A Letter From Paradise
Miss Paula Hampton
Greetings from your cousin Paula, I know it has been some time since we last spoke or corresponded but I have only just heard from your sister Sally that your husband has left you and that you are returning to the UK at the end of the month.
I am very sorry to hear about your problems but I am not completely surprised. You knew my opinion of your husband when you married him 10 years ago. It was the reason we lost touch in the last few years. I have been saddened by this as we had always been very close and were considered inseparable since our schooldays.
I know your husband was the archetypal asshole thrusting executive with a few bob in the bank but I think his very name Wayne Kerr should have given you some indication of his character, I remember stating at the time… Wayne Kerr by name, Wan-Ker by nature, which I do recall was the beginning of our rift. I will admit stating it at your wedding reception was not the most tactful of timings. I tender this letter as an olive branch and hope on your return to England we can renew our friendship. In our college days we used to exchange very long letters to each other. I tender this missive in deference to that tradition and make no apologies for its length.
I was angry with your husband. To move you to America away from kith and kin because of his work was sad for us but somewhat understandable. However to later drag you off to Bangkok with him was inconsiderate, irrespective of the impressive expat salary package that went with his job. I imagine you thought you would be living the colonial lifestyle like the old Mem Sahibs in the days of the British Raj with houseboys, maids and punka-wallahs catering to your every whim. (I know that was India and not Thailand but you are getting my drift).
I gather from your Sally that you had only been in Thailand a few months before Wayne started straying but it took him almost a year before he actually left you for some doe eyed 19-year old Thai tart. Blimey, you are 15 years younger than the old tosser anyway, just how young a woman does a 55-year old bloke need? It is like a dog chasing a car; you wonder what he will do when he catches it ….other than piss up the wheels!
Anyway you should be back in England in time for your 40th birthday. I have a few ideas to cheer you up and will organise something when you return.
There have been quite a few changes in Britain in the 8 years since you left, not least the changes in my life. I am still a librarian but no longer work at that stuffy community library we both worked at when we left college. About 5 years ago I was passed over for promotion and they gave the job to that evil conniving bitch Sonya (you must remember her with the ghastly green eye shadow and immense arse). For all her talk of sisterhood solidarity, it seems she was shagging a local councillor and the director of services who were on the selection panel for the job. I was incensed at her duplicity but even more disillusioned with all the nonsense spouted about diversity and political correctness inherent in working for local government which was clearly mere hypocrisy.
It was also about the same time (around my 35th birthday) that my fiancé Brian left me. We had been engaged for 2 years and had plans to buy a little starter home together the following year. I thought we had a future but he suddenly upped and left me for a frumpy little woman 10 years older than me. It was unexpected and I was understandably shocked. When I asked him why he had left me for her, his answer “because she treats me like a man and allows me to treat her like a woman” was certainly an eye opener for me.
It gave me somewhat of a jolt but I also had a bit of an epiphany. On reflection I realised I had actually been treating Brian terribly, taking him for granted and totally ignoring his opinions and needs. In my defence I had been listening too much to those stupid cows who I worked with. The more I think about it they were certainly not the finest role models for idyllic relationships.
Edna felt it her Christian duty to make her husband’s life a living hell for 30 years. One cruel wag reckoned the only time he smiled was the day he died of a heart attack as he realised he was finally escaping the misery of her tyranny. Then there was Daphne the archetypal “disappointed woman”. She perpetually complained about her husband, totally disrespecting him at every opportunity and generally treating him with utter contempt. Her husband was actually a decent bloke but his heinous crime was he was not Sean Connery. She hated him because she had to compromise on her high expectations on marrying him and perpetually resented him for it. Then there were those two “rug munchers” Marie and Liz, both raging lesbians who hated men anyway.
I realised I had been brainwashed by this dysfunctional sisterhood. On reflection it was no wonder Brian left me the way I treated him. According to them men were to blame for everything that was wrong in their lives. I noticed none of them could express an opinion unless it was validated by the feelings and opinions of the other women in the coven. I began to have a mild suspicion that this form of feminism was letting women down quite badly.
I felt I desperately needed a new job to catalyse a change in my life so I applied for a job at the University that I saw advertised. To my great surprise I got it.
It is in the information services department of the University which is still a glorified library but a world away from the stultified atmosphere of working for the council. It sounds boring but the environment is quite stimulating and the work varied and often exciting. Some of the lecturers and staff are a bit wimpy but a couple of the professors are quite dishy and being able to help the students and lecturers with their research is wonderfully rewarding.
