it didn’t take long for the boredom to set in and the animals to turn on each other. the lack of work going in this Brothel over the month of Feburary and the sitting around made everybody tense. they turned on Bella.
it was bound to happen. she’s an easy target. she can get on your tits. mostly her moping around and then telling you all about her life. her life that seemed more and more imaginary. Bella’s Twilight obsession slowly became more apparent. the dead giveaway was admitting she believes she’s a vampire
Bella was saving cash to change her name. i took a peek at the papers. her new middle name would be ‘Isabella’ a vast imporovement over her original (and career appropriate) surname of ‘Hoare’
she is nice. she desperately wants to fit in. unfortunately her way of doing it is by wearing her heart on her sleeve. no one like her taste in clothing, especially her poorly hemmed sleeves. she’d tell you things about herself you never asked and by the end of the sentence you had no interest in knowing. she doesn’t have any friends. she should feel safe to make some here amongst fags and tranny whores. but she’s so desperate to make some here, it will never happen. on her way out one night she said to Christoph the receptionist, a very mothering greek man, with a seriousness that alarmed him “i wish you were my dad.”
after seeing my sketchbook she brought in hers own one day. she conveniently left it on the kitchen table for an entire day. i pawed through it. she’s quite an amazing artist. her cartoon realism is fucking spot on. unfortunately she draws the same thing over and over again: herself in her fantasy vampire life
when they were under attack
close to death, Bella is taken home to the Clan
Bella recovers from the attack
Bella is taken captive and raped. not sure where this fit in with the story or even if it is part of the fiction or her reality
the rest of the kids tore into her. but after seeing this i could no longer be mean to her at all. Miss Vic noticed i talked about her in a different way to the others. i may have been laughing at the bat-shit craziness that comes out of her mouth, but there was concern. “help the others to be nice… or at least not talk so loudly. she doesn’t have the easiest life,” she said “you will meet a lot of sad people in this industry”
another reason why cute little Kelly is cool. upon finding out Snookie is going to on the cover of the next issue of Rolling Stone
in a thick chinese accent “what is she doing on the cover? she has no talent! the cover should be for people with Talent like Madonna or Lady Gaga.” upon hearing those two names my eyes started to glaze over, but before she could lose me completely, “none of those people should be on TV. like Kim Kardashian. what does she do? nothing! she’s only famous for having a big ass and sex tape!”
any friend of Joel McHale is a friend of mine!
in the whore’s lounge, the kids love to listen to music television. Channel [V] playing non-stop P!nk, Chris Brown, Rihanna after Rihanna and whatever fucking tedious club track they’re over plugging that week. it’s agony. the second a bad track starts someone pipes up and says “oh i love this track!” the cutest being Kelly, an adorable south asian tranny who goes apeshit for Usher’s abs
So imagine my excitement when a video comes on that i love. Hot Chip’s I Feel Better. the track maybe taking the piss out of popular RnB but “i love this video!” i scream. everyone in the lounge turned to look at me. i had been mostly quiet since starting at the Manor. i managed to not be a jerk or piss anyone off. whores aren’t dumb and they’re as nosey as hell. they wanted to know why the quiet guy suddenly got so excited
Peter Steno..something..witz. all i know is he’s the uptight flatmate in Sean of The Dead who had a short lived british comedy show of his own directed one of my favourite videos of all time
the first minute is a typical boy band style of four pretty boys up on stage. they keep watching, not quite sure what’s supposed to be so great. Jarrod looks at me, squints and turns back to see the little bald man appear. “who’s that?” “what’s going on?” “what’s that guy doing?” “he’s creepy. eww…” then the weird little man shoots each boy band member his mouth laser, ressurects them to form a five member band impressing the crowd before a giant head floats into the room with bulging eyes burns everyone to a pile of ash
the video ends. everyone is speechless. they either looks at me confused or look around the room waiting for the joke. a joke i got. i’m laughing. no one else is.
i don’t fit in here… thank fuck
trying to get some quiet time again. i sit in the kitchen at work, this time sketching. less concentration needed than writing. Like the Gentlemen from Buffy, feet hovering above the floor, Bella glides up beside me and drops into a chair. “oh cool you draw too.”
thinking: “again, i used to, until you sat you’re fat arse down…”
“it’s a good idea. i should bring my sketch book in.”
the receptionist walks in and points to me, “i’ve got an outcall for you.”
this fellow lives in the classier eastern suburbs of Melbourne. the electronic gate unlocks to let me into a Better Homes Than Yours picture perfect garden. at the door, i am greeted by an adorable black staffy, Emma. she’s a little excitable. Emma’s owner is a old skool queen. somewhere in his late 50s early 60s and dressed in a sweet pair of frayed denim daisy dukes and a hang ten singlet. on second though, he’s dressed quite similar to how my mother used to dress me in the early 1980s, but i was 4 years old with a full bowl cut of blond hair.
