Diary of Lisa Taylor, reluctantly 42 (and a half)

Or.. 'f.ck me I'm forty.. two.. and a half', though can look 38 on a - not so deluded - good day. Or 'How to reconcile a well experienced mind trapped in a still - but for how long? – youthful body.' Don't have the 30somethings angst/problems, neither have the resigned (?) ageing baby-boomers in safe family territory outlook yet. Here's how I cope, one day all sexy women will get old... but never invisible. © Lisa Taylor 2005/6/7/8/9. Jeez.. so much for the 42 and-a-half delusion

Monday, December 19, 2005

18 December - shops & goats

I have not bothered this blog with shopping advice yet but with only a few days to go... here’s some. And it’s for both men and women.
Even on a Saturday, take your time at home and do what you want, doodle about, eat and then go out around 6ish. You’ll hit Harrods before 7pm and be pleasantly surprised there’s very few people around. All gone home, tired out. The designer rooms will be even echoing with the sound of your heels. Ah, forgot to mention that you’ve taken yourself out alone. Essential. You’ll wander about following your own trajectory and as there’s little time left before closure at 8pm, you don’t want to be following anyone else. The sales assistants will be tired but if you say something nice, they’ll still be extra helpful. Or maybe they are thinking of that little extra commission to reach a personal best that day.

Of course you’d be a fool to spend any money before the sales kick in in ten days so to resist the impulse to part with cash, take your digicamera with you and be photographed in outfits and accessories that take your fancy. I’m not sure if big stores have policies on photographs but if you aim to ask another customer they won’t step in, but you can ask a sales assistant. Pick younger, they won’t have been there long, be sure of the rules or they may even be casual holiday staff. Tell them you want your boyfriend to buy you either this or that item and the price is a bit steep but when he sees how good you look in it, he’ll hurry over and no, he’s a man, they don’t do well with style and barcode numbers to identify your boots of choice or dress or finest scarf etc. The picture will do it. Oh be sure to look the part so no hoodies or making it look like you’re casing the joint for a massive shoplifting session!

On your way home you can review your pictures and I guarantee that that Philip Treacy hat at £200 is not making you look much better than the £50 one from cheaper designer. You’ll realise that you probably don’t need any of the items you craved early and if they appear in the sales at a slashed price, then, you can already know you can snap it off the hands of another shopper and pay for it presto because it looks great on you. In the meantime you will have satisfied the urge to buy by picking one of the seasonal reductions on offer. Stores still do them. My bargain of the day is a pair of Kurt Geiger sparkly party sandals for £35. They may be last season or have sold like hotcakes and only my size is left but who cares. £35, whoosh, am at the till before you can say cash or credit.

The reason why you’re only out buying for you is that you deserve it most of all, but also that you only buy for children and very immediate family (this means only your blood not brothers in law, cousins, in laws etc). To the rest of your 25/30 friends deserving of Xmas presents you tell them you’ve consolidated all their budget into x amount of donkeys and goats and new wells and crop seeds etc for an African village and please can they do the same with your present and the rest of their 25/30 friends and relatives. Very soon exponential espousing of this simple plan would result in many villages in Africa or south America or take your pick having something they need and you having one less set of smellies or scarves and gloves you don’t need etc. Tell them otherwise that your present could be new skiing clothes and skis and boots etc which may be out of their range but the little goat isn’t.
Clearly this system appeals only to 40 something who have embraced some form of altruistic notions. Do not attempt to explain this to people who still crave a new hugo boss perfume, a tacchini tennis racket, diesel jeans, fornarina shoes, wheels dolls and baby party dresses or ipods and xboxes. There’s only a 30 year window for branded goods desires so er. Don’t deny them. Sit it out. Then bring up the goat again.

