When at home in London, on the treadmill, I crave the erotic pleasures of Brussels, and think when I get back there I am going to f–k every half-decent floozie I see! But then I get here, and feel nothing but reluctance, and reticence, to get involved, and do anything, even though it is all there on offer. This reluctance, and reticence, only grows & grows the older I get; but still I carry on. Like Phedre “continuing to seduce long after seduction has ceased to be a pleasure”. Like Smiles of a Summer Night, “flirting with rescue when one has no intention of being saved”. Increasingly locked up within myself, I discover I have become LESS rampant the older I get, not more. More confident, more freedom, more money, yet I do less than I ever did before, when I was so much crippled by shame, poverty, etc.
I was shocked to see so few “girls” on the street along the Rue des Commercants drag. There were just 2 girls on the Pelican corner around Café Jimmy, just 2 girls on the street between Pelican and Flamingo, just 2 girls on the Flamingo corner around the old closed Café Flamingo, and then just 2 girls on the Rue des Commercants itself between Flamingo and Fifth Avenue. The Mayor Yvan Mayeur’s determination to “depress” & eradicate the Alhambra scene by fining the girls and their clients 350 euros each is apparently working. Though, again, I was perhaps just too early. The early Fifth Avenue girls were poor too. The couple of Cine Paris films I saw during my brief half-hour stay were OK—OK meaning they were not the sort of thing I would ever watch at home on my computer, but they at least enabled me to get an erection; so in the in between area of being “OK”. The disaster is films that are so bad I cannot even get an erection, and the great pleasure is a film so good that I rush to find it on my computer as soon as I get back home.
Last night I made a rule for myself—in future I will never again enter a brothel/night bar/brasserie à femmes, call them what you will, without ——- one of the girls. Because this is ridiculous. To keep going to these places and keep leaving without having done anything is ridiculous. In future I will force myself to always go with one of the girls before I allow myself to leave. If there is no one I fancy, I will just go with the one that is least bad. That means waiting till I can travel with plenty of money. But I must start this. It is like going to a porn cinema without masturbating. Ridiculous. And never go to Rue d’Aerschot without doing something with one of the girls, too. This too will actually inspire me to save money to make this viable. Now, with this new rule in mind, I look forward to coming back to Brussels again. Even in Manhattan in Vienna in December, there were at least 3 very desirable girls but again I did nothing. This must stop. There is no point travelling at all if I keep doing nothing when I get there.
820. Having a last Red Bull and few beers in the hotel lounge before getting a taxi just before 11 I expect. I should console myself that this expensive unplanned Eurostar ticket of £133 is more than made up for by the continence and abstinence of the rest of the trip—I had travelled to Brussels this time planning to —- so many girls, as I knew it had to be my last trip for a long time—East European Tatiana, Emily, Paloma, Perrie, that street girl if I saw her again; planned to have another 60 euro private dance (at least) with Jennifer in Empire; instead, I did none of these things. Planned to do something with 1 or 2 of the Rue d’Aerschot window girls but did nothing there either. I think it was inevitable I was always going to add the Friday & Saturday night to my stay, so the only real extra expense was for the Eurostar ticket; and that was covered by savings elsewhere. Next time I come, it will be at least 2 or 3 months hence, and that time I really should be able to come with a little bit of spare cash, and finally fully plunder the erotic delights of Brussels—because the delights are there. It was only my nagging money worries that dampened my desires (as always).
Something I’ve not remarked upon (at all or enough) is how Brussels Grill give you COMPLIMENTARY bread & butter while waiting for your steak. Massively appreciated, and makes a massive difference in my choice of where to eat after a day of customarily “cultural” activities. Who knows when I will be back in Brussels Grill again. In Fifth Avenue today I had NO DESIRE for sex. At all. Just thinking about food. I get food at home, so why travel? A troubling question, which comes into greater focus now than it has ever done. Five nights in Brussels—no sex at all. Scarcely any desire for it either. I have started asking for my steak “medium” rather than “well done”, only to get it delivered to me faster. 1815.
I didn’t have any carnal contact because I want to get home cheaply (my sub-conscious taking the upper hand). But now I want to extend my holiday and hope before I return home to get some carnal contact (my drink defeating my sub-conscious). Madness. This is the way I live my life. This constant battle inside me between my Eros (Devil) and my Angel (sub-conscious). 115 On my 5th, 6th, 7th, god knows what can of Jupiler of the day already. If I just forget about Eurostar, and stay another night tonight, that is just 45 euros (£38). A very small hit, in itself. As always the option of a coach home. Cheap. Cheap. Painful as f–king hell.
Christ, I still haven’t had any carnal relations on this holiday. The whole point of my holidays is complete Erotic Indulgence. And this time, for reasons already elucidated, I have really done nothing. I am not having my 11am McDonald’s today—I felt that too has been dampening my mood. I need to be fuelled by alcohol only. Being a Friday, today is my best chance of seeing anybody interesting at Fifth—in particular I am thinking of that beautiful sexy-looking girl I saw briefly on Tuesday night only but not since.