Escort

What am I making?

Question: What am I making?

Answer: and who cares?

Vero..risposta legittima..e completely condivisibile..anche from me ... But as I have done is question might as well give the answer.

I am returning to the scene of delitto..cioè'm coming to stir in the forum and dell'escorting. Why? In fact they are never released but last year I did some experiments ... some prove..insomma I enjoyed doing the idiot (I can benissimo..interpretazione by oscar).

So I return to stir the murky world of the frequenters of the worst brothels of Calcutta as seems clear ... but this time seen in a more ironic and funny ... lighter.

It still takes a po..non'm not ready but I think the end result will be interesting, for sure I will be the new "friends".

I also have other wires being shot and riannodare..vi just think that I have about 53 drafts waiting to be riviste..cosa strange for me because usually I write jet.

Surely most it will end up in the trash because of outdated or simply because they feel the more my ... however ... unfortunately some will be saved for you.

What does "ays"

Ok ... since it's Christmas I make a "gift" too.

Lately she returned curiosity around "Bibiebibo" ..alla signature ... and other little things; all you can not reveal anything but yes.

And then we reveal the mystery of the "signature" that is the mystery of "ays"

You understand that it is an acronym, it is about understanding what it means, but first you need to tell you how I found out.

Those were different times, namely London a while ago .. unknown (otherwise it starts with age .. ..) but several years ago and I was an adult and vaccinated.

I was in London for a mix of business and pleasure, and something about that time I have written in the past. London from the point of view "escorts" is the maximum; it was then and still is I think. I already had this trend and here I attended from time to time some escort agency that is independent.

One evening I call an escort and I agree with you to a meeting. It come to me and we spend a very pleasant couple of hours. I remember perfectly the name "Mercedes", Hispanic origin but unidentified. I still have it somewhere on his business card that he left me, it was black with only the name in gold, the phone number and a code under the name (in gold).

The initials stood for "ays". All clear now? Not yet?

Clarified that is of Anglo-Saxon origin ... try to imagine what might be written on a business card of an escort. What does an escort? ... Ok..tante cose..ma one thing primarily: provide a service (at least ..nella Anglo-Saxon conception of escort).

So the "s" stands for "service" and now everything is clear.

The acronym is as follows: At Your Service, "at your service" literally but better understood as "to serve".

I liked the theme song and when I started writing in various forums and I had to find a signature, after using for a while '"Love" but was too honeyed ... here I inizato using "ays".

The mystery is revealed the signature that has intrigued a lot and not only here on the blog but also in various forums. It is not a great mystery but that's it.

There is still a long way to define ... like how did the nickname ... the story on the ship ... school age (this ..neanche with pliers .. Inquisitor).

ays Bibi

I did the escort for ladies

The initial phase of the new project started and I must say it went pretty well, so well that is already walking alone. I will follow very closely, but still I will not have to be always present and that was what I was hoping.

On the sidelines of everything that has happened I have to explain the title of the post or I take you for mad (oddio..mica so difficult).

And 'success at the official presentation of the new project that I will not explain. In two parole..ricordate when I wrote that I had gone to Rome to meet with a jerk of Parliament? Bene..da there is a party, and now the project has materialized. And in Rome this week was launched.

And that's where I made the tour leader. I must say it was very strange, for years I have benefited from the services of "escorts" and at the end, as in Dante's infernal law of retaliation, I found myself "companion".

And 'all happened by chance and because of the four words I know Russian. There were customers who came over there and then I found myself scarrozza three tizie for roma. Among other things, not being Roman, it was not exactly a walk.

But first things first.

It all starts with the presentation of the project followed by refreshments ect. ect. ect. followed by a beautiful fucking thing because in the programs, at the end of the day everyone had to leave for his cabbages. Big mistake because the three gals want to go around Rome but do not know a word that is not Romanian or Russian (two Romanian and one Russian). And then my "bright" partner remembers that I know four crap in that language and I masquerading as a fine speaker and expert on the ways of Gogol .. (bastard inside ...) and ensures the ladies who will be their leader ... (bastard inside is out ..).

Now .. the ladies are not really "ladies" ... .diciamo things as they are; one (the Russian) it is a large woman of about 40 years old and of considerable size, the two Romanian rather have thirty years, a normal and a rather considerable chick is (to put it understandable to everyone).

It starts immediately for dinner and I have to improvise by drawing a random local trasteverino and fortunately I'm okay. The big woman Russian launches a taste of everything the steps to throw fork ... while the "normal" (as the distinction from "chick") is content to snacking and little or nothing. The "chick" is normal but instead gives us in a little too much with the wine of the castles.

After dinner, the "boa from parking" (the Russian) sells last haggard "tiramisu" engulfed and wants to return to the hotel. Undecided until the last moment whether to call a taxi or a tow truck, I go for the first and the fatigue load on the middle under the worried look of the taxi driver tells me "aho ... I had just redone the armortizzatori..li mortacci ..".

