If I had to choose a woman's name what would it be?

Well, that is a question! Given I wouldn’t have to depart from my very own best friend ‘John’ (down there) I could actually settle with many beautiful names of the female queendom - and enjoy life as a woman with an amazing name... and with hot boys of course, lolz :D

ELIZABETH - When I was young I always loved children stories. Those amazing princes and princesses. Elizabeth would be my first choice. I’d be that petit Lillibeth prancing around the stalls looking for a stallion - Lizzie of the horsemen. This little Liz would be on it 24/7. No stone would be left unturned when I’d hop on the saddle of My Little Pony galloping away to the far-away kingdoms to meet my perfect (kinky) prince charming.

JESSICA – I do like the sound of that name. Dripping with lust, full with south-American passion, horny after hot day at beach and yarning for men. Yes, why not. Jessica sounds like fun too. With the name Jessica I could also make puma-hunters tick. I mean who doesn't just adore Jessica Lang.

ISADORA - There is something that really make me tick with the name Isadora. Isadora – like Isildur from the Lord of the Rings. Formidable and still light footed. Dancing away on a podium making gongs dong – stepping on that galvanized steel edge, twisting backwards, letting my hair curl down to hot guys laps and pressing my boobs together whilst they'd press their noses into my bust. Gosh, why not their cock actually. Yeah, Isadora sounds royal and lustful, formidable but not too heavy and stuffy to be accidentally taken as Isolda – a fat cock-hungry fart from the mid-west nearing her 60’s.

VICTORIA - What’s the way home Victoria? “That would be first via mine – a short but slow detour (just saying) – and then, well fuck, you could just buzz-off when you’ve done, okay”. Victoria sounds so snobbish and at the same time so prone to make it in the men’s world. Victoria, she’s making it. She is doing it. She doesn’t care and she loves it. Victoria jumps out of the wedding cake and wishes bride and groom happy hell as she just did both thirty minutes ago. Victoria doesn’t give a fuck – well she does give and fuck but that’s beside the point. Victoria does it – and the rest – they’ll be the audience.

CLEMENTINE - When the sun rises Clementine hops on her bicycle and starts her tour around Nice. Five star hotels first. Breakfast rooms are full with men who didn’t get it last night. Eager to accompany a lustful but serene Clementine with her Parisian accent and sharp, thin and upward pointing nose. “She has nose for business” they lament. But she knows best. Her nose in man’s crotch really is the business – for her. She, after all eats men for breakfast and chuckles – before throwing them back to the empty tables. For lunches Clementine doesn’t shy away. She dresses up, applies carmine red lipstick and prepares her nude eyes for the light touch of mascara. Her hair waving down her neck and lower back – locks of

brunette hair gently brushed behind her left ear. She is hungry for lunch. She wants meat. And she has never had a day without one. Clementine – yes, she eats. Breakfast, second breakfast, brunch, lunch, luncheon, midday, snack, supper, dinner … she does it whole day until the evening and doesn’t stop before the last order – and then she retires on it. Yes, Clementine does it whilst others are thinking about it.

AMANDA - yeah! Now we are talking. Name Amanda brings to my mind the one and only Heather Locklear in her Beverly Hills 90210 debute. She is blond, feisty, cold-as-ice and hot-as-hell, all at the same time. If Amanda doesn’t give you a hard-on then no-one does. Men of all ages. They’d be so in for a treat was my name Amanda. I could wear a bloody burkha and still get men. Heaving up my skirt, blinking my eyes, and whispering slowly and with serious contemplation; “I … want …. you … now”. Yes, I think I would work well as an Amanda 

Lastly… I really didn’t have to think too hard to be honest. The name is of course Alexandra.

ALEXANDRA - Alexandra has always been one of my favorites. My daughter will one day be called Alexandra – unless I remain Alexandra myself which would make it a bit awkward… Alexandra - It sounds quarter-Russian, quarter-Preussian, quarter-Swedish and quarter-Dutch. Alexandra could also be Alex on vacays, when I wanted to let my cock hang out a bit and I’d still wouldn’t be too far from the real deal. Alexandra would bring a tad of fluxury to any crowd – and in particular in the to the middle. She’d be the one to master it all. She could easily take one or twenty. All up there or just treat them with her trained and eager mouth. She’d finish when they’d all had their heart attacks and wills signed. She’d be the Queen. Ah, I do like to sound of Alexandra on my lips: “My name is Alexandra, Alexandra Jones – And, I bloody hell want it shaken

Gym etiquette for the gays

We all go to gym for the looks – not for the health benefits, right? I mean come on just admit it. We all want the perfect body, no ounces of fat, ripped and looking like Men’s Health cover boys. We all want to look good because the market is tough. That's of course unless you have a big fat wallet and willingness to spend. Your chances are slim if you think your fat low hanging belly is going to land you on a hot dude.

