First Blowjob

Still waiting for the go-ahead on a big new project, feeling fidgety, finding things to do.

Flicking through the porn site and its millions of near-identical videos, searching for the unexpected. Turning to an old standby, the casting interview. A small room with a desk and a woman sitting on a black sofa, the interviewer explaining, do as I say, I’m the male model for the day, we’ll film it, I’ll send off the video, if the producers like it you’ll be paid between one and five thousand a day.

The woman, smartly dressed, brunette, blushing, agreeing. The interviewer asking, so, how old were you when you gave your first blowjob? The woman responding, actually I never have. The interviewer proceeding with the next question, stopping, pausing, hey, let’s rewind a bit here, did you say you’d never given a blowjob, I can’t believe it. The woman embarrassed, sorry, it’s true, it just never came up.

The interviewer rearranging things on his desk, gathering his thoughts. Well, listen, you’re going to have to get used to it, it’s part of the adult industry, it’s standard. You okay with that? The woman still blushing slightly, nodding. Okay, let’s get started.

The interviewer removing his clothes, pointing his cock at the woman, okay, I want you to lick the tip until I go hard and then put it in your mouth. The woman’s hand reaching out tentatively, taking the cock, hesitating, deciding, touching it with her lips, then with her tongue, then letting it into her mouth.

The interviewer handing her the camera, telling her, I want you to film yourself doing that, you can see what you’re videoing on the screen over there. The camera handed over, the picture moving haphazardly, then settling on her face, the woman looking at the screen to get the right angle. Taking the cock back in her mouth, studying herself on the screen, her eyes widening slightly as if surprised.

A slight smile appearing, self-conscious but interested. The interviewer saying, you’re turned on by doing it on camera, aren’t you? The woman nodding, smiling more, becoming less embarrassed. Her hand working the cock, occasionally taking it out of her mouth, licking it, taking it back in, all the while studying herself on the screen. On her face, a sense of growing acceptance, recognition of alluring she looks.

The man’s breathing becoming tighter in the background, oh yes baby, just like that. The woman continuing, mesmerized by the picture of herself. A sudden stillness, the woman’s eyes losing focus, her face stiffening, the man groaning, the camera shaking. Hold it still, baby, hold it still.

The picture steadying on the woman’s face. The cock withdrawing, white juices dribbling. The woman gulping. Looking upward at the man, smiling, ooh well, I guess I’ve just given my first blowjob.

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.

Shared Sexual Secrets

Waking up early, thoughts drifting to Jane’s last email, asking me to share sexual secrets, wondering whether to do so. My instincts and philosophy running counter. Best to keep lovers in their separate chambers, break down the separating walls and contagion spreads like a disease.

Yet also thinking, it’s so exciting when she shares, I owe her, I know she won’t blab, and besides, revelation of one new sexual confidence even if it occurs won’t be worse than revelation of confidences already exchanged.

Getting up, the household still asleep on a cold weekend morning, hardly light yet. Coffee and toast and solitude. Sitting down, emailing her.

Hi baby Jane, I’m still semi-erect the whole time at the thought of you sucking an unknown stranger through a curtain, I envy him, I can still remember how good you were at doing that.

Well you asked for a sexual secret of mine and here’s one, a big one for me, don’t tell anyone. I’m in the same situation as you, able to do without sex for a while but not forever. So I too found myself at a sex party, but one where the men had to pay, a hundred pounds I think it was, seven or so men with three women, quite a good deal.

Right toward the end I finally got to be with the third girl, Jenny, less vulgar than the other two, more retiring, and the thing happened with her that once happened with you and me, it suddenly felt as if our bodies spoke to each other with their own mysterious language, a sort of magic. Her skin and shapes and movement and the way she curled into me, cure to a fever, calm and warm and peace gently descending. Sexual but beyond mere titillation.

So Jane I got her details and now see her quite often, about once every two weeks or a month, I guess. I pay her eighty pounds for an hour of her time, that’s how she earns a living, she sees a lot of men, but I don’t care. When she’s with me she takes the tenseness from my body and mind, the other men are irrelevant. I’m sure she loves me in her way, and I sure love her in mine.

Sometimes she’s away and I have to wait, it’s normally because she’s visiting her children in Hungary. A tough situation for a mother trying to get by, I don’t think there’s much money back home.

So there we are Jane, a sexual secret from me. Down with sexual asphyxiation, roll on sexual adventure. Rxxx.

