as that commonly known phrase goes:
the terrible has already happened...
and it has...
my cycling through the night towards
Stratford from Romford
for some: "love-you-long-time"
at... the 2nd most visible brothel
through the East End: starting from
that one jacuzzi / sauna / massage
parlour at Goodmayes...
the terrible has already happened...
i bought a bottle of J & B ms. amber's whiskers
just off Leytonstone
and peddle to Lilly's... Libby's Sauna...
a fox laughed at me perusing the nightly
traffic of flimsy leftover pedestrians...
one... shady character tried to approach me
while i was utilising a bike-lock...
i stood over a rough-sleeper
seemingly content with:
who wouldn't be... such a June night...
but i'd  be more joy having a welcome
of a meadow...
i just stood over him so well cushioned...
as i entered the "sauna" i asked...
no entry fee...
£160 for an hour... a single room...
£180 for a double room...
i forgot to ask the ethnicity
of the girls...
but given the front door was occupied
by a woman...
it's a lot different...
i pretended to not have enough
money...
i peddled to Goodmayes...
lo and behold... yesterday? closed...
today... magically open...
up the stairs via to buzzers...
there used to be this plump woman at the door...
now... some Ottoman ****...
£10 entry fee... £120 afterwards...
the girls will discuss the details...
see if they'll charge you less... more...
oddly enough...
when a woman has the vantage point
of your entry...
it feels so much... less of what men do to men
in societies that focus on harems...
on polygamy...
man O man: never the... but sometimes the rare
focus of the imitation of swans...
the terrible has already happened...
i've been here before...
perhaps i'd be some dough shy of feeling
good about some savings... petty as they are...
but...
given my newly acquired physical labouring
under the ying of the bicycle...
the coolness of the night...
what more can i be given from
a mere: *******?
          what can't fiddling with my own beard...
caressing a cat...
would i really require myself
to blunt the sensation in the tips of my fingers
on some bricks (imitating sandpaper)
to subsequently concentrate the sensation
performed on a woman's body?
i'm hardly a ******* performer...
no... i'm not a ******* performer...
3 years without and i can just imagine
how comical it would look...
who's expectations, met: mine, hers'?
              it's a good thing that i haven't eaten anything
for the past 2... coming to 3 days...
just enough beer and whiskey fuel to
aid me peddling the odd marathon
through the night...
how certain of no egoistic-libido needing
to be satiated when... you're...
impregnated with a deeper hunger:
an actual hunger...
when... biting your nails makes you
realise how: well... even if i used a clipper...
no chance...
and while drinking beer on an empty
stomach starts to be a metaphor for
drinking molten butter...
this litter adventure of mine seeking out
body... **** **** **** and ol' Jezebel...
sigma... in her wholeness...
     it's good to do so while fasting...
after all... thirst, hunger come prior...
to all that *****-nilly get your secondary limp
part wet in...
i could finally get my spare parts
together... i'll wait...
it's not like i have some: ulterior avenues of
stalling libido antics...
stamp-collecting... butterflies...
i'll just make sure that... if my libido comes
knocking... hungry for angry...
i'll not be prompted by a maine **** she...
she with her ******* **** up in the air
while i cut her nails and comb her fur...
i'll make sure i've eaten something decent...
no...
i'll come round to this desert goddess of
unimaginable thirst some other way...
not like this...
concentrated on actual hunger...
because: fasting... does just that...
- only for the little quippets of tenderness...
perhaps that's a misnomer....
but why couldn't a touch also me...
an amusing remark?
- there might be a dog without a need
to employ a muzzle or a leash: too!
the terrible has already happened...
chances are... it probably might happen again...
i'll be roughing up the night with
bogus arguments...
for there's no need for shelter...
for there's no need for sustenance...
only this carnal slurp-up
of half-edible body parts...
  bite to tease... bite to linger with
a flaming tongue and itchy teeth
and... blistered lips...
and... fingertips craving sandpaper prior
to... the details of grooves in the elbow vicinity...
the knee... all that's thighs...
and esp. the collar-bone...
the enigma of knuckles... the scent of...
freshly washed hair... curdling my sight
to all that's raven, Bulgarian... even Turkic...
i almost want to forget the mythological blonde
on her altar of... her preferences...
looks like i have mine too...
                   akin to the fantasy of...
somewhere between Tuba Büyüküstün and
Ava Lauren...
mein gott: short-hair on a woman...
done precisely as can be done
outside the realm of mad-pixie-girl stereotype...
i'll wait some more...
a lackey of quest that begins with never-ending
inhibitions...
i most certainly want as little of what's
to tease me, tempt me...
i don't follow promises...