Going to the gym and following etiquette is not rocket science. Well at least so we are let to believe. I sometimes find it hard to cope with the intricacies of gym etiquette amongst other training gay guys. But most of it is just common sense.

Rule number one – even if you find someone hot act like you don’t see him. It’s the only way to get this morons attention. He is so full of himself he’d go nuts if someone doesn’t pay him attention.

Rule number two – When you see this super muscular guy training his chest for the 5^th time that week don’t mention he could spare some effort for the legs – which haven’t been trained for years. Kebab on a stick isn’t sexy but he doesn’t want to hear it.

Rule number three – You know when guys train in the gym and you are keeping your breath as any second they could break their back, neck or other body parts due to ridiculous ways of training – read; completely wrong and with too much weights. My God do not try to correct them and save them from injury. These prissy queens do everything perfectly and need no instructions or help. God forbid, you’ll get an enemy for life.

Rule number four – Cats have nine lives – you only have one. And if you love your gym don’t fuck around. You’ll still see that dumbass the next day whether you liked it or not. The worst is to make out with a super-hot guy and find he is a tinderella or a wankarella and when he opens his lustful mouth you hear Dorothy speaking: “this gold brick rd. only leads to my anus!”

Rule number five – If you really like someone – don’t bother to make out in the shower, steam, WC or sauna. It just means you are cheap and easy. And, most importantly the other guy has a bf, husband or worse – a gf! Then again if you are in for a quick wank all the before mentioned are pretty good bets. Just consider rule number four. Your are in for a treat.... lolz.

Rule number six - association. You do not want to be associated as a back-bencher. Back-benchers are those who you know have entered through the gym gates every day for the past few years and have gained no muscle mass to speak of but instead amassed themselves an ever growing belly. Back-benchers tend to enter the gym, spend way too much time dressing up in the changing rooms, wonder pointlessly in the gym floor fiddling with their phones, and after running out of batter gently flow down back down to changing rooms, shower and steam where they spend the next 1.5 hours hovering around and glancing guys with their hungry eyes. Basically – slimy, disgusting old faggots who’d be better at “Grannies’ leisure home”.

Rule number seven – Don’t think for a second that a ripped body equals healthy lifestyle. Many of the Muscle Mary’s in the gym take too much steroids or growth hormones and their muscle is just water. Also, good bunch of them dope during weekends and party 48hrs if not 72hours in row. To get a lean muscular body means rigid and diet and hard work. Most of the guys you adore have never done any and have taken the easy way. Sad part is, they don’t get it up, their body heat is fucked up and they sweat in bed like sweat sacks and in addition to muscle growth they grow bigger organs too which in the end leads to an early death. How’s that sounds for a future bf!

Rule number eight – You want your hard work to be visible. That’s fair enough. Adore yourself someplace else than gym. Nobody wants to see you training in strings or in a tank-top sized for a Chinese baby girl. It’s just gross.

Rule number nine – If you sweat like a pig use towel. No-one wants to land on your sweat pond. Firstly it's unhygienic, and secondly it stains clothes. Thirdly (and possibly) you stink,which makes you very undesirable. So yeah, use a sweat towel.

Rule number ten – your phone. Stop fiddling with it and get on with it. Wasting space by fiddling with your phone like a child is irritating and annoying. You could easily complete your gym session half the time without your phone. So do it. You are not that important you could not be un-reachable for an hour.

