Candyfuckinglicious’ Neighborhood

I find the mere act of writing down stuff is quite therapeutic. Even if no one else reads it or comments on it. Just knowing it's out there and is potentially open for all to see somehow seems to bring some level of atonement.

I wonder if it's a common blogging sensation one has or not.

But it's working wonders for me.

 

 

(Timeline: 10+ years in the past)

 

I get a call from the Hebrew. He tells me some guy who is wanted for murder has been hired to disfigure a girl. Do I want to help him speak to the guy.

What you gonna do? Say no?

 

I took my H&K USP .40, made sure the cor-bons in it where new and went to meet the Hebrew.

 

The Hebrew was a short and stocky guy with very few redeeming human qualities. I thought loyalty was one of them and for the most part it was. But as time would tell, that too didn’t last.

Despite this he was good at Jujitsu and that skill at least had to be respected. He also brought in work. This might have been good in terms of being paid, but I never did this work just for the money. It took me a long time to figure out why I did do it.

 

Anyway along with the Hebrew this time was his half-brother. Another Hebrew but taller and better looking. And with the IQ size of a fruit fly not to mention disturbing personality traits amongst which a propensity for dramatic flair several orders of magnitudes larger than his shorter relative, a level of incompetence with firearms that definitely delved deeply into the criminal part of negligence and most disturbing of all a contempt/hatred of women that was hard to explain in any rational way, especially since he generally seemed to have his sick way with them from what little of it I knew from his shorter kin.

The short Hebrew had told me he had been shown a filmed sex sessions of the taller Hebrew essentially doing brutal anal sex on his then girlfriend without much consent on her part to speak of. She didn’t know about the camera filming her either.

The short Hebrew was not anywhere near as smart as he thought he was, but he wasn’t a complete moron. Despite what his behaviour often suggested.

 

He hadn’t told me of his half-brother. He knew if I had known of his presence I wouldn’t have shown up. But once I start something I tend to go through all the way to the end. I looked at his quasi-rapist relation and then at him. He pretended not to notice how I felt. But he knew.

  

The briefing is as weird as it’s simple.

A Med student broke up with his girlfriend of a few years so he did the natural thing. He hired a murderer to slash the girl’s face and disfigure her permanently. He also hired the guy to take pictures of it so he can enjoy seeing her mutilated face.

Good thing to know he’ll soon be a doctor and taking the Hippocratic oath and all. Not to mention his take on true love.

As it happens the guy he hired is currently wanted in connection with a murder and also a disappearance of one other person. Both the disappeared as well as the dead guy are fucking scum by all accounts so no tragic loss of life there then. The wanted guy is supposed to be a crazy German guy nicknamed Grizzly and aka The Butcher because he apparently used butcher knives.

 

I know. You couldn’t make this shit up. It’s so clichéd it would make a Guy Ritchie movie look bad. It gets better.

 

Grizzly apparently has a little too much heat on him at the moment so in a flash of inspired genius he decides to contact the girl’s father and make a proposal to him. He says to the dad, that they will put make-up on the girl instead of really disfigure her and in exchange for his magnanimous and merciful act of almost contrition the father will pay him R10,000. In what passes for Grizzly’s mind this is a good deal. Especially since Med-Boy has already paid him 5k and owes him another 5k after the job.

The girl’s father decided to tell Grizzly he agreed and arranged a meeting time and place at his offices and then called the Hebrew for help.

Which is a little surprising considering that the girl and her whole family are Muslims.

We were now headed to this very meeting.

 

On the way to the meeting Rapist Boy regales us with his philosophies of life while checking and rechecking his Beretta which is stainless steel and has been taken off him by a notorious gangster not too long ago when he got in a scuffle with them. He did get it back from the gangster a few days later after apologising or paying money or giving him a blowjob, or most likely all three, I don’t know nor care. The gun had been fired though. He still uses it as his primary weapon.

While I keep careful watch on where Rapist Boy is pointing his Beretta I try to mentally shut out his verbal diarrhoea, but some of his foggy mind-shit gets through. He’s kind of sympathising with the Med-Boy.

 

“I mean you can understand it sometimes can’t you?” Says Rapist Boy

 

Shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuck up.

 

“What?” asks the Hebrew gleefully. He loves this shit. It’s like a Jerry Springer show. The faster Rapist Boy shits out his fog, the more the Hebrew laps it up.

