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Cornered

I thought he would pick me up and carry me downstairs into the front room, but instead he came over to me and said that if I didn’t want to do it I could just say the safeword and we could just go into the livingroom and nothing would happen. His voice was calm and measured, like it always is. Roland has quite a pleasant voice. He also talks softly and sometimes slowly, traits I find irritating in others, but not in him. Mostly because he uses tone and expressions to give his words much more power than if he was talking loud or fast.He came closer to me and asked if I wanted to do it. Was I sure? Did I want to say the safeword, or did I want to do it? The insinuation that I couldn’t of course spurred me to tell him that I would.

“Is this something that you want?” he asked.

I thought, of course not, why would anyone even think of doing something so disgusting and unhygienic anyway, if it wasn’t for online porn? (I’ve never been diagnosed with OCD, but I am told I exhibit such tendencies).  Can you imagine how germy it would be, probably millions of bacteria and molecules of piss would be in your mouth. Honestly I think it’s revolting, though maybe not as bad as drinking piss or eating shit. But I love money so much, and I wanted to be debased and to experience what it’s like. So I said, “Yeah, I want to.”

We were talking for a bit, and I said that if I’d hidden in the bathroom he wouldn’t have found me.

“Well no, because we’ve thought of that, you see,” he said, showing how the lock could be opened from outside.

I asked why we couldn’t use a flavoured condom. He said he didn’t like them but “You can demand I wash my balls first” which I think is an amusing line/quote, so I’ve stuck it in this post. Then I followed him downstairs.

He made me sit on his lap to get the answers out of me. I was feeling sore and didn’t want to be spanked any more, so I was glad about this. Roland asked me for my favourite colour, the age at which I first masturbated, and the first time or have I ever had an orgasm; I gave him these answers instantly. He laughed and said it was no fun. Then he tried to think of two more things to ask me. I said it was fine and I’d give him a blowjob without the five questions/answers.

“You’re sure?” he said.

I was. I was tired of playing games; I wanted action.

I was lying on the sofa. Roland popped off to shower – not that I’d have cared all that much if he didn’t, because I had the sauce so all I would taste would be that. He was gone a disappointingly short time.

 

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Let them eat cream

I just played an RPG http://spankingadventures.webeden.co.uk, a ‘choose your own spanking story’ set in a mystical mansion outside of time where you start as a slave with the possibility of progressing to Mistress; the ultimate goal is to become Supreme Mistress, but it could be GAME OVER any time. It is a very detailed, long and varied RPG; it took me over 2 hours to get this far and I read very fast (so far I’ve reached Mistress level).

I really want to stay as Mistress in that mansion, until the end of time.

But I could not forsake my Egyptian palace for it, and my responsibilties there.

 

Now, back to the actual stuff that really happened:

Roland was lying on the floor of the studio for some reason and I was sitting on top of him, naked except for the purity ring, bangles and maybe a necklace. I don’t know how this happened – maybe he was lying next to me and I just clambered on him? I think I said that he couldn’t get up with me sitting on him. Anyway, he had clothes on which continued to irritate me, but I was equally afraid that if I took them off he would be all wobbly rolls of fat, undulating and bobbing slickly under his skin.

We were talking about some stuff and I began to thrust in a rolling sort of motion, first sitting and then with my weight equal on all four limbs; at first I was gentle, then harder and squeezing my thighs as each thrust was completed. I imagined that he was mine, to torture and to dominate at my pleasure.

“If we were in my palace right now, I could torture you,” I said. This amused him, but I can’t remember what he said.

I blindfolded him. Then I jumped off him to get the whipped cream, climbed back on and squirted the cream in his face, giggling, and then in his mouth, forcing him to eat it. “That’s for being a millionaire,” I said, rocking now, “I don’t like rich people.”

A little while later, being puzzled why he wasn’t getting hard, I asked “Why isn’t this working?”

“Because I know that’s your kink,” he replied, still eating the massive wads of cream, “And I’m not going to let you have it. And I don’t have much of a submissive side.”

