The Gift of Girls (3 page)

I had an inkling that every woman fantasises about having sex with a stranger, about being taken by accident, by chance, as a prostitute, and then taking the money to perform the service. There is something logical in it all. Why else would prostitution be the oldest profession? Was it really so terrible, so shameful? What is our role, after all, I wondered? What are we supposed to do with this life? I was born with certain assets: I was good at figures and, ironically, I had become a figure, a long slender figure 8, the sign of infinity.

I took a firmer grip on Sandy’s head and he pumped his tongue like a piston in and out, in and out. I could feel something fiery and mysterious moving through me, something the girls at school talked about like they talked about ghosts when the lights in the dorm were turned off, though, like ghosts, few girls had actually ever seen one, felt its touch. My ghost was coming now and, at that moment, the worst possible moment, he let go of my bottom and just stopped. He stood up. I sighed and, like a deflated balloon, all the air went out of me as he scooped me into his arms and tossed me quite roughly on the bed.

‘Was that all right?’ he said, and shamefully I nodded.

He removed his crumpled suit, his blue polo shirt and his boxer shorts. Only as I gazed at his cock did I realise that I had never actually studied a man’s penis before. Boys always act as if they are late for a train. They whip your knickers down, push up inside you, and just as it’s beginning to feel nice, that’s it, they shoot their milky sperm inside you, or over your stomach, and then go all soft and silly.

Thank heavens for the pill, I thought, as Sandy Cunningham slid across the bed and pushed his hard
cock
inside me. I was so wet, there was no pain, no awkwardness, just a feeling of mild relief, a feeling that I had done the right thing. I wanted to learn the system and buying that privilege with the only currency available to me was the sensible thing to do. I thought for a moment of Sister Benedict and forced the image out of my brain.

My legs rose automatically and I locked them around Sandy’s back, urging him deeper and deeper inside me. The contractions I’d felt before he stopped thrusting his tongue into my pussy returned once more and a few hot moments passed before that elusive climax gripped my chest, moved down in a gathering wave through my insides and burst out of me in a frenzy of unimaginable pleasure. I had been in prison and, with that orgasm, I was set free.

Sandy had held back with a gambler’s instinct for self-control and when he pulled out I felt a terrible sense of loss. I didn’t want it to be over. I didn’t know what I wanted. This wasn’t a bit of fun on the bottom field with a boy from the local grammar. This was the real thing. This was adult sex. I was still filled with shame but also an odd sort of pride, these two emotions competing for space, my mind confused, my body revelling in the moment.

He was wriggling from my locked legs and rolled me on to my tummy. He grabbed the pillows from the top of the bed, wedged them under me so that my body formed an arch and before I knew what was happening, his tongue was pushing into my bottom. I couldn’t believe it. I froze. I didn’t know what to do, what to think. It felt so strange, so wrong, so new, so nice. In the land of love I had been a blind person and in probing the eye of my bottom Sandy Cunningham was drawing the blinds from my eyes.

My bottom was so tight only the tip of his tongue pushed through the tiny ring, but the more he pushed, the
more
the ring opened and drew him inside. At first I just lay there feeling guilty and embarrassed, letting him do it, but the movement set off a chain reaction. I started pushing down with my toes, rolling my hips, thrusting my bottom at him, his big moist tongue slicked with the oils leaking from my pussy, making me so wet I thought I might float away on a tide of intoxication.

When he stopped, I had that same sense of loss as when he’d withdrawn from tonguing my pussy. I wiggled my bottom like a monkey in the zoo and what happened next I had not been expecting. Of course, we had all talked exhaustively in the dorm about anal sex and we read about it in
Cosmo
and
Nuts
. But it was a step beyond my imagination, and all the pleasure of having his tongue inside me vanished with the pain and humiliation as he took a grip on my jutting hipbones and pushed his cock deep inside my virgin bottom.

‘Agh, agh, agh,’ I squealed, gasping for air, and he pushed harder and harder, drilling as if for precious minerals inside my body.

I bit the bed sheets to stop myself screaming and widened my legs as with each thrust my body arched further. I took a grip on the headboard, pushed my feet into the bed and, to my complete surprise, as I widened my legs the pain went away. I was horrified that I was allowing a stranger to do this, to have mounted me in this way, but through the shame the pain was turning to pleasure. Those two senses, like smell and taste, were indivisibly linked.

