda on my travels anymore. That hole has been filled.
It is easy to think I come to Munich all the time but in fact with surprise I realise it has been more than a year
It is easy to think I come to Munich all the time, but in fact with surprise I realise it has been more than a year since I was last here. It is amazing how time flies. I used to travel for erotic and romantic explosions, and was never happy unless I found someone to destroy me—and being so ready and nature abhorring a vacuum, I always did—but now —– fills the role, this hole in me, so I travel very calmly and only experience things at a very shallow level. I see nice girls of course, but I feel no real desire or need to do anything with them. Part of me misses that feeling of being destroyed every time I travelled, and falling in love with these Tallulahs or Esmeraldas every time I travelled, but ultimately the calm and peace —– has brought to my life is the treasure of my life.
I always thought of Nuremberg as the poor little sister of Munich—now I think it is much much better
I always thought of Nuremberg as the poor little sister of Munich—now I think it is much much better. The centre of Munich does not have windows or laufhauses for a start. Nuremberg has put itself firmly on the map now (just as Vienna seems to recede from it). Certainly what a vibrant and lively and sexy scene here compared to the cold darkness of Vienna! Even the laufhaus girls seem beautiful, sweet and good-natured. I was left with a feeling of respect for these Esmeraldas and Tallulahs for their unfailing civility; quite a change from the often rude and cold girls of Soho for instance. But, I did not indulge so I carry on to Munich, avoiding the feeling of being already sated.
On all my previous visits to Nuremberg I managed to miss all the windows, laufhauses and strip clubs
On all my previous visits to Nuremberg I managed to miss all the windows, laufhauses and strip clubs at the end of Frauentormauer. I have probably never seen so many beautiful Esmeraldas and Tallulahs in one city before, not even Berlin. The window girls, like in Brussels, are absolutely stunning. Pretty much all 9s or 10s out of 10. But as always when there is so much choice I am unable to make a choice, but just keep moving on to look at the next one and the next one, and eventually turn around and go back to my hotel quite chaste, unable to decide so deciding on no one.
Esmeraldas have always been an outlet for men’s urges and what will they do if they are gone?
Esmeraldas have always been an outlet for men’s urges and what will they do if they are gone? That release valve is gone. That safe and pleasurable means of draining the swamp is gone. What crazed, frustrated fiends would be left roaming the streets then! Gone, the nice warm relief of sinking into a hot bath on a cold day that the Esmeralda represents. Gone the consequent relaxation and calmness, and ability to then concentrate on other more useful and important things. What will the Puritans unleash upon Europe. What will they do to men’s minds. An ugly or poor or infirm man unable to attract a beautiful woman, what for him then? A lifetime of sexlessness? Unable to release his urges safely with an Esmeralda, what other paths might these urges be forced to divert into? I think not more creative, but more destructive. Whores provide a vital function, and that is why we respect and revere them so much.
The ice has been been retreating, well, for all our lives
The ice has been been retreating, well, for all our lives. When I first set foot on the ice in 1992, I had no idea that so much of the ice I could see all around me would be gone in a few short years. We polar explorers and mountaineers have been pushed further and further to the edge of the continent, like wooly mammoths, and if Europe does become a ‘society without prostitution’ then we will finally be pushed off the cliff, and our time will be over. We are the last of a dying breed. Yet, yes, the great Esmeraldas of Vienna and Berlin (Hamburg and Amsterdam, where I have never been), will instead move to the ‘cellar bars’ one finds in Munich, tempting men with expensive fake champagne and nothing more, and if that is all that is on offer, men will spend all their money on that. They may become Tallulahs, strippers, and Europe could see a massive revival in striptease and ‘sex dancing’ without the sex. Even apparently bad news can have unexpected good consequences—a huge flowering of strip clubs in great orchid fronds. But let us say you take a dancer or one of these Munich cellar bar girls to a separée for a private dance or private drink, and she lets you have a hand job or a blow job, that is not sex as such, so would that be against the law as well? Back in 2003 and 2004 one could find this kind of pleasurable enjoyment even in the bars and strip clubs of Munich, but already when I returned after a long absence in 2010 even this had become strictly verboten. What will they ban next? Having sex with anyone other than your wife? Will monogamy be compulsory? Will masturbation at a peep show or a video kabin or an adult cinema be outlawed as well? Already these places are dying out due to market forces and the dull hand of the internet—people can ‘drain their swamp’ without ever leaving home these days; but there are some of us who still like to force ourselves out to look for the ice and the mountains, for the glory of the sex kino, and the adult cinema, to sit in a room full of men all with their huge swollen cocks out in the glow of the screen, and the peep show, and the videokabins, and the wonderful florid & lurid women of the go go bars, and the puffs, and the tingel tangels, the bordellos and the night bars! But they are dying out one by one, so fast.