“Wait – you can control it? All men can?”

“Yes, except in very few situations,” he said.

“I can’t – at all. I wonder why – but I guess women are just more sexual. We’re multiorgasmic.”

“Well, yes,” Roland said in a very educated tone, like there wasn’t a naked hooker dry-humping him on the floor of a studio, “I think that’s it.”

“But in some situations it would work, like how you can control yourself not to come but sometimes you couldn’t control that.”

“Yeah.”

“So if I wanted to, I could tie you down and do this and rape you and force you to impregnate me.”

He chuckled. I was moving backwards and forwards this whole time and it was having no effect. “Well, no, because of something called the pill.”

“Yeah, but if I wanted to get pregnant. I could force you.”

“Well, yes,” he admitted, still swallowing Kalika-cream, “you could.”

I licked the cream off his face.

 

Then he drove me to his house. On the way out of his studio and on the drive, I found out that he wasn’t disappointed that I would’ve done it for less, because he  wouldn’t have wanted me that many times if it had been for less (and neither would I; I hadn’t envisioned 8 times at all till he said it at the restaurant.)

I also found out that if I’d said my student debts were 12k he’d just want to see me more, so it would’ve been the same, as we might do more than 8 times anyway – well, actually, it would’ve been less as he’d have wanted 15 times for 12k so it wouldn’t be a k a time. So, I’m really happy about that! It was important for me to know that. I don’t think Roland realised it was important for me to know that.

He can’t grasp how much I love money.

As we neared his house, I knew which one it was, and I was correct. Sometimes I’m just slightly psychic like that. Well, actually, it’s not psychicness, but sensing certain feelings and the air.

 

 

 

 

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Why this blog/Kalika’s Q and A:your sordid questions answered!

Why this blog?

1. ‘Cause Belle de Jour did it.

2. I wanted to write a diary, then I thought, ‘why not a blog? Then it wouldn’t be so pointless, and other people will see it. And nobody’s done a selling virginity blog before, because most virginity buyers don’t want to drag it out like Roland.’

3. I like writing complete shit and ranting against the homophobes/Ann Widdecombe/Nadine Dorries/Rick Santorum/Rick Perry/the pro-lifers/the conservatives/the Conservatives/the government (which is mostly Conservative)/the conservatives who pretend to be feminists/the Conservative feminists…Is anyone even still reading this? Anyway, I like ranting against all of these loons, so why not rant on the internet, call it “blogging”, call myself “a blogger”, act smug about it and put it on my CV? And I can smear my complete shit all over the internet and act like it’s some kind of socially-worthy activity! (Some have called me an activist, even though all I’m doing is writing down what I say every day. Saying stuff to your friends is just slagging off people, but when you stick it on a blog, it’s activism!)

FAQ

(No-one’s asked me any questions…well, maybe one or two, but I forget what they were. Anyway, here are some questions I think would be FAQs if this morally reprehensible blog had more followers:)

Q. What prompted you to sell your virginity?

A. I’ve always dreamed of prostituting myself and been very jealous of sex workers. I especially fantasised about selling virginity. I love money, and love the idea of being paid for sex. It’s kinky.

Q. Why did you choose Roland instead of auctioning it as you would’ve got more money that way?

A. He was the safest and easiest option, and I liked his personality. I preferred it to be someone I liked and knew slightly. Sacrificing thousands for these paltry preferences was ridiculously stupid, of course – I wouldn’t pay thousands for those things, so why throw away thousands for those things? – however I don’t regret my decision, and I’ve never claimed to be intelligent.

Q.Do you enjoy being sexual with Roland?

A.Yes. I think I naturally am very into kinky sex. I didn’t know that before. I think the moral of this unseemly contract is: love sex. (Durex paid me £562,621,869.74 to say that last bit. The massive but somehow invisible prostitution corporations paid me twice that amount to say the first bit. I actually hate doing anything with Roland, because he forces me at gunpoint to do it, and has cut me with very cool-looking designer knives. On one occassion, he stuck a hot poker up my bum as an experiment, but forgot to record the result so had to repeat the experiment five times, then press a hot frying pan to my bottom as a control study. He then spanked me with it for not staying still and compromising the experiment. He also tortured me with electrodes and taser-like instruments, and has set my butt on fire repeatedly.  I don’t enjoy these things because Roland works for the despotic government of Fantasia and I think government torture is morally wrong. Roland agrees that it is indeed morally wrong, but he counters that it is also sexy, an observation which I find difficult to rebutt.)

