I could have had sexual adventure in Brussels, Berlin or Vienna, but I did nothing. There was nothing I wanted. If I’d met a T—, an A—– or a D—- it might have been different. I still think there must be an Esmeralda out there with my name on her but I may never find her. The great days of Yulia, Riccarda, Iga, Diana, Emily, Martina, Maria seem long gone. That whole world does not excite me like it used to, it does not excite me at all. I still keep going because I don’t know what else to do. Being at Gatwick waiting for my flight to Vienna at least WAS a little bit exciting and erotic, so that was a good sign. Contrast that with my total misery on the Eurostar to Brussels in September. I think going for one night only is better, then I can always tell myself I can be home tomorrow. What on earth would I have done for a second night in Vienna? I went to all the places I really wanted to go. I woke up the next morning feeling completely miserable. A couple of hours back down in the Dorint bar cheered me up a bit before the bus back to the airport.
The Stripper 