The Not So Invisible Woman (19 page)

'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 out 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.

'Yeah,' I said. 'She's a good journalist.'

I went home that night alone. I turned on the computer and checked my email. There was one from Pat in my inbox. I hadn't heard from her for a couple of days, since I'd sent her an email asking about her new boyfriend.

'You are right to be paranoid, Suzanne,' she wrote. 'I am upset with you. It struck me that I did not want to introduce you to Mike because I know that he's your "type". Don't think that you could resist flirting with him. I feel very annoyed that I do not trust you. I never will. I have come to the sad conclusion, after agonising about it, that despite your many, many fantastic qualities and all the fun we have had together, that this lack of trust has eroded my capacity to be your friend. It's bullshit to have a pal that I do not trust.'

Everybody thinks they've got me figured out, I thought. I'd never stolen anyone's boyfriend and never would. That had happened to me back in college, and it hurt for years, so I knew what it was like. But Pat was either jealous of my ease with men or paranoid. There was nothing I could do about either. What a drag to see that women who profess to be sexually liberated are threatened by women who really were.

As for Jim, I didn't know what to make of him. Either he was a groupie, a star fucker or he was simply doing his homework. You never know who you're going to meet on the web, but you do think you know your friends.

I shut off my computer and went upstairs to bed.

A couple of days after our third date, Jim called to apologise for snooping on me. Then he asked me out on another date. 'I've decided. I'm not going to read your blog any more,' he said. 'What you do when I'm not around is your business.'

'OK,' I said. 'That's fine. Whatever.'

We continued to meet up every couple of weeks. Jim became what I think of as the 'boyfriend type'. That is, we met up regularly and did boyfriend–girlfriend things – movies, museums, strolls around Hampstead Heath, then always back to mine for sex.

But I wasn't his girlfriend and he wasn't my boyfriend, and that worked well for both of us.

Jim said he just wanted a rest from relationships. Then he said something that implied the opposite. 'I want to be monogamous with you, Suzanne. Do what you like. I just don't want to know.'

'You realise there's not a category for the kind of relationship you're talking about, Jim? You can't expect monogamy from someone you're not having a relationship with, especially when you don't want a relationship.'

'I'm not expecting you to be monogamous, Suzanne. I just don't want you to tell me what you get up to.'

That made a change. Most of the men I met wanted to know everything – everything about sex, that is. They got turned on hearing about my sexual escapades.

I wasn't sure I was completely comfortable with Jim's see-no-evil plan. I don't censor my conversations, as my ill-fated friendship with Pat revealed. Still, I liked Jim, and I liked having a male friend with whom I could have a moan. Since I'd stopped speaking with Pat after receiving her
sayonara
email, it was nice to have someone I could chat with about everyday things. It was also nice that he had a gorgeous cock and was fun in bed. He was a fuck buddy with benefits, only he didn't like to think of himself in those terms.

At some point, I knew, he'd find a nice, straight girl with whom he could settle down, but until that happened, I was happy to be his pit stop on the road to love.

Yet at the back of my mind was the sense that I had settled down myself. As I pondered my sex life, I came to the conclusion it had become pretty tame. My twice-monthly breakfast bonks with Sam kept the kink up. But Jim was a Flirtnik guy, and sex with him, though intimate and horny, wasn't of the tie-me-up, fuck-me-over-the-kitchen-table variety that I sometimes craved. And he was the only man I ever met who lost his hard-on when I pulled out my anal beads, and that was telling.

'What are those?' he asked, as I reached into my toy drawer.

'Anal beads.'

'What are you going to do with those?'

'Put them up my ass. What do you think?'

'Do you have to?'

'No, I don't have to,' I said. I saw that his cock was shrivelling fast, so I put the beads back in the drawer.

'What's in there?' Jim asked, looking at the stash and sounding concerned.

'My toys.'

'I've never seen a sex toy before,' he admitted.

I thought that was funny. Sam loved using me as a voodoo doll, seeing how many toys he could stick in me at once. 'Leave your toys out for me,' he often texted the night before a morning visit.

Jim wasn't into any of it. 'Do you think we can save stuff like that for another time?'

'Sure, Jim,' I said, and pulled him on top of me.

For the most part, my sex life could be summed up in three words: one on one. A breakfast boy might come over in the morning, somebody else might drop in for a long lunch and Jim might swing by at night on a kids-free weekend. Still, it was mostly one on one, and I wanted more.

I thought arranging a gang bang would break up the monotony. I also thought it would be easy to sort out. I figured all I'd have to do was put the word out to five or six of the men in my mobile, and that they'd turn up at my house on-time, cocks hard.