Q.Why don’t you have two separate blogs, one for your perverted, badly-written diary, and another for your half-baked thoughts on feminism, BDSM laws, 50 Shades, and other sociopolitical things you obviously know nothing about? Or even a third blog for your kinky fiction that either goes on and on for thirty pages or is total rubbish?

A. I wanted to make the point that sex isn’t a separate sphere of our lives. It’s part of our social life, our family life, etc. We have sex with people we meet socially or through work; we use our social skills to pick up men or maintain relationships. We have sex with people in our family such as our spouses and partners. Our children are (usually) born by sex, or even if they’re not, the method used to create them was a secondary choice because the usual method wasn’t a viable option for us. We have a tendency in the west to segregate sex off from the other parts of our lives, and have distinct attitudes or unease towards it. (The forced therapy on two 6 year olds who had oral sex in an  American classroom proves that while dressing up or playing house is acceptable for children, ‘playing doctor’ or exploring each others’ bodies is not. Worryingly, this exploration used to be shrugged off as ‘playing doctor’ in the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s but now in our supposed ‘freer’ times, it is pathologized and medicalized. Facebook recently banned a user for posting a photo of her 5 year old pretending to breastfeed her two year old, because the photo was ‘sexual’. There are more examples, obviously, those are the first two I thought of.)

I also wanted to make the point that you can talk seriously about feminist issues and issues surrounding BDSM, sexuality and sex work alongside a sex diary – that the academic/political discourse around sex can’t be completely separated from the lived experience itself. When we research, analyse, discuss and legislate on sex – from gay marriage to abortion to the legality of BDSM – we are affecting real individuals’ lives and freedoms. When we don’t legislate on/discourage sexism, homophobia, slut-shaming/stigmatisation of lone mothers/the double standard enough (or, indeed, at all) this affects real people. I don’t think sex – or anything else – can be completely divided into two spheres as the academic-political discourse and the separate private experience. The lines are blurred.

I also wanted to show people that sex workers are well-rounded people who can be feminists – not victims – and do other things like write fiction etc. So I didn’t see a need to have one blog for my diary and feminism and a separate blog just for the few stories I have, especially since those stories are connected to the diary in that Roland and I frequently talk about them and Roland has mimicked the Queen Tut spanking scene/Kemet 1 twice and occassionally calls me by that name.

Q. Don’t you understand that you’re being exploited by that disgusting male who is little better than a rapist?

A. Yes, I feel very exploited. I went to a photo shoot with the intention of giving Roland a trial-run so that if he passed I could initiate a deal to sell my virginity. I’m a kinky student being paid £8,000 to have kinky sex with a millionaire I actually like personality-wise, who looks young for his age, pays for my food when I see him, and is overly concerned about my emotional health/consent issues. I have money saved up anyway from working part-time the last couple of years, I could get a career job as I just graduated; I’m doing casual work now anyway and have student overdrafts so I’m not dependent on him. I can stop this whenever I want. Of course I’m being exploited, please rescue me.This is horrible – I’m oversexed and have too much money.No woman should be treated in this way.

Q.Is there anything about selling virginity that you feel negatively about?

A. Two things – his age, and the hair thing.

Q. Do you ever detach yourself while doing it?

A. Once, for about three minutes, though I didn’t realise other sex workers do that sometimes, I thought it was only me. I did it as a precaution, but it got so hot that I began to like it so I un-detached myself.

