A professional submissive reports...

I was chatting the other day to a pro-sub named Belinda, who reported that guys are increasingly booking sessions at 8 o'clock in the morning or even earlier. At that hour I am barely aware that I am still alive, so the chances of me swinging a cane around are about nil I should think and I always assumed that this was the way it is for most people.

What is happening is that chaps tell their wives that they have to go into the office an hour early to catch up on work and the wives believe this tale because who in their right mind would want to partake of hanky-panky when the streets have not thoroughly aired? I found this this information interesting and was inspired to dig a little deeper and I discovered that the other big times for session bookings fall between noon and 2 o'clock, and then in the hour of so after 5 o'clock.

Is it just me or is there something very funny indeed about otherwise henpecked husbands creeping out behind the backs of their awfully wedded wives to whack the backsides of pro-subs before crawling off home like good little sheeple? It makes me long for the days of Colonel Sir Buffton Tuffton who would thrash wife, daughter and secretary with equal abandon and didn't give a tinker's cuss who knew about it.

We live in horrible times.

Double baggers are useful after all!

The Law of Unintended Consequences has come up trumps for me right now. At the end of last month I had a blazing row with a lump of lard in a pub. That's her pictured on the right in the photo, and  trust me when I say that you don't want to see the face. Anyway, after the verbals ended I wrote about the incident that night as it gave me an easy posting. A few days later I realised that my clips' site sales were going through the roof and checking my statporn I saw that it had become wankable indeed. Hard though it is to believe but the argument had led directly to a healthy bank balance.

I don't normally read the various fora where the argument is being misrepresented, but following an e-mail from someone who does I went a-searching and was delighted by what I found. In a nutshell various types are trying to curry favour with the creature that I had the altercation with, obviously in the hope that by slagging me off they might gain access to her in some way. Yes, I know, the thought revolts me as much as it would any normal fellow, but these men are a bit sad to put it mildly.

The point is that some of these dickheads are seeking to make their case by sticking up links to that earlier posting of mine. What they don't realise that there is no such thing as bad publicity and for every precious soul who clucks like a lobotomised hen at the blog there are any number of others who read the threads on these fora, click idly on a link because they find the whole discussion tedious in the extreme, and land on this blog. Then they go off and buy one of my trouser tightening, cock throbbing, early 1980s spanko porn vids!

The end result of all this is that I was able to take Raven out to dinner on Saturday night, and then to lunch at a very nice three starred Michelin eatery on Sunday all courtesy of dickless dwarfism. I hope that the weekend was as profitable and enjoyable for the dwarfs who are acting as my unpaid advertising agency, but suspect that it wasn't. Never mind, as I hear that they are planning a remake of Deliverance and if the company needs some authentic extras I know a few genuine inbred retards who would be perfect:

Fat Bastards

Why do fat bastards think that people take them seriously? I am not talking about the Roy Chubby Brown characters:

No I am talking about the genuine fat bastards, the types that I run into, the ones who volunteer for video work without realising that if we put them in front of the camera the audience will think that the Carry On team are back at work.

The scene suddenly seems to be full of these lumps of lard and I wish that it wasn't. A generation ago it was made up of chaps who had experienced a good war and who believed that the smack of firm government began at home. And if they enjoyed tanning a secretarial backside or wifely rump that was just an added bonus.

Now we have creatures with lank hair that you could fry chips in, who wear sweat pants because the drooping sack of blubber that they call a belly will not fit into any other pair of strides and who give off the rank, goatish odour of the truly repulsive.

And they think that women are attracted to that. Dear God, it's enough to make a normal man turn to drink.

Dealing with double baggers

I try to understand women, I really do. I said that to Raven on the way back to the hotel after yesterday's barny, but all she did was guffaw in a strangulated kind of way. I tried to explain to her that the problem is that no matter how hard I try I just cannot get my head that far up my fucking arsehole to make sense of them which was when she started slapping her thighs in glee and yelping that I had just proved her point. Since I seem to be having trouble explaining my quite reasonable view to just about everyone these days, let's take the matter nice and slowly.

