Dear Uncle Saxon
You seem a worldly-wise old cove Mr Saxon and I would like your help on a matter very close to my heart, or lions, depending how you look at it. Having attained the tender age of 30 I feel there is something missing from my otherwise hectic life. This is very hard for me to put into words, so here goes: I’m bereft of female company, have never engaged in amorous congress and never have had my Martian probe land in Venus. Can you help me in my quest to cream my first tart?
Dear Mr Lonely
Talking about beating about the bush, or not, as in your case. Mr Lonely, all I can suggest is that you procure the services of a local lady of the night. Prostitutes never say no, never laugh at the size of your cock and never pass comment on the size of your cock.
Here are Uncle Saxon’s top tips to help you in your quest to top your tip. Prostitutes come in two flavours: cheap and expensive. The cheap ones hang around street corners in dodgy neighbourhoods. They are often past their best and take drugs. The tariff is usually calculated by the number of missing teeth multiplied by the number of misspelt Indian ink tattoos; the higher the number the lower the cost. There is one exception, of course. If you are only after a blow job (sucky, sucky, ten quid) then it is best to pay a little extra for a toothless ‘lady’. Believe me, the extra 50p will be money well spent. Beware of ‘cock oysters’. These mucilaginous artefacts appear at random on the pavement and are usually preceded by a loud gagging and harsh hacking cough. The origin of these glutinous opaque gems is one of life’s mysteries. Some say they are Angel tears, some say they are the result of prostitutes clearing their throats after a particularly heavy night. Gentle readers, I will leave you to be the judge. However, if they be Angel tears then God had better be treating his celestial companions for conjunctivitis. I suggest agents active against both gram negative and gram positive bacteria. Not all crap that fortuitously turns up on the pavement is manna from heaven. Although you may be in an urban wilderness, please don’t be tempted to sample; Israelites excepted.
The expensive ones are found in ‘escort agencies’. I suspect that they may be out of your financial league unless of course you happen to be a high court judge or prominent politician.
I remember in my youth there was a particularly tall old whore who used to ply her trade at the back of Rackhams in Birmingham’s town centre. She must have been 6’ 10’’ and towered over the sad pathetic remnants of humanity who came to her for relief. To facilitate the transaction most men had to stand on a wooden box. Just as they were about to come she would kick it away, thus saving on condoms.
Otherwise, may I suggest you purchase a ‘latex lady’? Love dolls come in two flavours: cheap and expensive. The cheap variety you have to blow up and have a nasty habit of deflating when you insert a prick. The expensive ones are articulated, soft and vivacious. They are so life-like that they actually laugh at the size of your cock. If you can afford one of these then you really don’t need a real women.
Next week : Uncle Saxon, agony uncle to the Personal Hygiene Association, actually gets round to digging out the stuff in his belly button and weighing it.