Saturday, 27 May 2017

Love moves in mysterious ways

Some of you will have noticed that the person you know as Greg Mitchell doesn't post so much on here these days, and that his activity, both on Facebook and Twitter, has considerably died down. Some of you might also be aware that Greg Mitchell is a persona, the name I adopted for the adult entertainment side of my life, a part of my life that is gradually coming to an end. Though I continue to offer my services as a tantric masseur, I have pretty much retired from the adult world (the porn, the escorting and the modelling) to return to what I used to do. Admittedly tantric massage is on the peripheries of that adult world, but everything else has stopped, and I have to admit that I would probably not be as good at what I do now without my previous experiences in looking after people in a slightly different way.

My recent silence is directly attributable to something that happened just over two years ago now, when I met someone and truly fell in love. When I say truly, this might be because it's the first time I've really understood what it is to completely love someone; to love every wonderful, crazy part of them, and to know that I am truly loved in return.



I am not going to divulge who the object of my affections is, because he is an intensely private person who mistrusts technology and the internet, even though he is almost 30 years my junior. Those who know the real me know who he is, and that is enough for me.

When I first met my partner, I believed I was happy being single and I believed that I would probably remain so for the rest of my life. After all, I was over 60, set in my ways and just not looking. But there was a yawning emptiness in the centre of my life which I didn't, or wouldn't, acknowledge. I felt dead inside, and I began to wonder if I would, or could, ever really feel something again. I don't mean this in any fatalistic sense. I wasn't depressed, and I certainly wasn't suicidal. I just had a sort of calm acceptance of what the rest of my life would be. Maybe that in itself was a kind of happiness.

But then my partner came along. We first saw each other at XXL over 5 years ago, and I can remember quite specifically the moment. My best friend noticed it too. "See that young guy over there. He really likes you!" But I was being Mr Sensible that night. I was tired and I decided to go home.

After that he cropped up on various dating sites at fairly spaced out intervals (I later found out this was because he was working abroad and was only occasionally in London), but the time was never right, and each time he asked to meet me, I wasn't available. However he was not one to give up easily, and, just over two years ago now, having relocated back to the UK, he got in touch again. Serendipitously I just happened to have two VIP tickets to a friend's birthday celebration, and I asked him if he would like to come with me. We've hardly spent more than a few days apart since.

I don't believe in love at first sight, but I do remember that shining, smiling face in the crowd at XXL, and that sense of regret when I got home. Little did I know that that night sealed my destiny.

There is nothing idealistic about the love I feel now, by the way. We have not been living in a state of continuous bliss. There has been rough as well as smooth. How could it be otherwise? My partner is funny, amazingly creative (probably the most creative person I've ever met), and sometimes just bat shit crazy. He is massively intelligent (genius IQ), and delights in solving the unsolvable. He excels at just about everything he sets his mind to, whether it's sport or inventing things or training dogs. Living with him is not always easy, but living with a genius was never going to be easy.

Before I met him, my flat was, if I'm honest, a terrible living space, and no reflection of the person I am. Over the years, I had completely neglected it. I hated it, felt embarrassed to invite people into it, knew it needed a major makeover, but didn't know where to start. My partner has completely changed it, but not just into a perfect designer image. His genius was to make it a space that reflected my personality and my own creativity. We had no budget, so almost everything in the place has been upcycled. He has created bookshelves out of cheese boxes and made CD storage into a work of art. The desk I am writing this on is made from half a wooden table and motorbike exhaust pipes, the table top covered with pages from the programmes of some of the shows we've seen together. Everywhere you look there are little quirks, like a hand bursting through the wall holding a large clock in the shape of a padlock, a tower of CDs being held up by a tiny strong man, crannies for plants among the book boxes.

Nor are we finished yet. The bathroom is next on the agenda. The light fitting  is an inverted rainbow umbrella, the shower curtain displays a rainforest on the inside and a beautiful beach scene on the other. The walls are to be covered in colourful maps of the world. The kitchen is to have an apothecary theme. He is not really one for words, but, in all this, he has shown me how much he loves me.

