The Not So Invisible Woman (2 page)

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?'

'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.

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.

'Not very private, is it?' said Sam, looking around, pretending not to notice what was going on underneath the water.

'No, not especially,' I had to admit. I counted the number of windows that overlooked the tub. Thirteen chances of getting an ASBO.

'Have your neighbours ever said anything? I assume I'm not the first guy in here.' He smirked, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

'Oh, they're all far too polite,' I said. 'You know the English.'

I'd never found the idea of being watched a turn-on, but I'd never particularly minded it, either. If I wanted to have sex with someone, provided there weren't more than ten pervy guys around, I'd strip off and get down to it. I had a postage stamp of a garden, so it was a natural consequence that neighbours might spy on me. I was reconciled to that fact. Even so, I rarely ventured out to the tub before it was dark.

Presumably reassured, Sam moved closer to me and moved his fingers up my leg until he was fingering my clit. 'I really want to eat your pussy.'

'I really want you to eat my pussy,' I said. 'And fuck me up the ass.' I raised myself out of the water and, though freezing, sat on the edge of the tub, exposing my sex to him.

He leaned over and stuck his tongue between my legs, gently probing my clit.

That's the great thing about Swinging Heaven – you always get guys who know what to do. They've had lots and lots of sex, and they know what they like. Practice does make perfect.

I moaned quietly as Sam lapped me up. 'Mmmm, that feels so good.'

After a few minutes, once the water on my wet body began to feel like icicles, I said, 'As good as that feels, I'm absolutely fucking freezing. And I really want to suck your cock.'

'What's stopping you? Certainly not the neighbours.'

Not the cold, either. We switched positions. Gratefully, I returned to the hot water, and Sam stood up, holding his huge cock out for me with one hand.

It was about 11 p.m. and pitch black outside. The moon cast light on the steam rising off his penis.

Lifting my body as little as possible out of the warm water, I caressed the tip of his cock with my tongue. I held the shaft with my right hand and massaged the sac with my left. I felt him grow longer and thicker in my mouth. I slid his cock further down my throat, easing the passage open to try to accommodate him. I couldn't.

Within just seconds his cock had grown too large to handle. 'I think we should go to my bedroom soon,' I said. I figured my pussy could handle him better than my mouth, and fucking would be a lot easier, and warmer, on the bed.

We jumped out of the tub and, laughing, ran in the freezing air towards the house. Our wet bodies were enveloped in steam. I looked at Sam. He was an apparition, almost out of focus and ghostlike under the eerie vapours.

No sooner had we entered the kitchen than he had me pinned. I had cheekily climbed onto the kitchen table, laid on my back and spread my legs, saying, 'I think the bedroom can wait,' and he concurred.

He slid his still-hard cock inside me, grabbing my bent legs underneath my knees and pulling me towards his chest. Though I have a very deep pussy, Sam's cock found the far end of it – but too soon.

'That's too deep,' I said, as he thrust repeatedly into me. 'Too fast. Slow down.' After just a minute it had become slightly painful. Fucking a monster cock might look great in porn movies, but in real life it's not always so pleasurable, at least not right away. I don't think any man had ever filled me up quite as much as Sam did. Accommodating him would take some getting used to.

'Sorry,' he said. 'I guess I got a bit carried away. Turn around.'

I climbed off the table and leaned over it. Normally I don't go for short guys. But after meeting Sam, I began to see the advantages of being with someone my own height. No matter what position we were in, his cock was at exactly the right place. I didn't have to crouch or stand on my toes for him to enter my pussy from behind.

The table wasn't particularly comfortable, but the idea of sex on top of it was hot. Feeling Sam sliding in and out of me was hotter still. As was the way he dominated me. Like many women, I enjoy being taken and told what to do. Perhaps the thinking behind it is a cliché but, having to boss people around at work, I don't want to have to do the same thing in bed.

Eventually we made it to the bedroom and we fucked for five hours, until Sam, a real gent, made me come first. He held back his own orgasm until the end of the night, when he finished inside my mouth.

'That was amazing,' he said. 'We must do that again.' And unlike Dr Donny, he really meant it.

I was game, but as we compared schedules we realised nights were out for us. I had my kids for all but two weekends a month. Sam was a care worker and spent many weeknights going to local community meetings. 'I don't start work till ten,' Sam said, as he got ready to leave. 'Maybe we can meet for breakfast sometime.'

I found the idea appealing. But at that moment, so was the idea of my bed. It was 4 a.m. when he walked out the door and 4:01 when I fell asleep.

I waited a couple of weeks before shooting Sam a text.

'What are you doing tomorrow morning at 9?' I tapped into my phone.

His response came back immediately: 'Fucking you.'

And he did. This time we went straight to the bedroom where, after juicing me up with his tongue, he rolled on a condom and then slid his thickness into my ass. I'd grown to love anal after living with Daniel for two years. He had slept with so many women, that the pussy no longer held any fascination for him. Anal was naughtier, he felt, and since he was very good at making sure it never hurt, I was happy to oblige. I learned from Daniel that the trick was to take it on my terms, in my own time, guiding the cock into my ass slowly as the muscles relaxed. Deep breathing helped too, filling my lungs with oxygen as Daniel's cock pushed in deeper. By the end of that relationship, I had become something of an anal expert and found it as horny as Daniel did.

Massaging my clit with a vibrator, I came as Sam gently entered and exited, slowly and rhythmically. After I came, Sam slipped me onto my back and massaged my clit whilst jerking himself off with his free hand. As per our first date, he came in my mouth.

'That was lovely,' I said afterwards, realising those were my first words since he'd arrived.

'You're telling me. Gotta run.'

'See you soon.'

We kissed and were both out the door within 45 minutes.

After that second meeting, we got together regularly, usually every other Friday, and soon developed a routine. I would drop my kids off at their school and get back home by nine. Sam would arrive promptly five minutes later, and then, after not much more than a hello, get busy. He'd fuck me until I came, come in my mouth, and be gone by 9.45.

I thought it was the perfect arrangement and it worked for Sam, too. In fact, he seemed to thrive on the time constraint. Knowing he had just a brief window of time made him focused. He wanted to get me off; for Sam, those mornings were all about me and my pleasure and in taking the fantasy to the next level, one step at a time. It was pleasurable because he understood my body and could get me to orgasm quickly. There aren't many men who are able to do that.