Saturday, 2 June 2018

WDLDE OEBYJ BIKJ

This week got me thinking of dear old Bryan Adams, the Canadian rocker currently doing the rounds in the UK on a massive tour.  Not that I've been to see him, unfortunately (I have it on good authority that his gigs have been brilliant), but I found myself recently humming his classic hit 'The Summer Of 69'.

Not only a great song, and a great sexual position, too... but the main reason was my own looking back at summers passed - specifically 2012 and 2013.  I spent much of those summer weekends in stockings, heels and vintage attire, visiting numerous 1940s and vintage-themed events around the country.  There were certainly some great weekends, but in 2014 the vintage scene began to pass me by.

Partly the blame lies with visiting Berlin for the first time for the German Fetish weekend in 2014.  It was there that I rediscovered the thrills of the fetish scene, which was struggling to stay alive in the UK thanks to prudish, ultra-conservative councils and the closing of many fetish-friendly venues.  Looking back at my blogs for the summers of 2013, 2014 and 2015 I can see the slow change... and just as I unearthed my fetish thrills again, the vintage scene began to suffer from its own struggle with modern life - German military uniforms banned across myriad events, bus-loads of modern-day dressed crowds choking the events of life and space (Haworth, in particular, suffered from this), and every small village wanting its own vintage 1940s weekend diluting those who bothered to dress up and take part.

So, forgetting events like the Goodwood Revival, Bicester Flywheel, etc, my last proper vintage weekend event was probably in 2016 at Uttoxeter racecourse.  These last few years have seen me saving my money for fetish events in Berlin, Hamburg and London rather than whiling away the summer in a 1940s dress and stockings.

Therefore, I was actually looking forward to returning to yesteryear this last weekend.  Now, those who read my Blog will know that as well as being a vintage vamp and fetish floozie, I'm also a rock chick.  Which brings me nicely to another rock star - Jon Bon Jovi.  In between the albums 'These Days' of 1995 and 'Crush' of 2000 (and long after the heyday of 'Slippery When Wet' and 'Keep The Faith') the singer took time out - to save the world from the evil that was the Nazi regime, subsequently recorded for posterity in the documentary U-571.  My return to the past would take in that very tale - a visit to Bletchley Park, where the Enigma code was broken by some brave Americans whilst the British and Polish made the tea and tended the gardens.

I jest, of course.  I've never actually watched U-571, nor have a desire to so so, but remained excited by my planned trip to Milton Keynes and a chance to see where the quiet war was truly won by some truly extraordinary men and women.

I arrived in the city of roundabouts late afternoon on Saturday for an overnight stay at the Hilton Hotel - in the unusual location of the city's football ground.  The corridors (and some rooms) gave a great view over the pitch.  I was glad it wasn't football season, though, as at least the hotel was not as crowded as it could be.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hilton Hotel, Milton Keynes.
Before much-needed refreshments, there was another job to do.  Readers may recall that on my last visit to Boutique Bizarre in Hamburg I tried on a gorgeous pair of thigh-boots.  Although the store did not have them in my size, I soon ordered them on my return to the UK, and recently they arrived.

Fit for nightclubs and fucking, they are superb, and I thought a night in a hotel room might be a good chance to take a photo or two...

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - fetish fuck thigh boots.

I managed to get quite a few photos, and will no doubt use a few for my website. 

I have to say that they have already been wrapped around the hips of a couple of my gentlemen visitors as they ploughed their hard cocks into me, and can attest that having some skin-tight black thigh boots caressing their skin and needle-point heels digging into their thighs certainly spurs the gents on whilst riding.

Photos taken, and a change of attire into something less risqué than thigh boots - a minidress and high-heeled sandals  - it was time for food and drinks in the open-air Terrace Bar.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hilton Hotel, Milton Keynes.
At some point, after eating, one of the ladies suggested it was worth getting a bottle of dessert wine to share between the two of us.  A short while later some photos went from 'sensible' pictures...

