I received so many complaints after last week's post entitled, 'Flaxen Saxon's Sexual Healing', that I have decided to implement a regular series of posts on the same theme. Read on and weep.....
|Mr Mugumbo winking|
Dear Mr Saxon,
You seem a worldly-wise old cove and I would like your help on a matter very close to my heart, or loins, depending how you look at it. Having attained the tender age of 30 I feel there is something missing from my otherwise hectic life. This is very hard for me to put into words, so here goes: I’m bereft of female company, have never engaged in amorous congress and never had my Martian probe land in Venus. Can you help me in my quest to cream my first tart?
Mr Loney Mugumbo (of course it his him- it always is)
Dear Mr Mugumbo,
Talking about beating about the bush, or not, as in your case. Mr Mugumbo, all I can suggest is that you procure the services of a local lady of the night. Prostitutes never say no, never laugh at the size of your cock and never pass comment on the size of your cock.
Here are Flaxen Saxon’s top tips to help you in your quest to top your tip. Prostitutes come in two flavours: cheap and expensive. The cheap ones hang around street corners in dodgy neighbourhoods. They are often past their best and take drugs. The tariff is usually calculated by the number of missing teeth multiplied by the number of misspelt Indian ink tattoos; the higher the number the lower the cost. Once in the lair of the prossie be wary of ‘cock oysters’. These mucilaginous artefacts appear at random on the pavement and are usually preceded by a loud gagging and harsh hacking cough. The origin of these glutinous opaque gems is one of life’s mysteries. Some say they are Angel tears, some say they are the result of prostitutes clearing their throats after a particularly heavy night. Gentle readers, I will leave you to be the judge. However, if they be Angel tears then God had better be treating his celestial companions for conjunctivitis. Not all crap that fortuitously turns up on the pavement is manna from heaven. Although you may be in an urban wilderness, please don’t be tempted to sample.
The expensive ones are found in ‘escort agencies’. I suspect they may be out of your financial league unless of course you happen to be a high court judge or prominent politician.
I remember in my youth there was a particularly tall old whore who used to ply her trade at the back of Rackhams in
town centre. She must have been 6’ 10’’ and towered over the sad pathetic
remnants of humanity who came to her for relief. To facilitate the transaction
most men had to stand on a wooden box. Just as they were about to come she
would kick it away, thus saving on condoms. Birmingham
Otherwise, may I suggest you purchase a ‘latex lady’? Love dolls come in two flavours: cheap and expensive. The cheap variety you have to blow up and have a nasty habit of deflating when you insert a prick. The expensive ones are articulated, soft and vivacious. They are so life-like that they actually laugh at the size of your cock. If you can afford one of these, you really don’t need a real women.
Gentle readers please feel free to regale me with your problems and lamentable deformities, imagined or real, and I will endeavour to profer wisdom born of fortitude and aplomb.