The Mongering Philanthropist Part 1
To those fellows who are acquainted with my previous ramblings, I must declare this submission is a work of fiction. It is a fantasy, a mere flight of fancy intended to amuse and entertain. Be assured I remain the ragged arsed and penniless old fart you all know and love.
I initially intended this work as a novel but as it is not particularly original I did not envisage any interest from publishers so decided instead to submit it in regular episodes for my friends on the stickman site.
I run the first chapter up the flagpole. If you are not too bored and I am not tarred and feathered or run out of town on a rail I will post further chapters in subsequent weeks. Unless of course a publisher comes along…. then sod you all.
Once all the episodes of this chronicle have been posted, the customary accounts of my rosy cheeked capers you are all accustomed to will resume in future submissions.
I have suffered for my art …now it’s your turn
Part 1. You Jammy git!
I don’t watch the national lottery show on TV very often. It comes on during premium drinking time on Saturday nights so it naturally gets a wide berth. But this week I had an altercation with a dodgy kebab the previous evening and I had spent most of the day with my ass on the closet losing my life and half my body weight through my anal orifice.
I didn’t have the strength to go anywhere. I notice the female presenter of the show is a toothsome little morsel wearing a low cut dress with a very shapely pair of breasts on view. She was very easy on the eye and I found myself going off in a daydream that involved said Tottie naked in a bath full of warm custard
My reverie was broken as the voice of the lottery boomed….”and the bonus ball is 7…. The jackpot tonight is £6 million”. I look at the numbers on the screen as they are sorted in ascending order. Bugger me I think I have got some of those numbers. My first thought was “Don’t panic Captain Mainwaring”. But once again I felt my bowels rumbling and an insistent pressure on my sphincter precipitates another mad dash to the toilet. I secured my ass on the still warm toilet seat and sat in quiet reflection.
Once the intestinal crisis had passed I immediately logged on to my internet lottery account to check my ticket deposited there electronically, and sure enough I had all the numbers. I would have to wait till the following morning to receive official notification so I would just have to be patient despite a mounting excitement. I cracked off a quick one to celebrate and feeling a sense of total exhaustion went to bed to sleep the sleep of the newly prosperous.
I had some strange dreams involving a huge sweaty Turkish guy named Mustapha attempting to violate my anal orifice with a roll of unleavened pita bread.
I resolved never to eat a kebab on a Friday night again.
The next morning I awoke early, my ass felt like a corduroy cap and probably looked like the flag of Japan but I felt much better. I accessed my emails to see I had received an email notifying me to log on to my lottery account. I also saw a note from a Thai lady I had recently met but that could wait. The system will not tell you how much you have won even if it is only £10.
Once I got on the lottery site it told me what I had won. It appeared there were a few other winners and in the end my share of the prize was £481,364.15p. It was not enough to change my life had I been a younger man but certainly enough to make a real difference to a bloke of my vintage. This amount had already been deposited in my personal lottery account and could be distributed to wherever I chose with more discretion than a bank account would permit.
I was rich and it was a wonderful feeling. I had the biggest erection I had since I accidently swallowed two Viagra tablets on my last evening in the Nana hotel in Bangkok some nine months ago.
Now I have money your first question may be “what about all the begging letters?” but you needn’t worry I will continue to send them.
Actually my first thought was how could I retain my anonymity and avoid anyone knowing I had won a few bob. I was concerned about the relationship with my working class mates. If they thought I had a few quid I have no doubt their attitude to me would change.
I could also imagine my middle class friends trying to pressure me to live a conventional lifestyle again. I had lost my middle class status some years ago but had retained many friends from those days. I had visions of them persuading me to get a house and mortgage, join the golf club marry a retired headmistress and generally adopt the trappings of a middle England existence.
I also knew that all my upper middle class business acquaintances and half the UK financial community would immediately want to steal it from me. It is a strange thing about human nature that whilst my working class pals without a pot to piss in would welcome my good fortune without reservation, it would be those who already had more money than they could ever handle who would covet my newly acquired wealth…. because more is never enough to these people.