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hilton Hotel, Milton Keynes.
to...

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - women behaving badly.
It wouldn't have been too bad had not the groom and his mates at a wedding reception not been standing where they had a full-on view of my spread thighs and barely-there panties.  Hopefully the groom thought that photos of two rather drunken ladies taking rude photos would have been a bonus for the wedding album.

By 9.00pm it was a somewhat unsteady strut back to our respective hotel rooms for a decent sleep before an early morning start on Sunday...

..or would have been, if the skies had not thundered, flashed and thrown down a summer monsoon right through the night.  I got back out of bed to watch the show, fascinated by the bright lightning strobes accompanied by rolling thunder, but still hoping that Sunday would dawn a little sunnier.

Luckily it did - so, I slid into my pink vintage dress, stockings and suspenders and high heels, and we headed off in a car to Bletchley Park itself.

Since World War Two, Milton Keynes has sprung up to overshadow the small old site, which would have been a shame if the Nazis had indeed invaded and made it as far as Buckinghamshire.  The reason?  Milton Keynes' wonderfully laid-out but rather nondescript  roads means one wrong turning and you are fucked - the Nazi hoardes would probably never have found Bletchley Park and would have remained endlessly driving their Tiger tanks around the numerous and identical roundabouts of the city, looking for a way out.  Despite having sat-nav in the car, our driver took one wrong turning and we ended up... well, I've no idea even now.  Roundabouts and streets and roads all looked the same to all of us.

"Have we been down here?"
"Yes, I remember that roundabout and last time we took the last exit... oh, hold on, no, this doesn't look right..."

Back to the roundabout.  A different exit.
"Have we been down here?"
"Yes, I remember that roundabout and last time we took the last exit... oh, hold on, no, this doesn't look right..."

Back to another roundabout (or was it the original one?)...
"Have we been down here?"
"Yes, I remember that roundabout and last time we took the last exit... oh, hold on, no, this doesn't look right..."

Eventually we made it to Bletchley Park (by pure chance, it seemed), parked the car and joined the short queue to get in. I strolled through the main entrance and into the main park.  A short walk away a WWII road-block was erected, complete with some army tents and vehicles, staffed by suitably-attired GIs.  A chance for another stocking-top shot - this time interrupted by the owner of the army jeep who seemed to be a little surprised by the flash of nylon but happy to stay and watch while I posed for a couple of photos...

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - nylon stockings and heels, Bletchley Park.
Past the road-block lay a lovely still pond, with some rather relaxed Bletchley Park inhabitants resting in the peaceful morning.  I wondered if the remainder of their day would be so quiet once the crowds arrived...


Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.
Further on past the sleepy swans and beyond the pond was a large and erect marquee (as opposed to a large and erect Marquis - I'm not sure which could offer more delights) filled with vintage stalls.  Outside, some lovely old vans and their owners were preparing for a days trading.  I was particularly enamored with the small gin-bar trailer, but being British and with the sun not yet over the yard arm at 10.00am, it was a little too early to sample their wares.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - vans, Bletchley Park.

I wandered into the marquee and spent some time browsing the stalls.  As much as there was indeed some lovely clothes and accessories, I decided that I didn't want any extra vintage gear just yet.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - vintage stall, Bletchley Park.
Outside in the rapidly heating-up day, Bletchley Park Hall stood grand and welcoming in the sun, whilst outside two lovely old vintage cars stood sentinel.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.
Inside the Hall the cool rooms, many furnished as they were in the war years, were a welcome respite from the heat and humidity of the day.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.
Along with the lovely old offices, there were more modern displays telling the story of the formation and history of Bletchley Park, and the incredible individuals there who changed the course of history - proof indeed that the pen (or pencil) is truly mightier than the sword.  Living in Manchester I knew a little of the name and story of Alan Turing, the genius that was fundamental in the success of the team, but learnt too of other names no less crucial - people like Bill Tutte who, given the code for the Lorenz machine (the updated Enigma machine) managed to work out its construction and decipher its hidden messages by analysing the codes alone, along with numerous other men and women who toiled, often under poor conditions, relentlessly to break the Nazi codes that were costing the lives of many Allied forces personnel.

