Apparently I don't blog about sex enough?!

-- Those of you with a short attention span can skip this part. --
A few days ago, I posted a little rant on my Facebook, complaining about the lack of readers on my blog. OK, so some people visit. The visitor-counter widget I installed recently says 559. But no one comments. And it makes me feel lonely. I wonder if someone is out there, reading my blurb? I wonder if anyone is enjoying it. I wonder if anyone is reading it on a regular basis, or if those 559 people just stumbled upon my site randomly, took a look around, made their excuses and left.

I thought it's because I don't promote the blog enough, through all sorts of fancy Search Engine Optimization tricks, cries for attention on social networking sites, leaving comments on other people's blogs and writing the address of my blog on the walls of toilet cubicles around London in permanent marker. I don't do it because I'm shy. I don't like to seem desperate. For example, I would never audition on TV for any kind of talent show. I also never-ever call guys I fancy, instead I wait for them to call me, even if I know they don't have my number, reasoning that either it's destiny and he will learn how to communicate via telepathy, or else it just wasn't meant to be. I happily throw flirty looks across the table under candle light. But full-blown striptease under the spotlight coupled with a laser show and fireworks? Nothanks. Advertising just isn't my line of business.

Luckily, my dear friend R. decided to enlighten me. Apparently, the only reason why no one reads my blog is because I don't write about sex enough. Sex sells, Lucie, it's not rocket science?! So today, children, we are going to talk about it. The bees and flowers and the things that good Catholic girls never talk about, let alone do. I will do it in the form of a book review, because good Catholic girls are allowed to read books, and it will be London-related too, so that it deserves a place on this blog.

Without further ado then, let me introduce ... The Intimate Adventures Of A London Call Girl

-- You people with no patience can start reading here. You missed out, btw. --

A book in which Belle de Jour, a high-class escort, introduces the ins and outs (hello! shameless innuendo!) of sex-for-money in London. It's not new, and there is even a sequel called The Further Adventures of a London Call Girl, but it's such a highly educational read that I think it needs to be promoted. Reading this book was the first time I heard about anal fisting, for example. (Yes, I am that backward. Hello innuendo again!) I mean, what the hell? Anus + Fists? Do people really do that?! And more importantly ... how? Either someone has really small fists, or someone else has a really big anus. Confusing world, isn't it? All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten? I don't think so, Mr. Fulghum.

Aside from all the X-rated things, Belle captures precisely what it's like to move down to London as a graduate, look for jobs, pay rent, and how lonely it all feels.

Here is one of my favourite bits from the sequel:

[Talking about women who despise one-night stands because they think sex should only be done with The One.] "I'd love to dine at Michelin three-star restaurants every night, sure, but in the meantime I still have to eat ... And London is a lonely place. Sometimes human contact for its own sake is nice. One day during my first six months in London, I decided to not talk to anyone for twenty-four hours, to see if it could be done. It could. And it was depressingly easy, as well."

Read it!