Thursday, 30 April 2009

CG & Me

I’ve just got home, happy and full – of Thai food. Dee and I went to Basubathai in SoHo where I ate Pat King Talay and he had ginger beef. I drank lemon grass presse and he drank coca cola.
Yes, coca cola.
I’m still always slightly bemused when a non-alcoholic chooses to drink something nonalcoholic.
I’m still programmed to think that despite myself not drinking alcohol ( it’s unequivocally correct that I don’t ) I still think that someone with no history of drink problems would opt for a drop of booze, especially when we’re out.

Anyway, we ate, chatted and now we’re back at mine. He’s in the bath and I’m about to join him.
My most memorable bathing experience with a man – and no it wasn’t the Dorchester paid gig – was an event that took place for nothing except lust in the early part of last year – with CG.

CG is a guy who I’d lusted after since meeting him when I was 19 years old – the first time I went into rehab.CG had been in the same rehab. He was 12 years older than me and lived abroad.
I’m pleased to say that when we met again ( I literally bumped into him on a quiet road off Bond Street three years ago)Strange. Very strange. But he was a yummy as he’d even been.
At that time he was 41 years old and the epitome of ‘older man’ cool. He had it in abundance, sex-factor, charisma, youthfulness, excitement.

Anyway, at that time I was living with my sexless relationship and so nothing happened with CG and I, except coffee, but we had unfinished business - he knew it and I knew it.
Eventually last year, when he was 43, and finally I’d grown into a fully fledged single woman – he came to stay with me in Surrey, where I was living. He had business in London. Yes, he did. He really did, OK....
It was then that we had an intense and passion filled liaison lasting a happy 7 days.
For the first week that he stayed we walked round egg shells around the subject of mutual copulation. He was here for business, and I was then seeing my 51 year old silver haired sexpert. And we know I don’t like doing the dirty.

So CG, left town after one week, for a weekend party in Europe. He returned three days later for more business in London. When we saw each other, it was as if having the three days apart made us both realise that we wanted each other badly. In whatever capacity ( other than just friendship) that was on offer.
It was during those 7 days that we shared the bath which was one memory that I’ll never forget. It was steamy, hot, slippery ... all of it.


Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Wednesday, 29 April 2009

Do I look bothered?

Right, I'm gonna try and resume writing le FB notes here(I hate abbreviations. Forgive me, for I can barely forgive myself for using the infamous 'FB.')

Anyway, I hope that I do not get booted off it once again. Something in my gut tells me that I will. Indeed.
Just as it’s all getting juicy – I’m on Facebook telling you about my fantasy about a horse and four jokeys and suddenly......... Radio silence. She’s gone again!
Once again I have been ousted from all polite society. Anyway – not to worry. I am willing to take the risk for my art dharling.
Besides, let’s not worry too much - the original blog page is where it’s all really happening – not on some cheap imitation.

*Maow* Whatever Trevvor. Face bovvered?

And as Im sure you know I’m not referring to you my dear Facebook chums I’m talking of the medium transporting my words to you.
So maybe in case they intend to get rid of me again I should just bombard you with filthy tales of more bottles invading my pussy while two fingers pump my anus. And the best of it? I actually enjoyed the anal damage.
Guess its about me tapping into that ‘Just fucking fuck me ya bastard, ya’ part of my usually serene demeanor... If you believe that.... I’m talking about the serene demeanor bit.

My tail is in between my legs my friends.... I have a confession... Err.... Dee and I are back on(ish) err, kinda, yeah, err... Hey, maybe that’s why Facebook deleted me – they were sick of the childish on/off/on/off baloney.

Well, like I said Face bovvered? Face?

My tits are heavy(ier) than usual the past couple of days. Now, at size Es – they make for a hefty package. Talking of waiting for my period is turning into its own soap opera – just like the Dee & Gee show. (And I'm not making up Dee & Gee, it’s real...) So, what I am guessing will happen is that once L and I board our flight at the weekend for our holiday, I will then come on my period.
Nearly every flight I have been on I’ve come on. A couple of my friends have had that experience also. L, being one of them. Strange. Then, I will be in the situation where I have a beautiful week in the sun with half a pound of cotton wool stuffed inside my snatch. Nice. Regardless, I’m bloody( sorry) looking forward to going away. The sun really brings out the black in me. When my skin tans it makes me think of the colour I was born to be, before getting dragged to this grey-weather-country where my skin lightened to an exotic dirty beige colour.

As I’m writing this, I’m feeling my sulk leave me over The Facebook Affair. It’s fun writing my blog. I enjoy it. And let’s face it I can do nothing about The Facebook Affair, and sulking will only piss me off, not M. Zuckerman, or whatever his highness' name is.

No doubt in a dictatorship the minions can get severely punished for speaking out of turn about the master. So, Mr Zuckerboy. Sue me.

Face bovvered?

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Tuesday, 28 April 2009

Knock , knock...

I feel despondent and lovely after being deleted from facebook.....

In the words of Pink Floyd "Is there any boy out there...?"

Check out my (new) Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm (still) under the name Missy Gee.

Monday, 27 April 2009

effing facebook

What can I say, except my effing Facebook page has been deactivated. Now, this in itself would not be such a problem if it wasn’t for the fact that from my reckoning – a large proportion of the blogs readership was through Networked Blogs and my Notes on Facebook.
Now, I cannot access Networked Blogs and I’ve obviously lost contact with 1967 Facebook buddies.... altho, now with 60 something people back on my page, I’m clawing back – Jesus! It’s annoying.
I’m far calmer than I would have guessed I’d feel if someone had told me this was going to happen... but you know what’s really bothering me?
I have done nothing different on that Missy Gee Facebook page from the dawn of its existence, yet 4/5 months later the company delete the account. Why? Why? Why? Why not, I guess.
What a farce! Now to prevent that happening to me again common sense tells me that I must do something different, right? The same behaviour repeated and I cannot expect a different result. ..And if I did, I’d be a fool.
So what must I do? Stop writing or talking about sex on Facebook? What? Poo!
I’m going to send my book back to the agent later this evening. I'm just reading some through. I’ll do that. Go to bed, then tomorrow forget that this Facebook bullcrap happened and carry on regardless.
After all – I’m going on holiday at the weekend... I shouldn’t let anything that’s not in my control get me down, really, should I...

PS - I can't believe I've mentioned that fucking book of the face 7 times in such a short post! damn them!

PPS - Check out my NEW Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm STILL under the name Missy Gee.

PPPS - No one will get me down - I'm a soldier!

Important Information!

Oh Poo! My Facebook page was closed down.... very strange! I wasn't soliciting any bad behaviour and I wasn't ensiting hate - but I am not worthy, clearly. What a bummer .... ALL THOSE NOTES, ALL THAT TIME, ALL THOSE PALLS...

Well, ce la vie.

I've opened another Facebook account under the name Missy Gee (again.) I feel a tad silly doing this, since let's face it, I wasn't doing anything wrong before - and now I'm about to repeat the same actions (using Facebook) and I'm expecting a different result. That's not really how I live my life - repeating behaviours that give a negative response - but there you go....let's see what happens.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Sunday, 26 April 2009


I had a session with the Psych today. It went well. I did my usual and regressed into being a kid when I talked about my inability to trust any man I get close to.
She explained how my last relationship pre-Dee was a father/ daughter affair. He looked after me in all areas of life and I remained irresponsible and child like. That’s what I’m used to in relationships – being taken care of emotionally and in every way, so I don’t have to function as an adult. My thing with Dee is the first time I’ve ever been involved with someone who refuses to father me, but who encourages me to be an equal. Some times I hate that. In fact most of the time I feel I can’t cope with it.

I want to stand here in front of you and proclaim that I am a strong and confident woman. And in many respects I am and have given that appearance most of my life. It’s only when people get close that the obvious cracks appear. I don’t try to hide them ever. But you know what its like when first meeting someone – many assumptions are made before they even open their mouth. Then more assessments are made within seconds of them speaking. Most will be good, at least you hope so – some may be a little less good.

I am aware that because I am tall and I’ve been blessed with a lithe physique, a cute smile, and I paid for some nice tits that some people make an presumption that everything in my life is good. I live in a swanky flat which was actually rented by someone else. A guy I had a fling with – but he decided not to move in, so I took the place.... long story which I can’t be bothered to go into now.
Anyway, I’ve always had this bizarre ability to give the appearance that everything is great. People judge others on so much – but so much is bullshit. The real me, as you all know suffers with acute ups and downs and often get stuck in my own world of downness.

This wont last much longer, this bout. A couple more days as most, I reckon. I can’t even attribute this few days of blackness to my period, cos you know what? I'm late again – and that proves that those blinkin’ ovulation tablets did sweet fuck all.
Too bad.

I need to get my head out of my ass and get my spirit back in order. Get back to my usual state of bumbling through life laughing at its peculiarities.
Sorry to burden you with this. But if I wrote something here that sounded anything other than miserable, I wouldn’t be telling you my truth and I promised myself when I started this, that the truth will out. Always.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Loneliness + Hope: thoughts.

I live in Hope.
If I didn’t, I’d be dead. I'd have topped myself a long time ago.

But some times worry rears it's head and gets the better of me. Feelings of being alone on this planet and excess worry about things such as money can really fuck with my head. But my fears are part of me which shouldn't be dismissed. But some times, I allow my thoughts to take on whole new life forms - and I get crippled with anxiety.

