Our schedules didn't bring us together for the art show, so instead I suggested something more to my own taste – a burlesque cabaret night called Hip Hop Hillbilly, a cheeky monthly event at the Cobden Club in West London. When I described the place to him, Jim admitted he'd never been to a burlesque club – or even, I gathered, a swingers' club, much less a fetish club – so I thought I'd break him in gently.
Part burlesque, part cabaret, part disco, Hip Hop Hillbilly had all the ingredients for a sexy evening, as the crowd was cool and at least one stripper could always be counted on to provide some titillation. The bonus was that the Cobden Club was close to where I lived, so if Jim was a disaster I wouldn't have to travel far to get home.
'The look is smart. The whole T-shirt thing,' I said, reminding him of his profile pic, 'is a real turn-off, for me anyway. I like a man who looks like a man, not like a teenager.'
'OK,' he replied, a little taken aback. 'I'll be the guy in the shell suit.'
I laughed. 'And I'll be the chick in the clingy black dress with the red cherry pattern.'
We arranged to meet at eight, when the doors opened, so we could get a good seat and, I figured, a couple of stiff drinks.
Jim was by the door when I arrived. Good start, I thought; at least this guy hasn't kept me waiting.
He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and a navy-blue double-breasted pinstriped suit. It was smart and slightly retro. He looked cute, although I could see right away the teeth were going to be problematic. They were even more scrambled than the photograph he had sent me indicated. I'm an American; good teeth are important to me.
I tried to keep in mind what Morene, my psychic, had told me a couple of years earlier – that one day I would meet and marry an older man who invested in hip, arty companies, but that it wouldn't happen until I got over some of my prejudices.
'You'll marry this man,' predicted Morene. 'This successful, creative, older man, if –' she paused for emphasis '– if you don't do your usual thing of discounting him first, for something minor like having bad teeth or eyes that are too close together.'
I sized up Jim. I knew that he was not rich, had a normal job with a software company and was younger than me by two years. Not the guy my psychic was referring to. But Morene was testing me. I thought that if I could get past the teeth, I might find a really great guy underneath.
'Hi,' he said, kissing me on both cheeks.
'Hi, Honest Jim. Nice suit.'
He laughed and took my arm as we walked into the club.
Hip Hop Hillbilly was fun, as usual, and so was Jim. He seemed comfortable in the place, even as the burlesque acts kicked in. And he spoke with enthusiasm about his university course and said how happy he was to be back in school after a twenty-year hiatus.
'Why'd you wait so long?' I asked.
'I had a long-term love affair that distracted me,' he said. 'With drink. Then smack.'
'I was wondering what was up with the lime and soda,' I said.
I was relieved that he didn't drink or smoke, having buried an alcoholic live-in a few years earlier and only recently jettisoned the beer-swilling Paul and the Golden Angel-guzzling Karume. It was nice to meet someone who could negotiate the world with a clear head. The only habit I was willing to put up with any more was Viagra.
Jim's eyes lit up as he told me about studying Chaucer and Shakespeare and having to write essays and do coursework again. I resisted the urge to segue from high literature to my own book. Instead, I told Jim about my day job running an entertainment company and my own nightly academics, helping my kids with their homework.
'I feel like I'm back in school, too, sometimes,' I said.
Between sets Jim and I danced to the deejay's 80s tunes. I was delighted that he could move his feet and hips to Blondie and Grace Jones and proved willing when I tried to teach him some jive steps. That was as risqué as it got between us.
Maybe Pat had a point, I found myself wondering.
We left the Cobden Club at midnight. Jim walked me back to my car and kissed me as we leaned against it. I felt his cock stiffen whilst we made out under the street lamp.
Fuck it, I thought, and reached down to touch his trousers. His cock felt large and thick as I ran my hand across his crotch.
'Nice cock,' I said, suddenly forgetting his crooked teeth and Pat's rules.
'Thanks.' Jim laughed. 'I like it.'