I got very friendly with a sociology lecturer whilst she was doing her PhD. Hannah was doing a thesis on feminism and its ruinous effect on women and society. It was a fascinating research project and working with her was both and an enjoyable and enlightening experience. The final thesis she presented was intriguing. It was also highly provocative and thought provoking. I give you a taste of the introduction.
“The ideology of feminism is the 20th century’s most durable secular faith; it has surprisingly outlasted the other discredited creeds of communism and fascism.
Conceived by selfish conceited women and perpetuated by male despising predatory feminists, the “having it all” philosophy has served womanhood extremely poorly,
Women got it all and then found out it wasn’t quite exactly what we wanted”
The thesis continued in much same vein and concluded with the assertion:
“Western women are the most privileged cosseted and indulged females in the history of mankind. They are first generations who live their whole lives without the constant threat of war or plagues. They are the first women in history to control their own fertility (and can fall back on abortions as a last resort). They are free of all dress codes, manners or constraints. They can aspire to any pursuit they desire.
The legislation for the emancipation of women was enacted by men in their desire for justice and equality. Yet women, interestingly, while in control of their and men’s social lives accept no responsibility for it. Here is the rule. Whatever is wrong with women’s lives, it is always men’s fault”.
She got into a little trouble when her paper was published and taken up by the local press. Some of the feminist covens wanted to burn her at the stake but sanity prevailed and the University authorities defended her opinion under the same democratic right to free speech the PC fraternity are so selective in applying.
Now Dr Hannah and I have since become very good friends and twice a week, after work, we go out for a drink in the city centre bars. She is great fun and there is rarely a dull moment in her company. She taught me some quite wicked techniques for attracting men which are almost foolproof in their success rate. She is also a bit of an amateur anthropologist and she has taught me some astute observation skills. We get great pleasure observing the often capricious behavior of the women we see out who think a colourful end to a Friday night is being sick on the pavement.
Now I know what you are going to say….. Pubs and bars are not the place to meet a “nice” man, and even the math’s professor I shag occasionally told me the probability of finding true love in a random encounter is 0 .00073. I have read all the current advice and modern wisdom about meeting men in supermarkets, shopping malls and animal rescue centres. But I can tell you categorically, Men don’t go to these places…. they go to bars and pubs! And anyway I am not looking for “mister right”, mister right here and now will do quite nicely.
Since Hannah opened my eyes I have noticed in most of the busy bars and pubs (especially at weekends) the sexes are equally distributed. If there are 100 men there are invariably 100 women. If you ignore the handful of pensioners playing dominos in the corner or the obvious couples, the young teenagers and the occasional Neanderthal most of the men I see are reasonable looking decent blokes. Disregarding the odd obese character and the ubiquitous scutters from the underclass with baseball caps and shell suits, out of those 100 blokes in the bar there is generally at least 50 blokes who are acceptable and available for us to make a play for.
On the other hand a swift perusal of the women in the bar confirms that Hannah and I have very little competition.
Of the Women we can see at least half are seriously fat, if not clinically obese most are at least 3 stone (30lb) overweight. The vast majority are dressed like tarts with absolutely no dress sense. It begs the question don’t these girls have mirrors to look in before they go out? Of the 100 women only ten would be acceptable to a decent bloke without his beer goggles on. Of those 10, 8 act as if their shit doesn’t smell and refuse all advances from men. They are clearly waiting for Russell Crowe or Brad Pitt to walk in and whisk them away.
Then there is Hannah and me with beaming smiles, sweeping away the competition and cleaning up on the available men.
I have noticed the majority of women feel compelled to always make the smart arse remark or the acidic riposte when they are approached by a bloke. They may feel they are being liberated and expressing their empowerment, but the vitriolic putdowns they employ are unnecessarily spiteful and malicious. Hannah feels most of these women will end up unloved (and certainly unlaid). She also believes that they fail to see the look of sheer hatred they get from the recipients of these gratuitous rejections. If you multiply that building up of hatred and resentment amongst men across the total population it will eventually prompt a backlash.
Hannah’s theory is that women don’t know what they want ….but they want it now. She has concluded that Women will eventually discover they do not get love or satisfaction from a career or liberation but get it from being treasured by loved ones which may or may not include a man’s adoration but invariably does.
By the time women realise their mistake it is often too late
Well ….I decided it was not too late for me and have completely reviewed my philosophy on men and life.
When we were younger you were the voluptuous one with all the male attention and you used to refer to me as a “mousey little piece”. I know I am not a raging beauty but these days I NEVER go short of male company. I am petite I have retained a very slim figure which is like gold dust amongst the acres of lard men encounter. I am well groomed and dress stylish and feminine. I have no piercings or hideous tattoos, which I have established are a definite turn off to men. (Oops… I forgot about the butterfly tattoo on your shoulder and that ethnic thing on your arm).
