An Ode to a city block

Yesterday, a city block burned to the ground. The old historical buildings housed long established, family run stores, bars and the famous Duke’s cycle. It is all shocking and sad because of the lives forever changed and the street landscape now altered and smouldering.

Masur owned a bar, on that very block, in a space which was now on the news and on fire!
Holy fuck!
Masur and her business partner had the warehouse space way back in the olden days (during the early 1990s)and spent many years trying to make a profit, handle insane liquor laws, pacify crazy go-go dancers and deal with people fucking in bathrooms. It was an experience that made owning a bar look glamorous at first until the realisation that the long, long hours didn’t really pay off and you lived like a vampire (yet poor). The sex as a customer however, was noteworthy!!!

Great memories ...and all mostly tarty (you don't say). Good tarty though. The type of sexual free-for-all that you get away with when your nipples point upwards. One of the boys that really turned my head in those bricks and morter now on fire was Shakespeare.

I met Shakespeare when the bar space was a cocktail/grunge hang out called Mrs. Smith’s Cocktail Party. Shakespeare was one of those fateful encounters that opened my eyes (not just my legs) and sent me down a path of sexual enlightenment and with a new sexual dynamic. Sure he was over the top but then so was I…the folly of youth. Shakespeare was one of the very, very few men I have met or even seen in public that could pull off leather pants.(or at least I hope my memory is accurate and not just dreamy dreamy) As a RSC (yes that would be the Royal Shakespean alumni darling!) he was a natural luvvie could sashay with the best of them…Poser, you ask? honey he was the king of posing! He was a king-poser and I in my lamb-leather, biker kitten outfit...would be the Queen St W Queen of posing...so take that poser-boy!
And no poser sex would be complete without images of entwined limbs and those fucking engineering boots... footwear just retarded enough to get laid for implied coolness ....and since I lived both abroad and in Toronto, the luckiest and most internationally successful boots I ever owned!!!!!!!!!!!!

women...when watching news, reading the paper, doing the washing or just daydreaming about past loves somehow, it is always about the shoes...

And then when no longer thinking footwear (see, I can't help being girlie) I was bombarded with other memories including various back alley naughty shenanigans, compounded with morally questionable evenings (finally, back to the sex)..especially with someone who was at the time - a bit of an international pop star...who shall remain nameless...and then once with ... oh god...what a drunken idiot...stop typing bitch...etc,etc,etc...

So it was interactive wake-up-to-past-sluttery evening news.

I may seem a bit trivial to refer to my past escapades in light of circumstances of people losing all they possess. No insult is intended. Just that those bricks and mortar represented so much of my youth, my memories and some of the best moments of my drunken idioticy. And now without the physical evidence...

I donated at Scotiabank and I urge all of you to donate to your own favourite charity.(I regret nothing mon chere)

May they have the imagination to rebuild something with character and not a Home Depot monstrosity.

Celt vs Celt : Ireland 1 Scotland 0

I have been meaning to give a brief synopsis of my flirty tours of Ireland and Scotland.

Edinburgh

Edinburgh is a beautiful, beautiful city and I loved walking around. I want to give the city a second chance, I really do. However, despite the bare-assed kilt wearing tendencies the boys seem to suffer from the “giving her the eye” as opposed to "giving her one" syndrome.

Meaning that they, like their English cousins, spend their free time in pubs staring at girls instead of opening their mouths and flirting with the object of their desire. By the time their confidence is running at full steam, the five or six pints they had to drink to pluck up the courage has turned that oh-so-witty pick up line into a long, mushy sounding case of verbal diarrhea.

Which is a damn shame.

I was really looking forward to having a bit of a knee trembler while leaning against some ancient stone wall or at the very least hoisted against a tree…hell, I would settle for the back of the pub

Such a class act…mother will be pleased

Ireland
Those fucking Irish men.

Thank god for them really.

Swingin' like I ought to be....

I, Tits Malone am heading off for a new adventure… I am crossing over into a new realm and joining an “adult” club.

A new club just opened and I am heading off with Masur to check it out. I am curious to see the lay out and the atmosphere. It isn’t a cheap place nor does it run along the same lines as a 1970s “key” party - so definitely no multi-coloured toe socks with wedgies and skorts (shudder). What I found enticing about it – there is absolutely no pressure to leave the bar area and go upstairs to the lounge and members only area. The concept for the club (as with most things in the land of kink)… it is the women who control the play and who is going to do what, when and with whom…which makes me all the more intrigued.

I can hardly wait to go and interact with the members (and member’s members …tee-hee) but the big question is ….what does one wear to a fuck party?