Offers of Marriage

Today, my hour with Jenny, treasured beacon in my life, its fortnightly flash illuminating everything around. Signals transmitted and received, starting with text messages. Hi Jenny, are you free midday? Sure baby, just text me again when you arrive, I’ll open the door.

Going into her room. Disrobing. Her warm body against mine, skin against skin, the healing process beginning. Touching, licking, stroking, stretching, inserting, murmuring, smiling.

Afterwards, getting dressed, chatting. Telling her, I hope all your clients care for you as much as I do. The mention of other clients okay now, friends, free to discuss other aspects of each other's life, though not too much. Jenny telling me, yes, actually, they do.

Asking her, are most of them regular clients, or mostly new ones? Oh, mostly regular, some new ones. Telling her, not surprising, I can quite see the reasons, being one myself, I expect they all want to marry you.

Jenny looking at me, smiling. Yes it’s amazing, they have their wives and families, but never a month goes by without at least two offers of marriage, serious ones, they want to take me away, my children too. Also hundreds of offers to take me to on a date somewhere.

Using a tissue to wipe a glazed drip of my juices from her chin. It’s funny, I know I’m attractive, but I’m not beautiful, my legs are a bit heavy, my breasts are small, my nose is big, I'm not that young, but I must have something, the men all come back and want me as a friend, and they all come here desperate and leave smiling.

Me thinking, don’t I know it, baby, it’s your genius.

Jenny continuing, but what they don’t understand is, this is only an hour. If I said yes, I’ll run off with you, make a life, then he’ll expect that all day every day will be like it is once a week or month for an hour. Then it’ll wear thin. Then he’ll start remembering my past life. Then one day he’ll get drunk and start calling me a whore, and maybe start beating me up.

My clothes now on, Jenny still on the bed, naked, and comfortable being naked, a special form of loveliness.

Kissing me. So I just tell them, I’m flattered, darling, but no, strict rules, I’ll do anything but you pay for the time, you can use your hour to buy me coffee somewhere or for me to suck you, but you pay.

Leaving, walking down the street, London’s bright clear weather still shining. Thinking, just as well she said that, I was half going to offer to take her out for a coffee myself, good to be reminded of the realities.

Or Would You Prefer Another Girl?

Waking up this morning, loins jittery again, familiar sensation. Time to see Jenny.

Ringing her number, no answer. Probably too early to be with another client, maybe she’s with her children in Hungary. Searching the escort website, scanning, feeling slightly unfaithful to Jenny, ridiculous when she’ll have been with dozens.

Selecting one, ringing her number, arranging a time. Making my way along the thronging streets of seedy Kentish Town, raucous in late summer sunlight. Thinking, this is a mistake, I should cancel and wait for Jenny, this new escort won’t have the same skills. But persisting, the thrilling thought of new flesh drawing me forward.

Ringing her, hi, I’m downstairs. The door opening. A pretty face appearing. About four inches taller than me, supermodel proportions. Welcoming me in, smiling. Do you want me or would you prefer another girl? Oh, you, please.

Showing me into a kitchen, asking me to wait. Disappearing, presumably to tidy up a room. Other escorts coming in and out, grabbing water, answering phones, searching for things. Most of them very attractive, none of them beautiful like mine.

The supermodel returning, taking me to the room, taking the money, eighty pounds for an hour, stashing it elsewhere, returning. Chatting, smiling, removing our clothes. Leading me to the bed, lying me back, kissing my body, stroking my cock, taking it in her mouth. Occasionally forcing it deep, beyond the gullet’s usual restriction, a thrilling and different sensation.

Ten minutes of blowjob and my supermodel seemingly happy to go on forever. My fingers gently probing her pussy and anus, her body kneeling and spreading to allow access. Saying to her, stop awhile baby, I’ll cum too soon, I want to make it last. Her pretty face smiling, complying.

Chatting. Snippets of a life emerging. From the Czech Republic, studying, taking a gap year, six months work then six months travel, you can make more escorting than waitressing and it’s more fun if the man’s clean. Then one day it stops and she walks away and forgets it ever happened. A radiant innocent student smile on her face.

After a while asking her, hey baby, can you carry on as before, let me finish in your mouth. Sure. Her face searching out my cock again, taking it in expertly. My whole body swallowed in ecstasy. Timeless moments ticking by. The world gathering force, becoming still, my loins issuing in a twanging spasm. Her mouth and its pretty student face taking me deeper for the climax.

Relaxing for a minute, bodies together, holding her close. Rising, dressing. Kissing her cheek, thanks baby, you’re fabulous. Walking downstairs back into the noisy sunny street below.

You Can Have Her For An Hour

Four of us sitting around a kitchen table beneath a low central light. A gin bottle and glasses. The cards dealt by the host. His pretty wife bringing fresh ice.

Everyone winning except for the host. Picking up his cards, looking at them, weighing them up, laying a big bet. The game proceeding. All folding, save the host and one other. The cards laid down. The host losing. No more money, time to stop, let’s go home.

The host begging, one more hand. The others inquiring, where’s your money? Don’t have any. Then don’t waste our time. The host raising his hand, hold on a moment. Taking his wife aside, whispering. Returning to the table. Lend me a hundred, if I lose it my wife says you can have her for an hour.

