K. Morris's Blog, page 821

Book Review: Lucky Girl How I survived The Sex Industry By Violet Ivy

Several weeks ago I was approached by Violet Ivy with a request to review her book, “Lucky Girl – How I Survived The Sex Industry” (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lucky-Girl-How-Survived-Industry/dp/1621419959). Being interested in the subject of Violet’s book I readily agreed. I should add that I received a free electronic copy of “Lucky Girl – How I Survived The Sex Industry” from the author.

The book is a roller coaster ride through Violet’s career as a professional escort or call girl. Coming from a small rural community in Australia the author left to attend university in the big city. At first she works in a bar but loses her job due to providing free drinks to her then boyfriend Toby (she was going to pay for them later but the bar manager still sacked her). Lack of money leads to Violet becoming a topless barmaid in a seedy establishment where she endures the stares of men who regard her as meat (a sex object to be enjoyed). She later graduates to stripping and, from there to escorting (I.E. high class prostitution).

The title “Lucky Girl” derives from Violet having made a great deal of money in the sex industry (she owns several properties and has made many friends including fellow working girls and some clients). However Violet is not always Lucky. On one occasion she is confronted by a madman in a Vegas brothel. There is no panic button in the room so Violet’s only option is to flee into the communal area and summon help. On another occasion she feels physically ill when acting out the paedophile fantasy of a banker in London. Her client gets aroused by her pretending to be a very young schoolgirl and in order to make money Violet must play along much against her own conscience (there is a school near to the client’s home and as she leaves Violet prays for the safety of the children and their parents).

Other stories are rather touching such as the client who has never had sex before. Violet takes great care to ensure that his experience is a positive one and extends the booking without charging the customer any extra. As a consequence he leaves satisfied with a smile on his face. On the one level the incident is deeply moving, however I couldn’t help feeling that it was a pitty that this man’s first experience of intimacy was with a working girl rather than with a girlfriend or at least in a one night stand situation in which the exchange of money is not involved. However we don’t live in an ideal world and I for one don’t feel in a position to judge either Violet or her clients. At least the customer had an enjoyable experience in a consensual albeit paying situation.

From time to time Violet touches on the ethics of prostitution. On the one hand she argues that it is better for a man who’s wife is no longer interested in sex to obtain release through a prostitute rather than via an affair (he may still love his wife and a connection with a prostitute is uncomplicated unlike the messiness which stems from affairs), however on the other hand Violet admits that she would be upset where a partner of her’s to see a prostitute.

One of the parts of the book which moved me most was Violet’s description of her love for Derek. They where on the point of marriage but on finding out via accidentally coming across a contact for a sex establishment on Violet’s phone that she is a working girl Derek very gently breaks off the relationship. Heart rending for both parties.

There is so much more that I could say about this book. For example the discussions between Violet and her best female friend regarding prostitution (the friend dates well-to-do men and accepts expensive gifts from them, however she is not paid for sex as such. Violet asks whether there is such a big gulf between her and the friend – a very interesting question)?

I’d wholeheartedly recommend this well written and very interesting book.

 

Kevin

Did She Really Mean To Say That?

Several days ago I answered the phone to a lady calling on behalf of the Royal National Institute of the Blind (RNIB). She was conducting a survey and as I am myself blind and I was, at that juncture at a loose end I agreed to answer a few simple questions. At the end of the survey the lady asked my age and on me confirming that I am in my 40’s she announced that

“I’ve been doing all the men in London in their 40’s today and I’m very tired”. Now what can one say to that …

The Sea

The sound of the surf, swish, swish as the great waves come and go fills my head. The tide sweeps all before it, the great waves flattening sand castles and all our human works. At first the moat fills with water but the castle still stands grand and tall against the tide’s mighty roar. Slowly walls subside the whole being taken back by the great ocean, returning to whence it came.

Standing on the cliff edge the roar fills my ears. The hypnotic sound of waves breaking and receeding is all that can be heard. The world is drowning being taken back by the great atlantic. All will eventually pass but not quite yet for slowly the tide receeds but tomorrow he will return in all his mighty glory and anger reminding us that we are mere men. Time and tide wait for no man, both keep rolling, humans attempt to run and hide but, eventually all will be brought low like the puny sand castles we built as children.

