I’ll pay your rent. Rent cheque sent That’s money well spent. Yeah. – Dorian Electra: ‘Daddy Like’ *** I have mixed feelings about this but mostly greed. His voice is cushy, American, very very hot. He sounds like a man with a big ass. I just have to tell him. Tell him; “your voice is so sexy.” No, tell him he sounds like a man with a big ass, “oh… thank you..” He sounds shy. Big and shy. Like a moose. A big moose of a cheese-cake daddy: BIG AMERICAN DADDY. Some sort of American big game animal hiding in a bush, showing me little flicks of his wallet. But between you and I, it’s just B.A.D. “What colour stockings do you want me to wear?” “Black.” At Hermanplatz, hub of infernal encounters, hunting for stockings and garters. It’s Hieronymous Bosch, but all the demons wear knock-off Nikes. The headquarters, that nexus of sexual power: Karstadt. Frumpy dumpy Karstadt. I wander around in ever diminishing circles trying to find a girdle. Ask in several languages, none of them accurate, where I might get a suspender belt.They only have white ones for brides: Frilly, virginal, embossed with daisies. These bad boys are not going to hold up themselves so I sigh and cash up, head to Rossmans. Rolling up to the Kasse in Rossmans buying only black latex gloves and lube is just too much though, so I buy the gloves and walk 4 minutes away to get a bottle of lube the size of a small garden shed from another Rossmans around the corner. Is this what Daddy likes? Wheeling my lube up Kottbussordam I imagine his huge man ass and quiz myself: How far will I go with this? Really? He said on the phone he wanted something a little different… Blustery, grey, storm swollen. The weather is terrible and getting worse. Lying in the bath I hear the storm against the window raining so hard it sounds like white noise. This Daddy requires extra ribbons, extra care: I spend four hours getting ready. A black mesh leotard transparent apart from some strategically placed embroidered roses. A pair of frilly magenta panties. And of course, the stockings. The stockings: black and coarse as shit, already threatening to run and turn back into petrol as I roll them up my legs, pegging them into the white suspender belt. The overall effect is somewhat Western Saloon. I have to try a few times to get them to stay. I put on my most conservative black dress and just about manage to pack everything underneath. There’s’ a whisper of a little bow every now and then. I feel everything cling as I step forward, silky and restraining against my tits and ass, It’s like being inside a musical instrument, something with strings, But the only sound I make is a symphony of small talk. To be 36 and on the game: I never imagined this. Or did I? if you don’t do…