“Would you like to see my cock?”
“Do I have to pay you?”
“No.” I laughed. “It’s a freebie.”
I pulled open my fly. She looked at me, surprised.
“You wear underwear now?”
“Since Michael Hutchence died.”
“Show me then.”
I pulled out my cock. She stared at it for a minute and then looked up at me.
“I remember it.”
“Do you?” I asked, surprised. “Exactly?”
“Exactly.”
I looked at her, wondering if women’s memories worked differently to men’s, or whether the fault lay solely with me.
“So,” I said, “two hundred quid for a blow-job.”
“It’s extra to come in my mouth.”
“Two fifty, then.”
I counted out the cash and she went down on me.
Marianne was already in bed when I got home. I knew she was probably still upset about what I’d said that morning, but found I didn’t really regret it. Since I’d started paying people for sex, my generosity to her had started to seem unfathomable, and I couldn’t understand why I’d been kind to her for so long. No one else seemed interested in her (in the whole time she’d lived with me she’d never mentioned her parents once) and she hardly contributed anything around the home. Besides, if it wasn’t for her living here I could have my sexual adventures without venturing outside the front door. I wasn’t quite ready to kick her out, but from now on I felt she should start doing something to justify her board.
I didn’t have much to do the next day. I arose late, masturbated, then went out for lunch alone. When I got back Marianne was sitting in the garden, reading a book. I went through to my study and called Vicki.
“Hi, Jesse, how are you?”
“Good.”
There was a moment of silence. I hadn’t imagined that it’d be hard to talk to her, assuming that we’d quickly fall back into a friendly intimacy, maybe with a pleasant new sexual under-current to our conversation. But suddenly I was experiencing the same sort of shyness I usually only felt when I was talking to someone I really fancied.
“Is this a money conversation?”
“Kind of,” I laughed.
“Oh,” she said, “I’m glad you’ve brought that up. The thing is, Jesse, the other night and everything I did enjoy it, but I don’t think it should happen again.”
“Really?” I replied, wondering if she was serious, or just wanted to be persuaded.
“Yeah,” she said, “I’m sorry. I can’t really explain. It’s not you, or the money. It’s just that I’m not very good at the stage between casual sex and a proper relationship, and I know you’re not looking for that right now . . .”
“Well . . .”
“I mean, I’m not either, and I want you to carry on being my walker, and well, if I’m going to be absolutely honest the next day I was a bit freaked out by the fact that I’d taken money from you and if you’ll let me I’d like to give it back.”
“No, Vicki, don’t be silly, it was worth it.”
“I don’t have to give you the actual money. If you want I can just credit your account.”
“No,” I said, “I’m glad I paid you. But I understand why you don’t want to do it again, and don’t worry, this won’t damage our friendship.”
“Oh, good,” she replied, “thanks, Jesse.”
I finished the call, found my address book and flipped through until I found Anita’s number. I dialled, and got her answer-phone. So I tried her mobile.
“Hello?” she said, the background noise of a lively pub behind her voice.
“Hi, Anita, it’s Jesse.”
“Hi, Jesse, how are you?”
“Good. Where are you?”
“In Soho. Why?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I wondered whether I could meet up with you.”
“Now?”
“Is that OK?”
“Of course. I’m in Waxy’s Little Sister. Do you know where that is?”
“No.”
“Opposite the Metro.”
“The cinema?”
“Yeah. How long are you going to be?”
“About forty-five minutes.”
“OK. I’ll see you then.”
I told Marianne I was going out and took a taxi into Soho. Part of me wanted to reveal that I was meeting Anita, just to see how she’d react. But I worried that giving Marianne clues as to what I had planned might inhibit me, so I kept quiet.
During the drive, I thought about Anita and wondered whether she would go for my suggestion. The fact that she was drinking alone in the afternoon seemed a good sign, as she only lapsed back into alcoholism between affairs, focusing more heavily on drugs when she was involved with someone.
I remembered talking about Anita with Hazel, Ivy and Elizabeth, and how they were convinced I’d be able to seduce her. It was almost worth not using the money as a motivation, but I realized when I thought about having sex with Anita the financial transaction was the part I was looking forward to most. It was knowing that I was going to offer Anita money that stopped me feeling intimidated by her, as it seemed more adult, honest and decadent than her booze, coke and affairs.
Waxy’s Little Sister was a ghastly Irish theme-pub, and I couldn’t understand what Anita was doing there. She was sitting alone with a pint and a small glass of whisky. I walked across and joined her.
“Hi, Jesse. So what’s wrong? Is this to do with Marianne?”
“No, nothing like that. I was just at a loose end and wanting someone to have a drink with. You were the first person who came to mind. Well, second, after my bank manager.”
She chuckled. “Isn’t he working?”
“She. And yes, she is. But I thought I could persuade her to knock off early. Anyway, I’m glad you were free. Are you all right for drinks?”
She nodded. I got myself a pint and pulled up a chair beside her. Even when she was getting wasted alone Anita looked incredible. She looked posh and innocent, a fatal combination even without the added spice of her exciting private life. I’d always wanted her, but had been held back by fear. Her red hair (always a warning sign to me, since that first experience of adolescent rejection) made her look a little like Nicole Kidman at her most elegant, although with a slightly more inviting, open face.