 

“You know, bitches. You know, how sometimes you just want to cut them.”

He’s not trying to freak us. He’s sharing close personal emotions with good friends.

 

“What do you mean?” The Hebrew wants it all.

 

“You know cut their lips off. Just cut the bitches’ lips right off.” He makes a cutting circular motion around his own mouth by way of explanation.

 

Even the Hebrew shuts up at that.

 

“You know? You know what I mean right?” He’s actually looking for some love and understanding. You know. Human connection and all that good stuff.

 

“No bro, we don’t know what you mean.” Says the Hebrew with some merciful finality.

 

As we’re riding in an old Land Rover I spend the rest of the trip hoping one of the bumps in the road will get the Rapist to fire his Beretta in a convenient direction. His balls would be good. His head better. This is before Pulp Fiction came out so I came up with that idea before him too.

 

No worries Quentin, I won’t sue.

 

After Rapist Boy continues to tell us of his latest sexual escapades we eventually get to the place where the meeting is being held. It’s an industrial area and the offices are part of a warehouse type of setup. Daddy is into textiles it seems. On the way out of the Land Rover I seriously contemplate shooting Rapist Boy. I mean really. I conclude that if it were just the two of us in the Gobi desert somewhere I would. Wouldn’t bother me a bit. I would sleep quite well that evening. The guy is a fucking Rapist as far as I’m concerned. He might not have had charges pressed on him, but he hates women. He likes to hurt them and humiliate them. Cowardly fuck that he is he also made a big show of putting a bullet-proof vest on under his jumper.

Fucking idiot.

 

We’re going to get one guy who doesn’t even know we’re coming. Fucking idiot rapist shithead. Shooting him here would cause all sorts of trouble for me. What it being a built up area and the Hebrew being a witness and all that stuff. But out in the Gobi… well. It would be a bit of a waste to expend a whole cor-bon on this prick but I’m generous to women in general that way.

I find myself hoping Grizzly lives up to his reputation just long enough to slash open Rapist Boy’s throat.

 

We are met by a cop who is a friend of the Hebrew. He also was supposedly undercover in one of the biggest drug rings in the city we are in but who the fuck knows what the truth is. That he is bent is a fact because he’s here to lend some kind of legality to the proceedings in case we actually have to drill Grizzly. He’s being paid for this of course.

Grizzly is supposed to be 6’5”, 140kg, most likely armed (with knives but guns are so common here he would have to really be unhinged to not have one) and supposedly crazier than a gay squirrel, not to mention murderous and vicious with it.

 

As we step in I make sure I’m slightly behind the Rapist and keep him on my left. If anything happens I want that fucking moron where I can see him. The Hebrew is on my right. They both carry 9mm weapons (The Hebrew uses a Glock) and I find myself thinking maybe I should have gone with the .357 Magnum instead of the .40 but actually I’m not fussed. Fuck the German fag. I don’t care how big he is. I set myself in Zen mode and I’m pretty sure whatever happens I’ll have pock-marked his head a few times before he gets near me even if he does try. And after that if need be I’ll ram the H&K straight into his fucking eye before I pull the trigger again or if that won’t work because it shoves the slide back I’ll break my hand into his Adam’s apple in a flat fist and knee him in the balls. Fuck him. Fuck his knives. Fuck his German DNA. I’m, only 80kg but I’m still 6’2” and faster and all that karate has its uses. Besides maybe in the fray I could get Rapist Boy killed and that would be a bonus.

 

Focused but at peace with the world, it is with this frame of mind I meet Grizzly. He’s about 10 metres ahead of us and he has his back to us. He’s big and hairy. The Hebrew calls him out.

Grizzly turns and I meet his eyes first, he glances at us and goes pale. He starts trying to recover, he turns to the guy standing next to him who is a serf of the girl’s dad and snarls at him…

“I said no other people..” then he recalls that bullying this little guy right now will not save his ass and he turns back to us, trying to buy time, find an angle. He starts to speak to the Hebrew, recognising him: “You…I know you…you’re the Hebrew…and you (he points to the Rapist) you are the Rapist…”

 

Now, you understand he didn’t actually say Hebrew and Rapist, he used their names. The Hebrew was kind of known in certain “security” circles, mostly for doing a decent job. As was the Rapist. Mostly for being a complete fuck up and shooting a guy in the leg over a fisticuffs that was going badly for him. Getting his gun taken away in another fisticuffs, not being able to hit a pink elephant 10 feet away with any kind of firearm and generally being a total Rapist fuckhead.