17 December - plugs & weddings

My best girlfriend is getting married tomorrow and I’m lying in the bath soaking away all the organisational stuff pertaining to the maid of hounour/chief witness, and I notice the scaling around the overflow plug. All I want to do right now is go buy some vinegar and get the stainless steel to gleam again. I would even blow some breath on it after and polish it with a soft cloth. A strange set of priorities considering I should either be visualising accessories for my lovely outfit or be mourning the end of fifteen years plus of girlie shenanigans. Tomorrow she’ll be practicing and overusing saying ‘My Husband this and My Husband that’. I’ll practice not saying ‘Come with me, come on, come with me, let’s do it!’ a’ propos of any decision involving not staying in.

Friday, December 16, 2005

13 December - balls & bearings

If it’s xmas it must be time to have a session with hotel Johnny who rather sweetly rang out of the blue to say he wanted to give me a present as am still holding the position of his best shag of the year. Magnificent in fact. I’m surprised as I know he’s not been idle but yes, he may be comparing me to his wife in which case it can’t even be a contest.
He’s told her he’s out with contacts from hsbc which for this occasion will have to stand in for 'holy sweet beautiful cunt' or 'highly sexed bitch crepesuzette'. I’m to be better than a few hours out with Alan, Ashley and John. Easy.

As reporting what we got up to in a few hours is probably tedious, I’ll start from the end. HJohnny has a great way to hide from his wife what he does. Before he goes home, first he has a satisfying pint in
town, smears beer on his lips to prove he had lots of it or drinks with his clients. Then when his train arrives at the other end of whatever line he’s on, he has a curry. Naturally. How could a night of drinking with pals end in any other way unless you’re returning to Mayfair? And that takes care of many other smells. Then tomorrow morning he has to pretend he is sooo tired and soooo hungover when in fact he's neither. He's gone home as if he's had a gym workout with a hard task personal trainer. I must say that for a 40 something he has plenty of stamina and strength. And he’s not easily fobbed off with various labour saving tricks. You know, stay on top of penis and work with your hands. Oh no, here we go, deep throating again. This time though I alighted on the 'lapping labrador'. I just invented this move. Normally I don’t lick balls in this upward stroke but it’s what is getting him off today. Sort of proves my point that when you do it so much, too much, as he does, you can't just come when you want to, so you have to use your usual home-cooked methods. By which I mean something that works for you every time. I refrain from asking if he has a dog. The same must be valid for me. I can take a pretty high level of trashing before I come. Am sure it was a quicker affair back when I could count partners on fingers of... two hands.

My cohabiting friends C and R did not 'go there' for 2 weeks before their recent wedding so they would really want some sex – they are usually too tired from hours spent building their business empire. Little did bride know he'd be passed out on the night from too much champagne, but that’s another story. Anyway, before you feel sorry for hotel Johnny's wife, he has bought nice xmas pressies for her. The kind I wouldn’t refuse, a really nice selection, and before he met me today, and after he bought the presents, he was on his way to meet another potential woman for future nsa sessions.

Ahh, just thought of a nice moment. At some point as he's shaving me (I needed that done and have no time for salons and crucially he does not notice the interloping white, straighter than the rest stripe, not many still but some) he stops and says 'I was about to ask you what you're going to do for xmas and realised that would really be hairdresser's speak!' Uhm yes. I like that about him: low level of sophistication, or rather he has some but do we want to discuss books and movies and politics right now? no we don't, but we can have a laugh during and after. He reminds me of the time I made him do my underarms to test his skills w. the razor. I didn’t trust him but he does a good job, not perfect though. I’ve just checked and he left a few behind. Tsk!