“How are you then?” I asked, still nervous.
“All right. Starting to get a little bit wobbly. How about you?”
“OK . . . a little drained.”
“Ennui?” She smiled.
“Something like that. Too much money and too much free time.”
“I wish I had that worry.”
I sipped my beer, sensing an opening. “You’re all right for money, aren’t you?”
“Are you kidding? I’m broke. I’ve never had this little money in my life.”
“Really?” I said, and after enough large swallows, began my pitch.
The following evening I was feeling lonely again. I couldn’t get hold of Anita, or Tracey, and knew it would be undignified to have another go at persuading Vicki to change her mind. Frustrated, I went downstairs to the lounge.
Marianne was lying on the floor, watching television. She was wearing a short skirt and a black top and when I sat on the sofa behind her I could see her knickers. She paid no attention to me, concentrating on the television. I stayed there for fifteen minutes, but finally couldn’t take it any longer and asked, “How much money would you want to suck my cock?”
Marianne moved out the following morning. I would’ve been happy if she’d left the night before, but she clearly wanted to drag out her departure. I wasn’t sad to see her go and, although I had said some seriously mean things to her in our argument the night before, none of my comments had been unfair. Two years of frustration had come out too fast, that’s all. I wasn’t a bad person.
“I think it’s good that you kicke
d Marianne out,” Elizabeth told me. “She’s been sponging off of you for far too long.”
“What was the argument about?” asked Hazel.
“Never mind that,” Ivy interrupted, “what I want to know is, what is Anita like in bed?”
I answered both their questions, at length, by telling them the story of my past week. This time I definitely wasn’t trying to reel anyone in, knowing that all three of my friends were happily married mothers who weren’t short of money and liked to think of themselves as decent, moral individuals.
Ivy was the first to start turning the conversation. Her approach was obvious, getting me to repeat the concept over and over again (“So, let me get this straight. You’ve been paying your friends for sex?” “Yes, Ivy, that’s right, I’ve been paying my friends for sex.”) until it no longer sounded outrageous and they’d all accepted it as an acceptable thing to do. But Hazel was the one who made it personal.
“Would you pay me for sex?” she asked.
“Would you like to have sex with me?”
“Maybe. How much money are we talking about?”
“Well, I paid Vicki a thousand, Tracey somewhere around five hundred and Anita two-fifty.”
“You paid Anita the least amount of money?” Ivy exclaimed, shocked.
I smiled, amused by her indignation. “I asked all three of them to name their price. Anita wanted two-fifty.”
“That’s terrible,” said Elizabeth. “She must have such low self-esteem.”
“How much would you want to sleep with Jesse?” Ivy asked Elizabeth.
“Definitely a thousand,” she said, “at the very least.”
It was fun checking into a hotel with three women. We went to The Tenderloin, a tacky rock-themed hotel that Ivy claimed was the only place for an afternoon assignation. I was shocked by her knowledge and wondered whether I’d been right to think of these women as being so innocent after all.
We took the lift up to the third floor and found our room. I could tell the three women were enjoying themselves, although I thought it probably had less to do with the sex than the fact that we were all doing something secretive together. They always got like this whenever we left the café, even on the most innocent of missions. I think it was because we were moving outside the expected limits of our friendship, and none of us had the emotional maturity to cope with that.
Ivy took off her shoes and jumped backwards onto the bed. She was the shortest of my prospective partners, although none of them was tall.
“So how are we going to do this?” asked Hazel. “Are you up to having sex with all three of us?”
“Not in a straight way.”
Elizabeth looked worried. “I’m not doing any lesbian stuff.”
I laughed.
“I mean, not that I don’t like you both and everything,” she said to Ivy and Hazel, “I just don’t think I could bear it.”
“I’m not sure about the masturbation part either,” Ivy admitted. “I don’t even do that in front of my husband.”
“What is it that embarrasses you?” I asked. “Doing it in front of me or doing it in front of each other?”
“Each other,” they agreed.
“’Cause I could call down to reception for three blindfolds. They do do that sort of thing here, don’t they?”
“They do,” Ivy admitted. “There’s an S&M bag they give to favoured customers.”
“What do you think?” I asked them.
“I’d still be embarrassed,” said Elizabeth, “even with only you watching.”
“I don’t mind doing it,” Hazel told me, “as long as you do get the blindfolds.”
“Ivy?”
“Oh, God, honestly, Jesse, I don’t think I’d even enjoy it. Can’t you just fuck me?”
“Well, I will, but I wanted us all to do something together.”
“OK, how about if I strip down to my underwear and watch you having sex with Elizabeth while Hazel masturbates?”
“But Hazel doesn’t want you to see her masturbating.”
“And I don’t want you to watch Jesse having sex with me,” added Elizabeth.
Sighing, I decided to cut my losses. Ivy would wait in the bathroom, Hazel would masturbate, I would fuck Elizabeth. The women would all wear blindfolds. I worried that this would turn the afternoon into a slapstick comedy, but they were adamant. We moved everything they might bump into and called reception, who sent up a boy with three blindfolds on a silver tray.