We kissed a bit more and then I pulled away from him. 'I better get home. I told the boys I'd be back by midnight and I'm going to be late.'
'I'll call you tomorrow, then.'
The next day he did.
'Fancy going to see a gig tonight at the 100 Club? A mate of mine is playing, and I said I'd pop by.'
'Sure, but I need to be back early,' I warned him. 'School night. I have to drop the kids off in the morning.'
The 100 Club is a legendary jazz and blues place on Oxford Street, a grotty basement venue which has hosted thousands of famous names in its half-century-plus history. I hadn't been there since my punk days, in the early 80s, when the club became notorious for hosting emerging punk and new wave bands. I wanted to see how it had changed. I also wanted to see Jim.
I called Pat to give her a progress report.
'You'll be really proud of me, Pat. I went on a date with that Flirtnik guy and I didn't talk about sex and I didn't tell him about my book, either.'
'Good girl, Suzanne!'
'Though I did grope him a little. So, how's it going with your guy?' I asked. 'When am I going to meet him?'
'Never!' said Pat, and laughed.
After I hung up, I wondered if she was joking or serious. Suddenly it occurred to me that in the four years I'd known her, Pat had never introduced me to any of the guys she was seeing. They'd never stuck around for very long, so I hadn't thought too much about it.
Just before leaving the house to meet Jim, I shot Pat an email. 'Am I being paranoid, or is there a reason you've never introduced me to any of your boyfriends?'
The blues band playing at the 100 Club was not known to me. They drew a small crowd of fifty. The music was pleasant enough, but loud, so Jim and I didn't talk much. Instead, he put his arm around me and held me close. We stayed for about an hour, then walked over to a pub on Mortimer Street for a quiet Pinot Grigio and a lime-and-soda.
At eleven o'clock, when the pub closed, Jim offered to walk me back to my car. I was parked on Wells Street, only a three-minute walk away. Jim came anyway. I couldn't walk fifty steps without him stopping to kiss me. I was amused, and also relieved, that even without going on a sex site or talking about sex on a date, I might be getting some anyway. Men are the same no matter where you find them.
'Come here,' Jim said, pulling me into the dark doorway of a closed Japanese restaurant. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pinned me against the door with his shoulders. He pressed his lips against mine, then pushed his tongue into my mouth. I felt the bulge in his jeans. Even through the heavy fabric I could make out the shape of his thick cock and feel it get harder as we kissed.
I bit gently on his bottom lip. Jim moaned and pushed his crotch closer.
'I want to taste you so badly,' he said.
I grabbed his hand and put it between my legs, guiding him towards my pussy so he could feel the wetness.
His fingers moved towards the ripe spot. He circled his finger over and around my clit, opening me up so that he could get inside. He pushed a finger into me, and then slipped it out and put it in his mouth.
'You taste delicious,' he said, smiling. 'I want to spend a lot of time down there.'
'That sounds like a really good idea,' I said. 'I'd like you to spend a lot of time down there. I'm glad we both agree on that.'
Jim lifted up my skirt, then crouched down on the stoop and put his head between my legs. I lifted my one and rested the heel of my stiletto on the window sill to give him more room. His tongue was gentle.
The street was dim and quiet; the only sound was my sighs.
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'Ooh,' I moaned. 'That feels wonderful, wonderful.' I felt light-headed after the kissing and now the cunnilingus. I wondered if anyone living in the flats opposite the restaurant could see us. I wondered if they would get as turned on as I was.
A car drove by. Jim looked over his shoulder, then stood up.
'I don't want our first time to be like this. I want it to be special,' he said.
'C'mon,' I said, laughing. 'Let's find the car.'
Another fifty steps and another kiss. This time, Jim was more pressing. More tongue, deeper and harder in my mouth. I felt the stickiness between my legs, felt his hardness. I wished I didn't have to go home so early. I wanted to spend the night exploring Jim's body, sucking his cock, feeling him move inside of me.
