the best of british sex - I
what’s wrong with british men?
a lot. so here begins a new chapter - the best of british sex
first of all, there’s many things right with them. they’re a lot of fun and sexy as hell
positive #1 - they’re perverted cunts
when i was broke leaving the life i had Amsterdam, i had 5 days in london before my flight back to Sydney. london is not the place to be penniless. so i put an ad up online, worked my guts out for 4 days, made £2000 (at that time exchanged to $AUS5000) and started a great debt free life back in Sydney
‘worked my guts out’ that’s a colourful expression for a prostitute to use. it surely conjures images that must simultaneously delight and frighten. from what i’ve seen in my on-and-off 16 years of whoring, it’s exactly what you’d imagine
so what’s wrong with the british?
negative #1 - they’re perverted cunts!
london was great for work. back in 2005, working privately you could earn 120 squid an hour. these jobs would range from anything from a simple hand shandy, bj, a fuck, few beers and some piss and, in one case, fisting and old New York Jew in his Kensington budoir. it was all fun and games and until half of his colon came out clinging to my arm. he’s in heaven, lung deep in a bottle of amyl while i’m trying to remain calm with a bloody horror show literally unfolding and unravelling before my eyes, slowing withdrawing with one hand and frantically peeling his bowels from my elbow with the other
but it was all good fun. and most of all quick. generally, most British sex is appalling. it’s frightfully polite on the surface, disturbingly uptight and self-concious underneath which made most jobs go for 15-20 minutes. i’ve had a cups of tetley stay warmer longer than that. and sex was mostly bad, so i could do a half-arsed job and they’d be over the moon saying it was the best sex they had ever had
then there’s the other side. with the repression also comes a lot more kink. that’s where it gets interesting and a lot of fun. it’s quite a lot of the silly stuff like spanking of the ‘ooh err missus’ Carry On variety but also the deep dark dirty stuff. a lot of sleaze, some good and fun, some disconnected and mechanical. most of which they like to talk about more than get into. first they must get all the appropriate gear and outfits - leather, rubber, skinhead, rugby kit etc whatever fetish they choose to align themselves with. acquiring the wardrobe can take a lifetime
being uncut, the main one i get is requests for a cock cheese.
“i bet you got a really cheesy foreskin, eh?”
i’m lucky in some respect. i leak precum like i just forgot to shake the last few drops out at the trough. it’s constant. like i haven’t turned the tap off properly. some clients thought i had an infection. it’s bordering on a filthy inconvenience. if i have a long night out, my jocks the following morning are so sticky it’s like a herb garden was freshly raped by a horde of slugs. my shorts are smeared with a cold morning dew and there’s silvery trails everywhere. my jocks are so stiff you could crack them on half.
but unless i’m in a dry climate (like Bathurst), it never gets cheesy
“…no, sorry. it’s not a cheesy foreskin. but it’s juicy!”
“oh… ok… i’ll be in town in thursday. can you not wash it for a couple of days?”
“are you going to pay me for those couple of days?”
i’m going to use my cock, for my own uses as well as others. will he cover the lost revenue? no. for fuck’s sake i will have to smell it the ripe fucker every time i whip it out to take a slash
although it’s slowed down, the cheesy cock requests still come through every now and then. and it’s always british guys
since embracing the EU and the explosion on viagra and methamphetamines in london, the golden age of making shitloads of dirty whore cash in London ended around 2008. methed up scally crackwhores, desperate eastern europeans and 4 foot tall 120kg brazillian ‘roid monkeys oversaturated the market bringing the price down to £50. soon most jobs became chem based and require bareback. bareback i don’t do. also if you didn’t do the drugs, you didn’t get the job. now thanks to the global financial crisis there’s no work at all
but i still have a few stories from the glory days