Sunday, 28 February 2010
Surprises, socials and sexy shopping
"Never judge a book by it's cover", a lesson I learnt a long time ago. Those who seek to project an image of knowledge and respectability are quite often the very people with the moral integrity of a bidet. ( With apologies to bidets. )
Happily though, quite often the opposite rings true. A while ago I met a man who emailed me and explained that he'd like to come and see me in Aberdeen. He is ( as he put it so delicately himself ) "in his twilight years". He went on to explain that he had read my site with great interest and so understood that I tailor my services for my older clients. The day arrived and I waited for the buzzer. At precisely the time of his appointment, the buzzer did indeed go and so I waited at the door of the apartment, and waited, and waited.
Eventually and with huge amounts of effort a beetroot faced gentleman alighted the top of the stairs and greeted me with a huge grin, whilst balancing precariously on his two sticks. It's fair to say that at that point my expectations of my own pleasure to be gained in the forthcoming encounter were fairly minimal. Having thrust a box of chocs my way, I joined him in the bedroom.
He made it quite clear that he was keen to do all the pleasuring and who was I to argue ? To say I was pleasantly gobsmacked would surely qualify for under-statement of the year. About 40 minutes into proceedings, I wearily lifted a matted and sodden forehead before asking "Where in the name of God did you learn to do that ?"
"Well I have been doing it for fifty years."
There's no answer to that, is there ?
I've just arrived back from Leeds where I enjoyed a weekend away with some long standing pals and we had a brilliant time. There were a few sore heads this morning but with a large fry and plenty of tea we were as right as rain. Unfortunately Amanda was snowed in and couldn't make it, but Mr F and Big Rick were there as well as some of my fave ladies too. We organised a hotel with a private room for dinner so we felt able to chat openly and Susan of Glasgow has just introduced me to my newest obsession, a Hitachi Magic Wand. It's a marvellous invention apparently originally intended to loosen up muscles and massage but it also has the added bonus of being able to drive delicate nerve endings into a frenzy in no time whatsoever.
It begs the question, how on earth did Victorian women cope ? They didn't even have a washing machine on full spin to rely on, never mind a "Magic Wand."
On that note I'm off to see if I can acquire one on Ebay and serve my rampant rabbit with one month's notice.