The Not So Invisible Woman (4 page)

'I've got wine at home. We're fine.'

'I'm an alpha male, Suzanne. I'll buy the wine. That's the way it is.'

I laughed. It sounded like a line out of a movie. An alpha male. Who did he think he was, Rambo? Yet, there were some benefits to the machismo. I thought about my overdraft and was glad Rambo had picked up the bill.

'I just want us to be
friends,'
he'd said over the first bottle of Sancerre. Now he was beginning to sound like Mark, the sexy Irishman from Rios who'd massage but not fuck me. I wondered whether this was going to turn into a weekend of abstinence, something I hadn't counted on with either guy.

That disappointed me, but that's the way it goes sometimes. OK, I thought, I'll run with that one ... for now.

I hoped, as I stared into his blue eyes and shared bottle after bottle, that Scott might come around. And the drunker I got, the more I liked the idea of our being friends, particularly if it were on my terms – friends with benefits. Most of the men I met were short dates or quick fucks; good lays, not buddies. We didn't ring each other to chat; we rang to make a date. Scott, however, was a guy I could envision having a chinwag with.

Even if fucking wasn't on the menu, I expected it would be good if it happened. In my experience, it's almost impossible to find a guy who is smart and funny and not good in bed. But sex wasn't Scott's main attraction; it was the laughter and the shared background that got me. And I could tell Scott needed a pal, too. If I got a friend who occasionally climbed into my bed after a night of big laughs and good food and fun times, it was a win-win.

I fancied some real intimacy for a change, not just a few hours straight out of a porn flick. Despite the fact that he was well travelled, I got the impression Scott didn't sleep around. 'Lots of women come on to me,' he said. 'But I'm not really a one-nighter kind of guy. I'd really just like having friends. I'm actually quite lonely. Aren't you?'

'Not really, no.' That was true. I had plenty of pals. Even so, I thought it would be fun to have one who was a fellow American.

Then Scott said something that I hadn't heard for a while. 'The thing is, I'm really feeling a connection here. Aren't you?'

Just as I like variety in my sex partners, I like variety in my relationships with guys. I want good ol' vanilla mixed up with a bit of domination, followed by cuddling – a bit o' this 'n' a bit o' that. Now I was thinking no-sex/yes-sex/lonely-horny Scott might want a bit of a mix himself.

It was nice spending time with a fellow American. We shared the same cultural history, knew the same stupid TV shows. Talking with Scott was like having a reunion with a hometown acquaintance. I began to think he had the makings of a fun, regular playmate, a trade-up from a one-night shag. Somehow, his masculine arrogance was more turn-on than off-putting.

'I have hundreds of people who want to do exactly what I tell them to do, who
have
to do exactly what I tell them to do,' he said when the subject of Scott came round as it often did. 'I mean, there are people who think my word is the gospel. They call it Scott's World.' He laughed. I wasn't sure if I should. 'In India, where I do a lot of business,' he continued, 'people say that you're all right if you're in Scott's World.'

I understood being a boss with her own desk, her own office. I'd never met a person who thought he ruled the world and then named it after himself.

'How much money do you make?' he asked, somewhat to my surprise even though the question seemed true to his brash character.

I told him.

'Is that all?'

'Yes, that's all,' I said, surprised again, given that it was many times the average UK salary.

'I make a lot more than that,' he said.

'But does it make you happy?'

'It's who I am.'

'That wasn't what I asked.'

He looked at me, confused. 'It's who I am.'

Then he took out his wallet and showed me a picture of his daughter. Although just seven, she looked like him, with sandy-blonde hair, high cheekbones and a wide smile.

'She's gorgeous,' I said.

'She's more important to me than anyone else in the world,' Scott said. Unfortunately, he only got to see her every couple of weeks and then only for a day or two, until he was back on a jet. I tried to fit together what he had told me over our dinner date: that money drove him, that he was the master of his domain, that he adored his little girl but rarely found the time to see her. It seemed kind of sad.

I looked across the table at him. I noticed the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, the dark circles underneath, the tight dry skin that seemed starved of moisture and oxygen. He looked exhausted. The message on his face said, 'I need to sleep for a week.'

Scott chain-smoked through dinner, taking three or four puffs on a cigarette, then putting it out and lighting another. He was kind of a mess. Yet, I kept thinking there was something attractive about him that I couldn't put my finger on.

I don't like smokers, won't even date one after having lived with one for two years and almost gone mad. But then, I rationalised, I wasn't looking for a live-in. I could put up with the cigarettes for the occasional overnight.

Despite all his bravado, I got the sense Scott needed someone. I saw myself becoming his confidante, maybe even his friend. It was so rare that I met an American in London, and I liked the idea of having a fellow ex-pat buddy. Especially since his irreverent monologues made me laugh.

