london calling
05 december

My Thanksgiving consisted of calling relatives and each time getting disconnected in mid sentence because my time ran out. I divvied up my coin collection and when I slid the last 20 pence into the Frustration Machine more commonly known as Typical British Pay Phone, I knew I'd be cutting out faster than Aunty Em in the Wicked Witch of the West's crystal ball.

Payphones here are under some spell. The first hurdle is finding one that works. I gave up reporting malfunctions to BT when it just got too time consuming. If you do find a phone with a live line, check to see if there is change stuck in the coin slot. I've managed to fish out enough for a round trip tube ride, and have become quite good. I saw one poor guy leave a phone mumbling something to the effect of "what a rip off". In solidarity I fished out his coin and returned it to him, then talking on a more cooperative unit. He was pleasantly shocked.

I've started seeing clients at my office, and have begun making little improvements, like heating. In post coital repose at another session, I was admiring my client's tiny little electric heater. This thing sat on a night table, and when you turned it on it shot out hot air- instantly! For someone used to starting coal fires with kindling chopped in the chilly basement, this was like discovering cell phones.

A couple days later I nearly jumped for joy when I stopped in a lamp store to ask directions to a place that might stock such a marvel, and they had them stacked right in front of the cash register. I practically skipped to the bus to get to the office. After trying all kinds of DIY to get the office's heating going, no luck, but so what, I now had fire. Ok, so it's really just an overgrown hairdryer, but it works. I hooked a blanket across the doorframe to keep the heat in and declared the office open for business.

And business has started to pick up. This past Saturday I had three calls, including my first repeat, the three-way with the hot Spanish escort. Our client was surprised to learn I'm American, his experience has been that Americans dont fuck well. Something about having a muscle man cramming his huge tube steak in my mouth just inspires me to screw better. I think that's called synchronistic multitasking, but not sure, will have to try it again.

I fucked another American living here who really went out of his way to create atmosphere- candles, great mood music- it really made for a great time. That and the way he received and responded. The next day I picked up a bag of candles for my office.

Indulged a new fetish this weekend- this client really got off getting his neck rubbed. I love a good kneading as much as the next guy, but for this man it was like his neck was a giant nipple. His back arched and he moaned when I accidentally grabbed it as if I was going to strangle him. A first for me...

Fucked this amazing guy last night. I had stood him up the night before by waiting for him at the wrong junction. When no one showed up I wrote it off as another wanker, and went off for some community service. I was surprised when he called back the next day and rescheduled. I'm sure glad he did.

This short guy approaches me at the rendezvous point and I say to myself "not bad, I hope that's him". When we get to the office, I tell him to strip. He's easily in his forties, but under his baggy clothes he's stacked, and he's already sporting a boner. I forget my standard etiquette like offering him a drink, and we just go at it.

I tell him to turn around so I can inspect him. Fucking glutes, thighs, calves, shoulders out to there, big guns- he looks like a rugby player (I found out later my guess was right. I forgot to ask him about the difference between union and league).

His trip is to get fucked by a man, I gladly oblige. He loves my hairy body, even on my shoulders, confirming what I told this "modeling" agency I interviewed with this weekend. They asked my if I'd trim my hair, and I said no way.

So, I screw Rugby Man, who also has super sensitive nipples. Part of his trip is to resist, he tries to throw me off several times, but I have him pinned down with my penis. I tell him deep down he really wants it, and when he begs me to penetrate him a fourth time, there's really no use in keeping up the ruse. When he comes, he pushes his ass muscles so hard my dick pops out of him.

The one good thing about my dank, smelly gym is the staff. A few of the guys start the blood pumping just looking at them, and today I got to watch one bend over in front of me while he helped a client of his stretch. I have to figure out a tasteful way to get him to do that just for me.

this is what defines London for me right now... songwriter Kandi, the search for Damilola's murderers, Vegamite, pedophiles, Big Breakfast, the term "snog" has got to be replaced, lousy plumbing, Borough Market, Whitechapel- the haunt of Jack the Ripper, bouldercam.

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