My father is incapable of supporting me, and he’s my only family. I don’t have any other, except an uncle and aunt who live in Yorkshire whom I met again for the first time last year at my step-brother’s wedding.
We had fun and enjoyed each other’s company. Of course my aunt was full of remorse for not contacting me over the years.
I don’t hold onto those things – but when they bleat on about us having contact from now on, and they don’t make the effort to keep in contact, I simply think to myself that they’re frauds and they can fuck off.

Daddy is nearly 80. I can’t burden him with my mind, my worries, my struggles, my loneliness. There is no one else. There never has been – well, there was once Auntie Flo, who sadly died last year, but because my dad met Elaine (who he went onto marry) they fell out after 40 odd years of friendship. Auntie Flo’s gripe was because Elaine was married to her Auntie Flo’s cousin when dad and her ran off together. Auntie Flo was not a blood relative by the way.

Yes, I have friends. Some who know part of the inner workings of my mind, others whom I withhold the full picture from. But even with the friends that really know me, sometimes, you know - that doesn’t fill the gap.
I feel alone at times.
I could get desperately down about it - but I really try not to. I try my very hardest to remain hopeful throughout life. But God help me when daddy passes... but we don’t think about that.

I’m here. I’m well.I’m alive – and let me tell you – I am grateful for that; today, at least.
I’ve had a wonderful day with K, a really close friend. I neglected our friendship for a few months during the depth of my relationship with Dee (I'll use his new found name liberally now,until it becomes passe), and it felt good to connect with her again.
Bizarrely we share a similar story. She too was brought up by her father alone. How weird is that? She’s also mixed race and both our father’s did the same jobs.
Funny how things change. Yesterday I was bombarded with thoughts of my own death.
(My anxiety often manifests itself with my visualising laying dead.) But today, today I’m happy to be alive! Despite not drinking, which yesterday seemed the answer to all my worries. Yesterday I wanted to drink. I wanted to fuck someone or sniff, or better still all three. I wanted anything to get myself away from my own mind. You see, I can’t relapse this is the problem.

You know I can’t use drugs and I can’t drink. But sometimes, like everyone, I need a fucking escape; even for a few minutes.

Please don’t ask me why I don’t have just ‘one’ drink – Why would I? What is the point in that? My brain is hardwired to finnish whatever I start with intensity, ferocity and single mindedness. That's one rule for me, another for everyone esle by the way.
Anything I become passionate about, I flog... I do it,do it, do it...
There is something in my brain that believes that it is pointless for me to drink without getting drunk. I have never done that in my life. I guess things may have been different had I had a cut-off-point; you know, like throwing up when I’m drunk or passing out. But instead, chemicals made me feel somehow powerful. The more I had, the more fucked-up I felt, and the more damage I knew I was doing to my body – the more I got off on it.
I enjoyed the self abuse. I loved the feeling of taking my body, my mind, my life to its limits.
Interesting that when I started my psychology degree (where I met K.) one of our lecturers was an expert in addictions. Of course no one there knew anything about my situation.
Anyway, this professor reckoned that addictions are learned behaviors which can be un-learned.He agreed that his ideas were controversial, and because of that there was no way he could actually carry out an experiment to prove his theory on a human being – ethics not permitting.
And no doubt even if someone had offered themselves as a Guinea Pig, I like to think that his conscious wouldn’t have allowed him to play with someone’s sanity. After all, people only stop drinking and drugging after substance abuse, because they’re going, or have gone totally emotionally nuts.
External upheaval, in my belief is not enough to stop and addict from using.

I like the idea of offering myself to the professor. Calm down You! I’m talking as a human Guinea Pig – but i would never dare risk it.
I couldn’t. I can’t tell you how bonkers I was before rehab. I see myself and at the time as being quietly ’hardcore.’ I didn't shout about it. It was more sinister than that. It was more personal. I battered my brain with chemicals which were often not fit for human consumption – and I existed through the chaos that came with that- clearly hopeful that things would not always be as they were.

I watched K. this evening drink two brandy and cokes before we left to go home.
K. is not a light weight – the girl can drink. But she gets drunk when she chooses, and tonight drunkeness was clearly not on her agenda.

Well, even if it had been and she hadn't achieved it, she didn’t get into a strop because her drinking session had been cut short. (We got to the bar really late.)
I, on the other hand, had I been drinking and there was no more booze on the menu - would have:

a) paid a ridiculous amount to get a cab to anywhere that was open so I could buy some more.
B) Gone straight into a dark, sulky mood and became awful to be around.

My ideal with regards drinking and using drugs would be: I could go out and get totally wasted, caning whatever the hell I wanted – which would be cocaine and vodka and a spot of wine. And I'd do this maybe once or twice a month. It wouldn’t have a detrimental effect on my mental health or long lasting problems with my physical well being. I would be able to work, focus, and enjoy my life with no obsessive interference, violent mood swings and my depression would not become crippling.

What I have no desire for is to be able to ‘learn’ to drink socially - a glass of wine with dinner or a couple of glasses on the occasional night out adds up, to me, as not worth doing. Not for you. For you, it's good, It's healthy.For Dee, it's the way forward, but for me, I view it as pointless. I don't want a little bit of something here and there or even frequently. I want everything, whenever I feel like it. I want the ability to get trashed, with no pay back (except a hangover of course. I can cope with a hang over.) But my emotional demise? Well that's something that terrifies me.

But still, would I try it?
Would I balls!
Are you sure? Never?
I very, very, very, very much doubt it.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Saturday, 25 April 2009

Officially Single (again)

“Rejection Is God’s Protection” A woman once said to me when yet another relationship failed.

I feel rejected again.

Dee (the ex-fella X2) hasn’t been making me feel that I am the most important thing in his life. I do demand a lot – I know I do, and often he is very good. The problem is, he puts his own pleasure before me. In this case I am talking about him going out drinking.

He’s not an alcoholic. That accolade is for me, and only me within the relationship. I understand that if he wants to get drunk once a week, he should be able to. Why not? He doesn’t get into fights, or into any trouble. (Not that I know of)
The thing is if he wants to get drunk even once a week, he must do it with someone else as his woman. Not me. I don’t want that in my life. I no longer see the purpose. Its odd for me to say this – don’t forget 5 years ago I was running around like an idiot, taking whatever I could get my mitts on and drunkeness was a daily preoccupation in my world.

But now, I have choices; and I am choosing to not be with a man who doesn’t have the imagination to consider a night out as consisting of more than getting pissed. It’s something I don’t get involved in, so it seems silly to be with someone who enjoys it and places value on it. OK, I'm being a little mean there... He has an imagination – but let me ask you something... if you adored your partner, would you get drunk on a Friday night, even when they are a recovering alcoholic who doesn’t drink a drop. I mean – would you even ask them to join you on those seemingly sacred Friday sessions? Even if you go with your work colleagues? Would you? Would you?
Dee and I are finished. It’s over (again).
And just when I’d given him a name other than ‘ex-boyfriend’,’ ex-fella’ blah, blah...
I actually feel numb rather than anything else.

Im not going to think too much about him. At least not at the moment – my head has actually switched off. Even if I tried, right now, I couldn’t.
I’m weary and fed up of being with a man who isn’t actually right for me. I’m living in a fantasy. Let’s face it – from having an intense time with someone – you can’t go back to seeing each other once or twice a week. Fuck it.

He’s a beautiful person. He’s a good soul, but he excludes me from this drinking bollocks. He thinks about himself before he thinks about me – and I’m not like that at all. I put him first. His feelings, his thoughts on things.

I wont babble because I don’t even know what to say. I’ve said and text those words to him a few times over the past week. Now when I don’t know what to say.......... that shows you there’s something seriously wrong.

Condolences – please forward to a children’s cancer charity. Not to me. Thank you.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Thursday, 23 April 2009

Your questions, My answers

I enjoyed doing this - Thank you for playing with me - It was lovely.... Maybe we can do it again some time...?

Your questions & My answers -

1. Do I want children in the future?
Without a doubt. I don’t think I’d be exaggerating by saying I want children (nearly) more than anything in life. Sooner rather than later, ideally.

2. Where do I see myself in 10 years?
And what will I be doing? Hmm.. 10 years, eh? I see myself living only part time in England, somewhere like Bath or the surrounding counrtyside. And most of the rest of the year in a hot country. I hope to be married and have two, three or maybe even four children. I want to be writing books full time.

3. Would I ever move somewhere to meet a guy and if so when am I going?
I would definitely move somewhere to be with a guy. To meet a guy? If we’ve never met before, I’d certainly WANT to go and meet him, but I’d feel a tad nervous in case I got myself in a situation where perhaps he wasn’t actually who I’d thought he was during our previous communication or possibly he had done time in prison for murder – and he was looking for his next victim. There are aspects of someone which can only be realised when face to face so it’s obviously necessary to meet before packing ones life into boxes and moving permanently.... But I am nuts enough to do most things.... There’s very little that I wouldn’t do if I felt safe enough to do it. Or the drive was there.

4. What is the one attribute you look for in a man above all others?
One? That’s difficult, pinning it down to one. I thought of saying to be cherished… All the usual stuff, honesty, decency towards other people, a lack of ego, confidence, career ambitions, passion, patience, intelligence of the extraordinary variety oh and he must be laid back, ‘cos I’m not always. And did I mention I also need to find the guy sexy in some way. If I don’t very soon after meeting him – I never will. And that’s that.