 

Grizzly was getting some control of himself again until he looked at me. I was still in Zen mode. Showing him nothing and calm as can be. His eyes stopped on me and we looked at each other. He started to stammer. “ And…and…him…who is this… this guy, who is he…” He was walking backward.

It’s amazing. These type of people are not far from Homo Australopithecus in many respects but somehow they have an animal instinct about where danger will really come from next.

Finally he gets enough courage to ask me directly. He’s trying to hold my eyes with his but he’s shaky. I’m actually calm. Not worried or anything. Friendly. I know myself enough to know if he does anything fast when I’m like this I’ll put a hole in his head before he has a chance to finish it.

“Who are you…?”

I can’t help it. It’s all looking like a tired script from a B movie anyway. It just comes out like that.

“I’m no one.”

He keeps stepping back until the Hebrew calms him down and reassures him that as long as he gives us the Med student he will not come to any harm. And that’s why the cop is here.

See? All legit-like.

The criminal underworld has a logic all its own. It’s like non-Euclidian geometry. It seems hard work at first but it fits the real world dynamics better.

 

In the end the Hebrew actually pays Grizzly for some notes that the Med Student was stupid enough to give him. In his own handwriting too. Seven years of university and this is the best they can do?

Scary stuff.

 

Grizzly then organises for us to be introduced to the Med Student. On the way to this meeting we ditch the Rapist because I think the Hebrew realises I’m getting twitchy.

 

Grizzly tells his client we’re now taking over the job because he’s wanted by the cops and he has to leave the country (which is true and he actually does I later find out.)

Grizzly also did have knives on him. It doesn’t bother me because he’s a big fucker and sitting in front of me in the car. Not a lot he could do in a confined space like that without me decorating the front windshield with his brains.

 

We record the Med student when we meet him. Part of the conversation is below. I didn’t speak at all. I make it a point not to leave my voice on recording equipment whenever I can help it.

 

HEBREW: Ok so now we have her name and address and we know what she looks like (Med Student had brought a photo. Thoughtful of him) so we need to be clear here because I don’t want you to change your mind afterwards. You want us to cut her?

 

MED STUDENT: Yes.

 

HEBREW: Ok so what exactly do you want us to do?

 

MED STUDENT: I want you to destroy her face and take pictures of it for me.

 

HEBREW: Ok (pause). But look the thing is maybe she will fight back you know, and in the heat of the moment maybe something goes wrong and we end up killing her instead. It can happen. And if that happens I don’t want any trouble. You change your mind then and it’s trouble that we don’t need.

 

MED STUDENT: No I will not change my mind.

 

HEBREW: What if she dies?

 

MED STUDENT: If she dies she dies, I don’t care, but the main thing is that I want her face destroyed. You know, beauty is important to a woman and I want her destroyed.

 

HEBREW: ---

 

MED STUDENT: ---

 

HEBREW: Ok then. We’ll call you after we’re done and tell you where to meet us.

 

MED STUDENT: Ok.

 

True Love indeed.

So we went for a drive then went to record the whole conversation on a CD and gave it to the girl’s father.

Ready made case. He can take that to the cops and the Med Boy will be sharing a cell with 12 other guys that will fill his fresh Moslem ass full of HIV infected dick.

A fitting end to a romantic story really.

 

Except the Med Boy is a Moslem too. And the families know each other. So nothing’s going to happen to Med Boy other than a slap on the wrist and a ticket out of the country so he can finish his degree in Pakistan or some fucking shithole of a place.

 

I go home.

The Hebrew talks to me on the phone and tells me all of the above.

I go for dinner with my girlfriend. I tell her about it and that I think it sucks. I would go for a drive with him. And I don’t even know the girl. If it were my daughter I would kill the little shit for sure. Would never tell her either. He would just fucking disappear.

She listens. She’s Hindu and normally a very compassionate person. She says he deserves a bit of a talking to.

 

You know ladies, all we want is to be appreciated for who we are a little bit.

I call the Hebrew back and tell him I don’t care what the girl’s dad wants. We still have to deliver him his pictures right?

The Hebrew agrees.

So we meet and call up Med Boy. He meets us and I drive his car supposedly to a remote place where a third guy has the pictures. Obviously we don’t have them with us in case he was a cop or some kind of a sting operation or just stupid and been followed by cops.