My bottom was drawing him deeper inside me and I used the muscles I’d made strong on the parallel bars to hold him, to clench him tighter. I was sweaty and wet. All my routines as a gymnast had shaped me for this. I wasn’t made for the Olympics, for winning prizes, my breasts had grown too ripe and lush, my bottom too perky and round. I was made to be on my knees, my back arched, my breasts hanging heavily like udders below me,
my
strong arms supporting a stranger drilling into the very heart of my being.

Anal sex. Just the words were a turn-on.
Anal sex. Anal sex. Anal sex
.

I was whispering the words in my mind like a mantra. Sex had always been fun but short-lived and far from satisfying. It was like losing at chess. The game contains its own pleasures, but winning makes all the moves and strategies and hours of devotion more meaningful.

Sandy started to moan. His grip on my hipbones grew tighter. I let go of the headboard and all but left the bed and took wing as his cock finally erupted. I felt the flood of come wash through my back passage, pumping away as if releasing some precious elixir that would now belong to me. We collapsed back on to the bed sheets in a tangled octopus of quivering arms and legs. I was panting for breath and relished the pleasure of his hot semen slipping out of my bottom into my gaping pussy and pubic hair.

This was my first time, the first time I’d done it properly. I was tingling all over as if parts of me that had been asleep had been woken like Snow White with a kiss and all that follows. I felt guilty, ashamed, but I was proud, too. I’ve done it. I’ve done it. Now, I would learn the system, I thought, but Sandy Cunningham had something else in mind.

He rolled me over and straddled my torso. He slid forward, pushed the pillows under my shoulders and presented the head of his dripping penis at the door of my closed mouth. It bobbed up and down like something alive, a little creature with its own free will, tickling my lips and nose. I could smell a blend of scents, Sandy’s semen, my own discharge, my own dark places, and tentatively, like a snake, I pushed the tip of my tongue between my closed lips to lick the big mauve head.

I had never done this before. Of course boys had tried, boys will try anything and everything, but I had always
pulled
away and told them they were disgusting. I didn’t think Mr Cunningham would have appreciated any schoolgirl reluctance and opened my lips wider to allow it to slip inside.

The head of his cock filled my mouth. The trunk had grown soft, but he kept pushing it in and out until it grew hard again. Just as I’d first been unwilling to take this alien object up my bottom, all the fine tissues of my throat wanted to reject his cock. But he patiently kept pushing down into my yawning mouth and, by doing a sort of breathing trick to stop myself gagging, I started to appreciate the odd pleasure of sucking and nipping at the warm piece of flesh. I was tempted to bite down hard, it seems a natural instinct, but controlled the urge, wrapped the shaft of his cock in my tongue and contented myself with sucking as hard as I could.

Sandy Cunningham went faster and faster, deeper and deeper. He took a grip on the side of my head; my jaw was aching, my ears hurt, my mouth was stretched wider than the figure in Munch’s
The Scream
. I felt a wave of satisfaction when he squirted out a speck of sperm that splashed against the roof of my mouth and tickled my taste buds with the tang of something bitter-smooth, like lemons and Greek yoghurt.

He withdrew slowly and I licked my lips. He looked down at me for a long time. The lights were dim but I could see the sparkle in his blue eyes.

‘You’ve got a long way to go, babe, but you’ll get there,’ he said.

My body was electric. My palms were all sweaty. I was so happy. ‘What about the system?’ I said.

He grew stern and shook his head. ‘You must be joking, that’s a trade secret.’

I gasped. ‘But … but you promised, you …’ Tears pricked my eyes. I’d been conned. I’d been cheated. I’d let this strange man do
everything
and now, and now … ‘But I’ve done everything you wanted.’

‘And you weren’t bad for a beginner,’ he said, and leaned forward to lick away my tears.

‘You did promise.’

‘Let that be a lesson to you, never trust anything but your own instincts,’ he said. I sniffled and as I went to speak he sealed my lips with his finger. ‘Tell me something, was it terrible?’

I shook my head.

