Bar Salsa

Not going to lie, the last post was meant to be the last till January. But I have a confession.

I went to Bar Salsa last night with Ace and some of his friends (a birthday) and danced with everyone. Which is pretty funny since Salsa is not a dance I grew up learning. (Try to beat my foxtrot). Anyway here's where my behaviour got lax.

 First I danced with the birthday boy who bless his heart really did need another mojito before he got started, then another one if the boys in the group who totally showed me up. 

"Look up" spaghetti arms can you give me some tension please. Not like that. If it was Patrick Swaze I'd have never left!

Then it gets better, I was dancing with Aces cousin talking about man-hate when two of the ugliest of ugly picked us up. Ew.

Then there was a guy who was kinda cute but I found out he was Cypriot (like my ex James) which wasn't in itself a deal breaker but the public sex show he was trying to initiate was. Then he asked me to marry him. Yeah totally.

One of Aces friends decided he liked me in an I want you number way. Poor kid.

I was extremely good for once, in a cab at midnight before my shirt and jeans turned to tatters, I think one if those young men might have ripped it off me if I'd stayed longer!

Charlottes Quick Guide to: Bar Salsa

Wear: shirt and jeans but it gets REALLY hot guys.. (No heels my feet still hurt)

Drink: oh my actual god, I started on Mojitios but got a Piña Colada towards the end. Don't be fooled by the milk (there really shouldn't be milk in cocktails truthfully) it is really good. 

As for shots. Candy flavoured tequila. Magical.

Dance: yeah totally it's a Salsa club! But please promise me you won't be a sleaze ball in there? Save that for me!

The band finishes at 11:30 then it get clubby. Not my scene.

Overall: 9/10 

But only because the band finished early!

Just for the record.

Monday (until 4pm) is my last day till January. Oh yes. I am out of dirty, delicious, debauched London and back in dirty, delicious, er.. Demented Newcastle.

I can already smell the sea air.

On the upside I have pretty much hit the two year mark for my career in filth. This has been probably my most eventful year out of the two really!

January

Began working out of a dungeon and started working on my submissive girl image. Me and Chloe broke up. Me and Ace made up.

February 

This is where I first joined London Submissive Girls (the agency) absolute nightmare. I promised myself I'd never work for an agency again.

March

In the spirit of being 20 and newly grown up (what a joke) I changed my name to Submissive Charlotte. Then took two weeks off to celebrate my 20th.

April

Spent most of the month losing the birthday drinks weight, much to the entertainment of my friends and I met Bryan Moore one of the top 'twinks' for SE London.

May

The Night Of The Senses ball where Bryan did not get his award but I did do a Shibari demo in front of the whole club. Holly came with me to see a client.

June

Began work on my first website. It was shit. Began work on my second website. Much better.

July

Linked a URL and email to my website so it wasn't such a waste of time. Finished my second year at university. Decided Public Relations wasn't for me.

August

Travelled around Europe. Started tweeting @submissivesummer and met my lovely receptionist.

September

Stopped working in High Barnet and moved to Baker Street. Started BA Advertising. 

October

Decided that BA History was a more sensible option than advertising. Met Mistress Linda, Mistress Tammy and Submissive Emma.

November 

Everything finished with Ace. Decided I was leaving the industry to become celibate and help animals in the Himalayas. Promptly came back to work. Hit the top of Google with my website.

December

Booked tickets home, bought new vibrator and got all Christmas shopping on time. Obviously I have had too much self respect recently so I slept with Ace two

days ago. BOOM.

Best.Year.Ever.

Models Upstairs.

Lets stop for a moment and talk about The Red Light District of London.

Infamously known all over England, Soho is the most notorious home of seedy strip clubs and hidden (or not so hidden brothels) in fact the first club in London that I worked in was right in the middle of it. The French Pussycat Club.

I was the only girl that spoke any English and had the palest skin there. I got on with this fantastic girl known then as Lulu, born and and raised in tha 'hood or some obscure part of South London. Peckham Innit Doe. First thing she did was warn me the other girls would hate me and oh man did they. I had already danced in a club in Newcastle so I knew the drill but these girls just grinded against the pole. Oh the dirty looks I got when I would swing round it.

Anyway. This is a story about the brothels, not the clubs.

You've all heard about my friend Master Alex, the drunken whorebag that he is and his late night antics in the capital. Well he was out partying with some of his crew (I call them "crew" as he is an honorary South Londoner) when one of them mentioned they were in Soho and that oh my god didn't you know that it was riddled with *giggle* er [whispered] prostitutes?! Master Alex stifled his laughter and with mock horror replied "No, really?" Yes of course! This unsuspecting girl nodded back, look! There's a [whispered] brothel right there!

Models Upstairs.

Right above a chinese, staying classy of course.

I kid you not, Master Alex took her upstairs and got a pricelist and everything.  Cannot condone this as he then used to "Need to hit the ATM excuse"

Timewasting Son Of A Bitch.

Red Lipstick

I had a great session this morning with a lovely gentleman from Twitter.

I wore my lacy Antoinette lingerie with stockings (don't know it? Its the header on my website!) And my pink high heels. After he had spanked me enough to warm me up I sought out my favourite purple leather riding crop and he whipped me with it till I squealed! Needless to say I've been very warm today!

But I want to talk about my lipstick.

He, as your typical businessman would was wearing a pale coloured shirt and a darker tie. He, also as your typical businessman would, was playfully pulling my head around giving me instructions.

This is where one finds out how professional they actually are;
-The Bad Submissive Girl would cry
-The Good Submissive Girl would do as she was told
-The Professional Submissive Girl would do both as well as giving a good part of her attention to not getting lipstick on the shirt.

Yes I know it sounds simple but I bet it would be difficult enough for me to get it on your face to begin with. But that's a whole different story.

Outcome: Sir got back to the office as if he'd just popped out for a quick salad.

Mission accomplished!

Boy.

It went horribly. He was boring and... quite stupid really.

You couldn't pay me to do that again!

I kinda realised it wouldn't when I sent Crystal a picture of him. And she laughed.

"Babe seriously, he is not your type"

Too right, the second warning sign should have been that his hair was longer than mine.

The third... that he was brought up and went to school in Tuscany yet didn't know who Dante was. This is after telling me his conspiracy theories of the Vatican and Catholicism. (Fyi theres alot, mostly covered by Dan Brown who he's also never heard of...) Maybe it was my fault, I should have said it in Italian. Or just left then?

Promptly met Kate in the pub and started on the "for fucks sake man, just why?!" Over a glass or two (or three) of wine. Bit fuzzy on that night.

Called Ace on the way home for good measure.

Never mind!