Best of all, my Christmas present last year was a magnificent large painting of my father, which he created in a flash of inspiration in 48 hours. My father died, at the age of 47, when I was 18, but he has been a huge influence on my life, and not a day goes by when I don't regret his early death. This painting of him is the best Christmas present I've ever had. In an ingenious twist, it hides the TV, sliding up to reveal it on the rare occasions we sit down and watch it.

But here is the thing, and something some of my friends have not understood. Though our relationship can veer with startling suddenness from the harmonious to the tempestuous, though there have been times when I have wondered momentarily if I was better off single, I actually feel alive again. I am feeling again. Sometimes the feelings are painful, but most of the time they're the opposite; and surely feeling something is better than feeling nothing at all. It can certainly be said that he has turned my life upside down, but that's not a bad thing. A life that was becoming rather grey is now full of vibrant colour.

He has reawakened my dreams, and given me the permission to dream again. I've gone back to dancing, re-discovered many of my friends from my theatre days, and realised how much I missed that life.

We share an antipathy for this new world that we live in, a world in which liberal has become a dirty word, intellectuals are derided and experts ignored, where anything that departs from the norm is suspect, and creativity, in so many walks of life, at an all time low.

Truth be told, he is a little bit weird, but then so am I, so is anyone who is creative. He has reminded me that I like weird people, and that I feel most comfortable around them. He has reminded me that it is the weird people who give us hope, that it is the weird people who will change the world. Furthermore, he has made me realise I am so much more than Greg Mitchell, the character I invented when I started doubting myself. As I start to believe in myself again, then Greg can start to fade away.




I still provide a tantric massage service, and I will continue to practice under the name of Greg Mitchell, for that is the name most of my clients know me by, but the other Greg Mitchell is ready to retire and let the real me take centre stage again.





Sunday, 15 January 2017

Will we ever be truly equal?



Yesterday I decided to have a sauna after my gym workout. I'm suffering a bit from osteoarthritis in my left hand, and had read that dry saunas could offer relief. There was only one other person in the sauna, a very overweight Indian guy of indeterminate age, though, as he mentioned that his father was my age, I'm assuming he was in his 30s. We started chatting, just small talk, and then he asked me if had any children.

"No," I said.
"Married?" "No."
"Why you not married?" he asked.
"So far I never wanted to get married," I replied.
"You gay?"

And there it was, that moment when I considered briefly evading the issue, not telling the truth. Why? Because I was worried about his reaction? I've been out to friends and family for the best part of 40 years now. You'd think I wouldn't have a problem anymore, but still there was the briefest of pauses (and it really annoys me) before I replied,

"Yes".

He was a little taken aback.
"In my country you would be shot," he grunted.
"And if you did that in my country, the one you're in at the moment, you'd go to prison - for a very long time."

He accepted that with equanimity and oddly enough the conversation didn't end there. By his own admission he was pretty uneducated, and I ended up giving him a short history lesson about the Second World War. (He thought the Nazis were Jewish and American!) The question of my sexuality was soon forgotten. When my time was up and I headed for the shower, he wished me well and that was that.

However, afterwards I pondered my hesitance in telling him I was gay. It bothered me. Haven't we, haven't I, moved on from the attitudes of previous generations? After all, in this country, and quite a few others around the world now, we can even get married. Surely we've reached a stage in society where one can reveal one's sexuality without fear of reproval.


Well only recently, our new right wing, UKIP influenced, Tory government voted to block compulsory LGBT-inclusive sex education. Religious sensibilities, it seems, are more important than teaching children it's ok to be gay, more important than tackling the bullying so many LGBT children suffer on a daily basis. So we haven't come that far since Section 28 after all. It might be legal for us to get married now, but let's not talk about it, or at least if we do, only in the abstract. The fact that LGBT couples actually have sex is something we'd rather not think about.

As a hard Brexit becomes increasingly likely, as the UK isolates itself more and more from the rest of Europe, and as the UK removes itself from the jurisdiction of the European Court of Justice, then we will need to be ever alert to the possibility that freedoms so recently won can be taken away. Look at what's happening in the USA. Trump isn't even in the White House yet, but already steps are being taken to repeal the Affordable Care Act, and millions who were given hope will now be left without any form of health insurance.