Cross My Heart And Hope To Die

Drawn onto my bicycle by London’s unseasonably hot weather, pounding out laps round Regent’s Park, thinking about Jane and her sex-party, thinking I must email her, but not sure what to say, anything would seem a bit tame compared to her escapades.

Unless of course I tell her about Jenny and the supermodel and all the other secret women in my life. I’ll have to think further about that.

Getting home, pink-faced from the heat. Showering, sitting at my computer, still wondering what to say to Jane, then seeing my inbox, another email from her.

Hey, R, i know i’m doing a lot of emailing, but there’s a lot on my mind and you’re the only one i trust, if i tell a local friend what i’ve been doing then it won’t be five minutes and everyone will know and i’ll be renowned as the harlot. i could talk to A and his new wife, i finally found out her name, it’s C, but i don’t want them to get any closer to my inner thoughts, not just yet.

So R, that means that you’re my priest and therapist and counselor, no change from school and university days i guess. in fact, let’s pick it up from those days, i’ll tell you my secret stuff and hopefully you’ll tell me yours, that would be really great, come on R, tell me one of your sexual secrets, cross my heart and hope to die if anyone else ever finds out, i’ve never shared our confidences with a single soul in the past and won’t in future.

You know what, R, now i think about it, having a secret of yours would make me feel like i’m not the only one with a wild side, here i’m surrounded by suburbia and respectability, it’s driving me crazy, and entering this new sex-party demi-monde makes me feel schizoid, i need to live with both parts of me, you help me do that, secrets of yours would help me more.

Meanwhile even without that, R, i hope you don’t mind if i still use you as confidant, i need to get it out of my head. you see the thing is, R, i can’t stop thinking about that sex-party and the man’s dick in my mouth and how good it felt, A and C are going to get in contact again and when they do i’m pretty sure i’ll tell them that i’m game for more of the same.

There we are, i’ve made my confession, not only was i a harlot that one time at the sex-party but i’m resolved to be a harlot again, no past tense about it, it’s my present state and future intention. and i feel like it’s a metamorphosis, i’m becoming a different person. and it’s so liberating.

Anyway, R, email soon. your sweetheart Jxxx.

Sucking Me Unasked

My hormones jangling again at Jane’s email and her Australian adventures. The thought of a sex-party, seen through the wide-eyed stare of an innocent interested woman, containing a potent erotic charge.

Here in London, my wife departing for work with a brief peck on the cheek, a squeeze of my hand, and a smile. Another exhausting day in prospect for her, looking after others, their needs somehow never reducing no matter how much care they receive. Squeezing her hand back in admiration, have a good day darling.

But the hormones still urgent. Remembering, my last foray led nowhere, just that bland East London suburb and the child-woman and her controller. An event unpleasant to recall, as profoundly unsexual and ugly as could be contrived in deepest hell.

In desperation, trying Jenny’s phone. Her voice answering chirpily on the third ring, hi, I’ve been waiting for you to ring me, when are you coming? Arrangements quickly made.

Arriving early, walking around Finsbury Park, now familiar environs, feeling a sense of peace, knowing that in fifteen minutes we’ll be smiling in recognition and hugging and she’ll be sucking me unasked. Five minutes to go, a text message on my phone, hi baby I’ve left the outside gate open, just come up when you’re ready.

Doing so, closing the outside gate behind me, climbing the grimy stairs, tapping on her door. Jenny’s face appearing. Immediately, the sense of knowing each other, having something special between us. Both of us unable to stop smiling.

Jenny pulling away, telling me, I know you, you don’t care about what I wear, you just want me naked. Stripping off her gown, sitting on the bed, nothing on bar a g-string. Come on baby, take your clothes off quickly, come to me here.

Complying. Lying naked on the bed. Jenny kissing my face briefly, then chest, then straight to my cock, hard already, taking it in her mouth. A deep shuddering relaxation settling softly on my body. Jenny with her sucking and stroking, and her smooth skin and curves, ministering to my needs both physical and spiritual. Long minutes passing, Jenny timelessly patient.

Changing positions, licking her, putting on a condom, entering her, making love. Chatting, stroking, smiling. After an hour, sated, satisfied. The lack of orgasm, irrelevant.

Dressing, kissing her goodbye, leaving, the smell of her sex still around my mouth. Relaxed and at peace for the first time in weeks.

Woman’s Authentic Orgasm

The scene, a railway station in France, a train pulling in noisily. Stepping along the platform, a businesswoman holding an umbrella against the rain. A second woman approaching her, words exchanged, smiles of affirmation, cheeks kissed in greeting, the two walking together toward the camera.