At this point it seems that everything goes well and I am going to call other taxi but the two stop me: "disc" ... hard? That hard ?? Time? Volante? Please specify ...

Are dicks ... they want to go to the disco to dance ... .. Now I have a certain age, I do not deny that as a boy I attended clubs but we talk about places that no longer exist ... where I was going I is scavendo to find the remains of ' age and keep them in a museum .. And all this happened in Rome.

Desperate call for help to the owner of the restaurant that I pity rattles off a few names of disco quite popular in the capital.

"Gilda" ... "Jackie O" ... "Piper" fuck ... but are the same names that circulated in my day! That's why they call it the Eternal City! Then come other names unknown to me.

Scholar in five seconds on the nightlife of the capital, and I propose to launch a first local gals. Via ..this part.

We arrive in this place and honestly I was expecting something better, but this is what passes the monastery and whereas entering I saw in the distance the Dome ... I think an appropriate comparison.

The two embark on track regardless of everything and everyone. Rest a little shocked because they give points to the local cubist, if they provide a pole ... I do not know where they would disappear .. I had stayed at dances may be a little more "normal", here it is all a rub and a mood from porn movies. The fact is that in a short time the area is filled with "gadflies". What is a "gadfly"? E 'extremely tedious and insistent that insect bites as few and usually torture vacche..ed the Christians during the summer.

Where I come from is also to indicate those funny looking stubbornly to mate and copulate with all the girls, women or the like that occur within range. Disco they were always and I see that this has not changed.

The two girls have attracted the attention of all the "gadflies" local and I must say that the Romans as a "tafanaggine" are unmatched ... but the two are laughing at large and I understand that you're having to take the piss the cloud that surrounds them. I do my "hanger" that is, I lean against the wall, I drink and I look and I slam the Maronites thinking about what I have to do the next day.

After a couple of hours and at least three comsumazioni, the "chick" comes and tells me, "Where are we going now?" ... .. As we go where? There are two options: to sleep or to fuck ... NO..terza opzione..in locale..perchè one another is not enough, he wants to see Roma..ect. ect ... ect ...

Sorridenndo and bestemiando, move away the "gadflies" from normal and both gain the release chased by curses on my future generations and appreciation on the professionalism of my great grandmothers throw me by them.

I opt for a local Testaccio and find myself in a pit pazzesca..locale very low level and as people that music is fine but the two girls, I think it will be alcohol.

The chick is taken immediately attacked by two very interesting examples of "male jerk" that is what makes the "conquistador" to record ... The examples have in common a beautiful pitch in the head where to park the buses of the faithful headed to St. Peter , a physical asciutto..ma nn certain athletic front have a discreet "cemetery tortelli" as they say a couple of comedians. And the eyes ... I do not know if I only noticed but I have eyed, constantly moving on every part of the body of the chick. I find myself thinking if I was like that, too, if I behaved in the same way ... oddio..che figure shit ... if it were me I would be on hiatus alone.

The normal well she has her work cut out to disentangle the various polyps that surround it all goes smoothly. What it get out of hand when the "chick" begins to slinguazzare with a male free range that must have firearms because he has a gun in your pocket or at least I think.

The "gadflies" at this point you throw all the normal starting to show signs of slowing and eventually ... yields and slimonazza herself quite a gadfly. From the position of hangers I observe the sad disperse the horseflies were disappointed, all with guns in their pockets and not be able to fire a shot.

Now I ask myself the question: how to go to sleep and lead to bed the two without having to face duels Rusticana with the two gadflies? Or leave them to fend for themselves? I opt for a solution suggeritami by Quintus Fabius Maximus, temporized.

The chick continues to amaze me because she is in practice almost scopazzarsi the gadfly while the normal is more victim than victimizer. Things are going for long and I'm almost asleep when the scenery changes abruptly. The two greet their gadflies, you slinguazzano and then calmly come to me and tell me that we can go ... I'm surprised but I can not find the exact words to describe the faces of the two gadflies downloaded to that there are modo..non words really, I should do only a photo but I think if I want to get out alive is something to avoid.

By taxi the two big laugh and then they speak some of the evening. The discussion continues in the hotel and in practice I trust that they just wanted to have some fun, are both married and with children as well. I never had intentions to go further, just a bit of fun and nothing more and even the chick asks me if by chance I have offended or if I have created problems. "Absolutely not," was my answer and I must say that I lie quite well and I think he bought it.

When I get in the room I think back to the evening and I think of all the various managers that after stressful meetings or conferences finally "relax" with various escorts. I worked for some time in a multinational, raced to go to conferences or taking positions for short periods in remote locations to go to whores.

The two gals in the end had fun and did nothing more than what they normally do hundreds of men, anzi..sono were also good to stop. What to say?

I can only say that I did the tour leader and all in all it was fun ... .that I open a new career?

80 pounds are not enough .. sorry

Today I glanced to the search terms by which some poor wretch comes in this wasteland that is my blog.