I drive the car, a new BMW, very carefully up the mountainside dirt road, past a couple of puddles and muddy holes. It’s been raining. Then I stop and get in the back seat with Med Boy and the Hebrew.

 

The Hebrew tells him we have to search him for wires. The Med Boy buys it.

He really is that fucking stupid.

The Hebrew puts him in a gentle headlock and I bend his arms behind his back. The Hebrew takes hold of him. Med Boy is not big anyway but the Hebrew has him so he can’t use his arms and he’s in a headlock. Then he starts to squeeze. And tells him who we are.

 

And that we work for daddy dearest. And that he’s going to die here.

 

“We’re going to kill you. So if you have any last words to say, say them now, because in 10 seconds I’m going to choke you to death.” The Hebrew can actually do this. He is good at jujitsu. And Med Boy can feel it. There is no getting out of that headlock once you’re as far in it as he is.

 

“Wait can you wait, please wait” To his credit, Med Boy’s voice is subdued but seemingly calm. The effect is only spoilt by the fact that his bowels let go. He shits himself. Not metaphorically either.

 

“You have 10 seconds say what you need to say.”

 

“Please wait can I just say something…please”

 

“Ten… nine… eight…”

 

“Please I just want to say something please wait…”

 

“Seven…six…five…Well then speak you only have five seconds left…”

 

“No wait please I can’t speak like this could you just let me say something please…”

 

“Four…three…two…one…say goodbye you’re going to die now.” And he starts squeezing the Med Boy’s neck until the breathing becomes impossible.

 

But I have a problem with this. In about three to five seconds med boy is going to realise he’s not going to die because the Hebrew will let go of him.

Total purgatory time is only about 15 seconds. I figure this is not enough by a long shot. He needs to contemplate life and his actions a little deeper than that I think.

I say to the Hebrew out loud, making sure my tonality is just right, a mixture of adrenaline rush, excitement, sadism and chaos all well blended together…

 

”WAIT! Wait don’t kill him just yet!”

As I say this I begin to forcefully tug at the Med Boy’s trousers, making sure I empty his pockets and then grab the back of his trousers and pull hard as if trying to rip them off him. Med Boy is still in a headlock but the Hebrew lets him breathe enough, he’s going with it too though he doesn’t really know what I’m doing, he can sense like any bully that the torture can be prolonged by whatever I have in mind.

 

“Why? We need to kill him and get out of here…” the Hebrew is playing along nicely with a flat tonality.

 

Now I’m undoing the Med Boy’s belt and pants and pulling hard at them, they start to loosen…

 

“I’m going to fuck him!” All the vicious sadism and excitement of a true pervert is in the tone too. Sometimes I scare myself with my chameleon-like ability. The Hebrew nearly fucks it all up by barking out the first part of what would be an incredulous laugh, but he catches himself so it sounds like he just expelled a whole bunch of air for no reason or maybe due to the exertion of holding Med Boy.

The Hebrew knows my sexual tastes quite well. When you work regularly with a guy in a job where your life can easily depend on that guy doing the right thing at the right time in a split second, you tend to know each other pretty well. The idea of me wanting to inflict homosexual rape-sex on Med Boy is as absurd to him as it is to me, but he catches on quick.

 

“No, you’ll leave evidence…”

 

“I don’t care I just want to fuck him in the ass, just hold him down…”

 

And this is the sick part….well actually the sick part would have been if the Hebrew had been a sick bastard and said “ok, I’ll hold him down, fuck away buddy!” But he knew I had the gun. He didn’t have one because he knew he’d be close to Med Boy during the ride and you never know what might happen when you wrestle someone for their life.

 

So this is the second worse sick part I guess…as soon as Med Boy thought he had another few minutes of life left, even though it would be at the expense of his sphincter, his whole body sort of relaxed. He was ever so grateful for even just a few more minutes of life even if it meant he’d be brutally ass-fucked by a big skinhead type of guy. While a Jew held him down no less.

 

“NO! You’ll leave evidence!”

 

“It’s ok, we can burn the body later…”

 

The Hebrew pauses as if to contemplate it…we can actually see each other even though it’s dark with Med Boy pretzeld between us in a kind of sick parody of some gay porn film. Med Boy’s face is almost in the Hebrew’s lap after all. He still has his trousers covering his ass because noble though my intentions of re-educative shock therapy are, I draw the line at actually grabbing hold of another man’s naked ass and his shit-filled jocks.