As a young fellow I took the view that I was quite happy to drink beer with any man and shag any woman. As an older man I am a bit more discriminating, or at least I need a couple of pints inside me if presented with a double bagger, that is to say a  creature so dog ugly that not only does she need to wear a brown paper bag but so does the guy shafting her in case hers falls off. Certainly I am less likely to even pretend to be nice to such a dog, especially if she needs to shed a few pounds to boot.

Thus it came to pass that yesterday I allowed myself to be provoked by a rather nasty piece of pussy that I should have just ignored. My excuse is that I was stone cold sober and in that state I would not have touched her with yours never mind mine, so I didn't really care what I said - and I said plenty, most of it obscene but all of it very enjoyable.

I suppose the moral of this tale is that if you are a double bagger best to wait until I am sloshed before provoking me as my dick may then decide that you are worth a ride. Thus I will  bite my tongue, even though my eyes are provoking my stomach to heave.

Alternatively, we could all just ignore such creatures, click on this link and find something nice to settle down with. You know it makes sense!

Is This The End Of Men?

You cannot open a newspaper this week without reading about Hanna Rosin's new book, The End of Men: And the Rise of Women. Before we go any further, here's a money saving tip: whenever you hear of a new academic thesis being touted in hardback, always look for the original journal article that started it all off. That way you save a shitload of brass and get the full thesis delivered up in its purest form, without all the padding that gets added to fill a book. Who in their right minds ever invested in Francis Fukuyama's The End of History when The End of History? - note the question mark - is available all over the web? 

The Rosin Thesis has it that the economy has changed fundamentally and that women are better adapted to those changes. Thus they are taking over in the workplace and leaving men with their dicks in their hands, unable to cope. It is a lovely, all-encompassing idea, which shares one thing in common with that of Fukuyama at the end of the Cold war: it is total, complete and utter bollocks.

Fukuyama had it that history as a process leading towards something in the Hegelian sense was ending with the triumph of liberal, global capitalism. He argued that no competing world system would emerge, an idea which the rise of political Islam makes untenable. Fukuyama thought that he was putting forward a pan-cultural idea, but in reality it turned out to be a thesis that was only valid in the West, and perhaps only for a limited period as Western influence declines in the South of our planet.

Hanna Rosin has the same problem. She thinks that because the western economy  now has more use for compliant women instead of argumentative men that this makes for sea change in the way that the rest of the world will behave. That they will suddenly become just like us in other words, which is the trap that Fukuyama fell into.

The rest of the world will continue to treat us as effete losers, to be ignored as western military power declines with our economies. In Russia when a chap wants a secretary he might decide to invite applicants to flash their tits for the camera, with the girl who has the nicest pair getting the job. Eastern Europe believes firmly in the old notion that promotion comes via nepotism, cronyism and corruption, with the devil take anyone who is fool enough to be honest. Women will quite cheerfully take the horizontal road to success, as they do in Latin-America, a region that has a lot in common with Eastern Europe in terms of its social mores.

The military and economic declines of the west go hand in hand, and as first Greece and now Spain fall into an economic abyss, the notion that the western way offers anything useful to the lusty barbarians who live just over the borders must seem foolish to them. Given that they breed and the western middle class does not, the notion that tomorrow will belong to today's girls strikes me as risible. As risible as the notion that the working class men who are now dismissed as Chavs will lift a finger to help, come to think about it.

Tomorrow will not be like today, but it will be uncommonly like yesterday. Now then, let me look for a new secretary...

