Use a bit of gunpowder

In the last few days of that summer, we shared a rock at a small cove with three fifty-something Italian women. Every morning they came in a single file, they would politely say hello to us, take their bikini top off and start swimming.

The first day, just after they had come, a local guy with shorts and a straw hat arrived by sea on a small wooden boat singing “Que Viva España” at the top of his voice. The Italian ladies threw themselves at him like mad and climbed into the boat. Afterwards, the guy looked at my friend Gloria and me and asked us:

- How about the chicks… aren’t you coming?

We politely replied “No, thanks”. But after a week of rowing every day to the rocks to ask us the same question, the boat guy started causing me such a bellyache that I wished with all my heart that a typhoon would blow him out of the map.

My replies stopped being funny and polite, but the guy could care less: he would drool over us and ask if us chicks would join the group. The last day we saw him, he unhooked one of the oars and gave it to me to help me climb on to the boat:

- What about the chicks? –he went, just as he did every single morning-
- No way man, we’re not going. –I answered-
- Come on girls…

Then I had one of the biggest fits of my life.

My blood concentrated in the veins of my neck and with the same anger and ferocity of a Maori haka dance, I shouted:

- Look, you prat, I’ve said ‘no’ a hundred times. If you ask me again if I want to climb on to your boat, I’ll sink it here right now.

The guy got really angry and threw the oar at me. It got lost amongst the rocks. I took it and waiving it in the air, I shouted:

- How are you going to row now, you idiot?

One of the Italian women, alarmed, rushed towards me, took the oar and threw it back into the boat.

- I’ll get you another day, you bitch. –he shouted at me-
- Go to hell, you idiot, and take them all with you. But it better be soon. –I said, pointing at the Italian ladies-
- I’ll be back. I’ll give you your comeuppance.
- I hope you get screwed, and right now.

The Italian women tried to calm the boatman down, who kept on looking at me while they were slowly leaving. He shouted at me from a long distance:

- This is only the start. I’ll remember your face, bitch.
- Oh yeah? And what do you think of me? I’m gorgeous, aren’t I?

And I began bellydancing along the rocks, waving my arms around. The Italian women took control of the oars and moved the boat out of the cove. The guy kept on swearing to me until he disappeared into the distance. Then I began laughing when I saw Gloria’s unsettled face.

- Are you crazy or something? –she asked me-
- What? Don’t tell me you wanted to go!
- Not really, but maybe a bit of diplomacy would have worked better.

What a big mistake.

Diplomacy won’t help when people stubbornly refuse to get the meaning of the word ‘no’. Sometimes it’s better to use a bit of gunpowder.




'Knock 'em out' (Lily Allen)

How I became a well paid hooker...

In the past, I had often taken radical decisions without hesitating, in order to turn my professional life 180. My intuition always guided me in the right direction.

But this time it was completely different. This was the most delicate situation I ever had to face concerning my work.

In all honesty, I wasn’t very happy with the idea of becoming a social escort, a VIP hooker, an expensive slut… call it what you want to. It would always be the same.

But on the other hand, I couldn’t find a job anywhere and I desperately needed money to pay my mortgage. If I was able to overcome my reluctance and handle the situation, this would be easy money. Maybe I just needed a little psychological training to accept my new occupation.

Madame Christelle, a famous dissipated woman who owned the most popular top class brothel of Grytviken after the war, wrote in her fabulous book of memories ‘Dubious moral’: "Women that do men should like their job. Otherwise, working could be a torture".

That was discouraging. I could have had a bit of a dissolute behaviour in my life, but that didn’t qualify me to become a professional whore.

So that night I didn’t sleep a wink. I pictured myself walking old fat tycoons all over the city; being exhibited like a trophy; sitting beside them at the most expensive restaurants; smiling at each and everyone; becoming the sexual fantasy of wealthy happily married but sexually unhappy men; finally being shagged night after night in the expensive suites of the most expensive hotels.

The bright side of my dreams was that I always had a few bucks in my pocket and I didn’t have to live on bread and tomato soup anymore. But in the back of my mind, I wished I could go back to the day when Hellgirl offered me to become a chicken sexer and say ‘yes’. Unfortunately, I was not in time to change my mind.

When I woke up from my concerns, Hellgirl phoned me.

- Leni, have you thought about yesterday’s conversation?
- Yes.
- Have you taken a decision?
- Yes. I accept the job.
- Excellent. Then it’s time to dress up, get ready and go to see Demonius High. You will meet him at his office at 11am.

For some reason, at that very moment I thought of Ed. I missed him badly. I still carried that devastating feeling of rejection around in my stomach like a painful burden. I expected a phone call, an e-mail or an SMS for weeks. But I never heard from him since I left his family house in Burdishland, after having thrown on the table the wonderful diamond ring he gave me. The very thought of that scene left me about to tear up. What a shame our romance didn’t have a happy ending.

I let out a deep sigh of melancholy and slowly woke up to reality.

I chose the best dress in my wardrobe, a pair of high heeled shoes and got all dolled up. It was almost 10am and I had to leave to ‘Hig, Low & partners’ premises. I decided to take a taxi. I had run out of gas in my beautiful silver BMW Series 1 some weeks ago, and never refuelled the tank afterwards. I had to cut expenses. I couldn’t take the tube either, because I looked a bit eye-catching in my elegant clothes. I normally didn't dress so smartly for work, but I thought this was what Demonius High would like to see.

