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Oddly enough, Antigonish used to have a
lingerie shop, but it closed down. Probably
because it just had lingerie and didn’t offer
that all-important little extra.
Yep, you can get the full monty at Passionate
Nights. Certainly can.
By the way, once Krystal gets this first
sex shop year out of the way, she tells me
she’s going to work on a student discount
structure for all those nice Catholic and non-
Catholic boys and girls at St. Ninian’s St.
F.X. University.
But remember you have to be at least 18
years old to browse through Krystal’s wonderful
world of erotica.
And Krystal Mattie is v. discrete, and she
doesn’t discriminate.
Anyone of appropriate age is permitted
entry to her Antigonish sex shop. Remember
to come in the back door.
Muslim ladies can come wearing their
burqas and beekeeper’s veil if they like, and
all clergy, Roman Catholic and otherwise,
can come in their full priest’s garb if they like.
Baptists and Lutherans are permitted to
keep their car engines running in the back
parking lot.
Krystal, herself, is Roman Catholic.
Brisk Business...
She tells me there’s been no backlash re
the opening of her Antigonish sex shop and
that business has been brisk. Yes, she’s penetrating
the market! (Sorry. Was hanging onto
that one since paragraph two. Couldn’t hold
it any longer. Had to get it out. Had to have it
over and done with. Sorry. I’m much better
now! Thanks! — Grunt. I’ll continue...)
Krystal adds that the sex toys and the gift
baskets are two very, very popular items.
Definitely above my pay grade, but I would
hazard a guess that “The Rabbit” vibrator
made immensely popular by the character
Charlotte York in the TV series Sex and
the City (she was addicted to the bloody
thing) would be a favourite among the more
trendy libertine lasses of Antigonish Co.
and surrounding area.
So, ladies and gentlemen, gentlemen and
gentlemen, ladies and ladies, that’s Krystal’s
story and she’s sticking to it.
Say, maybe it’s time for an upgrade, huh?
Whaaad ya say? Plunge to new depths, eh?
Yes, sir, ladies, say, isn’t it time you said
goodbye to that local fruit-stand forever and
dropped in to see enterprising young Charlotte,
er, um, I mean, enterprising young
Krystal? C’mon, why don’tcha?
Just take that Bible outta the top drawer of
yer Antigonish night table, stuff it under your
Antigonish mattress for safe keeping, clearly
outta harm’s way, don’t wanna get anything
on it, and re-configure that night table top
drawer with something a little extra.
Something, a little more durable, a little more
pleasurable, something you don’t have to rush
out and drag outta yer dam crisper at 12:30
at night? Something, when yer finished with
the dam thing, you won’t have to tippy-toe by
The unfortunate Nicola Paginton
the kid’s bedroom at 2:30 at night, to put back
in the refrigerator. Something you don’t have
to worry about accidentally cutting up and
putting on your good man husband’s sandwich
two days down the road? Or in the
tomato salad for Sunday dinner when the inlaws
are coming over after mass at “Geeez,
it’s not so crowded in here anymore” St.
Ninian’s Cathedral.
Yes, sir, ladies, if you’ve seen the future at
all, then you know the future is elastic hydrocarbon
poly vinyl, or sumthun’ like that.
It won’t talk back to you, it won’t pee on the
toilet seat, it’ll go wherever it’s pushed, and
it’ll never stay out late at night drinking with
the boys! What the hell more can ya ask for?
But all ye young maidens, and ye older
maidens, too, please be careful. Be cautious.
Stay away from those Mach 2 super-duper
speeds unless it’s absolutely, painfully necessary!
Need I remind you that just last October
15, not even yet a year ago, young, vivacious,
spectacularly beautiful, healthy, British
nanny Nicola Paginton, 30, was found
dead in her South West England home.
Nicola didn’t show up for work.
Her employer and a co-worker went directly
to her flat to find Nicola dead in bed,
naked from the waist down, with a sex toy
in her cold, dead hands and a porn movie
playing on her laptop. Her cat was lying on
her chest.
At a coroner’s inquest last July it was ruled
that Nicola died from sudden heart arrythmia,
likely caused by “her activity before her
death.”
So ladies, ask yourself, is “Yes, Yes, Yes...”
really worth it?
Yes. You’re absolutely right. It is.
No more question, my Lord.
Does Frank Know?
atlanticfrank@eastlink.ca
DEAR
PENTHOUSE...
BY LIB R. TEEN
IN THE INFINITE, SPRAWLING, OTHERWORLD THAT
IS CYBERSPACE, A MYSTERIOUS BLOG HAS BEEN
BROUGHT TO MY ATTENTION, ONE THAT, IF THE
CONTENTS OF IT ARE TRUE, MUST BE MAKING MORE
THAN A FEW HORNY, HIGH-PROFILE PHILANDERERS
A MITE NERVOUS. BUT THAT’S A BIG IF.
For all I know, Chloe, who purports in her Secrets
of a Halifax Courtesan blog to be a highclass
escort, could be a bored secretary with an
over-active imagination.
Take, for example, her stories of “Charles”, whom
she identifies as a high-profile public servant who
may be on the verge of being publicly humiliated because
of his fetish for wearing ladies’ underthings:
“At his last press conference, he was wearing a
particulary smashing pair of acid green satin, trimmed
with black lace. The Chronicle Herald didn’t report
on that, of course,” she writes in mid-August, shortly
after launching the blog.
A few days later, following a purported meeting
with “Charles” at her waterfront condo, which apparently
boasts a soundproofed bedroom and “playroom,”
her light-hearted tone is replaced with one of
concern for “Charles.”
“(He) was quite upset this morning. He received an
anonymous note telling him that the writer was aware
of his panty fetish, and that once the press found
out, he could kiss his public service career goodbye,”
reads the blog entry. She expresses anger that
plenty of his colleagues do far worse, “things that
affect the taxpayer.”
Then there’s her elderly doctor friend, who she
says owns a private island near Halifax.
“He has a pretty little yacht on which he likes to
play pirate. Booty call indeed,” she coos in a September
5 posting. Her prose is so overdone, almost
Harlequin-esque in its drama. If Chloe exists, she is
the kind of woman who makes love in silhouette while
clutching silk sheets.
Just before my deadline, she offered up another
titillating tidbit, identifying one of her alleged regulars
as a sitting member of the legislature.
“I know one sitting member very well indeed, right
down to the freckle and the little right bend,” she
writes in a September 10 posting titled The Honourable
Member.
Although the blog is devoid of contact information,
I left a note in the comments section for Chloe to call
me. The following post appeared the next day:
“To those gentlemen who leave their number-sorry
darlings, I have a full date book”.
So there you have it. Chloe’s not accepting new
clients. That, my friends, might be the most unbelievable
part of all.
Does Frank Know?
atlanticfrank@eastlink.ca
SEPTEMBER 28, 2010 ATLANTIC CANADA FRANK 25