Amazon UK     Amazon USA     Feedaread     Clips

Farewell to the Olympics, and all that tasty talent

I despair of this world, I really do. NBC are the American television company that had the rights to broadcast the London Olympics and they came up with this rather nice little video for everyone's perving pleasures. Alas, various mouthy feminists got in on the act and the engagingly titled Bodies in Motion was pulled from the website. What these silly birds don't realise is that for most of us it isn't about the glory of sport, it's about drooling over decent pussy. I don't know about you, but I have no interest in the men's Wimbledon competition, but I will quite happily settle back and watch the miniskirted girls knock tennis balls about. Unless, of course, it's the Williams sisters.

The Mexican understand the power of the perv only too well. Consider Julia Orayen who was chosen as a hostess for the 2012 presidential election debates. She was told to wear a long white dress so she did - what more could anyone ask for? The fact that she is a former Playboy centrefold only made the whole event even more hilarious, but at least it ensured that all the remaining debates got great viewing figures.

Julia is from Argentina, by the way, but that did not stop the Mexicans giving her centre stage in one of their presidential debates. Here she is being perved by a red-blooded Mexican as she leaves the television studio:

Who cares what these girls can do when the only thing we are interested in is what we would like to do to them?

How to be a writer

If I had tits then there would be certain things in the world that would get right on them. Near the top of that long list would be those people who think that they can be taught to write, and who waste good brass attending courses that are supposed to teach them the secrets of being a successful scribbler. The latest is this deal in Paris of all places that costs a fortune and is a waste of everyone's time and money - except the organisers who will be raking it in.

Time was when your average journalist was some bloke who had left school at 14, but who had a way with both words and booze. Novelists and playwrites used to be nothing more than men who had stories to tell and the ability to tell those tales. William Shakespeare and Joe Orton both spring to mind as examples of  provincial blokes made good.

So does Paul Davies come to that. I met Paul once quite by chance in Manchester a few months ago and he told me about his book, Letterbox, which is concerned with the 1996 IRA bombing in Manchester. Paul made the point that he wrote his book because he had a story to tell, so he sat down and started work.

If you have stories to tell as I do then go ahead and tell them. Now is the best time to be an author or authoress because the days when we had to put up with crap from the publishers are dead and buried. For less than £250 you can get your manuscript turned into all the e-reader formats and within days it will be available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, W.H. Smith and the like. If it is good, then people will read it...

Alternatively, you could get in touch with one of the new publishers who will cut you a very nice deal because they want to work with you. Raven is starting a new publishing house next month and she wants to hear from writers, especially those in the erotica field. The deal will be basically a 50-50 royalty split, and she will carry the costs of editing your epic. 

Get in touch with her for more details.

Thoughts on a spanking man

Almost a decade after everyone else I discovered yesterday that Mick Jagger is a spanking man. I really must pay more attention to celebrity news, I suppose, but life is just too short.

It does leave me puzzled about one thing: all those characters I meet who tell me how dominant they are and then it turns out that their wives know nothing about it. I mean, when a chap gets a girlfriend and she does something female and silly he obviously tells her that the next time that she acts up like that her backside will burn. She has the choice of ending things there and then or running the risk of getting a roast rump, but by definition she cannot progress to becoming a wife without knowing that her husband is a solid type of chap who takes no nonsense, can she?

I wonder what the answer is? Perish the thought that these fellows are fantasising....

Hollie Stevens, 1982-2012

Hollie Stevens died on the 3rd July from breast cancer at the tragically early age of just 30. She was better know as a hardcore porn actress, but she did some spanking work as well. She was so well known that even the Daily Mail ran not one, but two stories about her.

Although cancer will be the official cause of death, actually Holly died because she had the misfortune to live in a country that requires private medical insurance. By the time she had discovered the lump on her breast it was too late to go and buy it because the cover does not include existing conditions. Her friends rallied around and raised money for her treatment, but by then it was just too late.

I have always thanked God that I was born an Englishman, but an extra source of pride is that my country still has a functioning health service. It has many holes in its safety net, but Holly would be alive today had she lived here.