10 December - CD's & sex

Searching high and lo amongst hundreds of CDs for a couple I need for a friend’s wedding at registry office. I’m sure I don’t have any Lenny Kravitz and indeed I don’t, but think I have Nick Cave. But alas the wrong album. She’s looking for ‘Love Letter’ to walk down the aisle to, and it’s not on mine. This is the problem with relationships, I never bought Nick because one of the exes had them all. Same for that adorable, poisonous, oh why does he have to be gay, Rufus Wainwright. Go and see a show if you think the lyrics are not clear enough. On his last tour he was more of a friend of Dorothy than Elton John ever was. I had to go and buy them all after we split up. Me and the ex, not me and Rufus obviously. He wouldn’t do me even if he were on crack. Anyway, a trip to the record shops is in order. I take the opportunity to re-arrange the CDs further. Always a favourite activity. They are not in alphabetical order, and I enjoy infuriating men who look through them. I feel a scene from ‘Diner’ coming on. You know the one, he will not marry her unless she knows the b-sides and colour of labels of his 7” collection. My CD’s follow genre: solo male artists, UK pop bands, reggae, old stuff, electronica, dance, more dance, wannabe Sinatras, soundtracks, classical, opera, friends and their producers, hip hop, rap solo female artists, US bands, new rock, old rock, gosh no metal apart from er. Metalllica and Rammstein, rest of the world, but only if it’s Asian etc. (I hated the term world music as much as I hate folk and the day you find me enjoying Japanese music, please shoot me). And so on. So I come across the jazz. I seem to have some lovely packaged and still cellophaned collections of greats. I put them aside and at least unpeel the cellophane. Later on I put Stan Getz on, why not? No idea of what to expect. I only like Miles Davis and little else. It occurs to me I’m doing this because of Toph. He loves jazz and was off seeing one of the Marsalis brothers a few days ago. Here I go again, chamaeleonising for mating it should be called. I will not pretend I love jazz, I haven’t in fact when chatting to him. It’s a bad mistake to make, it leads to years or months at least of being taken to shows you don’t enjoy. That’s why I come out a little too forcefully when I say ‘No way, salsa, samba, merengue no no no. Only whilst in Rio darling.’ So uhm, I’m now trying to imagine if people who like jazz do it in a different way from people who like glam. I mean, it’s free form some of it, but some of it is so self centred but in a stylised way that I cannot imagine…. It does go one for long though…A friend of mine is big on gospel and church music. I always imagine he does it like he’s in a big choir. Sort of sharing… performing to the gallery, joyously. Must ask him. His wife sings in the chorus so wonder if they stop in the middle of it to clap their hands and praise the lord. Personally, I try to avoid doing it to music but if I have to, give me something hypnothic, low frequency electronica that lasts a long time or some drugged up vintage Primal Scream. And then some cello concertos to fall asleep to.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

