Month: October 2015


I don’t hang out in bars all that often on my own, so when I walked solo into Buzz Nine last night I felt a little self-conscious.

That changed the minute I met Sjarmante Diamante. She fluttered her false eyelashes at me, pushed her perfect boobs in my face and purred – ‘Come, darling, come and join our table.’

And before I knew it I was sitting with the Burlesque dancers – Miss Oh, Salacious Sally, Foxy Bonnet and Chat Chat la Crème. All very sexy with feather boas, corsets, silk stockings, a lot of glitter and very soft sensual flesh.

I was a little overdressed in my elegant black shift and Manolo Blahnik’s, and also a little upset that I was the only one not wearing nipple caps. But the girls were gorgeous and they let me try on their furs, stoles and nurse’s outfits and tweak their tassels just a little!

The show began. This was The Tournament of Tease, a monthly dance / theatre review, showcasing South African burlesque dancers.   It’s organised by Miss Oh and Mechant & Gentil Lingerie, and totally delicious.

Burlesque is all about the art of tease – it’s sort of like stripping but with taste  – and without the tart. It’s the art of pulling off stockings that you may or may not be wearing while being very cheeky, very sexy and very provocative.

Actually, that is not true!  It’s all about stripping but in such a fun way. And it’s arty and creative and well, pretty damn erotic.

The women were all beautiful. Of course it took me a while to work out that they weren’t all women and Sjarmante Diamante is actually a drag queen but hey, we’ve become good friends now so it doesn’t really matter.

I loved it. Buzz Nine was the perfect venue – small and intimate but also raucous and fun. We, the audience, laughed and whistled and went oh my gosh and laughed some more and gasped and had a really wonderful time.

I’ve signed up for a Burlesque class and I’m going back to Buzz Nine next month for the Tournament of Tease Finale.

You should go too. And buy some nipple caps. Just in case you get called up on stage.

Buzz Nine, Melville – 7th Street, Johannesburg. Tel -011 – 482 5728

Miss Oh –

Skype sex

I didn’t mean to have skype sex. I was lazing on my bed, mostly naked, when the call came through.

I answered, a light breeze blowing through the bedroom curtains.

Hey, I said. It’s just too hot to put on clothes. We’re having a heatwave, 35 degrees. It’s impossible to cool down.

I tried to angle the camera so it wasn’t looking straight between my legs.

I’m not very good at camera angles.

And I do have very nice legs.

You look good Violet, he said.

And he smiled. This guy smiles and I lose it completely.

Put your hand between your legs, he said.

That was it. No prelude, no romance, no ‘go and get a drink and let’s talk dirty a little.’ Just an instruction.

Maybe I had heatstroke, maybe I was sunbaked. Maybe I was just really horny.

But I listened.

Start slowly, he told me. And then he guided me, step by step, by very sexy do this, do that, slower, harder, move your legs, lift your legs, get your toy, turn over, this way, that way, show me, open your legs a little, pinch a nipple…

Dear sweet goddesses!

Me, on camera, naked, doing all this stuff.

And I can tell you this.

It was fantastic.

And he didn’t even take off his clothes.

I’m stiff today. Really stiff.  It feels like I’ve done a full on yoga workout. But it was much more pleasurable.

I say let the heatwave continue.  I’m on my bed again.  Trying to cool down.

Waiting to hear that skype ring.

Love me tinder

‘What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?’ I asked my girlfriends as I downloaded Tinder on my phone.

They all rolled around laughing so much that I got pissed off.

‘You will start to hate men, Violet.  Do not, we repeat, do not do it.’

I ignored them as usual and downloaded the app.

Andy, Robert, Jon, Kevin and someone called Bulldog all looked fantastic. Rich had amazing muscles and Rambo had class drinking skill.  Sipho in his cutaway shirt was hot, and Jesus with his tattoos drop dead gorgeous.

Nice, but I carried on swiping, looking for a teeny bit of substance. I found it.

Clyde liked eating pussy.

Wayne could cook but his speciality dish was not food.

And Mpho’s hobby was anal.

Suddenly BB’s pic popped up on my screen and I got all excited and swiped right.

‘Jesus Christ Violet.’  His response was immediate.  ‘I’ve been trying to get you to like me for years. ‘

‘Sorry babe,’ I typed. ‘Just trying to figure out how this thing works.’

