The Thin Line Between Love And Hate Mail

Since starting this blog some two months ago, and in the wake of the two failed podcasts, I have noticed I have been the recipient of the type of mail Heather Mills has been used to reading. So just to show that your kind words have not gone unrecognised, here are a few choice cuts from my loyal fans. Maybe I should use them as advertising like Universal Pictures or Paramount put across their film posters to attract potential cinemagoers.

This from Anonymous: "Yor a Big Pratt"

Thank you, Anonymous. But Anonymous gets about a bit since he's also accused me of being "sick", "a wanker", and that C word which my Mum taught me never to say when the Vicar was in earshot, even though I distinctly heard him say once "And now, hymn number 73: All Things Bright and Beautiful, you cunts." A few days ago Anonymous popped up and informed me that I was a Royal one.

"You Suck!" so says the curiously named Onezed. Yes, Onezed, I do. I also nibble, nuzzle and lick.

Dick The Christian (which is less a name, more of a pastime) asked why on earth I wanted to tell people about my sexual antics. For entertainment, Dick, for entertainment. Now fuck off!

Geoff's Blog: Keeping it up as often as I can.

Sexual Geoff Prickett
From Wales With Love
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Virgin Nerves and A Sexual Shopping List

I'll never forget the first afternoon I officially started work as a prostitute.

I can't remember the date, I think it was in June or maybe August time. Then again, it might not have been in the afternoon at all. And I'm not altogether certain of the location of the hotel in which the event unfolded. And I cannot be 100% sure of the name of the receiving client.

But as I say, I'll never forget when I officially became a Tart. It was, to say the least, awkward.

The lady client I refer to was a 46 years old businesswoman. She treated me to a slap-up grill at one of Central London's most expensive eateries - I forget which one - before taking me in a chauffeur-driven limo to a plush 3 star hotel. Until this moment I was simply employed as an escort - being a lunch date or as a guest to take along to a party. A fantasy partner which the lady clients liked to parade in front of their counterparts.

Up to this point, the question of sexual relations had not really reared its helmet.

To tell the truth I didn't want it to for I never considered myself confident enough. Don't get me wrong, I'm okay in the privacy of my own bed when I'm alone - I don't want to come across as some loser! Although I do now recall that one client whom I partnered to a performance of Rigoletto at The Royal Albert Hall did request that I finger her during the second act. If memory serves, I obliged. And in hindsight, it would have been more fitting if it had been re-named Frigoletto.

So back to the slap-up grill, during which the client issued me a strong sexual idea of all the sexual things she wanted to do to me sexually. Let me tell you she did not beat about the bush - which, funnily enough, was precisely what she wanted me to do to her!

We retired to the hotel and the woman was straight out of the traps! For before I had even closed the hotel room door behind me, she was lying splayed out on the king size stark naked and looking like the ace of spades. "Writhe on me!" she demanded. This made me all the more nervous. I didn't want her to think I was some novice and put her off using me again - Repeat business is everything in this game and Thank You For Coming was embossed on my business card, after all.

She gazed at me with lustful intentions and an expression that said 'Fuck me'. In fact, that's what she did say. She then reeled off her list of demands like she was reading out her weekly shop: "Suck my tits, nuzzle my clit, bite my arse, slap my thighs, rub my mound - "

"All right, all right!" I exclaimed, cutting her off. "I'm a Welsh Lothario not a fucking Octopus!"

But my distressed words served only to intensify her crazed desire. My nerves were in shreds. It was just like being a virgin again. Panicking, I didn't know what to do other than display a touch of sophistication. The trouble was, after I finished reading excerpts of my poetry to her, I noticed she was asleep. But when she woke, it seemed to have sent her hormones up to 11! She pulled me on top of her and we had almighty sex that rattled the glasses in the dining room 19 floors below us.

Ahhh, she was my first customer and she was fantastic. I must have made a good impression because she later became my 3rd, 6th, 7th, 12th, and 19th customer. Each time she left me a not ungenerous tip of £15.

Most of my clients are from identical backgrounds and the reasons they they employ my services are equally similar. They are usually businesswomen (too wrapped up in their work to get wrapped up in the duvet of a regular boyfriend) looking for a quick slide in-and-out of the slippery eel and needing the services of a phallus that, for a change, did not have an off switch or three-speed setting. In fact, another client once told me that her female Boss had ordered her to seek out the services of a male prostitute after she was caught using her vibrator in the company lift.

Aren't people peculiar?

Geoff's Blog: Keeping it up on a Friggoletto basis

Sexual Geoff Prickett (It's pronounced Prickett!)

From Wales With Love
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