I had this feeling, in the days leading up to my Last Date with Cherry Popper, that I should just say “no”. Just let it die! But I could never do that. So I went through the whole rigmarole of getting ready, making up (and using up) an excuse, schlepping out to Kensington. I almost dashed past him without realising it – I didn’t see him sitting hunched over his paper outside the hotel. That’s how unremarkable he is. And I always feel… I don’t know. That I’m not completely Myself with him. Until we’re fucking, that is.
“Did you get my message?” he greeted me, glumly. “She’s cancelled.”
“Oh, the ’40-year-old Ad agency woman, size 12, fairly large breasts’? You don’t say!”, I teased him, because this was only the second threesome plan which had fallen through, and at this same hotel, too.
“There is someone else,” he told me. “But I don’t know who she is.” He showed me the mysterious text message he had received, asking if he was up for some fun.
“Oh, you must write back,” I urged him. “Ask her how soon she can be here!”
“Won’t work,” he informed me a few minutes later. “She can’t be here until 8, and she’s charging £250 per hour. Also, I still don’t know who she is!”
“But how bad can she be, at £250 an hour??”
OK, so as I write about this, I can see clearly that I am to blame for what transpired next. But he seemed so disappointed by these recent setbacks. I didn’t think I could make up for them on my own. And I hated to see him let down. So, perhaps at my insistence, we looked her up and eventually found her profile. Tall, blonde, 20-something, “bicurios”. And normally £300 an hour, so she had even offered him a little discount. Hey, what’s not to like?
“All right,” he said eventually. “You go up to the hotel room, while I finalise things down here. Because you’re kind of a distraction, to be honest.”
Pleased, but not at all tipsy after 2 double G&Ts, I trotted off upstairs, where I lounged around on the bed idly sexting other lovers and taking selfies… the usual nonsense. Finally he appeared, proudly announcing that Mia would be there in 45 minutes, for half an hour. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not going to sit around in a hotel room watching some silly steeple-chase for 45 minutes. So naturally I began to undo his belt, but he slapped my hand away!
“We need to save up our lust for Mia,” he told me.
“At least just hit me with it,” I begged, sliding his belt out, and turned an elegantly suspendered bottom towards him. He gave me a rather dubious look, then looped the belt in two and flicked it rather hesitantly at me. “Harder! Harder!” I cried. He hit me a couple of times, a little harder.
“Oh no, but I’ll hurt you,” he demurred, putting the belt away.
“Then let me suck you,” I pleaded, crawling towards him and unbuttoning his pants. Finally he pushed me down on my back, and, pulling my underwear aside, he entered me. Ohhh, it was thrilling! But, after just a few minutes, he stopped, telling me I’d had enough – we needed to save ourselves for Mia. He asked me then about my first threesome.
“So she was not an escort? No money was exchanged?”
“Not at all.”
“So can you give her a call next time, and ask her to come around?”
“Certainly! I’ll need a picture of you, though…”
“A picture!?” he laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “But if you show her a picture then she’ll see just some 50-year-old guy, and… God, no.”
At this point, having manoeuvred myself into position, I deftly hopped up onto him and straddled him, with his cock springing obligingly into me. He thrust upwards into me a couple of times. I gasped, on the brink – and, once again, he flung me rudely aside.
“Enough of that!” he scolded. “You need to save yourself.”
“But once Mia gets here, all your attention will be on her.”
“I don’t think so,” he chuckled. “But let’s discuss what we should do when she gets here. Let’s make a plan.”
“OK,” I joined in. “Well, she says she’s ‘bicurios’, not bisexual, so she probably won’t want to take an active role.”
“So, no licking? Just kissing and touching?”
“And a joint blow-job. I’m sure she’ll be up for that.”
“I’m not sure I want her joining in on that,” he said sheepishly.
“What?? Why not?”
“Well, I’ve seen a LOT of escorts, believe me, and your blow-jobs are the best ever.”
At that moment, I thought, if I could have flipped a switch and ended my life, I would have done it, because there was just nowhere to go but down from there. No double entendre intended.
However, it was shortly after this highlight-of-my-whole-life that we got into a minor squabble. I cannot even remember the details, but I think I made some small protest at his proposed plan to meet her downstairs at the bar. It’s just that I had been there two hours already, and only had another half an hour or so before I had to be back home for the babies, etc. But he accused me of getting “angry” and “aggressive”, and finally told me to go down and meet her myself. So I went out into the pouring rain to wait for her. Within moments, a car pulled up and a leggy blonde jumped out. She ran towards me, smiling and greeting me like an old friend! I could tell at once: she was a lovely girl. We rode up in the lift together.
“So… you guys are married?” she asked me.
“No,” I sadly confessed.
“Then how do you know each other?”
“The internet, haha, you know how it is,” I babbled like a half-wit. Finally the lift came to a halt and we burst into the room, where Cherry Popper stood watching the steeple-chase. He gestured grandly towards the “gift” lying on the bedside table, then began to question her about her Kensington address.
“What are you – like, a millionaire?”
“Er, no,” she replied. “I used to live out in Kent but it was costing me so much in hotels, I did the maths and – I’m an accountant, you see.”
