A Certain Lady

May 27, 2016

girls in love

Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head,
And drink your rushing words with eager lips,
And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red,
And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips.
When you rehearse your list of loves to me,
Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed.
And you laugh back, nor can you ever see
The thousand little deaths my heart has died.
And you believe, so well I know my part,
That I am gay as morning, light as snow,
And all the straining things within my heart
You’ll never know.

Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet,
And you bring tales of fresh adventurings –
Of ladies delicately indiscreet,
Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things.
And you are pleased with me, and strive anew
To sing me sagas of your late delights.
Thus do you want me — marvelling, gay, and true,
Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights.
And when, in search of novelty, you stray,
Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go…
And what goes on, my love, while you’re away,
You’ll never know.

Dorothy Parker

sunday love

Desire is desire, wherever you go. The sun will not bleach it, nor the tide wash it away…


The internet abounds in simplistic definitions of BDSM versus abuse. Usually these definitions have been written to justify BDSM – which ultimately is consensual whereas abuse is not.

For my part I’d stress (along with Elie Wiesel) that we should never “see” a person as an abstraction. Instead we should “see” them as a universe: each with their own secrets, their own treasures – and each with their own sources of anguish and desire. We should also be able to “see” when a particular individual’s desire for pain / punishment / humiliation is out of control.

If you recognise mental aberration in a BDSM Sub, is it then abuse to forefill that Sub’s most keenly expressed desires?

‘Hurt me more, piss on me, shit on me, fist me…Make me bleed.’

The worse part about anything self-destructive, is its intimacy. And a Sub, too closely enmeshed in strong violent desires, is like a drug addict desperate for a fresh fix; their fantasies become more like an illness…they are unable or unwilling to turn away from them because it feels as if they are killing a part of themselves in the process.

Is pandering to their desires / fantasies abusive or no?

Well, I think it becomes abuse the moment the Dom recognises these addictions for what they are. An illness. And in satisfying the Sub’s intense need for extremes of experience, a fine line is being crossed.

Likewise, those sadistic Doms who know their Sub / victim will not use their “safeword” despite the severity of the treatment being dished out – are they abusers? So much freak and nastiness abruptly released on some poor Sub / victim…

Is that abuse or no?

I think yes, that’s feckin’ abuse. The Dom is abusing their position, and their power over the Sub.

Personally, I’m involved with people who play bondage “games”. Mild kink is the order of the day. Rarely anything too heavy. That said, I know people who incorporate knives into their “play” – I think it too dangerous – and I know others who engage in “needle play”…which, again, is not for me.

BDSM then, is about “acceptability”. If you ain’t comfortable with it, don’t do it. It’s also about respect – for yourself and for your partner / partners. It is also very much about consent and communication – Communicate, communicate, communicate!

The games me and mine play are rigorously planned and choreographed down to the last little detail. And if there’s anything – anything at all – that a participant isn’t happy with, then it doesn’t happen. Risk management is all important. BDSM play should NEVER result in actual physical or emotional harm to any individual.

If it does, then that, boys and girls, is abuse!


Diary 9th April

Sweet Cheeses. Sleeting this morning – fine icy miserable sleet! It’s feckin’ April and cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra! I was breathing feckin’ steam just now in the garden! Insane!


Writers on writing:

“Hold the reader’s attention. (This is likely to work better if you can hold your own.) But you don’t know who the reader is, so it’s like shooting fish with a slingshot in the dark. What fascinates A will bore the pants off B,” says Margaret Atwood.

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed,” says Ernest Hemingway: you can always trust Ernie to turn the act of artistic creation into a wound.

“Each writer is born with a repertory company in his head. Shakespeare has perhaps 20 players. … I have 10 or so, and that’s a lot. As you get older, you become more skillful at casting them,” says Gore Vidal.

“Concentrate on what you want to say to yourself and your friends. Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness. You say what you want to say when you don’t care who’s listening,” says Allen Ginsberg.



