The Not So Invisible Woman (18 page)

Then I spotted a small brown-haired woman wearing a black hot-pants jumpsuit, with a neckline that plunged down to her navel. She was very petite and looked as wholesome as a college student – cute in an all-American-girl kind of way, a go-go version of Sandra Bullock, but with perkier tits and about fifteen years younger.

Tom noticed me noticing her. 'Do you want a lap dance, honey?'

'Why not?' I said. 'That would be fun, wouldn't it? For both of us.'

'You pick one, then,' he said. It was interesting that he referred to the women in such generic terms.
Pick one.
To me, there was so much variety on display.

I picked the all-American girl. Tom raised his hand and pointed at her until he got her attention. He waved her over to our table.

'Hi,' I said as she approached.

'Hi,' she replied in a cute Southern accent. Without pausing for breath, she launched a rocket. 'My name is Austin but my real name is Amy and I should tell you that I'm gay and I have a girlfriend but she's really pissed at me at the moment because I keep coming home drunk at three in the morning and she says to me, "Is there a reason why every time you come home from work, you're drunk?" and I say to her, "Honey, you try doing this job when you're sober!" '

The monologue was completely unprovoked, totally out of the blue. I wondered if my being the only woman there gave Amy/Austin a sense of sisterly solidarity. Or maybe it was the drugs. In any case –
boom!
– the girl was off.

Tom turned to me and whispered, 'Wouldn't you just love to be this woman, just for five minutes, to see what it's like?'

It was a tempting prospect. Being a size-eight lap dancer with perky tits, a drug problem and a pissed-off girlfriend did sound like some kind of fantastic life. For five minutes.

'So, anyway,' Amy/Austin continued, 'she threw me out and said she didn't want to see me any more but I think she'll cool off in a day or two. I really love her but we have different working hours and she's a professional businesswoman and I'm doing this, although I'm just doing this until I get my real estate licence. I've got my exam in a couple weeks' time and then I want to be an appraiser and get the hell out of here, although, you know, the pay is pretty good so I can't complain.'

Tom waited for Amy/Austin to catch her breath and then said, 'Hey, my friend here would like a lap dance. Would you do that?'

'You know I'm gay?'

'Yes,' I said. 'I know you're gay. You told us somewhere along the way. It's fine. I'm liberal.'

'Great!' she said, suddenly very excited. 'Follow me.'

She led us through the club and up the stairs, to a dark narrow room which had a series of partitioned sections, each furnished with a two-seater sofa. Tom and I sat down and looked over at a man sitting opposite. He was getting a lap dance from a curvy dark-skinned woman who was naked and writhing inches away from his crotch. I wondered what Amy would do to me.

We could hear the music coming from the speakers downstairs. 'Get Ur Freak On' was playing again. The tight music rotation seemed the ultimate evidence that the focus of the club was looking, not listening.

Amy/Austin stood in front of me, rotating her hips and thrusting her little tits in the direction of my mouth, teasing me. Then she straddled my legs, facing me, and moved her lips inches from my own. Her hands moved under my dress and inched up my thigh.

'Wow,' she said when she finally touched my labia. 'No panties. Y'all are very naughty!'

I said nothing. Amy/Austin stood up and lifted my skirt. She looked at me and smiled. Then she got down on her knees and put her head between my legs and started licking my pussy. I didn't stop her.

This is a lot for twenty bucks, I thought; Tom's getting some good value here.

'Now, that's Southern hospitality,' I whispered to Tom. He said nothing, just continued watching, as did the man getting the lap dance opposite me.

I had not been with a woman since university, two decades earlier. Back at my New England college, I was known for popping straight girls' cherries. My bi phase lasted about three years and, until I realised I preferred the taste of penis, I served as the campus guinea pig for straight girls who wanted to experiment. They'd go out to a bar in the hope of scoring a stud, have too much to drink, and then, if unsuccessful, instead of stumbling back to their dorm, would knock on my door and spend the night eating my pussy.

Now here I was in Raleigh, North Carolina, in a lap-dancing club, with a stud of my own and a drunken stripper licking me out. Life had come full circle.

After five minutes or so, well past our allotted time, Amy/Austin came up for air and put her hand on my breast and her tongue down my throat. I was sure that too was against club regulations.

'Honey,' she said, 'if you're not gay, then you should be.'

I thought she was a sweet girl. Tom, meanwhile, was speechless.

Amy/Austin wasn't. She got right back to business and pumped us for another drink. 'Y'all wouldn't mind getting me another tequila, would ya?'

After that performance, I'd have bought her a whole bottle.

'She really liked you,' Tom said as we walked out the door.

'Yeah, she was cute,' I said. 'I haven't had a girl go down on me in years.'

'Well, you two really looked great together.'

'Thanks. For everything. That was fun.'

It was 1.30 in the morning. Tom drove me back to the car park and stopped his SUV next to the rental I'd hired for the week.

I leaned over to kiss my fireman as a precursor to sucking his hose. At last, he was going to get his dessert course. While we kissed, Tom pushed my dress up my waist, then bent over and put his mouth on my pussy.

'Let's move to the back seat,' I whispered after a few minutes. I didn't wait for an answer. I climbed over the front seat and into the bench in the back.