 

Then with an air of finality the Hebrew says “No! You’d leave evidence.”

 

And we wait a little while. The silence is almost peaceful. Then…

 

“Please Sir…”

 

Maybe we misjudged him. It was not jealous rage that pushed him to pay a murderer to slash the girl’s face. Maybe it’s self-loathing. He’s so fucking gay he can’t stand the thought of it, and now his true persona is coming out. Is he begging us to rape his ass?

It’s pretty ambiguous I’ll tell you. He has a long pause before his whine comes on again.

“…Please Sir if I can just say something….”

 

“What?” the Hebrew being impatient now in his tone.

 

“Please Sir….I would never ever do anything like this again. I have learnt so much. I have truly really become a different person now. I will pray to God to forgive me. Please Sir… don’t kill me.”

 

The Hebrew has him sweat it out for a while longer before eventually telling him ok we will not kill him, but we’re interested in his philosophy of life.

 

On the drive back I ramp every pothole and bump in the road. Might as well wreck the little freak’s car. Besides I like knowing what a car can do at its limit. You never know when you might need to push a beemer to its limit next down a dark dirt road. And I’m like the boy scouts really. Want to be prepared.

 

On the trip the Hebrew has polite conversation with Med Boy in the back seat discussing his views on life, women, romance, true love, his family upbringing. It’s a touching conversation punctuated by the occasional open hand strike to the solar plexus. Motivational really.

 

When the Hebrew runs out of topics he asks me if I have any philosophical questions for our new friend. I do actually. I ask him how it is that he’s such a fuck-up. The next thirty minutes or so are spent with Med Boy volunteering his whole life story. Anytime he’s giving us too much of a self-pitying version the Hebrew helps him refocus with the gentle tapping to the solar plexus.

 

This may seem like sadism to the naïve. It is not. Our questions are genuine and not just random psychological mind fucks. They are precisely thought out mind fucks.

We have multiple objectives.

 

1. Discover if there are any other parties privy to his sick plan
2. Discover the exact details of the how, where, why (and with whom if anyone) of how he came up with the sick plan
3. Discover the exact details of how he went about putting it in place
4. Verify any and all information we get with the one we already know from having had the various conversations with the other parties including Grizzly
5. Do all of the above to the point that we are satisfied we have as close to the absolute, unadulterated, whole truth of these facts as it’s possible to have
6. Instil a sense of civic duty, basic ethics, self-respect, self-responsibility and respect for women

 

Well ok, that last point is a bit Utopian admittedly, at least given we only have two hours or so. So we hope for it and try to instil all that good stuff but just in case it doesn’t stick we also layer it over with a much easier process of instilling in him the fear of God and original sin, but mostly of ever meeting either one of us ever again in his miserable little worm-life should he do anything other than leave the country and become a pious ascetic in some remote place of meditation.

We get the other five points down pat though. Of course the process is not linear.

It has to be all mixed up for it to work well and permanently.

 

We hope Med Boy appreciated the time and consideration we put into our psychological work.

 

After we’re pretty sure that we have engaged and changed as much of Med Boy’s neurology as is possible given that we’re trying to not leave marks we drop him off at the house of our employer, the girls’ dad who has actually invited Med Boy’s parents over to his house as well. As he climbs out of the car Med Boy’s father is surprised to see him. And us.

He asks “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

The Hebrew is nothing if not polite, grabbing Med Boy by the back of his neck he shoves him towards the man “That’s your father? Yes, go. Go to daddy.”

 

Med Boy stumbles forward, what with his solar plexus being a little fragile and his having shit his pants it’s an ungainly gait he has adopted. A mixture of a drunken duck and a hobo’s “Oh-I-have-just-shit-myself” lurching steps.

 

My work here is done and I leave the Hebrew to deal with the socio-political complexities of family values and son-in-law prospects. Part of my value to the team I work with is that I am anonymous. I like it that way too. I go home and look forward to get a good night’s sleep.

 

But there is one thing left which might disturb my sleep pattern. When I get in the girlfriend wants to know how it went. I tell her. I don’t leave out any details. If you don’t have honesty in a relationship you don’t have trust. If you don’t have trust you don’t have respect. If you don’t have these things then you don’t have a relationship.

 

She listens quietly to the whole thing and then she says with a satisfied and dare I say it even proud look in her eye “Good. The little shit deserved it.”

