The Not So Invisible Woman

by Suzanne Portnoy

  'Your pussy is so tight,' he said, pumping me. 'I think I need to fuck you every day for it to remain healthy.' Then, as if hearing his own words and what they implied, he quickly amended his prescription. 'Well, maybe three times a week.'

  I looked up at him.

  'Twice a day,' he added.

  I said nothing. Despite the pleasure his treatment sent surging through my body, I quickly came to my senses. There was no way I'd be able to fuck this guy that often, unless I put my kids up for adoption and handed in my notice at work.

  Indeed, he would have been lucky for the opportunity to fuck me twice a week. And with a regular dose of that cock of his, I'd have been lucky, too. But with a full-time job and a second career ferrying my two teenagers to their schools and football games, I didn't have much time to sleep with anyone. The occasional morning fuck was my only available appointment, aside from two kids-free weekends a month when I had the house to myself. But, as he was pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside of me, I tried mentally reorganising my calendar to see where I could fit him in. I liked the sex, the way he felt inside me. Then I let the idea go and climbed on top of him, forgetting the practicalities while focusing on my fantasy.

  We had been fucking for twenty minutes and still he had a rock-hard erection.

  'You make me so hard,' he said. 'You're so horny.'

  'Only when I have a big fat cock like yours in my pussy,' I said. My comment wasn't aimed at his ego. I was simply stating a fact. 'And a decent brain too. It's the perfect combo,' I added. Instantly I regretted my words. I was as cool to the concept of the one-off fuck, like most of the guys I met off of Swinging Heaven, but I'd just blown it, sounding like a girlfriend wannabe.

  'I'm glad it works for you,' said Dr Donny.

  I started grinding down, feeling him deep inside me. I came within minutes. Then I lifted my body off of his and, crouching between his legs, pulled off the condom and then grabbed his cock with my hands. I jerked him off until he came all over his stomach.

  As I rubbed the come into his chest, I looked at the clock. Forty minutes had passed since the doorbell chimed.

  I lay down next to Dr Donny and wrapped my arms around his chest, noticing for the first time a slight paunch around his middle. I hadn't seen this in his online photo. In fact, he had described himself as 'super fit' and online the body looked tight. But after years of internet dating, I'd grown used to words that weren't true and photos that were dated. At least the cock didn't lie.

  I watched his cock go soft as we settled into an after-sex glow that hardly seemed justified. We'd only just met. And yet, in my experience, having sex with a stranger can be just as intimate as sex with someone I've known for years. It takes more than contact. It's a chemical and psychological reaction as much as a physical one. Thirty seconds, thirty years – what's the difference if the brain and the body connect?

  'Well, that was nice,' I said, smiling. And I meant it.

  'Fantastic!' he said. 'I'm glad you enjoyed my cock.' He smiled.

  'You have a beautiful cock,' I said. 'It's the perfect size for me. I didn't even have to think about coming. It just happened. It doesn't always work like that for me.'

  'I'm glad I could be of service,' he said, pleased.

  I thought about what he had said about fucking me three times a week, and fantasised that he might actually have the time to make it happen.

  'Nice house,' he said, looking around my large bedroom. He nodded toward the twenty boxes of high heels stacked against the fireplace. 'I see you like shoes.'

  'I need a big house to store all my shoes in,' I joked. I'd had to pay my husband a quarter of a million to keep the place after our divorce, but it had become my refuge. During my marriage, the house often reminded me of my role as hausfrau. Now all mine, it was worth the long hours I put in at my day job at an entertainment company in order to keep it.

  'So, doctor, what's your real job?' I asked.

  'I run a small hedge fund and work from home about a mile from here.'

  Money. Big cock. Local. Does it get more perfect than this?

  The only other time I'd met a hedge fund guy was when I went to a party full of them, hosted by Trader Monthly magazine and organised by a party-planner mate of mine, Andrew. When Andrew mentioned the event sponsor was Chivas Regal, I decided to go for the drinks. At the last minute my then boyfriend, Karume, insisted on tagging along, on the pretext of making some 'business connections'. He didn't have a job at the time, so I suspected his coming had more to do with his not wanting me to be in the same room as a lot of men with a lot of money. I was his meal ticket. In the four months he lived under my roof, he never brought anything to the table, not even a bottle of cheap wine.