8 December - pleasure instruments & markings

What’s a girl to do if she’s said goodbye to Dear John and is not sure about Toph yet? Well, here’s a suggestion given to me by Julia who recently took a day off to experience the following. Let’s point out she’s not a shrinking violet when it comes to sex, but having experimented with a variety of scenarios always on an amateur level, she really wanted to find out how a connoisseur would do a few things like spanking, caning, enemas, electro sex etc. So she booked this guy via the internet, met him for a lunchtime drink, practically interviewed him, set the agenda and agreed to book a hotel for a week hence. He, Lawrence, a tall fifty-something, was clearly delighted to have found someone who required no cajoling or convincing. He kept telling her she would be safe, he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want him to, that he was married, happily but his vanilla sex life was different from the bds one (not sure got the acronym right, bondage/domination/sex perhaps?) Julia who’s very much a no-nonsense sort of person just thought ‘Gosh get on with it’ and had to constantly reign in his tendency to waffle on. He clearly was getting excited by his own descriptions of the delights he had in mind, and as he had a reasonably loud voice and didn’t seem to worry about who was listening, a few people probably had to hiccup into their beer or wine.
To cut a long story short Julia declared she just wanted a massive vaginal orgasm, as for the clitoris ones she was doing very well thank you very much. Lawrence vowed to supply several and promised she would be ‘gushing’ and not just verbally. By this point I was getting interested in the tale, thinking ‘must get his number, sounds good!’ In the preceding days he sent Julia various jpgs of tantalising images, little treatises on caning and the rest, a satisfied testimonial and suggestions as to what to take with, you know: aloevera to soothe wealds, a certain type of lubricant she should purchase from a shop on the Holloway Rd, please to book a smoking room so they could light candles and so on. He did assure her that any marks would disappear in a day or two. Just as well as they are pretty unmistakeable. As for looks, he was tall, fifty something, spoke in a breathy sort of voice and was more than a little camp. As he assured Julia he wouldn’t fuck her unless she wanted to, nor kiss her, she came to the conclusion he was getting his kicks out of having a submissive partner and dressing the set so to speak, and that it was more than likely he had a small penis, or problems getting erections. Anticipating the end of the story she told me ‘How right I was’.
They met at 10.30, chatted for a bit as he took out from his case and displayed a veritable armoury of items he’d brought with. As their room was facing one of the lifts on their floor, Julia asked to have the TV on so any noise could be covered. She didn’t fancy wearing a gag. He said she had the perfect bottom for the task as it had a lovely curve that he hadn’t seen when they’d met and she was dressed. He also appreciated the casefulI of lingerie she came armed with, though as usual one ends up staying in just one outfit. I’m going to abridge a lot of the tale here… He started with spanking, followed by an enema, followed by caning, followed by tying her up spreadeagled to the bed and applying some chilli flavoured ointment, followed by tantric yoni massage and vaginal fisting followed by electrodes powered dildos. She said no to nipple clamps, no to anything gynecological and no to a little instrument like a cake or pizza cutter which was not too bad over her skin – it didn’t cut at all, but definitely felt bizarre on her mons and no to having anything up her ass, the enema pump had been enough for the day (as she’d had colonic irrigation before this was not a great surprise but the colonic people don’t use a cannule that can be pumped once inside the rectum so as to block it, which in turn makes one want to expel it and therein lies the pleasure – apparently. Unfortunately the electrodes /dildo didn’t work on account of her vagina being over filled with acqueous cream that Lawrence had used liberally in order to fist her. He was bit worried by some sort of common muscle reflex that means that sometimes it’s hard or er…very hard to get his hand out as the vagina clamps shut around it. Nobody fancies calling the paramedics with this kind of complaint do they? Unfortunately the promised vaginal orgasm explosion did not materialise even with the help of poppers. Julia says her head just wasn’t engaging as every time she opened her eyes, or even if she didn’t, she had a pretty good mind’s eye picture of Lawrence and he just wasn’t attractive to her. He looked like an old guy methodically and scientifically working through his equipment and he had a penis the size of a peanut and it never got hard. Not that she wanted it to. It made her think of all those various Indian gurus offering tantric sex which they may well be able to provide but they always look like .. ugly older guys with long hair and a beard. Never like some hot young surfer dude. And she didn’t like his voice either. He wanted to keep going as he had some personal quality standard to match, kept regaling her with stories of other women for whom he did this, achieved that, but a woman knows when it’s just not going to happen or rather it has and it’s nothing to shout from the rooftops so she said they should call it a day. They started packing it all away at 3.30pm after having had a break at 1pm for … sandwiches and juice. He let her chose which she liked first. A gentleman. Surely Cynthia Payne now made a lot of sense. It must have been like this for guys. You practically can do what you want, but is it worth it? A glass of wine and a coffee later they were chatting in the bar about all his other satisfied – apparently – ladies friends. Amongst which are a variety of City hot shots, a diplomat and so on, some married, some not. He only deals with women above a certain age as young ones require too much reassurance and coaxing and he doesn’t want to feel he’s coercing anyone. They shared the hotel bill so that was a £50 well spent as just buying some of the items he provided would have cost a lot more. Mindful that Julia hadn’t exactly got to where she wanted, he said that next time it would be better as now that they knew each other, it would be more relaxed. But she was very relaxed in any case. She got home at 5ish and had a good old finger session. Am surprised she had the energy, but she said she’d have liked to just pull someone on the train and take him home finish the job properly. The caning wealds were lovely though, very precise, four of them. She couldn’t show me as we met a few days after the event and they had indeed disappeared, but she said that now at least she knows how that should be done, none of those messy hand prints or marks that novices leave on your ass cheeks. Oh and you should never stray from that area either. And she did confirm the sting was exquisite.

