Swedish Model

Swedish Model

Of all the anti prostitution laws on the books, most aimed at making the lives of women seeking to make a living as dangerous as possible. Ireland of course chooses the possibility of criminalising the client, or the law more popularly known as the Swedish Model. Which makes it illegal to purchase sex, but not illegal to sell. The idea being to stop men from purchasing and exploiting women. Ha! The idiots who came up with this did not think this through. I have worked in countries where this law is in affect and it makes no difference.

But I have a feeling it will make a difference in Ireland. But not the one everyone thinks. The difference I think it will make is to possibly instill a slight modicum of manners into the punting population.

You must remember that the Irish punter as a whole is a slightly self entitled, xenophobic creature. But they are scared as shit of their own shadows, their neighbours, their wives, mothers, dicks, sexual urges. You name it. The idea of it being illegal to purchase sex will make them more skittish than ever. But trust me this is a good thing, why?

Because fear is a good thing when dealing with the Irish punter. It is shocking how many don’t know it is legal. And far be it from me to tell them differently. But adding the part that makes it illegal for them to buy will have the added benefit of making them even more fearful. Fear makes them behave, well in as much as they are capable of.

Guilt is another motivating factor. But the Catholic Church took care of that one already.

So the combination of fear, guilt, horniness and disposable income will create the perfect punter. Let’s hope the extra fear improves their ability to listen and follow directions.

Designer Pussy

Designer Pussy

Apparently I have one. I always though I just had a pussy, well it seems due to the bits all being neatly tucked in, mine is the go to for those seeking designer lips. Somebody shoot me!

Seriously, gentlemen! If you are looking at a woman when her legs are spread in front of you and all you can think about is the labia minora is longer that the labia majora, you my friend are not focusing on the right thing. Or you are getting way too much pussy! Trust me when my man is down there, he had better be attending to the task at hand, not bloody comparing a catalogue of cuntflaps! And if he is, I had better not find out!

You fools need to be more appreciative when you are at the altar. Designer pussy my ass!

1. Broke Ass Bitches

1. Broke Ass Bitches

Lord in his heavens save me from the creature known as a Broke As Bitch-BAB! You will find these in all walks of life, and in both sexes. But the one that particularly chaps my cunt is the one who manages to find the one iota of ambition she has to get off her ass and then decides to sell it. This one is the worst, why? Because this lazy bitch is too insouciant to realise that the rest of use hos are doing this as a business and not to feed a boyfriend, pay a late bill, get a new Guess bag, or a weeks supply of weed!

So, she couldn’t careless if she is selling below market value, and offering the sun, the moon, and her ass for a few quid! Nope, it is more than she gets sitting on her ass collecting the dole, or the wage slave job she works, so it is all gravy to this female. This shit makes me want to scream in frustration!

And don’t make the mistake of pointing out to this vile little guttersnipe she is giving the farm away! No, the insults hurled at you will vary from, being too old to attract clients, to thinking this is a business and how hard and business like we are. God save me! I really want to slap some sense into the little bitches head! But I don’t bother!

Why, I simply rely on the law of averages. Which states, she is going to attract the wrong sort of clientele and that unfortunately is when she quietly disappears from the scene. Never to be heard from again. I say unfortunately, because usually it takes a nasty incident happening to her to realise all the hardened old bitches were right! No one, even a BAB should have to learn a lesson this way.

I will not for a minute pretend to like this type, I don’t, but I don’t wish them harm, I wish them success, why? Because the sooner she reaches her goal the better off it is for the rest of us who do this for a living.

How the fuck?

How the fuck?

How the f*** did he sneak in under my defences? I mean seriously, was it those big, brown, fluttery eyelashes accenting lovely, warm, sweet, green eyes? No, not those.

Was it those arms like pythons that so masterfully wrapped themselves around me, or was it the excellent oral technique? Hole in murther fucking one! Leaving me panting on the bed in a puddle of my own juices, wondering who the hell was making all that damn racket, oh yeah that was me!

He is absolutely adorably cute, a lovely little bonbon. Kinda of like a delicious naughty stolen treat. Yummy, sex, sweet kisses, and touches. How the hell do I account for the f***ing withdrawals I am going through? Jesus, it has been a long time, since I have been properly loved up.

I am like a junkie needing a hit. Bad! It is messing with my head in a majorly bad way. I am wearing out my playlist of sad and soppy songs. How the hell did I, me, yes moi end up here? Need to get a grip on self and snap to hell out of this silliness. No more texts, and I will just have to endure. Horrible. I hate feeling like this. Aaaaarrrrrggggggg!

The not so joys of working in Ireland-winter edition

The not so joys of working in Ireland-winter edition

What the very fuck has happened? I am still on tour, and am starting to notice that the wonderful inhabitants of the places I visited in England in the summer have somehow changed. I mean seriously, are people saving that much for Christmas that in the middle of October business is down by that much? Fucking hell! Or is it the influx of new and desperate hos, needing money for their presents as well?

Well whatever the problem is, I hate winter time. I am grouchier than normal, and that is saying something, I want to sleep more, and I have caught the bloody flu! I need a holiday! All in all I hate England, I hate Ireland in equal measure.