It was only an hour or so later that I had the inevitable phone call from the lottery’s accredited financial experts proffering guidance on how I should invest it. My experience with accountants and financial advisors is they are always willing to offer advice on how money should have been spent usually after it has gone. I listened politely but I am approaching 60 and already sleep in the recovery position to save the paramedic’s time. These days my idea of a long term investment is in the 3.30 race at Cheltenham. I had absolutely no faith in the pariahs of the UK financial sector having seen all my pension schemes and investments frittered away by them over the years. No ….this time I was going to decide what happened to my money and I told them I was going cut out the middle man and piss it up the wall myself.
The first thing I did was to settle all my debts which were predominantly credit card balances from the numerous flights to Bangkok I had made in the past 10 years. My debts were not unduly excessive and £10k resolved them all. It is interesting to note that a figure that had caused me so much concern could be mitigated so quickly.
I transferred £100k electronically into a building society account with the intention of maybe converting it into a pension scheme for my impending dotage which I would do at my leisure. Another priority was my two sons. I wanted to help them out as they are both in their early 20s and beginning to make their way in the world. But I knew if I gave them too much now they would lose the motivation to improve themselves.
My youngest son would probably quit University and use the money to fund his secret ambition to be a major drug dealer. I could envisage my eldest son blowing his windfall on fast cars, fast women, gambling and beer although he may also waste some of it. I had seen too many friends indulge their children with material wealth they did not appreciate. So I would put £50k each in a trust fund for them to be given to them on my demise or their 30th birthdays whichever was soonest. It would provide a deposit for a starter home if, or when they decided to settle down and start a family. I did not tell them about it.
I then transferred £100k into my everyday saver account. I set up a new account to deal with all direct debits and arranged for £1200 to be transferred every month. This would cover my rent, phone utility bills and general expenses for 5 years or more. This left £180k in my current account, £80k for me to metaphorically piss up the wall whilst I had a plan for the residual £100k.
I made an appointment to see my solicitor Devin Carew to sort out my will and the trust funds for my boys. He was the one person I did confide in as he has been my closest friend since childhood in addition to being my legal advisor. In the past few years my fortunes had seen more ups and downs than a bargirl’s panties and throughout my adversity he was the only one who always stuck by me despite the pain in the ass I must have been. He called me a “jammy git” but was genuinely pleased to hear of my good fortune and he sorted out my affairs with the minimum of fuss.
Despite being a solicitor Devin has always had a strong entrepreneurial spirit and an abundance of wonderful business ideas but always lacked the capital to pursue them. I suggested we form a limited company to explore a few of his ideas and handed him a cheque for £100k to get things started. I made it clear I would not be contributing any time or ideas for the first year as I was going to take a sabbatical and spend some of my boon whilst I still had the strength to do so. I suspect this suited him.
Once I had sorted my affairs I could concentrate on my selfish requirements. The next question was where to live? I currently rent a one bedroom flat near the town centre which was sufficient to my needs. If I upgraded my accommodation it could give the game away. So I just tidied it up a little. A lick of paint, a new hearth rug and a nice modernist painting on the wall revitalised the place for a minimal outlay.
The last two years I had been working for myself as a consultant. In truth I didn’t have much work and had been scratching a living. Being a consultant is like being a prostitute but you have all the indignity but without the sex or the money. For this reason I hadn’t made much effort other than lip service to finding some female company. Like every one it would be nice to share life with a soul mate but I had become realistic if not pessimistic about my prospects in this department. I did not have the wherewithal to engage in a relationship. I felt a chap in his 50s is only going to interest an attractive girl if he has money and even an ordinary homely woman would have some degree of expectation.
As a result I had got myself into the mindset that you needed money to attract a woman. The corollary of this outlook is the misconception if you have sufficient money you can have any woman you want. We receive mixed messages from our culture. You see a decrepit old relic like Hugh Heffner and you suspect the beautiful playboy bunnies who surround him are not after his good looks and riveting personality. Premier footballers are notorious babe magnets, which is often attributed to the obscene amounts of money they earn. But they are also incredibly fit and well presented young men. This is really their principle attraction….and then there is Wayne Rooney I suppose.
