Adventures of a London Call Boy (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

As I said, as a call guy, a lot of my job is spent fulfilling the wildest fantasies that women can come up with. These include things you wouldn't want to and probably couldn't mention to a partner or your more conservative friends. The advantage in using me is that money buys silence and discretion. But not all the fantasies went quite to plan, at least not for me.

As well as seeing J., my first client, for our frequent sessions, we'd also exchange texts and emails using
The Joy of Cesc
's
own web page and email address – I've never been one to miss out on a technological advantage.

J. would suggest things to me, and occasionally we'd manage to come up with new things to do. She wasn't a demanding client, but she knew what she liked.

One day, via text, J. told me that she wanted to try Viagra. I called her back.

‘Do we need it?' I said after a brief exchange.

‘No, but I'd like to try.'

I was worried by the suggestion: it seemed like my professionalism was under question.

‘But is there anything wrong with the sex at the moment?' I asked.

‘No. But can you imagine what it would be like if it was better?'

I thought for a few seconds. She had a point.

‘Can you get some?' I asked.

‘A woman in my position? I certainly wouldn't be willing to risk my reputation buying dodgy pharmaceuticals.'

‘Right,' I said. ‘Well I'll have a word with a few friends of mine, shall I?'

Curiously, that afternoon I had fifteen or more emails from various sources advertising garant33d m3d5, including v1agr@ and a series of other products they weren't permitted to spell correctly.

Instead, I phoned a couple of friends. Generally, they laughed at me, but Archie, my most cynical friend, seemed to take an interest.

‘Cesc, my boy,' he said. ‘Whatever does a fit young chap like you need that for?'

I should explain: Archie is the son of a publishing millionaire. He lives in his father's former bachelor pad over on the Heath, and makes a fairly unconvincing attempt to pretend he has to work for a living writing occasional pieces for magazines and teaching a class or two at his old university. We'd met via mutual friends from one college or another, and he seemed to enjoy having me around while he boozed and ranted.

Why had I asked him? Let's just say that Archie is a man familiar with chemical assistance. He must be the same age as me, but by his clothes, his accent and his frame, you wouldn't think he was a day younger than sixty.

‘Well, it's complicated,' I said, wondering whether I should explain my new profession or not.

‘Well, surely you can't have a problem?' he blustered.

‘Don't ask personal questions, Archie. You know it's very insensitive.'

‘Yeah, whatever, my boy. Whatever. Look, I think I know a man who can. But only if you tell me what's actually going on.'

I took a deep breath.

‘OK. But not over the phone. Let's go for a drink. Can you get the stuff first?'

‘If you insist, my boy, if you insist.'

I met Archie in a pub near the Heath later that day. He had on parts of two three-piece suits that looked like they had been inherited at least twice, and he was on what looked like his third or fourth pint.

‘Cesc, good to see you, let me let you get yourself a drink.'

‘Thanks, Archie.' I ordered a pint and one more for him, and then sat down.

‘Have you seen the girl at the bar?' asked Archie.

I had. She was a tall Slavic-looking girl …

‘With the most amazing cleavage,' finished off Archie.

‘I noticed,' I replied.

‘We are attracted to it, naturally, you know,' explained Archie.

‘What?' I said. He would often begin such flights of fancy, leaving me lost.

‘It's because,' he continued, ‘they look like bums.'

‘What?'

‘Cleavage. It takes us back to our animal days. I'm sure Freud said something about it.'

‘Freud wrote about cleavage?'

‘No, no. Cleavage looks like, well, arse cleavage. It reminds us of animalistic coitus.'

I looked at him blankly.

‘Sex from behind, Cescy. And that's why we find it attractive.'

I thought about what Archie was saying for a second.

‘Is that how you weaned yourself off men, Archie?' I said.

He spat his beer back into the glass.

‘You bastard, Cesc. Now, shut up, and tell me, what's all this about?'

‘Archie, can you keep a secret?'

‘No. But I might forget it. Certainly if I have a couple more of these.'

