

By John Helmer, Moscow
@bears_with
Rupert Murdoch has been making money out of the combination of inflated female sex parts and puffed up Russia hatred for his entire life.
He used to keep the two of them apart; there wasn’t as much money to be made out of the latter, at least not by the time the legal bills had been paid for libelously faking, Russia hating books Murdoch published, like Catherine Belton’s Putin’s People.
However, with a woman nom-de-plumeously named Suleika Dawson – real name Sue Dawson — Murdoch has now produced a breakthrough combination, a lady telling the story of her love affair with David Cornwell (lead image), aka John le Carré, and a chronicle through the bedroom peephole of British ingenuity in outsmarting the KGB.
The stroke of marketing genius at Harper Collins, Murdoch’s publishing house, was to think that the only exaggerated sex parts which would make a bestseller were not those of the tall blonde Miss Dawson, but those of the tall ginger-pubic Le Carré’s.
Dawson gives the reader an introductory peep when the first thing she describes of Le Carré in clothes was his “enormous desert boots”. Then with another discreet correlation, Dawson reveals Le Carré’s “huge workman’s hands”. Dawson’s introduces balls at page 21; they make a double-entendre at which she and he both laugh. She then introduces the real thing – er, things – at page 87 (250 pages still to go) when Dawson says she “ducked down behind him and put an ice cube on his scrotum. Everything [sic] was just hanging there in free suspension… but he still didn’t flinch, though his testicles had definitely decided to come in from the cold.”
That was pre-coital in 1983. In 1999, post-coital, Le Carré says to Dawson on the living-room rug: “I remembered you liked big balls.”
In between there are years of full-frontal displays of the man’s pride in his parts. Once at a restaurant which Dawson is careful to name, along with its address, he says he can’t get up from their table because, he confides to her: “I have an erection”.
This is shortly after Dawson, who drops almost as many people’s names as restaurant, hotel and resort names, says she knows that Christopher Hitchens, the deceased English writer, got “a third”. This isn’t a reference to Hitchens’s minuscule hands and feet, or their correlate inside his pants, but to his degree at Oxford. By comparison, Dawson reports bantering at a recording studio with Le Carré about “extra length” and “thickness.”
This is the foreplay, though. There’s a much longer, thicker secret which the book and Le Carré reveal about his spymasters at MI5 and MI6, and about the capacity of British intelligence compared to its rival, the Soviet Committee for State Security (KGB) and Russian Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR). This secret explains for the first time why the British services fabricate stories like the Novichok attack against Sergei and Yulia Skripal in 2018, and operations like the bombing of the Nord Stream pipelines and the Crimean Bridge.
If you can hold yourself in for longer than Le Carré managed with Dawson, and also put on spectacles, the secret will be exposed in a moment. “I do worry sometimes,” he once said to her, “that you can’t properly see the full extent of my manhood when we are in bed.”
“I’m short sighted,” Dawson claims she said to reassure him.
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