And yes, in fact he loved it. When I entered his luxurious office, he appraised me from top to bottom.

- Dear Leni, come in please. I’ve heard so much about you from our common friend Hellgirl! You look stunning! –he said, smiling and holding out his hand to me.
- Thank you, sir.
- Oh please, call me Dem.

Demonius High was a very charismatic businessman. Diplomatic, attractive and nice, he exerted a strong personal magnetism.

- I’m so glad that you decided to join the firm. Your work is very important to us, Leni.
- Thank you, sir.
- Dem. Call me Dem, please.
- Thank you, Dem.

I could barely smile and I spoke so unwillingly that I’m now surprised he didn’t think that I was stupid.

He brought to the conversation the signature of an agreement by virtue of which I would become an employee of his company. He summarised again the conditions and remunerations for my services, and upon agreement of both parties, we signed a contract. This was one of the saddest moments of my life. My self esteem hit bottom, as disappointed with myself as I was.

After the signature, he gave me a folder containing a passport, a credit card, the keys to a sports car and an iPhone for my personal use, just as Hellgirl had explained to me the day before. Then, he handed me a photograph and explained what my first work would be.

- This is Leonard Ellison, the wealthiest man in Orsinia. He owns a profitable huge corporation and I have the honour of being his legal advisor in the South Sandwich Islands. He’s arriving tomorrow on a business trip. You will entertain him to dinner and then you will shower him with attentions. Be an exquisite girl, Leni. He’s my best client. –he said, staring into my eyes-

Leonard Ellison. I almost blacked out when I heard that name. The loathsome, obnoxious, thin-skinned, narcissist, egocentrical, arrogant, proud and self-centered Leonard Ellison was a middle-aged Orsinian tycoon, well-known for his haughtiness and irritating mannerisms.

He was the most important benefactor of the Dumbass Industries when I worked there.

Last winter, Big Cheese had sent me to Madhattan to fix a huge fuckup of epic proportions: he had forgotten to invite Leonard Ellison to the new theatre opening gala, organised by the Dumbass Industries and sponsored by the Ellison Corporation. His assistant called to reserve four seats but since there were none available, she was told that his name would be added to the waiting list and taken off as cancellations would come in. When Leonard knew this, he freaked out. Not only did he take offence; he also took action immediately: he phoned to tell Big Cheese he would be cutting the funds allocated to community services.

My desperate attempts to speak to Mr. Ellison just took me to his Chief of Cabinet, who was a nice guy but also the custodian of his boss's peace. So Leonard remained completely unreachable.


Ed knew him quite well. They had done business together and played golf regularly.
So eventually, it was Ed who got in touch and convinced him: Leonard Ellison gave him his word of honour that he would send back the funds to the Dumbass Industries. So for the moment, Big Cheese could save his ass.

This is how well I knew the guy. And now I had to "shower him with attentions", so to speak.

Suddenly I got in a panic. What would happen if Ed ever found out what my new occupation was? What if my future became an endless series of nightmarish sessions of exquisite girly action? I would never be able to have a normal life again.

When I got home, I felt empty inside. A few minutes later, just as if she had been watching me, Hellgirl phoned.

- So how did it go, Leni?
- Oh, great. I have a new boss. I work for a great corporation. Tomorrow I’ll have my first client. Now it’s official: I’m a hooker.




‘Little boxes’ (Regina Spektor)

Never ask an angry woman with scissors to cut your hair

She was brushing her teeth in the bathroom, barely dressed, wearing only her short pajama bottoms.

He stopped at the door and asked:

- I need a haircut. Do you think you could do that for me, honey?

He smiled and reached out his hand to stroke her naked breasts with his fingertips; but she stepped back slowly and her breasts were left untouched.

- I’m afraid I’m not a professional hairstylist. -she said-
- But you did quite well with the kids. They look cute with their short cropped hair.
- They’re kids… it’s not so serious if their hair is a little bit uneven.
- Oh please. That would save me 25 bucks and 30 minutes of wait.

He had been too lazy to go to the barber shop and his hair had grown too long. It made him look like a wanabee Viggo Mortensen. But he was not that hot. He really needed that bloody haircut.

- Ok, get your hair wet and sit down here. I’m gonna get my scissors. But don’t complain then if you don’t like it. -she said, still reluctantly-

Two minutes later, he was back, his hair completely wet and back combed. He sat down. Those young breasts he couldn’t stroke one minute ago were right in front of his nose. He enjoyed the sight and her sweet natural smell of just showered female feromones.

She started grabbing a tress of hair and cut it almost to the scalp.
“This is for every time you cheated on me. With, and specially without a condom” –she thought-

Then, she jacked up his bangs way above his eyebrows. Flaming locks of auburn hair started raining on the floor.
“You think I don’t know it, right? Well, I just found out”

When she considered her work of art finished, she asked him:

- How do you like it?

He looked at himself in the mirror, turned back and freaked out.

- Holy shit! It looks like it’s growing out of my skin!
- Don’t you like it? Don’t worry. The good news is hair always grows back.

He rushed out.

She put the scissors back in the drawer, locked herself in the toilet and cruelly cracked up laughing. Sometimes vengeance was a small pleasure served ice cold.

So. Guys. Never ask an angry woman with scissors to cut your hair. The lesser evil is she will hack it up like Edward Scissorhands.

Thank the Gods if you’re hairless bald.



"Devil's haircut" (Beck)