Q. Why aren’t the Feminism and BDSM sections of your blog more objective?

A. In this stage that our society is now in, I don’t think we can afford to be objective any more. People’s freedoms and quality of life are at stake. You only have to look across the pond to see that, once a free country is on the way to becoming a theocracy, the slide is difficult to stop and lots of innocent bystanders will suffer a lot (If you haven’t heard of the ‘war on women’, Google it, or Google ‘last abortion clinic Mississippi’, or ‘teen abortion parental consent North Carolina’ – which wasn’t even part of the recent controversies, but an older law.) Who knows how many women especially young or poor women, are, right now, being forced by government (or in N. Carolina, abusive parents) to bear babies as a result of that? How many people got AIDS or pregnant because of abstinence education (which has mostly declined now but still exists)? These are the ‘invisible children’ that we- well, Americans – can actually do something about. The solution is simple – scrap all those newly-enforced laws. It doesn’t take millions of dollars or decades of scientific research to do that. The Americans know this, of course – they aren’t as dumb as they portray themselves in their films- but the loonies won’t let regular Americans put things right and save the children and themselves from unnecessary harm.

We don’t want this stuff to happen here and American abstinence programmes and anti-abortion government control have already been attempted (by Dorries. Most recently in January, which was her 4th attempt).

Q. Why do your posts go off on tangents?

A. They just do.

Q. To you, personally, what is the best thing about free speech?

A. Well we all know why it’s massively important, so my answer is: Being able to write the Santorum gets spanked scene in my story ‘The UK Government Torture Act’ and not get spanked by the police for writing it. Wait, is that actually a good thing?

Q.When did you begin to have BDSM fantasies?

A. 9 years and 2 months. This is also when I began to draw and write kinky stories and comics.

Q. At what age did you realise these fantasies were sexual and accept your desires?

A. 18

Q. Has Roland ever done anything to you that made you feel bad?

A. Woke me up at 5.45 am. In his defence, this was totally necessary.

Got a question? Ask me in a comment! 😀

 

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Mama I’m in love with a pervert

Mama I’m in love with a criminal. And this type of love isn’t rational, it’s physical. (it’s physical). This song by Britney Spears was playing in an arty clothing shop in Glasgow as I was spending my prostitution earnings. I’m playing it right now. The rest of the lyrics after this are: Mama please don’t cry, I will be alright/and all reason aside, I just can’t deny, I love that guy./He’s a rebel with a tainted heart/And even I am just a tart.

Roland thinks that I think I love him, so if I did my song (to the same tune of Criminal) would be:

Mama I’m in love with a pervert now.

And this type of love isn’t rational, it’s physical. (It’s physical).

Mama please don’t judge him cos he treats me right,

And I got all the fucking that I need all night. (all night long).

He’s got a corporate facade but a pervert’s core

And he’s the perfect mate for me, a whore.

Mama please don’t sigh, he’s not my only man

Your daughter’s proud to be a slut and she has ten.

Mama please don’t cry, he got millions

I’ll love him till I meet a guy with billions (with billions)

He’s a pervert but an educated one

And furthermore the sex is really fun.

Mama, he’s the one I have to marry

If I really want that red Ferrari!

 

Mama please don’t cry, your baby’ll be alright

As long as she can fuck three hours a night. (Three hours a night)

And Roland is my soulmate, I can tell

By his balance sheet and his car as well

Mama he’s polyamorous like me

And he holds the key for me, to set me free.

He’s a dirty old man with no qualms

But he’s giving me 8000 pounds

See, he’s of financial benefit to me

And also I’m learning how to fuck for free.

He’s a professional who loves his art,

And I’m a kinky bitch without a heart.

 

Mama I’m in love with a pervert now,

And this type of love isn’t spiritual; it’s professional

I’m a prostitute who likes electric drills

So, if I lived my fantasies, I’d kill.

What I want to do to him is criminal

And my self-control at best is miminal (it’s minimal)

Mama, my dreams are the devil’s art

But rape and torture are dear to my heart.

Mama please don’t cry, I won’t set him on fire

All laws aside, I can’t deny, wanna rape that guy.

The Government can’t torture me in Britain,

This is a situation that’s not worth living,

But worse still, if I use electricity

On him without consent, they’d imprison me.