Desire to us
Was like a double death,
Swift dying
Of our mingled breath,
Of an unknown strange perfume
Between us quickly
In a naked

Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes was one of the most prominent black poets of the Harlem Renaissance. His accomplishments include publishing his first poem, “The Negro Speaks of Rivers,” to critical acclaim; winning several major literary awards for his poems, plays, short stories and novels; founding theatres; teaching at universities; and being a major contributor to the Harlem Renaissance and helping to shape American literature.

Hughes published his first book of poetry in 1926 and was recognized for his use of black themes and jazz rhythms in his work. No mean feat for a black man in that place and that time. One of his’ recurring themes was the limitations of the American Dream for black Americans, see, for example, his poem “Harlem”.


It will be the past
and we’ll live there together.

Not as it was to live
but as it is remembered.

It will be the past,
we’ll all go back together.

Everyone we ever loved,
and lost, and must remember.

It will be the past.
And it will last forever.

Patrick Phillips.

crocodile Valentine

only one big thing

December 7, 2015


The world is little, people are little, human life is little. There is only one big thing — desire.

Willa Cather
The Song of the Lark

Fancy Dress…

May 8, 2015


The shrill sound of a flute, closely followed by the parp-parp of a solitary trombone. Imagine, if you will, a red velvet curtain slowly rising. To reveal –

Mata Hari in black fishnet stockings, famous Frisian exotic dancer, courtesan and spy.

But no. No, wait…

This is Marlene Dietrich. In the character of Lola-Lola from the “Blue Angel”, temptress and sultry cabaret performer. Singing now, “Falling in love again”. And like an earlier Dietrich in the film “Morocco”, she kisses another woman full on the mouth at song’s end.

People applaud. Dee in thick red lipstick curtseys. She is certainly as otherworldly as Dietrich. She blows a kiss in my direction. And I become Lola-Lola’s clown…

For this one night our home doubles as the Blue Angel Club, a place of sex, seduction, voyeurism, drinking and Lola-Lola. All fall before her untamed femininity. See her in flame-red silken underwear, frills, stockings and top hat. It’s July 2012. But for this one frozen moment in time, it is undoubtedly Berlin during the Weimar Republic.

Lola-Lola, like Dee, embodies masculine and feminine traits. She is a sexual aggressor, her sex a weapon to be used when and how she sees fit. We know this just by the way she flips back her dress to expose her splendid thighs. It would be so easy, too easy, to play Russian roulette with her cunt…

All our local friends are at this party tonight. They are used to our bizarre behaviour. Our games. A fancy dress party by definition must be quirky at the very least. So no surprise when Gabriella opens the front door to welcome guests with a huge ear trumpet held up to her ear, dressed in a skimpy slave girl outfit and a deerstalker hat, a beautiful, semi-nude, gloriously voluptuous Sherlock Holmes.

The Rev Charles Bryce-Bridge is in attendance with his wife, Melanie. She looks splendid as Marie Antoinette, hair stacked high on her head, long face thickly powdered. Rev Chas is a lanky slut in mini-skirt, all bonny knees and big nose. The bright red pantyhose he’s wearing is alarming…so much so all my cats fled the house at first sight of him!

And in the background Ms Devina Tuggwell, the church organist. She never strays far from the Rev Chas. Her shade of blue eye shadow matches his. His wife doesn’t seem to notice. At first I’m uncertain whether Devina’s here as an escaped mental patient, or a twenties fashionista in that shapeless, backless, spangly dress.

Duncan Delco has come as a deserter from ‘Dad’s Army’, sporting his military best with a row of gleaming medals. Georgina Plimp-Davis, a little the worse for wear after five of Gabriella’s Tom Collins cocktails, laughs shrilly…I suspect Gabby has designs on dear Georgina; wishes to see her fall out of that ‘Little Bo Peep’ outfit, and into the gleaming all-together…naked as nature intended. Given half-a-chance Gabby will introduce her to a range of Sapphic delights later.

The party swings along. Room full of minxy flappers and dapper gents, elegant ladies in decadent gowns, and boys who’d be girls…all that’s missing, I feel, are the circus fire eaters, the clowns, the bold aerialists and lion tamers…But then you aren’t sure who might turn up next?