  That night, I schmoozed with a dozen multimillionaires at Il Bottaccio, an elegant Georgian mansion turned private club on Grosvenor Place. Karume kept one eye on me and the other on the undernourished models shipped in for the evening as eye candy. As I later realised, juggling a number of women was second nature to him. When I eventually kicked him to the kerb, shortly after the trader party, it was because I discovered he had been sharing his bed with another girl. I wouldn't have minded that, but he had made me give up my own harem when we got together, saying he was 'a one-woman man'.

  I was one of the few women at the Trader Monthly fete who had a nine-to-five job and sizeable boobs, so was a novelty for the traders, at least those who were actually as interested in brains as in beauty. I learned that, in addition to being loaded, traders could be fun, especially after half a dozen free Chivas cocktails. I picked up the business cards of a couple of attractive guys, before they were snatched away by Karume on the pretext of 'research'. His research never panned out, and I never met another trader until my doctor came calling. After Karume and I broke up, I swore I'd never support another guy ever again and I didn't.

  'I have to get to work,' I said.

  'Me too.'

  Dr Donny and I stood up and began dressing.

  I was debating whether to suggest we schedule in another doctor's appointment, when suddenly the doctor beat me to it.

  'Listen, I'm going to Monaco in a couple of days for the Grand Prix. Why don't I fly you out for the weekend? We can fuck our brains out there.'

  This could be a keeper, I thought. I'd only just met the guy and already he was talking about taking me away somewhere warm and expensive and exotic. Maybe I'd been right about the brain and body connection.

  'I'll see if I can move a few things around,' I said. My kids were going to be with their father that weekend, so that wasn't a problem, but I had a client meeting on Friday afternoon that I'd have to rearrange. 'Let me get back to you.'

  'Just let me know,' he said. 'I can always book a late ticket.'

  We walked downstairs and out onto the street. Dr Donny kissed me on the pavement outside my house. 'Call me,' he said. 'We'll have fun.'

  And we would have done, had I ever been given the opportunity to see him again.

  I got in the car, put on my Bluetooth, and rang my best mate Nadia, who loved hearing of my exploits.

  Nadia is a 43-year-old Lebanese chick with wild dark hair that falls to her shoulders in corkscrew ringlets and a petite, almost boyish body. Thanks to her beauty and olive complexion, she looks a decade younger and often ends up with sexy men who actually are. We met through Karume, whom she fucked before he took up with me. Nadia dated him only briefly, before deciding they weren't sexually compatible. He cleaned out her drinks cabinet and the food in her fridge, but she thought he was fun to have around, if not full time, and their friendship remained solid. We met when Karume took me to Momo Bar, a world music club in the West End, where Nadia worked as a sound engineer and booked the acts. A fellow Pisces, I liked her immediately. She was amusing and said 'darling' a lot and spoke in dramatic sentences that ended in exclamation points.

  'Oh, darling,' said Nadia, as I recounted my appointment with the bogus doctor, 'had you met this man before?'

&nbs
p; 'Only on the web,' I said.

  'And you let him into your house? Are you crazy?'

  I told her he was a hedge-fund trader who lived down the road. As if that made him a safe bet.

  'You know, darling, you never know. I could never let a strange man come to my house. I don't know how you can do these things.'

  'I know. You're right, I shouldn't,' I said. 'I don't usually do that.' And that was true: I don't. But I tried to explain that, for some reason, I just felt safe with him.

  Except I really couldn't explain it. I knew that even normal-seeming trader-type guys could turn out to be nutcases. But in my many years of fucking around, I'd always been lucky. I may have had bad radar when it came to boyfriends like Karume, but I had good radar when it came to sex partners. I told Nadia I had liked Dr Donny's voice and that he had sounded smart and sexy and fun.

  'Darling . . .'

  'Anyway, he had an enormous cock. And he lives down the road and he's a hedge-fund trader. And now he's invited me to Monaco.'

  'Are you going?'