I headed back outside and made my way over to the old huts, still preserved, where the real codebreaking was done.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.
Firstly Huts 11 and 11A.  These huts offered more information regarding the Enigma machines and Turing's Bombes (computers) that were instrumental in breaking their codes.  It was fascinating, even if some of it went ever so slightly over my head...

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.
Over in Huts 3, 6 and 8 there were further displays of the vital work done during the war, and even chances to have a go at codebreaking yourself.  Of course, a few digital letters in a simple hidden code are a fair bit easier than those offered by an Enigma machine - 150,738,274,937,250 different possible permutations... but still the codebreakers solved it.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.
Hut 8 was the home of a special place - Alan Turing's small and sparse office.  For all his remarkable work with the breaking of the Enigma and Lorenz machines and a founding role in the birth of computers, he was treated shoddily by the subsequent government in his 1952 conviction for gross indecency - for simply being a homosexual.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Alan Turing's office, Bletchley Park.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.
Further back towards the entrance was Block C, a later addition during the WWII years for naval code-breaking.  This is now a large display of life in the 1940s, and includes an example of one of the complicated Lorenz cipher machines, and as mentioned previously its construction worked out by Bill Tutte without ever seeing it.


Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Lorenz cipher machine, Bletchley Park.
In the same block is housed a large section dedicated to Alan Turing, including the long-awaited posthumous pardon from the British government - too little and far, far too late for me.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Alan Turing statue, Bletchley Park.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Bletchley Park.
Outside, crowds were now swarming into the Park, and the intrusion of modern life seemed suddenly at odds with the mood of the site - it was time to go.

As a vintage event, it was OK - too many dressed in modern clothing once again, but as an event I thoroughly recommend a visit to Bletchley Park - inspirational, thought-provoking and more than a little bit humbling.

We remain in their debt.

Oh... and the coded Blog title?  Well, suitably "Livin' On A Prayer", of course, in an Enigma pattern.


Saturday, 21 April 2018

Back To Black

So, after my brief sojourn into Hamburg's Sin City noir, I planned my return to tecnicolour with a visit to Manchester's Royal Exchange Theatre for an evening performance of Frankenstein.

It wasn't quite a hasty return to full-colour, as it turned out, since the stage-set was black and stark, with minimal lighting to brighten the shadows.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort -Frankenstein, Royal Exchange Theatre.

Seated in the very first row of the audience, low to the ground and within touching distance, it certainly felt as though I was in the middle of the play itself - thankfully closer to the grim gothic horror of the original Mary Shelley story (just 19 years old when she wrote it) than the Hammer Horror films of the 1970s!

Shane Zaza was magnificent in the role of the tortured, brilliant young Frankenstein, haunted by the reality of his own making and a creation that clawed beyond his control.  Harry Atwell, playing the creature (never called Frankenstein, of course) drew both repulsion and sympathy, created in innocence to become monster and murderer.  I must mention, too, Nicola Sloane who did a brilliant job of playing firstly Frankenstein's mother, secondly Professor Waldman (who encourages Franeknstein in his endeavours) and, thirdly, a lowly workhouse woman, witness in the trial of Justine who was framed for the murder of Frankenstein's brother by the monster.

With very minimal lighting and lots of dry-ice, it was impossible to get any photos of the play for the blog, sadly, but sometimes it is quite nice to sit and watch something without the constant stare and glare of smartphones flashing bright screens everywhere.  The only other photo I got was at the end, where Frankenstein's clothes were left discarded on the stage, tattered and torn, like the remnants of a dream turned nightmare.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort -Frankenstein, Royal Exchange Theatre.
A brilliant evening, and a great chance to catch up with friends, too, post-Hamburg.

