Sunday, 5 October 2014

The Lure of The Confessional

Exploring Tacky Trading Estates
Last weekend I was down in Kent, UK visiting friends. Arriving a little early and finding them not at home, I decided to take advantage of the unseasonably good weather by taking myself for a walk. I should say at this point that I am particularly fond of out of the way trading estate, and like most things, the seedier the better. Imagine my delight then, when I discovered a truly downbeat little pocket of small warehouses and cheap units with ultra-thin breeze-block walls, nestling in a grubby little close just along the road from my friends' house. Turning up the collar of my light raincoat, I skulked around the various units, assessing the tacky signage and peering in through windows.

Dolly's Cake Occasions
A lurid pink sign with several grammatical and spelling errors pronouncing to the visitor a tempting list of services, including both 'confectionery' for special occasions and 'training corses' for would-be cake makers. Party balloons seemed to be another speciality. Dolly appeared to be sitting at a single desk in a bare room, answering a telephone call as I looked in. She smiled politely and I moved on.

Burt's Blinds
Incorporated 2008. Unlike Dolly, Burt did not seem to be in situ. A torn off take-away Kentucky Fried Chicken box had been stuck on the glass door with Burt's mobile number and the words, "Back in Harfa Mo," written on it in biro. I couldn't help but notice that the shop's own window blind was broken and teetered precariously on an uncomfortable slant.

A Well Known Brewery
Following the road around the back I saw beer barrels stacked in front of a double unit with open doors. I recognised this immediately as a fairly well known Kent craft brewery (a microbrewery as they call them in the UK) and strolled over to engage one of the brewers in conversation. We were in the midst of the green hop ale festival, he told me, so they were busier than usual. Busy by his standards still gave him plenty of time to chat to me about brewing and the virtues of a number of local ale houses.

The Adult Warehouse
While discussing real ale brewing with Barry, I couldn't help a very large sign opposite advertising an Adult Warehouse. Naturally I was intrigued. Bidding my newfound friend Barry a good day, I strolled casually, as if by accident, over in the general direction of the open door. Inside I found a lady standing behind a desk. My first realisation was that she did not look like the kind of lady one would expect to find in a sex shop. Perhaps, I wondered, I had made an incorrect assumption about the goods or services this place was in the business of purveying?

"Can I help you dear," said the lady. She was plain, probably in her late forties and smartly dressed. Not by any stretch of the imagination tarty.

"Er, I'm just having a look around. I was out for a walk and I just noticed your sign."

The lady looked at me as if to say, "oh yes we've heard that one before!"

"Have you been open long?"

"Just six months it is now. Are you from around here then?"

"No I'm a visitor. From London." She nodded knowingly and a faint smirk wrinkled her orange lips.

"So how's business then?"

"Oh we can't complain. No it's been very good actually. We've found theres quite a demand. Professional classes mostly but we do get all sorts. Plenty of repeat business though, which is very reassuring. Weddings - couples come in to have photos done, if you see what I mean."

I resolved to work that one out later, or look on their website perhaps. I congratulated her, noticing an elderly couple tottering in through the entrance as I did so. They lowered their spectacles, perhaps struggling to determine what it was that this place sold. I chuckled to myself, imagining that they were probably expecting to find curtains or bathroom fittings inside.

"Where can we find the apparatus?" asked the elderly gentleman. "The man told us there would be some new beds in this week... with the chains and things."

"Oh yes dear, they're through in the new bondage suite. Follow the purple carpet and through those doors back there. Derek will be through there somewhere if you'd like to try anything, or I'll come and find you when I'm finished up dealing with this gentleman."

I felt uncomfortable having been described as a gentleman being dealt with, so I distanced myself from the counter slightly, saying I'd just have a browse around if that was okay. That would be fine, the lady said. The warehouse extended quite some way back. In each section there were descriptive signs. All fairly subtle really. One said "Toys", another "Dressing-up" and another "Adult Literature and Films." One room that seemed quite popular announced itself with a slightly perturbing sign saying "Made to Measure and yet another equally popular room was entitled the "In Flagrante - Film Yourself Room." A number of extra signs let shoppers know that one could "try before you buy." There seemed to be a number of treatment rooms tucked away at the back. Passing back along the long corridor I distinctly heard groaning. It may of course have been the sound of someone with a bad back stretching to reach a book, but it sounded rather too prolonged.