  I explained that I had to rearrange a few things first and that then I would let him know. But in my head, I'd already decided.

  I waited a few hours before texting my answer, so as not to appear too keen.

  I didn't hear back from Donny until after the weekend, when he popped up on Messenger.

  'sorry i didnt get back to u but work got mental'

  I deleted him from my phonebook and blocked his name on Messenger.

  I felt let down – annoyed at having been conned, hurt at having been so quickly discarded, and surprised at having been so easily hooked. I don't mind the fuck-and-gos; in fact, I quite like them. If Donny hadn't suggested meeting up again, that would have been OK. But I do mind being lied to. It is totally unnecessary. We'd both got what we'd wanted. I didn't need a second thwarted fantasy on top of the first one that hadn't worked out quite as I'd imagined.

  About a week later, whilst casually looking for playmates on Swinging Heaven, I stumbled across a new doctor ad.

  'Have you a Doctor Fantasy?' it asked.

  I pulled up the ad and saw Donny's pics. One of them was new: a head shot that was cropped right where a woman's head had once been. I figured it was his girlfriend or maybe a wife. Her long brown hair was still visible, spilling onto his shoulder.

  Hi Girls and Ladies

  Who gets turned on when they go and see their doctor?

  Well Dr Donny is here to fulfil those fantasises

  I'm a sex doctor who knows how to treat the symptons listed above.

  Would you like to have the hardest, longest and most satisfying cock you have ever had to relieve the stresses of your daily life ??

  Im totally clean, respectable, discreit and very st8.

  I live in London but can travel. Im available during the day sometimes as well.

  Get in touch soon and we can all have some fun.

  Ooops nearly forgot i promise to keep it a secret!!!!!

  Donny

  Perhaps I should have been flattered that Donny had taken inspiration from our morning tryst. But my first thought was that he'd nicked my fantasy. I sent him a message on Swinging Heaven pointing out his spelling mistakes.

  Liar. Cad. Shitty speller. Still, I had to admit, I'd suck his cock again if the opportunity arose. It was beautiful.

  2. MY SECRET

  Dr Donny wasn't the first guy I'd had for breakfast, or rather, at meal times.

  For about three years, I used my lunch hour for things other than eating lunch.

  If you enjoy sex, and you've got a busy job and two growing and very nosy sons, then you have to work to slot in a session. I've always been resourceful when it comes to finding sex slots and, following my divorce, I had to be. It's not easy juggling a full-time job and the second full-time job of single parenthood. Some women like shopping in their off-time; I like sex. It makes me feel beautiful, it keeps me healthy, it's fun and it's free.

  My noontime destination had been Rio's, a naturist spa not far from my office, where, after a quick steam and sauna, I would scout the premises until I found a man I wanted to fuck. Factoring in flirting time, a.k.a. foreplay, normally I could get laid and wash my hair and be out of there in under two hours.

  But then my workload increased and suddenly I found I had no time for a sandwich, much less sex. Plus my receptionist caught on to my lunch-time gig, since I frequently arrived back at work with suspiciously wet hair. No longer feeling free to leave the office for long 'meetings', I came up with the idea of the breakfast break.

  Sam was the inspiration for this idea.

  Like most of the men in my mobile, I met Sam online after putting an ad on Swinging Heaven. One of my regulars decided to get serious with another woman, creating a vacancy on my dance card. By necessity, I turned to my handy website. Some women pine for one serious boyfriend; I prefer a half-dozen regulars. That way, I never go without. Guys in their late thirties and forties (my preferred age group) are extraordinarily busy. But when you have six men on speed dial, one is always available when another drops out.

  As usual, in my subject header I put the three initials that mean the most to me: VWE. That's short for very well endowed.

  The next day I scoured through the one hundred or so responses I received until one caught my eye. Presumably all the men who replied were VWE, as requested, but few got right to the point. Sam did. I liked that. When one is on the lookout for a regular fuck-buddy, brevity works best. Too many men write three-page emails telling exactly what they'll do if given the chance to meet me. They never will. Just as the Hollywood exec wants a movie synopsis that can be summed up in thirty seconds, I want a prospective date who can sell himself in thirty words. That shows intelligence – they're smart enough to have figured out the demands of the sexual marketplace – and it bodes well, because in addition to my big-cock fetish, I can't meet a man with whom I can't hold a conversation.