‘OK. Well I'm … How can I put this? I'm fucking for money.'

‘Fucking for money. I never realised you were, you know. A homo.'

‘Archie, don't be prejudiced. And no one uses that word anyway. Besides, it's with women.'

‘Christ! Women pay to have your obscene member inserted in them. Times must be a-changing.'

‘Cheers, mate. I'll have you know I've got quite a distinguished client list already.'

‘Well. I'm impressed. So what's up? Wearing you out, is it?'

‘No. It's a client. She wants to try it.'

‘Can women use it?'

‘Archie, do you have any contact with the modern world at all?'

‘I'm a historian. Get another round in will you, pal, I'm a bit strapped.'

‘You're the heir to the biggest media fortune in London. How can you be strapped?'

‘Don't bring my family into this. Now, do you want the stuff or not?'

I went to the bar and returned. Archie left a box of pills on the table.

‘By the way, is this legal?' I asked.

‘From my point of view, yes. This is my prescription. I just happen to have left it discarded on the table. I'll have you know I had to humiliate myself by feigning impotence to a private doctor. It didn't help that she was a stunner and I had the raging horn all the way through the consultation.'

I pocketed the meds and handed him some cash under the table.

‘I don't know why you're giving me money, Cesc,' he said.

‘Let's just say I'm feeling generous,' I answered, playing along with the sham.

A couple of punters were eyeing us suspiciously, so we decided to leave. I said goodbye to Archie at the door of the pub and headed back to the flat.

I've never been a fan of medical aids, be they sexual or otherwise. I don't pop pills, and I'll normally soldier on through illness. As for sex aids, I've got nothing against vibrators, dildos, toys, whatever, but I'm reasonably convinced that unless you've got a serious problem, if it doesn't come up when necessary then it's probably a message of some sorts from somewhere, or quite possibly a good get-out clause. But J. was a good client and I'd never tried the stuff before, so I thought it would be at least worth a go.

I considered trying the stuff before the session, or asking Celeste if she'd be our guinea pig, but decided not to. That way, at least we'd enjoy the element of surprise, and I wouldn't have to put up with a chemically assisted and sexually frustrated Celeste scratching around the flat.

I saw J. at her place and we chatted amiably for a while before she mentioned the pills. I produced them and made up some story about where I'd got them. I suggested that we should just try a bit of a pill each, or a half, but J. was a hedonist who I'd discovered had been an enthusiastic member of the rave generation, and was not in the mood for half measures.

We took one of the little pills each, and I settled in to giving J. a long massage while we waited for the effects to kick in. In her case, the results were more immediate.

‘Mmm,' she said, as I ran my palms up her thighs. ‘It's starting to tingle.'

‘Funny. I can't feel anything yet.'

I continued with the massage, paying particular attention to her buttocks and the small of her back. She began to squirm slightly against the bed, her broad hips moving rhythmically as she took pleasure from my hands and the feeling of the soft sheets against her breasts and groin.

‘It's definitely working,' she said. The thought of being inside her was getting me hard, regardless of the medication, so it was tricky to tell. But I had to admit a faint warming sensation. I ran my hands the length of her back, and then leant forward to kiss her thighs and work my mouth towards her pussy. As she lifted her hips to meet my tongue, I could see her arousal. Her lips and clit were incredibly sensitive, and she moaned with pleasure at the first touch of my tongue against her sex. I reached under her and cupped her breasts while savouring the juices of her excitement, pushing my tongue deep into her for several strokes and then licking hard up and down her clit as she rocked gently against her rhythm.

‘I don't want to come yet, stop,' she said.

‘Really?' I pulled back and gently slid a finger into her, then out and along to her quivering clitoris. Her nipples were now like bullets. She turned around off all fours and lay down, running her own hands down her body and along her thighs. I noticed that my cock was extremely erect, without her having even touched it. That wasn't a surprise in itself, but I hadn't really noticed it coming up. I flicked the shaft: it was solid.

