Good evening readers,
I hope you are all well.
Hardon was good. The club was packed with leather masters and rubber subs and I was in ecstacy. The drugs did the trick and I forgot about the letter (see previous entry). When you are bent over with someone's fist inside you, things are a lot simpler and you forget about life. At least I do, dear reader.
The come down was terrible and I suffered all day Sunday and Monday. I had to take the day off work on Monday, which my boss wasn't too happy about. Yes, a perverted freak like me has a normal day job!
So Tuesday and Wednesday have been very manic. Ms G, who manages me and looks like a hair oompah-loompah keeps giving me strange looks. Perhaps Ms G is reading my blog... I am a press officer within the NHS. How does that sit with you deer reader? A epervert, metro-sexual, drug user working in the NHS. I am just one of many I can assure you.
I haven't received any more strange letters since Saturday. Although at 5am this morning I was woken by my home telephone ringing. It rang for well over 20 minutes but I didn't get out of bed to answer it. Remembering back, I'm not sure it wasn't a dream. That's the trouble. It could be my freaker stalker who likes to write me letters. Then again, it could have been me. I'm not sure.
Off for dinner.
Ciao