Darn. On this evidence I’m not sure I fancy a session with Lawrence. Back to the drawing board and some old fashioned no frills sex.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

6 December - tricks & splits

Alison’s pole dancing debut was a riot, well, in fact a charity fundraiser at the Embassy where professional dancers mixed with instructors and students. She acquitted herself well. Being half way through her Intermediate course she’s not able to make many upside down tricks, but she can climb the pole and do at least a couple of pretty poses up there. Sliding down still causes much friction though and her inner thighs were on fire. Her teacher Erin, queen of the hairflicks was on good form and sporting the most delicious Westwood inspired pole dancing shoes, black and pink, Minnie mouse style. Another instructor Nikki, had the most admired sheer black panties 40’s style. Enqiries revealed they were only £8 from a rock chick shop in Camden Lock. Girlfriends sorted! If I manage to give any away and not keep for myself. The familiar ruse I use to justify purchases. The world champion performed a very good routine which was however more to do with doing the splits slowly than with actual energetic tricks. Sort of Cirque du Soleil gymnast. The men may have liked that best but we girls admired the more challenging and sexually inviting moves of the other dancers.
We went along so we could wear glamorous outfits, otherwise known as slutty outfits, and sparkly false eyelashes. Let’s face it, no one we know has got married for a while and even if they did, they would refuse to have anything as tacky as a regular hen night so really, when can you wear platform heels and make lewd expressions? Plus the power of heels is not to be overlooked. Instant confidence. The evening was open to partners and friends, but Alison decided not to invite any of her men. We thought it was because she was worried they may just spend the evening ogling the younger, fitter, competition, but she rather sweetly said it’s because she wants to save her first dance for someone special. Aaahhh…We offered advice as to, er, pick wisely as it’s just possible that a bloke may find it a bit too much or rather love it, but think the old yet still current way ie. Pole dancer = not girlfriend material, if you flash your knickers at him. Ballet it is not. Now’s the time to wear reproduction sparkly Terry de Havilland platform shoes, D-Havz range – check Alison Goldfrapp’s stage attire, but sadly I have to say no. I cannot be so frivolous. But they are only £90 in Poste Mistress goddammit! No, no, cannot. Would that any admirer read this and mindful that I take a size 4, acted accordingly.
However no interesting men were present and we just watched and huddled. Miss G was with us and her current conundrum is whether to split up from boyfriend before or after Christmas. His sins are … he’s not good looking and a bit boring though he dotes on her. I’m for delaying. She’s better off partying from the position of being not desperately looking, but she counters that Christmas involves spending it in the middle of nowhere where his family lives in Northern Ireland. Mmmm, how about a row on the way there? She’s planning an Easter trip to Nashville and Texas to make one last ditch attempt and seek a handsome tall ranchero or one of that new breed of C&W singers who are very rock influenced and look good. I watched the C&W awards recently and that Keith Urban is nowhere as dull as Garth Brooks lookswise. I said I may well join her trip if we can go via Memphis too as I have someone there I wouldn’t mind visiting. Am sure he barely remembers an encounter back in February but…though we had too little time then, his style captivated me. Could be my first trashy boy from Tennessee. If he lived in a trailer that would be a fantasy ticked off.