I know several pubs and clubs that are full of lovely young women but I have often wondered how having money would actually work to pull them. I have always conjectured how having a Porsche or Ferrari parked on the car park would help you pull a woman if you can not get them to chat with you. I suspect announcing you owned a high value flash car would earn the abhorrence of all the men in the pub resulting in said vehicle being damaged or you receiving a good beating. I suppose one could surreptitiously have the message spread around that you were wealthy in the hope that it ultimately attracted the attention of the Tottie therein. Again I imagine only the worst gold diggers would be interested and would still result in a good hiding or even being mugged by jealous blokes. There is very little difference in finding a gold digger and actually paying for sex with a prostitute, it is just that the terms of payment are extended.
Speaking of cars I desperately needed to change my own vehicle. It is now 13 years old and with the MOT due I doubt it would pass the emissions test. I couldn’t have anything ostentatious but something that reflected a mid life crisis, maybe a little two seat roadster. I fancied a classic British MG but you can not get the spares and they are so underpowered they wouldn’t pull a bishop off his curate. I eventually bought an old Toyota MR2 from a local garage for next to nothing. It was apparently owned by a little old lady who only used it to go to church on Sunday. It is silver grey in good condition and suited my new persona. It was also fun to drive.
The next task was to get some decent new clothes. Although I have always dressed well my current wardrobe was getting a little threadbare and long in the tooth. Loon pants and tank tops are unlikely to come back into fashion and I think I have had enough wear out of my school blazer by now.
So I took a shopping expedition in the city centre. A brace of quality jackets some decent slacks, a few classic English shirts and a couple of pairs of traditional British shoes refreshed my ensemble without undue attention.
For a few weeks I changed my routine and began visiting better quality drinking establishments in hotels and clubs in the city. There is nothing like wearing decent quality clobber and having a few quid in your ass pocket to increase your confidence. I still had little joy in my quest for a little female company and merely experienced a better quality of rejection. It struck me it was no good having money and just spending it without any result. I had no doubt eventually I would strike a mother lode but I merely appeared to be working at peripheral seams. Instead of a circuitous route the answer was clear I now have money… just pay for it.
I have never had any compunction about paying for sex but the rough local tarts held little attraction. I had once worked in the Horsley fields’ area of Wolverhampton and knew many of the working girls as they used our car park to service their clients. But most were crack heads and all of them dog rough. It was not just the fear of STDS you would probably catch tetanus or bubonic plague. I could now afford a better class of tart.
There is a small lap dance club in the town. I hadn’t been for some time. I recall it was not particularly expensive with the girls asking £10 for a private dance and there were no rip offs or scams. Drinks were either bottles of lager or fruit juice for £3. I entered the club and found myself a comfortable seat near the stage. A variety of girls in bikinis did their dance around the pole. There were a couple of large breasted white girls, a slim white girl (probably eastern European) an ebony beauty and three mixed race girls, one I remember from my previous visits.
The ebony beauty was like an African princess and when she sat beside me I immediately bought her a drink and when she asked if I wanted a private dance I agreed with little delay. She led me through a curtained off area and proceeded to strip off to the music. By the end of the first record she was naked and a magnificent sight she was. With firm conical breasts, a generous ass and her pussy neatly trimmed like a little brillo pad, I would have given five years of my mate Devin’s life to have shagged her there and then.
She left me and went to do her shift on the pole and I returned to my stage side seat. It was probably 10 minutes before she returned to me. I bought her another drink and asked if she would be interested in a little private arrangement. She politely declined informing me she made enough money just dancing. As she departed she gave me a wink and remarked “you will find most of the other girls here will accommodate you”.
I had one of the large white girls join me. She had a pretty face but she was quite chunky and the huge ethnic tattoo on her shoulder that went down her arm put me off. I bought her a drink and she began to tell me how wonderful she was. Within a few minutes I was beginning to tire of her. I really didn’t fancy her but when I declined a private dance she became aggressive and as she departed my table with a tirade of abuse, I merely smiled.