I'd had a gang-bang fantasy for years, but never put one together. I'd done threesomes, sucked off rows of guys in grope rooms and been in places where twenty couples were all fucking each other at once. But I'd never had a proper gang bang – that is, never been in a situation where I was the centre of attention, with half-a-dozen guys taking turns sexing me.

I really wanted a good old-fashioned kinky pounding. I wanted to turn off my brain and go to the secret place in my head set aside for pleasure, and I wanted it on my terms, which meant I wanted the men to be hot and hung.

So I sent a text to my favourite funboys, past and present: Greg, Rump Shaker, Dr Donny, Sam, Pauli, Omar and Marcus.

'I want to have a gang bang this Friday night,' I wrote. 'Let me know if you're going to be around and if you're up for it.'

Settled. I figured even if two or three couldn't make it, that left me with enough for a proper bang.

Since Greg and I had hooked up three years earlier at Rio's, he had become a regular swinging partner, and I knew he liked a gang bang. I'd also heard through another swinging partner of his, Dawn, that he often organised parties for her, filled with half-a-dozen good-looking guys with the requisite big dicks. I figured he'd pull through for me.

Rump Shaker, another regular, ran with a pack of guys including Pauli. A year earlier, following a night of dancing at Torture Garden, I'd had a threesome with the two of them that started in my hot tub at three in the morning and finished four hours later on the sofa. I was so exhausted afterwards, I had to climb into bed alone. It was unforgettable, and not just because the sweat stains were still visible on my sofa.

Dr Donny, the horny hedge fund trader who came to my house once to play doctor, had never contacted me again. I knew he was a long shot, but though it was worth the punt. His world-class cock would be a welcome addition to the party.

Omar was a lover from a couple of years earlier and he had a massive cock. We had drifted apart. The last I'd heard from him, about six months earlier, he had a new girlfriend. But I hoped he might be tempted out of hibernation.

Finally, there was Marcus, another friend of Rump Shaker's. I'd never met him, but Carl, the Rump Shaker, had told me we might get along, if only because the two of them had the same-sized cock. He worked as a DJ and was a comedian on the side, and for fun occasionally arranged swinging parties. Our introduction was overdue, and my orgy seemed a good opportunity to bring it about.

Six hours after my texts went out, the responses began to come in.

'Hi, thanks for the invitation,' texted Sam. 'Sadly, I don't like to share. Call me selfish and greedy but waiting in a queue is not my idea of fun. X'

Then Marcus rang to say that he loved the idea but thought it best we met first for lunch. So traditional, I thought.

Omar wrote soon after to say he was getting married in three weeks time and that he didn't think going to a gang bang was such a good idea. I deleted him from my phone.

When the rest didn't respond as the day wore on, I began to doubt they would on time. I wondered what I had done wrong. Had I been too blunt? Should I have asked Greg to organise the gang bang for me? Were men supposed to take the lead? I knew Rump Shaker, for one, had recently started seeing a woman on the swinging scene, and wondered if he didn't feel right gang-banging without her. Still, that didn't explain the other guys' silence.

I had thought it would be so easy, and now I realised it wasn't going to be. As I chopped vegetables for dinner, I debated texting some of my B-list guys. Then the phone rang. It was Stephen, an artist I had met off Craigslist a few weeks earlier. He was cute, funny and sexy. We'd fucked one Saturday afternoon after lunch at the Electric and a stroll around Portobello market. We hadn't met up since then, and I had assumed he wasn't interested in me.

'How you doing?' he asked.

'Fine. Busy. Hanging out with Madonna and Gwyneth and Kate,' I joked. 'The usual.'

He laughed. 'Yes, you and your celeby world. It must be very stressful.'

I contemplated inviting him to my stress-reducing gang bang, but wasn't sure he was the kind of guy who'd go for that.

Stephen said his latest project was a painting, as a test, he wanted to do for a friend of mine who ran a gallery that specialised in animation art. He thought he might do one of Wolverine, the X-Men comic book superhero.

'My son used to collect Wolverine comics. We have a file cabinet full.'

'That's just what I need,' he said. 'Reference material.'

I offered to mail a few comics to him.

'Why do you have to send them?' said Stephen. 'Why don't you just meet me and give them to me in person?'

'OK. I'm free Saturday afternoon. Friday night might be free now, too. It all depends.'

'All depends on what?'

'I'm trying— Hold on.' I walked to the far side of the kitchen. 'I'm trying to organise a gang bang. Only I can't find anyone to come.'

'Why are you whispering?' he said.

'I don't want my kids to hear.'

'A gang bang?' Now he was the one whispering.