Slowly I replace the conch shell on the shelf in my living room. The sound of the clock reasserts itself and distant twittering of birds is heard.

Not Me Well Sort Of

Thus far all of my books have appeared under my given name (either K Morris or Kevin Morris). I am, however considering publishing a future book under a pseudonym. In the ideal world I’d publish and be damned but we do, unfortunately live in a world which is far from ideal. Indeed if we lived in such a world the matters dealt with in my proposed book would never see the light of day because, quite simply they would not have occurred.

I will write my book and if I feel it to be good enough it will appear as a self published work under a name other than my own. Just possibly, at some point in the future I may consider revealing my identity in terms of the planned book but I very much doubt that this will be the case for many years to come, if ever.

The Great Cycle

Walking in the woods after rain. Damp grass caressing my naked feet, the scents of nature heady and pervasive.

Losing myself in the dark mystery, moving ever closer towards that which can not be expressed.

Time appears to stand motionless. That old gnarled log on which I have so often rested stretches it’s bulk across the leaf strewn path. Once part of something living it now acts as a convenient bench while, imperceptibly it decays returning to what it once was, rich earth which will give rise to new life.

Long before me these trees have stood. I will go and they will remain. I am part of something beyond myself, a living organism in nature’s mysterious plan. Yet I deny this on occasions. Hiding behind my computer’s screen or my head full of noise ear glued to my mobile. All seems paltry as I walk here. The technology with which man surrounds himself is a silly toy. Nature laughs at us. She waits, Man will go but she will remain.

The Solid Melts Away

The real melts away like summer snow to be replaced by the insubstancial, that which we can not grasp.

From a very young age my grandfather and others bought me spoken word cassettes. These ranged from Stevenson’s Treasure Island to Brontae’s Wuthering Heights. I still possess most of them. They stand neatly stacked on a bookcase in my living room.

As a child I remember marvelling at the fact that a strip of thin magnetic tape could contain famous actors reading the classics of English literature. Later I wondered how CDs could hold on their round plastic surfaces the classics of world literature.

In retrospect both cassettes and CDs can be seen as a move from the substancial to the virtual. Granted the words of readers where contained on tape or disk, however language remained encased within plastic, one could take down from one’s CD rack Oliver Twist, look at the picture on the box, remove the disks, place them in a CD player and watch the small round disk move as words poured forth from the speakers. Now this is being replaced by virtual readings provided by companies such as audible.com which can be listened to on a variety of devices ranging from PCs to I-pods. Language is still contained within a flat cigarette lighter shaped I-pod but it somehow seems less real than holding a cassette tape or a CD.

I’ve recently started to record some of my poetry on Youtube which means that it is potentially available to people anywhere in the world unless you are unlucky enough to live in North Korea where access to the internet is confined to the security services and other top officials in the regime. Gone are the days when one had to pop into W H Smiths to buy a cassette or CD. Now all that is needed is a connection to the internet and bob’s your uncle, you can hear me reading (or attempting to read)! My work.

Everything that is solid melts and vanishes to be replaced by the virtual. Perhaps we are going full circle by returning to an earlier pre-print age where people told each other stories while huddled around the camp fire. The most important thing is that literature survives whether virtually or encased within the pages of books. In fact I hope (and I believe) that the virtual will never wholly replace the real, but it is, in the final analysis the survival of literature and art which matters rather than how that manifests itself.

For my Youtube channel please visit https://www.youtube.com/user/101drewdog

‘Rain’ by Kevin Morris.

Me reading my poem entitled ‘Rain’. This poem was inspired by me standing by the window you can see in the video, listening to the rain. It is a lovely, sunny Wednesday evening, but the same window, and the same garden, on which the rain fell several weeks ago!

‘Young Lady, Older Man’, by Kevin Morris.

Me reading my poem, ‘Young Lady, Older Man’.

Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘The Ice Maiden’.

Me reading my poem entitled ‘The Ice Maiden’. I am not telling who the lady in question is!

Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘Birds’.

Me reading my poem entitled Birds,