"God's ways are endless," he says, and even the search terms it seems. There are curious, strange, crazy and of even more. Girl With A Suitcase has devoted a page and he did very well.

Today one made me laugh like few .. in part because it is relevant to my recent past and in part because it means just do not have the idea of ​​what you look ..

In practice, a guy came to this blog trying to google "escorts in London in less than 80 pounds."

Now .. calculator in hand 80 pounds is equivalent to about 88 euro !!!!

Now we need to give some advice to this dear friend likely would-pimp (but I will remain only an aspiration ..).

Dear amico..a London with 80 pounds ... if you can throw a party with a dark, understood as Guinness at the pub. The escorts, intending to escort girls of a certain level, which are not toxic to king's cross, for 80 pounds you do not even shake my hand.

And to be honest ... even in Italy I know that you have to continue to rely on Federica because with 88 € of escorts are little or nothing.

You know what I can do? Get emails that you get in touch with Confucia ... maybe 80 pounds can combine ....

Silvio O, my dear pimp.

Since we are in a democracy where there is freedom of the press and so there is no danger that the video with the statements of D'Addario disappear like snow in the sun ... I decided to propose them.

A small letter to Silvio ...

Silvio, dear friend pimp long course, you have to feel comfortable and admit you do crap. In any case are less severe type of crap you say ... that of a million jobs. Relax and think of Clinton, for him a blow job in the White House moments lost, you've had to make a blowjob for only a Minister and risks losing Villa San Martino but you have other residences .. in Sardinia, the Caribbean ... to hammamet ...

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Tamzin

I was torn between the memories of a foggy London or a solar Russia. Yes, solar because Russia can be solar. Duval has made me remember a game of joints passed.

But I decided to go with the mind in London, about a certain number of years ago. And there I met Tamzin.

What to say more than what has been said before with Christine? London, soldi..solo ..ect. ect. the pastry.
Tamzin was one of the pastries on display. Wonderful.

It was a melting pot of races and as often happens it was the best of both. Half Tamil and half English. Never understood if a mother or father and to be honest never screwed anything to know.

As written, in London there were (and still think there are) agencies themes, if you wanted a black girl you called an agency, if you wanted an Asian girl another and so on.

One evening I called an agency that sent me Tamzin.

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It was amazing when he came into my little room I was speechless and it's not something that happens to me often.

Beautiful, high, bearing a large, two boobs from fear and trust me when I tell you to be afraid, huge, natural.

Mora with a mestizo complexion that brought out his eyes, dark and deep over bottom depths there is. And a smile that opens the heart.

Hurry economic formalities, I find myself talking to her but also to fondle her and everything else. I'm not good at writing of erotic encounters, this is something I leave to others more good but I can say it was a real bomb.

After talking again and eat something together, it has a brain mica laugh the girl. The craft has chosen independently and without many problems. He says that for a half-breed like you there are many perspectives. The British of Indian origin and the British do not love pure love her boobs and just.

So he decides to use them and become companion. It does so for about two years (tells me to be 20 years old ... I think maybe ...) and that he had already bought a house. Not a palace but a small house standard typically English with a small garden at the back. For her it is the achievement of a goal. Now he is thinking of a different investment.

We talk between a potato and another, and I seem to follow a seminar on investment opportunities in England held by beautiful bosomy half blood lying naked on the bed in my room and I think if the seminars were so ......

Eventually he greets me and goes. For the moment. The next day I do not have shit to do then call the agency and fixed another meeting with Tamzin.

She smiles at me when it arrives ect. ect ect and then I said seriously, "you must be very rich." I ask her why, and she tells me that she costs a lot and so ..

True, it is not cheap but you only live once .. (Christine read and understand ..).

Pass another wonderful evening with her talking and of course to consume. I do not deny it, and I consumed a lot. Tamzin is solar and radiates an aura all around beneficial. By sexually, a volcano will define cold by comparison. However ...

But it finished really becomes a professional. E 'from her that I learned to appreciate the professional than improvvisitate, the pseudo no prof.

It gives you everything and nothing, but at all times it gives you what you want. When he leaves, I greet you and she says she was well and believe it but I have not called.

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PS is an experiment, and perhaps musica..racconto ..not so..però I wanted to try something different.
Maybe there will be a second parte..magari not.

Christine

Prologue: time and place

London, long time ago.
How can you not fall in love with a city so when you have bigger problems, you do not have constraints and you turn a little money in your pocket?

In that period of my life I was in this idyllic condition; but not too young, no particular constraint, discreet availability of funds due to a good job and no mortgage to pay. In this condition I find myself living in London for about a month. They call them "internships" in reality for me is a vacation full time.

I take home in a central area. The first attempt was a disaster hallucinating, contact an agency that finds me a "kind location" ... near Kings Cross Station Railroad. Translated into practice, I find a toilet room in a kind of hostel near the station of Kings Cross, the one where I burned a ton of people during a fire.

