The closure of 28 Peter street hit me hard. It was a relic of a bye gone era - out of all the remaining walk ups this reminded me the most of the London I cut my teeth in, the Soho that drew me in as a teenager, where I bought records, clothes, partied, pulled birds out of my league, took wide eyed exotic birds for “edgy” dates. And obviously where I would sneak up the stairs for a late night bunk up. Later as things changed I would go for the food, and take successful more mature, yet equally exotic, women for more sophisticated dates and tell them about how Soho used to be. And I would still venture upstairs for a suck and fuck. During COVID I would walk through an abandoned zoombie-scape and wonder what would be left by the time it was all said and done. 70a Berwick Street was a mighty loss but 28 Peter street, the rotten stairs, crazy Angela, porn playing on the TV, the mirrored ceilings and more recently several great sessions with silicone enhanced Brazilian lovely Sara cemented this particular cat house as an all time great. But it was then that I realised I had become that lethargic old fart, that Soho OG that talks about how it used to be, no longer the wide eyed energetic upstart bonding down Wardour Street looking for trouble.
It was to check on 28 that bought me down to Soho on a cold grey day this week - a paper bagged taped to the front door read “please put mail downstairs” see below photo. Curiosity got the better off me and I went down to investigate the video shop below and asked the guy sitting there what happened - he confirmed my worst fears that both the sex shop and walk ups had succumb to rent hikes. True or not who knows but it did not look good.
For old times sake I took in the air, and although not really in the mood for a punt I thought it wise to partake just incase this would be one of the last times I would see the badly scrawled neon paper signs “model” hanging in an open doorway. Greens court, 2 Lisle, neither of the offerings did it for me. 3 Lisle was I think Italian Anna - a solid back up if nothing else took my fancy but I really was hoping for a romp with silicone assisted Brazilian Sara. No luck - but the door of the lower floor of number 4 was swung open by Venezuelan Anna (there on Tues/Thurs/Fri) who I had neither seen nor shagged for some considerable time. £40+£2 for oral and sex from an old friend was a bargain who was I to turn this offer down - she also was tanned and looked like she had put on some weight which suited her and I took delight in feeling my way around her body as she sucked me to hardness. It was my turn on top and I pumped away to completion watching myself in the mirror.
After we chatted and I enquired about the closures - she claimed to have no info. Maybe she was telling the truth, but I also think you dont last this long on the game in Soho if you run your mouth.
Gentlemen, get yourselves down to Soho and fill your boots before this typically London form of the flesh trade is consigned to the condom and tissue filled dust bin of sex history.
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