Ivor Gold and Red Stripe
Ivor was for a few years the person I would have counted my best friend. He introduced me to a life I had previously only dreamed of, but we had more than that in common. We shared a love of sport, of poker, and we had the same sense of humour.
Before I knew him I was living in Kiev, so naturally I became “John Ukraine” at first. I answered an ad for spanking parties on a rare visit back to England, and on my next visit to my amazement I had a reply with a phone number.
Driving back to Kiev was a two day affair, and for all that time I kept thinking about whether I dared to call. Of course within ten minutes of being home I did, and got the usual answer -phone message which invited me to speak anyway.
Long story short I went to a party on my next time home. I was so nervous I got to the terraced house an hour early, so as to watch or the police who I thought would certainly arrest me.
Eventually I dared to knock on the door and Ivor answered with more front than Blackpool as was his way. From the first minute I felt at ease and at home, even before I met the pretty girls who were Ivor’s stock in trade.
We quickly became friends rather than business acquaintances, I hope I was able to help Ivor if only as a competent person to bounce ideas off, but later on I helped with his video shoots and did some business for him in New York.
I could fill any amount of pages with memories, enough to say he introduced me to the small scene (this was the mid 90s) in London and because I kicked around with him I was welcomed everywhere.
At that time Ivor was the undisputed King of the C.P scene, his Red Stripe club a source of income and pleasure to him. He had created that from the depths of despair when his beloved wife Bobbie had died a few years before we met.
He died in 2001, murdered for the cash he always kept on hand. I miss him to this day. In case anyone wishes to look on Google his real name was Ivor Goldblatt, and his son has created a memorial to him.
In these days of easy connections to the C.P. world it can be forgotten that back then finding others was hard and getting play was almost impossible. People like Ivor dared to put themselves “out there” and it was this that facilitated acceptance of our kink.
So thanks Ivor, more than I can say.
Ivor was for a few years the person I would have counted my best friend. He introduced me to a life I had previously only dreamed of, but we had more than that in common. We shared a love of sport, of poker, and we had the same sense of humour.
Before I knew him I was living in Kiev, so naturally I became “John Ukraine” at first. I answered an ad for spanking parties on a rare visit back to England, and on my next visit to my amazement I had a reply with a phone number.
Driving back to Kiev was a two day affair, and for all that time I kept thinking about whether I dared to call. Of course within ten minutes of being home I did, and got the usual answer -phone message which invited me to speak anyway.
Long story short I went to a party on my next time home. I was so nervous I got to the terraced house an hour early, so as to watch or the police who I thought would certainly arrest me.
Eventually I dared to knock on the door and Ivor answered with more front than Blackpool as was his way. From the first minute I felt at ease and at home, even before I met the pretty girls who were Ivor’s stock in trade.
We quickly became friends rather than business acquaintances, I hope I was able to help Ivor if only as a competent person to bounce ideas off, but later on I helped with his video shoots and did some business for him in New York.
I could fill any amount of pages with memories, enough to say he introduced me to the small scene (this was the mid 90s) in London and because I kicked around with him I was welcomed everywhere.
At that time Ivor was the undisputed King of the C.P scene, his Red Stripe club a source of income and pleasure to him. He had created that from the depths of despair when his beloved wife Bobbie had died a few years before we met.
He died in 2001, murdered for the cash he always kept on hand. I miss him to this day. In case anyone wishes to look on Google his real name was Ivor Goldblatt, and his son has created a memorial to him.
In these days of easy connections to the C.P. world it can be forgotten that back then finding others was hard and getting play was almost impossible. People like Ivor dared to put themselves “out there” and it was this that facilitated acceptance of our kink.
So thanks Ivor, more than I can say.