2 December - lookalikes & genes

I cross town for a photographic exhibition and am wondering why as I get there and I don’t know anyone, may as well talk to the photographer. It’s an interesting enough project originating in Canada. He photographs sets of people who look alike but are not related. He finds them by word of mouth or media coverage. Most are Canadians and you could argue it’s a small enough gene pool but then there’s the odd Canadian who looks exactly like his Romanian lookalike. There are two girls born on the same day/month/year. Some women who look like their male lookalike etc. More interesting is the conversation with this stunning young man, a psychologist who is interested in interviewing these sets of random ‘twins’ to submit a questionnaire and find out if being similar in facial outlines/expressions may also mean that they have similar personalities. I like this idea for research. He says you can now test for dna and find out which line of ancestors you come from. This is interesting. I want to do it. I tell him that despite being very much a northern Caucasian, I sometime have had afro-carribbean friends declaring ‘you is black’ which tickles me. I cannot see it, but maybe if we go back a couple of hundred years who knows. It’s funny how this all works now. If we had it 70 years ago it would have been great to give the kit to a variety of top nazis. What would they have done upon finding they were not as pure as they thought but a mix of eastern European, romany or jewish? Would they just have blown themselves off? Orderly form a queue to throw themselves into the incinerators? Like Ripley in Aliens who knows she now harbours the devil spawn and the only way to eliminate is by self sacrificing?
Psychologist tells me that, of course, we are all so much more related than we think and that Palestinians and jews are pretty much brothers for example. I’d like to talk to him more but he has a wedding band and I’m aware of a woman who seems to be thinking am hogging her husband. He’s the most attractive 30 year old I’ve met in ages, perfectly balanced features. I like him so much I deliberately avoid asking his name so I cannot google him and I cannot even take the interminable tube journey back fantasising about him. Tough I do of course. I imagine how he would undress and bend down to kiss me – he was tall. He didn’t ask for my name. That’s a crucial proof of his lack of interest, but I keep having to remember sadly he probably thought he was talking to a nice much much older woman than himself and, unless he’s one of those with a penchant for them, it was just a conversation.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

30 November - nail trends & aliens

This morning am horrified by reading in a women’s mag – no don’t buy them that often but this caught my eye – the following in big letters on a page in the beauty section “We’re witnessing the biggest trend in nail polishing we’ve seen for years: the return of the ‘naked half-moon’.

HOLD THE FRONT PAGE. I hope the nationals all pick up on this monumental shift in nail grooming. I truly couldn’t tell you what’s so wrong with this, but plenty if I stared at it and re-read it several times. I just about wanted to abandon my gender. I don’t want to go to the other side either. Their mags have these sentences highlighted ‘Mike comes all over Georgie’s face. Etiquette wise this is a difficult one’ (context is guy who comes too soon from masturbating at a sex party, ie didn't wait his turn). So I think I want to be an alien. Though am sure ‘nothing better to do’ aliens co-exists on same planet as famine stricken aliens, so may not be much of an escape.

29 November - the other lisa taylor

Friends who hate blogging. I seem to have a few. Well, they are over 40. Like me yes, but essentially when they ask ‘why don’t you just keep a paper diary’ the answer has to be, w/o using too many post- post-modern terms, that we’re in 2005 after all, and there are new media surely so why not explore them and access them from wherever you are in the world. I remember a long long trip where I guarded my diary closely but could now go into a net café in Delhi or Kathmandu and just keep it up to date from there. A teenager blogging from China or Cali is just using what’s there, just as he texts different from us, just as his thumbs are bigger than ours from all the Playstation action. Diaries have evolved, you can attach pics, links and get comments, no such thing as secrets any more in the age of 24 hour watching people in a room, an island, video-diarying as they go along etc. For me I’d say the blogs are the new dinner table for people who are too busy to go to dinner. I wonder how many people write theirs drunk? Not this one am afraid as it mostly gets done … at work. I could drink at work I guess, am sure it wouldn’t be noticeable. Not much. And excusable in December perhaps?

Anyway, back to the teenagers, they write like this below, from my namesake, a young Lisa Taylor in Manchesters. And no, I don’t know what ‘brean’ means either. A town? I think she must compose it on her mobile phone and forward it to the blog...
BREAN WAS WKD had such a gd time wit me bezzie m8 louise !!! went 4 a wk n we both got men LOVIN IT, steele is fit lol n yea louise i kno u finkin jamie is fit aswell so i've put it lol.
wanna go there agen n have loadsa fun wit evry1 we have met it was bloody wkd class excellentiiiii lol lovin all the ppl tht kno me xxx