It had been an interesting way to waste half an hour or so before my friends returned from wherever they go on a Saturday morning, but I felt sure I had now exhausted my curiosity. Or so I thought. It was not easy to position one's self in this warren of adult delight. I had presumed I was approaching the front sales desk area when I found myself lost. Attempting to double back I heard the sound mumbling voices and followed it into an alcove. Off to one side I saw a sign. "The Adult Confessional." It didn't seem quite right to stand and listen so I kept a polite distance. Fortunately as it happens, I am possessed of acute hearing and I could still hear from outside in the hallway. And of course you will be unable to resist wanting to know what I overheard, so I will tell you. It went like this:

Man's voice: my lady, I'd had my shower. My squash partner had gone already and I was the last
one in there. I was in the shower and I could hear women's voices through the gap at the top of the wall that separates the men's from the ladies showers. They were giggling and I put my ear to the wall to listen.

Woman's voice: I see. Now that was a lewd and disgusting thing to do, wasn't it?

Man's voice: Yes I did know that. I was invading their privacy, but I thought if they didn't know I could hear, then at least they wouldn't be embarrassed.

Woman's voice: You are filthy and you have violated those poor women. What did you hear them say?

Man's voice: One of them was talking about her husband, my lady, saying he couldn't satisfy her. The friend said she should try having sex with her ex-boyfriend who was a master of exciting and satisfying women. The other woman wanted to know more.

Woman's voice: So you listened to their very private sexual conversation?

Man's voice: I'm afraid I did, my lady. Worse than that it excited me. I became erect. I couldn't help but touch myself.

Woman's voice: How utterly disgusting! You are a vile animal with depraved desires. What else did you hear?

Man's voice: The one woman described how her ex-boyfriend used to bring her to the edge of an orgasm by minimal contact, so that she could feel him but that he would not fulfil her desires. Only after she screamed and clawed at him with her nails, my lady, would he give up to her desires.

Woman's voice: So I am assuming you gratified yourself listening to these two women, is that correct?

Man's voice: Unfortunately not, my lady. I was in the midst of passion when all of a sudden I opened my eyes and saw before me a cleaning woman dressed in white trousers and shirt and holding a mop and bucket. As I had turned around I had displayed myself and she gasped at what she saw before her.

Woman's voice: Oh my goodness, how utterly grotesque. That poor woman!

Man's voice: Yes quite, my lady, I would not have wished it upon her but to my surprise she smiled and reached out to touch me. I should point out, my lady, that she was wearing rubber gloves.

Woman's voice: So do you mean to tell me you allowed this cleaning woman to gratify you with her gloved hands while you were in the shower?

Man's voice: I tried to resist, my lady, but when her shirt became wet and her nipples became visible through the fabric... well I lost all control. I'm afraid I took a great deal of pleasure from the experience, my lady, along with the lady's mobile telephone number.

Woman's voice: You are a vile human being. In fact you are barely human. Such behaviour is a sin and will not be tolerated. Either submit to a spanking in the treatment room immediately following this session or you will be expected to pay a fine of thirty pounds on your way out. At your own discretion of course. Now get out of my confessional and send in the next sinner.

Needless to say I scuttled off quickly, but not so far that I avoided catching a glimpse of the poor
devil who had unburdened himself. A well dressed, portly old gent looking like a ruddy faced solicitor type, or perhaps an insurance broker. It was hard to tell from a distance. The lady, however, who followed him out from behind the curtain a few moments later, was unmistakeable.

"Hello sir, you're still here browsing then – did you find anything we can help you with?"

"One or two things," I replied awkwardly, "but I'll have to come back when I've got more time."
If you are tempted to read more by A.K. Anders, please click on of the links on the right panel of this blog. If you're too lazy, click here: AK Anders on Smashwords (click here for Amazon or just type A.K.Anders or the title The Pimlico Tapes into your search engine). Enjoy your evening and remember to add your e-mail into the Follow By e-mail box (top right hand margin) if you'd like to be notified of future posts (about quarterly - after all you can have too much of a good thing).

Monday, 16 June 2014

Regret And Man's Natural Impulses

Why Are We Here?
Man has for quite a few years now, pondered over our existence –

What are we?
How did we get here?
Which came first the chicken or the egg?
Are we alone as intelligent beings in the universe?
What is our purpose here?
and what is it about Johnny Depp?