 

Not many women would say that in that way and have the sentiment of pride towards their significant other when he’d just come home from being party to mafia style questions and answers interrogation session coupled with overtones of homosexual rape.

 

But that’s why I was with her for over a decade. She was very nearly perfect that girl.

 

We went to bed hugging each other. I slept well.

I met her online. We exchanged phone numbers right away and then texted a while. Different commitments (I’m sure mostly involving other people sexually on both sides) kept us from meeting in the flesh for a couple of weeks but the vibe and intent was there for both of us.

And it was definitely sexual.

 

So we finally meet, she’s come a long way to stay overnight. We’re direct that way. She’s 30 and very well made up. She has flowing blonde curly hair, pretty eyes, prettier mouth and not a bad body. Her tits are too perfect to be real and her legs are bit pale and skinny but overall she’s good.

Good enough people turn to look at her as she walks by. We go for a drink and order some take away. Then we go up to my place and have a glass of wine on the balcony while she admires the view. Being on the river has its advantages. The view is good. Relaxing.

 

As it gets colder we go back in and sit on one of the couches. I have known for a while I can kiss her when I want, and we’ll do whatever we feel comfortable doing with each other too for a while. But I have just been observing her and whether she knows it. She hopes it but can’t tell.

It must be frustrating being a woman sometimes. Men get frustrated when they get cock-teased of course, but to be a woman and have to wait for a guy to make the first move must be just as nearly exasperating. Especially if he doesn’t. But I’m not shy really. And I almost always ask before doing anything. It’s only polite. Of course sometimes asking would just get in the way.

 

And once, with the Chinese girl when I asked her if I could kiss her she told me “Why you ask?!” Almost upset…and she quickly followed it with “…don’t ask! Just give me some wine to drink and then do it to me!” If I didn’t know better it would have sounded like a perfect recipe for a date-rape lawsuit. She was a fun girl though the Chinese one.

But here I was with Blondie (it suits her really, she’s pretty, and has these blonde hair falling in curly locks all over the place) and I tell her I want to kiss her now. She’s enthusiastic. Her little girl smile however soon takes on a kind of sexual predator look. She means to impress me. Well, this is usually not a good sign but we’ll see.

She does kiss too hard and over-hollywoodised but it’s ok. I take her to the bedroom shortly after. Like I said, we’re both direct that way which is nice. Comfortable.

 

I undress her and take my clothes off. She gets nervous about her looks and starts to say her hair must be a mess and if I’m worried about how her pussy looks red it’s because she just waxed earlier today for me…

We had the whole safe sex talk over the last couple of weeks and we’ve both been tested so we know we’re good. And I feel that familiar twinge of a mixture of care and pity and love for her.

 

Sweetie, we’re naked. I like you enough ok?

Don’t worry about it. You took time to make yourself nice for me and you’re clean and pretty and want me in you. That goes a long way towards me being seriously able to ignore anything that might make you less than perfect.

She does have fake tits but honestly they are not as bad as I thought. Despite this last year having been one in which I have had sex with more women than in the previous 10 years (no long term relationship for a year now see?) I have never before touched a fake tit. It feels just like real ones. The perfect kind of real ones, which are few in number in the world really, but I’ve been lucky enough to experience relatively recently a few times.

She looks pretty amazing considering I also know she’s had 2 kids. Really impressed with her I have to say.

She’s good about being able to take all of me in her pretty mercilessly too which is nice. She scratches though. The first time I put it down to her being a bit over enthusiastic and wanting me to know she’s really having fun. A bit of a show but she means well type of thing.

 

She comes easily too and isn’t shy about it and I feel her contracting on me so I know she’s not faking it. I think it’s a man’s duty to make sure a woman has an orgasm. Or ten. This view, from what the females in my life tell me is apparently rare among men.

It’s enough to make you a bit ashamed of your sex really!

I mean WTF? Not making her come is like….I don’t know. It’s just WRONG!

But I’m not complaining really. Thanks to all you useless male fucks out there I generally get the equivalent of a standing ovation from women’s vaginas.

God bless all the inept men out there. And the gay ones.

Thanks guys!

 

I love making a woman feel good. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy feeling good myself, because I do.

The ideal woman if I ever meet her will have my same view of sex I think. Which basically is that a woman’s orgasms are MY responsibility. It is my duty as a man to sense when she needs to have one…after all it’s my vagina really….so I should know how to use it, when to use it, and the millions of ways to use it so as to keep it happy. Often women do not realise how sexual they truly are. It’s not their job to please their pussies as much as it’s mine.