Apart from the process in common with a group of strangers at a guess have many years younger than me but many more problems than me to make ends meet and maybe even a few problems with the correct use of substances derived from opium, the rest of the room is simply a copy of the process above. The "location" is inserted in the corner with magnificent views of "pizza hut" and consequent usufruct free of fragrances and aromas coming from the same. When you consider that white is a color not very frequent among those who frequent nightclubs surrounding sidewalks, here is the picture of a perfect place where you can shoot yourself in peace and have all the extenuating circumstances of the case.

Step two nights in my great room, sleeping little but clutching a healthy and sincere friendship with a family of cockroaches living there for three generations. By day I spend time looking for accommodation where to relocate even though I know that doing so will break the heart of my room neighbor, a young Spanish arrived two days before me that when I arrived he hugged me like I was a brother. I was the first "normal" that met for three days.

Finally on the third day I find accommodation within the reach of my finances. Incidentally, I would be willing to steal the crown jewels just to leave. The new "location" decidedly more welcoming. I found another room in Knightsbridge. How to say from rags to riches. For those not practical, it is (..era..forse still is ..) a very pretty area, within walking distance of Hyde Park, close to Harrod's, next to the legendary King's Road (the road famous for fashion). .insomma as they say "I turned."

The rent also has turned and a lot but you only live once and then ..

On the fourth day, I wake up, I open the window and I see in the distance a piece of the park and then it says that happiness is hard to get!

For three or four days messing around in the streets like a moron, you know movies like "An American in Paris" or something? My internship has not yet begun, and so I try to enjoy the city and figure out how to move.

I discover the London squares and streets strangest and then step at a London tourist with all the stops classic that is useless to list. Remarkable thing, a little bar with authentic Italian coffee in the heart of Soho.

Soho is rather disappointing crazy, the life of the district vice London is a sadness. Much better move along "the thames". Then there are an infinite number of rooms of the convent garden and the theater district. Clubs a little bit everywhere and discover the area of ​​Camden. In short, the first week I like to fuck right and left as few.

I start the stage, low effort and frequency only in the morning, in practice it's a godsend. Among other things it is not even very far, Paddington area. I shall digress. Paddington is an area, in my opinion, very nice with a variety of old-style houses with white colonnades that is contaminated by a strong presence of Indians. I do not know if this has an impact but the area is also teeming with ads for dating a fee.

Actually, this is one of the things that I saw immediately. The first time I telfonato from a booth, I was surprised; the cabin was covered with andesivi and business cards to escort, escort, sadomasochism, ethnic, call-girls, call-boys ect ... ect. in short, all the samples was at hand. The feeling was that of a child left alone in pastry.

And here it begins the story.

Part One: the pastry or easy sex

What does a child left alone in a bakery? Obvious ... taste the pastries.

And then one day I am the regent's park sitting on a bench with a business card in hand. Black with a gold ticket written in italics great "Mercedes" and below "the dreams become truth" and behind only "call at xxxxxxxxxxxxx).

You only live once ... ..ricordate?

"Hello, mercedes speaking, may I help you?" Of course you can help me ... and so between a joke and a bit of embarrassment fixed the meeting. It's not really cheap, I would say pricey but that's okay. I will not tell how it went, and it went very well.

And so it all begins. If it had gone wrong I would not be here to tell and write.

After Mercedes try some other girl. Can anyone say "excuse but why do not you try one without paying? a normal girl like all ". Well, in fact I also found a couple of girls "normal" but normality is a very relative concept in England and in London specialemente. One night I spend the evening in a pub drinking beer and playing dards and lose without restraint but I refer with snooker. Between dard, a beer and a game of snooker, I make friends with abitueè the pub. And 'a rare and difficult thing. usually the group of regulars not shit ever again, let alone tourists, but maybe because I lose a lot of darts became sympathetic.

At closing time, I find myself with two girls in the group, nothing special, but pretty average. "Italians do it better" and crap like this and I finally found himself to sleep by them. Dormire..eufemismo to say that I am to spend the night with them. I've never been a lover of the orgy, dell'ammucchiata; I do not like the traffic "on the bed" but will have been alcohol or other at the end it turned out well with two girls "normal".

I attend a girl dle my internship, I attend in the sense that sometimes you go out to eat and ended up there. It 'a Hungarian girl who claims to be related to not know who's important in his country. Very nice and also a little strange. will also be related to an important person but one day while we eat sitting on a bench in a small park I ask me if I can Farel a favor. "Of course," says the turkey Italian Doc (of Origin crap). "Can I borrow 50 pounds?" Is the angelic request. Now, she has about twenty-two, blonde, a beautiful body, two blue eyes that are now model puppy cooker and stares at me hopefully. What do you think has answered an authentic Italian gentleman d.oc.? That's right, just that. Incidentally I have no ulterior motive but rest a little surprised by the request and still advance that this loan is to be paid even after several years. Let's say I have funded the development of an emerging country of Eastern Europe.