Climbing into a car, chatting. The second woman’s voice soft and encouraging. The businesswoman’s initial slight tenseness beginning to relax. No, she hasn’t done anything like this before. Why’s she doing it, she’s not sure, just needs a little excitement. Yes, it’s fine to film. A shy defiant smile.

The women walking into an apartment, down some stairs, into a basement. Three men standing against a wall, naked bar white towels around their waists. The businesswoman’s clothes removed by the second woman, folded, stacked on a chair. The businesswoman’s hands covering her breasts and pubis.

The second woman taking her by the hands, her body now fully revealed. The body of a woman you’d meet every day, not excessively athletic or sculpted or skinny, or anything like a pornstar.

The woman being led to a metal table, padded on top, equipped with straps. The businesswoman lying on her back, submitting her hands and legs. The straps being tied. Her legs raised behind her, ankles near her ears. Her head leaning backward, immobile in a padded clamp. Her hips just protruding over the table’s edge. Adjustments made, wider to spread her. The camera lingering on her exposed privacy.

The men discarding their towels, approaching the table, stroking the woman’s body. One placing his cock against her lips. Her tongue licking it, her mouth opening, the cock going deeper. Another kneeling between her legs, licking.

The woman’s hips starting to move in ancient sexual rhythm. Momentum gathering. Her mouth releasing the cock, her body becoming absorbed into the cunnilingus. Her eyes closing, eyelids fluttering. Her lips and forehead clenching slightly. A low moan issuing. Her hips moving faster. The man’s face between her legs looking up at her face. The other men stepping aside, enjoying the moment, hands caressing the woman’s breasts.

The woman’s body stiffening. Her face softening, withdrawing into itself. Her hips lifting and holding. The low moan becoming more of a pant. Her eyes widening, staring at the nothingness of the ceiling. A sudden stillness, then her face breaking into a shy smile.

The men caressing her, positioning for penetration on the screen before me. My finger however clicking the stop button. An glimpse of a woman’s authentic orgasm, it doesn’t get any better than that, rather just enjoy the moment.

Extreme Sexiness

Strolling through the Kentish Town throng, sunshine bright on the pavement, crowds in loud voice as if in medieval feast day. My mind still filled with the supermodel’s smile, my body still tingling from her skills. Feeling lucky to be alive and to be here today in Kentish Town, free to do the things I want to do.

Thinking, other men, how many of them have had an hour with a supermodel? Not many. How many would like to? In fact, how many gape at magazines, ogling the pictured women, dreaming of a world where they could have one of them? Most of them, probably. And here I am today, eighty pounds spent, same as the cost of dinner for two, probably less, and just done what for them is a hopeless dream.

Pondering, some men may achieve their dream, bed a supermodel, get married, celebrity wedding photographs in glossy magazines, years later, regretting the day they met, turns out all she wanted was his money. And now here I am, the fruits tasted, nay, guzzled, and I walk away free.

Remembering the feel of her skin, the curve of her buttocks, the smoothness of her pussy, the gently separating lips. Gently probing with my finger, feeling an increase in moisture, exciting and unusual sensation with an escort, usually they use lubricants. A woman’s natural juices, nothing more sensual, the smooth silken texture not capable of being reproduced in bottles.

On impulse, smelling my finger. Yes, how exciting, it’s still there, that sex smell, deep, earthy, sanguinary, lucky I didn’t wash my hands afterwards. The smell taking my mind straight back to her bedroom, her mouth round my cock, her legs spread for my fingers’ exploration.

Stopping in at a cafe, ordering a coffee, sitting down by the window, soaking in the scene. Occasionally, a surreptitious sniff at my finger, the world filling again with the supermodel’s essence, her extreme sexiness, the generosity of her sexual giving.

Pondering, not long ago I would have had all sorts of moral queasiness about being with someone like her, now it feels like an absolute affirmation of life and living.

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.

Special Jane Blowjob

Standing in the supermarket line, getting impatient. Looking up at the adjacent till, catching sight of my special checkout girl, not seen for months. Somehow so evocative of Jane in student days.

Her customer paying, her eyes lifted to him, smiling, dimples in her cheeks, her eyes somehow containing the same hint of complicity as Jane’s. The man smiling back at her. Jealousy stabbing through my heart, why isn’t she doing that with me?

All those years ago, Jane selecting me ahead of others, for some reason. Standing now in a supermarket, memories and images carouseling through my mind. Making my way through the checkout, sneaking quick peeks at the special girl, heart panging with each glimpse of her eyes.

