Monday, December 19, 2005


I entered the house and saw black lace raised and molded by the most beautiful breasts in the world. I was sucking on them only one minute later. The owner of the breasts said: "hi, I'm Danielle". I couldn't answer because my mouth was full, but I waved.
She made the small eyes and led me into a bedroom. we spent the rest of the party on a silk bedthrow with ugly patterns. she had the kind of smile that keeps the lips and teeth slightly open in an almost innocent spread.
I told her: "You should strip for me." She answered: "I only know how to fuck. I don't know how to strip." And we fucked. In a girly way. Hands and breasts and tongues and legs and shaved pussies. hungry pussies. pussies that sucked everything inside, like a tornado. pussies that devoured our minute made passion.
she was a pornstar.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

the tastes

the tastes were aligning in my mind living me no space to breathe.
I heard myself asking him: "How are you?". An eternity and a half later he responded: "Good".
the tastes were mixing themselves up again. He didn't know that if he moved his head to the right the same way he did it while he told me secrets of himself, I would stop breathing for good. I would fill my lungs with tastes of blood and salt and kill every little memory I had of him.
He hugged me. His thoughts were crying: "I'm sorry". My lungs were full of tastes of blood and salt. My will melted white and crude through his fingers. He picked it up as if it were a penny and returned it to me. He didn't want the luck.
The tastes took over, and I died.
The only sign of my poor existence was a taste of blood and salt, that never satisfied any thirst.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005


the majority of people have no story to tell. If they change through the years, they choose to change in the most boring way possible. they trim down their dreams and settle for the worst. however, they are convinced of having become more interesting. in other words, I had to sit through dinner and listen to stories I didn't give a shit about and pretend I care. I even had to be polite. I hate being polite and answering politicaly correct questions. Never did me any good.
I find there is no feeling or passion in these guys. where are all of those people who are not afraid of risking their life for a dime?

dating in hollywood

in order to date in hollywood, one has to showcase oneself. it is an entire production complete with head shots (for the online deal), resume (so that people know how much you make a year) and so forth.

a very dear friend of mine, who shall remain nameless for the purposes of this story, dated this woman for a while, after meeting her online. he eventually found out she used to be a man. after one year of banging her. she was so good at putting up this production, that he never realized he was banging a post op tranny. to be honest, she was hot , funny, intelligent and aroused me. she was the perfect woman in every way. I hope they'll work out their differences and be together forever. they need each other.

silvia intro

my name is silvia. I'm a stripper. my life flows between shows, sounds, lights and people I meet. I believe sex is a language. Some people are linguists, some can barely speak.
Flirt is a masque. It works just like math. It has rules and laws, theories and theoremas.
I flirt a lot. people don't have patience to read between the lines. that's why I strip, to fill the text with images. I'm selfish and I don't like my space invaded, but I'm open to discussions about my egocentrism.