5. If a tree falls in the wood's and nobody is there does it make a sound?
I believe it would.

6. Don't you ever want to find love and settle?
Who doesn’t? I totally do. I want it tomorrow but it doesn’t look like it will happen tomorrow. But I am always hopeful.

7. Apart from your holiday in a couple of weeks, what are you going to do with the rest of this year and your life?
Nice question…Before going away I am getting the book back to the agent who is passing it onto a critic to read through. When I get back I will wait to hear what the agent has to say. My focus is getting the book deal and continuing writing the second book. I’d also like to get back into more Magazine work. As soon as I can, I will move back to Surrey where most of my friends are, but the reason I don’t live there now is yet another story… which I will explain another time.

8. Do you have a tenner and some money for a Boots meal deal? (see previous comment on the everyone has their price topic')
Actually I don’t have a tenner on me right now– I usually use a card to pay for stuff. But I can give you a tenner from my bank if you want it. I care little about money. If you’d prefer me to cook you something to eat, that’s not a problem –

9. Have I got the time?
Yes I have.

10. When are you heading to Australia to guest appear for my modelling agency?
I am so broke I couldn’t buy a decent hard backed book on Australia, never mind a flight ticket. It would be an honour to visit and come to a fashion show, but my modelling days are over. I wouldn’t have the confidence to exhibit myself in front of lots of people like that. Sorry. And thank you for the offer.

11.If you could hold again one object from your past.. something you have lost or mislaid...something with meaning.. something special... could be little or small... What would it be? Why? Why is it special and does it hold memories for you?
This is my favourite question, because it’s my favourite answer. When I came to England my mother sent with me a stone cross painted sky blue with a ephigy of Jesus crucified onto it. It was all roughly yet beautifully hand painted. I managed to hang onto this cross for years – and I’m utterly astounded that after everything I’ve been through and everywhere I’ve taken it – I no longer seem to possess it. I would hold that again in an instant if I could. It is the only thing that my mother has touched that I had.

12.If you could do anything you wanted to do to any man that you enjoyed being with, what would it be?
To make him happy, to make him laugh. Especially good if that something makes me happy too – Oh and we’d probably be on a beautiful paradise Island somewhere.

13.Would you settle with a man who is not your ideal man just to have someone to be with, or would you rather wait for that perfect match no matter how long that takes to find?
I would never settle. I understand my worth. People say ‘ Wait til I get to 50’ – I intend to be a well kept attractive woman at 50 who will still not settle for less than what makes me totally content. That is, of course, if I haven’t found The Man by then.

14.If you had a chance to go back and change history... would you choose picket fences and 2.4 etc over the lifestyle and experiences you have had...??
Yes I would, every time. I deeply regret much of my past. I don’t subscribe to ‘ The past makes me who I am today, so embrace it’ No, I don’t embrace hurting myself and my father like I did and compounding my existing problems further by the choices I made. I was emotionally very unwell. I am not a person that tries to prove my ‘wackiness,’ or eccentricities. I‘ve spent a lot of years trying to cover that stuff up. Now I’m alright with my little quirks. I enjoy them even, but still, I’d have liked to have felt ‘ normal’ as I was growing up. You know, have a regular life, family, upbringing…Just little things like that - hell yeah.

15. do you think you're need for constant reassurance from partners in your life is related to your addictive personality? is it something you need because you need it (to fill some hole inside as it were, in the same way drugs were), or because of issues relating to your past.
It’s about filling the hole than I’m guessing Mama’s absence left me with. That hole has manifested itself in a deep rooted insecurity, which eventually I believe will be filled with unwavering trust and love. I totally believe that. And the constant need for reassurance is a manifestation of that very insecurity.

16. Have you managed to squirt when a man...or woman has played with your G spot? A woman has never played with my G-Spot. A man, however, has, and no, I didn’t ‘squirt’… but I do orgasm quite easily - hard and juicily.

17. If you could invite 5 people to dinner, dead or alive, real or fictional who would you invite and why? These are the people I’d invite. In no particular order: Marilyn Monroe, ( interesting character) Tyson Beckford (for my desert) Picasso
(fascinating mind) L. ( a friend, so we can gossip about the evening later) Plato
(need I say more?)

18. A) Stockings or hold-ups? B) Pole-dancing or striptease? C) What's the most unusual place you've had sex? D) Where would you absolutely love to have sex? E) What do you mean only one question each? a)Hold ups. b)Burlesque, so Strip tease. c) No where really unusual. In a rehab, is that unusual? In amongst Cretian mountains? In a shop’s stock room, but that was by myself… d) I don’t tend to think about that really. I think of how the sex will be and with whom… although I would like to fuck and know we’re being watched. e) I always aim to please – hence breaking your question into parts…. Cheeky tinker!

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Wednesday, 22 April 2009

Let's PLAY...

I feel far more relaxed now I’ve decided I’m not going to work on my book tonight. I use it like drugs at times, totally obsessively – to the point that I start feeling unstable.

OK – just a quickie ... I thought it may be fun if we had an interactive session, so to speak...

You don’t have to press a red button – all you need to do if you want to play, is YOU ASK ME QUESTIONS.
You can ask me anything. And hopefully tomorrow if we have enough questions, I will write them in a note and answer them and post them onto my blog.

Let’s try and get 15 questions together and I will answer them all.

Including any dick who may want to ask me ‘ Why don’t I throw myself off the nearest cliff, you useless hooker..?’ You know who you are you beautiful child of God, you.

So, preferably we’ll get 15 questions from 15 different people – but I know how you lovely folk can be - preferring to be arm chair supporters rather than getting involved.
Go on... it may even be fun. You never know... x

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

anyone can be bought, right?

I quite enjoyed writing the past two days’ posts. Usually thinking about and especially writing or talking about my past sexual antics makes me feel either noxious or angry. But this time it did not.

I can, at times view my past sexcapades and be quite detached from them. In fact the Pysch and I talk about this ability to see myself outside of myself, kinda like a third party. I do it a lot; when walking down the street, the expressions I pull. I easily and I think objectively visualise how someone else experiences me.
Not always. Sometimes and other times I couldn’t give a monkey’s what the hell someone else thinks… that’s usually when I’m angry and Katrina Gee comes out. Dee the (ex) boyfriend calls me that when I get cross. Katrina as in Hurricane.
OK – I’m gonna tell you something… Obviously the type of prostitution I was talking about yesterday was expensive and at the higher end of the spectrum of Hookerville.

It is only fair and honest that I tell you that I have also worked in a different way: I worked in a flat. I am embarrassed to admit it. Why? Snatch for cash is the same however it’s packaged, right?
‘That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet…’ We’ve had this debate before…So I don’t want to totally justify my decision to work in a flat, and I don’t want to squirm my way out of admitting the reality, because first, it’s part of my history. Nothing can change that.
Second - I understand that hookers who do work flats are as equal to hotel-visiting-ladies-of-the-night, just as a street walker is.
The job is the same, just dressed in a different suit. Just as with so much in life there is elitism and noses are peered down onto other people who are also just trying to get by in life.
I, for one, (and this is not a justification, but a fact) worked in a flat on two separate occasions at a time when my confidence was in the gutter.

My ego wasn’t even well enough to charge 300 quid so I had to find another way. Bizarre how, now, today – My price would be huge more than a measly £300. But at that time I thought I wasn’t worthy. Me? My pussy? My body? Not worth £300? It seems f ridiculous. How times change….

By the way: Before you ask me what the price would be for me to come out of retirement today, tonight – it would really depend…
But like so many people who don’t want to admit it, regardless of if they’ve worked as an escort in the past or not, I will admit I do have a price.

Most people, as I’m sure you’ll agree can be bought, with cash or otherwise.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Sunday, 19 April 2009

Q & A

What am I wearing?
Black leggings, black vest, and bright pink nail polish on my toes and fingers.
What am I doing? Writing this. Cursing the flat being untidy, cursing myself for having a ‘nap’ then 4 hours later, finally waking up!

How am I feeling?
Lazy and irritated with myself. I should have done a lot of work today on that effing book - I had yesterday off and today I’ve done bugger all. I don’t even recall faffing around. No, cos I’ve been a bloody sleeping all effing day!

What should I be doing right now?
Trying to make myself not feel like a waste of space. First, I have to tidy this flat ... It’s a tip. The ex-fella used to blame me for its constant disheveled state and i accepted that blame, but now I’m wondering exactly who was at fault. The first weekend he stays here after our break up and the bloody place it a mess. Hey ho! Thankfully for Team Gee Dee (me and him) I’m not anal about these things. I’ll tidy up, take a shower, wash my hair then do some work. I’ve got very specific points I must do on the book which I have taken notes on. That’s the most organised I’ll ever get and so I don’t give myself any more of a hard time, I must ‘just get on with it’.

But what about Facebook and replying to messages? You’ve had some messages from people claiming to have deserted them..
I’ve said scores of times recently that I am behind with Facebook message replies. I can’t help it, I’m sorry. I’m not a time management guru and I cannot do everything I want to do in one day, some times. I will catch up with you good people as soon as I can. If we’ve had contact already – you should know I’m no twat who doesn’t care... Daily life takes over some times and I must deal with what’s in front of my nose before reaching else where. Im sure you understand mon cheries.

