“she smiles from time to time” – The Model, Kraftwerk
Hi there girls and boys, I hope you’re well.
On my right hand, I have no little finger. I don’t miss it, after all how many times a day do you use your little finger..to drink tea with the vicar? I’m left handed anyway, I know, a left handed Catholic! It does get noticed, and then there’s a tale I have to re-tell. Irish comedian Dave Allen, somebody that could make me wee myself with laughter, also had a finger missing but never told the same story about it twice. Adults have a filter when it comes to asking about missing body parts, but children don’t. Every new class of swimmers I have always ask about it, and I always tell them is was eaten by a shark in the pool. Cue nervous glances. Of course I then tell them the truth…that it was taken by aliens. “Miss miss, were they green aliens?” I was asked once. “Yes”, I replied, only for the wide-eyed little boy to tell me with a serious face that the green ones were the worst kind of alien.
I feel the cold there more than on my left hand, and was reminded again of this today as Abby and I were swimming in the sea, an ache developing in the space where it had been. This only happens occasionally though, but today was pretty bad. It can make wearing gloves difficult as there is nothing to fill out that finger. Also, people can stare. “Mam mam, that woman hasn’t got a little finger!”.” Shh no it’s rude to stare, I’m so sorry” is a conversation opener on a bus or the Metro, as if the people of this area need a reason to chat. I’ll usually say it’s ok, and ask the child if they’d like to know how it happened, to which I’ve never had a no. The alien explanation has the best reactions.
So why am I telling you this useless nugget of info? This week during an online chat, I had somebody ask me questions that he wouldn’t have had to if he’d have read this blog. To give him his due, he did read every post after our conversation which is more than some people have done. Perhaps folk are lazy, perhaps they like to eke out bits of info as they chat, but look at it this way..how many times have I been asked about my parents, for example, causing me to have to repeat the story, only for the chat partner to apologise for that. You’re apologising for what? Asking? Yes I could just say I don’t talk about them, but why should I? I’ve mentioned research before now, and even though I AM NOT online to meet somebody, there are some that are. You would think that a little bit of finding out about someone, if it’s freely available, would be an advantage?
Also, I get bored of answering the same questions. There’s only so many times I can answer the “but I bet you like men in bed as well?” thing. So…how did I lose the finger? Dissolved in acid when being interrogated. Myself, I can go to a party and meet someone, but am not the least bit interested in what they do for a living, their life, I just want to dance with them or whatever. But if you are there for a specific reason, and in the chat sites there is really only one reason, then isn’t that little bit of info gleaned by reading a profile an advantage over the others that can only say “hw r u”?
I lost it while fishing a biscuit from a strong cup of tea. No, it WAS a shark.
A missing limb, so I’m told, can also be a turn-on for some folk. This is the real reason I’m telling you this tale. A while ago an online chatter had asked me if I had all of my arms and legs, as he liked amputees. When I admitted that I was missing a finger, he got all excited, can we meet, can you send me pictures, how did it happen, does it hurt, I bet it looks sexy (?), do you have a prostheses…slow down there tiger! When I wouldn’t engage in a chat about the actual loss if it, he left the conversation, but the next night there he was, same questions, but also what does the stump feel like, (there isn’t one, it’s smooth), can he see it, touch it, perhaps with his cock… I’ve never had a lover ask me about it or fondle it during intimate moments, my school friends asked once then it got around school so nobody else did. A few people ask to see it, which is a strange phrase as “it” has long gone! I lost it in a fight. With a tiger.
The loss of a limb can also be an advantage. Paralympic champion turned murderer Oscar Pistorius had an advantage over his fellow athletes with his blades. I wasn’t aware that it could affect his ability to ask his wife if she was in bed beside him when he heard a noise in the house, though. “Reena, I’m just going to tike thees gun into the bethroom. Reena, are you in the bethroom? Fack eet, ull just blast away thin”. My South African could use some improvement. More than once I’ve been asked about my finger by people I now count as friends, although not on that hand, as it only goes up to four. Hello Devon the postie!