We are living in a different world now from the one I thought I lived in, a post truth world. Liberal is now a dirty word. Intellectuals and experts are mistrusted, education (in the old sense of acquiring knowledge) derided, and ignorance applauded, and, in this climate, maybe it isn't so strange that I should mark that slight pause before acknowledging my sexuality.

Thursday, 16 June 2016

Authentic tantric massage



Since I started offering tantric erotic massage around five years ago now, there has been a proliferation of glossy ads on the internet offering what professes to be tantric massage, but I wonder how many of these are offering a genuine experience. How many are providing a straightforward massage with a quick hand job at the end, and how many are offering other sexual services that have little to do with tantra and the spiritual? I wonder because I used to offer such services myself, and because I know that what I do now is very different from what I used to do when I was escorting.

So what is tantric massage, and what might a new client expect? Well Tantra, in its purest form, goes back to at least the 8th century. In its original form it is a mystical pathway, an accumulation of practices that have in common extensive use of ritual and of psycho-experiential techniques such as yoga, visualisation, and meditation. In its modern form, Tantra has a slightly different meaning, referring to both new age and modern western interpretations of traditional Tantra, brought forward by pioneers of the so-called Neo-tantra since the 1970s. These teachings consider sex as a sacred act which is capable of elevating its participants to a higher spiritual plane. They all show how sexual energy can be transformed into ecstatic experiences. To reach this aim, they offer a wide range of techniques, containing elements originating from fields such as bodywork, breath work, yoga, and meditation.


In short tantra is, or can be, the perfect fusion of spirituality and sexual energy. Recipients of tantric massage have been known to have full body orgasms without actually ejaculating (ejaculation and orgasm are not the same thing, though one usually accompanies the other). This is when each of the seven chakras in our body vibrates at the same time, and can only happen when the recipient totally commits to the experience they are being offered, not as easy as it sounds.

I can’t of course guarantee that this will happen to every single one of my clients, as, in essence, I act as a facilitator, but I can guarantee that you will feel nurtured, healed and rejuvenated. I create the environment and setting in which such circumstances are possible.

For this reason, I only work from home, because atmosphere is extremely important, and that means a nurturing space that the client can walk into. I like to make sure that the room is properly prepared; warm enough to feel comfortable naked, with soft candlelight and my choice of music playing (music is a very important part of the massage).

Preparing the client for what is to follow is also very important, so you will not immediately be asked to take your clothes off and get on the table. We will have a brief chat about what and what not to expect. I will check on your personal boundaries, and get a better picture of what you are looking for. We will then, whilst still clothed, do a few simple breathing exercises together, which help to relax both of us, and also create a connection between us. We then undress each other before I invite you to get onto the massage table. From now on the key is to allow yourself to be taken care of. Nothing is expected of you, and though you may touch and hold me, you are not expected to reciprocate in any way. Just lie back and let me take care of you. Give in to the sensation of touch, wherever that touch may be. It is incredible how even the simple touch of hand on arm can have an erotic charge.



For premium customers I also offer digital internal prostate massage, which, aside from being very pleasurable, helps keep the prostate healthy and can help prevent prostate cancer.

So, yes, there is a world of difference between authentic tantric massage, and what many out there are offering. In the words of Joseph Kramer of Body Electric,

"The difference between a hand job and Taoist Erotic Massage is the difference between banging on a piano or playing Mozart."

Come and experience Mozart. More details on my website http://www.sensualself.co.uk.

You can also see some of my client testimonials on Rentmasseur and at http://www.masseurfinder.com/gregmitchell.

If you’d like to check out a movie of me giving a tantric massage then try the Sensual Massage Movies website.




Tuesday, 12 January 2016

David Bowie's Cat People



Back in 1982, I was in Zoo, the dance troupe which replaced Legs and Co (which in turn had replaced Pan's People) on Top of the Pops. We danced (or rather clambered around on a climbing frame) to David Bowie's Cat People. I loved the track (and still do). This is the Giorgio Moroder version. It was a different take from the one that appeared on his contemporaneous "Let's Dance" album.

There have been so many wonderfully eloquent tributes to Bowie over the last couple of days, that I feel anything I say will be superfluous. For me he is one the giants of the music world. His passing is an event of the magnitude of those of John Lennon, of Elvis Presley and of Maria Callas. A legend in his own lifetime, and now a legend for all time, he produced quality music for 50 years and his latest album, which can now only be seen as valedictory, is yet another classic.