“Oh, can you do my accounts?”
“And mine?” I chimed in.
“Oh yes,” she beamed at us. “And the first two years are free!”
I thought about this quite seriously, but the person who does my accounts is a family friend, whose late father used to do my parents’ accounts, and if she ends up making some grievous error, and I get hauled off by the IRS, I can hardly explain to my parents that I decided to go with some random whore instead. So I just invited her to sit down beside me in bed, where we waited for Cherry Popper’s orders.
Now one thing I hate is when men don’t like to give orders, but just sit around allowing the awkwardness to build. Finally he managed to tell me to undress Mia, which I did, very gladly. She wore very beautiful black and white lingerie; interestingly, very similar to what Angela, our only other threesome partner, had also worn. And she had the most beautiful breasts – firm, round and full, with perky, erect nipples.
“So are you bisexual?” asked Cherry Popper.
“I am, actually – I like girls as much as men, but I don’t like to go down on girls though…”
“But do you like girls to lick you?”
“I don’t like anyone to lick me actually…”
“A girl after my own heart,” I laughed.
“What do you mean??” cried Cherry Popper. “You love it when I lick you!”
“You never lick me,” I wanted to say, but what the hell.
“How about your feet – do you like your feet licked?” he asked Mia.
“Yes… no, actually, stop, please, not like that…”
Cherry Popper seemed a little bit put out, so I began to caress and fondle her bare breasts as she lay on the bed, inviting him to do the same.
“Oh, you guys are such a cute couple!” Mia exclaimed. “Careful… I have very sensitive nipples.”
“Well, we’re not actually a couple,” CP corrected her.
“So how do you know each other?” she asked, and then, guessing from our silence, “…the same way you know me? Oh, I’m glad! So have you had many bi-bookings? ‘Cause I work for an agency too, and we’re always looking for girls to do bi-bookings…”
“Only with CP,” I said. “And that’s not really a ‘booking’.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked. “Doesn’t he pay you?”
“He has to,” I told her. “Or it would just be an affair, and he doesn’t want that.”
“Neither do you,” interjected CP.
“Oh yes,” I said, looking him right in the eye. “I do.”
Fondling himself frantically, Cherry Popper pushed me onto my back and began to go down on me, while Mia lay beside me, seeming a little bored and left out. I turned towards her and rolled my eyes in exasperation, which made her giggle. Then I reached up to her to kiss her and caress her a little… but she was not a very sensual kisser.
“It’s no good,” CP said finally, rising up. “I can’t get hard. I told you we shouldn’t have fucked before she got here! And I didn’t even come!”
“Do you normally come from going down on her?” Mia asked, bemused.
“No, I meant before.”
“Listen,” I said, “Why don’t you just lie back, relax, and let us give you a joint blow-job?”
“Yes!” Mia chimed in. “Let us pamper you!”
Somewhat placated, Cherry Popper lay back while we licked and sucked his balls and shaft… nothing, just nothing.
“It’s not happening, girls,” he informed us. Then he looked at me with a kind of gleam in his way. “But the only way it might happen is if you lie there on your back and let me try to fuck you.”
So I lay on my back with my legs spread wide, and the lovely naked Mia at my side, moaning with anticipation and thrusting my hips up to meet his… still nothing.
“I have lube in my bag if you want it,” Mia offered.
“Oh believe me, there’s plenty of ‘lube’ down there,” he told her.
“Oh, is she really wet? She really wants it?”
“She really, really wants it. But it’s not happening.”
“Well, I’m afraid I must start getting ready to go,” she said delicately. As I helped her button her cuffs, she tapped my arm quietly, and, when I looked up, mouthed something to me behind Cherry Popper’s back. I couldn’t quite make out what it was, other than the word “fuck”. Probably advice on how to get him to fuck me – sadly, lost to the ether. And God knows I could have used it.
“You forgot your gift,” CP reminded her.
“Oh no, I could tell from the moment I walked in that you guys were OK,” Mia explained. “Not like the dodgy sorts where you need to get the money straight away.”
“Oh, there are dodgy sorts?” I asked artlessly.
“Of course,” said CP. “You’ve just been lucky.”
“You guys really are a cute couple,” Mia told us as she left. “If you ever want to use my flat to fuck in, just send me a message, and you can pop over, even if I’m out.”
We thanked her glumly, and said goodbye. Then we got dressed ourselves.
“I told you we shouldn’t have done it before,” he said again. “Something happens to a guy if he has sex without coming. The come kind of goes down the wrong hole… or something.”
“Rubbish,” I said. “It was all that waiting around.”
“Or maybe it was you getting angry and aggressive…” There was no point even discussing that, because for him to accuse me of this was just plainly ridiculous – I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been angry at anyone in my whole life. “Although to be honest, it also kind of threw me off when she said she doesn’t like licking or being licked… what’s left after that?”
What’s left, indeed, what’s left?
“Did you mean what you said about wanting an affair?”
“I couldn’t do that, though, to the person I’m with.”
“Yeah… I know.”
“I still can’t believe it,” he said wistfully, as we parted ways, in the rain. “I never thought that could happen, with you. With other girls, maybe… but never with you.”
I went home, utterly dejected.