Thanks: The Spanking Spot

The times they are a-changing

Those of you who read last Thursday's posting will know that I had a few little difficulties with a mouthy secretary over at Xcite Books who thought that her opinions counted for something with me. If you read that post then you may even have glanced at the comments' box where I mentioned to a fellow that the porn writers now have the whip hand, and that the merchants had better get with the programme or risk being cut out of the deals altogether.

To understand why we need to take a trip down Memory Lane together. Back in the day the porn merchants who owned the magazines would pay us for product as we were cheaper than models and photographers. The problem was that there were not enough magazines so the fuckers could still pick and choose, which meant that most writers were only part-time hacks. Then came the internet and what work there was dried up as everyone and his brother started writing porno and posting it to the web.

This year was when everything changed and our time finally came around. Everybody and his brother got a Kindle for Christmas and started downloading porn to it. Immediately, any number of publishers got in on the act, and started hawking their wares, and then lights began to go on as people realised that there were not enough writers to go around. Then, to make matters worse, many a writer started using Kindle software to self publish his epic and then punting it directly to the people, cutting out the porno publishing houses altogether. You can feel their pain, can't you?

Well, I can't, because I can't stop laughing, but you take my point, I'm sure. This being the case, do you think that somebody should whisper into a few of the brighter porn merchants' ears and tell them that alienating writers, which is what Xcite did to me, is not really a good idea?

Will the porn trade abandon LA?

About ninety percent of American porn is shot in Los Angeles, and it looks as if the city council will pass an ordinance forcing actors in the trade to wear condoms. Many of the bigger producers have already threatened to leave the city if this measure is passed, and more than one porn merchant has speculated about how the city plans to enforce the new regulation.

Enforcement will probably be quite easy to arrange. The USA is not really all that different from Britain and we have our army of traffic wardens, council inspectors who ensure that only the metric system which nobody really understands is used, and fat, grotesque harridans who spend my taxes in the social work industry. What all these creatures have in common is a level of stupidity such as to ensure that the private sector will not touch them with a bargepole, a pathetic poly degree and a puerile desire for status. Nothing would give these maggots more of a thrill than going around porn studios ensuring that cocks are clothed.

Hopefully they will be entering empty buildings as most producers shift their facilities to other parts of the country.

On Empathy

Some people believe that a dominant fellow has to experience what it is like to be a submissive so that he can empathise - that's the latest buzz word - with his future victims. Hmm, so when Bonnie the pooch next does something daft and I roll up a newspaper to smack her over the muzzle, I must then walk on four legs and whimper? Empathy, innit?

Gentlemen, bugger empathy, because the rule is very simple and is summed up nicely in this bit of doggerel verse:

A woman, a dog and a walnut tree: the more you beat them the better they be.

The future of porn

Over the past few weeks I have been running a feature called Wanky Wednesday where you are invited to download a video free of charge. Yesterday's offering was one of the videos that I made in Mexico and I included a link to my book where you can read how it came to be made.

In a nutshell that's going to be the future of porn. The videos that everyone is pirating, anyway, will be given away free with the producers' blessings. The idea will be that a video will act as a kind of loss-leader that will persuade you to buy a product that cannot be pirated - in this case that product is my book. Sure, you can buy a copy and then pass it along to your friend, but that has always been the case with the printed word. However, the chain has to start with somebody forking out for a copy of A Spanking Good Life, as making a pirate copy is not cost effective.

This will be the future of the trade as Berth Milton, the head of Private, a major European porn company, now accepts. His plan is to give the basic stuff away free and monetise the exclusive material. So he plans to video the action in a swingers' club and offer it as pay per view to subscribers. A spanking outfit could conceivably offer the live feed of a corporal punishment session, then it could sell the edited highlights of that session. Obviously the highlights would end up being pirated, but the main profit would come from the live feed. The highlights would be a bit of cream in the coffee, and free publicity for the porn outfit. In other words the pirates would be helping the company out by distributing videos that are basically glorified adverts for the next live show.

