While You're Down There

[-1-]There was a time I was fully engaged with soliciting women. I was preoccupied with them all of the time, like. I blame it on being mobile (having wheels). I was late to driving, compared to my school chums, about 23, and hadn’t seen any bird action since losing my virginity at 19, which was a frankly a rather unenjoyable popping of my cherry. A rather porky girl pulled me in a nightclub I didn’t want to be in. I didn’t fancy her to begin with, I wanted her friend. Not for the first time in my life, I was to be seduced by the mystifying power of the opposite sex. There wasn’t anything much I could do. She pulled me out into a waiting taxi and before you knew it we were in bed together. She did something to my bottom which will remain undiscussed.

To any young male sex addicts out there, I wish you the very best of luck, because you just might be needing it. If any of the women I have endured (and survived, by the skin of my teeth) get a grip of you then your life will definitely be over. I have almost sacrificed the heavenly realms of my preordained eternity to share the knotty safeguarding mindset of an earthly woman. They can annihilate your soul with reckless sexual appetite, if you get involved with the wrong one. I recommend you seek Christ first, and ask him to let you consult the Hail Mary. She’s a cracking woman who would never lead you down the wrong path.

I went on a soul-searching pilgrimage recently and found a statue of the Hail Mary in the middle of nowhere. I was in dire extremis at the time, hunting for a destination called Angel Gardens without a map. I bowed on bended knee and sought her for assistance. The experience was both miraculous and horrible in beauty and terror, with good and evil forces clashing prophetically over all areas of the province in which I journeyed. It was like being in a Dan Brown movie. I returned simultaneously inspired and crushed, but safe to arrive home in one piece to get my building blocks on and try again in the face of heartless oppression and chanceless angst.

As of today I have picked myself up and plan to return to Angel Gardens. This time, with an Angel. They’ve been coming and going lately like buses.

[-2-]So the first thing I did when I got my whip was head on down to the red light district in the city, to where all the hookers hung out. It was so exciting, driving around suburbia in the evening, under the sinking sun, on a secret sexual mission to find a partner in high heels on a corner under a streetlamp. It was far less traumatic than any pilgrimage. Their painted faces smiled back at me from dipped headlights in the mist. I was armed with a week’s wage packet but all it would take was a twenty pound note to entice one of them into my car.

I engaged in this behaviour every weekend for a year. I knew virtually every cranny of the city where they hung out. Their landscape was just as fascinating to me as Lord Of The Rings was. University campuses, industrial estates, stately parks, long winding lanes, dodgy car parks, the lot. One of them even wanted dropping off in a tunnel under the water at one point. Hold up, declaration here: My name is Andrew, and I have thoroughly explored an English city! It mixed up adrenalin and curiousity and sex, it was bare mint. I had some close scrapes with the po po, and the criminal underworld, as I am able to bet you can readily imagine. When I wasn’t having fellatio with women, I was watching fellatio videos back at home, on DVD. One of my favourite girls was a black woman named Candy Apples.

I could never admit this sinful immorality to any future wives, that’s for sure. I’m not proud of it, but I did enjoy it, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to process that one. No, I wouldn’t do it all again, I’d go around with bottles of water and cigarettes for them, like some kind of philanthropic street patroller, because I care about them. It was all harmless, gentle titillation. I don’t drive at the present time, and I miss ‘The Run’ as I called it. I would like to do it again one day, without the temptation of oral sex hanging over me. I’ll never get bored of cruising around cities in motor vehicles. Lol. Once or twice, when I wasn’t driving, I even asked them into the bushes with me. They call this ‘fronting on foot’. Pants down in the dark for a fiver, swapping juices near the nettles!

[-3-] A few years later I found myself in prison, and it is here where I want to get to the point of the blogspot. The heart of the matter is how, after so many women being perched below me, I encountered a nurse doing exactly the same as she tended my sprained ankle on the hospital wing. She was down there, like all the others, but instead of being a lowly addled tart, she was a self-respecting orderly aid, healing my injury. I couldn’t take my eyes of her. She was a different breed. She was so tired, doing her special job, and the idea of paying her a folded note so I had permission to insert my pink thermometer into her throat repulsed me. I would never do such a thing to this saintly helper. I was in complete awe of her. My ankle was super delicate. She treated it like a glassy liquid which, if spilled, might result in the end of the whale.

I almost fell in love with her. It was just the two of us in the clinic. It was very intimate. It was very quiet. It was very cool. Nothing but our breath and the hum of a fridge. Time seemed to partition itself with every unravelling wrap of the bandage. I studied her compassionate weary face and I wanted her caring mend to last a lot longer than it currently was. I wanted both my ankles to be sprained. My wrists, my neck, anything. Thanks, Nurse.