Getting home, emailing Jane. Hey baby, your email, fate, date, mate, sate, grate, whew, well here I am replying, late. I was standing today in a supermarket line, there’s a checkout girl there, makes me think of you every time I see her, something to do with her complicit smile, innocence and knowledge intertwined, just like you.

You said you were feeling bitter, but here’s another thought. Fate, it isn’t all bad. In the supermarket I was thinking how with you fate dealt me a wonderful hand. One that gave so much pleasure at the time, and that continues to give, every time I think of you it gives me buoyancy, if we hadn’t shared those times my whole life would have been different and impoverished.

The thing with sex, it’s so much more than just nakedness or entry or even touch, it’s play. And I guess you taught me how to play, darling Jane. Somehow it was you that brought it out in me. And here I was thinking I was doing the teaching.

Hey baby, someday soon we’ll meet up again, and we can find somewhere alone and play together. Not sure what form the play will take, that’s the thing about play, you can’t know how it’ll go, or it isn’t play. But hopefully it will involve taking clothes off. And if I’m lucky it’ll involve a special Jane blowjob, the thought makes me tingle, getting one of those again.

So let’s do it soon, baby Jane, we don’t want too much longer to go by without. love R xxx.

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.

Without Complications

Back from Jenny’s, feeling terrific. Brewing coffee, taking in its smell, pouring a mug. Standing at the window sipping it, checking out the scene outside. London still in confusion after days of riots, but boarded up windows somehow looking ridiculous.

Jenny’s sexual touch continuing to work its magic. All problems now somehow soluble. My wife, happy in her sexless way, incomprehensible to me, but still a good person to share a life with, maybe it’s best thing for me, having an arms-length connection, it gives me freedom to seek adventure elsewhere.

Carol, maybe I was asking the impossible with her. A relationship without complications, maybe no such thing exists. Well, sipping coffee, thinking, it does actually, but there’s only one way. You visit an escort, you pay your money, you have your time, everyone knows where the boundaries are. An excellent way to strip out the complications.

Another sip of coffee. Thinking more about Jenny, her offer of a free blowjob, how sweet she is to suggest such a thing. But not in fact taken up by me, I insisted on paying, she didn’t demur. A smile from her, mutual recognition of meanings, the offer made to signify warmth, payment made to signify boundaries.

A warm glow sweeping over me, just thinking of her. Any time I want to see her, I can, more or less. And if I don’t want to see her for a while, no problem.

The phone ringing. My daughter. Please daddy, I’m supposed to be home by four, do you mind if we make it a bit later? How much later, sweetheart? Don’t know. Well, ring me back when you know, sweetheart, until then it stays at four. Okay, eight o’clock, is that okay daddy? No, sweetheart, especially not with all these riots. Ah please, daddy. No sweetheart, actually my max is five o’clock, either agree with that or stick with four. Oh, okay, bye.

Raising the coffee mug to Jenny, thinking, you see, immediate payoff, managed to handle that situation with my daughter without acrimony, would have been impossible if you hadn’t settled my body down. Smiling, reaching for the coffee jug, refilling.

She Is Who She Is

Lazy London summer sounds filtering through Jenny’s window, distant police sirens and rumble of traffic and children playing. Her naked body sliding close to mine, snuggling. The air still cool enough for us both to be free of sweat. Hey baby, what do you want, do you want to get inside me or should I suck you some more? You choose honey.

Jenny reaching over for a condom, tearing open the packet, putting it on me. Me on by back feeling as if in heaven. Jenny’s expert hands making light of the condom hassle, procedure transmuted into erotic embellishment.

Moving a leg over my body, sitting astride, leaning forward, her nipples in my face, her hand guiding my cock along her pussy’s length, parting the lips, finding the point of surrender. Pressing down, realigning slightly, pressing down again, her eyes closing, her body adjusting. Grinding her hips, getting me fully inside, moaning softly.

Opening her eyes, looking down at me, seeing me smiling, smiling back. Hey honey, your pussy feels wonderful, lovely and clinging, strong, not too tight. A pause, her new English registering, then smiling. A kiss on my forehead, acknowledgment of gentlemanly compliment.

Rolling her over on her back, still inside her. Kissing her neck. Her knees rising high, taking me deeper. My hips and cock thrusting slow and long into her. Smiling at one another again. Your pussy honey, it’s so beautiful, and it stays so fresh, amazing for such a hard-working little thing. Another pause, Jenny’s English checking again.