"What about Johnny Depp?" I hear you ask. Well haven't you noticed? The very mention of his name sends women blurry-eyed and... well, out of character. Their usual constraints of public behaviour go out of the window. Heterosexual men are frequently perturbed by him and the effect he
has on the female population. What is it exactly? There are plenty of very good looking famous men around but they don't have this effect on women. What has he got so much of that they haven't. Gay men probably have a better understanding. Come on don't be shy you know what it's something animal, isn't it?

I have no doubt it is something animal. I propose that the biological (i.e. unaffected by made-up morals etc) fact is that Johnny Depp has something about him that drives the female of the species (and probably tempts many males also) to want to have sex with him. I propose that this is something innate rather than learned, although I have no doubt that he has over time developed an ability to use it to his benefit. To turn it on, so to speak. So why would this happen? Well far be it from me to second guess the workings of mother nature, but I am guessing that the aforementioned goddess (Gaia as James Lovelock explained her) mother nature, knows that for some very good reason known only to her, it would be a jolly good idea if Johnny Depp were to father an enormous amount of children by a variety of women on the planet. The same applies in reverse of course. There was a time when Australia could probably have used Kylie Minogue's bottom to change the future if it had had the inclination. Very simply, nature makes sure that the right genetic matches fancy each other. Every so often nature throws up one near perfect specimen who nearly everyone's hormones tell them is right for them. Of course you might ask, "right for what?" and that would be a far harder question to answer. I would suggest, however, that the correct answer is, right for the survival of the planet. Perhaps not right for the survival of man though. What do I mean? Well I would suggest that if man overpopulated the Earth, or began to threaten the Earth's delicate ecological balance in some other way, mother nature would step in and make the necessary adjustments by making sure we didn't fancy the same people. Men might begin to fancy skinny women with narrow hips who were physically unsuited to childbearing. Women might begin to not fancy men at all. Men might be more inclined to have sex with other men or by themselves. Consequently the birth rate would drop. Ecological problem solved. I will leave the rest for you all to work out. Meanwhile I must get back to work on developing my new pheromone sprays.

Why Do We Have Morals?
Those who study human biology, psychology and even philosophy, as well as farmers and others who
work with animals, often find themselves asking this question. If nature always knows what is best for us and for all on the planet in the long-run, then why invent our own rules. Surely it would serve us better to simply follow what comes naturally, no? I must admit, since I was a very young boy I have found this a very seductive argument. Apart from anything else, it provides us with excuses for doing anything we please. Rather like the 'the devil made me do it' argument or the argument that provides a legal get-out clause in many societies, 'I heard voices in my head telling me to do it', it opens up some very tempting possibilities. I remember when I was at school, a girl in the playground asking a group of us, "if you were able to make yourself invisible, what would you do?" You could almost hear the whirring of mental cogs whizzing round in everyone's minds and their adolescent loins awakening. For many years I thought that it was all a conspiracy. That those in power (governments and more so the Church) simply didn't want people to enjoy themselves. That out of a ridiculous sense of superstition, human beings are inclined to believe that pleasure is the work of the devil (especially if it is free pleasure).

Now, as I have matured and my overactive hormones have calmed down somewhat (all things are relative) I have come to realise that there is a reason for all this and it applies just as much to financial wealth as to the things it can buy. I call it the child in a sweetshop syndrome. Restricted from having sweets by parents on the basis that too many sweets are bad for you, children crave them more than the mere sugar-rush explains. They are forbidden fruit. The promise of sweets on special occasions or if you are good, is a very powerful driver I'm sure we all remember. But imagine a child is given access to as many sweets as they want. This is what happens to William Brown in Just William. Not only does he stuff himself until he feels sick but he plies a young girl he is soft on with the same. Very soon they want no more. In fact neither of them want to ever eat sweets again. They have lost their allure. The same happens with toys and toyshops and this is also true with adults. The attraction of a harem soon wanes as does the endless decorating and furnishing potential of a palace or a garage full of fast cars.
Going back to sexual attraction, I recall the fact that as a teenager I went out with a girl whose family were naturists (i.e. walked around naked, even in forests). When I recounted my experiences of naturism to friends who were more stubbornly attached to their clothes, I was always asked, "but don't you get excited when you see all those naked women?" and the answer was a resounding "No." The allure of naked women to even a hot-blooded 18yr old young man, disappeared almost the moment the shock of the circumstances subsided. Women in clothes or underwear were far more seductive. The element of wonder and of possibility was the catalyst for sexual excitement, not nudity, where everything is literally stripped back to the basics, leaving nothing to the imagination. The glimpse of a lecturer's stockings or a lacy bra-strap as she stretched to write on the board was infinitely more thought provoking.