This explains why the use of tickets and announcements. Much more relaxing and less complications and misunderstandings. If I go out with a call-girls and asks me this money not surprised rest, it is normal. if I go out with two and we end up in bed, I'm not surprised, it's normal. You only live once and that cazzo..almeno him quietly.

The choice is vast and diverse, is a supermarket open 24 of 24. There are sectoral agencies and ethnic for fans of the genre. I do not have particular tastes and so I go about things classic. One evening I call an agency and I answered a nice enough guy, fixed the meeting and sent me home the girl Christine.

And here it begins another story.

Part Two: She

Christine arrives on time like a Swiss watch. I open the door and the space is occupied by a mass of curly blond hair, wavy ... and a fabulous smile. Green eyes with golden reflections smiling and shining with its own light. "Hi, i'm Christine" I have a beautiful voice, friendly and kind, cheerful. Defining moment: a girl solar.

First rule issues financed by the usual envelope and then begin to talk a bit. We beh..non talk to much to be honest because I honestly can not resist much to watch it only. What about what happened? I can say it was a remarkable experience, she smiles, laughs and then smiles again. I often shoot crap in English and I talk about everything and more. In the end we are talking about a lot of things and in our drink, a laugh and a kiss. At the end of the evening we salute and says "You are very funny, thanks."

In the morning I do not go to the stage, I go to the park, not to Hyde Park, prefersico another one next. Rest there for a while to look around then I go on the underground up to Convent Garden and stand there and look at who has the bigger head. My head is muffled, it seems to me to walk 30 cm from the ground or close to the sky depending on your point of view. I have a feeling space / time very distorted. In the late afternoon back in my room and I call Christine.

He left the number of his house. The night before he told me that he lives with his sister, who is now on. They recorded a song as an answering machine that says it is a hoot. I dial the number.

"Hello ......." And begins a song for two voices that is a disaster but definitely fun because you feel that recorded in a time when the alcohol is going to take a trip outside of the liver and spent the evening with the duodenum.

At the end of the Secretariat I leave a message with my phone number. Sentences that do not want to say anything but when I look smart and beautiful. After about half an hour the phone rings. And 'her.

"Hello funny italian! How are you? "Thus you begin and is already over or maybe it iniziata..non know what, but I know that at that very moment" something "happened. Laughing and joking we arrange to meet us for the evening. A payment is clear.

While we're on time we decide to go eat something together. Idiota..non even know where to take! I know of nothing more than the places I eat sandwiches or other crap in some pub and I invited her out to eat! Christine arrives on time as always, a little early, and if yesterday had seemed nice, now I am sure it is beautiful. I do not know yet where to go and she must have realized that I'm a little messed up. It offers her a place near. Ok, go. It 'a place very similar to where I go, sandwiches, some crap and nothing more. A beer and some crap that I honestly do not know what it is but I do not care. She is in front of me and that's enough and advances. He tells me he wants to take the breast again would increase it. It seems to me that is fine as it is. "Noooooooo .. i want to Became a third page girl!". For those not practical, the girl of the third page is told the newspaper "The Sun" in the third page that has a habit of inserting the topless pictures of various starlets and is the most read page of the newspaper that for the rest does seem "Corriere dei Piccoli" an authoritative head. Continuiamo a discutere della dimensione delle sue tette ed in generale della dimensione perfetta delle tette. Tutto questo con un tono di voce normale e la cosa vedo che interessa anche gli altri avventori che con sguardi più o meno competenti buttano un occhio sulle tette di Christine.

Usciamo e siamo naturalmente abbracciati. Andiamo verso la mia “home, sweet home”.

E qui comincia un'altra storia.

Epilogo: …..e così sia

Apro la porta della mia cameretta ed entra la luce cioè Christine. Questa volta non regolo la questione finanziara o meglio non ho tempo perchè mi fionda un metro di lingua ed esplora le mie tonsille. Vista la temperatura ambiente ci spostiamo in luogo più consono ed iniziamo…… “Wait a moment…” mi dice e cerca qualcosa nella borsetta; qualcosa è un modo diverso di dire “condom”. Di solito non ci mette molto ma stavolta la perquisizione è più lunga del dovuto. “Damned..” capisco che qualcosa non va o meglio che il “qualcosa” non si trova. In pratica non abbiamo condom e la cosa non è piacevole vista la situazione del Big Ben che si trova dalle mie parti inguinali. Ci guardiamo..risata imbarazzante e poi decisione: ci si riveste e si va a cercare i condom. Beh..situazione un pò strana ma alla fine divertente. Usciamo ridendo e lei mi prende in giro chiedendomi perchè ho una banana nella tasca dei pantaloni…”are you hungry?” che detta così, in questa situazione è una cosa piena zeppa di doppi sensi.

