My previous partner’s daughter looks like a supermodel and is extremely successful in what seems like absolutely everything.

She is not only obsessed with perfection and showing off her glamorous achievements (her Instagram is something to behold!) but also she is hell-bent on setting and smashing goals, one after the other.

She’s got a lot of Virgo and Libra going on, no surprise, but what I felt worth mentioning is that her NESSUS is right on her AC.

She is definitely narcissistic and probably sociopathic but I’m not sure.

I’ve noticed that not all astrologers agree that Nessus = abuse; some say its the “the end justifies the means” asteroid.
I think it’s the “extreme determination” asteroid.
I think so because I have it conjunct my Mars and I’m not narcissistic or abusive but I have earned the respect of many of the sociopaths that have tried to fuck me up in life.
One even said “You never stay down! You always get back up!”

my natal chart +Lilith+Nessus CROPPED
My Natal Chart (including Chiron, Lilith & Nessus)




How I quit smoking fourteen years ago.


Photo by Ali Yahya on Unsplash

Smoking one to two packs of cigarettes a day, I was not only addicted to cigarettes, but obsessed with them! After three major attempts, I finally managed to quit for good, and this is the advice I offer to those still struggling.

Why do you want to stop smoking?


Your mind will play tricks on you when you’re  craving. Write your list on paper and keep it near you, to re-read whenever you’re craving.

My main reason for quitting, was vanity. I wanted to look better. I never felt like exercising or eating right as a smoker and I knew this was totally standing in my way.

I wanted to smell better. Smokers don’t realise how unpleasant they smell to non-smokers. No-one wants to smell bad.

I wanted to taste food again.

I wanted to be able to smell again.

I wanted to stop wasting all that money! Do the calculations!


The first 3-5 days will be hell. Prepare for it!


  • decide on a date that you will smoke your last cigarette, and until that date, enjoy the best cigarettes you can afford and allow yourself to smoke as much as you want to.
  • take some well-deserved leave from work so that you can relax and take care of yourself.
  • take vitamins for your nerves. “Brewers Yeast” is a cheap and natural form of Vitamin B, which is the “coping” vitamin. I drank twelve tablets, three times a day, for the first five days.
  • drink at least two litres of water or herbal tea a day, to flush the drug from your system faster.
  • chew sugar-free gum.
  • exercise at least twice a day, for the first two weeks. Even if it’s just a brisk walk. Not only is it an anti-depressant, but it keeps one relaxed and it helps to prevent weight gain from the extra food intake.
  • make sure you have plenty healthy snacks on hand. Popcorn and carrot sticks keep the mouth and hand busy.
  • nap as often as you can. It’s much easier to resist a cigarette when you’re asleep.


Photo by elizabeth lies on Unsplash



  • do not deal with other humans for the first three days, even a stimulating conversation with a friend will feel stressful!
  • do not be near anyone smoking a cigarette for at least five days.
  • do not drink any coffee or caffeinated drinks; the key is to stay as relaaaaxed as possible for the first 3-5 days.
  • do not overeat! not only will you gain weight, but we all know how one craves a smoke after a big meal.
  • do not eat sweets to keep your mouth busy. Sugar causes one to feel stressed and of course you don’t want to gain weight.


Photo by rawpixel on Unsplash

Dealing with cravings

Cravings pass surprisingly quickly. Take a few really deep breaths, re-read why you’ve quit, and remind yourself that if you smoke even one cigarette, it’ll take you months to muster up the courage and determination to try again, and then you’ll just have to go through all this misery again!


The good news is:

the discomfort fades quickly; and within 10-14 days, you’ll look and feel fantastic! You will be a winner!

You can do this.



Photo by Andre Hunter on Unsplash


Please feel free to follow me here on WordPress!

-Stef Stefanides



Fucking the Twenty year old Tom Cruise-look-alike ranch hand

Two pretty young Afrikaner boys in supporters shirts and caps were sitting quietly to one side.

I didnt expect any business from them but the one caught my eye a few times and eventually I got the courage to approach.

They were leaving for Montana USA the next morning

Apparently a lot of Afrikaans guys go and do farm work over there

I think it’s cool that white South African workers are so in demand internationally.

So the one nervously admitted he’d come to “book” and wanted to go with me.

He sure was pretty;

and well-mannered;

and shy;

so I had no qualms about it.

In the room, he self-consciously removed his cap and shirt, clearly not very experienced with hookers.

He looked every bit the fantasy cowboy: shirtless, all tanned lats and abs, in perfectly fitting cowboy style jeans and belt-buckle.

And he’d been hiding the sexiest long fringe in the cap!

After I coaxed him out of the jeans, he lay down passively, as almost all the guys do, and I started putting my moves on him. He warned me that he might cum quickly and almost as soon as he’d said it, he came;

still wearing his underwear.

