fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
It started with my getting Firefly, and discovering all about the 'verse, especially the Companions, Inara in particular.

I guess it just tuned my mind towards hookers, because virtually every bloody conversation that's been held around me this past week, someone's mentioned prostitution, whoring, bordelloes, brothels, the whole damn sex industry.

The news got into the act last night, with the headline that twice as many men now pay for sex (well, technically, all men pay for sex somehow, but you catch my meaning) and a piece of news about five Eastern European men who got busted for running whores they'd imported from back home.

I couldn't even get away from it this morning in writing class - the subject I had to write about was a bordello in Bucharest.

Thus ended the Week of Hookers.

Unless it's the Month of Hookers, and nobody told me ...
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
Yeah, as if ...

Must be picking up the Mirror Universe Yahoo News here )
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
Roleplaying is like sex.

Except that if you charge for sex, you don't have to join the Camarilla.
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
I had myself a weird, kinky dream early this morning, after a prolonged period of insomnia kept me awake from around 1 am till about 5.

In my dream, Jenny Agutter and I were working on a new British movie of some sort. It was going to be a period drama. All bustles and manners, and the men in frockcoats and top hats and stuff.

Trouble is, all the roads in the UK are modern - modern two lane tarmac, white lines in the middle. We needed an old single lane country dirt track so we could race horse and buggies and carriages along them.

So there we were, looking ... and we found one, leading across this open space, on the border of the Moors. There were trees all around, and in the distance all the trees petered out and there was nothing but moors.

Up ahead, though, there were some trees and undergrowth on either side of the road, blocking the view immediately past them. As I came up, I noticed that part of the ground ahead seemed to be pixellated, as if it had been blurred out in post.

I though "This is weird," and bent down to look at what was there. It turned out to be some discarded sheets of blue Bond paper, handwritten - they looked like pretty intimate letters.

And then, just past the brush, I heard noises, conversation, cameras and stuff.

I went up to the brush, and noticed discarded photos and what looked like full page photos torn from a glossy magazine. Pictures of women, dressed very provocatively in basques and stiletto heeled shoes.

Things started to get interesting as I went around the brush. Because that's where I came across the people. Half of them were sitting on folding chairs, shooting sticks, what have you, on a tarpaulin. They were all dressed in the manner of country gentlemen, in tweeds or green sleeveless jackets. One or two were wearing riding jodhpurs, and they were all wearing boots and flat caps. I only saw them from the back, but they looked as if they were filming what was ahead of them, either on video cameras or snapping away with digicams.

And the other half ...

Up ahead of them, there were what looked like six or seven couples, men and women, engaged in what I could only describe as a "wheelbarrow race."

The women were elegant, slender, wearing those provocative black silk Basques. Most were brunettes, and one or two wore stiletto heeled shoes ... although their position meant that those shoes were nowhere near the ground ...

The men pushing the "wheelbarrows" around were tall country gents. Dark hair, slicked back; grey waistcoats, shirts, cravats, handlebar moustaches. But between the shirts and their riding boots ... nothing but hairy legs and bums.

It looked as though the gents and the women did this sort of thing on a regular basis, for entertainment, way out in the open. I had the distinct impression that if the police were to arrive, they'd be all "Afternoon, Judge." "Oh, hello, John. How's the kids?" "Doing fine, Yer Honour." "Good, now do go and arrest someone, there's a nice chap." "Have a good day, Yer Honour."

And that's all there was to my dream, because at that point, I awoke again, it was day and I was laughing too hard to get back into bed again.

August 2017

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