 

Mama, Roland’s fucking a criminal

He doesn’t know my sex drive is so powerful

Mama I’m scared I’m gonna lose control

And end up in jail, cos you know, I’m a ho.

Mama do you know where to get a taser?

It’d be cool if I could find a laser

He’s a fucking pervert, a predator

But an educated fucking pervert, so that’s better.

Mama, I’m in love with a pervert now,

I’m a pure virgin with my innocence in tow

Mama, do you think he’s too much for me?

If he loves me back, I might get that Ferrari.

 

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Roland thinks I love him and I don’t know why and didn’t make this happen so why is it happening?

This is my first non-ecstatic post. Roland thinks (or thought, maybe he believes me now) that I am (or think I am, or soon will be) in love with him. I don’t know why this is happening, and things that happen outwith my instigation or control really irritate me. I wish he’d grow more hair so that his accusation would be less ludicrous. I think it also reminds me that Roland is a real person, not just my buyer, client or sex toy, with real independent thoughts that I cannot control.

I like Roland, which is of course very unusual in the sex industry, but I have heard that it is not all that unusual with regular clients. Anyway: I like him but how could I love him? He’s not bad looking, but he’s way older than me and has the hair thing going on. And even if I did fall in love with him, he’s in a polyamorous marriage and I’m polyamorous and a commitmentphobe so what would be the difference? I’d just let him have me for free, which he’d like of course. The only difference would be that I’d miss him when it ended, but I’d get over it just like everybody else.

Just because I text him more than twice a month doesn’t mean I think I love him. And there was a point to that particular text, and the ones before it: That Belle de Jour knows about us; answers to his questions about how I met Dr Magnanti; and a text saying I forgot to say I discovered I like being ‘forced’ to give blowjobs, which is true.

I don’t feel any more of a connection with him than I do with Glasgowsexworker, who has a blog on here and is a friend’s friend (wasn’t going to give out this information, but it is already in the comments on a previous post so people are going to know) i.e. a connection of ideas, interests, etc. Yes, I like him. He’s funny and very knowledgeable. But I don’t think I love him, and I won’t in future either. At a time like this, I would think “Hmmm…what would Belle de Jour do?” but I just met her 2 days ago so her persona has lost its magic; I know she’s a scientist and former call girl who had the same experience as thousands of other call girls and was talented enough to write a great blog and get an award, then lucky enough to get her book published. I look up to her but when you meet someone in real life, you realise that however intelligent they are, they are just a regular person. (Actually, hearing her talk and reading her book made me realise she is even smarter than what I thought before and I like her even more now, but I also realised she is just a regular person.)

Our texts while Lochlan and I were in Browns [he uploaded a pic of me to Facebook, updated his status and ‘liked’ my status, as well as texting; I updated my status, ‘liked’ the pic, and texted – what is the world coming to? We are so reliant on social media and texting instead of being social in real life!]:

Me (trying to appear like I’d drank more than I had – I’d had 5 or 6 drinks- so he wouldn’t think me texting him was annoying]: I met Brooke Magnanti/Belle de Jour and I told her!! Not using my real name or identifying you obv. Isnt that amazing?!!! Its so good being me, it must suck to be anyone else! Yeah! Go Kalika! Go Kalika! Yeah biitchezz!! [I think I surpassed the brief here!]

Roland: Wow! Where did you meet her?

Me:At a talk my friend Lochlan, whos into sex activism as he has sex worker friends, took me to in glasgow. I told her i got the idea to blog about the adventure from her, that she is my inspiration, and i got a copy of her latest book The Sex Myth.

