Sunday, 10 March 2019

A Filly At The Races

It's been a quiet start to 2019 in terms of getting out and about.  I have a couple of events coming up that I've been putting money aside for, and of course the weather, barring one glorious week in February - which I hope wasn't the extent of the good weather for this year - hasn't been conducive to spending time outdoors.

Nevertheless, last weekend I headed over the Chester Racecourse for one of their vintage fairs.With the wonder week of February behind us, it was a return to dismal grey clouds and smatterings of rain across the north-west (and world, it felt).  Undaunted, I slipped into stockings, heels and a vintage outfit and, just an hour or so down the motorway, found myself at the racecourse.

The rain, of course, was already there, making it a very quick dash to The Pavilion - the new events room.  So much for hoping to get some saucy photos outside.

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Vintage Fair, Chester Racecourse.
Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Vintage Fair, Chester Racecourse.
Thankfully, inside awaited a warm welcome and warm temperature.  Time for some old-style browsing.

The quality of items on sale at the various stands was very high - too often poor quality stuff is passed off as vintage, and I certainly whiled away a few hours browsing though the various bits and pieces.

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Vintage Fair, Chester Racecourse.
Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Vintage Fair, Chester Racecourse.
 A fabulous hat display caught my eye.

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Vintage Fair, Chester Racecourse.
 I tried on a few and found a glorious leopard-print 1950's pillbox hat.  Monroe-vamp, indeed.  A little haggling later and it was in my bag.

Some gorgeous vintage leather luggage caught my eye too.  Top-quality leather, beautifully-crafted - genuinely the kind of thing they really don't make anymore.

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Vintage Fair, Chester Racecourse.
 They made me think of summertime trans-continental drives, a silk-stocking clad mistress and handsome be-suited gentleman lover wafting through France on their way to some fabulously decadent resort on the Côte d'Azur or Italian Riviera.  I'll buy the cases if some lovely gent wants to supply the car...

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Derby Bentley - not at the Chester Racecourse, sadly.
I continued my way around the fair, browsing through lovely mementoes of past glorious decades, but there's still not much I need or really desire (Derby Bentley aside) at the moment - and my money is needed for more pressing events.

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Vintage Fair, Chester Racecourse.
Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Vintage Fair, Chester Racecourse.
Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Vintage Fair, Chester Racecourse.
Just after lunchtime I was done, and it was time to say goodbye to dreams of a 1930's summer at St.Tropez or Portofino and head back into the north-west rain of a dismal February.

A lovely little morning out, though, and I'm already hoping for a lovely Spring.

Sunday, 3 February 2019

Zaza Du Rose - Scala, London

A day after my ballet delights at the Palace Theatre, I was out of bed fairly early and, case packed,  on my way to Manchester's Piccadilly train station.  Just over two hours later I was disembarking at Euston, London.  As much as I love London, it remains an expensive place to visit once travel, hotels and refreshments are taken into account, so there's usually a definite reason I'm in the capital.  This time it was for Zara DuRose, hosting a fetish party at the Scala nightclub in Kings Cross.

Looking back at the blog, it seems the last time I was in London was the London Fetish Weekend... in October 2017!    Amazing to think that since then I've been to Hamburg a couple of times, Prague and Venice.

I found my hotel, suitably located next door to Scala.  It looked familiar... and then I realised.  All the way back in 2004 (fifteen years ago - FIFTEEN - blimey!) I'd attended a Torture Garden event at Scala.  Back then I'd been wearing a tight vintage girdle (that delightfully exposed my pussy), stockings and heels.

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort -Torture Garden, 2004.
Two things I remember especially from the night - one, laying back on a table in the club, rubbing my soft gloves over my clit, masturbating myself, whilst two guys wanked themselves in front of me, and, midway through the night (it was a hot April night, from memory) I'd wandered to the outside mezzanine area with friends.  It was a bit crowded, but on one of the large tables a threesome was energetically in action - one lovely lady laid back on the table whilst one guy, stood between her splayed thighs, enthusiastically pumped his hard cock into her willing pussy and his wingman filled her open mouth with his own erection.  It may have been more erotic had the two men not literally fucker her off the table (and with a very funny but not quite sexy ongoing commentary from my friend G).  At one point I looked up to see a hotel next door (bearing in mind this was long after midnight) - to see two young kids looking out at the spectacle below.  "That's probably at least one fetishist being born right there," I thought.