Il primo posto dove cerchiamo ci dice male, niente condom. Proviamo un self aperto ma anche qui non ci sono. Ma hanno deciso di scopare tutti stasera? La ricerca ci porta in un altro posto ma orami è tardi ed è chiuso. Torniamo indietro, sembra impossibile ma non ho trovato un condom. Sono abbastanza rassegnato ed anche il Big Ben segna le sei e mezza in tutta tranquillità. Christine mi guarda e mi dice che le spiace, che domani se voglio possiamo vederci..non c'è problema figurati. Un bacio e poi un altro. Mi guarda ancora e poi ricomincia e ci ritroviamo sul letto ed il Big Ben è tornato a mezzanotte. Provo a dirle che non è …mi chiude le labbra con un dito e mi dice che si fida. Al momento non capisco ma è solo questione di un momento. Il resto della notte..beh non ci vuole un genio a capire come è andata.

E' rimasta con me tutta la notte. Non abbiamo parlato di questioni finanziarie. L'ho accompagnata a casa. Un bel appartamento, carino, disordinato all'inverosimile come solo può essere l'appartamento di due ragazze che non hanno voglia di sistemare casa. Mi fermo per un thè e poi già che sono lì andiamo mangiare qualcosa. E' giovedì, domenica ho l'aereo per l'Italia. La saluto con la promessa che tra poche ore sarei stato da lei. And so it was.

In pratica mi trasferisco da lei, mancano tre giorni al mio aereo e si vive una volta sola…..

Avete presente quei film strani con lui e lei che vanno in giro sorridenti con le faccie deficienti con la musichetta allegra.. sole e vento nei capelli..ecco i tre giorni seguenti sono stati così. Ho passato tre giorni in un'altra dimensione. Sesso? Tanto e di più ma non solo. Le cose più belle ed i ricordi più belli sono altri. Ad esempio quando in cucina mentre mangiavamo un pezzo di pizza (pizza hut…), lei insisteva per insegnarmi la sua canzoncina della segreteria. Che c'è di divertente? Provate a cantare con in bocca un pezzo di pizza (pizza hut..intendo) con una ragazza nuda seduta sulle vostre gambe e poi mi direte ….

Poi è arrivata domenica. “Sunday, bloody sunday” è una canzone degli U2 e tratta di tutt'altro ma quella domenica è stata veramente maledetta. Però non è stata triste come si può pensare. Il mattino ci ha trovato svegli, abbiamo passato la notte a parlare e solo a parlare. Mi ha accompagnato all'aereoporto, l'ho vista per l'ultima volta attraverso un vetro e mi è sembrata più bella del primo giorno. Un saluto, un sorriso e via, si vive una volta sola…

Non ho mai più rivisto Christine, sono stato a Londra altre volte ma mai mai ho trovato il coraggio di provare a telefonarle, di cercarla. L'ho fatto una sera qualche anno fa. Una sera speciale in cui la testa va per conto suo e si tracciano linee immaginarie di bilanci di vita e si fa la conta delle cose buone e delle cose cattive che uno ha fatto. Il numero è sempre lì, l'ho ancora adesso a distanza di anni e così quella sera l'ho chiamata. Sono stato fortunato, non lei c'era ma c'era una canzoncina.

….si vive una volta sola….ma dentro si muore tante volte.

Racconto d'inverno

Era un freddo dicembre del 1991 eppure la gente girava per le strade mangiando gelati a volontà, anche due o tre per volta. La prima volta che ho visto una cosa del genere sono rimasto di sasso; mi avevano detto un mucchio di cose ma questa era una novità. Poi la gentile interprete mi disse che era un modo come un altro per mangiare; il potere calorico del gelato era un valido aiuto alla dieta base dei moscoviti e dei russi in generale, il fatto che fosse dicembre poco importava ad un popolo abituato a temperature rigide e poi la consistenza del gelato russa era diversa.

Poco convinto mi spronò a fare una prova e aveva ragione; consistenza diversa, gusto ottimo e molto pastoso, un buon dessert che potevi effettivamente mangiare anche mentre cadeva la neve. Al noiosissimo pranzo di circostanza la vidi.

Alta, capelli leggermente ramati, un viso dolcissimo ma ben delineato e forte. Quando sento parlare delle donne russe la maggior parte delle volte viene fuori la parola “contadinotte”. Può darsi, il clima e il duro lavoro hanno segnato i volti delle maggior parti delle donne ma accanto a loro puoi trovare dei visi di una bellezza sconvolgente che ti lascia senza fiato.

Più di una volta mi son fermato a guardare bambini per strada che erano la personificazione dei putti di Giotto o Michelangelo. Natasha, apparteneva a questa seconda categoria di donne, se fossero stati furbi in quel momento avrei firmato qualsiasi cosa pur di andare via da solo con lei. Finalmente riesco a parlarle, buon inglese studiato all'università, meglio del mio.