The players looking at the wife. You okay with that? The wife nodding. Each of us throwing in our share. The host picking up the money, dealing the cards, taking a slug of gin, getting on with play.

First hand, a win for the host. His face lifting, I told you my luck would change. Thereafter, steady losses, steady slugs of gin. After a while, the money finished. The host rising, hardly able to stand, moving to an armchair, collapsing on to it, muttering.

The wife looking at us. Well, I guess I’ll be having some sex tonight, it’s about time. Coming toward us, stroking the cheek of one, feeling the crotch of another. Men’s hands feeling her body, pulling her blouse over her head, unbuttoning her jeans, pulling them down.

The man in the armchair twitching, half-awake, still lost in cardplay, his wife’s activities a mere distraction. She naked on her back widthways on the now empty table, naked men standing round her. Her head backwards over the table’s edge, mouth upside down round a player’s cock. Across the table, her legs spread, a man’s face between them, licking.

After a while, the men changing places, the wife repositioning. Different cocks in different holes, a crazy rotation. The man on the armchair stirring, rising up, lurching to the table, trying to find the gin bottle, muttering, returning to the armchair. His wife’s face and breasts and hips now glazed with sperm, her fingers tracing patterns in it.

A police siren on the road outside. Waking up with a start. A minute passing. The night now quiet. The wife and the kitchen and the dream, gone.

Porn, Reliable Standby

Another day dawning and still out of sorts, Carol in my mind like a virus that won’t shift. Sexual restlessness compounding the malaise.

Turning to porn, reliable standby, mood lightened by its refreshing shallowness. My preferred website reassuringly familiar. Over the last month, a few thousand new porn postings, each with preview photos, all free, just click, settle back, enjoy.

Checking some out. Tons of bimbos with false boobs and choreographed ecstasy. Quickly paging past them, in search of authenticity or imagination.

Finally, finding something. French, often the best porn. A woman collected from a Metro. Smartly dressed. Seemingly excited but not overawed. Friendly chat. The interviewer checking that she knows what’s planned, a session of debauchery, a young stud waiting in the apartment. Her shoulders in a Gallic shrug, sure, as we arranged on the telephone.

In the apartment, the woman sitting on a sofa, facing forward towards the camera, discussing her sexual situation and preferences. Her eyes distracted leftwards, widening, looking back, smiling, continuing to talk. A man entering the scene, naked, standing next to her. Her hand reaching out, stroking his flank, moving to his cock, taking it in her hand, still talking.

The man pressing toward her face. The woman turning, pushing out her tongue to touch his cock. Her eyes looking sideways, seeing herself on a television playback of the scene. Taking the cock deeper in her mouth, still looking at the scene. The man silent and passive, nothing more than a prop, provider of an erection.

The woman standing, removing her clothes. The man turning her round, bending her over, separating her buttocks, spreading her pussy’s lips, licking her clitoris. The woman arching her back down for a wider spread, shoulders low. The camera panning to her face. Her eyes checking the playback, studying it, skin flushed in excitement.

The camera moving back. The man’s hands on her buttocks stretching her sphincter, ramming his tongue deep inside. Her eyes shutting, her mouth slightly gasping. Her hand moving between her legs, stroking her clitoris, rocking her hips.

The scene continuing. Me, watching, hand on cock. The woman opening her eyes, looking at the camera, straight at me. Suddenly, the excitement exploding, tension leaving my body like the spark of static. Quiet for a moment. Then wiping with a tissue, closing down the site, collecting myself, feeling better.

Like A Child Unwrapping Presents

No response from Carol, understandable enough, no point in saying it’s over and then exchanging endless emails.

My mood listless and disengaged. My body’s hormones continuing their own restless dynamic, pressing for relief. Pornography providing some distraction, but the pressures quickly rebuilding. A familiar pattern, learned of old, only one cure, the touch of a woman’s skin.

Ringing Jenny, no answer, maybe she’s left London, maybe she’s in Budapest to see her children. Maybe she’s with a client, never mind, I know that but prefer not to think too closely about it. Ringing later, still no answer.

Opening up the escort website, logging in, clicking a search already configured for my preferences. Female escort, no bareback, too much risk to her and hence to me, and in addition, unattractively stupid. Likes oral without condom, likes anal play, not necessarily things I actually want to do, just don’t like being too conscious of no-go areas. Maximum distance ten miles.

The search results filling the screen. One hundred and twenty four escorts, each with a photograph, click it and the profile loads up. Sitting at my desk, surveying the choices, enjoying the moment. So many new women since I was last on the site, I suddenly feel like a child unwrapping presents.

LouLou24, pretty, curvy, English. I came down from Birmingham to stay with a friend and she was earning money as an escort so I thought I’d try it, discovered I like it, especially if you’re a clean and gentle man. Specialist in blowjobs. Play with my body, then give me your load in my mouth, I love the taste. This week, only fifty pounds for half an hour. Ring my number below, do it now darling.

SexyGirlNZ, 30, staying in London for a year, left my boyfriend back home in New Zealand, looking for men to look after my needs. Love sex in all three holes, anal an extra thirty pounds, only if you’re not too big. We can try it and if I decide it’s too tight you can have your money back. Like doggy but also happy with any other position. Sixty pounds for thirty minutes.