Back to 2019, though, and although I shouldn't be booking in until 3.00pm, a few eyelash flutters and a slightly heaving chest (from pulling my heavy suitcase all the way from Euston, not an intentional flirt) and the young chap was handing the keys over.

Unpacked, and time for a few snapshots later purely for titillation and my website...

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - hotel room, London.
Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - corset, gloves, high heels - hotel room, London.
I headed to bed, to get a couple of hours rest before the long and hopefully exciting night ahead.

A few hours later and I was clambering out of bed for the second time that day (although I'm usually getting out of bed a few more times than that if  I'm having a busy day at 'work'!).  Into the shower, make-up on and now a decision on what to wear.

I'd brought two outfits - a long red lace gown with vagina-high splits (easy-access, just in case of a really fun night) and a simple classic black latex catsuit - an item I'd not worn in years.  The catsuit won (thankfully, as it was to turn out later).

The doors for Scala opened at 9.00pm, and I was determined to get there on time and take a snapshot or two before the venue filled up.  I slid into my oiled catsuit and stepped into my high-heeled sandals.

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - latex catsuit, hotel corridor, London.
I walked outside into the London night - it was bloody freezing.  Thank heavens for booking a hotel next door!  I got to the doors of the club - outside, quite large groups of young guys were hanging around, all wearing a similar 'uniform' of t-shirts/baggy black tops, skinny black jeans and sneakers.  "I wonder what this lot are doing here?" I thought.  There were a few comments as I passed them, but nothing beyond "Wow", "Look at her..." type stuff.  I was soon inside Scala, even though it wasn't officially open (the benefits of knowing the ZDR team!).

I then realised that this was going to be a ZDR event unlike others - Zara had made quite a coup in booking a three-piece hardcore DJ outfit called Black Tiger Sex Machine some months ago, to play their first UK gig at the event.  Since organising the booking, Black Tiger Sex Machine's reputation had exploded in the US and Europe, meaning that there was quite a demand for the UK debut.  Zara had made the decision to mix the fetish event with a BTSM club night - well advertised on the tickets and info, but of course I'd not read it.  I was pleased I'd chosen the catsuit - my lace dress that exposes my pussy when I walk might not have been the best choice, given the circumstances.

The main room was the choice for the dance/club area - the fetishists (identified by yellow wristbands) at least had an extra (top) floor were we could get away from the club crowd.

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Zara DuRose, Scala, London.

Although inside the club, the temperature felt as though it remained as cold as outside - no doubt the owners of Scala were keeping the costs down by relying on the crowds to heat the place up.

Slowly the club began to fill - the dance/BTSM fans and fetishists eyeing each other warily.The two groups didn't quite mix, initially.  A man clambering into his latex outfit with some difficulty looked around for assistance - seeing me in a latex catsuit and so one of 'his' tribe came over to ask if I'd help.

A few minutes later another guy approached, head to toe in leather-look fetish gear.  We started chatting, and he was interesting as well as attractive.  "Hmmm," I thought, "I might have some fun there later."

Eventually the top floor opened and a few of the fetish crowd wandered upstairs.  It was quieter without the dance crowd, and a large play area with multiple BDSM furniture took up much of the space.  Sadly, I couldn't see any other play areas suitable for fucking in, so my plans of having my leatherman fuck me were already heading out the window into the freezing night.  Plus, it was still very cold in the top room without a mass of bodies to warm it.

I met up with a few old friends like Rubber Ron, who I've now known for over twenty years, since the old Submission days at Bagleys in Kings Cross.

At 11.00pm a few of us wandered downstairs to see Black Tiger Sex Machine, due on stage as the hour chimed.  Sadly, the hour chimed but there was no sign of BTSM.  It later transpired that they were flying in to London that night from France, doing the ZDR gig at Scala, then flying straight back out again.  Unfortunately, Air France lost all of their equipment and had to re-route it to London so the trio could perform... a few hours late!

Eventually the luggage made it, and dancefloor heaved and thumped as the bass-heavy beats shook Scala's foundations.

