The British ex-forces member who once served as Whitney Houston’s personal close protection officer has revealed just how difficult it was to look after the former princess of pop. ‘I had a third leg all day. It was all Whitney’s fault. She was an 11 out of 10, and I literally could not shake off her rumpability throughout the work day.’ When asked about the appropriateness of siphoning off blood to feed his attraction, the bodyguard made the following point. ‘You have to understand, this was pre #Metoo. Most of us didn’t even know what a hashtag was, let alone that you shouldn’t wholly and only objectify women as things to be acted upon carnally.’
The bodyguard, no relation to Kevin Costner, described his erections while working for Ms Houston as ‘endless and thrumming. I swear I never took any blue pills because I never needed to. I went to clinics and psychologists for help. But all of them just expressed envy and asked unbecoming questions about Whitney’s rack. Eventually I resigned. Of course, I didn’t tell Houston I was quitting because she made me too horny to focus on would be assassins. That would have sounded ridiculous. Instead, I told her that a second cousin in Stevenage had Bovine encephalitis.’
The relationship between Whitney Houston and her British bodyguard has been the subject of much speculation, with some outrageous rumours about them having had a secret family of double twins, sharing powder drugs on sky limos, and getting tattoos of each others first ever postcode. The relationship led to a spin-off relationship in which Houston became unnecessarily attached to her Latino dry-waller, a musical starring Shane Richie in the role of the bodyguard alongside Alison Hammond, and a podcast series, Stiffy, cataloguing those lurid years of intense hardons.
Today the former bodyguard works as a cat walker in his native inner city Nottingham. But the PTSD he contracted as a result of the all-day erections caused by Ms Houston still rankles. ‘I wish I could have an ordinary life. But every time I walk past a young woman who resembles Whitney, I get a pain-inducing stonk on that, to remove, requires me to sit for several minutes and focus on images of Angela Rayner.’
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