It is not just the porn trade that is working with the pirates. A major games producer accepts that people will copy his work, so what is is doing is offering exclusive content that a pirated disk cannot contain. The idea is that people will get the game however they like, but will then have to go the the company for the interesting bits. It is pretty much the same deal that the porn trade is working towards, and leads me to conclude that giving away my video was not such a bad idea.

So, I hope that you enjoyed yesterday's free wankfest and I sincerely hope that some of you were inspired to know the story of the shoot. To get that you need to read the book!

Vintage Spanking Clips!

What's the best way to spank?

Do I have a favourite spanking position to recommend? That was the question asked of me by an American correspondent, and I must confess that it set me thinking. He went on to ask if I used the cane a lot, and for a moment the seeming switch from spanking to caning puzzled me. Then I remembered that what Americans call spanking is actually corporal punishment, so I replied that I tend to avoid the cane.

I understand why some men like it, as the sight of a nubile female, bent over submissively with her skirts around her waist and her panties down to knee level, is a gladdening one to behold. The fact that the girl has obeyed the order to take up the traditional posture of submission says a lot about the man who gave her that order, but and for all that, I still dislike the cane.

It isn’t the aesthetics that I object to, rather it is the pragmatic awareness that a girl can stand up at will, and thus ruin the whole effect. She submits because she wishes to, in effect, and it is that small element of power which needs to be stripped from her along with her dignity, panties and ability to sit down in comfort for a while.

A good spanking is usually administered across the knee, but there are also other positions that can be adopted. One that I find effective is to bend the recalcitrant one over the back of a sofa or easy chair. The waist can then be encircled with the left arm to hold the kicking, squealing little madam in place, and her skirts can be lifted and panties lowered. The spanking may then proceed with no danger of the girl being able to rise until such time as her chastiser decides that she has been punished enough.

Leading on from that I once spanked a girl along a country path with the help of a rail fence. The top of the fence was only about four feet off the ground, so it was the work of a moment to lift the girl up and literally dump her over the top rail. I can remember yanking her panties down to below her knees and the way that she lay, quite submissively across the rail with not a murmur of protest. I could even remove my belt, which I then used to remind her of her place, and during the whole of the discipline, she did not make a sound, nor did she move. I asked the girl afterwards to explain what had gone through her mind and she replied that a feeling of utter helplessness had swept over her and made it impossible for her to even think of moving.

All that aside, why change what is the most time honoured and effective means of putting a girl in her place, namely a good, bare-bottomed, over the knee spanking? Think about it for a moment. By laying the girl face down over your knee you can immediately lock her no doubt scissoring legs down by putting one of your thighs over both of hers. You can then hold her body in position and at the same time tuck one of her arms behind her back and grab the other one in your free hand. The skirt can then be lifted and the panties lowered, and all the while there is nothing that the badly behaved young madam can do other than spit and howl in helpless frustration. She is in position for the correction that you have awarded to her and will remain there until you allow her to rise.

Practical considerations aside, the effect that such discipline has on the female mind cannot be forgotten. One women told me that a traditional spanking left her feeling like “a little girl,” and knowing that fact alone should be almost worth its weight in gold to any normal man.

By putting your girl across your knee you can not only correct her misbehaviour, but you can also alter her perception of herself. A few moments earlier, she would have thought of herself as a grown woman, but you have taken that away from her and left her feeling like the naughty child that she is. She will sleep on her stomach that night and probably cry herself to sleep. More importantly, though, is the knowledge that deep inside her soul she will accept that she had been naughty and naughty little girls get sent to bed with a spanking.

Only a traditional spanking can do that to a women and that is why I unhesitatingly recommend it to all good men who have difficult women who need to be kept in line. Without doubt, it is the only spanking position that works almost without fail every time.

On Multitasking

Contrary to the received wisdom, men are actually rather skilled at multitasking. It takes an incredible amount of skill to fuck anything in skirts and keep all the women blissfully unaware of each other.

