the coffee-shop door, held it open, and watched her hurry out and disappear into the crowds. I returned to the table and finished off the dregs of my drink. Jenny needed this breathing space in her life, that was for sure. But the truth, I knew, was that I was getting as much out of meeting her on a weekly basis as she was.
Good communication
It’s been said that when it comes to sex, the most important organ is the brain. That’s where things get really fired up! But when you and your partner are talking about what you both want to get up to, it’s the ears that count.
Listen with your whole body. Be sensitive to what your partner wants and desires—or doesn’t.
But don’t assume you know what your partner is thinking, or read too much into their actions. Talk together to confirm each other’s desires.
Remember to listen to and acknowledge what does and doesn’t turn you on too. And let your partner know.
Discuss protection. Don’t leave it to chance and hope that your partner has it sorted.
Don’t let sex talk become a clinical experience. It’s foreplay. Keep the lights low with music in the background and talk slowly and seductively to each other.
Make your partner feel as good and sexy about themselves as possible by sincerely complimenting them. It relaxes things and leads to better sex. Anybody can find something. Tell them they’ve got nice eyes, how good their skin feels to touch, or how they look better with their clothes off… Guys especially need to remind girls that what worries them about their bodies is rarely an issue for us.
Call a spade a spade. Swear words can have real potency, especially if normally butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth!
Share your sexual fantasies, but take account of the level of trust there is between you. Would you want them to become the subject of gossip?
Be careful if you choose to act out your fantasies in role play. Fantasy is most often best left to the imagination.
Mid October
Sasha called me out to her apartment in a luxury new development beyond Tower Bridge around about midnight, though I was pretty much ready for my own bed.
I was knackered, but when you’re just starting out you’ve got to accept practically every call no matter what. They could turn into regulars, and obviously that’s what you’re after. Jenny was the start, but if I wanted to succeed I needed more repeat meetings than that.
It was October, and as the cab passed London Bridge Station and made its way along Tooley Street I could see by the spotlighting of the wall-like brick buildings we ran between that this was an old part of town spruced up. The gold haloing cried out about the money that had clearly poured into the area but the night’s darkness couldn’t completely shake off the grime. These stolid, heavy buildings petered out, replaced by brand-spanking-new luxury flats and office blocks with river views. The tilted glass and metal egg of the London Assembly building seemed designed to bask in its reflection in the Thames. Across the way, the ancient Tower of London stood upright and proud. Like it had seen it all before; that all that brashness and cash was wafer-thin, fleeting and not to be trusted.
The cab passed a half mile beyond Tower Bridge to draw up at a brand new glass and metal block. A figure appeared out of the dark. I paid the fare and climbed out of the car, and she stepped forward to greet me.
‘It’s Luke, isn’t it? I’m Sasha,’ she smiled, and shook my hand.
Even in the dim light I could see Sasha was gorgeous, maybe a few years older than me, in her late twenties. And she had the most striking brown eyes. I followed her through the door of the apartment block and into the lift. The doors glided shut behind us.
Sasha turned towards me. As she did her coat fell slightly open, and I caught sight of the curve of her naked breasts. I all but gasped.
I swallowed and focused on her face. It was framed by glossy short brown hair. She was one of the prettiest women I had ever seen. She had almost airbrushed features, as if she’d walked off the cover of a fashion magazine.
Sasha looked back at me, and swung her coat further apart. She was wearing nothing underneath. She was slim and well-toned with wonderful rounded breasts. Like a swimwear model.
This can’t be right. This can’t be my luck.
My jaw tightened and I automatically clenched my teeth.
Aw, man. Keep your cool. Keep your cool.
My teeth had begun to ache.
The lift doors parted and we stepped out. We entered her apartment and she led me into the sitting room. As I stepped through the door, I froze.
Sitting on the chocolate leather sofa in front of me was a naked girl, about twenty-two. Her tits were like little foothills and her svelte body had a bronzed sheen. She reminded me of Bambi.
‘Luke; Chloe. Chloe; Luke.’
Chloe smiled. ‘Hello.’
I nodded, struck dumb.
This is too good to be true. No one can be this lucky and be paid for it.
If Sasha was almost a ‘ten’—and she was—Chloe was more than a ‘nine’. But that was just splitting hairs. Both were gorgeous. Head-turners if you saw them walking down the street. Except they shouldn’t have been walking down the street. They were too perfect.
My God. This isn’t right. This is what some guys pay a grand for. Just let me get home and tell my mates.
‘Do you want your money now?’ Sasha asked, taking my coat.
I hadn’t moved from the doorway.
‘Huh? Money. Oh, afterwards is fine,’ I garbled.
‘Would you like a glass of champagne?’
‘Yes, please.’ I wasn’t quite sure where to look.
‘You make yourself at home. I’ve got some chilling in the fridge.’
Sasha went to the kitchen, and I hovered before making a beeline for the nearest armchair and perched on its edge.
‘Come and join me,’ Chloe beckoned, her hand patting the sofa beside her.
I crossed the room and sat down. My hands sat on my knees. Neither of us spoke for a couple of minutes. I looked around the room; anywhere but at her. The deep-pile cream carpet seemed to go on for miles. A plasma-screen telly filled the far wall. The dark brown of the furniture was broken up by pale pink cashmere throws. A couple of chrome high-end speakers added a sharp modern twist. Like its owners, it all could have stepped off the pages of some style magazine.
‘You didn’t have trouble finding us?’
My focus fell on Chloe. She had long blonde hair and grey-blue eyes and there was a sweet youthfulness about her. And she was deliciously relaxed in her nakedness.
‘No, the cab driver knew where to go. But when Sasha told me on the phone that it was just beyond Tower Bridge, I had a mental block. I know it isn’t, but it’s like that’s where you fall off the edge of London.’
She looked at me, curious: ‘What, here be dragons?’
‘Yeah, just about.’
‘Well, don’t worry, Luke,’ she stroked my denim-clad thigh, ‘we won’t eat you alive.’
‘Not, of course, unless you want us to.’ Sasha had come back into the room. She set down