Rule number eleven – Take a God damn shower before using sanitary spaces. If you were raised by two pigs I’d understand but any human being knows to take a shower before steam, sauna, Jacuzzi or pool. Imagine how many others desire to sit on your germs, bacteria and sweat – or for that matter step on flooring your sweaty, dirty and bacteria-filled feet have been passing. Even children know how to behave. So should you :)

Dear diary, please explain me what are bears

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Set objectives first - then execute with precision

I decided today was going to be a bit different than my normal day. I started with a long hot shower and mud exfoliation, whilst my conditioner did its work with my hair. I had a good breakfast at my terrace and went unto my wardrobe to select my “happy-go-lucky –clothes.”

I honestly think people should express more about themselves and how they feel with what they wear… come to think of it; if most people already do they must hate themselves! 

The problem with dressing up is that you need to make a choice. This choice is terribly important. This choice will define the rest of your day and how it will unfold - choice about what to wear and why. One should always pay attention to day’s objectives. When it comes to objective setting I am the master of objective setting. When I set objectives I hardly ever miss them. For example:
 

1.  Blue lightly washed straight cut jeans, white top with short sleeves, white socks, white, blue or red trainers, a black wrist strap and a back-bag equals = 99% probability of getting laid.

2. Black skinny-fit jeans, black Loubutin shoes, black tightly-cut John Galliano vest and a hat pushed on right side and a black Versace leather bag with gold stripes equals = sitting alone in any café reading your sad paper with a 45% probability that someone will come to talk to you – to bum for a cigarette or cash.

Life is hard, it really is.

I have recently tried to cross-dress. And no, I do not mean I would wear a single piece of women’s clothing. This new type of cross-dressing is objective-oriented. Selection of clothes to wear based on objectives. Say, feeling extremely good about yourself and still getting laid in the end or in-between.

This might sometimes mean you need to layer clothes based on your two very conflicting objectives. Wane off hot guys who idealize to have “straight looking boys” and you have narrowed down your interest-based-fuck –agenda for the day.

Now, is there a balance between Abercrombie & Fitch oversized t-shirt and baggy shorts and say,  cat-walk “okayed” -look? Maybe.

I’ve performed few trials to test my theory. The easiest to go wrong is with shoes, bags, belts and other accessories. Patsy, we do love you still :) You could strip off all of it but the sad thing is those are the pimping elements of your outfit - the fun part. The simpler your outfit gets - the more likely it is that you can, when opportunity arises, strip off all of it in a split second with a hot guy – when and where-ever.

Complex buttons and laces are definitely a "no-no" for getting laid on-the-go, but might give you that extra time to think about your strategy if you arrive home with a hottie.

Objective-oriented dressing up has to come with a strict and set agenda. One needs to know exactly what one wants. "Maybe’s" and "If’s" are not allowed. Objectives must be set and then plan put in place and executed with precision.

Sun was shining outside and I felt terribly good. Once I opened the front door my cleaner exited the lift. “Goooood morning!”  We chatted a bit and off I ran. The dust will be gone today – no rock will be left unturned! My cleaner is a miracle worker and does an excellent job at the house. She is worth her weight in gold! (She is, luckily for me, a very skinny girl)

Evidence

My objective of today: Get laid with at least two guys, go to the gym and then dinner afterwards without detour home in-between.

My outfit: Black slim-fit t-shirt, black cap, black skinny-fit jeans, white Converse’s, black Merino-wool cardigan and a waiting in the black rug-sack.

Results: First guy winked his eyes at me on the street – leading to a slow-moving cat-and-mouse -follow to his house, Check! Second guy at the café terrace, started chatting with him leading to amazing oral sex at the back, Check. Ready for gym at 15:30 and ready for dinner at 18:00.

Objective setting matrix:  Objectives met? Check!

Cheerio! :)

Dating in London

Setting up a date and time for a date isn’t as easy as one would imagine. I know it should be a pretty simple task. Set a date. Set a time. And be there. But hey, that’s almost impossible here. And when you land on blind dates - it’s even worse. Why is it so hard to be at a certain place on a certain time per pre-arranged schedule?

I described the Grindr –app I newly discovered few posts back. On that post I referred some men - to the saner ones - that aren’t all but nut cases. The one’s you could actually have a dialogue with including full sentences and at least some content other than the easiest but still quite uncommon greetings “Hi” and “Fuck now?”

I have never claimed to be a sleuth or incredibly good at analyzing online profiles. However, I have always thought to have at least some sense and understanding on the makings of fake profiles. You know, murky pics or none at all, absolutely no content in the profile (read also: lazy as fucks = not worth it) or copy and pasted nonsense about absolute love and happiness – you know, Dalai Lama scripts. If profile holds at least one clear face pic without shades and looks reasonably sane it’s a good start.