Ten minutes later, we reached the car. We'd passed by it during our kiss-walk and had to double back. I unlocked the door and got into the driving seat. Jim tipped his head and smirked, indicating the passenger seat. I opened the door and he got in next to me.
'Do these seats recline?' he asked.
'These seats do everything.'
A group of young men and women spilled out of a pub and walked past us. We waited for them to move on. Then I pulled the handle at the base of the passenger seat to give Jim more room. I did the same with my seat. Jim smiled, then unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down to his knees.
I pulled his cock out of his black boxers. I was impressed. It wasn't much longer than six inches, but it was unusually thick. The head was full and mushroom-tipped, and the thick shaft tapered down to a noticeably thicker base.
Jim put his hand around the shaft and held his cock out. I wrapped my mouth around it. I loved feeling it in my mouth, full and smooth and growing harder.
'Good,' he whispered, almost inaudibly.
We were both sober; I'd only had one glass of wine and Jim had had his usual lime-and-soda. I thought it remarkable that two completely sober people could be so completely uninhibited. I had indulged in plenty of dark-street, dark-car encounters before, but usually I was trashed and so was my partner. Tonight, it felt more real, more intimate and, in a country so steeped in alcohol, very rare.
I sucked Jim for a few minutes more. I enjoyed feeling the veins on his cock start to throb.
'Stop,' he said. 'Please. You'll make me come. I don't want to come. Not here.'
'OK.' I laughed to myself, thinking it sentimental and sweet that Jim wanted to wait. His behaviour had an almost retro vibe. We weren't virginal teenagers making out in the back seat of our parents' car after the prom. We were middle-aged adults who had lost our virginity almost three decades earlier.
Still, it meant something to wait. I realised my playtime with Jim did not have the feel of a one-night stand. But then, this should not have been a surprise to me. We'd met through a real dating website, not a swinging site. And in his profile Jim had said he was looking for a relationship, not the usual no-strings sex. If he wanted to wait, that was OK by me. I liked him. He was the kind of guy I wanted to see again. He danced well, he was up for a burlesque club, he was cute, he knew lots about music and he had a big cock. And, besides, he was Honest Jim.
I lifted my mouth from his cock. I looked into his eyes. Jim looked euphoric. He had a really hard cock and I knew he really wanted to come. The urge to fuck him was unbearable, so I moved over to Jim's seat and tried to straddle him. But the seat was too narrow and my left knee felt uncomfortable wedged against the central armrest.
I felt his hard-on press against my pussy. He put one hand on my hip and grabbed his cock with the other and rubbed the head against my labia.
I let Jim rub his cock against me for a while.
'I really don't want to do it this way,' he said at last. 'I want to be in bed with you.'
'I want to spend a whole day fucking you,' I replied. 'It's been so long since I've done that.' I'd done four-hour sessions with Christopher and breakfast bonks with Sam and group sex with Greg, but I hadn't done a full-dayer with anyone for as long as I could remember.
Then a man walked past our car and I realised how exposed we were. It brought me back to the now.
'Oops.' I laughed. I moved back over to my side of the car. We kissed some more, like on a prom date. Then I got horny. I spread my legs, resting one foot on Jim's thigh, wedging the other against the windshield. Once again Jim went down on me. And again his tongue moved around my clit and quickly got me dripping.
Suddenly car horns began beeping. A rubbish van was parked beside us, blocking traffic.
'I'm sorry,' said Jim after a third or fourth car blasted its horn. 'I find the noise a bit distracting.'
I had hardly noticed.
Jim pulled up his jeans and I rearranged my dress.
'You have a great cock,' I said, as I reached for my keys. 'I'm so glad.'
Jim laughed.
'I think we're going to fit,' I continued. 'You don't know what a relief that is.'
Jim laughed again. 'Your pussy feels tight.'
'It is tight,' I said. 'Pelvic exercises, tantric'
Jim didn't know what I was talking about. I didn't explained.
'I obviously have a lot to learn,' said Jim. 'I want you to know I'm a very willing student.'