Great artists do not die, and Bowie is no exception.



Tuesday, 8 December 2015

This is where it began - Callas's first commercial recordings



So after six months I finally come to the end and find myself at the beginning, Callas’s first commercial recordings and the 78s that introduced the world to the voice of Maria Callas. The recordings followed a radio concert of the same material (plus Aida’s O patria mia) and were obviously intended to showcase Callas’s versatility, a pattern which was to follow in some of her EMI recitals, like Lyric and Coloratura and the first French recital.

Callas was only 25 when these recordings were made, but they display an artistic and vocal maturity far beyond her years. She first sang the role of Isolde under Serafin in 1947 in Venice, literally sight singing the role at her audition. Serafin, who had conducted her in her Italian debut as Gioconda, was suitably impressed and hired her immediately.

The Liebestod is of course sung in Italian, but it is more than just a curiosity. This is a warm, womanly Isolde who rides the orchestra with power to spare. Note too how easily she articulates the little turns towards the end of the aria. Her legato is, as usual, impeccable, and the final note floats out over the postlude without a hint of wobble.

Callas as Isolde


Norma’s Casta diva and Ah bello a me are sung without the opening and linking recitatives, but the long breathed cavatina is quite possibly the most beautiful she ever committed to disc, and the cabaletta, though it lacks some of the light and shade she would later bring to it, is breath taking in its accuracy and sweep.

But what caused the biggest sensation at the time was the Mad Scene from I Puritani. What was considered a canary fancier’s showpiece suddenly took on a tragic power nobody suspected was there. Qui la voce is sung with a deep legato, the long phrases spun out to extraordinary lengths, but with an intensity that never disturbs the vocal line. Vien diletto almost defies belief. No lighter voiced soprano has ever sung the scale passages with such dazzling accuracy, nor invested them with such pathos, emerging, as they do, as the sighs of a wounded soul. And to cap it all, this large lyric-dramatic voice rises with ease to a ringing top Eb in alt. I have played this to doubting vocal students before now, and they have sat in open-mouthed disbelief. I remember one opera producer friend of mine once telling me that listening to it made him profoundly sad. “I know I will never hear live singing of that greatness in my lifetime,” he confided to me. If ever confirmation were needed of the greatness, the genius of Maria Callas, it is here in these, her very first recordings, and especially in this astonishing recording of the Mad Scene from I Puritani.

For my part, I have enjoyed every moment of my journey from those late recordings, where the genius would flash through to offset the evident vocal problems to these earlier ones where the voice had an ease and beauty that deserted her all too soon. Callas is and remains the pre-eminent soprano of the twentieth century. I know of no other singer who has made music live the way she did. A post on Talk Classical recently discussed underrated singers. I’d be tempted to add the name of Maria Callas, because, to my mind, her genius was inestimable. None of the accolades she has received seem eloquent enough, and I certainly can’t add to them.


60 years after she last sang on the operatic stage, she is still causing controversy, and no doubt always will. Her career may have been short, but was it Beverly Sills who once said, “Better 10 years like Callas than 20 like anyone else?”

Callas's first complete opera recording



Callas’s first ever complete studio recording was made for the Italian firm Cetra in 1952, before she had signed with EMI. The role of Gioconda had furnished her with her Italian debut in 1947, and was the occasion she met two of the most important men in her life, her mentor Tullio Serafin and her future husband Battista Meneghini. Paradoxically she would make her second recording of the opera at the time of her affair with Onassis, and when she was separating from Meneghini.

Callas in ger Italian debut as Gioconda at the Verona Arena


When Callas recorded La Gioconda for Cetra she was still a large lady and at her vocal peak. It was recorded just a couple of months before she made her spectacular debut at Covent Garden in Norma and shortly before her only series of performances as Lady Macbeth at La Scala, a role one wishes had figured more in her career. She then went on to sing Gioconda at La Scala, her last performances in the role until the EMI recording in 1959.