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - Black Tiger Sex Machine, Zara DuRose, London.
 I danced amongst the swirling crowd for a while, enjoying the rhythms and body-heat, but after a while I began to feel as though my ears were going to bleed, such was the volume of bass, so  I headed back upstairs, where the dungeon play area was full of people playing.  It was still chilly in the top room, but I was sure I'd be unzipping my catsuit for some fun should the chance arise.  Sadly, the temperature and lack of softer play areas meant that this night (a rare thing at a Zara DuRose party) I'd be unfulfilled.

There was a slightly bizarre ending to the night, where one of the ladies in the group began showing photos or herself in what can only be described as an extremely tight camel-toe situation.  The guys in the group were all quite enthused by the photos and discussion, which for some reason ended up with myself and two other ladies getting our pussies out and comparing the size of our labias.  After a few years of having the assistance of numerous guys sucking on mine, I thought they were the winner.

Dexi Delite South Manchester Escort - luscious lips.
 By 4.00pm I was ready to head for the warmth of the hotel room - the club had noticeably got cooler and cooler once again as people left after the BTSM show.  I made a slight detour to walk a friend back to her own hotel nearby, so by the time I reached my own hotel I was feeling slightly frozen, my thin skintight catsuit offering absolutely no protection from the nigh time chill.

A very hot shower later and I was in bed, wrapped up and with my ears still ringing from the aural assault of Black Tiger Sex Machine.  Zara already has plans for the next couple of events - I'll have to make up for what was a quiet night this time around.. even if my ears didn't agree.

Monday, 21 January 2019

Swan Lake, Moscow City Ballet

A belated Happy New Year for the first blog of the new year.  Looking back, last year was quieter than usual on the blog front - three big European jaunts (Hamburg in March, Venice in July and Prague in October took care of much of my finances in 2018 - especially Venice, for which I'd already decided to not do on the cheap.

Finances aside, other reasons transpired to make it a quiet year.  Politically it was a crazy year, what with Trump and Brexit filling the media, but my blog was never intended to be a political soapbox anyway - others can write with far more understanding and clarity on such subjects.  Indeed, the only way of getting politics onto my blog will be via implications in the sex trade... such as the continued campaign by the governments of Europe (Germany is trying to put the lid on sex work, Amsterdam's red-light district is being pushed to close down street by street. so it's not just here in the UK) and of course the impending censorship of the internet.

People never learn, do they?  Trying to close off free-speech and voices (and vices for that matter) always ends up with the authorities on the losing end.  People just find new ways, like during the prohibition in the US in the 1920s and 30s.  Besides, when it comes to censoring the internet for sexual matters, who would you trust to know best - a government employee (who either loses data files on a train or has more leaks than the Titanic) or a 14 year old IT geek?  No, I think Pandora's Box (and I'm sure I've seen a delicious video of Pandora getting her box well and truly filled by three handsome beaus somewhere on the internet) has been opened and closing it now will be a momentous task, forgetting about the cost implications of monitoring it - because of course our beloved government is awash with money at the moment... oh, er...

Anyway, and linked with all that in a way, is the continued closing down of fetish clubs around the country.  London lost another late last year - Subversion closed its doors for the final time after the illness and subsequent loss of one of its driving members and after numerous battles to find venues around the city.  Indeed, Mistress Absolute told me that the club had no less than 39 venues in its tenure.  Even here in Manchester we lost Cirque, a club that for a while became a second home - albeit the kind of home where you meet up with other sexually deviant friends and have lovely, inhibited fucking with them in the lounge amongst a sea of people.

The result is that there are now fewer places to go in the UK, the European events remain (for the moment) far more interesting and rude, but there are cost implications, of course... so we'll see what 2019 brings.

One thing that I never experienced (and therefore never blogged about) but have wanted to tick off for some time though was a visit to see a ballet.  When I heard that the Moscow City Ballet was visiting Manchester for one performance of Swan Lake (top of my ballet list... and a Russian troupe at that) I was on the old internet straight away to grab a seat.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Swan Lake, Moscow City Ballet.
 So, on Friday, on one of the coldest nights of the winter so far (it began snowing at one point) I headed off to the Palace Theatre to see if I would be bored or blown away by ballet.  I arrived a little early, so popped into the nearby Refuge Bar for a quick pre-show drink.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - The Refuge, Manchester.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - The Refuge, Manchester.
The last time I was in the building I was actually visiting the The Principal, the hotel next door for a seductive sexual tryst with a lovely gentleman... ah, wonderful memories.

