Just wondering what type of tree that is outside the Max Hotel window—a monkey puzzle tree perhaps?—when a young man in red scarf and a bobble hat stops to pee in the big pot at the base of it. Under the tree the sign pointing to Yser-Ijzer, where Fifth Avenue can be found; only in the last couple of months did I realise that Yser/Ijzer translates as Iron. Reminding me of my iron-hard erections, no doubt, if I’ve remembered to take the medication. And I’ve indeed taken the medication, 2 days in a row, completely pointlessly, because I never even came close to enjoying intercourse with anyone, not even a woman. I scarcely found the arousal to enjoy intercourse with myself. Yes, my FOURTH trip to Brussels this year (and I’ve been nowhere else) and I still have not enjoyed carnal relations with anyone in those four trips. Four consecutive trips without any jollies may be an unwanted record for me. My finances dampen my mood all the time and make it increasingly difficult for Eros to spark and catch fire. Always the nagging thought, it is time for Hamburg. But also, oh Vienna. Though I did NOTHING on that trip in December either, and couldn’t wait to rush back to Brussels—Vienna to Brussels in one day, and then in Brussels had one of the great Brussels nights of my life with sensational Brazilian Diane. One of the great f—ks of my young life, SHE would bring this holiday to life, that’s for sure.
Third Stella here in the Dome. 242PM. Pink Last to Know (Berlin circa 2003-4). Brollies are up but blowing inside out; no visible sign of rain, but a bitter Arctic wind (I can imagine). What little rain there is, equally cold (I am sure). My visit to Le Coin on my fourth day has reinvigorated my faith in Brussels the way the previous 3 days’ visits to Fifth had rather killed it;; so why then on my leaving day don’t I return to Le Coin and “do” something? No, I never want to have sexual relations on my home day; it completely knocks me out and leaves me weepy and emotional. Wanda Bussi Baby (Vienna c.2016). Amy MacDonald Run (recent). Mando Diao Sweet Wet Dreams (recent). Nazar/Falco Zwischen Zeit und Raum (Vienna c.2016). Mavi Phoenix Longtime (recent). I don’t want to do anything sexual on my home day, one reason I sub-consciously really recoil from it is because it is your life-force isn’t it. I need all my life-force just to get me through the long, tiring journey home with my heavy bag. Avoid sex, and avoid any heavy food too. Drink at least gives me that high that gives wind beneath my wings for a while.
Well, the world’s been turned on its head—Le Coin was better than Fifth Avenue. Four gorgeous voluptuous girls—I would have liked all four of them but by now I was too drunk and I only had 70 euros left—the exact cut 20 to house, and 50 to girl. One more beer and that was it, too late. Suddenly I think in future I will stay in the IBIS again, rather than the Max!
So many times on the bus or the train you see an incredibly beautiful girl you would like to f–k, but coming in to the strip club or the brothel you see no one you like AT ALL; this is where gamers like Mr Francis win over me. However, there are exceptions. You always occasionally find a jewel in the strip clubs of London or the floozie bars of Brussels or Vienna at least. Adelina, Lucy, Andrea, Diane, legends of my life. I love the OPEN sexuality of prostitutes and strippers. The completely OUT THERE sexuality of them. I love this world, this broken world maybe, but I love this world. I have no interest in teasing, coaxing their sexuality out of them (or ability); I want it all out there, in the open, full frontal, primal, BESTIAL.
I travel for erections; for Priapism; for sexual arousal; I travel for the cock. Is there really no arousal for me back home in London? Almost, almost, almost none. OK I thought about heading down to Cine Paris, but instead stay put & pick up a fourth can of beer. After this one, definitely. 205. No, I will never tire of Brussels. It is such a home from home. As long as Cine Paris, Fifth Avenue and the windows remain, that is. I’ve already lost Cine ABC, Paradise Peep Show & kabins, California Peep Show & kabins, and the street girls have been severely reduced, and perhaps ruled out for me, if I fear being hit by a 350 euro fine by the police. Prostitution is not even illegal in Belgium, street prostitution is not illegal. The fine is just Mayeur’s idea to drive them away.
So, yes, that has been my trip so far. Coach driver from hell, coach trip from hell, astounding astounding 10 out of 10 white vest girl on the boat; underwhelming sight of —- & ——–. See if anything picks up today—but like I say it has to be something random, something completely unexpected. Familiarity kills lust. Even the sexiest floozie, I can only sleep with her once, twice at most, before I lose interest. Anyway, I will never tire or give up on Brussels. Just being here is lovely. Fifth Avenue usually underwhelming, but I have out of the blue met so many 10 out of 10s there that it is always exciting to think about going there. And a proper porn cinema. And the window girls. I went to Fifth Avenue and Empire strip club, but the only real erection I’ve had here in Brussels is watching Sean Paul She Doesn’t Mind video on my TV this morning (and thinking about the white vest girl).
Third beer begun, 140pm. Overcast today but starting to heat up. Honestly don’t think I’m going to do anything naughty on this trip. I always say I’m going to come here like a rutting stag, but in reality my reticence and lack of lust are dominant. To feel lust, it has got to be random, and completely unexpected—like the white vest girl on the boat. I certainly could have —— her like a rutting stag if I’d had the opportunity. Not seen any soldiers yet. Let us not forget it was just 4 weeks ago some loser tried to detonate his bomb in the Central Railway Station, at 8 o’clock at night!