Tom followed and resumed his position between my legs. He grabbed my ankles and pushed them into the air. My legs hit the roof. It was not very comfortable, so after a few minutes I sat up and moved towards his cock. I grabbed my handbag, whipped out a condom that I'd brought along, as they say, just in case, and stretched it over his hard eight inches.

Tom drove straight into me and came in three minutes. That told me my own orgasm was out of the question.

He didn't apologise or seem bothered that I wasn't going to come, and that was OK. Tom had treated me to a nice dinner and many rounds of drinks, and he'd taken me to my first American strip club and graciously watched as a perky-titted lesbo junkie ate me out. At this point, car sex was just a bonus. To me, atmosphere and excitement carry as much weight as the fireworks.

I got back into my car, drove home to my brother's house and crept into bed. I set my alarm early, so I could make pancakes for my boys.

'So,' said Lisa the next morning, 'how was your date?'

'Oh, it was OK.'

When I returned from America, I got an email from Flirtnik announcing that it had gone back online. I had been a member about a year earlier, before the site went down, and aside from my brief correspondence with Honest Jim, I hadn't logged on since. I hadn't even realised it had closed. Dating websites come and go so frequently, I can't keep track of where I'm listed. At any one time, I'm probably active on as many as five sites; and like the number of men I've slept with, I've lost count. Swinging Heaven was my mainstay, anyway.

Still, when Flirtnik informed me that, as an inaugural member, I was 'live' again, I logged in, updated my details and uploaded a fresh picture, a happy smiley jpeg featuring my new 1950s bouncy 'do and just enough cleavage not to get kicked off a trad site. I searched for men in the 38 to 55 age range, didn't see a single guy I fancied, and thought: There's a reason Swinging Heaven is so popular.

Then the next day I received an email from Honest Jim. 'You still on here?' he asked. Apparently he'd received the same 'Welcome Back' from Flirtnik. He wanted to know if I was still single. I wanted to know who he was. I just couldn't recall. A year in my romantic life is the equivalent of ten in most other women's. I receive plenty of winks from guys named Jim.

I had to dig through 63 pages of emails from hopefuls to find our ancient correspondence and his pic. Then I remembered – he was the cute guy with the crooked teeth who, after our brief online flirtation a year earlier, had gone back to his old girlfriend. I'd liked him – he'd seemed funny and smart and interested, and he'd once worked as a music buyer for a major record chain, which I thought was cool – but we'd never hooked up.

'Yes, I'm still here, Jim,' I wrote back. 'Still doing the same old things. What about you?'

He said he wasn't with his girlfriend any more and asked if I wanted to meet up. He also mentioned that he'd recently enrolled as a mature student at a London university to get his BA in English lit. I thought his desire to get a degree in his forties showed real courage. And that was a change from most of the men I met, who typically were happy to give their mind a rest and let their cock do all the thinking.

Just as I was about to update Honest Jim on my news, that I'd published the book I'd been working on a year earlier, just as I was about to say, yes, I was interested in meeting up with him, Pat called with her own news. She said that while I was in North Carolina, she'd acquired a boyfriend. They met via a bland dating site similar to Flirtnik.

'This guy really feels like The One,' she said, then began offering me a few tips on meeting guys. I thought it was funny, the amateur coaching the pro.

I let Pat dispense advice for a while, then told her about my holiday fling with the fireman. Then I mentioned I'd come home to emails from Flirtnik and had just received one from a guy I'd fancied a year earlier, who was suddenly free.

Pat suggested that, if I was going to meet him, I omit certain details of my life. 'You don't want to tell men about your book,' she said.

'Why not?'

'Well, guys on normal sites might be put off.' The word 'normal' irked me, reminding me that Pat never did quite seem to get the hook-up sites.

'But they're bound to find out, sooner or later,' I said.

'Yes, that's true, but better for them to find out on date four or five.'

'Why?' I asked. 'Just so I can postpone getting dumped?'

'No! It just gives them a chance to find out about the real you.'

'But the book
is
the real me. What's the point in their discovering that later, rather than sooner?'

Pat was convinced honesty would scare off a Flirtnik man.

'If it does, then he's not right for me,' I said.

'Trust me,' she said. 'Don't tell him. Don't!'

I thought I had nothing to lose by putting Pat's words into practice.

Despite my golden rule about avoiding conventional guys, especially after my disappointing fling-ette with Paul, I agreed to a real
date
date. On one condition. I told Honest Jim he had to dress a little better. In the updated pic he'd sent me, he was wearing khaki cargo shorts and a T-shirt that looked like something from Old Navy. It lacked originality and style. I go for men who have both.

I didn't hold out much hope for Jim. He looked too straight. Yet I liked the sound of his voice – he had a soothing tone and an unpretentious middle-class accent – and he seemed nice and interested in the world. He asked me to a Hogarth exhibition at the Tate, which made a change from asking which hotel I wanted to go to for a couple of hours. When I told him I didn't know much about Hogarth, secretly not knowing a damned thing, he gave me a charming ten-minute precis on the artist that almost made me come. I love smart guys, especially smart guys with nice voices. And I love them even more if they have a huge cock. But since we hadn't met on a swinging site, I'd have to wait to find out if Jim did.

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.

'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.