Cocktail finished, I joined the waiting queues at the Palace Theatre and eventually the floors were opened and I found my seat.  Inside, that theatre was beautiful, with classic deep reds and gold everywhere.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Palace Theatre, Manchester.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Palace Theatre, Manchester.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Palace Theatre, Manchester.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Palace Theatre, Manchester.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Palace Theatre, Manchester.
Down in the pits the orchestra was tuning up.  Soon, the bell rang to indicate five minutes before curtain up.

The orchestra started their beautiful intro, the curtain rose, and for the next three and half hours we were transported to another world.

The story of Swan Lake, in a nutshell, is that Prince Siegfried has reached the age where he has to marry.  He doesn't want to settle down.  A Ball is held to try and find a suitable suitor, but he rejects them all.  His best friend Benno spies a flock of wild swans and suggests a hunting expedition to cheer the young royal.  Unbeknown to the Prince, one of swans is beautiful Odette, a young lady under the spell of evil Von Rothbart, who has damned Odette to be a swan during the day and can only return to being a woman during the night.  Siegfried spies the young lady and they fall in love.  Knowing true love can break his spell, Von Rothbart plans to trick the Prince.

At the Prince's betrothal Ball the evil Von Rothbart appears with his daughter Odile, who has been magically transformed to look exactly like Odette.  The Prince is captivated, thinking that Odile is Odette, and agrees to marry her.  Von Rothbart then reveals Odile in her true likeness, and the Prince sees the deception.

The Prince runs to the lake to find his true love, Odette, but is too late - she is lost forever.  The Prince and Von Rothbart fight until the death, and in the dying of Von Rothbart the rest of Odette's swans are released from their own spell.  The Prince dies from his own injuries, joining Odette forever in the afterlife.

I was mesmerised, and the stunning performance from Liliya Orekhova as shy and frightened Odette/vampish Odile was magical and beautiful and genuinely brought tears to my eyes.  By the time the curtain came down (three times, such was the stupendous applause for the whole troupe) I had been bewitched myself by the performance, and floated like a swan on a still, moonlit lake all the way home.  A night I will never forget.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Palace Theatre, Manchester.

Sunday, 16 December 2018

Rock Of Ages

It's certainly been quiet in terms of the Blog recently - one post in November until now.  Not that I haven't been busy, of course.  I had a little recuperation time to kick (pun intended) my sciatica into touch and since then I've been laid up.  By laid up, I mean usually on my back with a gentleman wonderfully filling me with some seasonal spirit.  OK, not always.  Sometimes I've been on all fours whilst my visitor delivers his pleasurable parcel into my eager pussy, other times I've been riding on top, my lover bucking beneath my thighs like a pony over snow-covered fields.  But you get the idea.  It's not much to write about... well, it probably is, but I'm not entirely sure that each session should be documented that way!

Last weekend I headed east, all the way to.... Stockport.  The town was having it's monthly vintage fair, and with it being December, was Christmas-themed.  Not only that, but 'The Best Cake Shop In The World'®, The Hillgate Cakery, was having it's first birthday and I wanted to be there to celebrate with the fantastic team... and have cake at the same time.  Who says you can't have your cake and eat it.  Ha!

I went for my rather fetishy 'Lady In Leather' look - leather jacket, leather-look tight jeans and over-knee boots - hoping they would keep out the chill of Sunday morning Stockport.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - leather lady in Stockport.
I had a look around the vintage market before enjoying some Biscotti 'birthday cake' with friends at The Hillgate Cakery.  A lovely way to spend the morning.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - leather lady in Stockport
I headed back home early just as the Christmas crowds began to arrive.

Because, of course... Christmas Is Coming.  The words should sometimes, I think, be said with that portent of doom like 'Winter Is Coming' from Game Of Thrones...

A time for seeing friends and family, and as I get older there seems to be more a sense almost of celebrating the surviving of another Christmas, another year.  This year I've seen the passing of people like Dave Playpenz from Club Submission and the gloriously talented China Hamilton.  Friends and family age, too, and with the passing of time the scars of survival begin to work their way to the surface, shattered splinters from the battles of life.

