For an introduction to this “dirty thirty” series of blog posts for my new book Below The Belt, go here.
Soho Seediness – 2014-2015, London
For those of you who are not familiar with London geography, Soho is an area right in the centre (part of the West End). It’s infamous for red light seediness, the gay village, fashion (Carnaby Street was the centre of 1960s “Swinging London) and music (Hendrix, the Rolling Stones, Bowie and the Sex Pistols all recorded there).
In recent years Westminster Council have tried hard to gentrify it, but a few seedy streets survive with walk-ups, sex shops, strip clubs and corner dealers. From late 2014 to the end of 2015 I rented a room in a shabby house on Rupert Street, right in the middle of the remaining seediness. My original daygame wing Rami already had a room in the house and had let me know when one had become available next door to him.
The rent was pretty steep, but the location was unbeatable. Five minutes from Piccadilly Circus, ten minutes to Carnaby Street, dozens and dozens of cafes, bars and clubs just metres from the front door. Even though I was still doing a lot of travelling I planned to use the room as a London base and rent it out to other daygamers when I wasn’t there.
It wasn’t a surprise that the room and house were grotty. Rami had warned me it was noisy and chaotic but he hadn’t told me about the abundant resident mice or the fact that the person who had the room before me was a tranny hooker. The whole building had been a brothel up until a few years before and when I moved in there were still walkups just doors down and two strip clubs opposite. Dealers would prowl around the streets until the small hours and smash shit up when they got mad, waking everyone around.
So why would any sane person choose to live there?! For a daygamer it was paradise – logistical heaven – and the seedy vibe actually aided the pulls. Taking a “prim and proper” girl to the bars and pubs in the area made her eyes sparkle and spiked things up for me. I’d always point out the Windmill Theatre, London’s oldest strip club, just yards from my door and tell girls about the famously filthy history of the district.
I’ve always felt more at home in grungy parts of a city, rather than the squeaky clean airbrushed neighbourhoods. Real, raw, and therefore human. I loved my time in Soho with its neon-lit bohemian vibes, and that year living there on and off produced some appropriately filthy daygame lay stories. I’d hear Rami next door through the thin walls, banging a whole host of hot girls. He’d turn the lights down real low and put on ambient music to drown out the sound of gnawing mice or stop girls spotting them as they dashed around from under the bed. I chose to set mousetraps and sprinkle the carpet with black pepper.
My favourite story with a girl there started just up the road on Long Acre Street near Covent Garden, one of my favourite streets in London to daygame. I’d gone into Stanfords travel bookshop for some indoor hustling and noticed the staff setting up a table pilled with books by the ex-Monty Python / traveller Michael Palin. It was his TV series “Around The World In 80 Days” that had inspired me to travel the world (plus I was raised on the Pythons) so I grabbed a paperback of the book and got in line outside to wait for him to sign it.
Joining the line behind me I noticed a very cute fresh-faced girl, petite, brunette, in a tight woollen jumper which accentuated her small boobs. She was carrying a coffee and a copy of a book for Palin to sign too. Opening girls in this environment is not your standard daygame, as you’re both trapped in the situation. After five minutes of thinking what to do, I opened indirectly with an innocent comment about which book she was going to get him to sign. She was very shy and fidgety which I couldn’t tell was because of me or that was just how she was. I rolled off and waited for her to re-engage. A minute or two later she did, making chit-chat about which Monty Python sketch I liked and where I was from. I found out that she was English, 18 years old and just starting her first year at a London university. She admitted she was a “nerd” who liked reading, old British comedy and “wasn’t good with groups of people.”
I teased her for being a “HERD” (a “Hot Nerd”) and a grandma-like introvert rather than your typical British uni girl, which she took well. We bantered back and forth and the time went quickly as we got closer and closer to the front of the line where Palin was now seated at a table, happily signing away. Just before I went up to meet him, I turned to the girl and got her Facebook, telling her I’d “get her out of the house” for a Soho beer.
She was witty over messaging, very literary and sarcastic, as we continued the banter over Facebook. Her studies were keeping her busy but a week or so later she agreed to a Guinness in a pub I was going to show her (I’d established that she had family in Ireland and that was the only alcohol she’d ever really tried). I met her at Piccadilly Circus and walked her up Rupert Street to my favourite date pub in London, the Blue Posts. Many of the stories in my first book Daygame happened there.
We sat side by side in the busy bar downstairs as a guitarist played covers in the corner. I loved the cosy vibe of the place, like a tiny local pub you’d find in Galway or the Highlands. She was just as nervous and jittery as when I’d first opened her outside the bookstore, but the loud noise in the pub meant that we had to lean in to each other’s ears from the start and the mood was very familiar.