Return of the Sugar Daddy

Much to the annoyance of the BBC - and presumably the liberal middle class who are its main consumers - the sugar daddy is making a comeback in a big way. An American company is planning to bring its sugar daddy parties across the Atlantic, parties that allow middle aged chaps to meet sweet young things. And it is interesting that the number or girls attending outnumbers men by a considerable amount at those events.

At this point some jealous females who feel the sands of time ebbing away will go into catty mode and say that the girls are only after the money: tell me something I don't know, says kindly Uncle Nick. The guys are after the tight young pussy and the felines want the money. These are matches made in heaven...

Actually, it is a bit more complicated than that, if you think about it. Throughout history, men and women have treated marriage as a business transaction and it is only fairly recently that the emotion nonsense has been allowed to get in the way of a good deal being cut. A young woman offers her beauty, household skills and fecundity to an older man, and in return he gives her status, comfort and protection as the wife or woman of a successful man. Obviously there has to be an understanding that the women must be faithful since the agreement hinges upon his acceptance that the children of the union are his and not some other man's bastards. Nevertheless, this arrangement whereby each partner brought into the union their respective offerings is one that has lasted down the millennia.

It still exists in most of the world, but in the west it was thought to have died. Today, however, as the wheels are about to come off the runaway train that is globalised capitalism, the more intelligent women are casting around for a lifebelt, which is why the idea of a sugar daddy suddenly seems as if its time has come around again.

Writing as a man, the future looks interesting from our point of view, doesn't it, chaps? I am a newly published author, which gives me a modicum of status, but alas I do not have any money. On the other hand that allows time for today's little girls to reach their late teens or early twenties by the time Daddy Nick has repaired his fortune and is ready to receive them.

Then it will be:

Come here, you naughty little girls: you know that you deserve this!

More Thoughts on Stupidity

Last night's posting led to some interesting responses,  with a fellow from Newcastle writing in to say:

I read your blog; so its not just me who comes across girls like that !!!!!!! I was told by one that she did not want to betray him... Funny that she was naked and very wet but that is not betraying him..... My finger don't count as a sign of betrayal?

A London reader wrote in to say:

I have stopped meeting girls through Facebook. They either do not turn up or they come out with nonsense like this...

Another man wrote in to offer his congratulations, so that makes three private comments to one posting, which is a record of some kind for the blog. Quite why none of them left their remarks in the comment box is unclear, but all of them insisted that if I did post their words then I should not identify them by name.

It is nice that a post strikes a chord, and it does appear as if my experiences are common across the board. To a certain extent that is understandable: women are a manipulative bunch and they get juicy at the thought of forcing men to bend to their wills. The question is why are so many of them getting away with this game? Surely if a submissive woman runs into a dominant man, then he should be calling the shots? 

Sorry, but I am blaming the fellows here. Far too many of you are doing nothing more than role playing and you may be very, very good when you adopt your headmaster's persona, but it is nothing more than an act and the women can see right though it, so of course they can take you for a ride. You deserve it.

Far better to stop playing games, remember what your balls are for, and then stop taking shit.

Thoughts on Stupidity

Yesterday was a fairly rotten day with a depressing amount of rain that was made worse by a depressing amount of female stupidity. To add to my irritation, when I related my tale of woe to Raven Red all I got were hoots of raucous laughter and demands for more information.

A woman in her early thirties e-mailed me from the East-Midlands and following a very brief exchange of mails she rang me on the telephone. Her number was withheld, which is a good sign that she was being serious about all this. The story she told was of a need for discipline as a father disciplines his little girl, and I was only too pleased to slap the phone on to the speakers and chat to her whilst my sausages, bacon and beans were crackling away in the pan.

I was just about to toss a couple of slices of bread into the pan to fry 'em up in the grease when a thought came to mind, which I hastened to share with madam:

"I wonder how it will be when you are all nice and subdued? Will I be looking at your face, all tear-stained, or admiring my handiwork on your rump as I have you doggie fashion?"