Through the rushing waters of time we are accompanied by the music of our lives, its sounds entwine in our memories as threads running through the tapestry of time.  Whilst visiting friends recently we ended watching random stuff on a TV music channel - a swirling kaleidoscope music from our teens, twenties, thirties and onwards.  Yazz - 'The Only Way Is Up' was played... from 1988 when I was 16 - is thirty years old now.  Others in the group remembered hazy seventies summers listening to the new Eagles album 'Hotel California' on an 'eight-track' in their old Ford Escorts and Minis.  Faces delighted in memories unfolded by the music, Bowie and Slade gracing Top Of The Tops on a Thursday night, seventies girls in tiny hotpants, bra-less under their small tight t-shirts in the hot endless summers of the seventies.  Christmas is a good example.  I remember the first Band Aid song in 1984, the harrowing images of that terrible time in Ethiopia - even though we later learnt most of the trouble came from the hands of politicians of the country.  Other older friends remember the release of Slade's 'Merry Christmas Everybody' (1973 - I was one at the time), or the year John Lennon was shot (1980).   The sounds took us all back to different times, all invaluable, all personal, but many shared.

This year I saw Garbage celebrating twenty years of their break-through album Version 2.0.  Last week it was another celebration by a band of another seminal album - Def Leppard and an incredible thirty year birthday of the album Hysteria.

THIRTY years.  Talk about marking the passing of time, and, like celebrating The Hillgate Cakery hitting their first birthday, was another party I didn't want to miss.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - are you ready to rock?
Supporting band Cheap Trick were having a celebration of their own - forty years since the 'Live At Budokan' album, which featured heavily on their setlist, and which I could see from my great position next to the stage.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Cheap Trick.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Cheap Trick.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Cheap Trick.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Cheap Trick.

They weren't really my thing, in truth - even if they got the crowd cheering for the classics like 'Surrender', 'Ain't That A Shame' and 'Dream Police', but they weren't helped by a pretty muddy and indistinct sound that seemed to jumble all three guitars into one wall of sound - made perhaps worse with Tom Petersson using eight and twelve-string bass guitars and lead guitarist Rick Nielson producing a 5-neck guitar for the last couple of songs.  Dream Police was pretty good, though.

Half an hour later Sheffield rockers Def Leppard arrived on stage - and for the remainder of the night powered through the full Hysteria album with a few of their massive hits thrown in.  Superb.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Def Leppard, Hysteria tour.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Def Leppard, Hysteria tour.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Def Leppard, Hysteria tour.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Def Leppard, Hysteria tour.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Def Leppard, Hysteria tour.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Def Leppard, Hysteria tour.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Def Leppard, Hysteria tour.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Def Leppard, Hysteria tour.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Def Leppard, Hysteria tour.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Def Leppard, Hysteria tour.
Hysteria was a turning point for the band, when drummer Rick Allen crashed his car during the extended recording sessions, losing an arm.  The band had to change their sound to incorporate Allen's half-electronic drum kit, but the perseverance paid off with the album becoming one of the biggest sellers of the 1980s.  The band took time in the gig to emotionally honour a fallen comrade of their own - Steve Clark, who died after the album's release.  Battle scars and the fallen, indeed.

So, Christmas is coming, and with it the end of the year and the beginning of a new one. The new year, doubtless, will bring it's own trials, tribulations, battles and victories.  For now I'll raise a glass to my own friends and family, and to those left behind.  As another glorious rock god, Chris Squire, sang...

"Are you hopeful, are you haunted,
By the ghost of Christmas past?
Face the future undaunted,
Step aside or take your chance...

Have yourselves that certain Christmas,
Eat, be glad and drink the wine, 
Leave your sadness by the river,
Giving love and given time..."

'Merry Christmas, Everybody' indeed.

Thursday, 8 November 2018

Pleasures And Pain In Prague... Part 2

I woke up early on Friday morning, as stiff as the cocks of my gentleman visitors... only with some rather painful aching thrown in.  It seemed my eight mile hike yesterday hadn't done my sciatica much good.

I was due to meet friends to go to one of the main events of Prague Fetish Weekend - the Fetish Fair, a few miles outside the city centre, but that wasn't until midday.  Until then I had a lazy morning ahead.  Or would have done, if the bare space on the windowledge and the broken remains of the plant pot kept catching my attention like a broken tooth on a supermodel.  I had time to find a replacement, I decided.