Given the sheer animal power and massive, freewheeling brilliance she could command at this stage in her career, you would think this Cetra recording would, in all but matters of sound, win hands down over the later one, recorded seven years after when her vocal powers were failing, but I’m not sure it’s that simple, and, whilst listening to this one, there were quite a few passages where I found myself hankering after the later recording. True, the singing is often magnificent, and it is easy to be swept away by the coruscating force of her delivery, but I find myself missing some of the refinements she has made by the time of the second recording. This may be a controversial opinion, but this one seems to me to be a series of thrilling highlights, whereas the characterisation on the EMI set feels more of a piece, with a cumulative power I don’t get here, for all the added security of her voice; and actually there are certain, purely vocal moments, she manages better on EMI than she does on Cetra (the pitfalls of Ah come t’amo, the E un di leggiadre section from Suicidio, the whole of the section after she gives Laura the sleeping draught, for instance).

As against that, I should also state that her performance of Suicidio here completely floored me when I first heard it. I had no idea a female voice, a soprano at that, could sing with such passion, could have such powerful chest notes. It was absolutely staggering and one of the things that first turned me on to the genius of Callas in the first place. If I later got to know the opera better from the EMI recording and place that at a slightly higher level of achievement, it is none the less  a close-run thing.
The Warner engineers have done a great job of the re-mastering and it sounds much better than I remember it from my previous CDs, though obviously not so good as the stereo EMI set. One also misses the greater refinement of the La Scala orchestra and chorus.

At La Scala in 1952

As for her colleagues, it is largely a case of swings and roundabouts. Barbieri is a much more positive presence than the young Cossotto as Laura, but none of the men on either of the sets are particularly good. Ferraro on EMI isn’t very subtle, but he certainly makes a pleasanter sound than the awful Poggi. Honours are about equal between Silveri and Cappuccilli, Neri and Vinco. Votto’s conducting isn’t much different in the two sets, and remains some of his best work on disc.


One thing is for sure, Callas as Gioconda is an absolute must, and, regardless of any reservations surrounding her colleagues or recording quality, eclipses every other performance of the role on disc.

Monday, 30 November 2015

A lusciously sensual Under Milk Wood

My review of this film adaptation of Dylan Thomas's Under Milk Wood first appeared in TheGayUK in October 2015.



I studied  Dylan Thomas’s “Under Milk Wood” for my English A Level, rather more years ago now than I choose to mention and it came as quite a surprise to me to realise that I still remembered, almost word for word the narrator’s first long speech, beautifully spoken here by Rhys Ifans.

“Under Milk Wood” is really an extended dramatic poem for voices. It was first conceived as a radio play, commissioned by the BBC in 1954, with Richard Burton voicing the narrator. Later it was turned into a stage play, and there is at least one previous film (1972) with Burton reprising his narrator role, and with such luminaries as Elizabeth Taylor, Peter O’Toole and Glynis Johns amongst the cast.

Whilst remaining absolutely true to Thomas’s original text, the screenplay of this new film, brings out more than any I’ve seen or heard, the sheer earthy, lascivious and hilariously funny filthiness of Thomas’s dreamscape, a true celebration of the joys of sex. Only most of the sex in this story takes place in people’s minds, their fantasies and desires brought out in full, luscious technicolour glory. 

The film looks superb, for which director of photography Andy Hollis deserves enormous credit.
Director Kevin Allen has at his disposal an excellent cast of Welsh actors, many of them faces well-known from TV, all perfect for their roles. Rhys Ifans, who also doubles as Captain Cat, is quite as effective as Richard Burton in his long opening speech, his accent, though perfectly intelligible, just that bit more Welsh, where Burton, targeting a 1950s audience, slightly Anglicised his tones.



Charlotte Church, making a very successful screen debut, is cast as Polly Garter. She has a plump, rounded, wholesome sexiness that is absolutely perfect for the fertile baby machine, that the rest of the village like to gossip about.

Ultimately, though, the film is also about loss; loss of community, loss of a way of life. Captain Cat is old and dying and his demise is symbolic of the death of the village Llareggub (Bugger All spelt backwards). There hangs over the film a purveying sense of nostalgia for a time that never waa. Gritty realism is swept away with a click of the camera, and for 85 minutes we can escape into a world of dreams and fantasy. I enjoyed it immensely.


4 stars