‘Fuck me hard, and don't stop,' she said, running her fingers down either side of the edges of her pussy. I slipped on a condom and entered her. Her legs spread further to take me deeper inside, and I worked myself between her thighs so I was right inside her with my groin pressed against her throbbing clit. In a sort of press-up position I was able to thrust hard inside her while rubbing against her. Her arousal was amazing: her first orgasm was the loudest, most violent she'd had with me, only to be topped by a second one, her legs wrapped around my thighs, her nails embedded into my back, screaming at me for more. I came myself, a deep, powerful orgasm that seemed to stem from the very roots of my cock and balls and draw force from every thrust. As we lay, sweaty and shaking, I noticed that my erection hadn't gone down. J. noticed too.

‘Go on then. Why waste an opportunity,' she said. I pulled out and turned her round. Despite coming, my dick was even harder than before; J.'s pussy was wet with her own excitement, and still as sensitive as when I'd first licked her. I entered her, slowly at first, but with increasing speed and strength. The shouts of her coming made me think I might have hurt her, but soon I could make out ‘More' and ‘Harder' amongst the cries. By the time I'd come again, I was pumping with a rhythm that made my heart pound and which I feared for a moment might do one of us some damage. My cock was as hard as a dildo and showed no signs of going down.

It was my fitness that let me down eventually. After that second, breathless orgasm, I collapsed to the side, J. lying panting beside me. She looked down.

‘Still hard,' she said.

‘What about you?' I said.

‘It feels nice.'

We both needed a breather before starting up again. Feeling lazy after my efforts, I had her ride me. The sight of her large breasts and of her squeezing and tweaking them turned me on even more. I held her hips and helped her bounce to another orgasm on my rigid dick.

‘It's so good,' she shouted, shifting a hand down to stroke her clitoris to another, quick but noisy climax. Her rocking orgasm was enough to finish me off, and I could feel the last, acidic juices of my coming in the end of the condom. I winced, mixing the intense pleasure of our mutual climaxes with a definite sense of possibly having overdone it.

As we lay side by side, J. smoking and I trying to get my breath back, I noticed that my erection hadn't gone down.

‘Do you think that's right?' I asked her.

‘How long have we been at it for?' she asked.

I looked at the clock.

‘Quite a while. And I've come three times.'

‘Well let's see if one more makes a difference, shall we?'

She moved slowly down the bed, kissing my stomach and my thighs. Soon, my balls were in her mouth, being gently sucked and kissed while she softly ran her fingers up the shaft. Then she ran her tongue up the length, lightly stroking the rim and the tip. Her blow jobs were excellent and well practised, and she could deep-throat me without problems. I savoured the sensation of her lips running down my length, the suction in her mouth and the rhythmic contact of my head against the back of her mouth. She had another trick, which was to hum very lightly, turning her whole mouth into a vibrating chamber for my penis.

As my excitement grew I put my hands to her hair, holding it away from her face while dictating the speed of her strokes. She used one hand to stroke my chest and another to tease my balls and stroked around my buttocks, and soon I was coming in arching thrusts, pumping what was left of my semen into the back of her throat. She swallowed without so much as blinking, staring me hard in the eye all through my orgasm.

J. rolled away, seemingly exhausted. But my erection still hadn't gone down.

I went and showered, first using the hot to clean myself and then turning the dial across to cold. Everything in my body tensed up with the shock of the icy water. Everything, that is, except my erection, which remained standing proud.

As I towelled myself off, J. looked at me admiringly.

‘It's a pity you have to go,' she said. ‘We could put that to some more use.'

‘You're insatiable,' I said, landing a brief kiss on her cheek.

‘That's why you're still in work,' she said. She replaced me in the shower while I dressed, picked up the envelope with my pay and left. By now, my cock was starting to feel uncomfortable. It's one thing having a raging hard-on stuck inside a sexy client, it's another having one stuck inside your jeans, stuck inside a taxi.

Back at the flat, I asked Celeste. She was lounging around in a dressing gown and an old, long T-shirt, recovering from a day-and-a-half-long hangover.