Whiling away a happy hour with these and other profiles, half-tempted to arrange a visit, but not yet feeling quite ready for that, maybe I’ll let the sense of Carol subside a bit more first.

Stroking And Massaging

Lying awake last night, thinking about Carol, thinking about Jane, thinking about Jenny, thinking how lucky I am, knowing them all. Knowing, present tense, the knowledge of them embedded in me, they’re part of my life, touching their skin may be momentary but the aftermath is permanent.

Remembering, I haven’t emailed Jane for quite a while, I should do so. Thinking, she seems happy to tell me about her affairs, or quest for them, maybe I should mention Carol, it’s quite a big thing in my life, perhaps I should share. But quickly resolving not to do so. Jenny can tell me about other lovers if she wants to, but for me, no, it’s important, keep lovers in their own separate chambers in my mind.

This morning, emailing. Hi baby Jane, thought about you last night, felt warm at the thought of having you in my life. Got to fantasizing, something I always wanted to do with you, but we never did. Hire a cottage in France or Greece or somewhere Mediterranean. Stock up on bread and cheese and wine and anything else we fancy at the village stores.

Spend the day on a private sundeck, with books. You could read or sleep, anything. I’d read you poetry, serve you snacks, pour you wine. Also apply sun lotion, making sure to get beneath the straps of your swimsuit, quickly arriving at mutual agreement, these things are in the way, best just take them off. Massaging your body through the day, stroking your legs, your arms, your nipples, your stomach, your pussy. Turning you round, massaging your back, spreading your cheeks, letting the sun shine there, playing with your little hole.

Stroking and massaging, relaxing you into sleep, arousing you towards orgasm. Separating your lips, teasing your clitoris. The orgasm breaking through some time in the afternoon. Then for my reward a long slow Jane blowjob, doing that thing you always did, still gives me an erection thinking about it, somehow sensing the moment, taking me deeper, feeling my cock’s convulsions.

Anyway, baby Jane, I didn’t know when I started this email that that’s what was on my mind, but it obviously was, and now it’s in the open it’s a delicious thought. Email soon, darling Jane. Rxxx.

You Must Think I’m Wanton

Lying next to Carol in the afternoon quiet. Thinking, there’s no sweeter thing than a lover’s unfeigned climax. Something about how a woman’s body’s made, it seems to happen only occasionally, when it does, the thrill’s more profound than if I’d climaxed myself.

Carol playing with the hairs on my chest. Hey baby, you must think I’m wanton, I’m not normally, just you do something to me. Kissing my shoulder. And I’ve got years and years to make up. Another kiss. And I’ve got my time of month coming up, it always makes me a bit batty, feel like a coiled spring, I guess you felt that. Smiling. I hope I wasn’t too strong down there, you know, my juices, the smells.

Turning to kiss her forehead, your smells were wonderful honey, I noticed they were strong, I love them any way, even better when they’re like that.

Carol propping her head on one arm, looking into my eyes. Okay, well it’s your turn now, you’re going to have to lie back while I get to know your smells too.

Moving down the bed, straight to my cock, holding it in her hand, stroking hardness back into it. Touching it with her tongue, taking it into her mouth.

My hand reaching down to her hip, pulling it round. Her body sensing my want, repositioning itself, kneeling up. My fingers stroking her bottom, touching her crack. Her body responding again, parting her cheeks, inviting my hand. My fingertips gently touching her sphincter. A soft agreeing murmur from her.

My cock hard in her mouth. Her tongue playing with its tip. My finger probing a millimeter into her centre, feeling the tightness, delicious combination of resistance and surrender. The afternoon sunlight slantwise though the window.

Speaking to her, my voice coming out hoarse, hey honey, if you carry on doing that you’re going to get something big in your mouth. Soft muffled response, mmmm. Her tongue and hand continuing their expert motions.

My turn to fall down the vortex. A sudden sense of inevitability, no stopping now, keep going honey. Final moment of silence, a catapult being drawn back. Then the spasm, my body arching, driving into her mouth. Tightened muscles, fluids voiding in a pulsing gush.

The storm abating. Falling back on the bed, exhausted. Carol’s mouth still round my cock, waiting to be sure I’ve finished, a true lover’s touch. Finally, pulling away, gulping, climbing back to my side, nestling against me again.

You’re Making Me Tingle

An email from Carol, hey R, you’re torturing me, you can’t email about kissing my nipples, then just leave it there, I spent the night restless in my bed, fantasizing about what happens next. I’d just lead you straight to the bedroom, pull my clothes off, pull yours off you, demand more kisses. So now what do you do, mister big hard R? Cxxx

Emailing her, rolling you on your tummy, your hands folded above you, your head on the pillow, relaxing. Kissing between your shoulderblades. Pressing the muscles along your spine with my thumbs, working out the knots, skin’s friction and warmth building like static. Massaging your shoulders. Stroking your legs, kissing your spine’s base. My fingertips on your bottom’s cleft. Thinking, I wonder what she likes, I wonder how to make her body happy. Still thinking about it, I can’t seem to get my mind off the subject. Rxxx.