So, there I was chatting to a one “saner one”. Half Swiss half Namibian white male living in London aged 29. Now that doesn’t sound bad at the outset. Hey, he even speaks English! It does make it easier to have a conversation don’t you think?

Well I suggested a nice place in the old town part of the area I love in London. We set a date on the restaurant terrace. I have to say I didn’t expect much – after all it was a blind date. I was observing guys passing by. Some of them really handsome and hunky. Damn, I knew I wasn’t expecting any of them! Nah, weren’t my dates, no.

Then I saw him, walking towards my table. I was the only one sitting alone so that wasn’t hard – and yes, my profile pics actually resemble me quite well. And yes, they are less than 2months old. His however was not I quickly figured out. When he opened his mouth I already knew this wasn’t going to take long.  I mean honestly, he could have at least washed his teeth before coming on a date. I am not overly judgmental. At least that’s what I think of myself. My good friends might disagree but that’s their prerogative. I judge only what I can see, hear, taste or sense. And now I used all my senses to find something positive about this guy. His trashy looks wasn’t among the great finds, his accent was directly from East-Enders and he started conversation by mumbling about his day on a fashion shoot. I inquired what was he doing on that fashion shoot. He explained to me they were shooting him – pictures for his new portfolio. As it turned out he had paid 800 pounds for a portfolio of pics to become a model. I didn’t want to chatter his unrealistic dreams but being 175, average looking, not exactly in a great shape and having teeth like briskly dog having no bones to chew in its sad life – and the face, well nothing special about the face, honestly.

He went on and on about his parents in Switzerland, about their beautiful home there and – well, you’ve get the pic – talking big. I found the guy more uninteresting every minute. How the fuck to get out of the situation…

Finally the bottle of wine we ordered run out. Yaiaiaia!

• “Should we ask for the bill?”

• “Yea mate, yea, that’s cool”

I visited the bathroom to wash my hands. I took my bag with me. Didn’t trust this guy a bit. When I came back the bill was waiting on our table.

• “Should we halve it?” I asked

• “Oh you know, I forgot my card home. I don’t think I have much money with me,” the prick started.

• “Sorry, you came on a date in to a restaurant without any money?”

• “Yes, I totally forgot it. But I will invite you to a dinner next I promise”

• “Babes, there won’t be another one”, I snorted. “I will pay mine and you can sort out your bill with the restaurant. I am not going to pay your bill.”

I left 2/3 of the bill amount to the table and walked out. Now, don’t take me wrong, if that guy would have been honest he would have just said sorry and apologized, but he didn’t. Instead, he suggested a second date, which we both knew was never going to take place. These are the types of pricks that make you either laugh or be very sorry for the ill-spent wasted time.

The thing is people like this guy obviously has gotten away with this kind of behavior before. Maybe this teaches him a lesson. The sad thing is I didn’t get laid – whattafuck! J

Why do gay men look like prostitutes?

I remember when I was young and gorgeous men looked more, well how should I put it, more dressed up and civil.

It seems London of today is infested with either fat and hairy gays boozing all-day-long calling themselves “bears” instead of old, hairy and fat, or guys looking like prostitutes half the arse hanging out, tattooed head-to-toe and with hairstyles more commonly found in Berlin produced gay porn movies. Of course you still have the accidental “stereotypical” gays with

tight, too short tank-tops and jeans with piss-colored hair and the “suit-men” looking for only “discreet” fun – whatever that is. I asked few questions from myself just to test the idea in my head:

1. Do men like their sex partners to be, or look like prostitutes?
2. Is there a reason for gay men wanting to look slutty?
3. Does the London drug scene have something to do with the fact men look slutty?

I do think that overly imposed with sex and porno, gay-scene has changed to be more accepting of prostitution and its caricatures. In effect, looking like stereotypical gay porn star straight from the scene filming isn’t actually a bad thing but this slutty look is seen as somewhat hot and desirable – that is, for quick sex and encounters. Would anyone actually want to date with one is a questions which still needs some further research.

So, if the case is that the sluttier you look the more chances you have to get laid should I dress-up as one?