No really, it was worn away by dipping my hand in too much holy water when I was young.
I was browsing eBay on behalf of a charity this week, and came across a strange thing. Admittedly there can be a few of those on eBay, but for the life of me I can’t get my head around this. Somebody was selling a £10 voucher and it had bids of OVER £10. Yes, by all means do that at one of my auctions, but buying it for yourself.. why? AND there was postage on top of that. You’re going to be down by at least a fiver! Here’s one..
I can appreciate that in times like this you need to save a pound or two, but pennies? And please don’t think I’m taking the piss here. I can maybe afford to splash out but at the same time can appreciate a bargain, which this plainly isn’t. £25 for £10 is a bargain. £25 for £25.88, not so much so.
I have an account with eBay but have never bought or sold anything on it. Stories of stolen goods, shoddy goods, receiving something entirely different from what was advertised… Imagine you visit a lady of the night, something I’ve never done (!) You answer an ad in a magazine or online, turn up, and the lady in question is nowhere to be seen, instead somebody of a less attractive persona, fag dangling from her lips… You’ve been scammed. Many people are scammed everyday. The car you paid for turns out to be a heap of scrap, the diamond necklace worthless zirconia. Almost very day I have emails telling me that there is a box of cash waiting for me as a Nigerian prince left it to continue god’s work, and all I have to do is send £200 demurrage fee, along with my name, address, passport image, passport number, mother’s maiden name.. You know, the type of information you should never share with a stranger on the internet. The same goes for the ATM card, stuffed with over two million dollars, mine for free, as long as I send the money to pay off the bank vault security guard. On Youtube there are people fighting back, calling the scammers in order to waste their time, making them go on safari to another country to meet up, forcing them to spend their own money. Atomic Shrimp, Scambait Central and Jim Browning being some of many.
But for some there is no hope. An Australian tv channel went to Nigeria to confront the sender of a marriage proposal that had been received by a middle aged woman. She had sent thousands to him. He was arrested and the crew returned to tell the woman, only to find her doing exactly the same with somebody else.
I understand that text scams are all the rage now, allegedly Tesco or Barclays or whoever, asking you to sign in. This I would imagine could be tricky for somebody who had all of their marbles, but for elderly folk many of whom have a mobile, it would be believable. I came across one woman at church who had a letter from some fictitious religious centre, telling her that they will pray for her, all she needed to so was enter her details, maiden names, pets names, into the letter, and god will bless her. We managed to persuade her it was a scam, but only after the priest got involved. Charlatans abound.
I was at a party back when I was 20, somebody’s birthday, or anniversary or something. Ellie’s cousin was there, a small mousey sort of man of about 40. We were introduced and no sooner had we said hello then he told me I should be a model. Not only that, he was a glamour photographer and would be happy to shoot me for free. I disengaged myself from the conversation and went to find Ellie. Yes, he was a photographer and yes, has done some glamour work. I took a LOT of persuading, from both him and Ellie. Nowadays she is a tad more conservative when it comes to me, although I wouldn’t say exactly jealous of others talking and whatever with me, even though we live over four and a half thousand miles apart. But back then she was all for it. Not her being shot, you understand, just me. I suggested both of us which she declined but would come along for moral support. By modelling, I don’t mean like the really over the top stuff, girls with ejaculate all over their faces. Each to their own, but that just makes me feel sick.
So a month later and much against my better judgement we turned up at his studio, which defined the word grimy. The door was rotting, the hallway was dark, the actual studio had a musty smell. Then there was Paul himself. I had made an effort, slight makeup, hair done. Yes he was going to be behind the camera but he could have had a shave. Then there was the way he watched Ellie, his cousin. It was summer, and she was wearing a short floaty dress. His eyes were all over her, making no effort to hide it.