We are really heading towards the cliff now
We are really heading towards the cliff now. The Government will next year be pressed to make prostitution illegal in England i.e. the man buying the sex will be the one breaking the law, as it is in Sweden and Norway already, and the French Minister for Women is bidding to outlaw prostitution in the whole of Europe. The great Justice Ministrys of Europe will take on a whole new significance. The Bourses and Central Banks will become irrelevant. Can one imagine a Europe without whores? without Esmeraldas? It is part of our culture, such a huge part of our literature, our arts. So many of our greatest artists, painters, composers, writers, throughout European history have depended on whores. Can one imagine an Amsterdam, a Hamburg, a Vienna, a Berlin without whores? Well, I suppose one can—they will just become like Munich. Like Schillerstraße, a street full of neon lights, cellar bars, where you go and sit with lurid and florid young women in a state of some undress, buy them ruinously expensive fake champagne, and then that is it, stumble back to your hotel disappointed and frustrated as there is nothing else on offer. And yet all those bars in Munich survive and thrive (despite the retreating of the ice everywhere else) precisely because there is nothing else on offer. If it is all you can get then it is what you have to make do with. It may even see a revival of striptease, Berlin and Vienna could finally get some old-fashioned strip clubs, like the Atlantic City in Munich.
Not only did the Esmeraldas of Vienna throw themselves at me
Not only did the Esmeraldas of Vienna throw themselves at me like moths bashing their brains out against a lighthouse, me completely unmoved by their erotic blandishments, but on the other side of the coin I threw myself at Vienna like a moth bashing my brains out against the lighthouse. I navigate by the light of the moon, and my moons are Berlin, Munich and Brussels (no longer Vienna, I think). Anyway whether Vienna was a failed visit or not, travelling has brought me back to life again. My mind is working again, my great rivers are flowing again and threatening to flood their banks! My pulsing, surging torrents, my Niles, my Rhines, my Mississippis are irrigating my long dried up lands! Dry valleys and riverbeds are flowing with water once more! Everything is starting to be dark green and lush again, like Madeira! Storm-tossed, storm-lashed, dark green Madeira! Where I think me and -—- had our best moments! When I am exiled like Napoleon I want to be exiled and imprisoned on Madeira.
I have come to the conclusion that I don’t want to do anything naughty here in Vienna
I have come to the conclusion that I don’t want to do anything naughty here in Vienna. Once again, the words from Smiles of a Summer Night come back to me: ‘Desiree, I’m sorry. I never should have come. To flirt with rescue when one has no intention of being saved.’ The Esmeraldas of Vienna threw themselves at me one after the other like moths bashing their brains out against a lighthouse. I was immovable; scarcely priapic. Like Dorian Gray I really do seem to have ‘lost the passion and forgotten the desire’. All I want to do now is try to get —–‘s boots.
My last night in Berlin
My last night in Berlin. I was planning my next trip, in the New Year, to be to Vienna, but now I am not so sure. I have never found much life in Vienna—plenty and plenty of go go bars for sure—but so lifeless? Even the whores seem so, what is the word, diffident? They don’t even try; perhaps seeing how poor I look. Berlin Esmeraldas have no such airs and graces.