Carol emailing, dammit R, you’re making me tingle, I went to bed last night, lay on my tummy like you said, got so excited I almost helped things along, managed to stop myself, thought I’d save it for when we’re together. Love your fingertips in my cleft, you just briefly stroked me there while I was on top of you last time, loved it. Come on R, tell me more, also, make sure you let me kiss you too, I love that shape in my mouth. Cxxx.

Emailing her, gently pushing your legs wide, pulling your cheeks apart, exposing you, feeling your body’s unsureness, feeling it comply, feeling it loving it. Kissing your stretched sphincter with my lips. Touching the centre with my tongue. Backing off, not probing, time for that some other time. Rolling you on to your side, lying next to you, lifting your knee, stroking your pussy, feeling your hand reach out for my cock. Our body’s nestling together. Oneness with Carol, pure heaven. Rxxx.

Carol emailing, my whole body’s flushing, R, lying by your side, feeling your hardness, desperate to get it in my mouth, feel its texture, smell that sperm-filled smell, working you with my hand and tongue, see if I can make it explode, taste that taste, it’s been so long, can’t really remember what it’s like. Can’t wait to be together, do some doing. Don’t email any more kisses, R, I want the actuality now, not a story, let’s get together, I’ll be back in London soon. Cxxx.

Amateur, Anal, Blowjob, Group

Delving through the porn videos, finding nothing erotic so far.

Contemplating the site’s logistics. Each video advertising itself with a photo, scroll over it and it flashes photos like a carousel, snippets of the action. Enough to get a sense of whether it’s what you might be after. Click on one, try it, get drawn into it or move on.

Nearly all of them, rotation through rote positions. The actors, plastic. Sufficient for po-faced critics denounce the form, a logic that would pick up a book, find it to be pulp fiction, therefore denounce literature. You want to tell them, lighten up dammit, it’s not the dross that matters it’s the good stuff. But it’s the finding of the good stuff that’s difficult.

Forty videos on a page, most recent postings first. Quick arithmetic, three hundred posted every day. And all for free. And all for me.

Down the left, filters to let you find what you want. Amateur, Anal, Blowjob, Group, so on. About fifty categories. I wonder how much they’re used. Me, I prefer not to be prescriptive, I like surfing them all, looking to be surprised.

Flicking through the pages, alighting on one, looks interesting. The photos showing a woman with spectacles, smiling at the camera, slightly shy.

Clicking the video, finding myself being drawn in. That distinctive mental click, a switch turning on, a slight breathlessness, The video showing normal people, the woman different from the usual silicone pornstar masquerading as amateur. Unsure what to do, taking directions from the more experienced among them. Excited by the presence of the camera. Slightly breathless, like me, and prone to giggling.

The woman removing her top, sliding out of jeans. The men doing similar. Clothes discarded in piles, kicked out of the camera’s vision. One man kneeling between her legs, licking her, the woman gasping. The other man taking a second camera, filming from a different angle, turning to film the first camera, turns out it’s being operated by a woman. My screen showing both films edited into a video.

The dynamic developing, all four taking turns filming the others. Their individualities developing through the action, their secret sexual urges enacted. One man unable to hold back, exploding, the woman’s face round his cock widening its eyes, smiling, pulling back, the sperm dribbling on to her cheek. The other couple laughing, clapping. The video ending. Exciting, enticing porn.

Curvy Voluptuous Nymphomaniac

London’s air thick with cultural conflict, not between ethnic groups, they get along fine, rather between those falling prostrate at the prospect of the royal wedding, and those that don’t. For the worshippers, happiness at a very picture of forthcoming marital harmony. For the others, indifference to an outworn narrative, especially when sugar-wrapped in such pomp.

Turning to the escort website in search of distraction. The profiles especially modified.

Hi, my name’s HappiLicks. Want a princess, but without the annoying ceremony? Cum to me honey, I’ll give you what you want. One hour and you’ll have the orgasm of your life, and you don’t have to stick around afterwards, live with all the boring conversation. If you like you can watch the happy couple on television while I suck you off. Ring me now baby.

Hi, I’m Kate, same as the princess but better looking and better boobs. You can have me, sixty pounds for half an hour, a hundred pounds an hour, ten pounds off on the special day, Friday. I can wear a bridal veil, if you like, nothing else, whilst you take me from behind. Anal included if you’re not too big, you’ll have to be gentle, I’m tight, just like a virgin bride.

Hello baby, this is Lilly waiting for you, I do everything, I’m submissive so you’ll have to force yourself on me, just like a prince returning after battle and desperate for relief. Very flexible, you’ll be able to bend me into any position. I won’t say no, unlike a princess. You can imagine that you’re married to her, and I’m your private mistress, except you don’t have to pay for all my time, just for an hour. Cum to me, baby, make sure you bring a full load, I want to suck it out of you. I’m waiting for you baby.

Hi honey, I’m SunnySex. Fed up with the thought of a street party? Annoyed by everyone cooing around the television? Escape to my arms, honey, I can sooth your troubles away. Curvy voluptuous nymphomaniac, I’m everything the princess isn’t. So you can have a good time with me. Only eighty pounds for an hour, twenty pounds back if I can’t make you cum at least once. Cum on baby, you owe it to yourself, don’t get stuck in front of a television, have a big fat orgasm instead.