Similarly, when I find that supermodel looking, nymphomaniac genius with a loyal soul and a telepathic connection to my genitals I will marry her and have her bear my children in a flash.

She will understand that the natural state for my balls is for them to be drained of any excess sperm. Which is any sperm really. And she will understand this instinctively and realise it’s her duty to care for her property as much as it’s mine to care for mine.

But I digress….

 

The second time she draws blood.

I mean really actually draws blood.

Which is going to be hard to explain to the Turkish girl that will be coming over the next day.

Admittedly the Turkish girl hardly speaks any English but still…she might notice bleeding scratches on my back and ass.

Not that I mention this detail to Blondie, but I do tell her I’m bleeding.

She’s so apologetic I almost feel bad for her…I have to think of a way for her to be able to make it up to me.

 

That will be hard. Not.

Blondie is a good girl. She understands the basics of sex between consenting adults and is fully aware that getting a man hard is actually the girl’s job, so when we first got naked she didn’t hesitate to take me in her mouth. She’s rather good with her mouth, so naturally a way to atone for her clawing me presents itself flawlessly. She takes to her redemption with gusto. So much so I wonder if she’s Christian.

 

She’s good. I tend to be quite kinaesthetic unlike most men I suppose, so I often have my eyes closed when having a really good time, but she’s doing something so amazing it actually feels like she’s deep-throating me…which I know is impossible because if E couldn’t do it…and she wanted to so much… surely no one can.

 

E had the bedroom skills of a whore. Except she was really into it. So nymphomaniac is actually the right term. We were perfect in bed and if we didn’t talk. Unfortunately that very sensitive girl was all fucked up majorly by growing up in England. Her true animal nature splintered by so many bullshit social rules. The blood of so many visceral and natural people running in her veins, some Oriental and others European… E was an animal. And broken by so called civilisation. And me…well I’m still an animal. And civilisation will not break me ever. But it did wound me. As did some other brutal things. So I wasn’t strong enough for her when she needed me. I behaved badly too. And honestly I wonder if it would have made any difference. She’s so hurt that girl I wonder if she would ever let anyone really, truly, own her heart completely. I think I was the closest she’s ever likely to come, but I hope I’m wrong.

I did love her. Wherever she’s run off to now and whoever she’s with, I truly, honestly, with all my heart hope she finds the strength, peace and harmony and most of all visceral, intense love she needs.

But even she couldn’t deep-throat me. She would have eventually, because she was a good girl and once she got an idea in her head she would follow through with it. Eventually. So I knew that short of sharing one of Lex Steele's work colleagues the chances of me ever getting a deep throat were not good. In fact I had until that moment pretty much resigned myself to the fact that unless I actually got with a bona-fide porn-star deep throating wasn’t going to be on my list. Well…not until marriage at least. Not that I plan to marry a porn star…(not that I would be against it either though) but you know…we’re talking marriage here…she’d have to learn.

 

I opened my eyes to see what she was doing and blow me down —well actually she was doing that already— if she wasn’t taking me down her throat.

Ok she still had about an inch to go before she would have her nose pressed into my pubic bone, but she still got an A for effort. Not to mention an A++ for the surprise effect. I mean she was quite petite really.

And she was into it. Well. I was into her actually, but you know what I mean. I was fascinated.

Grateful, amazed, and pleased all at once too, but fascinated mostly. What a lovely creature.

 

Every so often women will do something so sweet and surprising and thoughtful…it’s no wonder I love them.

I really do.

 

I told her when I was coming. She made sure to take it all in her. She really did deserve a prize. She knocked me unconscious with that third orgasm. And it was 4 am and I had to be up in 2 hours or so. I told her if she didn’t mind I’d sleep those two hours. She didn’t mind and we fell asleep hugging.

In the morning I decided I should be properly grateful. But I learnt my lesson and made sure I held her wrists hard. I was glad because she left fingernail imprints in the pillow-casings she clung to while she screamed her way through her orgasms.

 

We dressed and left together and said bye at the tube station. And not seen each other since. But I’ll never really forget her will I.

How could I possibly.

 

I love pretty women that like sex. And even though not many will believe it, I actually am monogamous by nature. And it’s not just words. I spent 13 years in one relationship. I do know how to commit. It’s just I want to be with The One.