What do I want to be doing?
I want to be sweating in the arms of a guy who can’t stop tampering with my love mussel... and yes! I meant ‘mussell’ as in clam... not m.u.s.c.l.e. I’d be on a tropical Island somewhere hot and he would be telling me about his latest artistic creations while I plan on finishing my second book.

Isn’t that all a bit fantastical?

You’re joking aren’t you? If you knew me you would realise that despite the ‘trouble’ I’ve had myself involved in, in my past – on one level I’ve always got ( the practical things) I wanted within that. I was lucky enough to (usually) have a swish apartment paid for by an adoring male. I (usually) had at least one credit card from another fan. I (always) had someone paying my bills. Clothes, shoes and bags never interested me enough to bother too much with – but when needed, there was always a gentleman to take me shopping.

Writing didn’t happen then, cos I wasn’t capable on starting and finishing making a cup of tea. The men came and went – so nothing’s changed there. The desert Island is a holiday destination today, and not yet my home – but if I want it. It’ll happen. Some of my friends call me’ lucky’. Things happen to me. Lots of good, but sometimes bad. And even if they’re not great – I know I’m alive cos I’m feeling the pain these ‘things’ can create.

‘The Law of Attraction’ is something I believed in before I’d even heard of it.

I spent my life living by my wits and although I occasionally still dance that dance – today I do try and apply societies laws of ‘hard work,’ and emotionally, the rewards are greater than they ever were... Despite the fact that some times I still wish I didn’t have to be responsible for myself and if I so wanted I could be with someone where I don’t have to be. But now shit would that be, really? At least today I try. However hard life might feel at times, that all we can do right? Try. I mean really try.

‘If nothing changes,nothing changes’
is one of my favourite expressions ever and I try to live my life remembering that.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Thursday, 16 April 2009

Paris, lipstick, chickens, and absent responses

I some times have visions of myself as an elderly lady, hair swept back into a bun, languishing in a Paris apartment, drinking sherry with her cats – still wearing lipstick, and reminiscing about my youth – alone.

Don’t ask me why Paris, sherry, cats and lipstick, since none of these feature in my current life. But ask me why alone – and I could list you a million reasons, but I won’t.
First, I am rubbish at keeping in contact with people. Facebook amigas/os please forgive me for not either being prompt with my replies or God forbid, if I forget all together. I am an airhead and can only focus on one thing at a time. I can only multi-task when I don’t care much about any of the things I am doing, but having an obsessive temperament ( passionate, I like to call it) there is little room to have more than one obsession running concurrently. I’d be a gonner! It would utterly drain me…and as you all know I am greatly preoccupied at this time with a certain piece of written work that I must apply myself to. So if my replies seem brief or less giving of myself – please forgive me.

My near-inability to sustain relationships makes me think I am turning into my father who has 4 sons, none of whom he sees. He’s had numerous marriages and many friends that have been lost along his life’s journey.

I don’t want this to become me, I don’t, although let’s face it with a bigamous marriage under my belt – I’ve had a good start. Oh dear…. And all I want, what I really, really want, is a puppy… (I’m teasing!)

I want a happy, fulfilling relationship.

But the way I carry on with my friends, and my men at times it appears as though I don’t mind the idea of living my life alone. Some times, in fact, quite often, I even convince my conscious mind that actually I don’t mind living a life with very few close interactions with people. But on the flip side of that – I believe that life is only about people.
Despite this one of my greatest fantasies is to live with a husband, produce many children and herd pigs and chickens and grow carrots. I’d love to live organically in the middle of no where - just writing, talking and being totally enveloped by love and adoration of the simplicity of my life. But then, other times I want to live in a swanky apartment stuffed full of contemporary art, and artefacts from travels around the world and I’d dine at chic restaurants, wearing Prada.

Of course, this is only envisaged with me living in a flat - not a house… I’d be too scared of noises on different levels within a house, and I’d be too paranoid about people being able to look through windows, knock on my door, gain access to the building etc….*paranoia alert* Well, that’s just me. I’d feel safer in an apartment.

“Which person are you?” Papa Gee asks me from time to time. In fact, he asks me more often than you’d believe. “Are you Mother Teresa wanting to rescue orphaned children from despair, starvation and fear? Or do you want to gallivant around London with the hoi-poloi driving a Porsche 911, then go home to your Belgravia apartment?”

“Well Pops, maybe I can rescue deprived kiddies in my 911, feed them, dress them, cuddle them, and house them - but c’mon, not in Belgravia, dad! That’s way too flash…. We’d all live in a converted barn in the countryside and collects eggs from our chickens and grow our own vegetables”

“That doesn’t tell me anything C**** (my name)… Which aspect of your personality do you think dominates you?”

“I have no idea. I am more than just one thing and if I really had to chose. I would say I’m comfortable with not knowing fully, who I am.” And that brings with it a delicious sense of freedom.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Tuesday, 14 April 2009

contradictions & tit bits.

I'm completely over the ex-boy going out on Sunday night now.... SING: 'She's like the Wind' - I tell ya!! Bi-polar alert! I joke - but you all know I take tablets to keep me out of trouble, so I'm joking, instead of crying.

You know something: I feel at my best when I’m doing something constructive i.e working on my book.
There is nothing else in my life where I am particularly organised or where I particularly pro active. I’m naturally quite lazy and with regards to ‘action’ – I’m pretty laid back and really only do thing which are really necessary, unless I'm on holiday, then I like to nosey around old rubble and check out the history.

There is literally nothing that equals the joy that working on my book brings me – except that point just seconds before orgasm – and let’s face it that’s over quickly. Whereas the book taps into my obsessive side, which awakens something in me which I really get off on. Adrenalin probably... but ask me to do a bungee jump for an adrenalin rush – and you’d be waiting forever... unless say, my dad’s life was at stake, then I’d have to do it. But doing it purely for some perverse ‘pleasure’ I'd prefer just to remain on firm ground, but thanks anyway...

This book writing malarky is new to me... You know I write for magazines and newspapers at times, right? But a book is a vastly different process. It’s something which I never imagined would be quite as it is - until I started doing it. And as the process goes on, it changes as does everything, and it’s so interesting to learn what must be done along this journey.
You know when you imagine, say, riding on the back of a motor bike, and eventually you do it – and somehow, it feels familiar - probably because you’d imagine it exactly how it is.

Well, I thought writing a book would be a matter of me sitting in front of a computer and tapping my thoughts onto the screen. Well, it’s proved to be far different to that. It’s interesting, exasperating and really fuckin’ annoying at times but a huge thrill when I see a beautiful sentence or I instinctively know where something should be altered. Sometimes I try and think of any procrastination technique to stop myself from facing yet another session on the book – other times, I can’t wait to wake up to get going with it.

I am a very intense person. That’s is good and bad, but it’s me, so it’s OK. I don't harm any one. My intensity is veiled across everything. Be it with a man, my book, the way I interact with friends, sex, food,(everything I cook is highly flavoured.)
I enjoy excess, but I love simplicity. I love indulgence, and modesty. I love over doing some things ( sex, chocolate, ice cream, pampering... can you 'over do pampering?) and I enjoy under playing others ... I think I mentioned before that I excessively brush my teeth in the morning, two piles of toothpaste straight into my mouth - I use more shampoo and conditioner and body lotion than I need. God knows if I lived in a hot country how many showers I’d take each day... more than necessary, I’m guessing.
But these days I do everything with a conscious. When I am excessive, I know it, and I’m allowing myself to be – well, most of the time. Some times I just act, but that’s only with things that won’t have a negative ricochet effect on my life.
Although I take a couple of showers a day, or maybe one, then a bath – I do hate wasting water. It’s a pet hate of mine. I don’t like excess perfume but I always without fail wear perfumed body lotion, which I rub into all my body, of course, except my flesh flower. This is the way forward I reckon... perfumed body lotion is far more sensual than perfume. I’ve done that for the past 5 years. Before getting sober, despite having thousands of pounds through my hands every week, I begrudged spending even 20 quid on a MAC foundation (and foundation is something I needed. My skin was pretty shoddy.) So at that time trying to get me to spend money on perfumed lotion, was like trying to get me to do a bungey jump. There was no chance!

A list of my favourite perfumed creams:
Shalimar, Givenchy
Irresistable, Givenchy
Happy, Clinique

The make-up I like to use daily
Lip balm
Skin illuminator

My essential cleanliness techniques
Dry between all toes
Use wet wipes after taking a dump
Brushing my tongues and gums

My essential health necessities.
Fruit and vegetables

Things I am most obsessive about.
Politeness – other people’s and my own/Integrity ( is that two?)
My mental health

Things that make me instantly happy.
Kind gestures
A pep talk from Mark ( the guy i was with when i was 19. My Mr Big)
Seeing other people happy, especially when people are laughing - I can guarantee, I'll be laughing with them, even if I don't know what they're laughing at.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Monday, 13 April 2009

Today and Country House Filth

What a day!
I feel like I've been kidnapped by aliens and tuned into a space cadet. I’ve slept most of today. Sometimes, I enter these highly charged emotional states which then disappear and I’m left wondering what the fuck just happened. All this is a result of an exchange I had in the car with the ex-boy yesterday, after our night away.