That black James Pryde bedroom at Mon Cheri is where I lost my Berlin virginity
That black James Pryde bedroom at Mon Cheri is where I lost my Berlin virginity so it has left an imprint in my mind that I will never be able to erase; but 77 is actually the best club I have been to in Berlin. It does not affect me so much because I am not so impressionable anymore. But on Monday night I would say there was at least 4 magnificent Esmeraldas. Already I am reassured that there is still some strong amounts of ice in Berlin. In fact on my exploration today I see there is more ice than I ever even knew of before. I know already I will be looking forward to coming back to Berlin soon. It is like an inexhaustible, eternal flame here. The fuel it burns on never runs out. There are already five new places I want to try tonight, and I still want to get back to four of the old places as well! It is not possible all in one night. Tomorrow I need to be on the train to the airport by 130PM which will give me just enough time to have a last meal in Bavarium perhaps. The steak did not compare to the Brussels Grill steak, but it was good enough. I would like to try the Alt Berliner in Unter den Linden but that will have to wait until next time now. It would be crazy to go back to Munich and its sexless frustrations — though as I say the strip clubs of Munich are busy every night! Even though there is zero bang for your buck in Munich! Perhaps it is because Berlin is so diffuse. Berlin is a huge city and every neighbourhood has its own little sex places. There is no one centre for everyone to gravitate towards like moths to the flame. There are candles all over Berlin.
Gascogne gone, California gone, all of Stuttgarter Platz gone—the sex scene is dying all over Europe
Gascogne gone, California gone, all of Stuttgarter Platz gone—the sex scene is dying, all over Europe, not just in London. There is nothing in it for the girls anymore; the ones that are left are mostly the most desperate examples of womankind, women incapable of getting a boyfriend in normal life. You used to be able to see stunning, 10 out of 10 beautiful women in this world, because they could make such huge money and it gave them independence of men; but not anymore. The 10 out of 10s have long gone. From the club scene at least. You will find them contactable on the internet perhaps.
There are signs that the old glory could return
There are signs that the old glory could return: with Melani in Munich I could have had an amazingly dirty time, with Czech blonde Victoria in Frankfurt’s Moulin Rouge I could have had an amazingly dirty time, with the 4 stunning Esmeraldas at Brussels Gare du Nord I could have had an amazingly dirty time. That is six opportunities on that one trip to have done something dirty like I used to, but now I just keep stopping myself and tell myself to walk away. I think I have just raised my bar much higher now, because I am with —– now, and because I am so catastrophically in Arabella/Greekesque debt which is growing bigger all the time. Before I would go with almost anyone and not care less about the cost—because I had no one waiting for me at home and because my debts were then just in their infancy, just in the foothills, whereas now they are like the Alps and the Himalayas, Krakatoa and Vesuvius. So I travel everywhere with the Continence of Scipio, but it is a self-imposed continence. I look but don’t touch. Six years ago for sure I would have stayed till the end of the night to try to do something with Melani, for sure I would have gone with Victoria and her massive breasts into the Moulin Rouge separee, for sure I would have gone with one of the four Nord whores, and would have had a deliciously naughty time—now I always flirt with it but ultimately abstain. “I flirt with rescue when I have no intention of being saved”. This line from Smiles of the Summer Night is one that follows me through my life. It is only me, then, perhaps, that is stopping the old glory from returning. I would have to overcome my own reticence. If it turns out that I can never bring myself to go through with it, then so be it. I went to Berlin in September last year and did nothing, to Vienna in March and did nothing, to Cologne this September and did nothing, to Munich & Frankfurt & Brussels this month and did nothing, and I came home feeling proud that I did nothing. Temptation is much easier to resist than it used to be. Turning — means I am not in the white heat of lust all the time, which also helps, at the same as I feel sad that I am not in the white heat of lust all the time.
When I started travelling to Europe it was like I became the star of my own porn movie
When I started travelling to Europe, it was like I became the star of my own porn movie. The Esmeraldas did so much more than their Soho counterparts for the same price, were so much more voluptuous and beautiful, and they f–ked you like they were your girlfriend, instead of lying there coldly, and mechanically like a Soho girl would. And the bedrooms were amazing, up several flights of stairs, then these dark black Cameron Rennie Mackintosh (almost Gormenghastian) bedrooms lit by one low red lamp, massive four poster bed with roof on it. The best sex of my life was in the Berlin bedrooms above Mon Cheri with Yulia, Riccarda, Diana. Honourable mentions, too, to Olga & Alla in Berlin, Maria in Vienna, Emily in Munich. To go with an Esmeralda and to have her kissing you and f–king you as passionately as a girlfriend was a mind-blowing experience, after the scraggly girls of Soho, who won’t even let you kiss without extra money and some won’t even take their bras off! Disgusting! It meant I returned from Europe feeling a foot taller, so relaxed, on a cloud of pleasure, and gradually my morbid shyness that had crippled me for so long began to dissipate. Life in London became just a waiting room until I could get back to Europe again. It is a great truth that the strip clubs taught us how to live. Europe truly was a wonderland to me. Then, however, after a magical couple of years, when I seemed to go a little bit further than before on every visit, things started to get worse, the girls started to become less attractive, the Dutch Elm Disease of Eros (aka the internet) that had laid waste to the red light scene in Soho had affected Europe just the same, and increasingly I craved something real. This was when I stepped through the Looking Glass, first a little bit with my sumptuous Siberian Cleopatra Olga, then tiny little thing —–. Once through the looking glass, I looked back at those Golden Age years of freedom and sensual abandon with a yearning nostalgia, and tried to recapture it, with almost negligible success. But in the belief that all is cyclical I have not given up hope that the pleasures can be recaptured.
