Caroline: two americanas to the airport

Picked them up an 0600. they were on time. they confirmed the fare once they got in. Classical was on the radio. They talked among themselves, then I said something in english and they knew I talked their language. they’re from Texas, heading to Buenos Aires now.


  1. make no suggestions, they’ve got their fb pic agenda, they’ve got their itinerary planned out.
  2. get a fb page going, ask chido people to contribute a review.
  3. Got to make them feel worldy.
  4. Give pointers out, make it a mini tour—make the ride up to the airport memorable.
  5. Have a business card or flyer ready.
  6. Get all the people arriving to the terminal in the early AM.


condoning debt to rich people

Jimena has money. she has lot’s of money. She’d rather not owe me any favors and just settle her bill. never condone rich people’s debt. they don’t understand it and think instead that I’m trying to manipulate them into feeling gratitude, which maybe I was.

Also, it is a sign of saying “no” to prosperity.

Stay on track.


Operation FAV

The Prosperity Protocols call me to initiate Operation FAV (Fuck Antonella and Vanessa). In July we’re going over to Argentina to visit her family. Antonella is one of her friends who is hot and into pole dancing, with strong thighs I want. Vanessa is her cousin, my age, and a wila—I want her too. This is going to take some discipline and skill.

Within my understanding of sexual prosperity I have to try and develop my capacity to enjoy sex with as many women as possible—learning, accepting, growing. I have found that women want this too, or that at least many of the women I’ve encountered want that, to fuck, and that in many cases the problem is more in our own heads than in reality.

Woke up at 04:00

This blog has now become NSFW and probably not the type of reading I’d like to write but some of these things, the things that are happening in life just have to be put down. It’s just for biographical purposes, for myself, not much hope of it being useful for others. So here we go.

Woke up. Just lying there for a while, probably somewhere around four, decide to get up but also to fuck. So I start grabbing her, we kiss, she’s sleepy, I’m on top, she grabs my cawk and puts it on her pussy, she’s tight and dry, we go slow, real slow, we get the head  in—we start fucking. It’s good, intense, we’re trying not to make noise. I feel the animal in me. Her parents, visiting for the holidays, are next door while I dick my wife, she’s such a horny little slut. She came good. I later went into my studio and took a pic of the cawk and liked it.

october 5

I took a shower and dressed early because we have a female guest. She’s a socipathic cheapskate with whom it is interesting to talk to, especially about photography, politics and soccer. I don’t care about soccer. She’s got that coked up paranoid look in her eyes, the one that comes from a life of whoring and slutting, the jaded look left behind after being used and abused for years.She’s planning on living off us for as long we’ll have it, but Mariela’s given her the deadline—two days. I could get up at night, walk into the room we’ve given her, wake her up and give her the cawk. Fuck her skinny ass hard and break her. She’d stay, she’d like it, but it would be dangerous, she’s a leech. She woke up, was an ass again before and during breakfast. I have no lust for her. When she left we felt instantly at ease. We had beef empanadas for lunch in bed. I love Mariela’s cooking. We then made love—the baby asleep in his room. We fell asleep and then got up to go for groceries.


And all of a sudden, with only a slight premonition of worries to come during the night before, I saw the grown-up me come back, open the front door, step in, drop the travel satchel on the floor—which is black of course—and mutter, “What the fuck has this jerk been doing to our life?”


Regina has deep green eyes and soft brown hair. There was a pause,  a comfortable pause, we both knew what would follow and had to let it build up a little for it to be true. Then she spoke.

        – I’m going to come back.

        – Good for you.

        – You don’t believe me?

        – Sure I do.

        – Thank you.

        – For what?

       –  For helping me.

        – Okay.

        – When I come back I want to buy you a drink.

        – That won’t be necessary.

        – Then let’s go for coffee.

        – Right.

        – I mean it.

       –  I know you do.

        – So? Maybe you can give me your number or something? I don’t think they’ll let me have it if I ask…

        – I think we’re done now.

        – No number?

        – No number.

        – Good bye?

        – Good bye.

She’s 18, got into trouble here and needed repatriation to Germany. I was asked to evaluate her and write up the report for the insurance company. The situation was complicated and required tact and care— she wasn’t easy. All through our first conversation Regina was trying to figure me out, calibrating me, testing me; wanting to know what I wanted to hear, who she needed to be for me to like her. I relaxed and listened; asked a couple of questions, let her do the steering, let her take me for the ride, let her show me how smart she was.  She’s smart, very smart. Knows men and knows how to handle them.

 Last year she spent six months in Spain, living with a boyfriend next to the beach. That boyfriend was 56 years-old. That’s a 38 year age gap.  She smiled, she cajoled, she cried and finally, she was brilliant—just to let me enjoy her cleverness. We talked about violin music and violin players; I had to play catch up but she’d always slowed down if I fell to far back. I knew what she wanted— if, the insurance company could establish she’d knowingly lied to them, it was over, she’d get a tough deal, and would have to pay for all expenses incurred. She needed a break and I let her have it; the Germans would come and pull her out sometime after midnight, I signed the papers. I got a telephone call from a man in Germany; he was brief, I was brief—we both appreciated each other’s brevity.

Maybe she did figure me out.

Remorse the day before her birthady

Do I feel remorse? Yes, if I could play it over I’d do it differently. That much is true, and yet, I won’t call and say I’m sorry because I’ve made that mistake before. It doesn’t matter who I’m talking about or what the specific situation was, it’s a repetitive scenario; it’s happened before, it will happen again. Tomorrow is her birthday, we’ll all act normal.

Mariel’s Father

A man enters a restaurant with his pregnant wife and 2-year-old daughter. It is an Argentinean restaurant; he is Argentinean himself. He orders a For-4-BBQ tray. The waiter warns him they are exceptionally large portions but the man’s mind is unchanged. The order is brought and he proceeds to calmly eat it almost completely. Twenty-five years later his daughter tells me this story and laughs through it. This woman’s name is Mariel.

Friday.Jan.4.2013 – Day in the Life