“Morning! So when are you around? Cherry Popper.”
On the heels of a string of tedious, unrewarding sex obligations, this casual query was like a ray of light breaking through clouds. Finally, I had something to look forward to.
And then, it struck! My Time of the Month!
Now, as a usually-pregnant, always-lactating long distance runner, I am rarely afflicted by this Curse, and, as it is with most things, one just gets accustomed to one’s good fortune and then angry and bitter when it runs out. Also, one never knows exactly when it will run out, or I would have availed myself of this. Normally, you need to start the regime three days in advance, but perhaps, if I doubled the dose, it could at least lessen the flow. I could also use a sponge, which is, unfortunately, sometimes detectable, and – even worse – often ineffective. But with both these measures in place, surely I risked nothing more than minor leakage. And Cherry Popper never goes down on me. So I was all set. At least until I received his next message.
“How do you fancy v large breasted student?”
My jaw dropped in horror. A threesome – at this potentially catastrophic time! It was just about the WORST POSSIBLE THING he could have suggested. Other than calling it off, of course. I could just see the horrific situation looming ahead of me – no less than my absolute and utter DOOM. It was completely nuts – totally insane beyond belief – to go ahead with this sex date. But, somehow, there was just no way I was not going to go ahead with it.
“Sounds great!!” I wrote back.
So there I was, that evening, tripping happily along to the hotel. He sat outside, hunched over his paper, drinking a beer, and looking, as always, completely unremarkable. Only I knew what lay behind that innocuous appearance. Well, only I and dozens, if not hundreds, of nameless escorts. I sat down across from him, laughing gaily, while he dashed off to get me a drink.
“Gin and tonic?”
“Oh Cherry Popper,” I simpered. “You remembered!”
Gulping down the drink in my usual desperate style, I quizzed him about this v. large-breasted student.
“Is this your size 12 friend?”
“You’re thinking of the psychologist… no, I only saw her once.”
“But I thought there was another size 12 friend after that?”
“Oh, yes, that one! She’s been pursuing me, actually. But I’ve only seen her just the one time, too…”
“So tell me about this girl,” I smirked, with barely-concealed jubilation.
“So, this is a new one, size 10, young…”
“Is she… blonde?”
”Oh, no… she’s completely normal, really. Just with very big breasts. Really, VERY big. And she sounds rather posh.”
“Oh, you spoke to her on the phone?”
“Yes. Well, I had to be sure.”
“Sure of what?”
“You know. Sure that she’s not just in it for the money.”
“But how can you tell?”
“Oh, you can’t always tell. Sometimes I get it wrong. And, you know, come across an escort who’s – ” here he paused, for theatrical effect. ” – actually an escort!!!!“
We stared at one another in mock horror. But I was secretly a little mortified, also. My private joke wasn’t quite so private.
“Well, that wouldn’t do, would it?”
This was fun, of course, this idle chitter-chatter. He told me about his experiences with professional masseuses – a subject which has always intrigued me – and we agreed that both of us are looking forward to the freedom of sexlessness, in our old age. But the minutes were ticking by. I had promised my parents I’d be back before the babies’ bedtime, which meant I had to leave in just over an hour!
“So where the hell is this girl, Cherry Popper?” I asked.
“How about this,” he said. “You go upstairs and make yourself comfortable, watch some TV. I’ll wait for her out here. I’ll have a little chat with her, then bring her up.”
I went upstairs. The room was freezing – too cold to get undressed – and there was some mood-killing rubbish on TV, so I turned it off and lay on the bed fully dressed, waiting. Finally, I heard a knock at the door, and there he was – alone. He walked in, looking somewhat dazed.
“The strangest thing just happened to me,” he said. “I was sitting outside when a taxi pulled up, and out stepped a girl, tall, 20-something, with big breasts. Naturally, I thought it was her. So I went up to her, but she just ignored me. So then I thought it wasn’t her after all, and I went into the hotel. And she followed me in. And then I started to go up the stairs, and she followed me there too. And then… she pinched my arse.”
“She pinched your arse??” I was genuinely stunned. It’s true that I find Cherry Popper insanely attractive. But the emphasis is on “insanely”. It’s hard to explain. There is something very sexy about him – very sexual. But it’s only evident in a sexual context. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person whose arse one would pinch in a stairwell. But then, I have never pinched anyone’s arse in a stairwell, so maybe I just don’t know how it’s done. “So it must have been her, then?”
“That’s what I thought. So I turned around and said, ‘Sia? Is it you?’ And she seemed genuinely to have no idea what I was talking about. She said, ‘No. I just pinched your arse.’ And then she said, ‘this is my floor’ and hurried off.”
That really was strange. But what was even stranger was the fact that I had been there for at least an hour and we were both still fully dressed. I decided to take matters into my own hands and slithered towards him. Straddling him, still dressed, I began to kiss him. And as his full, sensual lips enveloped mine and his tongue drew me into his mouth, I felt a strange heat spread through me, a crazy animal passion coursing through my veins. No, not really “animal” passion – there was a distinctly human awareness to it. We had not so much as even brushed against each other until that point – we had made no contact at all. And he had looked so normal and unassuming, talking to me, just a minute before – we could have been friends, colleagues – but now we were rapturously entangled, and when I pulled away from him, his cheeks were flushed, his hair tousled and slightly sweaty, and he gazed at me with narrowed eyes full of lust and longing, not speaking… and I felt seventeen again, barely able to believe it.
