Before there was a site, there was a book I wrote called Duct Tape and Daddy Issues (you can buy it here and you really should, it is hilarious). It has the subtitle 'Memoirs of a Phone Sex Worker' and it pretty much does what it says on the tin.
This series will be for the clients who didn't make it in. So to speak.
There is a man known as The Gusset King. Not by me, he was self titled. He should have been called The King of Cheap. He spent no money with me, but expected me to chat every day under the guise of seeing what I was like, "Just getting to know you babe" before he decided to do the sexy thing with me.
He also sent me unsolicited dickture pictures (Which I bloody hate. Do not send me your junk without consent or I will put it straight in the junk folder) and his thing was about putting it in a cage and sending me the key to wear on an ankle bracelet. I did tell him that I did not appreciate the peen pic and that if he sent another I would not work with him. He was very proud of his penis, but to me it looked like value sausage meat that you used to get from Kwik-Save in the all-white value range.
I was down for wearing his key on my ankle, but not for doing anything with a cock that reminded me of the pallid corned beef in a Greggs pasty. Note to Greggs, corned beef is supposed to be red. What the fuck do you cut it with? Bleach?
Anyway, back to GK, as he also signed off, though I thought of it standing for Gnomelike Knuckle dragger rather than Gusset King. I told him that I was at university and that I was about to have my first poetry collection published. He told me he was something of a poet himself. Something. Well, I think that something was the stuff that was left over after every other poet was finished editing their work.
I don’t usually like to slag off anyone trying to write a poem, but, oh my god. As the kids say on the clock app, "The woman was too stunned to speak". I am going to reproduce it here and I apologise in advance, but if I had to see it, then so do you. Complete with original spelling and line breaks.
Untitiled
I want to kiss the candle of your wind
To smell the scent in your haiit
Hair
To smell your freshness of your
body and te freshness of your
smile
You bring the sun the rain the
storms and your my rainbow
Kiss the leaves that fall and
smell the spring as the snow
drops wave hello
To find a love the season is
yours just look around and fall
in love
(So far so cute right?)
Smell the season and see the
colour they are yours to love
hold and cherish Stop and just
look, nature’s season being
born in front of your eyes
Baby birds, new buds, new
shoots, a new clock tick tick
going forward to spring
(Kinda pastoral right? Buckle up.)
Not on record sniffing and
licking at your shit hole giving (ah, here it is, the filth)
it little kisses and big kisses
nosing it and giving it tongue
a loving finger and slow gently
loving cock you are a lady
who loves to be fucked
passionately and with love x
I want to smell your wet cunt
on all fours is a forest totally
naked I want to sniff and lick
every pore of your body
(I did warn you. Nearly done though.)
Want to watch the steam off
you’re early morning piss as
you lie naked in the morning
due and kiss your sweet lips
with a finger of kindness deep
inside your gaping wet mound.
So there you have it. What my gaping mound needed all along was a finger of kindness. Who knew? I certainly didn’t.
“What did you think?” he asked.
Dear reader, I could not bring myself to answer so I blocked him. He hadn’t paid me for the chat so I was not about to add poetry editing and feedback to the list of things I wasn’t getting paid for.
And he had really put me off Greggs corned beef pasties.
Comentários