But that didn’t discourage his impressive erection at all and soon I was blowing him.

He didn’t seem terribly turned on by it, quite uncomfortable, really, so next, I got my lotion and squirted it on my biggish natural tits and led him to give them a good fondling.

Still very little passion registered.

So I put a condom on him and rode him;

all my best moves! Still, he didn’t seem turned on, was going soft, in fact!

We agreed the condom was too tight for him and so I removed it, getting ready to try satisfy him by hand

I was getting so discouraged and wasn’t having any fun at all, as gorgeous as he was. I asked him not to be shy to let me know what he might enjoy.

He was reluctant;

saying he didn’t know.

“Come on, I’m sure you’ve watched a few blue movies before?”, I asked him in Afrikaans.

He asked if he could be on top. Sure! I said. That’s the easiest for me; and they so rarely want it, so I was pretty damn pleased

Well, he proceeded to fuck me like a champ! 🙂

My feet soon behind my ears!

I suggested doggie-style after a while, encouraging him to gain experience, and jeeez was that even MORE fun, especially when he’d gently but firmly pushed me down, between my shoulder blades, leaving only my ass in the air.

Then he took my one arm and gently but also firmly put it behind my back as if I was half tied up

Well, I caught on quick and when I added my other arm, my face happily smooshed into the pillows, pretending to be tied up, he pulled out and came all over my lower back.

Fucking hot stuff for a forty-something hooker hahaha yeehaaaa

Growing my teen


My teen daughter, Chantelle, has been craving McDonald’s “Cuppa-cake” dessert (I’m sure English-first-language South Africans only ever called it “pudding” when I was young?) and went as far as getting her boyfriend to get his mom to take them there for it,

but when she ordered, they told her it’s only for sale in the winter months.

So this morning, she decided to use some off her Sunday-TV-off-time to make microwave “cuppa cakes”.

I had pretty much everything she needed in the kitchen cupboard;

I am surprisingly organised and well-equipped for a “loser” (according to a certain part of society);

but oil and milk were low, and loo paper, too.

Thankfully I had enough money, so I sent her younger brother with her to the corner Spar to get a few groceries.

It’s a bit of a dodgy area, but I felt they were ready;

street-smart enough;

also, it’s a Sunday and many of the neighbours are at home and in their gardens.

When they got back, I was so impressed that Chantelle had risen to the challenge (she’s always been terrified of dealing with strangers) and also, that she’d chosen all the items according to what she’s learnt from spending so much time shopping with me.

As I praised her achievement with such awe and joy, she glowed and blossomed with confidence,

I swear she GREW, before my very eyes.

I’m absolutely loving parenthood,

more than ever, every year.

-Stef Stefanides

My birthday at the brothel

Yesterday was my 42nd birthday.

My kids were nice and quiet so I slept late, and then I treated us all to a nice milkshake at Steers on the corner. That was my party, really

I almost never treat myself to my favourite peanut butter milkshake, so it was nice.

Then I went off to the library alone, as another treat I rarely allow myself, especially since starting homeschool.

I thought I’d work on marketing my book and maybe blog a bit, but the wifi wasn’t working, and the librarians were having a fat social chat and I couldn’t bear it, so I walked to the Spur on the next block, to treat myself to a modest little meal and use THEIR wifi, but alas it didn’t work there either!

I’d agreed to be home by 2.30pm to be with Jordan, so that Chantelle could go visit her boyfriend for a few hours before I went to work, and after a nice nap, I waited for my usual bus at 6pm. I got a bit nervous when it was late because I had to be at my next bus stop at 6.15pm for the last bus to the club/brothel.

It came at about 6.05pm which was still fine but then I alighted at a stop too soon and ended up having to jog to my next stop, in my black slip-slops, sweating up my little black and white sort-of paisley “skater dress” but at least I made it in time and saved myself a bundle in transport. An Uber to work on a Friday would’ve cost R70-R140, but my two busses there only come to R8!!!

I feel so smug saving all that, just because I’m willing to look poor.

People are amazed when I tell them how cheap it is.


When I get to the club, it only takes me 15-20 minutes to transform myself into Mia, the classy working girl, and I went to go say hello and check in a bit with Marsha, the ball-breaking manageress who I consider to be my friend.

I told her that it was my birthday but to keep it quiet as I didn’t want to be forced to drink shooters and get fucked-drunk and vomit which I know many are often forced to do by their peers on the birthday. She so heartily wished me (Afrikaans ladies are so nice about birthdays) and a few minutes later, handed me a classy looking bottle of JC Le Roux faux champagne, along with a hug, on behalf of the club. I felt really appreciated.