Roland:Btw you were discovered by a hair, a sequin, a toe or fingernail, and a neighbour while we were in Leigh 🙂

Me: Oh. Really sorry about that. Did u manage to lie your way out of it? Hope America was fun. Lochlan bumped into a sex worker friend at the talk who has a blog too that I’ve commented on, shes seen my blog and told him that I’m unusually sexually self-assured for a virgin. Miss your cock, Queen Tut xxxx

and: Sorry. Is Leigh the part of Newcastle we wer in? I think your wife lives up to her name [a Scots pun on her nickname]

Me, the next day: Sorry for loads of txts, just forgot to mention the last time I saw u that i found out i rly like giving blowjobs and u completely humiliated me and dominated me and made me your bitch, and i like being debased and my mouth used as a cock-hole because it’s so embarrassing and dehumanizing like I’m nothing. I like a warm dick thrust into my mouth until I gag. Also, I guess the sequin was from the knife, I won’t bring it again anyway.

Roland: Well my dear, humiliation and domination are two sides of the same sexy coin. I enjoy, primarily, giving you what you want and finding out what you need. The chaste whore in you is obviously in need of something…

and, separately:

Btw please remember what I said. Women want to seem to be the way they think the men they think they love want them to be…

Me: I’ll remember that if I ever fall in love. Not that I will, because that would be cheating on my reflection, with whom I have a monogamous relationship.

Roland: This applies whether the man is their daddy, their lover, their teacher, or a total and complete pervert 🙂

Me:I knew what u meant the first time. I’ve never thought I was in love, except with myself of course. And if I was in love – not that I’m capable of commitment-love – I would say so. I don’t play games like other women. I just want my Ferrari and private jet, not some hubby to poke in the missionary position.

And, later: Why would that even be a possibility? [I will keep the rest to myself – not for anonymity, just because I’m not sure if that text was the right one…I am confused.] I don’t want to annoy my most precious source of income, but what if I have? Confusion is alien to me. I am always utterly sure of myself. How can Roland confuse me, when no-one else can? He’s so unique and unpredictable. I hope he tells me to wait somewhere for him, then beats me and ties me up, stuffs me in his car boot and drives me into the woods, spanks me until I cry and rapes me. He’s probably quirky enough to do it. Perhaps I should suggest this to him after the consummation, but I don’t know if that’s his kink. I’d ask him for a nude pic, but it’d probably just convince him more that I’m in love with him. Why does he think this? He has no evidence to support his conclusion. I’m not entirely sure of the next text I sent, either. This was the last I sent:  I appreciate your concern tho, its nice that you care about me beyond sex. You’re like Brooke’s clients. Well u are a call girl level client, so I suppose it makes sense. I bet streetwalkers’ punters are totally different.

He hasn’t replied, does that mean he’s just bored of texting me, or is he annoyed by what I said, or doesn’t believe me, or he believes me and has dropped it? Why can’t I build a spanking machine like Kane did and put him in it? Actually, I’ll build it in a few weeks. Heh. Also, why do men have a thinking/talking function when you just need their cock?

It would be easier if we’d been talking face to face. Roland has said similar things before – that this blog is potentially obsessive because it’s about him – (it’s not, it’s about me and my adventure), that I might make myself believe he loves me, etc. I think he has a Moulin Rouge fantasy where the hooker falls in love with the guy. It’s one of my favourite films as I love the soundtrack and the theme of prostitution. Did that happen in Pretty Woman too? I don’t like feeling confused. I shall eat chocolate to make this all go away. Why is getting paid 1000’s to fuck so complicated? If I was Queen Tut I’d kill somebody right now.

 

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Rolanding

I came down the steps to Buccleuch Place and Roland’s black BMW convertible was right there. A man who appeared to be him was pacing around next to it and then I did recognise him, though he looked less ugly from this distance. His face (but not hands or neck) was reddish but then it will go back to normal and I don’t know what the scientific explanation is for this. Maybe only Roland can do that, or perhaps it is a rare condition? Or is he doing it deliberately? I’ve noticed he tends to do that when he’s excited which would suggest it is involuntary. Anyway, I came down the steps. I was wearing a cream and navy short dress with a tie under the bust and black tights with black and gold dolly shoes. I had on a gold-coloured choker, a blue and gold bangle and was carrying a small brown and tan handbag and a large leopard-face print bag.