I dressed in a lycra catsuit (in preparation for the Fair) and explored the streets around the apartment, figuring the residential area was more likely to have such an item than the touristy centre of the city.  After half an hour I found a flower shop, with rows of plant pots for sale.  Brilliant - and easier than expected.  I went inside and checked the white ones - there were white plant pots of every shape and size, but none that matched my broken one.  Unless I replaced them all, it was going to look a bit obvious.  Nevertheless, it gave me an idea - railway stations usually have flower shops, and the main Prague railway station was only short walk from the apartment, too - although in the opposite direction to where I currently was.  I set off back, retracing my steps, passing my apartment and continuing on to the railway station.

Now, I know that I'm not the best with directions, but I was confident of the direction when I caught up with two Chinese tourists lugging heavy suitcases going the same way as me.  Up in the distance I could see parts of the railway station, fairly close.  We crossed over a small road and the path began curving sharply to the right and getting thinner and thinner.  Here, in fact...,14.4334074,3a,75y,55.93h,80.42t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1sS55DY-MxOMsqucv2nhWObQ!2e0!7i13312!8i6656

The path, bizarrely, petered out to nothing.  At the far end an American tourist with a backpack the size of Kansas was stood there, totally perplexed.  The Chinese froze, seeing no way over the tall metal roadside barrier to the other side... not that there was much there, and the daily Prague Grand Prix was well under way (not that it really stops) to dissuade any attempt to dash over the road.


"There's no way through," said the American, perfectly summing up the situation needlessly.  I had no idea how long he'd been stood there as I hadn't even seen him walking in front of us.

"No way through," repeated the Chinese, freezing still like two of the Qin Shi Huang's terracotta warriors.

They looked at me.  "Right," I said, taking control, "this way."  I turned and began walking back, not as confident as my stride suggested.  I'd seen an underpass a few minutes earlier, and was thinking it was the way under the road junction.  We passed a couple with a pram and suitcase heading for the same dead-end route we'd just found.  "Not that way" I advised, "the pathway stops."  They stopped and looked at each other, saying something in a language I couldn't catch - but I could see the El Al stickers on the man's suitcase.  Israelis, then.  The Chinese and American now joined us in our United Nations huddle.  I told them to follow me, heading down some steps, the American now jogging on ahead.  I helped the Israelis with their pram and suitcase whilst the Chinese manhandled their huge cases down the steep steps.

Luckily, the underpass took us exactly where I hoped it would - the train station.  I was now a bit hot and sweaty in my catsuit, and my hip was aching like a motherfucker.  Nevertheless, I was almost at my goal.

I wandered in to the station - it was deserted, but the old brutalist architecture was quite impressive.  I explored a bit more, not believing that Prague's main railway station would have no shops or even people.  I was right - on the lower floor there was platforms and shops galore... but no flowershops.  Fuck.  There was a classical quartet busking, though, the beautiful tones filling the halls of the station.

I had a good look around and decided I needed to concede defeat.  Dis-spirited, I left the station, walked through the park and back in the direction of the apartment.

Fifteen minutes later it began to sink in that I was hopelessly lost.  The streets, still lined with beautiful buildings, were unrecognisable.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - lost in Prague.
I wandered around a bit more, a slight panic uncurling in my stomach.  I glanced at my watch.  My initial plans for a 45-60 minute stroll were gone.  I was now in the middle of a two-hour hike, at least.  I found a money-exchange shop and went in.  I produced my rather crude and simple map and asked if they could show me where I was.  They marked on the map my current location - fifteen minutes walk north of the railway station, when I should have been heading south when I came out of the station.  In my head I retraced my steps.. left the station, crossed the park, went over two streets, went over... hold on.  Park?  Park?  I never saw a park on my way in.  Bollocks.  I showed the cashier where I needed to be.  He puffed out his cheeks in the internationally recognised code of "you're fucked" and marked the meandering way back home.

I left the shop and headed on my way back.  Ten minutes later I came to the Vltava river.  What the hell?  I realised I'd turned the wrong way out of the shop.  Ten minutes later I was back passing the money-exchange shop and carefully followed the route home.  A few streets later and I could see a giant panda towering above the crowds on the street.  Giant Panda?  That looked familiar, and is something I never thought I'd say or write.