Well that was the most pointless trip of my life. If you are feeling randy do not come to Cologne
Well that was the most pointless trip of my life. If you are feeling randy do not come to Cologne. I knew they had moved the Esmeraldas to a purpose-built brothel on the edge of town—in the aptly named Hornstraße—but that kind of thing does not interest me, fuck factories. So stubbornly I thought I could find some sinful paradise in Koln city centre still, and was therefore extremely disappointed. Chez Moi in Palmstraβe, brothel with 4 “girls”, all in their 50s or 60s. Stardust stripclub with long runway style stage, 9 young girls, 8 rubbish, one big blonde quite nice but not enough to stay for, and small beers 6.50 each. And that was it. I found many of the other alleged strip clubs and they were all dark and closed down. What is the world coming to, literally. I know what —– would say, “They’re at home, fucking their girlfriends, dickhead!”. I can’t help thinking is this what I gave up —– for? All the way to Cologne for sweet FA. But yes—this freedom is what I gave up —– for.
I offer a guide to the world of strip clubs, brothels and porn cinemas from the point of view of a gentleman connoisseur—a sort of bosom Baedeker
I offer a guide to the world of strip clubs, brothels and porn cinemas from the point of view of a gentleman connoisseur—a sort of bosom Baedeker. An unhealthy obsession with bosoms and buttocks has led me to a very rich life, and an expensive one. The “voluptuous sea of scented bosoms” claimed me at a very young age, and has never let me go. The other Esmeraldas who I nearly got involved with but ran away from at the last moment were Pamela, a young Swedish girl with gorgeously pretty face and big bosoms, Lela a Romanian with the most perfect bottom, and Olga, who was just massively voluptuous all over with a big cat’s face, like Master & Margarita, my sumptuous Siberian Cleopatra. That I have a mind completely bitten by the serpent of sex will by now have become apparent.
I can say I want to go back to seeing Esmeraldas again but I went to Brussels and there was absolutely no one I wanted to go near
I can say I want to go back to seeing Esmeraldas again, but I went to Brussels and there was absolutely no one I wanted to go near, and I went to Berlin and there was absolutely no one I wanted to go near. I am sure Vienna and Munich will be the same—maybe I just need to sink back into it. Dipping my toes in will never work. It has to be all or nothing. I want to keep spending more money I do not have, and keep going to Europe, and keep meeting Esmeralda. Tallulah is boring to me now, I have exhausted Tallulah, I cannot remember the last time Tallulah excited me. Those great nights at Carnival, Boulevard, SS, even Fly in the early days.
Impenitent to the end. I am completely in thrall to Esmeraldas. To Tallulah
Impenitent to the end. I am completely in thrall to Esmeraldas. To Tallulah. B.-. sometimes bursts out in exasperation, “——, what’s the matter!”, as I sit at my desk in silent contemplation of the disintegrating ruins and wasteland of my wasteful life, preparing to spend another £900 getting exploited by the whores of Munich or Berlin. When I could be investing my money in some flat I could live alone in, and make some home with Olga or someone else, some solid healthy base to my life. Instead of investing my money making some solid base for myself, I waste all my money on debasement. I fall into prolonged silences. That is what I have done with Olga, a silence of nine days now. Is it worth spending any more time and money on prolonging this agony with Olga, when we both know it has no future, and scarcely brings either of us much joy? Just for those precious moments when it is lovely, though. When I am with her and I look at her and find she is looking fixedly into my eyes. What does she see there; what is she looking for?
The Stripper 