It was only last month that I visited Stockport for the town's monthly Vintage Fair, but after mentioning it to a couple of friends it was decided that we'd meet up again for some vintage shopping and, of course, cakes.

So, after the dark delights of Hamburg and Frankenstein, it was a real change to find Stockport town centre in lovely bright Spring sunshine.

As last time, there were plenty of lovely old cars parked outside the old Market Hall.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - gorgeous cars, Stockport Vintage Market.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - gorgeous cars, Stockport Vintage Market.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - gorgeous cars, Stockport Vintage Market.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - gorgeous cars, Stockport Vintage Market.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - gorgeous cars, Stockport Vintage Market.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - gorgeous cars, Stockport Vintage Market.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - gorgeous cars, Stockport Vintage Market.
 I had a good look around the market again, still hoping to find a suitable vintage-styled hat for my new bespoke Harris Tweed suit, but sadly it remains illusive.  Nevertheless, the bright weather did at least give me chance to get some snapshots of my outfit - teemed with my high-heeled Natacha Marro fetish boots.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Harris Tweed suit and fetish boots.
Afterwards, there was (of course) time to have tea and cake at Highgate Cakery before heading home.  A fabulous weekend.






Saturday, 7 April 2018

Sin City... Hamburg - Part2 - A Dame To Die For.

Saturday arrives, and my reason for hitting Hamburg.  Lie-low for the day, drifting between bed and bar.  7.00pm.  Shower.  Shave my cunt - just in case.  Dress.  Fishnet and leather, fetish boots for the bad nights, the all or nothing nights.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - dressed for Extravaganxa.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - dressed for Extravaganxa.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - dressed for Extravaganxa.
 Tonight is Extravaganxa.  Theme - Sin City.  My kind of city.  I can see the venue across the 'Bahn from the hotel window.  No cabs needed tonight.  Long leather coat and I'm good to go.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - leather lady on the Reeperbahn.
The Reeperbahn night air, as cold as the Reaper's death stare.  A quick stroll over no-mans land of the 'Bahn to Klubhaus St. Pauli.  Short queue.  Drop off my coat at the cloakroom - time to get my bearings.  Basement - bar and hypnotic dance music.  First Floor - 80's new wave, industrial.  Top Floor - chill-out room and huge play/dungeon area.  A perfect setting.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Extravaganxa.
 Back to the basement.  Already filling with fetishists, ready to party.  A plethora of perverted delights.  Latex, leathers, heels, barely-there lingerie, body paint.  Gorgeous Germanic goddesses strut and shimmer by, all eye-catching curves, tits and arses, their partners in escort.

I slide into the throng on the dancefloor.  Moving to the mesmeric music.  The beat is sexual, tribal, primal.  Heaving, gyrating bodies move against me, a frisson of delight as I'm rubbed by latex and leather, naked skin.  I'm dripping, sheen of sweat glistening in the flashing lights.  First floor - respite from the heat.  In the corner, a stall huddles selling chain-mail lingerie and dresses.  Exquisite and expensive.  I try on a chain-mail bra, removing my fishnet top in order to slip the cool delicate mesh over my tits.  A small crowd gathers.  A kiss of soft steel caresses my nipples as a hand brushes over my breasts.  Lovely.

Steel off, fishnet back on - time to explore.  Chill-out room.  Another drink.  A gorgeous blonde in skintight black rubber catsuit slinks past.  Another blonde, black latex minidress, all pierced and tattooed and showing it all, her enormous perfect breasts barely covered by the thin slivers of latex that stretch over them.  I grind my hips.  Wet panties slide against my cunt lips.  Into the darkness of the dungeon.  Quiet for now.  A few wandering souls seeking action.  I end up trawling a line of men in my fishnets, all eager to see if I'm going to stop and play.  I walk on - there's none that catch my eye.