Mi sgancio dall'interprete e le chiedo di accompagnarmi in giro per la città, scusa banale ma sempre efficace.Con sorpresa accetta e iniziamo a girare per una Mosca ancora segnata dal tentativo di golpe. La facciata della white house moscovita, il parlamento, porta ancora i segni delle cannonate dei tanks. Il freddo è terribile quando arriviamo alla via Arbat ma all'improvviso tutto passa.

Con lei a fianco entro in un mondo nuovo ed antico allo stesso momento. Bancarelle con tutto il possibile e l'impossibile; orologi russi a fianco di stupendi servizi di porcellana, preziosa ambra baltica insieme a fini avorii intarsiati. Paccottiglia infinita del passato regime, foto di Lenin, Stalin e di chiunque altro abbia avuto una qualche carica, busti di ferro o gesso o come tu lo voglia.Bandiere rosse, americane, i primi punk, cambiavalute abusivi che cambiano un dollaro a 55 rubli mentre il cambio ufficiale è fermo a 2,80 se non ricordo male.

In mezzo a quest'umanità, Natasha che con calma e un dolce sorriso mi accompagna e mi guida tra una bancarella e l'altra. Chiede prezzi, mi consiglia cosa prendere e cosa tralasciare. Non si accorge che non sto guardando le bancarelle ma lei e solo lei; il leggero nevischio che cade le ricopre i ciuffi di capelli che fuoriescono dal suo colbacco, sarà il freddo o sarò io ma i suoi occhi brillano di una luce speciale.

Dopo un po' andiamo in una traversa dell'Arbat dove girando un po' a destra e un po' a sinistra, troviamo finalmente un piccolo caffè in una vecchia cantina che il nuovo spirito pseudo capitalista ha fatto sorgere. Il “chai” tè russo servito nel classico bicchierone di vetro mi scalda come non mai o forse il fatto di essere lì con lei mi basta e avanza.

Resto a Mosca per altri cinque giorni. Natasha non l'ho conosciuta come escort, l'ho conosciuta in maniera diversa. E mi ha fatto conoscere in maniera diversa un grande Paese.

Luglio 1996 sono tornato a Mosca per l'ultima volta.

Il vecchio Inturist vicino alla Piazza Rossa è un residuato bellico confronto ai nuovi alberghi. Per le strade le mercedes e bmw dei nuovi ricchi sfrecciano in mezzo alle lada. Passo dall'Arbat e un'infinita tristezza mi colpisce appena vedo una bella insegna “Pizzeria Bella Italia”. Forse sono gli stessi italiani mafiosi che incontrai nel night del “Pribaltiskaja” a San Pietroburgo nel 1992 e che discutevano amabilmente di cosa “importare” ed “esportare” fiduciosi del fatto che il napoletano non è lingua di facile accesso se non si hanno amici napoletani.

Dove c'era un fantastico negozietto di antichità, ora c'è uno stupido negozio di vestiti. Per strada non mi fermo più ad osservare i bambini; alla sera vedo solo ragazzine che aspettano lungo la strada. Il progresso non può essere fermato; maybe .... ma in alcuni casi dovrebbe essere fermato.

Non ho più rivisto Natasha; non ho mai voluto rivederla, forse ho fatto bene o forse ho fatto male,di certo questa storia mi rimarrà dentro e sarà sempre uno degli innumerevoli incroci che ho dovuto affrontare nella vita e dove il mio destino è cambiato a seconda di quale strada ho preso.

Con affetto Bibi

PS Stanotte a mosca ha nevicato e fa freddo.

PP.SS. Ho deciso di riprendere le quattro stagioni. “Racconto d'inverno” è una cosa scritta tanto tempo fa e pubblicata in un forum e che ho riportato integralmente; anche gli altri racconti sono oramai già stati scritti ma non è detto che non farò integrazioni.

Una nota a margine del già inserito “Racconto d'autunno”: è un racconto che va interpretato localizzandolo nel forum dove è stato proposto ed avendo una minima esperienza del vissuto raccontato.

Nuova iniziativa

Penso di essere arrivato al termine del viaggio. Questa è stata una bella esperienza maforse è finita. Ho fatto altre cose e son tornato ad altre cose che mi piacciono di più. Se poi queste andranno a finir nella palta…pazienza. E' qualche tempo che studio ed imparo. Ho deciso di metter su un forum. Tutti dicono che i forum son finiti; può essere ma i blog mi annoiano e quindi torno al primo amore. Tra breve inserirò il linke se qualcuno vorrà visitarlo…prego.

Attenzione però!!! Forum vietato ai minori dato che tratterà sempre e comunque di un argomento “proibito” e cioè escort, sesso ed affini. A presto e buone feste.

Una storia rumena

Come molti ho avuto anch'io occasione nelle mie frequentazioni di incrociare delle escort rumene. Oddio, magari definirle “escort” è forse troppo, meglio magari il termine “loft” ma poco importa.

La chiamerò “Gala”, nome di fantasia anche perchè non so che fine abbia fatto. E' una storia cherisale a qualche anno fa, direi circa 7 o 8 per la precisione. Era il mio periodo di “ritorno” all'attività di fruitore di servizi di sesso a pagamento (puttaniere in vulgaris…).