'Yes,' I repeated. 'A gang bang. I've never had one before. I thought it might be fun to try it out, see if I like it. It would be something different.'

'I'm afraid I can't help you there,' he said, laughing.

That was a pity. The one time Stephen and I got together, it had been unexpectedly exciting. He had a hard, athletic body and looked ten years younger than his 45 years. He was Jewish, about five foot nine, with short dark hair that was thinning on top. He wore trendy little black-framed specs that made him look like an architect or a West End advertising exec. He had on black chinos and a black T-shirt with an unbuttoned black shirt over that. I liked his fine features and intense gaze. I liked that he smiled easily. And I liked that he was Jewish. I hadn't been with a Jewish guy since I was married, and there was something comfortably familiar about Jewish guys. We shared a wry way of looking at the world.

While walking down the Portobello Road after lunch, we had stopped in some shops along the way. I bought a badge that said 'I ♥ Shoes' and another that said '100% Slut'.

'You should get one that says, "I'm a shopaholic",' Stephen said.

'I don't think so,' I said, laughing. 'I'm more of a slut.'

We drove to my house later that afternoon, got a little stoned and then fucked for two hours. I hadn't smoked a joint in four or five months, and the combination of powerful weed, Stephen's dirty grin and his perpetually hard cock really worked for me. I'd almost forgotten how great stoned sex can be.

I'd wanted him to stay the night so I could carry on fucking him. Unfortunately, I had a date in the Docklands that evening, so I kissed him goodbye in my kitchen whilst he stood there, naked, drinking a cup of tea, still hard.

He grabbed me and pulled me over and rubbed his cock between my legs. I felt myself get wet again.

As Stephen kissed me goodbye, a rush of blood went to my head. I didn't know if it was because I was stoned or because he was an especially good kisser, but I liked it. I stayed in his arms and we kissed some more.

'I'm going to make you sooooo late,' Stephen said as his cock rested at the entrance to my pussy.

'You're very naughty,' I said. 'I have fifteen minutes to make a forty-minute drive.'

Even though we had just met that afternoon, I felt I could trust him to leave the house after me. I also felt the urge to see him again. So we spoke on the phone a few times after that and tried to arrange a mutually convenient time to meet again, but we never worked it out. After a while I assumed his desire had fizzled. But now, hearing his voice again, I realised I'd rather spend the evening in bed with Stephen than getting fucked by five guys with bigger cocks.

'I could forget all about that gang bang,' I offered.

'You could.'

'I wouldn't mind the overnight.'

'Well, I'll have to check if Friday is OK,' Stephen said. He paused for two seconds. 'As it so happens, I'm free.'

'So, I'll see you Friday night. You can go through the comic books, then you can come to bed,' I said. 'The gang bang is officially off.'

I texted the other guys to call off the gang bang.

Stephen came round Friday after work for another night of grass, kisses and orgasms. I forgot all about the gang bang.

For almost twenty-four hours. Then on Saturday afternoon Greg rang.

'You around this evening?'

'Yes, I'm around. What do you have in mind?'

'I was thinking about Dunstable,' he said. He was referring to Arousal, a popular swingers' club in Bedfordshire, 45 minutes up the Ml from London. 'Wanna go?'

'Sure,' I said. 'Why not?'

'Pick you up at ten.'

I'd never been to Arousal but had heard plenty, first from Relish Man in the steam room at Rio's and later from Rump Shaker Carl, who had invited me to join him on several occasions. Carl made the club sound like the sexiest play palace in the UK, but I wasn't convinced. Any handsome guy with a ten-inch cock is going to have fun wherever he goes.

Thinking Carl might want to join us, I called him up and invited him and his partner to make it a foursome.

'Lovely, Suzanne. We were planning on going anyway,' he said. 'We'll phone you when we're on our way.'

Greg arrived at my house dressed in his standard party outfit – black T-shirt, black jeans, black leather jacket, black leather cap.

I'd set my hair in a 50s bob, my now-favourite style, and put on a vintage 50s dress that enhanced the retro look. It was a blue silk sleeveless number with an empire waist that flared out, very different from the standard black-lace nighties I knew would adorn most of the women there. Underneath, I wore a new Agent Provocateur pale-peach set, bought for me by a 27-year-old Craigslist admirer who got off on buying me lingerie after watching me try it on in the dressing room.

The bra, panties and suspender belt were almost transparent, but frilly enough to cause a stir. As soon as I'd stepped into them that night, I felt my sex drive boost a notch. Expensive lingerie turns me on. I hoped it would affect the men at Arousal in the same way. I slipped on my usual fishnet stockings and black patent fuck-me shoes to complete my look.