‘Was it the best ever?’

I tried not to nod and sniffed again. ‘You did promise.’

‘And a deal’s a deal.’

He grinned. He was making fun of me. That’s the problem with being eighteen, you don’t know when men are really serious and when they’re just pulling your leg. I sighed with relief.

He rolled off me and stretched out on his back for a moment. He was panting for breath and I was jiggling my jaw trying to get it back into place. Sex can be more challenging than gymnastics, I realised.

‘Come here.’

He pulled me on top of him, kissed me briefly and, as he took my bottom lip between his teeth, he slapped the plump curve of my backside as hard as he could.

‘Ouch,’ I screamed.

‘Shush, you’ll wake the neighbours.’

‘That hurt.’

He slapped the other cheek, even harder.

‘Ouch. What are you doing?’

He was grinning, stroking my bottom, and I could feel ripples of pain and even a strange sort of pleasure drifting up my back and down my thighs.

‘All you girls need is discipline.’

‘I am quite disciplined enough, thank you very much.’

‘Well, we’ll see about that,’ he said. ‘Over there, top drawer.’

He released me from his grip and pointed at the dresser. In the drawer I found a pack of cards. He turned
on
the bedside lamps and dressed in his boxer shorts and shirt. My bottom was on fire and I caressed my tender cheeks.

‘Why did you do that?’ I asked him.

‘It’s good practice.’

I didn’t know what he meant. ‘Practice for what?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough. Now watch.’

I should have asked him what he meant, but everything was happening so fast it didn’t occur to me at the time and, anyway, all I could think about was learning the system. I handed him the cards.

There was hardly any point in my lacing myself in the girdle and for some reason it seemed perfectly natural sitting naked on the bed while he shuffled the deck. I could smell sex in the air, his semen, my girlie juices and sweat all mixed into a carnal soup, a lusty perfume. I had been on what the girls at school called ‘a trip around the world’. I’d been pierced in my three openings, my mouth, my pussy and my bottom. Getting dressed now would be like closing the stable door after the horse has bolted.

‘The system is actually very easy. What it requires is self-control.’ He looked up into my eyes. ‘How’s your self-control?’

‘Not that good,’ I replied and we both laughed.

Now he explained that in blackjack you bet on one card before being dealt a second. The picture cards are all worth 10 and the point is to get as close to 21 as possible. If you have less than 21, you can take another card, you then either
twist
, and get that card for free, or you can buy another card, therefore doubling your stake. It’s only wise to double with tens or aces. An ace is equal to one or 11, and if you get a 10 or a picture card with an ace, that’s called blackjack and you automatically win – unless the dealer has a blackjack also, in which case you get your money back. After the dealer draws his cards, if you have a higher number than him, you win; if you don’t, you lose.

The system played by Sandy Cunningham was simple. He would bet one unit of money: £1, £10, £100, it doesn’t matter what the bet is, but he would play one chip worth one unit. If he won, he would take his one-chip winnings and bet again, just one chip. If he lost, he would double the stake to two chips. If he lost again, he doubled again and would continue to do so up to a maximum of five bets. So, to play the system, you needed 1+2+4+8+16 chips, a total of 31 chips, or £31, £310 or £3,100.

I was sitting cross-legged, elbows on my knees, watching as he dealt the cards. Sandy had scooped my tip money from the floor and was using that to demonstrate.

‘But what happens if you lose five times in a row?’ I asked.

‘You go home.’

‘You mean you lose your money?’

‘No one’s ever invented a system that’s foolproof. The beauty of this is, the law of averages dictates that you rarely lose five hands in a row. Try spinning a coin five times and see how many times you get straight heads or tails.’

He got out some more bank notes, we kept playing and, uncannily, every time I got to the moment where I might lose, on the fifth hand I won and got all my money back. It was like magic.

‘I’ve been travelling the world for ten years and the casinos have paid for it,’ he said. ‘You don’t make a fortune, but you should always come out ahead.’

‘I can’t wait to try it for real,’ I said.

It was so exciting. My pussy was all sticky and the smell of sex on my bare flesh made me feel lucky. We kept playing for ages and it was fun, and even more fun when all Sandy’s money was in my pile. I gave it back to him.