The one positive about buying the ungrateful bastards in my life over priced junk every December are the trips into the west end.
And every year the story is the same - I am fighting my way through the hordes of the great unwashed and few shiny haired, soft skinned young ladies will catch my eye as they are happily engaged in seasonal bollocks.
As a result the pulse will quicken. The crotch will twitch. Bingo - its punting time. The best Christmas present I could get and the one I wish I could demand at the office secret santa. No not a book or a fucking scarf you loosers - I want Sandra in HR to pay for a young lady to put my cock in her mouth once a year.
However I am well aware that all of this is a pretext. I am a hardened pervert and I know it. I know when I walk out of the door to do almost anything, including the Christmas shopping, it can all be an elaborate cover for a punt.
But Christmas is special because caution and patience is required. Yuletide punting is a strange beast. It can be hard work for slim pickings as the usual suspects have long ago boarded cheap flights for Eastern Europe to pretend to their families they are “good girls” with “proper jobs” or have departed for a tasteless over priced holiday in Dubai to pout into instagram.
These fears were confirmed today on firing up the purple site and finding very little, with the odd stragglers I contacted didnt pick up or reply to my messages. I would have to hold my nose and brave the soho walk ups. This might not be pretty…
34 Romily - “Indian” Tamara of 52 Greek street fame. Been there done that no need to knock, but was a solid plan B in extremis.
1 greens court - LF Romanian girl UF thai girl neither grabbed me.
2 Greens court - wow! New blood in Soho finally?!? Lower floor new girl “Luiza” smoking hot slutty tatooed Romanian blonde. UF a blue eyed milfy stunner with secretary glasses. Fuck i was hard at this point and gagging for a bunk up but my punting spidey sense told me my quest must continue.
28 Peter street - climbing the rotten stairs LF was Romanian girl - to quote the Chernobyl box set not great, not terrible.
However, arriving at the upper floor, the door swang open and I nearly came - a tall doll like porcelain skinned creature with long dark hair, small boobs and a big smile. Like a happier pre-boob job gym bunny Nicole of Berwick Street lore.
I was let into the the dated and vulgarly decorated room (I love the well worn and grubby sleaziness of Peter Street) and thoughtfully selected my poison - £40 sex and oral plus £2 for the maid.
Turns out this vixens name was “Alina”, who weighed in at a criminal 19 years of age. Hailing from Bulgaria, she has been in both London and the pleasure business for a paltry 2 weeks. I couldnt quite believe my luck. This was almost criminal and definitely sinful.
But my guilt did not last long. The carnal desires prevailed and I took to the bead where she rubbered me up and took me in her innocent inexperienced mouth.
To boot she gave a top notch shiner - ball play, eye contact and decent effort. I could have cheerfully squirted watching my decrepit, ugly and bloated frame being serviced by this lithe teenage delight in the mirror on the ceiling.
But that would have been wrong. It would have been a premature end to such a rare opportunity to savoir the nectar of youth.
I needed to sample that growler. She happily parted her soft pale thighs to reveal a neat and tidy “moule” that struggled to accommodate my bloated steak cut “frite”. She was tight. Fucking tight. Virgin tight. She winced as I entered. I reassured her that i would be mercifully brief and gentle inside her body.
I winced at her tightness as stroke after stroke was a divine experience brining me closer to what the French call la petite mort.
After a few minutes of ecstasy my “little death” filled the bag. We were both happy the deed was done and she stopped to chat. Shes not enjoying the job because of the rude customers and in her words “too much fucking for little money”.
The sex business is not easy, especially the long days and repeated £30-£40 fuckings from ungrateful Soho punters. But I digress.
She plans on figuring out another way to eek out a pound note in our unforgiving metropolis. If this takes longer than a few days she will be valiantly holding the line under heavy fire at upper floor 28 Peter Street on Tuesday.
Santa can gladly fly past my chimney this year and I will happily sit with a piece or coal - because I have been a very naughty boy.
Merry Christmas you fuckers!