When the sun, if it shines, is shinning in this part of the world the clientele are lovely, when the weather changes, they all become bears.

Seriously men are dogs in the summer and bears with sore heads in the winter.

International travel

International travel

To say I am a jet setting ho is an understatement. I think I am up in the air more than my legs. šŸ˜‰ so, during my many transcontinental trips you start to notice things, how certain groups of people travel, how people are treated at airports, how bloody inept the security really is, down to how certain airlines treat their passengers.

The bottom of the scale is Ryanair, a flying bus, that stops short of charging you to use the toilets. It was actually proposed. Not an airline I use, unless there is no other option, and I mean no other option. I would take the bus, or the ferry before traveling with those cheap bastards. And anyone who knows me, will tell you I don’t travel well by either of the latter options.

Traveling through LHR is akin to witnessing the migration of huge herds of various types of animals all at the same time. Asians tend to be like schools of fish, all moving in the same direction at the same time en fucking mass. Jesus, I try to avoid being any where near them. Africans, are like pissed off migrating pachyderms, with more flipping luggage than any human should have at an airport, arguing when informed they have to pay extra for the 80kg over the allowable weight. Loudly, too I might add!

Then you have your budget travellers, they remind me of bees, everything is micro managed to the ounce, as they can only afford to travel as the budget is limited and there is no pissing room for error. The clueless traveler, much like a fledging baby bird, never having ventured outside of their comfort zones. Announcements startle them, as does everything else associated with air travel. Often getting lost in the toilet cubicles.

And my least favourite traveler to be anywhere near is anyone who looks even slightly like they come from a country that ends in ..stan. They will get stopped! Searched! Grilled! I am not spending 20mins because the idiots that are hired to be the first line of defense against terrorism can’t profile properly. And seriously I have seen some of the morons that work for the various airport security companies, and I tell you now we are fucked if these are what is standing between us and a terrorist!

Some nationalities shouldn’t be allowed to travel, lets take the Irish for instance, they are either pissed or on the way to get pissed. It is like a traveling band of AA members without the sponsor. The French are annoyed because they are forced to leave their beloved France. The Germans are pissed the engineering, the food, the people, the place, the luggage isn’t German. Americans if they have managed to get a passport and have crossed the Border, will try to social engineer the entire trip to get upgrades or freebies. Brazilians think it is flipping carnival wherever they are. I tend to avoid all this madness by hiding out in one airport lounge or another. The Concord Room at LHR is the favourite, as is the Emirates First Class lounge at DXB

But when you land in a country where they are civilised about travel, it stops you in your tracks. Upon check in, the staff are actually helpful, assisting you with your luggage and even when over weight, not charging you and wishing you a good day. Upon boarding you are greeted with a smile and addressed by name! I thought I had done something wrong, why was this woman calling by my name!? And this isn’t in business class, this is economy! The airports are not mass migration portals, shuffling people from gate to gate like cattle. Your family can come with you as far as the boarding gate to see you off. I was like fuck me! Obviously, they haven’t had a terrorist attack happen, by either a disgruntled citizen, or an ungrateful foreigner. Long may the innocence last.

Hoing for fun

Hoing for fun

Yes you heard me correctly, one of my hobbies in addition loads of stuff civvie people do, is hoing for fun.

What I mean by hoing for fun, is this: When I am sequestered to any part of the world where I am not making a significant 4 figure sum a day, I am hoing for fun. I mean I cant really take it too seriously, due to the fact I am having to work for money far below what I would get as a tip in some countries. And the best part about hoing for fun, is when clients tell me I have an attitude, and should be grateful for the pittance they can barely afford. It gives me great pleasure to tell them, I am not working because I need this money, I’m doing this so as not to have to spend any money from my savings. This is pocket money for me, and not even decent pocket money at that! You should see the faces!

The UK mid range market is totally ruined! There was a time you could get some decent gents in the mid range sector, not anymore. They have either moved, died off, or become incredibly demanding cretins with entitlement issues. None of which I want any part of.

So you may ask, why bother returning to the UK at all? Well, due the fact I have family there, whom I really am rather attached to, and I actually enjoy spending my summers there. The Middle East is blistering hot, Oceania is cold-ish, so Europe is about the only place on the place on the planet worth spending time in at this time of the year. Thus, why I am on hiatus in the UK.

I am a hardcore ho, I am not doing this to get by! I am doing this to earn silly amounts of money, make no mistake, this isn’t some damn vocation or calling! I am not some sacrificial lamb sucking cock for the betterment of mankind! I am simply doing this because it pays bloody well. And if I am not getting a certain amount per day when I am working, time to move. Simples. I am not loyal to any place unless I am making money there. At the minute certain Middle Eastern countries are my favourite.

The day is coming soon when the UK client will start to appreciate a quality escort again, when those damn flood gates open and Eastern Europe dumps en mass the hordes of people seeking the land of milk and honey, the difference will soon emerge. And it will be something so simple, as when they hear that I speak perfect English. But until that day, I will be hoing for fun elsewhere.