Registering, looking at me for any note of sourness, finding only fondness, smiling. Another kiss on my forehead. Her arms around me hugging tighter. First time ever, acknowledgement from me of her time with other men. The implication that it matters not, who cares? The further implication, I’m not signed up to the general hypocrisy about escorts somehow being inferior. She is who she is, my darling Jenny.

Immersed in the moment so deeply, and so at peace, as to make climax unlikely. Increasingly recognizing climax as being unfundamental, it’s the sexual sharing and sensual touch that matters. Yet suddenly a sudden tightening of some tiny spring, and pressure building. Jenny lying still under me, receptive. Physical sensations becoming guided, like a wave. The wave becoming bigger, my body clenching. Then the crest and the break and the roar.

Jenny beneath me, holding my face. Hey baby, that was lovely, hey baby, you needed that.

Free Blowjob

Waking up jittery and irritable, sure signs of sexual need. Better do something, won’t be long otherwise before I start picking petty fights, making enemies, making mistakes.

Checking the escort website, but feeling no interest in any but Jenny. Don’t want to mess around, just need a woman who understands my body and who finds it a pleasure not a chore.

Trouble is, with Carol still in my blood, if I see Jenny maybe somehow Jenny becomes second best, a substitute. She’s too wonderful for that.

To hell with it, let’s try her number, hope she’s back from Budapest or wherever she’s been. Ringing it. On the fourth ring, her voice answering. Yes of course I’m free for you darling, any time, come round quickly, I still owe you a free blowjob.

Eleven thirty the appointed hour. Arriving early, strolling around Finsbury Park, trees in full leaf, sunshine on the lawns, young children learning softball. The minutes crawling by. Finally, five minutes to go, time to head for Jenny’s.

Standing at her building’s front door, ringing her number. Three rings, then stop, agreed signal. Soft clatter of interior movement, then footsteps down the stairs. The front door opening. Jenny in tight denim shorts and cutaway teeshirt, smiling up at me, pulling me in, kissing me, where’ve you been darling, I’ve been waiting for you for weeks.

Moving to her bedroom, both smiling, like old friends rediscovering true pleasure in one another’s company. Are you okay, baby, I thought you must have found somebody else, maybe you did, never mind, I’ve got you back now, come along, take your clothes off baby, let me relax your body.

Both of us stripping. Lying on the bed. Jenny rolling on top of me, letting my skin feel hers. My hands on her back, stroking, soaking up the nourishment of skin’s touch. Her hand moving downward to feel my cock, still soft, too inundated with sensual delight, not yet focused into erection.

Jenny moving down, doing that special Jenny thing, taking the tip straight in her mouth, her hand stroking the shaft gently. In my body a sudden shift, cock stiffening slightly, then firmly, then suddenly like mahogany. Jenny taking her face away, looking at me, smiling, hey baby, you’re desperate, I figure you came to see me just in time.

Lying on my back, eyes closed, feeling Jenny’s mouth round my cock, knowing she’ll keep doing it for minutes or hours or however long I want, my body feeling weightless, like escaping from the pressure of a huge burden.

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.

Lovely Tinkling Climax

This morning, an email from Jane, the day immediately seeming more sunny. Pouring myself some coffee, sitting back, opening it.

Hi R, wow, your last email, what a lovely thought, lying somewhere naked in the sun, having my needs ministered to. have to confess, played with myself thinking about that, alone in my bed, lovely tinkling climax, wish it had been your fingers doing it though, or even better, tongue. also wish i’d had some of you to hold on to, take you in my body wherever you wanted. oh well, can but dream.

Things here are more or less the same, still sexually dead and unable to find the right man. my son was playing the other afternoon with a friend, then the friend’s older brother came by to take him home, a real hunk, bulging muscles, i was watching him through the window, getting myself all excited, even though muscles aren’t my usual thing. nothing came of it, just, shows how frisky i’m getting, i’m in real need, R.

Besides, jumping into bed with someone in my son’s circle might not be the smartest possible thing. here in sydney, R, the problem is that the place is so damn small, it’s not as bad as other towns in australia, but it doesn’t have that thing that london has, that you can do whatever you want and nobody will ever find out or even be interested.

And also, the things you can do in london are so unlimited, there’ll be a thousand things happening, R, that you won’t even have heard about but which if they happened here you’d get excited. anyway, here, the prospects of finding a lover without the whole of your world knowing about it are pretty low. so i guess i just have to resign myself to a long intimate relationship with my fingers.

