THERE ARE FEW things less socially worthy than a stray penis. The penis is mainly to have sex and urinating, two things that are unsatisfactory out in the open. Therefore, probably, the penis distends into various London Escorts urban legends, showing the progressing interest and clumsiness individuals feel about it.
So feel sorry for the man in the accompanying legend gathered by Rodney Dale and reviewed for his book The Tumor in the Whale. A man races into the cantina bar of a City of London Escorts bar, puts his cap and folder case on a table, requests a whisky and tells the barman that he is ‘blasting for a pee’. The landowner instructs him to experience an entryway and turn left, which the edgy man does, fixing himself in transit. Supposing he is touching base at the latrine the man hauls out his ‘mechanical assembly’, as it is alluded to in the story, yet ends up remaining on a stage in general society bar with his genitals in plain view. The barman sees him, is chafed, and tosses the man out onto the road. Our saint comes back to the cantina bar to recover his cap and portfolio, pretty much as the barman is educating the landowner regarding what happened. After a yell of ‘that is him!’, the baffled man, still not having had his pee, is tossed out onto the road once more. A long time later the man strolls into a bar in Ipswich and sees the previous City of London Escorts bar landowner behind the bar. ‘Don’t I know you?’ the proprietor inquires.
A more wake up call is told in Paul Screeton’s book Escorts in London Bars and Mushy Peas, of the main offspring of a north London Escorts Cypriot family, who is allowed to sit unbothered surprisingly. Thirty minutes after his strict guardians have left for their vacation in Limassol, the kid is smoking, drinking whisky and stroking off to in-your-face porn while exposed. On the off chance that exclusive he had held up longer; his folks soon got back home, having overlooked their international IDs.