I spotted Walter, one of nice guys I chat to, that just comes in for a few drinks, and we shared three “Brandy Specials” (two double brandy & Cokes for the price of one) and a “Jager-Bomb” (a shot of Jagermeister placed in a tumbler witha bit of of Red Bull) and had a great chat with plenty of laughs.

I know Walter smokes and I so badly wanted a crumb of weed for when I got home, seeing as though it was my birthday, and I felt so, so blessed when he magnanimously said he’d give me “a nugget of goodness” but when he went out to his car to get it, he didn’t come back.

I was hurt as well as sorely disappointed because we’d really connected, and even agreed to be platonic friends, and hang out in normal life, yet he never took my number. He just left. Dropping me like that. Knowing it was my birthday. I really didn’t see it coming.

So I wasn’t feeling very joyful when a huge bellied moustached Afrikaner approached me, telling me he recognized me as a fellow xxxxx Primary School parent from years ago; that he’d always fancied me and now really wanted to book me.

I felt stalked and also had zero desire to go to bed with him, so I declined, telling him it felt too weird for me. He accepted my decline with poise, but then sat watching me, and after about 20 minutes, seeing that I was getting no other interest (it was very quiet again), he came and tried again.  He was practically smirking, so I could tell he was quite sure he would now get his way, as I must need money and he has money, and that really irritated me, especially in my inebriated state, so I told him clearly I was not desperate (“ek’s nie geld-befok nie”) and was really not interested. Again, he accepted my decline rather well, but left the club immediately.


Then Martin, the sexy tik(crystal meth) addict (see my post Father and son in the brothel), arrived looking very buff and tanned and extremely confident and so, so smug.

Throughout December, we’d had quite a few awesome hours together and eventually he’d asked me out on a date

but then, almost immediately, he stopped texting me, putting a photo of him and his long-suffering third wife as his profile pic with the status “Ek is lief vir jou, my bok” (I love you, my buck, in Afrikaans) and I’d immediately recognised it as emotional abuse and deleted his number without another thought.

I was willing to overlook that last night, as months had passed and I was hoping for a nice long booking($$$)of great sex and laughs for my birthday, but when he played hard-to-get, chatting up a skinny young blonde instead, I decided I was done with him for good.

It was the last abuse I was willing to take from him.

When he saw how it was not working and I wasn’t running after him, he came to me (I knew he would, because I’m very, very good and I know he’s a huge fan of my -ahem- work), and offered to book me, IF I could arrange drugs for him. That was the absolute last straw and I told him quite matter-of-factly to go fuck himself.

First he laughed it off but when I just as matter-of-factly told him to shove his money up his arse, and that I never cared to see him again in my life, he could tell I was quite serious, and he quickly stepped away from me. Boy, was he shocked. I could see how the rejection knocked the cockiness right out of him as he then went from girl to girl desperately trying to arrange drugs.

I didn’t care that I hadn’t made any money.

I get a kick out of eschewing their money to be true to myself.


I went home shortly afterwards.

I didn’t realise how hard the cheap brandy and Coke had hit me, until later in bed at home, when I coudn’t sleep, and lay tossing and turning, cringing as I kept reliving my tipsy, loose-lipped blabbing so much of my personal stuff to Marsha.

God, how I was craving a puff of weed!

I took two muscle relaxants and managed to fall asleep.



Thanks for reading!

Feel free to follow this blog.

-Stef Stefandides






Excerpt from my book “Hitch-hiking to Heaven”


“Two more lifts, and I found myself sitting on my kitbag on a winding pass in the midst of the most majestic mountains I had ever seen, between George and Oudtshoorn.
A Pretoria kid doesn’t comprehend how big mountains really are, I tell you.
With them towering over me, out in the open like that (not inside a car), it occurred to me what my ancestors had been up against, in The Great Trek. What kind of faith they had needed.
I sang my heart out to those mountains, to pass time, and when I sang Die Stem, I fucking cried, wondering how I knew the words so well.”


Future-faked at the brothel

23h30  at the brothel


I thought I’d finally met a nice guy who’d appreciate me, but I’m already heartbroken

I feel so stupid

what was I thinking?


He was olive-skinned (Afrikaans but with perfect English )

A bit chubby, but a good chest,  big cock, loves to dance….and a bachelor.

We’d clicked so well

Really wanted to spend time together!

He said he wanted to take me out dancing!

I drank too much, having such a great time at the bar with him


After our hour together, he asked if I’d really give him my number


but then he didn’t even take it

Just wanted to see if I’d give it, like all the others.

(at best, they contact me just to try and get a freebie.)


I feel like crying




Maybe not on purpose, though.

I think after the sex, faced with the prospect of returning to the bar outside, he remembered what job I had to go back to, and knew he couldn’t possibly date me.

And it’s true.


God I feel so lonely again

How can I still be so naive?