There was now a mixed race girl dancing on the pole in a black bikini. She had a appealing face, a slim lithe body, small shapely breasts and a miniature butterfly tattoo on her belly. I called her down to sit with me and bought her a drink. She claimed to remember me from the previous year when I used to come once a week. She was a friendly girl, she told me she was 30, a single mom and asked if I wanted a private dance. I agreed gave her £10 and was once again escorted to the curtained area. She quickly stripped revealing a neatly trimmed mudgeon. She was the nearest thing I had seen to girls I had encountered in Thailand. We returned to the table and she joined me. We chatted for a while and I proposed a little private arrangement, she suggested £200 which I agreed to with little argument.
At 2 am we went back to my one bedroom flat. Although it was clean and welcoming, it did not scream “a man with money” at you, so did not create the illusion or perception I would become a sugar daddy, something I had always been careful of. Although with my new found wealth being a patron to a worthy young poppet may be a feasible option I should consider.
I had already seen her stripped down so her slim trim soft brown skin came as no surprise. But once we coupled her star fish performance was both unexpected and disappointing. She stayed the night with me and I cooked her a breakfast the next morning. She was a nice girl but her comatose performance put me off any further interest. At my age I need a little reciprocal enthusiasm.
I recall an old joke about an aged Lord waking up one morning in his stately home with an impressive and unexpected erection and immediately called for his butler. Upon seeing his master’s tumescence the butler remarks “Goodness my lord we haven’t seen one of those for several years….shall I call her ladyship? To which the Lord replies “No fetch the car I am not wasting this ….we are taking it to London”.
I had been recommended a London escort agency; I selected a Chinese girl from their impressive portfolio and booked her for the night. I went to London for the assignation and stayed at the Mayfair hotel. My room was a vivid illustration of style over function the subdued mood lighting makes it difficult for a man of my vintage to see the controls on the air con unit or the numbers on the telephone. And I must ask what is it with those fluffy bath robes and soft slippers that hang in the wardrobe? These things are only of interest to silly tarts. And what about those round marble hand basins that have become popular. They may look pretty but they are certainly not very functional. I acknowledge I am getting to be quite an old curmudgeon.
Once settled in I showered, dressed and completed my ensemble with my new Gucci blazer. I looked in the mirror and thought if you put a cherry on me I was good enough to eat.
I made my way to the hotels cocktail lounge where I had arranged to meet my “date” for the evening. I was a little early so I took a drink at the bar. However I did not have to wait long before I was greeted by vision of loveliness. The lady was about 5’4 but high heels elevated her and drew attention to her long legs and shapely calves. She was dressed in a turquoise knee length silk dress in a traditional oriental style with a high collar. An embroidered silver flash went across from her neck to shoulder which I assumed was a row of buttons. It served to highlight the exotic simplicity of her attire. The dress was tight and accentuated her curves. Her lustrous long black hair was held back with an ivory hair band.
I watched her sashay across the carpet towards me with grace and elegance, the effect was quite breathtaking. As she reached the bar I introduced myself and was relieved she did not give a grimace on meeting me. I was however aware that these ladies are consummate actors and she gave me a warm smile that actually reached her eyes. Her face was appealing with strong Chinese features, a fine bone structure and cheek bones that would cut steel. Her nose was slightly larger than usually seen on Asian faces but the effect was striking. She reminded me of a Chinese film star whose name escaped me. I offered her a drink and she chose a gin and tonic. As we made small talk I established her English was immaculate with just a trace of an accent. I suspected she affected this to maintain an exotic illusion.
We took dinner in the hotel restaurant which was served tiny portions of barely passable overpriced fare. Orchid was excellent company and was clearly well educated. She could talk on a variety of subjects from modern literature, the theatre and the state of public transport in London. She asked me what I thought of the hotel I replied “it is very expensive and the towels were so thick I could not get my suitcase shut”. She found this amusing and gave a gentle laugh that was like the tinkling of temple bells. I continued” I have also stayed in hotels where they steal your towels “she merely smiled as if my quip evoked an uncomfortable memory.