Ah, sure, those were the days. Sitting at my keyboard this morning, reminiscing. I say to Dee we should have another “Fancy Dress Party” soon. She seems enthusiastic…

‘We could plan it for when we come back from Italy. Invite the village. To hell with the expense.’

‘I doubt Georgina Plimp-Davis will come,’ I say, smiling. ‘Not after all the shenanigans last time.’

‘She was the talk of the village, wasn’t she.’ Broadly smiling. Dee is casually wicked. ‘Such behaviour from one of society’s few rustic pillars…’

‘Gabriella should have known better. She was like a dirty old man round that woman…’

‘Not just her, my love.’

‘Oh? Who, then?’

Dee laughs. ‘You were sleeping. I went in and joined them.’

‘What Gabby and Georgina?’

‘Oh, yes. The woman was drunk, but not too drunk. She knew what she was doing, trust me. And she did us both…’

So my blissful innocence dully shattered by this unexpected revelation, I sit and consider party themes. Who should I go as? A white suited clown? Pagliacci? Oh, yes…

“Ridi, Pagliaccio,
sul tuo amore infranto!
Ridi del duol, che t’avvelena il cor!”

Yes, yes, the laughing clown. “Vesti la giubba”. I can’t wait –


Firstly, I’d recommend a good book. Reading broadens the mind, allows you to see the world in totally new ways. Takes your mind off your aloneness.

Not much of a reader? Your expectations so much greater than the experiences provided by fine literature?

Oh, well. In that case I’d suggest magic.

Yes, magic, but solo sex magic. Because lonely boys shouldn’t be lonely for long. They should have a playmate to share their days – and their nights!

So, question: Is there a certain someone to whom you feel attracted? Someone you’d like to bed, but who seems unattainable to you?

There is?


Now you may find this hard to believe at first, but you can make this person, this significant other, feel attracted to you to the point of obsession! But how to do this….

In bed you will imagine your chosen one. This ritual works during any moon phase, but is best between midnight and three AM. Your concentration on her needs to be as intense as you can possibly make it. Imagine her naked, her body on top of yours, her hands caressing you. Imagine her lips on your face. Listen to her voice telling you how much she loves you, while her hands gently stroke your genitals. Hear her breathing. Image yourself penetrating her…In your mind’s eye see and feel it all. You will probably be erect by now, but don’t touch yourself. Not yet.

Keep her naked body firmly in your mind for ten minutes or so. Carefully examine every square inch of her with your mind’s eye. Your fingers on her skin, her sex. Now begin to masturbate. But very slowly, gently. Bring yourself to the point of ejaculation, but then stop. Relax.

Still focusing on your chosen one, rest a moment, before commencing to masturbate yourself again. Repeat the process. For whatever length of time you’re able, masturbate yourself to the point of climaxing without ejaculating. Resting for a minute or two each time, then recommence your gentle ministrations. Keep your movements slow and easy, almost tentative. When you feel you can go on no longer, allow yourself to ejaculate. Focus on her like never before, your chosen one, as you cum. Imagine her orgasming too. Let your desire for her ejaculate into the universe…

You should repeat this masturbatory process regularly*. You will find over time your experiences and orgasms will become considerably more intense. Eventually you will “have” your chosen one with you in the flesh…

A personal note. I have used this process several times. It has always proven successful for me. My first attempt at this form of sex magic, I wanted to attract a nurse working in a big London hospital. After just three weeks, she approached me and began flirting with me…I could hardly believe my luck. It was, boys and girls, feckin’ amazing.

In isolation, one could easily take this occurrence as pure coincidence, of course. However, that said, up until the moment when this young woman finally approached me, she was particularly aloof and “untouchable”. So much so, the male patients on the ward she worked had nicknamed her “The Ice Maiden”.

We ended up in bed together the following night, and our affair went on for some considerable time after that.

The longest it has taken this particular ritual to work for me has been eighteen months. The object of my desire on that particular occasion was a woman in a senior position at a large law firm. Our paths crossed by chance at a “launch party” for a new branch opening organised by a local ad-agency.