Unless you come over, R. i can’t see myself getting to england for the next year or so, but can’t you find some excuse, business or a friend’s wedding or something? i could come over to your hotel, spend the day together, some sex in the morning, some wine at lunch, some more sex in the afternoon. it’d be fantastic to feel you inside me again. Jane xxx.

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.

Her Moistures Stirring

Carol’s eyes closed in sleep for only a few minutes, then flickering, then suddenly wide open, looking around, taking things in, seeing me next to her, breaking into a smile. Oh god, R, did I fall asleep, how rude, I must be more tired than I thought, just stay there one minute, I need to go to the bathroom.

Getting up from the bed, covering a yawn with one hand, tousling her hair with the other, walking out the door. Returning a minute later with two glasses of lemon tea from the balcony. Clinking her glass against mine, hey baby, I feel so refreshed, so now, I do believe you were on the point of kissing me.

My hand stroking her upper arm. Reaching up to caress her neck. Kissing her lips. Cupping her breast through her teeshirt, feeling its soft shape. Carol taking my head in her hands, kissing my forehead, rising, starting to undress. Hey baby, I need all of you, no clothes, just naked.

Both of us stripping quickly, climbing onto the bed, holding each other close. Carol looking at me, smiling, her face posing a challenge, okay R, you and your tongue, here I am, see if you can do what you did last time, I’ve been fantasizing about it. Sure honey, so have I, my tongue can’t wait to taste you again.

Lying her back, kissing her nipples, stomach, hips. Enjoying but not tarrying. Sliding down the bed, my feet hanging over the end, pushing her legs apart, lifting her knees. Her pussy parting slightly, a rustling sound just audible, her moistures stirring. My lips touching the hollows on each side. Running my tongue between her lips. Delicious womanly juice with its gliding texture and metallic tang.

My tongue’s tip finding her clitoris, playing briefly. My hands separating her lips wider, her clitoris now more prominent. Licking it lightly, curving my tongue round its shape, releasing it, flicking it. A soft groan from Carol, almost a whimper. Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop, just keep doing that, please don’t stop.

My tongue finding a rhythm, pushing her clitoris from underneath, letting it escape, passing downwards to the side, pushing from underneath again. Occasional side to side variation, then up and down some more. Keep going baby, don’t stop, don’t stop.

Her body stilling, then stiffening. Her hips in a slow roll, pulling back from my tongue, then urgently pushing back for more. A final moment of quiet, then a soft quiver, like sudden release from long pressure. Silence from Carol bar the sound of breath escaping and a near-imperceptible groan. Her body stiffening in a final quiver, then softening, going limp.

Climbing up beside her, wiping her juices from my mouth with my forearm. Carol turning to nestle into me. Oh baby, oh baby, I needed that.

A Slice Of Heaven

Some time gone now, and no contact from Carol. On the other hand, I haven’t contacted her either. Probably best for both of us to have had some space, but I’m missing her badly and it’s been quite a while.

Emailing her, hey there beautiful, I may not be emailing about where on your body my tongue plans to carry on with its adventures, doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. Mmmm, delicious, the very thought. Are you still in Ireland? Would you like to meet up again. Just coffee and a chat if you want, that would be good, even better if it’s something more intimate. Rxxx.

Within an hour, hey handsome, lovely to get your email, I wanted to email you but held off until I had some sort of date for returning, which actually now I do, I’m back Wednesday. Are you free Thursday afternoon, around two o’clock, I’m not sure how much you’re in control of your own time. If you can, same place, Chelsea? Just be warned, R, I’m desperate, we’d better go straight to the apartment, discuss things there, make sure your tongue’s as good with the doing as it is with the plans. Cxxx.

Emailing her back, great, that’s fantastic, yes, I can control my calendar, especially for priorities. See you then. Won’t write more now, I’m getting a bit tongue-twisted in excitement. Rxxx.

Only a few days to wait, life suddenly feels wonderful. No sense of apology on either side for the delay, just acceptance that our separate lives have different demands, if you’re going to be lovers you just have to fit in with that. Which means when you find yourselves together again it’s a slice of heaven, snatched from the chaos.

Thinking about Carol, my whole body tingling at the thought of our skins touching. The lovely directness in the email, what did she say?, R, I’m desperate. The sharing of such a state carrying its own erotic charge, casual inclusion in such a secret making me feel the luckiest man in London. Offered as a matter-of-fact statement, not something formulaic or contrived. No way on earth of eliciting that information by demand, it’s freely given or not at all. Lucky, lucky me, to be the one she’s telling.

Only a few days to go.