Back on the first floor.  More crowded than before.  A balcony offers fresh air.  I step out into the refreshing cold, a perverted pope looking down at the throng of the Reeperbahn below.  Some excited revellers look up and spot me.  Camera phones out, flashing like paparazzi.  I flash my tits, preaching to the converted.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Extravaganxa.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Extravaganxa.
 Back to the mob of the basement and the swarming dancefloor.  A man moves to dance in front of me, naked apart from a leather hood, harness across a barrelled chest, boots.  Thick, long cock and heavy balls.  An urge to touch him in the shelter of the crowd, cupping those shaved balls and stroking his cock to heavy hardness, feeling it oil up in my fluttering hands.  A woman appears and leads him unwillingly off the dancefloor before I can act.  He looks back, his emotions hidden by his hood.  Your loss, buddy.

I dance on alone, lost in the music before the heat hits me like a knockout blow from a champ.  Chill-out room.  I'm not throwing in the towel yet.  I rest before another prowl of the playrooms.  Girls are stripped and strapped to dungeon furniture, whip-wielding Doms administering a catalogue of carnal delights.  Crops, hands, canes contacting with quivering flash.  Soft moans and sharp cries.  I delve deeper into the dim light.  I spy a medical chair, high stirrups for exhibitionistic exploration, but it is in use; a well-built man driving his cock into his willing patient, the steel stirrups selflessly spreading her legs.  Another room is empty.  Thin wrought-iron bed and leather-padded mattress.  I close the transparent curtain.  You can watch but not enter, unless invited.  I pull my vibrator from my bag, laying back on the soft, cool leather.  Panties off, thighs open.  A crowd gathers, watching from behind the thin curtain.  I spread my slick cunt lips and gasp in sudden sensation as the buzzing vibrator hits my clit.  Gentle fingers and buzzing vibrator on my cunt, I masturbate.  Guys watch and wank their hard cocks, desperate to be invited in.  Showtime only, boys.  For now.

I come hard, my cries joining the wails of the playroom night, a cacophony of coming cunts.  I clean up and leave the room, another train of men behind me.  I wander downstairs.

First floor.  Iggy Pop's 'The Passenger' and Marilyn Manson's 'Tainted Love' power from hidden speakers.  A full floor.  Back into the coagulated crush of leather and latex, surrendering to the pulsing sounds.  30 minutes, gone in a blink, but I'm sweating hungry once more.  Back to the playrooms and clear air.  The night slowly losing its throng, slow haemorrhage, so the playrooms are quieter.  In one cubicle a stunning young black girl is on her knees taking her lover's hard cock deep into her mouth, whilst she wanks two lucky guys stood either side of him.  I watch with a small crowd until loverboy comes, groaning, shooting spunk into her mouth.  As he pulls away I see her face, cum dripping down her chin.  My stirrup medial chair and cubicle is empty.

I slide in, closing the diaphanous curtain behind me.  In the chair, legs spread, vibrator.  I want my cum cries to bay at the moon.  A crowd watches.  Vibrator dancing on the edge of my rock-hard clit, my fingers slipping down astride it, stroking my engorged and slick cunt lips.  A young German guy, eyes wide open, watches enthralled.  Cute.  I beckon him in through the thin sheen of the curtain.  He moves through the curtain, standing close between my legs, releasing his stiff cock from the confines of his latex shorts.  Nein.  I push him lower, my long fingers in his slicked black hair.  Now he's kneeling, his face inches from my hot cunt.  He's gets the message - smart boy.  His tongue licking at my oozing cunt whilst my vibrator dances its delights on my clit.  I sense my orgasm approaching, a distant rumble of the tracks.  The crowd edges closer, hoping to be sucked into the whirlwind of pleasure.

I cum hard, German guy wanking and spraying semen over his latex as my cries echo into the dark spaces of the quiet rooms.  Hopeful faces, waiting for my beckoning finger, but I'm done.  Clean up and go, a few guys following as I leave the playrooms, still clinging to a dream.