I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I went to a couple of different psychiatrists and they individually declared that I had one of these illness such as manic depression, which I think goes by Bi-polar now...or some other extreme up-and-down kind of manic disorder.
I don’t know – but I certainly have something... and that’s apart from a size 30E bust.
Anyway, I’m feeling OK now... I’m not down, I’m just zonked. Silly me doesn’t do what it says on the packet of over-the-counter-sleeping-pills I stupidly took, late last night. ‘Take one tablet with food’ – god no, one? I took four, like a twit.
'Follow instructions Gee!' I imagined my Dad would have shouted in that situation - except, of course, he'd call me by my fist name.... C****.

To be fair one of these pills doesn’t do anything to me – but four did, and I’ll tell you something else, when my limbs were twitching before I fell asleep, I was in the same dream-like sleep as heroin induces. And me being me, I shouldn’t take that shit – or the sleeping tablets ever again.
Anyway, I’ve just eaten bacon,eggs, and tomatoes with brown toast, made with love by the ex-boyfriend who has now gone back to his place.

OK folks, so as I was saying yesterday... the pair of us strolled very ‘grown up style’ through the cobbled streets of Bath, mooching like a pair of long established love birds, walking in sync, totally care free.
That joyous feeling continued until we were in London driving through the hectic city centre traffic. It was then I decided to casually ask the ex-boy what he was doing that evening ie. last night.

It didn’t enter my head that he’d be doing anything other than going back to his place and watching T.V. like any other person who’s just had a sexy, yet tiring night with a woman - you’d just go home to recuperate, right? Just like I was planning on doing, before I childishly and moodily wen to the jazz bar instead
(retaliation, you see. Silly, I know) So at that point I was staying home, that’s what I was doing. And he shudda been doing the same, no?
Or maybe I’m just fucking old fashioned and dull nowadays. I mean as he pointed out, it is the long weekend... I don’t think of myself as dull at all, so maybe I was just being controlling. Now that, I am.
Anyway, so I asked what his plans were for last night and to my horror he only told me he was going out.
*CUE: Thunder and lightening sounds*

Going out
I tell thee!

We’d had a spectacular evening in serene surroundings and he was with me for crying out loud, and what? He’s telling me now he’s friggin’ ’going out?’
Yep, ‘going out’ boozing no less. Drinking with a couple of people from his work, he tells me.
Why? Not why is he socialising with guys from work, well, yeah, that as well... but Why the heck is he ‘going out’at all?
Was I not enough? Did he need to continue searching for more thrills by getting tanked up with a bunch of Advertising bores?
Well you can imagine what my reaction was... yep, that’s right – silence - my deadliest weapon. POW! take that! ex-boyfriend who ‘goes out’ on a Sunday night after we’ve spent the whole of the previous evening and that very morning devouring each other.

“Go on then young man! Go on! Go out. Go bloody drinking on a Sunday night!” Oh, and not just any Sunday night, nope. On Easter Holy Sunday.
' Aye! I’ll just go home by myself and scratch my ass and stare at the T.V. feeling totally inadequate that I wasn’t enough and immediately after leaving me, who was licking your asshole and licking the handbag-sized-vibrator I inserted into it after I'd inserted it, and me who riding your cock in the heels you love me in, and me who allowed you to finger my ass (and we know my feeling on that) and then what? You go on the fucking lash with some work colleagues??
I mean, they’re not even friends they’re colleagues. And despite the number of hours they may spend together, I’ve met them, they’re unlikely to ever become bosom buddies.
So, anyway, I pulled out a heap of silence from my bag of tricks and laid it on thick. Not that moody ‘Don’t talk to me I’m trying to show you a lesson’ thing. Nope, just a Gee style coldness, which he knew instantly had taken hold. I expose my heart all the time; every one who meets me knows how I’m feeling at anytime.
Silence makes my ex-fella feel uncomfortable - which I suppose is the point. It’s very controlling – but I can be controlling, I've told you that.
But yesterday I mainly dished that particular brand of annoyance ‘cos I have a tendency to go on about stuff, me.
And when I go on, I often initially start by being right, but I end being wrong because I’ve ranted and over stated the original issue.
I need to find a happy medium; which is very difficult for a drama queen like me.

The ex-boyfriend clearly knew there was something wrong – and he knew what that something was, but did he open it up for debate? Did he ‘eck!
Course he didn’t, because ultimately he knew I’d be miffed before he said it and he didn't want any grief. I found out later when he rolled up at my place passed 2AM, that he had understood exactly why I’d be cheesed off and that he'd felt weird about going out after our lovely night together. So why do it then? Why go out? Well, the lad wanted to... what the hell can I say to that, eh?
Nada. So why not chat with me about it in the car then? Cos he didn’t want to face it. And as for me and my quietness - I was simply trying a new technique. Not banging on about every tiny thing that pisses me off and turning it into a major drama. I managed the first part, but the latter I didn’t. That’s why I'm ranting about it here, now.
You see the problem with me keeping it to myself, so not to cause instant conflict is - eventually it will come out. I can’t seem to be able to let go of something until it’s been discussed. I hate that aspect of me. It’s really annoying cos actually I understand the reasoning behind things he does which rile me – but instead of just letting go, I can’t. It’s madness and can you imagine how draining that is on whomever I’m with?
I mean, the poor boy is moving jobs soon and wants to cultivate a couple of friendships so when he moves to his new work place he’s not snidely calling people up to hang out with that he had little to do with outside of work previous to him leaving. I do get that. All my ex-boy’s friends are in the north. He’s only been in London 18months. But the thing is, even though I understood the reason why he chose to go out immediately after our night of sordid passion, I still felt inadequate and worthless. Why? Just because my ex-boyfriend wanted to go for drinks which had been suggested over a week prior to our Bath excursion.
Ridiculous right? I reckon there was a huge part of it was that I was jealous. Sometimes, I want to go out for drinks; alcoholic drinks. I want to go out and not be conscious about time, or behaviour and be able to go with the flow. I want to talk shit and get pissed and have the edges of reality rounded. My problem is unfortunately, my edges don’t get rounded - they get buffed right down til there’s little or nothing left. Until the last person leaves the party and the drugs have gone.
Some times I really want to drink. I really do. It can be really annoying on occasions that I don’t. I wonder how my life with the ex-boyfriend would have been if I did drink alcohol.... It’s not even worth going there. He’d hate me in an instant, he’s never done drugs and he just wouldn’t get me, or like me for that matter. And if I drink – then coke must follow. And if I do coke, I would eventually have sex for money to pay for it. It’s what I know. It’s how I’ve done it before and how I’d do it again in the future if I relapsed. And based on that, I think it’s better for me to stay put and let the people that can do it, do it.
A therapist once said to me ’You cannot handle drugs.’ I was bewildered at what she meant. 'Can't handle drugs? can't handle drugs? what the helll !!?' My sick pride made me think of a line from the film Withnail and I – “ I can take double anything you can!”
But she was right. Despite the quantities I ingested, the bare bones of the matter was that I couldn’t handle drugs or alcohol. If I could, believe me I'd be doing them now. Both chemicals change me and I become completely selfish, single minded and literally everything else in life comes second place. Nothing tops my obsession with drugs and alcohol after one line, or one drink...

So. Mi agimas/os, on that cheery note - I think I’m going to pop down to the shops and get me some diet coke and watch Hell’s Kitchen., That Marco Pierre White is a bit handsome, eh?!

By the way: when the ex-boyfriend came over last night we made peace after the anger had continued bubbling throughout the evening, because I hadn’t quelled it by talking it through. When we talked I cried and wailed ‘I don’t like you staying out til late, like this. I don’t want you to do it again’ – fuck! I’m neither his girlfriend or his mum. But I am emotionally high maintenance, in case you hadn't realised that by now.
Please someone give me the name of a good shrink – I need to get a diagnosis fast!

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

emotive sounds

Sunday, 12 April 2009

Filth in a Country House

Bloody ‘ell ! I’m on fire! *keep it humble, keep it humble Gee*
I’m gonna have to write my weekend adventure in two parts cos I’m getting ready to go out. Going to the jazz place, to eat and drink juice (poo!) and laugh with a couple of the blokes I have met from my place of work. Nice guys, they are. Side splittingly funny, so I’m in for some entertainment - apart from the live jazz.
So, so, so.... yesterday, last night, Hunstrete House* – the place was divine. The room was upgraded so we had the largest suite there. The service was exceptional ,the company – was, well, dashingly handsome and erotic and as always, he was funny. Very funny. He makes me alugh a lot.

He spoilt me. I spoilt him. We pampered, kissed each other’s asses (literally, of course) in, out, in, out, shook it all about...

The four poster bed was used in all its glory, as was the humongous free standing bath, and the two sofa’s that resided in our bed chamber. We chatted, he drank, we ate, I chortled, and boy, did we fuck. Hard. The heels were on, the face was saying
‘come and get me’, the vixen was unleashed, and his cock was oh, so hard.

I winced, I gurned, I yelped, I shuddered, he gurned, and grunted, and told me ‘I’ll fuck you til you bleed’ – I wanted him to – fuck me til I bled. I didn’t of course, bleed, I’m no virgin, as you, my friends know. Not even when I took the empty water bottle from the side of the bed and inserted inside my soaked vagina, then insisted he roger me with it too. He did, and I came again within a minute. He wants me does my ex-fella, as I want him. ( physically).. .But I left him today after a lovely ‘clinging onto each other’ stroll through Bath – angry.