These profiles, enough to restore sanity. Tempting thought, an orgasm rather than television, I might ring Jenny.

Unless You Just Want A Blowjob

Texting Jenny, hi baby, are you free for half an hour at twelve o’clock? The phone silent for a minute, then beeping. Message from Jenny, hi baby, I’m on a period, sorry, unless you just want a blowjob, come round, you promised you’d do that anyway when you didn’t cum last time so I could finish you off.

Enticing, this image of Jenny in clothes ministering to my male needs. Loving her, for her sexual straightforwardness and warmth. Nevertheless, declining the offer, what I love about her even more than blowjobs is the feel of her nakedness and her tastes and skin. Texting her, let’s meet up when your period’s over, tomorrow?, day after?. The phone beeping again, her response. Tomorrow should be fine.

And now today, ten minutes early, strolling around her streets. Taking a quick detour into a supermarket, buying a bunch of flowers for a fiver. Waiting at her door for her to come down to collect me. Her face peeping around it, breaking into a smile, giving me a hug, kissing me on the lips. Her body offering itself through a white teeshirt, thrusting slightly into me.

Proffering the flowers. Jenny taking them in half surprise, giving me an extra hug. Leading me up the stairs. Chatting like an old friend, the weather, the birdsong, other pleasures of a London spring. Getting into her room, Jenny plonking the flowers in an old carafe, filling it with water. Her smiles, those of a woman valued for being the person she is, treated like a fellow human, her profession a secondary issue.

Peeling off the teeshirt, her sole item of clothing. Waiting for me on the bed whilst I undress. Pulling my naked body toward her, pushing me on my back, taking my cock immediately in her mouth, licking it into hardness. Clambering over my face for me to lick her, her pussy’s clean smells overlaid slightly with the metallic aftermath of yesterday’s period. Her sphincter soft and stretched and smooth against my stroking fingers.

My body tautening, Jenny’s tongue on my cock guiding its energies. Spellbound with her colorations and curvatures and smells. Suddenly, that silent final inevitability. The spasm of release. Jenny’s tongue flicking my tip, playing with the jet of sperm, imbibing. My body’s stiffness departing, a heavenly peace descending.

Jenny unwinding her body, coming to lie next to me, hugging. Stroking my hair back, kissing my forehead, hey baby that’s good, I love it when you cum like that.

Everything Utterly Different

A business deadline looming and a lot of work to do, a decade ago it would have taken weeks and required endless travel, today it’s just a question of staying organized, using the internet. Comments on a document here, an email there, a spreadsheet here, and it all comes together.

Reaching a breakpoint, making a cup of tea, spring sunshine filling the kitchen. Checking my secret email account, seeing one from Carol.

Hi R, just to say thanks for a fun morning, thought I’d try the email address you gave me, I’ve just set up a secret one for myself, good idea, protects against curious eyes and ears, much better than a cellphone. Also, just wanted to let you know, forgot to mention it, I was too engrossed in our conversation, I’m actually away in Mexico for ten days or so, helping out with an archeological dig, maybe it’d be okay to contact you when I get back. Please reply – I want to be sure my new email address is working. Carol xxx.

Emailing her, hi Carol, got your email, have a great time in Mexico, sounds exciting, yes, email me when you get back, R xxx.

Sipping my tea, enjoying the kitchen’s sunshine warmth. Pondering the joys of technology. Carol will probably pick up my email somewhere in Mexico. Jane will email some time, let me know how things are going in Australia. Different secret worlds, each in its separate domain, kept effortlessly separate. A few years ago, a world of landline phones, no emails, no internet, and the secret worlds would have collided. Today, everything utterly different.

Firing up the escort website, just for the devil of it. The screen filling with profiles and photos, vistas of blowjobs and anal ecstasy and pussy delights. A rumbustious and unashamed purveyance of pleasure. Proved in my own experience to be highly effective in delivery. A few years ago, no such thing existed, if you wanted any of this you’d have to wade first through streetcorner sleaze and predatory pimps.

Switching to a porn website, again, just for the devil of it. Surveying the thousands of new videos, thinking of clicking one, not in the mood, maybe later.

Thinking, if all this didn’t exist, the pressures would just build and build, eventually explode, like my first marriage. Interesting, maybe I’d still be with her if I could have done what I can do now. I wonder how many marriages all this technology is saving today.

I’ll Swallow If You Taste Good

Scanning through the escort website, searching within ten miles of my address, sorting on the date they joined, checking out the new ones, fifteen in the last week.

Many of them, the usual. Claims of nymphomania, photos of pneumatic pornstar disproportion, profiles crudely made up of snippets cut from other profiles, boasts of magical powers of sexual entrancement. One or two, not even enterprising, just an unclear photograph and a telephone number.

Then finding one, authenticity shining through. Hi, my name’s Eleanor, I’m a student in London from Spain and I’ve run out of money so I’ve taken up escorting. I’ve always liked sex so I thought I’d give it a try. I’ve been doing it for two months, and love it. So I’ve set myself up in an apartment and put a profile on this website.