I found myself at the bottom of Wenceslas Square.  As glad as I was to find myself in familiar surroundings it meant another slog up the crowded tourist spot (for what seemed the hundreth time) and fifteen minutes later I was back at the apartment... with no time to rest my aching hips as I had to head out to the Fair.

I rushed over to the tram stop.  No ticket machine.  In halting Czech (well, OK - English spoken very slowly) as I asked a woman where tickets could be purchased.  She had no idea.  I waited for the tram to arrive and asked the driver if he was going to my stop - Depo Hostivar.  If he was, I could perhaps sort the ticket out on the tram.

"No", he replied, closing his window rudely.  The tram left the stop, and I was just left.  Bugger.  I'd already had a text message to say my friends were heading to the Fair, so I had to find a way there.

I found a shop and asked a young girl for directions.  She pointed out the underground system was only a short walk away, and my stop was only five or six down the line.  Brilliant.  I headed back through another underpass up some stairs...

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Prague.
...down some stairs and an elevator and found myself finally on the underground.  There was bit of trouble with the sullen and sulking ticket machine not unlike that when I went to the Netherlands, but the Czech machines have a little to learn from the Dutch masters... but not fucking much, I can tell you.

Press the buttons for English language.  Nothing.  Take a guess and put some coins in - no, straight out the bottom.  Oh, the English section is now showing.  Put some more coins in - some accepted, others rejected.  Timed out.  Start again.  Different coins accepted this time, different ones rejected.  Train arrives, and leaves.  Start again...  Eventually, the machine grudgingly accepted my money having already made me miss a couple of trains, by which time I would have gladly smashed it up - if it wasn't built like a Russian T-34 tank, that is.  It was the ticket machine equivalent of Marvin The Paranoid Android.  "Life?  Don't talk to me about life."

Nevertheless, I was finally on the train and heading out to the Fair.  Still hot, still aching, but looking forward to seeing the Fair and friends.  The tram arrived at Depo Hostivar and I headed though the hospital grounds, finding my way to the fair.  No queues - a good sign.  I went in.  They were in the middle of setting up.  A womand said somehting in Czech.  I asked about the fair.  Her English-speaking colleague joined the conversation.  "It doesn't start until 6.00pm," she said.

"Fuck," I said.  "Fuck!" nodded the first lady, laughing.  "She knows that word," said the second.

My phone beeped.  A text message from my friends, informing me that the timings had changed and the Fair wasn't now opening until the evening so they were turning around and going straight to their hotel room instead.


It felt like a long journey back to the city centre, and I now had time to kill.  I got off the train, headed back down Wenceslas bloody Square again and decided to cheer myself up with a visit to the Sex Machine Museum.

I pushed through a crowd of tourists hanging about the entrance debating about entering (fnar fnar!), bought my ticket, and headed for the top floor to start my tour.  It was fantastic - and I realised that...
  1. There's very little that hasn't been tried before,
  2. Some people have always been bloody kinky.
  3. I must be depraved, as I either recognised or immediately understood what most of the furniture and appliances were for, and have used some of the modern equivalents in my sexual delights over the years.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - this one I've tried... Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - another familiar position, Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - shame I couldn't try it out... Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - familiar toys, Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - now THAT I'd be up for... Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - more familiar toys... Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - used those, used that... Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Fucking machines, dildos and vibrators, pissing thrones, orgy furniture, BDSM toys and restraints, sexual ornaments and toys, fetish attire, vintage erotic films... not just my Christmas shopping list for this year, but also the fabulous displays at the museum.  It was well worth the entrance fee.

Afterwards I finally met up with C and his lady friend for a few drinks in a bar just off Wenceslas Square.  We stayed out drinking long enough to decide to head over to the Fair.  At least I knew where I was going.  Back to the metro, another fight with the ticket machine, another few stops and we were back in the industrial part of Prague as evening arrived.  Deja vu.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Fetish Fair, second attempt, Prague.
The fair was pretty small, and although there were one or two stands that had some well-made S&M equipment, there was nothing that really tempted me to part with any money.  There were a few stage shows, but although I can appreciate the aesthetics of shibari (Japanese rope bondage), it doesn't really make much of a visual spectacle.  I bumped into a Dutch couple that I'd seen in Hamburg and Berlin, the latter of which I'd had a great time fucking the lady of the couple in the middle of the German Fetish Ball.  We stayed drinking and chatting until midnight before catching the last metro home.  A much better end to the day than the beginning.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Sex Machine Museum, Prague.
Saturday was spent largely relaxing and resting my aching leg so that I could enjoy the fetish ball.  I had decided on my transparent latex gown and PVC thigh boots.  I was ready early and waited for my taxi in the old hallway of the apartment building.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - ready for the Ball, Prague.
A short taxi ride later I was outside the PM Club.  A quick glide through security and the cloakroom (thankfully - it would get much busier in just fifteen minutes' time) and a quick exploration around the club.  And it was quick - one main room, one small upstairs mezzanine, one small dungeon/playroom.  I found a space to stand without being jostled too much and enjoyed some people-watching.  There were lots of stunning Czech girls parading around, and when C and his Mistress arrived we actually managed to find some seats - thankfully, as my hip was aching quite a bit.