I’ll tell more later when I get back from seeing my other two boys...

*The scene of the lust :

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Friday, 10 April 2009

Raring to Go!

Yaaay! I'm excited about tomorrow.
The ex-boyfriend is picking me up from my flat at 10.30am in his sexy black Audi and he's driving for two hours to our secret over night location. Can't wait!

I've considered doing the whole, corest, fishnets and extraordinary high heels gig, for him - but nakedness seems to be his greatest appreciation. I think based on that I'll just stick to heels and a pout. Nothing more.

My body is buffed, it's smooth and fake tanned. Since I am mixed race it may sound odd to some folk that I some times use San Tropez. But it gives a lovely glow to a natural butterscotch hue.

Tomorrow I won't be posting anything here, so I wish you all a jolly Saturday filled with kisses and delights.
Catch you on Sunday. I'll spill the beans you bring the sausages.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Gee rants: ANAL sex - don't kid yourself she likes it.

Why is it that as a nation we seem to have a fascination with anal sex? I just don’t get it. Why do women claim to enjoy getting penetrated in a hole so tight it’d be difficult to fit in a pencil, never mind a penis. It doesn’t make any sense. And, believe me, I do know what I’m missing – I’ve tried it on numerous occasions occasions.

What are women who want anal sex trying to prove? Are they proclaiming to the world what exciting, modern sex they’re having? What liberated, progressive members of society they are? It’s the sexual equivalent of having a tattoo, or piercings, in any other part of the body other than the ears and bragging about it is attention-seeking and extreme exhibitionism.

Those who participate think they’re so liberal and open-minded. Men think it proves their confidence in their hetrosexualitry – but, of course, they would never do it with a man, Oh no!
As for the women, they’re either waving the women’s lib flag, breaking old taboos and doing whatever they want to do by taking life by the balls, or they’re so intergrated with what’s happening in society today – everyone’s having sex up their bum.
Actually, they’re not!
Some of my girlfriends proclaim how they ‘prefer’ anal penetration to ‘vanilla’ sex – that’s plain, old-fashioned, vaginal sex. Bah humbug!
They don’t need to prove their sexual prowess to me with their love of anal. I can’t stand it; they know that, so why say it? Sometimes I wonder if it’s a form of oneupmanship amongst women, to show how they’re willing to break what was always , until recent years, thought of as taboo. Of course, this is rigorously denied when the possibility is suggested, although once I state my own position I wonder how often some wish they’d kept their mouth shut instead of declaring love for an activity which isn’t really anything to do with them or their pleasure.
Anal sex is all about men and a desire to fuel their egos to show dominance over their woman. As a friend of mine put it, ‘It’s not her arse I’m interested in; it’s if she’ll actually let me do it to her or not.’ Charming.

Nearly every woman I know who’s partial to a spot of anal action tells me that with each new lover who broaches the subject she always pretends she’s never done it before. Women reckon that men prefer to believe they’re coursing through uncharted territory; they never think that this might be a common peacocking maneuver used by the stronger sex to impress whoever they’re sleeping with, some may say this is an abuse of male power.
Let’s face it: everyone likes to be considered adventurous and up for experiments, especially in the bedroom. Of course, participating in anal is, well, just as common as kissing with tongues, and if you don’t think it’s amazing, then surely I must be uptight and unadventurous? No, not either; just free-thinking and honest.
I’m convinced the main reason women appear to adore butt sex is that they want to impress a man. Most men are fascinated with the trademan’s entrance and won’t leave it alone, even thought their weary partners might not be at all interested. You may be convinced that the world and his wife are doing it, but I’m here to tell you that actually they’re not!

A friend of mine (who wishes to remain anonymous) quickly learned to use anal sex as a handy bartering tool for her overbearing and greedy hubby, as a means to get what she wants, or ‘treat’ him her arse as an occasional gift.
She resists him, knowing that he will inevitably constantly badger her like a small child that tugs on to its mother’s leg, and try to sweet talk her into it for some time, before realising he may have to make do with vaginal entry. Sometimes, feeling bored and harassed she’ll relent, but not before she secures herself a favour. Maybe he’ll do the school run for a change, or he’ll make her breakfast in bed.
Whoever said romance is dead?
Good for her, If she can gurn her way through the pain barrier and the constant urge to poo, it’s not for me to judge.

Anal sex stinks. It’s a futile exercise in mind games, where males practice dominating women and exercising their homoerotic fantasies, and the woman thinks she is gaining control over her man, while whimpering on all fours in submission; convinced that because she’s giving him what he wants he’ll hang around for longer.

As far as I’m concerned, however much lube I’ve used, or however relaxed I’ve been, I either couldn’t get it in or I was far from enjoying the experience once the ball had started rolling.
I remember an ex-lover, after a concerted effort on both sides to get his prick into my back passage to no avail and my making my apologies, convinced he’d think I was a failure, saying to me, ‘Don’t worry about it. I couldn’t take anything up my arse.’ How refreshing; here’s a man who thinks – who’s actually taken time to consider what it must really feel like being bashed around in an area that is normally tightly squeezed shut unless forced open.
I do understand the pleasure/pain stuff; I don’t mind a little bit of that myself at times. Even so, all I can say about anal is that unless you’re compelled to instigate anal for your own, rather than your partner’s, benefit, just leave it alone.
There’s no fun to be had than putting yourself through an ordeal to impress a selfish, insecure man who’s more concerned with nurturing his ego than nurturing you.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Wednesday, 8 April 2009

Text, X & ex, & ex.

I’m really tired. I haven’t been sleeping well at all – I can’t switch off after working on my book, when it comes to bed time.
This is gonna be brief.

The ex-boy has asked me to go away with him for a night in a country hotel, in an undisclosed location on Saturday. We’re going walking through fields first before relaxing in an old stately home that has been converted into a spa retreat.
I accepted his offer. It’s gonna be saucy and rude and invigorating – I can feel it.
Ironically approximately 3 hours after our clandestine liaison was agreed – I got a call from the herbal-tea-drinking-ex-sex-friend who popped over the other night for a cuppa. He called me while I was at work and I told him about me going away with my ex boyfriend.

30 minutes after our chat – I got this text from him:
‘Don’t get back with him – I should have never let you go. I’m a dick. Sometimes you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. Your so beautiful and meaningful. I hope you can consider the fact that me and you could be much, much more a second time round. X’

To which i responded:
‘Baby, your message was a surprise. I know you well enough to know that if you had me in any other way than our current friendship, you wouldn’t want me. I don’t want random sex with a guy who has a girl. That’s not fair on anyone. If you are not happy with the girl you are seeing, then consider leaving her. But I know, you and me would only ever be casual, ‘cos you didn’t want me before, when you could have had me as more than a screw. Me and * have not made a decisions about anything between us, and that’s how I want it. We’re taking it steady. Time will tell. You know I like you a lot but apart from anything else, yours and my lifestyles are very different, Big Kiss. ‘

And as an after thought I text him this:
‘and please don’t take back your last text. It was nice to hear you give a shit. I never felt you did.’

And his response to that was:
I always gave a shit. I’m sorry you felt anything other than that.’

Hmmm.... the fact that he’d fuck me and hang out with me – then without warning he announced he’d met someone, was a slight give away that quite possibly he didn’t give a damn. Or maybe that’s just little old me getting the wrong end of the stick.
I’m of the school of ‘ He’s just not that into you’ if he ain't calling you his girlfriend, but he’s banging you anyway.

Just now, 2 minutes ago - the ex-fella and I just had a bicker on the phone about rent. I put the phone down on him.
I’m tired, I can’t be bothered. It stinks of how we were before the break up. Oh dear... What did I say? Stately home, Saturday night? Me and him?

It's called a 'break-up' 'cos it's broken, huh?

We'll see.

*the ex-boyfriend’s name

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Tuesday, 7 April 2009

Sushi Snogging

I’m feeling quiet and periody this afternoon. I suspect the ovulation tablets wortked, cos I feel like I'm due another bleed... but we'll see, sometimes I'm left in this sorry state for over two blinkin' months!( it's not's not on...)

I’m going to leave work in a few minutes and get my ass back to the sofa where I intend to stay for the majority of the evening, until I transport muyself into the bath and then into my bed.

I met with the ex-fella last night – I say ‘last night’ but it was actually straight from work at around 6pm, so guess it was evening, albeit early.
We went for sushi and a snog. Those two don’t normally go hand in hand but since this was like a first date, we went ahead and exchanged saliva anyway.

He’s bloody pretty is my boy, OK, ex-boy... We had the kind of evening you have with someone you ‘really like’ when you first meet.

I walked around a corner to meet him near Tower Bridge and we virtually ran into each other. He was coy and he admitted he felt ‘shy’ – very endearing and attractive, a hot guy declaring his shyness while looking me straight in the eyes, and firmly gripping my hips. I love that shit. Tell me you’re shy with your dick in my mouth for all I care… how horny would that be?