 

And by God, if I have to go through every pretty girl in London to find her then I will!

 

 

 

This first entry is mainly for background and to explain why this blog exists at all. If you like a little background to your voyeurism then you might enjoy this. Otherwise, I suggest you skip to the next entry where the sex and violence will begin.

 

The name Dago was first given to me when I studied fencing at about age 16. It was one of the English people with whom I fenced and it was not given in bad taste as many English speakers might think. A harsh reality has always been preferred over a more palatable half-truth by both myself as well as those I considered friends along my way.

The boy who nicknamed me such did it in good-natured jest and I have no doubt he had no idea of the other Dago which had only a few years earlier also been born in the country of my birth and origin. . Much later, another man, whom knows considerably more of my story once again referred to me as Dago. This time though he specifically indicated that name due to the parallels of character he saw between the fictional character of the same name and my life.

 

Some of you might know who the Dago of the Italian Graphic Novels’ fame is. If so, the next paragraph will be of little interest to you.

Cesare Renzi was a noble Venetian whose family was exterminated by his traitorous best friend. Cesare barely survived but was taken into captivity and became a slave for years suffering untold humiliations and violence. Eventually he bought his own freedom thanks to that peculiar mixture of cunning, bravery and survival skill that in some respect is indeed a quality of the Byzantine mind of Venetians. Nicknamed Dago by his captors early on, he foregoes all other names and becomes a Janissary as a result of his release from slavery. Dago’s only purpose in life seems to be to wander where he will whilst also plotting his revenge. His way of doing this is rather unique. Though a driven man with an extremely passionate heart, he nevertheless does not permit anyone to get too close and though his mission is revenge, he does not pursue it in a straight line. Some encounters he has with people that care about him are quite poignant. He meets historical personages and influences historical events yet he remains anonymous as much as possible and he fades from the larger historical recall of events if not from the hearts of the individuals he comes into contact with. Dago’s character is not easy to summarise in a few words. In the profile is a link to an Italian Wikipedia entry which might shed more light. His adventures allow him to gradually exact his revenge on those responsible yet he seems to almost be foiled in these attempts multiple times by what at times seems to be an almost merciful or perhaps protective quality of fate which though not seen as such by Dago himself, might safeguard that tiny shred of self-compassion he keeps so tightly locked away inside himself he is mostly unaware of it.

 

Though Dago is essentially a fictional character, we do share a number of similarities:

 

v      We are both Venetian

v      We both lived for many years in Africa 

v      We both returned to Venice only many years later and could not stay, but still long to return there in some way even if maybe not to live permanently since neither of us could exist in only one place for very long

v      We both have an ancient vengeance to exact

v      We have both lived in violent ways and had rage deep inside us render us compassionless in youth

v      We both gradually become more understanding and compassionate as we age but never really let go of our ability to use force, nor our curiosity to delve into human stories that would frighten most people

v      We are both ambiguous about our relationship with God

v      We have both lived, worked with and befriended from the poorest of the poor to the richest of the rich

v      We count both criminals and pious men among our friends and acquaintances

v      We both love women and their company

v      Perhaps most telling, our psychology is almost identical. I often wonder at the creator of this character and how sometimes his creation seems to be plucked right out from the depth of me. Not just with his reactions and behaviours but even his sentiments.

v      We can both be insufferably arrogant, though the more precise term from the Latin is Superbi. Arrogance is for those who think they can do something they cannot. Superbia is more precisely that arrogance exhibited by those who can do what they say and they make sure to rub your face in it without any modesty at all. It tends to infuriate certain people. Those filled with ego most of all. And we both revel in this effect.

 

But so what? Why should you care?

Well I am not so naïve to think you do care.

Like any blog, this is a kind of exposé of my life. It is purposely anonymous because as much as possible I want to reveal all in its truth. And though I shall keep the names and descriptions of places and people and events vague enough to make recognition at least very difficult if not impossible, the stories you will read here have all happened.

And there is enough sex and violence and intrigue to make it at least entertaining I hope.

For myself though, doing this is a kind of confessional. As ever distrustful of organised religions as I am of most human organisations, I nevertheless feel there may be some benefit in presenting my life such as it has been up to now to the teeming masses of the blogosphere.

 

Chaos theory in action. What more levelling a field that this?

 

And who is to say that in the reading of this and perhaps in the posting of a comment, some of you might not lead me to find some truth I need.

 

Or maybe, even something more than that.