I like everything, especially oral. You can cum in my mouth, and I’ll swallow if you taste good. Sixty-nine is my favorite, especially with me on top. The best thing ever for me is if you stick your tongue deep in my little asshole and wiggle it around, if you do that I’ll give you a ten pound discount, only joking I need the money but I love it.

I also have a sexy friend available. She lives in the same apartment and is thinking about doing escorting. She is not here all the time but if you are lucky and she is hanging around when you come over, she might come in and join us. She may offer to suck your cock if you want to spend an extra twenty pounds. Don’t ask for her photo as she does not want to send one or have a profile. It’s just the luck of the draw. Come and see me and you might get a bonus.

Reading the profile, picturing the scene, finding it deeply sexual. Two women, maybe others in their apartment as well, making their way in London, accepting of sex with strange men as something normal, taking it as it comes, seeming to see it all as part of a great London adventure, leaving the future for another day. Free of society’s shackles, spurious cultural taboos, bogus religious prohibitions.

Add to hotlist, click. Not sure if it’ll come to anything, at the moment my first-choice escort is Jenny, and besides, it feels like Eleanor won’t be there long, some new opportunity will open up in her life and she’ll be gone. But adding her to my hotlist, it’s meant as a salute to a sparkling profile.

Better Than An Orgasm

Jenny’s phone picked up on the third ring but the voice not hers. Hello. Hi, is Jenny there? Sorry, she can’t come to the phone at the moment, do you want to see her?

Always a difficult moment, probably means she’s with another man. Easy enough in principle, more difficult in actuality. But sometimes, no help for it, planet Earth’s no place for the thin-skinned.

Oh, okay, do you know if she’s free at three o’clock. Yes, that’s fine, I’ll text you the address. Oh, that’s okay, you’re in the Marylebone apartment. No, we’ve moved, now we’re near Finsbury Park. Okay, thanks, send it to me.

Ten minutes to three o’ clock, and strolling around her new streets. Victorian houses, some newly renovated, some, like Jenny’s, awaiting attention. No trees, no pedestrians, a slight sense of afternoon desertion.

Ringing her doorbell. The door opening and Jenny’s face appearing, brightening into a smile. Oh, hi, it’s you, oh good, I thought I’d lost you. A hug and a kiss. Taking my hand, leading me through. Another hug. Smiles on both our faces. Special friends and special lovers, somehow. Her hand undoing my belt and fly, pushing down my jeans, kneeling, pulling down my undershorts, taking my cock in her mouth.

Minutes passing, a heavenly blur. Her body sensing my desires, positioning itself to be touched or licked or entered. Her hands stroking my chest, legs, back. Lying on her tummy, hands reaching behind her to stretch apart her buttocks, tight sphincter pink in the bedroom’s afternoon light. Turning round, taking me in her mouth again.

After half an hour, replete. Hugging her gently, making to get up. Her face puzzled, crestfallen, hey, no orgasm, stay, baby, stay. No, darling Jenny, it’s just too intense and ecstatic, it’s been wonderful, better than an orgasm. Her face still doubtful, hesitating, finally saying, okay baby, you come back, tomorrow maybe, no charge, finish off then. Okay, darling Jenny, it’s a deal.

A last kiss. Closing the door behind me, making my way to Finsbury Park for a stroll, body and spirit replenished.

La Fellation, la Sodomie

Three men joking and chatting in French, the windows and furniture giving the room a Mediterranean feel. A knock on the door, one of them getting up to open it, giving a warm welcome, bringing a woman inside.

All the men standing, kissing her cheeks, enquiring about her journey. The woman smiling, occasionally laughing, a bit too readily, as if released from a nervousness about how pleased the men would be to see her. Sitting on the sofa, accepting the offer of a glass of water. Looking at the camera occasionally, giving it a special smile, acknowledging its presence.

The scene unfolding on the screen before me. Its sexuality, distinctively French. The sense of fierce rectitude, happily coexisting with utter debauchery. In the culture, also in the head of one person, as with her.

The woman neatly and demurely dressed, soft hair curls, spectacles of perfect proportion. The men asking her questions about sex, not in prurient interrogation, more in the way of trying to understand. The woman thinking, blushing, answering. The men sympathetic, encouraging. No sense of intimidation from them, or of fabrication from her.

What’s your husband think of you coming here? How often do you give him la fellation. Do you enjoy it? Do you like la sodomie? The questions flowing, the woman thinking, answering, laughing. The humor in her face containing an edge of defiance, as if saying, well, if I’m going to be here, might as well not hold back.

One of the men taking her hand, helping her out of the sofa, turning her round, lifting her skirt, showing the camera her bottom. Pulling aside her thong, pulling her cheeks apart, showing a neat pussy and delicate sphincter. The camera panning to the woman’s face, the woman acknowledging with a smile.

The three men and the woman stripping off their clothes. The woman lying on the sofa, one man kneeling between her legs, licking her. The woman’s whole body flushing, her breathing becoming shallower, words when uttered coming out in a mumble. A sense of being continuously on the edge of climax. A combination of intense intimacy and erotic charge.