  Sam told me his age, location, and cock size. Well, he didn't give a measurement, exactly, but noted that he was VVWE. That extra 'V was all the information I needed. Finally, a man who understood exactly what's required.

  I pulled up his pic. It showed a black man in tight white briefs, with big shoulders, pronounced abs and muscular thighs. He had one hand around a long hard cock, which protruded about five inches above the waistband of his briefs. VVWE indeed.

  'You're cute,' I wrote. 'Free on Friday night?'

  He was.

  We arranged to meet at a wine bar just up the road from my house and, rare for such first meetings, Sam turned up on time.

  He was shorter than I'd expected – about my height, five feet six inches – but looked exactly like his photo: fit, muscular, handsome. He had a squarish face and angular features. He wore jeans and a pale-blue polo shirt under a heavy leather jacket. He kissed me on one cheek, then took off his woollen hat and exposed his closely shaven head. He smiled warmly.

  We ordered a bottle of Chardonnay and, as an icebreaker, I asked him whether he'd had any strange experiences on Swinging Heaven.

  'Who hasn't?' he laughed. His accent was middle class, London inflected, educated.

  'OK, you first,' I said.

  'Which one do you want first?' he said. 'I have quite a few.'

  'Your most extreme,' I said.

  'Well, I was once asked over by a guy who wanted to watch while I fucked his wife,' he began.

  'Oh, yeah,' I said, 'I know lots of guys who are used as thirds. They could make a living out of servicing the wives of married men. While the married man watches, or films, or participates.'

  I wasn't expecting what followed, though.

  'This guy didn't participate; he just coached.' Sam rolled his eyes. 'He didn't want me to use a condom – he insisted on that bit – and then, as I'm fucking his wife, he's standing at the foot of the bed directing me: fuck her, fuck her harder, I want to see you come inside her. The guy was pretty annoying. It was so distracting I had a hard time keeping it up
. I'm actually more of a one-on-one-type guy.'

  'I know what you mean,' I said. 'I hate too much talking during sex. Drives me mad.'

  'Yeah,' he agreed, then continued with his story. 'Finally I come, shoot my load inside her. She gets up, sits on her husband's face – he's on the bed now, right? – and pushes my spunk out. Which he sucks out and swallows.'

  'Gross,' I said, and laughed, suddenly feeling like an amateur. 'Gee, I just want you to fuck me. But I'll sit on your face if you want me to.'

  'You are a gracious hostess,' he said, laughing and exposing beautiful, straight white teeth.

  'And I'm well endowed – I have a big hot tub,' I said.

  'Are you crazy? It's January. Isn't it a bit cold to be sitting outside in a pool of water?'

  'Not when the water's thirty-eight degrees,' I said.

  'OK, let's go,' he said. 'As long as you're talking Celsius and not Fahrenheit. You're American, right?'

  We finished our wine as I explained how I'd moved to London at the age of thirteen but that, as he'd obviously noticed, my accent betrayed my roots.

  'For someone who's been here that long, I'm surprised you still sound like a Yank,' he said. 'I'm sure I'm not the first person to tell you that.'

  He wasn't. 'That's because it works,' I said. 'I haven't met a guy yet who doesn't like hearing a New York broad say, "I really wanna suck your cock." '

  'You have a point,' he said. 'That does sound good.'

  'Feels even better,' I said, laughing. 'Let's go.'

  I slung on my sheepskin coat and three minutes later we were at my front door.

  It was very cold that night. Sam took off his leather jacket and hung it on the banister, then went into the kitchen while I went upstairs to get some towels. I came back in time to see him remove his nut huggers. Even soft, his cock hung a good seven inches down his leg. And his body was even better than it appeared in the picture: leaner, fitter, tighter.

  We ran straight to the hot tub in my back garden. Climbing into the steaming pool, we sat next to each other and let the water warm us and the jets massage our backs. I slid next to him, then probed under the surface and found his cock to be hard. It felt even bigger than it looked online.