'Good. I'm sure I can teach you a lot,' I said. 'I'd like to, too.'
I started up the car.
'Can you drive?' He sounded concerned.
'Of course I can drive. I only had one drink.'
'Oh, I didn't mean that,' he said. 'I'm just so light-headed now. I don't think I could drive even if I had to.'
I found his words touching. Jim was the first man who'd ever told me that sex or kissing had that effect. They did on me, as well. A great kiss can make me swoon.
'I'm fine,' I said. 'And complimented. Thanks.'
I dropped Jim off at the Ladbroke Grove tube station. I didn't want to take him to his nearby flat. I didn't want the temptation.
'I'll ring you tomorrow,' he promised.
I knew he would.
Relationships should be easy. I've always thought that if I met a guy and liked him and he liked me back, then that should be enough to get the party started. Yet it never seems to work like that for me.
My mother said that was because I'm too impulsive. I'm a sucker for the wrong things. 'You have to think of the bigger picture, Suze,' she said. Her advice came after I'd introduced her to a string of undesirables in the years after my divorce. Even before I'd noticed it myself, she'd pointed out that not one of my men had a steady job, much less a flat of his own or a car or the basic necessities of life, like money, food in the fridge or a credit card. What they did have was charisma, charm and humour. And a big cock.
Now, I found that, despite the bad teeth, I liked Jim a lot and I wanted to see him again. He was easy to talk to and smart and nice. He also met the basic requirements I'd hoped to find a man. He had a steady job and a flat and his own money in his pocket. He was also centred, level. My mother might even like him.
'I've done a lot of work on myself, Suzanne,' Jim said as I dropped him off at Ladbroke Grove. 'I don't want to lie or cheat or be dishonest. It's not my style.'
I was happy to hear those words. They were a major departure from the usual verbiage I got from boyfriend types.
The next time Jim and I saw each other, we went to dinner and a movie in Hampstead. That, as opposed to just jumping into my hot tub. I felt almost like a traditional woman and, for the first time in a long time, I liked it. I knew Jim wasn't 'The One', but I so enjoyed his company.
We were sitting in the Horseshoe pub on Heath Street when Jim said, 'I have something to tell you.'
'OK,' I said. Here goes, I thought. He's going to dump me now. Or tell me he's gone back to his girlfriend. Or maybe fess up to a STD.
'I Googled your name.' He looked sheepish.
'OK,' I said. The warning bells started ringing.
'I did it before I even met you,' he said. 'I Googled "Suzanne" and "erotic memoir" and figured ou
t the rest.'
Suddenly I wondered if, in one of our first email exchanges, over a year earlier, I'd mentioned that I was writing a book about my sex life. I asked if this was the case and Jim said it was, and that was why he remembered me one year on.
'OK.'
'And . . .' He paused. 'And I read your book, too.'
'Uh-huh.' So much for keeping my big secret.
'And I checked out your blog and some radio interview you did a while back, and some pieces on you in the papers.'
He was beginning to sound like a stalker.
'So,' I said, 'you're saying you knew everything about me before our first date?'
'Yeah.'
'And you didn't tell me.'
'Yeah.'
'I feel kind of stupid now,' I said. 'I wouldn't have minded if you'd told me before. But half the things I told you on that first date – about my boyfriend dying and stuff – you already knew. It must have been pretty boring having to hear it all over again.'
'Well, I'm still here!' he said, as if that was a real accomplishment.
I thought about what Pat had said to me about not revealing too much before the fourth or fifth date. Jim had done his homework and worked me out before we'd even met. 'Yes, you're still here,' I said. I felt heartsick. I had wanted to open up to Jim slowly. Now, that was impossible. I wasn't Suzanne, I was someone who wrote a notorious book.
'That woman who interviewed you for the Observer,' he said. 'I really liked her article.'
She had said I was voracious and full of life. I'd felt complimented by her words, but Jim's words made me feel stupid.
The Not So Invisible Woman Page 20