A man’s condomed cock entering her. Her hand holding another cock. The third man holding his cock near her face, her mouth drawing to it without thought, her lips caressing its tip. The scene continuing, lovers making love, talking, smiling, the men showing small gallantries. Changing position, making love again.

After a while, too much for one of the men, his body stiffening into her, releasing. The woman looking up at him, smiling, strong in this affirmation of her power.

We Can Play Later

A night spent dreaming of Jane, and suddenly the moment feeling right for emailing her.

Hey baby Jane, remember, I used to call you that sometimes, it came up in a dream last night, you were still at college, like that night, do you remember it, I was in some sort of situation at work, feeling frazzled and attenuated, phoned you, you said, just come up and I’ll hold you close.

Driving through the night, the car’s heater broken and my body feeling hypothermic, arriving very late, exhausted, hardly able to stagger up the stairs. You opening the door, looking at me, drawing me close, stroking my hair. Peeling the clothes off my shivering body. Your finger on my lips, shushing me. Pulling me to your bed, the indentations still there where you’d just been sleeping, glowing warm.

Holding me close, your naked body’s heat suffusing into mine, my body relaxing, letting go, asleep in seconds. Waking later, finding us curled together, your back against my chest, your bottom pressed against my pelvis. A soul-deep sense of peace and vertiginous collapse back into sleep.

Waking again later, finding my head between your thighs, eating you, don’t know how I got there, but it must have been me that started it, your head was still on the pillow. You telling me later, I was voracious, as if scooping fruit with both hands into a mouth starved of moisture and nutrients after months in the desert.

And all last night, dreaming, that’s how it was, baby Jane, your beautiful coppery taste and coppery smell and the nearby sense of your crinkly pink sphincter. Sensations as absolute and soul-necessary as any can be for a man, or at least for me.

Turning round, head on pillow, you stroking my cheek, smiling at me. Falling asleep again. Waking with a start, you swishing the curtains open, sunlight and blue sky blazing into the room. You, already showered and dressed, jeans and knitted sweater, sitting on the bed, kissing me, taking my hand, putting it on your breast, saying, c’mon baby, we can play later, first we need to get some food into you.

Hey Jane, I have a confession, I regularly dream about you, maybe once, twice a year, every time I get up the next morning, it feels like sunshine in the room, I still feel the dried coppery residue of your juices on my mouth and face, I still have that promise that we can play later, and I just love it. As I do you, darling Jane. R xxx

Peachy Bum

Once again, low-grade scratchiness on my skin and that sizzling feeling inside, sure signs of need for a woman’s sexual touch. A big business presentation coming up in the next few days, better sort myself out or I’ll start getting things wrong, miss the nuances, push too hard, start annoying everybody.

My wife for once free of pressure at work, spending time with me, planting in the garden together, playing boardgames in the evening. Smiling and sharing. But the closeness having no sexual possibility. A philosophical point for me to ponder, other people can be utterly different from you, beyond your understanding, and it’s still fine to share a life with them. For me, sex lies elsewhere.

Tempting to email Jane, I need to respond to her, reach out across the seas, but I can’t arrange my thoughts properly, can’t think of anything to say. I really must sort out myself out.

No text yet from Carol inviting me for coffee as half agreed after changing her flat tyre. Probably for the best, I can’t think how that would work out. Last night, lying in bed, thinking about something else, suddenly the whole scene with Carol replaying in my mind, her face and voice and demeanor casting an absolute spell, making me fall helplessly in love with her, now I can’t make her face come into focus when I try to remember it.

Ringing Jenny, my absolute comfort in times of sensual desperation. Straight to her voice message. Could be she’s with a client. Trying again periodically, same result. Probably means she’s gone back to Budapest to see her children, hope she comes back soon, I need you Jenny.

Logging onto the escort website, alighting on Peachy Bum. Sixty pounds an hour. Soft, pert and peach shaped ass for you to feel and fondle, then you can suck my nipples. We can french kiss, have oral both ways, no protection needed, and have unlimited sex, protected only. Have me sit on you face while you eat me and lick me everywhere. Cum as many times as you can. No extra charges. The photos in Peachy Bum’s gallery giving credence to her peachy boasts.

Ringing her cellphone, making arrangements. And now here I am, filled with excitement and slight nervousness and the sense of being alive, standing before an affluent suburban residential development, landscaped gardens and trellised walls, finger just about to press the buzzer to Peachy Bum’s apartment.

A Penchant For Anal

An unexpected phone message yesterday, Christelle, my student lover from France, hello R, I’m in London, would you like to meet up? Arrangements duly made, meet at midday for a stroll around St James’s Park, find somewhere for lunch, maybe move on to the Tate.

The small hours of last night, lying awake, thinking of her, of my luck in meeting her, of my greater luck in being chosen by her. The perfect woman for a young man, slightly older, confident in her world view, blowing away my juvenile preoccupations.

Sex with her, a matter for unfettered discussion and vigorous practice. All without boundaries. Or, lying in bed thinking about it, the house’s night sounds clicking and stirring softly, it wasn’t so much that there weren’t boundaries, nobody’s mind can work like that for long and stay sane, it’s that her boundaries were different and wider than mine.