He said he was sorry to have kept me waiting and I said that I’d used the time constructively to buy whipped cream and update my blog. He looked less tall this time but also less fat.He had on a black t-shirt which I like; I like men to wear tight black shirts that show off their muscles. I shoved my bags in the back and got into the car, and he got in and his face was normal colour now which is just really weird, but it doesn’t bother me now, and actually I’ve been told that when I’m unhappy I’m darker and when I’m happy I’m pale, so maybe I can colour-change too. Roland said that anytime he tried to see me lots of things would come up with his company Luxor, but he didn’t want to cancel this time because of my sexual frustration and cos he’d cancelled at the last minute last time. He was grinning at me and I was telling him about the strawberry and cream sauce I got from Ann Summers and he drove out of Buccleuch Place and on into Clerk Street and then forward, heading for Leith.

I said “I think it’s really hot that you fired someone.” And that he’d lost weight (I said it in a positive way) and he said he’d also stopped smoking. (So that explains the yellow teeth, then. I’d thought it was excessive coffee drinking or deficient genes. Though he didn’t need to stop smoking, just get cosmetic dentistry.)

His teeth didn’t bother this time, even though they’re crowded and uneven; maybe I was getting used to them. Roland pointed to a road on the right going slightly uphill. “There’s a brothel there,” he said (he’d mentioned doing a ‘virgin in the whorehouse’ shoot there before we made the deal, and had thought about doing the film/consummation there after we did. It’s a massage parlour).

He said he thought we should consummate it there. Sounded good to me.

We ended up talking about Baudelaire, and Roland recited nearly all of ‘Allegory’ which is quite cool cos I haven’t met anyone else who can accidentally memorise poems except me.

Roland seemed surprised at the way I think about my father (purely in financial terms) and my expression of noninterest in contacting him as no financial gain could be derived from it. His surprise confused me, as I had explained to him what my father is like, and anyone with a father like mine would not think highly of their father. Although, as I told Roland, it pleases me to know he was a political revolutionary who helped overthrow his government like the Arab Spring people and I get my writing skills from him (he’s a professor of English literature). It’s great that I have the DNA of a political revolutionary.

“Did you actually say to him, ‘send me £5,000?” he asked.

“No. I just said I didn’t have enough money to live in accomodation this year so I had to live with my mum. Because at the time, I didn’t know I could get student overdrafts, I just thought an overdraft meant an unplanned overdraft. So I stayed at home instead of getting a flat in Edinburgh [and therefore access to all the hot intelligent boys I could fuck].”

Anyway it wasn’t all about lack of financial incentives, it was about lack of wanting to contact him. I do not waste my time on pointless activities or contact those I despise. It all seemed to surprise Roland for some reason. Maybe Roland knows that under English law my father can disinherit me and he thinks I was nearsighted and stupid for annoying him and thus potentially depriving myself of inheritance when he dies? But I don’t think that was the reason. I don’t understand Ro sometimes. He understands me more than I understand him. But he is a little wary of me, I think. He believes I am capable of anything. That is, of course, entirely true.

Roland has crinkly blue eyes. They are droopy because he’s old, but he’s not old enough to be called a coffin-dodger yet. Still old enough to be practically mummified, though. Actually, that gives me an idea: Should I put him in the next Kemet story as a character who is a friend of Queen Tut? His hair really bothers me, though he has more hair than Prince William. I can’t look at his forehead without wanting to puke, but one day I will touch his hair close to the bit where it is moulting off. I’m not touching the no-hair bit where the pink skin is there instead of hair. Yuck. But maybe he’s okay with it, because he hasn’t had a hair transplant like I was hoping for so it’d be easier for me if he didn’t look so gross. The weird thing is, his hair didn’t bother me that much last time as it does today. I like his voice, though, and the way he looks at me. And, in general, he looked more attractive this time than last time. I felt really happy and relaxed.

Roland stopped suddenly as some people crossed the road and I said “imagine if you ran them over, that would be pretty hot.”

