Hello and welcome to my blog everyone!
I’m a young executive, living and working in the beautiful city of Dublin. A city of many temptations and many sexy distractions.
By day, I’m an executive with an international media company. My work takes me all across Europe and beyond, allowing me many opportunities to get up to mischief!
My weekends are spent playing rugby; I play for a great team in beautiful Dublin. Rugby is a huge part of my life and has led to many great ‘adventures’!
Follow me as I comment on life in Dublin, hot dates, hot writing and all the things that make me, well me!
On Sale Now: Svetlana in Heels
“I have taken the liberty of selecting a few exclusive shoes that I think might interest you”. With that, I draw her attention to 6 shoes that I have brought out and arranged on the glass counter. “Black Opened-toe Prada 5 inch, red patent closed-toe Gucci 4.5 inch, yellow Dior slip-ons 3 inch, gold and ivory YSL platforms 6 inch, and snake skin Louboutin strappy 4.5 inch”. These are the most expensive shoes in the store. One thing I know about oligarch wives is that they want the best bling and the most expensive bling.
Mrs. Klashenko takes a seat on the leather couch and purrs like a cat. I think she really likes her shoes. “Please show me Prada, Richard ”. The Prada is a sexy shoe: A slim pencil heel, polished leather upper, with a broad open-toe to really show off the lady’s painted nails.
“This shoe is from this years spring/ summer collection and is limited to only 500 pairs globally. It’s a fine shoe for any occasion”, I assure her of its providence. I approach to hand her the shoe, but Mrs. Klashenko looks at me like I’m offering her a hand grenade. She fixes my gaze and looks down at her feet, then back up at me. Of course! I place the shoe down and take off my jacket and kneel onto the floor in front of her. “May I?”
“Please do”, she assures me. Her shoes are a breeze to unstrap, and they slip off easily to reveal perfect little size 6 feet. Her nails are impeccable and her skin soft, supple and cared for. “Richard, my feet are a little sore. Is there anything that you can do?”
“Of course, Svetlana. I have some special oil that may help”. Springing up from in front of her and step behind the main counter, to where I have a bottle of my own special foot oil. We use it to help women slide into shoes that are way too small for them. But for Mrs. Klashenko, the oil will make a perfect foot rub. The oil is a mix of clover, mint and sage oils. The aroma is delicate and fresh. I offer her the bottle, but once again, I’m met with a stony expression.
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On Sale Now: Confessions of A Gay Rugby Player: What Goes on Tour, Stays on Tour!!
The gay rugby tournament is the highlight of the season, but it takes a toll on the body. The ground has been unforgivingly hard, the opposition players even less forgiving. Tonight though, I plan to feel just how hard these guys really are. The four-leaf clover tattooed on my hip reminds me that I hope to have the luck of the Irish later on. I pull on my new jock strap and a pair of blue shorts, spray on some deodorant and pull on a sleeveless undershirt. It’s so hot and sweltering at night in Manhattan that I need to dress light.
Stepping back into the tiny bedroom, I see Sean all ready to leave. That’s one of the great things about going on a rugby tour: bunking in with your teammate. It’s a great bonding experience and we’ll have lots of interesting stories to look back on when we get home.
“Ready?” He asks.
“Yep, lets head out,” I reply. We head out and take the elevator down to the hotel foyer. The large hotel lobby is full of players from various teams and lots of gay cowboys of all things. They have been having their own competition in New York, gay cowboy line dancing no less! I see several of them about, and they look hot like the Marlboro man, but with tighter asses and minus the cigarettes. I tell myself, this could only exist in America. My teammates, The Dublin Chiefs, are already down here and ready to take on the night. Sean and I are the last ones down and get jeered by our rowdy mates. Looks like there is a punishment for being last; we are both given bras and blond wigs to put on. On they go; we both truly look a riot.
Out we stroll into the hot Manhattan night, all of us high on expectation. The gay nightclub, XXXL, is only a short walk away and we are there in no time. XXXL is pretty big, covering three floors. It’s pretty dark in here, with plenty of hidey-holes, and the place smells of fresh sex. The first floor is the biggest, with bars around the outer-edge and a huge dance floor in the middle. The other two levels are mezzanine floors over looking the huge dance floor. They would make good vantage points for cruising, if there were more light. The crowd is a horny mix of players, supporters and cowboys. Seems like the hot cowboys received an invite, so things could get more interesting than I had even hoped for.
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