So my expensive journey back begins, via Frankfurt

September 21, 2016 § Leave a comment

So my expensive journey back begins, via Frankfurt. There were two fantastic dancers at Atlantic City, voluptuous black haired Amelia, and gorgeous crazy black-skinned Angel, but I just felt completely unmoved. How I missed the girls of the ——–, even though I can do nothing with them. And so we leave a grey Munich behind. A gorgeous Wiener Rostbraten in the Rechthaler Hof seeing me on my way. To a two-night residency in Frankfurt I am not looking forward to at all. The girls of the ——– seem so sweet to me, I now think, because there is absolutely no hustle for money, as it is the last place left with no private dances. For someone brought up on Josephine Baker, and Anita Berber and Mata Hari, great sex dancers of the stage, the inception of private dances a few years ago was the death knell to the world of Eros as much as the arrival of the internet. How I yearn for the days when a curtain would open, a girl would dance for two songs, and then the curtain would close again. Those were the glory days. The ——– is the closest place remaining to that innocent concept. But it is this innocence that drives me back to Europe to search for bigger kicks which then do not materialise. I am a George IV, a Henry VIII, a glutton and voluptuary, wasting money I no not have on food, drink and women.


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You are currently reading So my expensive journey back begins, via Frankfurt at Casanova (Lost Wanderings) 2006-2007.


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