“You have a different sense of humour,” Roland observed. “You joke about suicide, you think me firing employees is hot…”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t find it funny if it really happened,” I clarified (it’s true. It’s why I can’t watch the news, I can only read it.) “Like, if you really did run them over I wouldn’t find it hot. I’m not into necrophilia. We wouldn’t end up fucking in their bloodied intestines.” I paused to let that image sink in. I like the look on Ro’s face when I say certain things. I liked the pause over the phone a few weeks ago when I said, “imagine if I told someone [about our deal] and a journalist got hold of [our story] that would be bad for you.” Deee-lish. But Google “mental torture” and all that comes up is emotional abuse. Come on, guys, this has to be at least as hot as being stamped on by a pair of sweaty feet?? Or eating shit?

 

 

 

 

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Granted wishes: happiness?

In Book 4 or 5 of Christopher Pike’s Last Vampire series, vampire Alisa/Sita reflects on Krishna granting our deepest desires and the pain caused by our maya (illusions) when we discover that our greatest longings bring us the most suffering. For her, the longing/maya of having her daughter Lalita reborn meant that she was given the apparently demonic Kalika as a daughter.

For me, three of my greatest longings (apart from going to university, being successful, earning a lot of money, having a private plane and a Ferrari and having orgies in a mansion) were 1) peace/the cessation of criticism, 2) hair that is more straight and 3) to sell my virginity.

I have been granted all of these things (though not, I believe, by a higher power, but by chance, genetics, and fate respectively). However, they have turned out differently from what I thought and they have not provided me with closure, happiness or answers.

I have peace, but although I am very grateful for it, it brings me little relief. This is because I’m left with the memories and more questions than answers, as well as being unsure about what really happened and why. At least while I had no peace I knew what was going on even though I was confused. Now I think that distance from the events mean I’ll never figure out what happened or what went wrong – if anything; I might be making a big deal out of nothing. I can’t even figure out if it’s a real issue or if I’m just exaggerating it.

Since I was very young I wanted straight or wavy hair, but a couple of years ago I learned more about my hair texture and type and realized I actually have very straight hair for my ethnicity. I came to love my hair. Then it straightened, and it’s now wavy and not curly. So though finally my wish has been granted, I kind of miss my curls. I never even got to know them properly and spent my whole life fighting my texture with gels, serums and anti-frizz products, even chopping the crown and sides, leaving the back and bottom of the sides long so it would look more straight. I like having straighter hair, but I know I’ll never get my curls back; my hair has reverted almost to the straight hair I had as a baby. The same thing happened with my skin: I spent my entire life wanting to be lighter and daydreaming about skin bleach, hoping it’d be invented soon and a couple of times Googling for it. Then I saw a documentary at 19 that showed where to get skin lighteners and that they cost as little as under £5 – I’d have spent well over £100 gladly. But the documentary showed how harmful the lighteners were and how sad/pointless/self-harming the cult of being pale was, and I realized that I liked being the colour I was and that actually I was unusually light-skinned so didn’t need to be any lighter. A few months later, I got paler, the palest I’ve ever been (though I had been slowly paling since I was 16 anyway). But I didn’t enjoy it, I just thought, ‘ok’ because I no longer linked colour and beauty.

As for selling my virginity, I imagined it would be to a stunning man whom I didn’t like or connect with at all. But Roland is exactly the opposite. I also thought that it would be over in a few minutes, not long drawn out over a few days – well, weeks, as we can’t see each other that often. I also didn’t think this much art and stuff would come out of it or that I’d learn so much about myself from it. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it so much either, or that the guy would be nice like Roland is.

So, I’m not saying “be careful what you wish for”, instead I’m saying that wishes might not turn out like you expect and that can be a good thing because it shows how much you’ve matured and transcended the petty motives of your wishes (which like #2 might have been influenced by childhood experiences of prejudice, bullying, media ideals of beauty or cultural expectations). And when you realize that your wish has been granted and it means nothing to you, there is a certain feeling of power in it. And when your wish is granted differently to how you percieved it (like #3) and you feel that this is actually even better and more fun and amazing than you’d hoped for, it’s freakin’ awesome.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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