Nice Guys and men with the Purity Fantasy need to sit up and take notice: just because a girl is an “introvert,” quiet, bookish and inexperienced does NOT mean that she is a “good girl.” As I’ve said many times, girls like this have so much pent up sexual frustration that I call it the Pressure Cooker Effect. They’ve read books and seen movies about wild adventures with dangerous men, they’ve just not had the chance to live out their fantasies yet.
As she opened up answering some of the classic verbal escalation questions after we’d got the chit-chat out of the way, I found out that she had very little experience with men and dating. She wasn’t a party girl and sheepishly told me that she’d never had sex. Once you find out crucial reconnaissance information like this, her behaviour often falls into place. It explained the simmering tension I’d felt with her outside the bookshop, her nervousness and the hungry look in her eyes.
One Guinness lead to another and we got on to talking about “Fifty Shades Of Grey’ and how she preferred the movie “Nymphomanic” because it was far more gritty. She’d clearly fantasised about such plots and she admitted she found older men more attractive than her university peers.
From the pub we walked up Rupert Street and I pointed out the sex shops, the walk-ups, the dealers and the Windmill strip club. For a “sweet innocent” 18 year old girl from a small English town, this made her head spin and her eyes dilate. She’d read about Soho but never seen it for real. Now here she was with an older man (I was 35 at the time) who’d suggested going back to his room to “watch an episode of Monty Python.”
The two minute bounce home was easy, she was so captivated by the seediness of it all. She sat on the chair by the desk (which you can see in the room tour video below) whilst I sat on the bed and found some classic Python comedy online. Up to this point I hadn’t really physically escalated (except for incidental touches) and certainly not kissed her, so the sexual tension was crackling strong.
Two minutes into the episode, I gestured for her to come and sit on the bed. She was very nervous, so I took her hand, stood her up and got her to sit on my knee. Her hand was trembling she was so inexperienced. I turned her head to face me and we made out passionately. I knew I couldn’t rush things as she was so nervous so I rolled off and we watched more of the episode on the laptop as we lay on the bed.
Hugging turned to cuddling which turned to wandering hands. I played with her small breasts under her jumper and put her hand on my dick over my jeans (she said she’d never felt one before). Every move was electric, slow and intense. I unzipped my jeans and put her hand down my boxers as I undid her tight jeans. She asked me to be slow and gentle, as no guy had touched her between her legs. Sure enough she hadn’t shaved her pubes and her pussy was wet but tight. She shuddered with the smallest of touches.
I tried to take off her jeans but she was understandably nervous. “I wasn’t expecting this!” she told me as we went back to hugging. I backed off and went back to watching the laptop with her. It was now quite late and I knew she lived in Zone 3 (almost an hour away on the tube) so I planned to let her sleep over and then try again for the virginal notch a bit later.
We got through most of “Monty Python Live” (their reunion show) and then I suggested getting under the duvet, removing my socks, jeans and shirt so I was just in my boxers. She slid off her jeans and jumper but kept her shirt on. We curled up and watched the end of the video with make outs and wandering hands every so often. I closed the laptop, switched off the light and fingered her once more as she held my dick. “Oh let’s just do it” she suddenly exclaimed to herself, sliding off her panties and getting on top, guiding me inside her. After a painful few moments for her, she got into it and I flipped her onto her back and went deeper and faster. Outside the window the whores and drug dealers screamed at each other on the dirty streets below.
That night started a whole host of filthy meet ups with her. The following week she came over again straight to the house, wearing a red dress that I’d told her to put on after she’d sent me a selfie in it. She had a fantasy of not wearing any panties and being fucked as soon as she walked in the bedroom door, which I’m pleased to say I happily fulfilled.
We watched porn together (she loved seeing a girl being dominated), I showed her how to give me a good blow job, I spanked her hard with my infamous belt and I got rougher and rougher with her as she had fantasised about, pulling her hair, gagging her and talking filth to her. She admitted to me that she’d wanted to lose her virginity for the previous two years, but hadn’t found a guy yet who she thought could do it properly. She’d said to herself that the first guy she met who seemed experienced would be the one to do it with.
My travelling meant that soon after I left London for international teaching. The last time I saw her was a few months later when she’d invited me to her home town about an hour west of London because she wanted to be fucked in a car and then “taken into the woods at night and fucked bending against a tree.” How could I say no?! I drove a friend’s car to her town, picked her up and was on the way to a nearby country park with her when she suddenly asked me to stop the car, opened the door and vomited onto the road. She’d not told me that she had a fever and the beginning of the flu. We’d been texting about the forest fantasy for days and she hadn’t want to let me down. I turned the car around and dropped her home.
From taking her virginity in Soho to the vomit moment in the car, it had been an unexpectedly filthy adventure. Remember to never judge a book by its cover – “good girls are just bad girls who haven’t been caught.”