Dingo the Dissident

THE BLOG OF DISQUIET : Qweir Notions in the Armpit of Diogenes by DINGO the DISSIDENT binge-thinker since February 2008.

Sunday, 5 August 2018

I have never 'visited' a prostitute,

nor 'had recourse'
to financially-agreed intercourse.
I never even considered it.

But when I was in a hotel in downtown Bangui
(Central African Republic, then ruled by Jean-Bedel Bokassa)
a beautiful, unpainted, small-breasted chambermaid
came to my room and hesitantly offered herself to me
(naming no price) under the ancient, rattling air-conditioner.

If I had been raised in Africa, or even Southern Europe,
I might never have ended up attracted almost entirely to bearded men,
because unpainted, small-breasted, dark-hued women
take my breath away. 
Perhaps if they had had beards or moustaches as well,
I would have floated up in ecstasy to Paradise
to sit at the right hand of the Hermaphrodite Polymorphously-perverse Creator.

The Gbaya chambermaid was somewhat disturbed
by my request for her to sit on me and receive my willy slowly,
from below,
while we massaged each other's nipples gently. 
It was, she was, beautiful for, to me. 
It was safe for her (since I had had a vasectomy).
I did not ejaculate.
I don't think she "experienced orgasm"
- but the encounter was tender and (for me) delicious,
financially-rewarding for her - and not to be repeated.
Neither of us was up too late.
Neither was regretfully depleted.

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