This woman specialised in international law. She was attractive, intelligent, and full to the brim with get-up-and-go. Unfortunately she had to hurry off to attend a video conferencing session with a company in Tokyo.

By the time she left, however, I was in love with her.

What to do? The following day I telephoned the law firm, asked for her, but she was too busy to come to the phone. I repeated this experience six or seven times. No joy. I was onto a loser, for sure.

Nevertheless, I practiced solo sex magic with her as my objective. To begin with I practiced the ritual nightly, edging myself as many as ten or twelve times. Sweaty two hour sessions of pure lust where I visualized her naked in my bed. After a month or so of this, I began to ease off the frequency I performed the ritual. It wasn’t working. I wanted so much for her to call me. We’d exchanged cards at the party, but I imagined her discarding mine without a second thought. I’d lost her…

But I really did love her, as absurd as that might sound. So at irregular intervals over the next year I performed the ritual, on one memorable occasion “edging” myself twenty-three times over a three hour period!

Three days after that session, my telephone rang. I was expecting a call from my agent. But it wasn’t him. It was my woman from the law firm, the sole object of my desire. Eighteen months after our first meeting she was calling me!!

She explained she’d wanted to contact me, but had mislaid my card. She tried to obtain my telephone number via BT but I was unlisted. She tried via the ad-agency that I had written copy for, but they only had my old address and phone number.

She told me she kept experiencing vivid flashbacks of the party that day, and of me talking to her. Each time this happened (she called them mini-visions), she’d make a fresh attempt to locate me, but without success.

The beginning of that particular week, she commenced a relocation into a larger office at the law firm. Clearing out she found…Yes, you guessed it…My card. She found my card and phoned immediately. How amazing is that?

We made a date for that evening. We became lovers…We lived together for some time after that.

Coincidence? Chance? Possibly. But in performing this ritual successfully so many times, I’m forced to acknowledge there’s much more than just luck or chance involved here. The power of mind. The human mind is infinite. We are made of the same stuff as stars…

Believe and you will achieve.


Decide what you want. Believe you can have it. Believe you deserve it and believe it’s possible for you. And then close your eyes every day for several minutes, and visualize having what you already want, feeling the feelings of already having it. Come out of that and focus on what you’re grateful for already, and really enjoy it. Then go into your day and release it to the Universe and trust that the Universe will figure out how to manifest it.

Jack Canfield


I was 14 and madly in love for the first time. He was 21. He made me suddenly, unaccustomedly beautiful with his kisses and mix tapes. During the year of elation and longing, he never mentioned that he had a girlfriend who lived across the street. A serious girl. A girl his age. A girl he loved. Unlike inappropriate, high school, secret me.

The next time, I was 15 visiting a friend at college. It was a friend’s friend’s boyfriend who looked like Jim Morrison and wore leather pants and burned candles and incense. She was at work and I wanted him to touch me. She found out. I don’t know what happened after that.

I was 19 and he was my boyfriend’s arch-rival. I was 20 and it was my lover’s girlfriend and we had to lie because otherwise he always wanted to watch. I was 24 and her girlfriend knew about it but then changed her mind about the open relationship. We saw each other anyway. I was 30 and we wanted each other but were committed to other people; the way we look at each other still scorches the walls. I turned thirty-something and pointedly wasn’t invited to a funeral/a wedding/a baby shower because of a rumour.

I am a few years older now and I know this: There are tastes of mouths I could not have lived without; there are times I’ve pretended it was just about the sex because I couldn’t stand the way my heart was about to burst with happiness and awe and I couldn’t be that vulnerable, not again, not with this one. That waiting to have someone’s stolen seconds can burn you alive. That the shittiest thing you can do in the world is lie to someone you love; also that there are certain times you have no other choice – not honouring this fascination, this car crash of desire, is also a lie. That there is power in having someone risk everything for you. That there is nothing more frightening than being willing to take this free-fall. That it is not as simple as we were always promised. Love – at least the pair-bonded, prescribed love – does not conquer all.

Arrow, meet heart. Apple, meet Eve.

Daphne Gottlieb
Let’s Just Get This Out in the Open