Bulgarian Love Muscles Unite

Now, there's an unspoken rule among we small people that we acknowledge each other in passing. That’s fine. I’m a person of a perky demeanour and I’m always happy to talk to a stranger. However, we midgets can be terribly snooty. Generally, the smaller the midget, the higher they are in our social order. This midget was nearly four inches taller than me and they would not look my way.

He was standing on the other side of the road but I know he’s spotted me. At first, I had only meant to nod or smile, but then I tried to wave. He still wouldn’t acknowledge me. In the end, I ran across the road. He saw me coming and ran off. There we were, the two of us, running down a street near Covent Garden.

I never caught him. Damn these tall midgets for their long legs. It’s put me in a terrible mood. The taxi will soon be here. I’m in Lewisham this evening with one of my regulars. She cooks superbly and knows how to treat a midget well. Unfortunately, she’s another with a food fetish. Tomorrow, if I’m walking funny and smell of grapefruit, you’ll know why.

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Diaper

Let me make this clear, because it's something that so often comes up in conversation, but I don't do diapers. I know some men are happy to parade around in nothing more than a large nappy but I'm not one of those men. I admit that it's a size thing. In order to fully reclaim the midget culture that's been either ridiculed or ignored by generations of comedians, writers, and artists, I have to make a stand. I make that stand at the baby's nappy.

Tonight, 'Liz' thought if funny if she brought me a diaper to wear. She didn't know that I feel so strongly about them and I think I probably made a bit of a fool of myself as I trashed the mini-bar in the hotel room.

 

Dipped in Cheese

It seems like days since I posted here. I forgot that I'd pledged to tell the world about my plight. My plight this week weighed most of two hundred pounds. Her name was 'Ethel' (it wasn't really but you know the game) and she was into spicy food. Funny how women are guided by their sense more than men. I think we play our games in our minds more than women do. We like to imagine stockings or power fetishes whereas women like Ethel think in terms of touch and taste.

You probably find all this very dull but when you're less than four feet tall having a red pepper wedged between your cheeks takes dedication to your craft. Not that there's much craft to being a midget gigolo. There's just strange experiences that you have to quickly adapt to.

'I've always like hot food,' said Ethel after the first hour of getting to know each other. It usually takes a woman that long to get used to have me around.

'Okay,' I replied, standing over her. She was lying down and I was wearing a jockey's uniform. One of my stock costumes.

'In fact I've always liked red peppers. You know the ones that are really hot.'

'Do you have any in?'

She nodded as though she were a naughty schoolgirl. Strange how strong women become fragile when they're being intimate. She climbed off the bed, which sent be bouncing the other way. Lucky I didn't break my leg when I hit the chair on the other side.

When she came back, she had a jar of red peppers, a bag of plain Doritos and a jar of nacho cheese. The rest you don't need to know. Peppers have a most unfortunate shape for a man in my line of work. Not only is there no hole they won't fit down but their tapered end means that once they're in there, they don't want to come out without lots of effort. That's where Ethel seemed to have the most fun. She turned me every which way, spanked me, shook me, and ended up using a knitting needle.

I don't mind being humiliated. I don't even mind being put in dangerous situations by big women with spicy breath. What I do object to is picking nacho cheese from my arse all weekend.

The Perils of the Gigolo

Spent the night licking cream. From where, I think I better not say.

I hate to think what it's done for my cholesterol...