There was a sort of pregnant silence at that moment, which I took to be a pause for thought whilst she considered the situation, but I was wrong, wasn't I?

"What type of woman do you think I am?"

"Well, the type who needs her bottom smacking until she is nice and well behaved and ready to be fucked by me."

That was it. Fucking Chernobyl had nothing on that minger as she went critical. I was abusive, a complete shit, I wanted to take advantage of her - fellas, you should have heard the dialogue, it was straight out of a soap opera. I did try to tell her that she did not need to worry as I was not looking for a relationship as I have been involved with Raven for quite some time now. A quickie would be fine by me, but do you think she was mollified by that? No, of course she wasn't.

It was obvious from her comments that madam had gone into manipulation mode and was trying to make me defensive so that I would start apologising and she could then press home her advantage, but I am far too old a dog for that:

"Listen, darlin', nobody is forcing you to do anything that you don't want to, but if you don't do as I tell you then trust me, if you catch fire, I won't cross the fucking street to piss on you to put the flames out."

I was trying to be nice to her and explain the situation, but she sort of began to make funny noises in her throat, so I gave up trying. Funnily enough, as I recounted the tale to Raven it was at that moment that she almost choked on her coffee, so I guess those words marked the climax of the conversation as it were.

She calmed herself down a bit and muttered something about having watched the videos through and through. I pointed out that the videos do not show the shaggings that took place after the shoots were over, but she could trust me when I say that all pussies were stretched. Again, I was just trying to be nice, but she sort of wailed:

"That's not what I need, and you have no right to force me to do what I don't want to do."

That was pretty much when I gave up. If the stupid woman could not understand basic English what more could I say? I  said goodbye to her and that was that.

Now this is not the first time that this stupidity has hit me. As I pointed out to Raven, I am getting sick and tired of brainless bitches trying to get me to dance to their tunes. That is one of the reasons why this archive site was set up last year as a way to warn off these little airheads. My theory is that they watch my videos, read what they want to read in the blog, and then write a sort of script with me as the stern but caring daddy who will correct their wilful behaviour more in sorrow than in anger.

What they are doing is role-playing. They write their script and then get into role and expect me to take up the role that they have written for me. Once the play is over, we all take our bows and leave the stage. Raven added to that the notion that I had never considered before which is that these women are engaged in a fantasy, which obviously has sexual connotations. However they don't think that far ahead so when they are brought face to face with that reality by my words, they run - or respond with aggression.

Well, girls, guess what? I don't play, and this is how I am all the time. If you want a strict daddy then there are any number of fellows who will play according to your wishes. However, get involved with me and you do as you are bloody well told and when you cross the invisible line then you get your backside warmed before being taken to bed.

What is it with the wierd names?

Here's a thought for you: what is it about dodgy newspapermen and slappers with weird names? Rupert Murdoch has Rebekah Brooks, as his little ginger minger, and David Sullivan keeps Karren Brady around as his figure of fun. 

I can sort of of imagine parents who cannot spell giving odd names to daughters, but that two such daughters ended up as the play things of two very similar men who both own semi-pornographic newspapers is baffling in the extreme.

Any theories as to why this is happening? 

Facebook to get voice chat, courtesy of Skype

It looks as if Skype and Facebook are about to announce a deal that will put a Skype-enabled voice-chat facility onto the Facebook window. Put simply, you will no longer need to text your contacts, as you will be able to hear their voices and see their faces on their webcams.

For people like us the advantage is immediate and obvious: goodbye to all those sad-arsed losers who get their rocks off duping the gullible by pretending. Your friendly old Uncle Nick has outed about half a dozen of those buggers this year alone, and has thoroughly enjoyed their utter humiliation. (Things like that tend to give him a banging great blue-veiner; it is just the way he is.)

If voice-chat arrives on Facebook then the sport will obviously come to an end, as even the most gullible will not allow himself to be duped any longer once voice chat arrives on the Facebook page.

Surely that must be the case?