Image courtesy of The Sun. Note: their images are usually far less subtle (and therefore less exciting).

On this basis of course, one can see why an interest in eroticism proliferated in the hyper-conservative
Victorian era. Table legs that had to be covered with linen out of a fear of sexually suggestive furniture? Was Queen Victoria's denial of such a possibility as lesbian sex an indication that she wanted this to remain the ultimate excitement and that the very admission of its existence would make it less attractive?

As you can see, I have made my peace with the moral codes that still constrain society and our sexual behaviours. I have even come to applaud them. I would not want to entirely lose the excitement I felt for simple pleasures in my youth. A glimpse of something through the trees. Claudia our French nanny washing my hair, splashing water on her white cotton blouse. The aroma of a girl's long hair as she leans across my desk to borrow a pencil sharpener. I would not want eroticism to disappear or to become boring. In my book The Pimlico Tapes, I have documented a case (dealt with by a therapist) of a man so overindulged with sexual pleasure, so permissive in his behaviour that he loses interest in the things most of us find sexually arousing. Slowly over time the therapist manages to reawaken the man's sexual feelings by means of self-denial and focus upon seemingly innocent activities like watching a tired middle-aged waitress shaving her legs in a back yard. It is the stuff of Catholicism and of attraction to that which we are denied. The moment the restrictions are lifted, the desire, the frisson, it dissolves.

If you want to read more by A.K. Anders, please click on of the links on the right panel of this blog. OK if you're too lazy, click here: AK Anders on Smashwords (click here for Amazon or just type him or the title The Pimlico Tapes into your search engine). Enjoy your evening and remember to add your e-mail into the Follow By e-mail box (top right hand margin) if you'd like to be notified of future posts (about quarterly - after all you can have too much of a good thing).

Sunday, 23 February 2014

Hanging Around In Bars & Cafes

The Honeypot
Most of us when we were teenagers, were told about places it was not safe to go. In these places we might find people who would lead us into temptation. Often we were not exactly told what this temptation was – just that things that seemed attractive to us might lead to harm. Most of us were told stories at school about bad men (usually) who would offer to show us kittens or puppies, or take us somewhere where we could eat cakes and sweets to our heart's content. If we followed these bad men or got into their car we would likely never be seen again. Of course there have been cases like this and it is a terrible thing, but once we become adults we can forget these stories, right?
Wrong. Many of us never really forget these stories or the feelings of fear they instilled into us when we were small. As a result we live, even as adults, in fear of bad men with candy bars or someone under our bed waiting to chop off our feet. This is present in most of us, but generally only to a small extent. It is locked away somewhere in the dark recesses of our minds. But for a few of us it is ever present and very much at the front of our minds. For these people, meeting an attractive stranger can be petrifying. But it is complicated. For these people fear and sexual excitement can blur into one. They are afraid and yet they seek it out – constantly putting themselves in danger in order to experience a sexual thrill. For some they may go through with a sexual encounter, but for others they never go that far. The mere risk of standing on the corner of a dark street outside a bar in a city, being looked at or propositioned by strangers, is enough to thrill them to the point of ecstasy. And yet they are rigid with fear.

Who says nuns don't have a sense of humour? Image courtesy of

It has been brought to my attention by the 'victims' of the experience, that girls who are educated by nuns in convent boarding schools, develop an obsession with boys / men and sex. Far from accepting what the nuns tell them about sex being evil, not for pleasure but for procreation etc. and men being dangerous, violent, sexually out of control beasts, these girls will do almost anything to meet boys and have sex with them. So don't the nuns realise this?
Well there is also a well known theory out there that the Catholic church being dominated by men, these men are most desirous of girls being brought up in this way. It is for gratifying the sexual desires of the men that these girls are hot-housed (I use the term advisedly). Keep calm, father, it's just a theory.