I went to the notorious “gay-clothing” stores on Old Compton street in Soho to find out what it had in store for me. Well then. I had no idea that one could buy briefs where the ass is left bare while cock is positioned in a cup like enlargement - sewed into the frontal part. Ah, I think I am getting the point; “Ass out and dick up!” I thought rather not to wear that piece. I also tried a wrestler-suit; you know a one-piece Lycra clothing where speedos are combined with braces. I looked rather funny in them. Made me giggle, but not really tempted to buy. I also saw a long row of socks, footballer socks I thought, on one of the walls. I had no idea how they are related to the slutty look so I asked the guy at the store. “Well, some people have football player fetish, some like socks and some like to have an image of an athlete,” he explained. “Now wait a minute, are you saying people get kicks out of the image of an athlete only by wearing the gear?” “Yeah mate and some like to smell the socks and sports clothing too,” he continued.

I imagined what would a 120kg, 156cm, 56yo hairy guy in a wrestler suit wearing white socks and trainers look like … What a ghastly thought! I thanked guys in the store and exited. I guess I am more a Prada-boy.

Now how about drugs then?

Drugs have been around us as long as the prostitution as a profession. Whether its cause and effect I cannot tell. But what I can tell is that no sober minded would act like the gays in the gay clubs of London. I have been questionably privileged to witness the ghastly atmosphere in the clubs in this town. The clubs are like birthday cakes. They look wonderful, colorful and fun at the outset but once you open your eyes, like cutting the cake, you see all sorts of weird zombie-looking people waving their bodies and cocks around hundreds of like-wired. I witnessed a really hunky and sexy guy on his early 30’s nearly awake totally wasted with a line of guys behind him wanting to test his asshole with their fingers. Now I do love sex but quite honestly being fingered by tens of men on a dancefloor, and those fingers been in god knows where before, isn’t sexy. Quite far from it.

These places and people are most probably swarming with STD’s (=Sexually transmitted deceases)! When I turned around on the dance floor I saw bunch of hormone-stuffed beefs snorting something up-their-nose. Given that this took place on a dance floor I suspected it wasn’t cocaine but instead ketamine - you know the infamous horse-tranquilizer. In the toilets I saw people smoking crystal meth – the life sucker. Now, I am not an angel myself but what I witnessed here was an absolute horror of an evening. I got an entirely new meaning to an expression “H&H” (high and horny) on that night – and no, it wasn’t an uplifting experience.  

 

More from classy London again in my next post.

Cheerio J

Quality apps for meeting the right one...

I had a really bizarre encounter on the first day I arrived here in London. I got a following message on Grindr:

"Bb Raw now? H&H!!!” accompanied with a picture of an anus sperm pushing out.

I was quite astonished. Firstly, because I knew none of the words / acronyms or their meaning. Secondly, I am more accustomed to talk to faces rather than asses, or arse holes. What makes a person to send a message like that to another stranger? And what was the purpose of the spermy anus in all of it? As I later found out these acronyms actually did hold some secretive meanings:

• RAW BB = Bareback sex = Sex without condoms
• H&H = High and horny = Being completely fucked-up and drugged and wanting to have sex while being fucked-up and drugged.

I am still kinda wondering the meaning of the spermy anus picture, but let's forget that for a second. It was quite a disturbing image.

Messages like that kept pushing in like snowflakes on a snowy January afternoon in Lapland. They were all suggesting on first sentences quickies and encounters spiced up with some form of a drug. I learned by glancing through the profiles that a "well-dressed" in this context was having no more than a thong on. In most cases even that was "an excess of garments".

The application indicated in its description field that it was built for gays to find other gays around the area. I.e.: GPS -position enabled service bringing local guys on to your fingertips. In this case, as I learned it helps boys to land on your cock very quickly - or so I thought. After completing few discussions with profile holders I deemed saner that most I learned that the app is actually for weirdos who have no intention what-so-ever in meeting you or anyone else in the real world. Chitchatting naughty and probably wanking away rest assured was the objective for the most. I managed to uninstall this messaging service of disgust by accident - and the inflow of dirt stopped coming in.

Well, I thought, this is the internet of the 21st century; apps of all sorts for "specific interests". My friends told me of some other apps I might enjoy a bit more. I’ll elaborate my experiences about them in following postings.

Cheerio J