After dinner we retired to the lounge where a string quartet was playing. She told me a little about herself. She was born in Hong Kong where her parents had worked for the British administration. They left the colony when the communists took over in 1997 and came to England. She said “I was only was a teenager at the time and my parents put me into an exclusive girls only private school which ensured I received a good education” she continued “the place was quite austere and restricting, it was quite a shock after having servants around the home back in the colony”. This would put her in her early 30s although as with many oriental and Asian women she looked 10 years younger.
“When I left school I had a series of jobs in PR and HR in a variety of offices around London, you know … the sort of jobs a young gal does before finding a husband”. She laughed and added “and before you ask ….yes I did find a husband or more accurately my parents found me a husband they considered suitable” She continued “we are divorced now, I wont bore you with the details but if I thought my young ladies finishing school was restrictive and stifling, marriage to a traditional Chinese man was a thousand times worse.” Sensing she did not want to discuss it further I changed the subject and drew her attention to the piece by Brahms the quartet was currently playing.
She smiled and said “The question you are bursting to ask is how I became an Escort” I returned her smile and replied “if you insist”. She fiddled with the hem of her dress before stating “I had always wanted to be an actress but there was not much opportunity. So I did a little modelling work mainly modelling my hands” she showed me her delicate perfectly shaped and manicured fingers and continued “one of the girls told me about the Escort work she did and the money she earned. I signed on with the agency and took to the work like a duck to water”. I avoided breaking her flow by asking an inane question and she continued “I enjoy the money…obviously, but the work is not hard I have a control of the jobs I take”. She gave me a wink “And I meet some interesting people” I gave her a wry smile and said “It also satisfies your desire to be an actress”. She returned my smile and remarked “Maybe we should continue this conversation in your room where I can give you a display of my thespian skill.
Once in the bedroom Orchid carefully removed my jacket put it on a hanger and placed it in the wardrobe, a nice little touch I thought. She then expertly stripped me and gently pushed me on the bed. She stood at the end of the bed, removed her head band and shook her hair loose. It was a remarkable sight like on of those shampoo adverts you see on Thai TV. She undid the buttons across her shoulder and unzipped the back of the dress. With a shake of her shoulders and little wiggle the dress fell off her body. When it reached the floor she stepped out of it and raised her one arm to strike a classic pose for me. She stood clad in matching tan bra and panties edged with lace with matching hold up stockings. It was a most erotic sight she was astounding. I could have bent an iron bar around my tumescence at that moment …well maybe not as my wrists have gone. She kicked off her shoes and joined me in the bed.
I have got past trying to show I am great lover with these girls. I have paid them for their service so I let them do the work. She certainly knew all the tricks and before long I felt the jester’s shoes upon me and my climax exiting my body was like a small flock of sparrows. As she lay with me later I could not fail to notice how small and frail she looked when naked compared to the exotic image she depicted when dressed.
I had placed the agreed fee in an envelope which I saw her check when she went for a pee in the night. At around 6.00 I awoke to Orchids soft caresses and by 8.30 we are having a leisurely breakfast in the impressive dining room. I make my farewells to Orchid and give her another £50 for her taxi. I then make my way to Euston station for the journey home to the midlands.
On the train I reflect how pleasant the encounter was but with Orchid’s cost of £950 plus the £600 for the rail fare hotel and meals it was not a cheap affair. I wasn’t being miserly and acknowledged this was the going rate for a night with high quality Tottie in London but I consider I could have had a fortnights all inclusive holiday in the Mediterranean for that. However I suspected if I went to Benidorm or Majorca I would have been rebuffed by the same women who do so at home except they would now be wearing sunglasses and beachwear. No ….now I had money it was worth it and I would probably repeat it. It was certainly cheaper than getting married.
With the British winter impending, a warm climate beckoned. I felt I needed a holiday but needed to forget European beach resorts. There was only one place to go for a man of my vintage who still felt the need for female company and that was Asia…. more specifically the kingdom of Thailand.
I needed a cover story for my intended disappearance so I told everyone I had picked up a consultancy job in China. It was a credible excuse which none of my friends and family questioned.
A phone call secured a Thai Air flight to Bangkok for the following week.
To be continued