There may be an argument that we dress to attract people, and yes sometimes this is true. You don’t go out on the pull, (remember when we could do that?) wearing your raggiest jeans, stretched decorating tshirt and greying knicks, do you? Well, I wouldn’t. Can we mention knicks here? My blog, so I will. I see a few people mention online that say they go without underwear. ‘Commando’..is that because it makes you feel tough? The fact is that we all leak, so what do you do, let it dribble down your leg? I was in the pub last Christmastime, and there was a lad there wearing a vest top and shorts. It’s Newcastle, we dress like that in the winter. He was sitting opposite us at another table with a bunch of other lads, quietly and being no bother. They even gave up a few seats when our group didn’t have enough. He came back from the toilet and across his crotch was the telltale signs of leakage. I know men have this, we have it, so wear some underwear! “Nah, fuck it, I’ll let everyone see I’ve been for a piss”. Even the skimpiest of thongs, which is what I tend to wear when out, offers some protection. And when I mean out, I mean out out, not just out. Around the house I wear tighty-whities, or tighty-reddies which don’t have the same ring to them. My knicks seem to be of a constant interest to some online, “what colour panties are you wearing today”, being easily the question I’m asked the most…well, after how are you. Today they are my cotton Tuesday pair. I know that as they have the word Tuesday on them.
I’ll on occasion wear a short skirt, stockings, heels and tight blouse when “out out”, but that’s because I like to wear them. It isn’t to attract anyone, but there are the wankers that say a girl was asking for it if they happen to run into some trouble, all because she had the nerve to wear less than Victorian clothing. “But m’lud, she was showing an ankle, we must burn the hussy!”
But back to the “studio” which was in reality a run-down warehouse. I was happy to see he had a digital camera, as that way we could control the end result. A memory card is easier to track than a film which has to be taken away and processed. We had agreed beforehand that at the end of the shoot the card would be given to me with no copies made. Ellie and I went to the dressing room, in reality a curtained off area, to get myself changed. I had brought only general clothes, nothing provocative. We began the shoot, Paul directing me how to stand, sit, pose. Ellie was around, making tea, chatting on her phone, but watching all of the time. Then as now the emotional hand-holding was needed. We’d been shooting for an hour and I was getting more relaxed, but with the heat becoming more of a problem. It was suggested that maybe I should just pose in a bra and knicks. I didn’t want to but after some coaxing I did so, Ellie nodding to do it, from her position behind Paul. It was then that it got a little creepy.
I look at images of women, I like it, my body responds. You poor blokes have a problem though. The unwanted erection. Or unwanted-in-a-situation erection. I can imagine that not being able to have an erection would present a bigger problem. Perhaps bigger is the wrong word but you can buy stuff for that. It was this that occurred with Paul, although it didn’t seem unwanted to him. I could see it, he knew I could see it, and even at one point rubbed it while winking at me. The alarm was shown on my face and Ellie came over as Paul went for a break…. I went into the changing area and re-clothed myself, whispering to Ellie that her cousin had a hard on. We called it a day. The images were nothing special, although Ellie liked many of them. We took the card, declining Paul’s offer of photoshopping them, “just to remove any wrinkles or blemishes”..cheeky bastard!
I couldn’t wait to leave, and we were on the train home quickly. Ellie copied the images she liked at her house, before handing the card to me. Later that day I chucked it in the river.
I know a couple of models through the charity auctions, as it’s always good to have some pretty faces around, men are so willing to open their wallets for a pretty face. I also know Gloria, a local girl who now does hardcore porn under the name of Syren Sexton. A lovely lovely person, but is a different girl when you see her in a video…..I asked her a while back if she was ever intimidated like that, and apparently it’s a regular thing. The money may be good but to put yourself under that much scrutiny and possible danger..?
Today I giggle about it, but I wouldn’t model again for someone like that in a studio. Of course at home we may have done something similar during playtime, but that’s what the delete button is for! The wives and girlfriends that put up their images online..good for them. In future years I may regret throwing that card away, but at the moment I’m happy that it’s at the bottom of the Wear.
As ever, thanks for reading.