We continued kissing, in a frenzy, while I unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers, running my hands over his chest. And then his belt… he helped me undo his trousers, and pulled out his cock. I turned to it instantly, sucking with glee. I could feel the little tremors of come building up along the underside of his cock, against my tongue, spurring me on, filling me with excitement. I felt almost as though I could come myself, just from the thrill of it. I paused to take him as deep as I could, to feel the head of his cock going down my throat…
“Do you like deep-throat?” he asked me.
“Yes! Do you?”
“Not really,” he replied. “I mean, I love what you’re doing – it’s the best ever – but I don’t really see the appeal of deep-throat in particular.”
I was a little disappointed – he is the perfect shape and size on which to practice – but then again, he’d said “the best ever” – what did that mean?? Not literally “the best ever”, of course, and probably – knowing men – nothing at all. But still! So I went on for a bit, shedding my clothes one item at a time, until he asked me to ride him. I gasped when I felt his cock enter me – my pussy felt tighter than usual and he was rock-hard. I began to ride him, my hips moving against him almost of their own accord, my hair falling over his face as I leant down to kiss him.
“Oh God,” he murmured. “Who needs another girl when one can have this??”
Gradually, I felt that slow heat wave spreading over my skin and rising up, up to my chest where his hands grasped my breasts, and my face flushed. Sensing that I was close, he moved one hand to my throat and squeezed it gently. Oh! I shuddered with pleasure, my thighs tightening around him as I came. I bent down again to kiss him sloppily, giggling, overflowing with a crazy love delusion!
“What about a threesome with another man?” he asked me, indulgently. “Have you ever done that?”
“Would you want to?”
“Yes,” I admitted after a moment, my hips moving lazily against him again.
“So what would you be doing right now, while you fuck me? Sucking his cock?”
“Yes…” I grinned.
“And what kind of man would you want him to be?”
I thought about this for a moment. “Someone just like you,” I answered, at last.
“Oh, come on…”
“I know you have a brother,” I said, teasingly.
“I have two, actually.”
“Don’t even go there,” he laughed, pulling me down again to kiss me. Then he told me to get up so he could fuck me on my back.
“But first I want to lick you a little,” he told me. “Just a little taste.”
Oh great, I thought. But a quick glance at the condom as he pulled out assured me that all was well. Still, I angled myself defensively so he could barely reach me with his tongue, and he soon gave up, pushing me down on to my back and parting my legs. Oh yes…
“Can I fuck you up the arse?”
“Yes! Shall I get some lube?”
“I don’t need it,” he said, but even with it, he couldn’t enter me – he was no longer hard enough, it seemed. I was pretty peeved, but I rolled off the condom and began to suck him.
“Do you want to be fucked more?” he asked me. “Or do you want me to come?”
“I always want to be fucked more,” I told him. “But I have to get home…”
“All right then,” he agreed. “Show me your arse.”
I swivelled around to point my arse at him and began to touch myself while I sucked him. I could tell he was aroused by this.
“Are you touching yourself?”
“Will you come?”
“I think so…”
“Then tell me when you’re about to, and we’ll come together.”
So I did, and he took over, spurting huge jets of come all over my face and breasts. And then a few moments later, he suddenly began to stroke himself again and another fountain of come erupted from his cock, hitting me right in the eye! How strange…
He went off to the bathroom to shower, while I surreptitiously checked my phone. I had 18 minutes to get home before the babies’ bedtime! And my parents had already sent me a message, asking me where I was, and complaining that the babies were getting upset. I threw on my clothes, babbling some hysterical nonsense about parents and babies as Cherry Popper emerged from the shower, naked and totally bemused. We never spoke of real things like this – ever. WTF had gotten into me??
I was about halfway home when he sent me a message apologising for having “forgotten the dosh” – damn! I had hoped he wouldn’t insist on it. But I remembered what he once told me: that he has to pay me, otherwise we’d just be having an affair. And maybe it’s better this way, considering it cost me £27 to get home. And took over half an hour, with me frantically checking my phone every five seconds, and then racing up three flights of stairs, expecting to be greeted by my parents drowning in a cacophony of cries, but instead found the babies sitting calmly at the dinner table, asking for more sausages. I should have been thankful, I know – after all, it’s not like I would have wanted to find all hell breaking loose when I got home. Instead I just felt peeved and disgusted with everything. There’s no such thing as “casual” sex when it’s like digging a tunnel out from under a prisoner-of-war camp for just an hour of freedom! How can it possibly be worth it??
But that night, as I lay in bed, I thought of Cherry Popper, of straddling him as I embraced him, our lips locked together as I undressed him, my fingers running over his warm skin, the rest of the world just fading away, and how his eyes never left me, my rapture as he fucked me, his come spraying over my face and my body, and – oh, how I knew it was worth it!