La Belle Epoque – The Vibe

When I was a girl at school, and i mean throughout my entire school life, i was a biological anomaly, i was a scientific wonder – at least I led my teachers to believe that I was. They were tirelessy told about the horror of my bodily situation – my period which would come everyday without fail in the afternoon – and I MEAN’T EVERY SIGNLE DAY OF MY ENTIRE LIFE, it would also rear it’s ulgy head for an hour each week during the day.

Why? I hated sports and more than that i really loathed physical education lessons in which you spent an hour being casually insulted and ruthlessly humiliated by a slightly balding middle aged man with a pot belly, a violent streak and a penchant for girls much younger than he had any right to punish by making them strip to their underwear (boys always got a lap of the gymnasium?? Inequality was my biggest worry back then…I now understand that was the least of the problems). I now realise that instead of looking at the man like a veritable schwarzenegger clone, i should have seen the humour in being tutored by a pervert with incredibly tight shorts and no leg to stand on when fitness was the issue of the day.

I was always more interested in boys, drinking a little too much on the weekend and eating a little too much fine food three times a day. Fortunately for me, my body seems to have an aversion to being fat…it’s never happened, I’m a curvaceous yet trim perfect 10. Admittedly there is not a single ounce of muscle, so I firmly believe my body has been incredibly inventive and has naturally secreted heaps of fat in such a way that it LOOKS like I have a very nice figure. The reason I now exercise is more to do with health reasons than visual reasons…i now eat a balanced diet and partake in light exercise so i don’t leave earth prematurely, and to tell you the truth I have started enhjoying it…not the gym, but tennis and more social things i find quite therapeutic, and I hope i am no longer a heartattack strapped to a ticking clock. (more…)

If I could sum up the aristocracy in one single word it would be excess. Throughout history there have been the haves and the have-nots, the wealthy and the poor, fortunes won and lost, but throughtout centuries of social turmoil the aristocracy remain, they are the standard bearers of status, power, wealth and indugence.

Many European nations have their blue blooded families who can trace their roots all the way back to the beginning of civillization, but none are more famous, or infamous depending on your point of view, than the aristocracy of Britain and France. These people are conoisseurs of everything of wine, of culture, of food, of travel, their wealth of finances and time afford them the luxury of being able to indulge in whatever takes their fancy, and believe me when I tell you that they are forever searching to extract more pleasure from the things they enjoy.

They do everything in excess, because otherwise it becomes mundane. They live their lives with reckless abandon, endlessly hunting for a greater thrill; some of the world’s most famous estates have been staked on the strength of a hand of cards. This i cannot condone, but I am full of praise when it comes to their way in the bedroom. (more…)

Ladies, if you haven’t seen your man in a while and you are beginning to wonder where he has disappeared to, let me give you a little guidance…i’m afraid the rugby world cup has started!! In fact, it started over 10 days ago and i’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you that it’s going to continue for another entire month!

I’m sure it will come as a great shock, but i’m actually quite the closet rugby fan…although i want to offer my sypmathies to all those women out there who truly couldn’t care less about which country is better at jumping over a line with a funny shaped ball, who simply are not interested in the various nuances of a very slightly organised brawl and who simply cannot wrap their minds around a sport in which a team must travel forward but a ball is only allowed to travel backward! For you ladies I’m that all these early morning kick-offs are becoming a serious thorn in the side.

But, for female non-lovers of rugby, it has one MAJOR redeeming feature…you get to spend 80 minutes watching 30 very muscular men in extremely tight shirts and wonderfully short shorts run around the field, running into each other and building up a sweat! If you’re lucky a shirt might rip, or a pair of shorts may be yanked gratuitously low. I know that football gets the big press about the beautiful players, but long gone are the days when an international rugby player looked like your dad, and besides, thise footballers are bit on the weedy side. Lurking amongst the tightly packed ranks of twisted noses and cauliflower ears are some men which will make you praise the day you were born, men who will make your toes curl with passion and lust.

My suggestion for Rugby World Cup Survival is this; revel in the man-feast in front of you but tell your man you are willing to watch the games with him because it will make it happy – also tell him that as a sign of gratitude for your kindness he might reward EACH game watched with either a gift or an orgasm! I hate relationship blackmail, but being woken up by your grunting beau watching rugby at 3:30 AM probably makes it OK.

So, without futher ado, here is my pick of the top five men to watch in this rugby world cup; (more…)

I’ll never forget the night I moved into my first house in London, it remains to this day one of the most incredible nights of my life and it totally altered the way in which I view life. I had just split from my boyfriend and had rented a place of my own for the very first time. It was a small, semi detached house in South Kensington with a small garden between me and my neighbour. The first time I ever laid eyes on my neighbour was undoubtedly one of the most erotic moments of my life; I was unpacking clothes and putting them in the wardrobe when I saw the lights flicker on in the house next door. The windows were wide open and the blinds raised to let in the cool summer breeze. It must have been about midnight when my neighbour’s bedroom door swung open, and once more a flicker of the bedroom lamps coming on caught my eye.

Nothing could have prepared me for the beauty of the creature who followed the golden glow of light into the centre of the room; she paused, framed in the window, bathed in the soft glow, wearing a black dress which clung to her form and fell in easy swathes of fabric to her knee, she freed her hair from the perfect bun restraining it and shook it loose around her shoulders. Slipping her shoulders free from dress it slid to the floor, standing in the centre of that dimly lit room in her scarlet bra, knickers and suspender belt she looked like film star. Mesmerised by her beauty I was too slow to back away from the window as she drew her blinds – they stopped – time stood still as I realised she had seen me! (more…)

Whether he knew what he was on to, we’ll probably never know but when Marvin Gaye picked up that mic and let his honeyed-voice ring out the wonder of sexual healing, he was on the right track! Sex is the miracle medicine which is prevention and cure to a whole lot of human misery. We go out of our way to protect our health, yet how many of us see sex as a wonder drug which promotes health and happiness more than a container ship full of acai berries ever could?

This superfood revolution is all well and good but how much longer are we realistically expected to suffer through a beetroot and endure quinoa? There are much more pleasant health boosters out there; sex is the medicine which needs no “spoonful of sugar”, it’s already so damn sweet. Knowing just how much sex can improve your health and how many things it can cure is having your cake and eating it too and that is what we have looked for, for so long.

Instead of booking ourselves into weekend health retreats and paying through the nose to be tortured by a health nazi with cabbage soup who occasionally decides to jam a rubber hose pipe up your arsehole (I embrace ‘rear entry’ but only on my terms – forcibly and at the, latex gloved, hands of a stranger isn’t my idea of on my own terms), why don’t we lock the front door, ban clothes, order in and spend the weekend doing all sorts of wonderously dirty things with our lover? Call me a fool, but I know which I prefer! My colon may not be quite so shiny afterward, but at least the aching will have been preceded by an awful lot of pleasure. (more…)