I asked if anyone wanted to undress before I blindfolded them, but they all wanted to stay fully clothed to begin with. Their anxieties had made me feel uncomfortable and I began to wonder whether this was such a good idea. But even if we stopped now our friendship would still be changed forever, and in spite of everything, this was still a sexual experience I wanted to have.
“You are going to wear a condom, aren’t you?” asked Ivy.
“And not the same one,” Hazel added. “A different one for each of us.”
“I don’t have any,” I said.
We called reception and they sent the boy back with a packet of extra-safe Mates. Ivy went out into the bathroom and closed the door. Hazel took off her shoes. Elizabeth lay on the bed. She whispered to me that she wanted me to undress her, so I took her shoes off and unbuttoned her jeans. I felt most worried about having sex with Elizabeth and was trying to make sure the experience didn’t feel inappropriately intimate. I pulled off her jeans. She was wearing simple, pale cream knickers. I removed them quickly and looked up at her face, watching her breathing as I went down on her, again trying to make the sex feel as straightforward and competent as possible.
I was paying so much attention to Elizabeth that I hadn’t even had a chance to look at Hazel, who was probably the one of the three I was most excited about going to bed with. I gently nuzzled and kissed Elizabeth’s clit, reaching up under her jumper and pulling the cups of her bra down from her large breasts. Behind me I had heard Hazel getting out of her dress, but she was managing to masturbate without making almost any sound at all.
I continued sucking Elizabeth, realizing my only real opportunity to look back at Hazel without Elizabeth sensing it was during the few moments it would take me to move from licking her cunt to fucking her. After that I could probably get another couple of glimpses but would have to really strain my neck. I would’ve sucked Elizabeth for longer, but I was so eager to see Hazel that the moment I thought Elizabeth was wet enough to fuck, I stopped and turned round. Hazel was wearing a long stripy top that, together with her hand, almost entirely obscured my view of her cunt, but her facial expression and the quick movement of her finger suggested that she had got over her embarrassment of masturbating in front of me.
I turned back from her, fixed my condom and slid my hard cock into Elizabeth’s cunt. She was wet, but it did take a couple of thrusts before I was moving smoothly inside her. Seeing Hazel like that made me excited again, and I worried I wouldn’t be able to last long enough to satisfy all three women. Elizabeth had been avoiding kissing me, so I didn’t force it, gratified when I felt her hands holding my hips.
I didn’t want to get Elizabeth too close and then stop, as I knew that would prove frustrating to her. I also didn’t know where she was going to go when I swapped over to Hazel. In the bathroom with Ivy, I guess. I slowed down, and Elizabeth nodded, seemingly happy for me to stop. I pulled out of her, and helped her get dressed and go into the bathroom. The moment the bathroom door closed, I walked over and snogged Hazel. She seemed perfectly happy to kiss me, wrapping her arms around me and reaching for my cock.
“Hang on,” I said, “I’ve just got to get rid of the condom.”
“Forget the condom. Just get rid of it and fuck me.”
She reached up and untied the blindfold. I snapped off the condom and lifted her off the chair, pushing my cock into her as I pressed her against the wall. She grabbed my hair and we started fucking furiously, finding a satisfactory position somewhere between standing and
a crouch. We continued like that until I said, “I’m sorry, I’m getting close. And I’ve got to stay hard for Ivy”
“Can’t you come twice?”
“Not usually.”
“OK. Go down on me then. I’m pretty close too.”
She lay back on the bed and I gave her head until she came. Afterwards, she squirmed and reached for my hand. I kissed her and we stayed on the bed until Hazel called out to Ivy,
“He’s all yours.”
“Come in here then,” she called back.
“No, don’t worry, I’m going down to the bar.”
Hazel dressed and left the room. Ivy walked in, still blindfolded. I let her come towards me. She gave a short, dirty laugh as her fingers reached my chest.
“Come on, then, what have you got left for me?”
I felt vaguely irritated at Ivy for stopping me from properly satisfying Hazel, and for the way she had always previously been so flirtatious with me, but then joined in with Elizabeth’s squeamishness when it actually came down to us all getting together. So I went down on her until her fingers were digging into my head, then fingered her as I fucked her from behind, making her come just before I emptied myself into her.
That was the last I saw of Elizabeth, Hazel and Ivy. They never contacted me again, and didn’t return my calls or e-mails. Anita and I met once more for sex, but then she got involved with someone else and said she couldn’t see me any more. Tracey, too, seemed to have decided against further meetings with me, and although Vicki was happy to talk to me about money, there was no chance of anything sexual happening between us. At first I was glad to be free of Marianne, happy to have the house to myself, but it didn’t take me long to become lonely. And with no friends left, there was no possibility of pursuing my previous path. I lasted two weeks before I started buying pornographic videos again, watching them with a hunger I had never had previously. And when they stopped working I found myself in a phone-box, intending to try Tracey again, but after getting halfway through her number, stopping and dialling the digits on a small colour card in front of me, finally ready to begin the next stage of my existence.
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 2 Page 5
