A Single Man in London Confesses All

A confession. I've been a naughty boy. Consistently. I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. No constitutional rules broken; maybe some moral codes. Probably not classifiable as good 'behaviour'. But God it's been fun.

I love women. Always have. Their shape, their radiance, their beauty, their charm, their allure, their needs. My needs. Perhaps mutual needs. The dream, yes, mutual needs.

There is no blame as such. Maybe some contributory factors. My parents decided that boarding school was best. Locked up with hormonally challenged teenage boys. No girls. No balance. Not normal.

My mother wore stockings. My first memory of her was in stockings. I was close to my Mum. I have always loved stockings. Stocking tops, suspenders, lingerie. Besotted. Intoxicated.

I have never had children. In fact, I've never been married. I tried. Got close. But failed. The last break was tough and penalising.

How can it be wrong when you're not cheating. Not deceiving. Owning up to my needs. No guilt. A pleasure giver. A nice guy. Charming. Charismatic. Mr Friendly. A giver. No guilt, just pleasure. Yes, mutual pleasure.

And so I will tell my story. So much has happened. So many adventures. So much undeniable pleasure. Lust. Yes, lots of lust. Horny, with gusto. So naughty. So hot. Driven by desire. Delicious encounters. The forbidden. The carnal carnival. The illicit. My secret. Until now.

Now I have my outlet. It is time to tell.

I will confess, I book escorts using Blue Monday of London