I have six guys I see regularly, I frequently get taken to the cinema, the theatre, the opera, gourmet dinners, art exhibitions, sports events and the occasional weekend away to places like Paris and Barcelona. I get satisfying and varied sex with interesting and attractive men at least twice a week. I am never without a full social diary and never short of offers
What is the secret?
I am selective but not overly fussy. I am not obsessed with only tall men like most mindless tarts who exclude themselves from 80% of the male population because they insist on a man at least 6 ‘ tall. I don’t waste time on silly mind games, if I am interested in a bloke I clearly signal my intentions (I find men can not read minds or understand subtle hints…. they need it spelling out). I smile, lower my head and look coquettishly through my eye lashes like Princess Diana used to do. If that doesn’t work I go up and tell them. I never give unpleasant putdowns when approached.
I also give blowjobs ….and I swallow.
Most British men are honest, hardworking, tolerant, and principled with a genuine sense of humour. I can not deny they tend to drink a bit too much but maybe this is a reaction to women’s attitude to them.
You will see for yourself when you return to the UK.
I hear from Sally that you have put on a few pounds in weight which she declares is due to comfort eating as the result of the stress of your husband’s infidelity. When you return you don’t need to worry about a bit of extra timber. I find most English blokes are tolerant of a plump wench (in truth it is all they see). In fact my friend Hannah is a bit on the stiff side and she very rarely goes short of a portion of the old pork sword.
When I heard about your move to Bangkok with that wanker your husband Wayne, I read up a little about Thailand. One of the few advantages of being a librarian (sorry information executive) is access to information. I was fascinated by why western men would go halfway around the world to get laid when the west is supposed to be populated by liberated women in a permissive society. However I must admit a night observing the behaviour of our sisters would quickly explain this. I have read the stickmanbangkok website and received an alarming insight into the world of western men who frequent the Kingdom. The numbers are also quite frightening. It is estimated 1,000,000 single western men visit Thailand every year for the purpose of indulging their jasmine fever. I suspect an ever increasing number of men in England will eventually get so fed up of the rudeness and feminist inspired nonsense that an ever increasing number of men will seek womanhood elsewhere in the world, whether it is Thailand or other 3rd world destinations
Hannah and I took a holiday to The Gambia last year. I am not embarrassed to admit I procured the services of a 25-year old African lad with rippling muscles and an unfeasibly large member to “knock the back out of me” for two weeks. It was a wonderful experience and is a story best left for a quiet evening in with a bottle of chardonnay, but I can now certainly appreciate the attraction of Sex tourism.
I was a little unsure about the attraction of Thai women from what I have seen of them. There are a few Thai girls studying at the University, they are obviously sent here by rich parents. In the main they are pale, vain, silly creatures more interested in mobile phones and texting each other across the desk than getting laid. There is however a couple of darker skinned girls from a place called the Essarn that display a sensuality the others do not possess and I can certainly understand their attraction. If I were one of the young, fat, stupid English women I see who held any aspiration to finding a future husband I would be afraid of being left permanently on the shelf, I really would be very afraid.
You will be back in time for your 40th birthday so we will take you out to celebrate and raise your spirits. It was my 40th a few weeks ago but instead of going into the city centre we went to the Black Country where Hannah lives and ventured out to one of the local community pubs. The pub’s football team were celebrating winning the local league trophy. The sight of so many fit young men in high spirits was too good to resist so we joined them in their celebrations. Hannah ended up back at her house being spit-roasted by the team's defence, much to her delight. I ended up with an interesting older bloke in his 50s who I assumed was the team manager. He was a charming and extremely entertaining chap and he took me back to his apartment nearby. He was a most imaginative lover and the sex was amazing. I found it a bit unusual he insisted on me wearing a West Bromwich Albion shirt during our lovemaking but it certainly enhanced his performance so I am not complaining. It must have been a small youth size because I found it a bit tight even on my petite frame. He let me keep the shirt and I will wear it again at the replay planned for next week.
In conclusion I reckon Birmingham is for women what Bangkok is for men. So Helen, on your return, shake off the blues, get your high heels on, shave your halfpenny and prepare for the ride.
See you soon
Your cousin Paula
I reckon that fellow with the WBA shirt fetish is responsible for clothing half of Isaan! Whenever I take a trip up into the northeast I see a WBA shirt hanging off a washing line. Always the same size…