Anyway, so today we’ve done this irritating and stupid text/wait/reply/text/wait/reply, bollocks. I hate it. All that stupid game playing, I can’t be doing with it. I’ve decided that I’ve batted my last text for today – now my phone will be off for the rest of the evening.
Wanna play ball? Well play with yourself then - ‘cos I’m ain’t taking any shit.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Monday, 6 April 2009


Today I got out of bed at 07:30 after barely sleeping (I couldn’t switch off when I went to bed at 01.30, after I’d worked on my book - adrenalin surge.)

Anyway, I got up, went in the shower and without wanting to sound like an asshole – I had a huge flush of excitement about starting a new day. Cheesy as it may sound – and I’m not really one for bullshit, I felt rather elated, worthwhile, and very, very fortunate. For what? For everything. For life.

I’m not a sycophant, far from it, and hearing someone verbally speak these words that I am writing, and I’d think‘Oh, fuck off will ya…’, so I apologies if I sound like a tit. But I am telling you, this is how I felt today and how I feel regularly.OK, I've had a hard couple of weeks - life obviously has dips, but for sure, I try to see positivity in all experiences, even if that means I don't want to repeat a mistake.

I am finally happy to be alone in my flat. I’m able to bang around, listen to the radio and make tea, if I wish, without having to tip-toe around for fear of waking anyone.

The water in the shower was powerful and hot, which made me think of how it was in Africa during the 6 months I stayed there. Not once was there hot water in the taps the whole duration; all washing, everything was done in cold.
In fact, it was only for part of each day that there’d be running water and if there wasn’t any, then hopefully you stored some water in a vat which could then be used to wash bodies, clothes, dishes. No stored water – no can do.

After my morning shower I went into the kitchen, via the living room where I had left the blinds open. I saw the odd plane flying over head from City Airport taking people to and fro, and I looked at the river below which was calm and still.
I emptied last night’s water from the kettle and re-filled it, flicked it on and walked over to the patio doors.
I live high up in a tall building and the view on a bright morning such as today was wonderful. I felt exhilerated.

I am so lucky.I am focused, I am healthy, I have all my faculties, I have friends, I’m about to go on holiday, I now have a more sane version of myself - and all this, because I’m sober and no longer taking drugs and doing the shit that comes with that.

So what, I don’t have a partner, I don’t have a family (OK, I have my daddy. Sorry Pops I wasn’t discrediting you. I mean I don’t have any other family.) I don’t have money, I’m vastly in debt - but you know something ?

I am still happy.
Do you want a sick bucket yet?
I’m not kidding you when I say all this. And there’s nothing you, them or whoever can say to make me feel otherwise, ‘cos today, I’m in charge of my destiny and I know where I’m going. I have obtainable plans, and hope and I will execute them.

All right so there are some things that could be said to me to make me feel momentarily like Poo, but as a whole – nope, and this, I believe is the essence of my sobriety: My appreciation about everything I have, and not feeling sorry for myself about the thing I don’t have. This is the backbone of my recovery.

I have suffered, emotionally, believe me, I have, about that there is no doubt. I was a fucked up Bunny with not a clue what I would do next. I didn't trust myself. With no one to turn to I acted purely through fear, a loose canon with nothing to lose.
I have been homeless a number of times, I have been fucked by assholes for free and for money. I’ve slept with wonderful, kind, artistic, intelligent men who loved me, and who I ran from.
I physically abused myself, and lashed out at many that came near me.
I was isolated, alone, and frightened. I feared for my sanity on many occasions and wondered how I would ever get out of the pit I was in.
I screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed for someone to hear me, for someone to make me feel better, anyone, anything – just I just wanted to feel different to how I was feeling.
I wanted someone to hold me, I wanted to feel love - but when it came – I ran. I didn’t believe it was true and I didn’t recognise that I was worthy of it.

Once I gave up, fully, gave up punishing myself, I realised quickly that everything, and I mean everything in my life is a blessing.
I know hell and I know a kind of insanity.

Active addiction is a mental illness, and believe me as the veil began to lift and I was able to notice things: colours around me, the birds, the aeroplanes, people looking happy without questioning why. I was able to appreciate the smell of coffee, the taste of cake, the feel of cotton.
When I could smell my clean clothes and answer my phone without worry – I was able to speak to my dad without him slamming down the phone, and when I was able to wake up in the morning and realise I’m not afraid, and today, literally anything can happen and feeling the good fortune that if anything bad does occur - it’s unlikely to be through a decision I have made. All this – the ability to feel hot water pulsating onto my body and through my hair in the morning, and knowing I haven’t acted like a cock the night before. I hadn’t verbally abused anyone, and most of all – most of all - I am no longer enslaved in a world of misery, my every move dictated to me by cocaine and alcohol.

So when I finally started to change, albeit slowly – I was damned if I was about to throw it away or give it up for anyone. Not anyone- a man, a dog, a friend, or my dad and once that decision was made – I began to feel more confident in myself and life finally started to improve.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Saturday, 4 April 2009

shattered glass, shattered emotions

The more I tried to dump the broken mirror, the more I tried to ignore its existence, the deeper the cracks appeared to be whenever I tried to look in it.

I couldn’t recognise myself.

Sometimes I would strain my eyes and focus on one point, and relief would wash over me if I managed to catch a glimpse of the girl I born to be. Then I’d blink, and again she was gone, and the tears would flow, the loneliness, the disgust, the burning anger.

This was my life.

I wanted nothing more than to secure the hundreds of pieces of jagged glass, and mold them into a whole. I fantasised about looking at myself without wincing and straining to find a clear image. I wanted not to cut myself whenever i tried to smooth the glass down . I wanted to see a smile, reflecting back at me, whenever I smiled into the mirror, but eventually, I gave up trying to see clearly, and I tried to forget what I carrying around with me. I thought by ignoring it it would go away. I wanted rid of it, but the longer I carried it the deeper the existing cracks seemed to become and others seem to develop.
I wanted to tack it together - but I didn’t know where to begin. The pieces were fragile and sharp and some appeared to be lost – gone - I hadn’t a clue where to find them. When I touched the gaps the missing pieces should have sat, and when my fingers bled - I felt nothing -only hollow. I talked to no one about my mirror, but some could see it was in pieces. Some tried to speak about it, and I ignored them and others didn’t. Some were too frightened their own mirrors would be scratched or tarnished as a result of mine being so damaged, so they ran; self preservation and fear didn’t allow them to stay.

Even as people ran, clinging onto their pieces of solid glass I couldn’t openly admit that my glass was shattered. At first I thought their mirrors were of weak quality, to not with stand my breakages. I mocked, and hissed and fought and screamed at them to take my broken glass from me – but they couldn’t. In my dreams it was no longer part of me – it’d be gone and I’d been replaced with a healthy full image. But they were my dreams, not in my reality. Eventually I accepted it was just me and my mirror and with nothing to lose, except more chipped glass, I was a danger to myself.
I did eventually dive into a pot of glue in an attempt to mend what was broken, yelling like a rabid animal as I begged help from a God I didn’t know existed.
My first step was taken – I admitted I had a problem. And without realising, by simply deciding to see help, I’d taken the second step. The third step was actually approaching the treatment centre and asking to be admitted. At this stage I was ready to do whatever anyone told me to do in order to fix my broken glass.

First I had to be honest. Very honest, which was a new concept for me. It wasn’t enough to tell the people in the rehab that I had my broken mirror tucked away in my pocket. They knew I had, they all had one.They wanted to hear about the scars it had etched onto my body. They wanted me to be willing to hold the pieces of glass in both hands and not be afraid of what I saw. They needed me to want to fix the glass, not so I could see my make-up, or so I could band it around to show people how pretty it looked, now it was mending. No, I needed to want to mend it just for me. That’s all... no one else. It was just so I could look, and see my my reflection as a whole, without fear, shame or tears. They told me I may never be able to make the glass blemish free, they’d never come across that inside or outside of the treatment centre.
They warned me that some pieces would take longer than other to stick and seal together, and that some cracks may always be visable. But with constant polishing, over time, it could become so far removed from its damaged appearance that it may only be when someone came really close, that they would see the cracks. And those cracks would no longer cut or graze me or another person as long as I willing to be vigilant and not ignore them if at times they started to open up again.
From the weakest point in my life, I had to find the greatest strength.

My first gift from them: hope.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

a journey of recovery

On 7th May it will be five years since I went into rehab, but I am not five years clean. I’m four years clean.
After leaving treatment in Bristol, I had 11months of ‘sobriety’(I was not drinking, sniffing or hooking during that time - but I was far from sober of mind) So, after 11 months I relapsed for 8 days.

I went on a crazy splurge - a story in itself - the how, with whom, and of course, the events (that i remember.) Anyway, after those 8 days I stopped, and I have been stopped ever since...
It’s actually around now, end of March beginning of April that I have officially been clean for 4 whole years. Unbelievable. I’m pleased with myself, and so is my daddy, of course, altho Papa Gee thinks it’s five years clean time that I have, cos I didn’t tell him about my fall from grace. I'd have put him in an early grave had he known about the relapse.

I will give myself a pat on the back for my personal achievement, if you don’t mind – I know it means little or nothing to other people and I’m over needing congratulations from people about it. But I gotta tell ya, sobriety is something I could never imagine, especially for myself. Even during the first 18 months of ‘clean time’ I thought I wouldn’t survive another 18 months. Hell no. I was in pieces.
I haven’t had this change of life, and perception handed to me – I have worked fucking hard for my altered state of mind. I’m not sure that’s saying anything considering I can still be unruly at times, but I guess the difference is that, nowadays I am free. My choices are my own, most of the time as long as I keep my emotions in check.
I certainly don’t not have the shackles that ensconced me for many years, blighting my every move and thought and plan and action – (to get money for coke and to drink like a nutter)weighing me down every second of every minute of every day.

