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Written by Clandestino
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Wednesday, 28 November 2007 |
read more at http://coitinuous.blogspot.com, possibly
Being Gerrald Nicksen isn't easy. Working long hours, playing even longer. 24 hours, seven days, 52 weeks - it's never enough. Naturally, I am uploading this to my blog via the Blackberry on the short ride from the Wharf to the flat in Bethnal. No pushing for the burn at the gym for the rest of this week either, I can free up no other time.
The trading floor at Surety Management is on climax alert, wondering if one of us can be the first to persuade someone running scared on the buyside to take oil at $100 a barrel, when not one of the fundamentals support it (unless you live on the Arabian Gulf). Yeah it's fun, but I prefer to see the caper drawn out, keep the scam going.
We're quids in at the moment, commodities is the place to be, away from the subprime glare and still on the bonus stream. Let the big banks take the flak higher up and in the other towers, while I embark on one long Christmas binge. My gated entrance is going to be a revolving door for enlightened perverts.
What my colleagues don't know - well I am pretty sure they don't know - is that I come in most days dressed in fully-fashioned stockings and 12-strap suspender belt but under my carefully selected Saville Row uniform. It's one hell of a thrill when the Brit guys start talking their macho shit - Chelsea this, Arsenal that - and they're sitting next to a real dirty cross-dressing deviant! That's how they they breed us in South Dakota, my daddie used to say.
The time to get suggestive is if I am working late with one or two, not a whole bukake batch. The aggressive types are what do it for me and we got plenty here - shouting the odds at me with a hard-on that they can't understand. One or two have got involved back at my apartment, but they're inexperienced, not knowing the difference between a pussy and a sissy before making their pathetic excuses about it getting ‘too weird' and leaving.
At West India Quay on Friday night, when they've snorted their shit or dropped a pill, had a gutful of lager and groped a slut I'm only just getting started. And no doubt there will be one or two of those Essex girls in the mix - they're up for anything.
Sometimes I have to admit to admiring
the fertility of my subconscious mind - searching for thrills even in
deep slumber. There are practical limits though - no paedo option on my own doorstep. That
experience is best with the Asian tiger cubs.
Tonight, I'm on the blow early. Last couple of solo sessions I've got
caught up in petty admin detail so I've started late and found myself
still in the cold chamber at 4am, an hour before I leave for the bank.
But it's no biggie - I can function at 75% capacity, no problem. There will be no grabbing for a thrill even in
deep slumber
No chat lines tonight, no CDs, TVs, TGs or TSGs and the Viagra is under
lock and key til the weekend - I just fancy sessioning with the powder
and a fine cru. And of course, the mouse. Browsing the net for
something to lighten my load over. The cleaner will be here tomorrow
anyway.
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Last Updated ( Thursday, 29 November 2007 )
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