“would you like some champagne?” how could i say no? he points off behind him “it’s in the kitchen.” in my sleeveless shirt i position the bottle for maximum flexing of muscle to make it look attractive as i pop the cork on a bottle of Great Western. we chat for a while. with the short time i spent living in the Yarra Valley, i play the bloke from the bush routine fairly well. Emma the dog’s excitability has crossed the line from adorable to fucking annoying. him saying “she gets on your nerves, but she’s like my only child,” is the only thing stopping me from kicking the little shit across the room. the whole situation is becoming a little painful. the only thing worse than Emma’s wet snout constantly digging into my crotch is the bloody awful bubbly vinegar I’m drinking from a plastic flute.
30 minutes of chat is all i can handle. normally i would not waste so much time if i was working for myself, but these aren’t my clients and i expect they’ve had rent boys screw them over. i lead him to the bedroom, lay him on his back, legs in the air and start to fuck him. this fellow has a road well travelled and very soon i have trouble trying to figure out if i have my cock in his arse or if it’s slipped underneath his arse and I’m thrusting against the mattress. he doesn’t seem to be complaining so i let it go. soon i have bigger problems. Emma decides to join in. I’m banging away with a dog lapping at my arm. if it’s continues, I’ll lose my boner and nothing in this room will encourage it to return. suddenly the Old fella is enamored with my face and is drunkenly gazing into my eyes and tenderly brushing my bearded cheeks. while he’s distracted i grab the dog my the nose and push it away. she comes back. i push her away. she comes back. i push her away. she doesn’t come back. instead she jumps up on the end of the bed and sits still. i go back to sticking it to the man. all is going well until i feel a something wet on my balls. wet and warm. lapping. Emma’s is licking my balls. i kick her away. she’s comes back and starts licking my ass. not wanting to go through this process again and even if i do, knowing she will just turn her attention somewhere more annoying i let her continue
at least that’s what i tell myself. when really, it felt kinda good. making the best of a bad situation. fucking some old dude, him tenderly brushing my face, cock jamming into a bucket of warm marshmallow and a dog licking at my balls for a couple of hundred bucks an hour. this is what my life has come to …and i love it!
on leaving the house early this afternoon….
Housemate #1: “you heading out?”
“yeah i got a face-rape and piss in some guy’s mouth at the Hotel Intercontinental.”
Housemate #1 “ok,” not taking his eyes of the tv,” you gonna be back for dinner?”
so this Bella chick. she’s nuts. still moping around the brothel in her pale blue nightie like a smacked out Bonnie Tyler, heart eclipsed, holding out for a fucking hero at $AUS260 an hour. i don’t know why she’s so miserable. she’s scored more work than me. i tell her to shut up. “i know. i just miss my boyfriend. i want to be with him”
“no he’s here in Australia,” lie #4 24 hours ago he was in the United States, “he fucked me last night. he has such a big dick. but i was so worn out after work here. i got pounded by this guy.”
“so you’re boyfriend has a great job. he’s hot. he’s rich. he’s got a big dick. why are you here?”
later I’m hiding away from the Sci-fi Channel and typing an entry into this blog when Bella glides up beside me like one of the Gentlemen from Buffy . “are you writing?”
i’m a man, so unable to to do two things at once. my fingers dramatically stop, “yes” and my fingers go back to typing
“what are you writing?” i stop typing. i look her. i roll my eyes, then resume typing. “i write too.”
“i used to write too,” i think, ”until you sat your fat arse by my side and started annoying the shit out of me”
“actually i write a lot. i was writing a series of novels…. and then Twilight came out! but my novels are different.”
now I’ve completely forgotten what i was writing, “let me guess. the main female protagonist is a tranny?”
“mmm,” she nodded