03 January 2017
01 January 2017
15 June 2016
31 May 2016
09 May 2016
The girls liked me and I liked them. They loved tousling my blond hair and daring me to kiss them and touch them. When I was around 7 or 8 I got into serious trouble with the school authorities who caught me kissing a cute little blonde girl, 'W,' after school one day. Her parents were not amused. I'll never forget the lecture I got from my father, who seemed very concerned. He was still in his three-piece Wall Street suit when he arrived home from work and sat me down in a darkened room for the talk. I like to think this incident didn't obstruct my pre-teen Game, but I'm not so sure.
It may sound odd to you, but there wasn't a time when I didn't think about sex. That I was precocious in this department would be an understatement. I became familiar with details of the female anatomy at a very young age, courtesy of various teenage babysitters, including a set of hot Italian/Jewish twins and a young Persian nanny whose wealthy parents in Iran sent her to live with us right before the revolution. I'll write more about her later.
08 May 2016
06 May 2016
When I as an undergraduate, two of my first lays during my first year were feminists. One was the cute, petite daughter of a well-known architect. She would lead candle-lit "Take Back The Night" marches through campus. She lobbied the administration to have the women's bathrooms re-labelled "womyn's bathrooms". She took a shine to me--even when (or because) I laughed at her--and would wait for me outside my door in the evenings after class so we could fuck. She was a total submissive in bed.
The other feminist chick was an attractive blonde with a messed-up family background. She was genuinely beautiful, but deliberately made herself mildly unattractive--messy hair, no make-up, hippy clothing e.g. Baja hoodies--and wore baggy, loose-fitting clothing as some sort of rebellion against beauty standards. One of our friends in common, knowing my Nationalist fogey views, set us up together as a sort of joke--but we clicked. We would go back to her room, smoke weed, listen to music by 10,000 Maniacs and Bjork, and then fuck on the huge hippy cushions in trendy ethnic fabrics that littered her flat. Her great dream was to get a degree in Women's Studies and move to NYC to work with abused women and the homeless. Funny thing is, the word got out among the other girls in her residence hall about our dalliances, and I soon found myself with some new admirers.
I used to--and to some extent still do--feel a bit sorry for these women, because they've been lied to and mislead,. But we all have to one extent or another, and we get over it and move on.
10 February 2016
01 January 2016
21 December 2015
14 December 2015
Drinking for Chaps is a collaboration between Gustav Temple and esteemed drinks writer Olly Smith. Together they embarked on a magical journey to the heart of each and every type of alcoholic drink imaginable, from cocktails to cognac and everything in between, in order to set out precisely how Chaps should approach each of them. From which particular jacket to wear when sipping white wine, what to nibble with a glass of vodka, how to mix a dry martini, and, crucially, how to deal with an awful hangover, Drinking For Chaps shows true chaps the way to the bar.
Packed with history, background, a bit of technical information (but not too much), mythology and portraits of legendary boozers such as Oliver Reed, Sir Kingsley Amis, Winston Churchill and Peter O’Toole, there is plenty to read in this tome aside from which bottle of cheap plonk to take to a dinner party (though that’s in there too).
Endorsed by none other than Sir Roger Moore: “Fascinating, especially as I pop up all over the pages!” and Guardian drinks writer Henry Jeffries, who declared: “Tackling such important issues as whether it’s ever acceptable to wear a fez while drinking cocktails, it’s best read when slightly drunk. I can offer no higher praise.”'