OK Keep Calm! St Trinian's look is still popular. Image courtesy of

Dens Of Sin & Debauchery
Unload a bus full of teenage boys and girls close to the Red Light District of any city and watch what happens. Such places are a honeypot for virile young people. They would be fascinated enough under any circumstances, but given that at least in the Western world they will all have been warned of the dangers, they will find it all the more enticing. It is not a fascination that wears off - not really. Sexual desire does drop off as humans mature, but fascination for what they are told they should steer clear of does not. They have also been told to steer clear of alcohol and drugs but that doesn't deter people either. Many have long since stopped believing these old wives tales. They have been playing with themselves for years and still they haven't gone blind. So why hold back? Why not jump right in?

 Amsterdam. Image courtesy of

Njmingen. Image courtesy of

Fear Of Getting Caught
What stops most of us from indulging ourselves in what we are told is 'sin' and 'debauchery' is the fear of getting caught. The fear that others who know us – our families, our bosses and our neighbours – will find out and brand us as disgusting. That these people will tell everyone to keep their children away from us. This is why so called red light districts – streets of shame as some call them – flourish in cities. This affords people a certain amount of anonymity. Many of the customers one will find in such areas are in fact tourists from other places – other countries even. The Japanese are fairly up-front about getting sexual pleasure in brothels or with acquaintances in so called 'Love Hotels,' but it does not stop large parties of well-to-do middle-aged Japanese women going abroad and turning up by the coach load in the likes of Hamburg's Reeperbahn. So what are our societies so afraid of? If we simply told each other to go and get your rocks off with whoever is willing for a few dollars or deutschmarks, would society suddenly break down. Would men and women run amok, like crazed beasts copulating on pavements and park benches? Perhaps for a day or two, but otherwise I think not.

Elderly Japanese women have a big sexual appetite but get cold easily. 
Image courtesy of

Before you start thinking that the world I have conjured up is some kind of sexual nirvana, I want you to hesitate for a moment. Think about nudity. Despite what many people think, after only a short time (minutes not hours) of everyone walking around naked, people forget about sexual attraction. Men do not walk around with erections. I know this from a spell of naturism in my youth. It is the mystique that is exciting – a glimpse of a man's muscular stomach as he stretches to lift a box from a truck. The slightly raised signature of a policewoman's nipples through a well-ironed white blouse. This is why there is so much money in selling underwear. The point I am making is that if we held nothing back – ran around offering ourselves to whoever we fancied, displaying our sexuality blatantly for all to see, then we would soon get bored with it. The pornography industry would die for a start and people would wear underwear for comfort only. Deadly dull. So before you begin calling for ever-greater sexual openness, give a thought to the subject of titillation.

Things To Remember When Visiting Streets Of Shame

1. Wear loose clothing - sweat is uncomfortable if you get overheated, and for men loose trousers help to hide an unruly erection.

2. Clean your teeth / use mouthwash. Street-women love chatting to potential customers but you will get far better offers if you are not breathing dog-breath in their faces.

3. Ladies – The Full Monty is just a film. Most men cannot perform on demand, so make yourself look enticing and tease them a bit.

4. The larger establishments have the benefit of being well regulated, but you may get a more personalised service by picking up 'freelancers' in the surrounding area. Hairdressers, barbers and nailbars are often more fruitful than bars.

Amsterdam cycle shop. Image courtesy of

5. Obviously, don't go out with loads of cash, credit cards or an expensive watch. Surprisingly most sex-workers don't work for pleasure and are always desperate for cash.

6. Go for a wee first and switch off your phone. Nothing pisses off a sex-worker more than customers who hold up proceedings with a weak bladder or a call from their wife / husband / child's headmaster.

7. Be nice. These people have a hard time, that's how they got there.

8. Finally, don't try inviting your sex-worker to meet for lunch or a drink later. They do not want your friendship, they just want your money then to be left alone. They probably have a boyfriend or girlfriend to cook dinner for anyway.

If you want to read more by A.K. Anders, please click on of the links on the right panel. OK if you're too lazy, click here: AK Anders on Smashwords (for Amazon just type him or the title The Pimlico Tapes into your search engine). Have a nice evening :-)