Yes, that was it, she was the first woman I knew that knew what she wanted, and the things that she wanted were outside my experience, and were wonderful. Other women had been willing, not all that often, but sometimes. But with them we’d landed up doing the things that I wanted. So with them I was never certain whether they liked it because of it or because I wanted it, or maybe they didn’t really like it at all.

On my bed last night, my facial muscles aching slightly, been smiling too long at memory of her. Christelle. Different from the others. I just had to be present, and avoid being obtuse, and take cues. Wish I could apply that more widely. But with her, easy. Her body made it clear what she wanted. God, makes me horny now, remembering, seems impossible, at one point I used to wish she didn’t have quite such a penchant for anal.

Shifting on the bed, rearranging the pillow, still smiling. Those student days with her, months rather, they seemed like one unending summer. Wine and sex and discussions about deconstructionism, she was a Frenchwoman, she thought she necessarily knew more about all of them than me, she was probably right.

And now here I am standing by the little bridge at St James’s Park, one minute early, she’ll be at least fifteen minutes late but I wouldn’t dare. Oh no, look, there she is, waving, making her way to me.

Seven o’clock Blowjobs

On the escort website, another riveting profile, window on other people’s worlds.

Wanted. Spare bedroom in your house in Central London. Quiet needed during day. Payment in kind.

Hi. My name’s Marsha. You’ll see from my photos that I’m in very good shape and have a pretty face. I’m also skilled at sex. These are the reasons why I’m so much in demand.

I’ve decided to work outcalls to classy hotels, which usually involves working at night. What I need is somewhere I can go home to, and mostly sleep through the day, so I’m fresh for my night’s work. At the moment I stay with other sexworkers, but the house is too busy as men are coming and going all the time. I need somewhere quieter.

If I’m your lodger then instead of money, you can have sex with me once a day. You’ll see from my list of likes that I do most things, in fact everything except pain. The things that I normally charge extra for, like anal sex, you can have for free once a week.

I had an arrangement like this before, but the man had to leave to work in China. It worked very well, and we became good friends. He called me his alarm clock, because I woke him up with seven o’clock blowjobs. My trick was to see if I could get him hard in my mouth while he was still asleep, then nudge him awake so that when he came he knew it had happened instead of just being a dream. He said that it made him go to work every day with a smile on his face. He wanted me to move to China with him, but I like it here in London.

If you want you can ring him, to check that I can be trusted. Also, you can have a copy of my passport and driving licence. I’m happy to do this because I know that if you’ve got a nice place you’ll want to know that I won’t make off with your things.

If you want, I’ll service your friends, and charge only half my normal rates.

Other than the sex, we need to lead separate lives. I have my working career to attend to, just like you.

This will only work out if you have a nice house in Central London, and if we get on well. We can give it a try for two weeks, then decide.

Call me on my cellphone, and we can arrange to meet up.

Intense Sexual Entwinement

That old familiar restlessness in the loins, like a monster stirring in the deep, a force which won’t be ignored. Best to take action soon, settle it back in its lair before it gets violent, starts ripping things apart.

A phone call and arrangements quickly made. Fifteen minutes to go and here I am sitting at a Marylebone cafe with an empty cup of cappuccino, spooning out the last froth for a final taste.

On time, ringing the buzzer. No answer. A minute’s wait, ringing again. Still no answer. Reaching for my cellphone, about to dial, looking up, seeing Jenny approach, smiling, sorry I’m late. Unlocking the door, beckoning me in.

In her apartment, dumping her stuff. Smiling. You sit there, I’ll be one minute. Disappearing to the bathroom. The room now empty but for me and suitcases and knickknacks and damp clothes hanging on dryers and a television. Pleasingly unself-conscious, free of designer chic, it won’t last long, soon these old apartments will be upgraded into blandness.

Jenny returning, taking my hand, leading me to a bedroom. Pulling my face to hers, kissing me. That distinctive combination of cleanness plus tang of past cigarette smoke. Breaking away, taking off her clothes, helping me taking off mine.

Jenny’s genius, the seamless segue from smiling friendliness to intense sexual entwinement, acknowledging no disjunction between the two, nor need for pause. Her naked skin cleaving to mine, giving of its healing powers. Her lips round my cock, her tongue toying with its tip. The fractious lonely monster within, finding its soulmate, relief from its shrieking.

Sharing of flesh and tastes and touching, nipple and tongue and gristle of clitoris, stretched crinkly skin of sphincter. Time dissolving. Jenny with a giving so complete as to be free of awareness that she’s giving anything at all, oblivious of its preciousness.

Finally, replete. Jenny sensing the moment, searching for climax. Looking at me, pointing to a condom, questioning with her eyes. Me shaking my head. She pointing at her lips, eyes still questioning. A nod from me. She taking me in her mouth, working me with her hand. Me resting on my back, fingertip stroking her pussy, the crack between her crouching buttocks, her drum-tight sphincter. Savoring the paradise.

Final excitement gathering, mounting, entering that sweet quiet zone where it can’t be reversed. The explosion, great pulsing spurts. Jenny’s body tensing in acceptance. Her tongue slowly encircling my tip, cleaning it. Swallowing, licking a spilled drop off my leg. Coming to my side, lying there, head on my shoulder, quiet in the wondrous aftermath.