Although I'd taken my small camera I didn't take any photos - thankfully, as during one of the fashion shows the security team roughly man-handled a guy out who was filming the show - the snake.   Midway through the night I had a short wander to see if the playroom was busy - although three people in there would have made it full!  Another quick look upstairs, but soon returned downstairs when it transpired that all the seats and corridors were full - it left an impression that the club, although no doubt willing to host the night, was simply too small for the event.

After the fashion shows finished the long and wide runway remained in place, too, taking up much of the dancefloor.  I couldn't help but compare it to the fantastic German events were the clubs are set up correctly with room for socialising, dancing and (very importantly) playing.  It was a bit like a fetish social night, elevated only by the outstanding costumes on display by the attendees.

I did manage to make five hours at the event before my aching hip began to take its toll, and with little in the way of playing or dancing to entice me to stay, I decided to call it a night.

Home alone, then, and not even rude memories to take back to bed.  I settled in for my last night, falling asleep despite the racing Grand Prix outside.

I woke early on Sunday, got ready and packed everything up - I had to leave the apartment by 11.00am, but my flight wasn't until 4.00pm.  That left the best part of day to drag luggage around Prague.  I left the apartment on time, leaving plenty of money behind to cover the cost of the broken plantpot.  I headed back to Maitrea, taking time over a long lunch.

Afterwards I headed over to Prague's famous clock tower to see the astronomical clock do its thing on the hour.  I waited with a large crowd, the minutes ticking by.

On the hour, the clock went into action.  Well, action of a kind.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - a clock, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - a clock, Prague.
A bell chimed.  Some clockwork figures appeared in the windows.  A small skeleton rung a bell.  The hand moved past the hour.  It was over.  No doubt it was a tremendous thing when it was built, but perhaps I was expecting a bit more.

I decided the best way to take up the remainder of the day was with as little walking as possible.  I had seen a few odd vintage-styled cars tootling around the city over the last few days, and thought it looked a good way to see other bits of the city and have a rest from my aching leg and hauling luggage around at the same time.

I found a cheerful Czech chap called Peter, jumped in his car and we set off.

We headed over one of the main bridges back onto the side where the Palace was, the sights of the old streets glorious in the sunshine.  We passed another of Prague's architectural delights, the 'dancing house', brazen and challenging but still lovely as it nestled alongside old buildings.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Dancing House, Prague.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Dancing House, Prague.
After the best part of an hour we arrived at, of all places, bloody Wenceslas Square again.  "Have you been here yet?" asked my jovial host.  "Once or twice..." I replied, trying not to sigh too much.  I still couldn't resist another photo of the Grand Europa Hotel, though, with gathering clouds behind.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Prague.
We trundled off, heading over to see the moving head sculpture of Franz Kafka, but although we stayed for a few minutes he refused to look our way...

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - impolite Kafka, Prague.
... and on to Freud, still hanging from one hand and debating whether to let go or not...

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - dangling Freud, Prague.
Freud, of course, came up with the 'Madonna-Whore' complex, an idea still in vogue (Madonna... Vogue... get it?  No?  Oh, OK...).  I think I know what side I chose a long time ago...

It was a short hop back to our starting point from there, and time, too, to brace myself for the final taxi ride to the airport.  It was a bit more of a sedate drive back to Prague airport, I'm glad to say, and thankfully a more comfortable flight back.

Although the fetish weekend was a bit of a let down, I left Prague with memories of a truly fantastic city, one that I hope to return to.

I'll give the sciatica a miss next time, though.