He deleted me.  BB deleted me!

No problem, Tinder allows you to move on swiftly. I found Steve.  He had an interesting profile even though his pic was him kissing a fish. I thought I would risk a hello.

What I didn’t know was that I sent the ‘hello’ 47 times and super-liked him even though I don’t even know what that means.

He reported me for stalking.

As if I would stalk a guy kissing a fish.

I swiped right (or is it left?) on a good friend’s boyfriend and only afterwards did I realise it was him and OH MY GOD WHAT WAS HE DOING THERE ANYWAY. I’m gonna have to talk to her.

And then it just got worse. I was matched with Yossi, Raffi and Eitan, three Israelis but each of them was looking for a single, slim polite white woman and I realised Yossi, Raffi and Eitan were, in fact, all the same 103-year-old fat and sweaty disgusting wanker.

I could carry on. In fact, I am going to.

But not right now.

Instead, I’m switching off my phone and pulling up the covers.

I do my best thinking in bed.

Maybe I’ll even have some fun in there.

Things I do

Every morning for the last few weeks

I have rolled out of bed

Taken a shower

Brushed my teeth

Rinsed with Listerine

Put on sunblock

And lipstick

Zipped up my jeans

Spent ten minutes looking for my keys

Walked to the local deli

Picked up an XL skinny low-foam cappuccino

Sat under a tree


And thought about

Calling the guy

In the yellow t-shirt.

Guns n’ cupcakes

So there I was all cosy in my coffee shop writing about sex, dipping in and out of facebook, flirting a little with the guy sitting opposite me when suddenly – a bit of a commotion.

I was distracted.  What kind of idiots make a noise in a coffee shop?

Armed ones, apparently.

Two men, caps pulled low, dark glasses, and guns in their hands. Smoothly, seamlessly, holding up the patrons and helping themselves to their laptops and cellphones.

What do you do when you’re in the middle of an armed robbery? Yell? Scream? Risk being shot?

Take another sip of coffee in case it’s your last?

It was so quick. They were gone within seconds, cool as cucumbers, leaving in the escape car that was outside waiting for them.

Only afterwards did panic break out. We were tearful and shaky, everyone was in shock.

I just sat there, clutching my laptop to my chest. How lucky I had been that they never made it to my table.

But what does lucky mean? In South Africa, we have this really weird thing of saying ‘ 0h my god I was robbed, thank goodness no-one was hurt.’

And then we just carry on.

But it’s crazy. It’s insane. It’s a mad way to live.

And it happens all too often.

We gulped down our cold coffees but left our eggs, sad and rubbery, lying on the tables. Slowly, we scattered, unsure how to feel and what to do.

I got home. I finished writing my story. I called a friend to tell him what had happened.

He recommended a scotch or six, a red velvet cupcake and a pedicure. Plus a blog piece about the incident.

So that is what I did. I ate two cupcakes, had a manicure as well as a pedicure and now I am writing.

Also wondering what happened to the guy I was flirting with.  And feeling better already.

I shall have to go back to the coffee shop to find out.

No sex for the sex writer.

As a sex writer, I’m finding it quite hard to write about the sex that I’m not having.  Just as I’m about to change my blog to a gorgeous sexy new look I find myself going through (excuse the pun) a dry spell.

No dating. No men. No sex.

No no no no no fun.

Instead of meeting men and having wild nights out I’m focusing on politics and corruption. I’m joining protest marches, school governing bodies and before you know it, I will be playing bingo and bridge.

Is this how it all ends?

You start off sexy and glam and gorgeous and active and then slowly, slowly you realise you may never sit on top again? That your days of kissing and licking and fucking are over.

What if I never wear high heels in bed again? What if I never change my Birkenstocks?  What if I don’t get to use those gorgeous thigh-high fishnet stockings I have tucked away in my drawer? Or if no-one ever sees my Dolce and Gabbana underwear!

What if the last time was the last time?


Forget the community meetings, the book clubs and even the poor goldfish that were abandoned in a shop window that I’ve been fighting for.

I’m putting sexy lingerie on under my clothing.

I’m putting myself out there.

Because we should all be having fun, living our lives and exploring and experiencing.

And having sex until we’re at least a hundred.

Especially me.