5.30am.  Hardcore dancers and chancers still slugging it out on dancefloors and bars, but my night is done.  Cold coat on, and five minutes later I'm in bed, scents of sex and leather wafting through my dreaming head.  A night to remember.

9.30am.  Sunday.  Up and out.  Cafe Miller.  Breakfast.  Fresh cool air.  Take it easy, girl.  Head for the harbour.  In the distance a statue of Otto von Bismark stands in mute judgement.  Lay off, buddy, it was a hard night.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hamburg.
 Plan A - short sea cruise around the harbours, give my aching thighs a break.  Daytrippers, back like a scourge of kagool-wearing cockroaches.  I walk past the waiting boats, lined up to take the parasitic pleasure-seekers, motorised donkeys for a city with no beach.  Too tired for crowds today.  Plan B needed.

I walk on, westwards, the Elbe sullen in dull grey companionship. Unbidden, a new Hamburg reveals itself, a lady in dowdy clothes stripping to become an enchanting sorceress.  Houses marshal the streets, rundown but proud, splashes of bright graffiti and paint to hide the sad scars.  A part of town to mirror a scored soul.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hamburg.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hamburg.
Remnants and fragments of an early-morning market.  Cleaners and discarded debris of a day's dealings.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Fishmarket, Hamburg.
At the heart, the old Fichauktionshalle.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Fichauktionshalle, Hamburg.
Cross the road, the grand old lady's doors lie open, inviting - it would be rude to turn down the gal's offer.  More unlooked-for delights.  Beautiful old wrought-iron framework of pillars and staircases. Stained glass, cathedral of a community.  Organically-grown from a persevering past.  Long tables filled with early-risers and some that have still not reached their cold beds from the night before.  Beer and coffee bars, serving the fishmarket crowd. 

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Fichauktionshalle, Hamburg.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Fichauktionshalle, Hamburg.
At one end, a band beats out rock music.  10.30am.  Bourbon while the band thunders out heavy metal rock into the iron skeleton of the hall.  Deep Purple.  'Smoke On The Water'.  Appropriate, with the ashen-faced Elbe a few feet away.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Fichauktionshalle, Hamburg.
 Closing time.  The old hall empties.  An impeccably-dressed old German lady starts chatting, loving my outfit.  A local lady, desperate to keep the old heart of her city beating.  Lovely people, a different world to the brash visitors to the Reeperbahn.  The hall closes, but I'll remember it for next time.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Fichauktionshalle, Hamburg.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Fichauktionshalle, Hamburg.
Back outside.  Back on the quiet streets.  Silence torn by the growl of thundering Harley Davidson motorbikes.  Old and new buildings joined in eternal embrace.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hamburg.
Grafitti and peeling posters, littering the walls with stories of dreams and brief escape.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hamburg.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hamburg.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hamburg.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hamburg.
I turn my back on the river, heading back into the city.  Quiet cafe with low-slung bikes, hot engines cooling in the still morning, dreaming of the open road.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Harleys, Hamburg.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hamburg.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Hamburg.
 Back to the Reeperbahn.  Back to the hotel.  Bags packed... but one last thing.  The new catsuit.

Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Lace and PVC catsuit, Hamburg.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Lace and PVC catsuit, Hamburg.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Lace and PVC catsuit, Hamburg.
Dexi Delite Altrincham and Manchester Escort - Lace and PVC catsuit, Hamburg.
 Snapshots before the last suitcase is snapped shut.  Early night.  Early flight.

Hamburg.  10.30am.   Dull and grey as only a northern city can be.  Heavy fog to say goodbye.  A short flight - tight, sleazy and cheap, like most of the ladies... well, you know the rest.  Manchester.  11.30am.  I look out of my window at the shrouded city, glowering in the muted shimmer of sunlight sifted through hazy fog.  Home.

Cold apartment, but hot-cinder memories branded into the brain.  Hamburg.  What a town.  Sin City.  What a damn party that was.