I think i need to go into a bit of detail about how I am where I am now
(emotionally.) How I manage to maintain sobriety and which processes have worked to help me free me from myself.
If you’ve been reading my scrawling regularly you will realise that I went through a fair bit of cack in my life’s journey, so far. But one thing I can tell you with some gusto, is, that I am very, very, very, very unlikely ever go back to the place I was in (emotionally) before I went into rehab. I could almost say that I will never go back – but of course I can. I could be drinking, and sniffing tomorrow ( or tonight if i could be bothered to get myself out of the house and into a club) and I could sell my snatch for cash the day after.
There are of course, no guarantees with life; but it’s a huge blessing that today I feel confident about my ability to stay sober and stay clean off drugs. But at the same time, and this may seem strange after I’ve said that , but – I am highly aware how very, very easy it would be to ‘ just have a drink’ or ‘ just one line.’ It’s every where. Very accessible - but I don’t do it. It even surprise me that I don't... and another thing for certain - it’s not will power that stops me. It’s something else...
and I must try to explain to you what that something else is...

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Friday, 3 April 2009

music is music

Jill Scott – Getting’ in the way

Portishead - Roads

Primal Scream - Come Together

Jill Scott - Honey Molasses

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Thursday, 2 April 2009

sex friends and herbal tea

Oh dear I’m a bad and naughty egg.

A friend of mine just popped over. In fact he is an ex-buddy of the sex variety and yes, he's still hot. He proved that as we sat and drank herbal tea and chatted about his work, his plans for the future and my ex-relationship.
Why, why do I have such fit male ‘friends?’ – probably cos I’ve slept with a few of them...
Hmmm, have a guess did I, or didn’t I, tonight? Well, no I didn't, so there.

The physical consisted of an attempted fondling of my vulva which was stifled by L. calling me to discuss her Yank mate she recently met while in Bangladesh.

So, the ex-sex-friend who is only an ‘ex’-sex-buddy because I got with my boyfriend, (so dropped him in the name of monogamy) just popped over. Now he’s left and now I’m wondering if he should pop back so he can pop it in me or at the very least perhaps he'd like to go down on me for a few.
No, No... I’m supposed to be off men. I must leave them alone – but they keep appearing... I can’t decide what I want at the moment, so as the old saying goes : ‘If in doubt, don’t’... So maybe I'm not so bad after all, cos I didn’t.
Is i just me or am I particularly susceptible to good looks and humour? Hell, not even humour, just good looking people, regardless of gender. I'm not a looks fascist, far from it - but if you have a choice then why not opt for something/ someone you like the look of? Especially when I already know it tastes good too.
I like men and you know I like sex.

Take this guy, I’ve known him intimately for years, on and off , and our thing has always worked satisfactorily for both of us. But I get the feeling that is I was to ride him this time, he’s gonna get a tad clingy. He referred to us on more than one occasion as ‘ We we used to go out’... when was that? I thought we were just having sex, not seeing each other. Maybe he he wouldn’t get clingy - maybe my ego is too big for my head - but for sure, the last thing I want is hassle.
I mean, I’d fuck him if I could get away with just walking away and keeping things how they were before, then why not? But what I can’t be doing with at the moment is the risk of finding myself in a situation where I have to consider the possibility that a guy I bed, may want to cuddle after sex...
I don’t need that or want it. Not now.

I do wonder if my thinking is at times, typically that of a man? I’ve been accused of this before simply because I’ve wanted space; be it they leave, I leave, or we don’t touch each other after we’re through. Right now, the thought of holding onto a different body that’s not my ex-boyfriend, or feeling some unknown sweat in my bed, does nothing to me except make my lip curl. I can fuck. That I can do, but cuddles, no sir ree. Not right now.
Yes, I am a mass of contradictions,I've never hidden that. I do want a life long union, but today, tonight I'd rather have a cup of tea.

My new mantra: I hope it lasts more than five minutes.
“I must concentrate on me. I must focus on Gee. These handsome men that make themselves so available – ignore them. Ignore them.”

Wednesday, 1 April 2009

call girl, escort, and plain old prostitute.

I’m feeling rather good today.
Now just cos I said that – God, please don’t take it away. Why would he though, huh? It would just be me that fucked it, right?
So, last night I spoke to my boy, or should I say ex-boy. (I don’t like when people use a simple ‘ex’ to refer to their ex-partners. It’s ex- boyfriend, ex-girlfriend, ex-boy, etc, etc... I don't like a plain 'ex.' Sorry I can be odd like that. Don’t ask... it just gets up my nose.)

He’s lovely, my ex-boyfriend. I really like him. He’s a sweet guy – and sooo sexy. He's a bloody handsome chap,my fella, but still we couldn't be happy... But now, I feel much better that we’ve broken the weird tension that’s been stifling us over the past 11 days. We spoke properly about what happened between us on that fateful saturday, and it brought relief to both of us.

I hate all that non-speaking, pensive, anxious bullshit that comes with a break up, don’t you? I know it’s part of the process but I’ve always been one to cut corners where ever possible, so if having a few minutes sincere chat with my fella helps us both realise that we’re not isolated and neither of us hates the other – so be it. Why go cold turkey?
I don’t know what will happen in the future, but I do know one thing – one of my friends and I are now going on the holiday I booked, that meant for me and my fella! Yaaay! Can’t wait... we’re gonna have fun, sun and ... well, we’ll see what’s on offer when we get there...

Me an L have been away together a few times. From Miami, (after I’d met three guys who lived there, while I was in the Dominican Republic) – to Egypt last year.

L is vibrant, sexy, wise and bright. She's astute and very beautiful which makes a lethal combination. But thankfully for the guys who fall for her – she’s got integrity, so will rarely fuck anyone over. She’s far better at dealing with ‘situations’ than I am. You know tricky situations - usually the kind that involve men. She gets herself into the same stuff...
She’s a clever girl,L, and another thing that adds more balance to our escapades – she doesn’t drink alcohol either. Same reasons as me – but the sex she had was for nothing except lust, oh, and I’m sure she wont mind me saying – possibly the occasional sympathy fuck.... but who hasn’t done that? Err.... actually don’t answer that.

So, it’s this G20 malarkey in London today; riots everywhere. I have no major opinion on this stuff. I never really get to know too much detail because it doesn’t interest me enough. Neither does all that stuff about ‘Prostitution or drugs be legalised...’ – I don’t effing know... why should I?
I don’t mind admitting that I don’t have an opinion on everything – why would I? That doesn’t prove blinkers, lack of intelligence, or self centredness ( well, maybe a bit of this) it just means I don’t have thoughts on the said subjects.
I can’t bear people giving opinions on stuff they don’t know detail about. I can waffle on about anything, virtually, but some subjects I’d rather not claim to be knowledgeable about, simply because I’m not - and I’m comfortable with that.

“I don’t know”
is a line I use with ease and with no fear of my intelligence being questioned. I know too much to worry about not knowing about The G20 or the possible social consequences of drugs and whoring being legitimised.

Why the hell should I have an opinion on the legalisation of drugs?
Just ‘cos I used to take them? So what? Same with prostitution... Some hookers, past or present feel they must become advocates of sexual freedom or become the media’s mouth piece for legislation on prostitution. Bollocks to that. Don’t get me wrong, they can have their opinions, but me, I don’t feel passionately enough about it to wave a banner or claim to have answers.

I’d love to be able to chat with and advise working women on an individual basis about how they can be safer or how they can find help to change their lives - but an over all opinion on the sex industry as a whole. Nope. I don’t have that.
I don’t even like the expression ‘Sex industry’ – if we’re talking snatch for cash – you’re a prostitute, either in film or in a hotel room, or a street corner, you're a prostitute. And if you take your clothes off for a living - you’re a stripper. You’re not an exotic dancer. Simple.
All this ‘Call girl,’ ‘Escort’ business, trying to ease the blow really doesn’t do women who are, or have been involved in this world to accept their realities.

Believe me when I first started using the term, ‘Prostitute’ it stung. Despite some hookers who claim that ‘They’re not ashamed of what they did/do', Err, so why don’t you say it how it actually is, then and call yourself an (ex)-‘prostitute,’ instead of ‘Call girl’ since you’re so fucking unashamed. Stop hiding behind a mask of niceties.
It actually helps the denial process when overcoming past antics – to use the original dictionary term. It helps face the reality of ‘The game’.... (Odd description, but relatively tolerable since it gives the impression of being a ‘Hip Hop Queen’ who spends her ends on bling. Hollllllaaa!)
I couldn’t believe when even my Psych suggested I use the word ‘Escort’, instead of the P word when I was talking with her. Why? So, to make her feel more comfortable I use ‘Hooker’ – I like that word. It sounds naughty unlike ‘Prostitute’ which sounds dark and ominous and that reality makes people feel uncomfortable, right..?

Anyway enough waffle from me for another day... I got stuff to do. i.e drink tea, try and straighten my hair and speak to L about holiday arrangements.
Sardinia isn't going to know what's hit it!