In quelperiodo ero ancora molto legato all'uso della carta stampata e così gli incontri venivano selezionati e scelti in base agli annunci sui vari quotidiani. “AAaaaaa ect” o “Massaggi…ect” che però volevano dire solo una cosa. Anche lì c'erano dei segreti che “l'esperto” conosceva, alcuni giornali erano da evitare, altri erano solo per un certo tipo di servizi (basso livello) altri erano per escort di lusso..insomma non era semplice e forse il divertimento era tutto lì.

Ogni tanto cercavo anche di trovare qualcosa che fosse diverso dal solito, in pratica di “scoprire” qualche ragazza particolarmente interessante. Su un giornale noto per l'elevata possibilità di “sole” trovo un annuncio un pò naif e così mi lancio. Telefonata: voce gradevole con un leggero accento straniero ed in breve combiniamo.

Quando la vedo resto sorpreso. Gala è una gran bella ragazza, niente da dire. Tralascio le parti che solitamente interessano di più nei vari forum dedicati e cioè gli aspetti tecnici dato che non avrebbe molto senso. Diciamo solo che siamo quasi ad un 10.

Episodio curioso che vale la pena di raccontare.

Location: motel alla periferia di milano

Personaggi: due, io e lei

Costumi: nessuno in quel momento

Ciack, azione: lei si alza e va in bagno poi non riesce più ad aprire la porta per uscire.Provate ad immaginarvi cosa mi è passato perla testa in quei minuti.

A parte l'episodio, lego subito molto con Gala. Scopro che è al suo secondo giorno di “lavoro” e che non conosce molto bene “cosa” e “come” deve farlo. Breve bigino sulle varie situazioni ed una preghiera di attenersi sempre a “certe” regole e poi con il passare del tempo mi racconta un pò anche di lei. Rumena originaria della zona dove imperava il conte Vlad. Poco o niente in Romaniae quindi decide di fare il salto della quaglia e lo fa in un altro paese dove si sposa. Fine della prima parte della storia per fine del tempo.

Dopo un paio di giorni ci risentiamo e la rivedo. Questa volta a casa sua. Riprendiamo la storia e così mi fa vedere l'album delle foto del matrimonio,la cosa strana è che manco ho visto le mie. Allafine mi racconta che ha lasciato il marito e si è trasferita in Italia da un'amica ed ha anche trovato un lavoro. Piccolo particolare; con il lavoro si paga a malapena l'affitto ed allora quando ha finito i soldi ha cercato una soluzionee visto che dove lavora tutti le stavano dietro ha pensato di mettere a frutto questo aspetto.

Ci vediamo ancora per parecchie volte. Gala è forse stata l'unica che ho frequentato un certo numero di volte; solitamente avevo fatto mio il motto di Paganini ma Gala è stata l'eccezione. Quando mi sono accorto che le cose avevano preso una piega che non mi era consona,l'ho vista per un'ultima volta e poi basta. Gala era solare,divertente e per niente sconvolta o preoccupata,aveva scelto lucidamente cosa fare ed in autonomia.

Passano anni e poi un giorno di quattro anni fa ritrovo un biglietto con il suo numero di telefono.Curiosità, follia o chissà cosa e la chiamo.

To my surprise I answered, the phone is always on. Con gioia ma anche imbarazzo mi faccio riconoscere e così decido di passare a trovarla subito. Abita in una bella zona di Milano ora, non un grande appartamento ma carino. Faccio fatica a riconoscerla, è cambiata e parecchio. Il fisico che prima era un pò ruspante è ora uno spettacolo; alta lo era sempre stata ma adesso è anche più slanciata, dimagrita di qualche kilo nei punti strategici e forse aumentata in altri.

Il colore dei capelli è cambiato e pure il taglio. Il sorriso è sempre quello invece. Mi insulta con allegria chiedendomi dove fossi finito.Scopro che lei ha ovviamente continuato, anzi si è “evoluta”. Dalla carta stampata è passata agli annunci sulla rete, è stata una delle prime ad entrare nel web.

Mi dice che ha cambiato “clientela” , è passata ai clienti da un milione come minimo e con gusti anche strani. Mi racconta di un tizio di Firenze che la pagava una cifra per andare a Firenze per il fine settimana e tutto quello che succedeva era che il tizio si spippettava con le sue calze.

E così di seguito.Ora aveva un “ragazzo” o meglio uno che la manteneva e di tanto in tanto aveva qualche cliente affezionato. In pratica stava bene. Non riceveva più a casa ma oramai ero lì e quindi….

Non l'ho più rivista e non l'ho più chiamata. Ho ancora il suo numero di telefono, un giorno di due anni fa mi trovai per caso a passare sotto casa sua ed ho visto che il suo nome è ancora lì sul citofono. Ora spero solo che qualche pirla non la prenda a calci perchè è rumena.