'The other day,' he told me, 'I was giving a lecture to three hundred people in New Delhi. The Indians wouldn't stop bobbing their heads. So, I told them, "If you don't mind, can you stop bobbing your heads up and down, because I'm finding it very distracting." '

I'd been to India a couple of times myself and could picture the head-bobbing to which he referred. It was as much a part of being Indian as rubbing noses was for Eskimos. I tried to imagine Scott telling people to stop a habit that was so culturally ingrained.

'But that's the way Indians are,' I said.

'Yes, I know. But it was really putting me off my speech.'

Arrogant and self-centred and culturally insensitive he was indeed, but I wanted to take him home anyway. I wanted to sit this manic man in my hot tub and help him relax. I wanted him to escape from Scott's world and take a break in my world.

After Mark and the one-sided oral, the other thing I wanted was some action of my own.

We jumped in a cab and were back at my house within the hour. We immediately undressed and got in the hot tub. Straight away, Scott's lips found mine. I moved closer and straddled him. I felt his hard-on pressing against my pussy. I kissed him again, rubbing my pussy against him, teasing his shaft with my labia, sliding myself up and down it.

'You know, I'm pretty toasted,' Scott said as he reached for the bottle of wine he'd insisted on buying and which I'd put on a shelf by the tub. 'And I have to be up early. I should go.'

'Why don't you stay,' I said. 'It's silly to get a cab back now. I promise I'll wake you up in the morning with a cup of hot coffee.'

It didn't take much to convince him.

As soon as we fell into bed, Scott began kissing me and reaching towards my pussy. His long fingers probed inside me. Then he moved down the bed and put his head between my legs and began to eat me out. His tongue was insistent and confident. I moaned with delight, and moved my legs onto his shoulders, spreading my legs apart.

Scott put his fingers inside me while his tongue continued its exploration of my clit.

'Turn over,' he said.

I did as instructed. Then he told me to get on all fours. Thinking that he might fuck me from behind, I opened the bedside drawer containing my sex toys and condoms. I pulled out some anal beads and a condom.

'These look interesting,' he said, picking up the anal beads.

'Yes, they're a favourite of mine. Wanna have a go?' I said.

Scott was intrigued. Gradually he pushed all twelve inches of the toy up my bottom, leaving just the ring at the end hanging out of my ass. His fingers continued to work my pussy. I felt myself opening up to him. First one finger went in, then a second. Each addition made me wetter. Scott was a lot naughtier than I'd expected him to be, and he was dominant. I'm liking Scott's World, I thought.

'Open up to me,' he said.

He inserted a third finger. I felt my pussy give way. It felt like his whole hand was inside me, working its way up and down my pussy. It felt so good I screamed, so loudly I thought I might wake up the newborn baby next door.

'What else do you have in that drawer?' Scott asked when I calmed down.

'There's a strap-on . . .'

'Really?' he said. 'Ever use it?'

'Sure, a couple of times. Want to try it?'

'That might be interesting,' he said. 'I've never been fucked before.'

I thought that for a straight guy, he wasn't acting so straight. I'd only met two guys in my life who'd gone for strap-on action.

I buckled the strap-on around my waist. Instantly, it gave me a sense of power and control. So much for being an alpha male, I thought as I started lubing Scott's ass and telling him what to do.

'Get on all fours,' I said.

He got on his knees, but I could see his height was going to be a problem. I couldn't reach his anus.

'Sorry,' I said. 'That's not going to work. Try getting on your back and lifting your legs. You're too tall for me.'

He turned over and put his long legs in the air. I squatted down and aimed the tip of the dildo at his ass, slowly trying to ease it in the hole. It was not the most comfortable position.

'Go on, baby,' I said. 'Give it up to me. I'm going to fuck you.' I tried to sound authoritative, dominant, even if it came out forced. 'Come on,' I continued. 'Open up.' I pushed the dildo in a little more. 'I'm going to fuck you real good.'

I pushed in a little farther. Part of me enjoyed the domination, but the other part felt it wasn't really my character.

But Scott moaned, so it seemed to be working.

Squatting down more, I carried on pushing and talking like a top. 'I'm going to fuck your ass. Give it up for me.'

I gave one more thrust and Scott screamed. He shot up on the bed. 'Fuck!' he said. 'That really hurt. I mean
really
hurt.'

That brought me back to earth. 'I'm so sorry, Scott. I didn't mean to hurt you. I guess the position was really awkward. You're so big, it's hard to find the right position, you know?'

'I'm never going to do
that
again. Fuck!'

After a few minutes his pain subsided. Then, apparently back to normal, Scott began to wank. Five minutes later, he came all over my face.

Drunk and exhausted, we went to sleep. Or tried to. Shortly after Scott rolled over to one side of the bed, his breathing changed and I knew he was asleep. I knew, because Scott became a noise machine. It wasn't gentle snoozing, but snoring and grunting and sniffling. That'll teach me, I thought. I hadn't been with a sleep-killer since my partner Daniel had died three years earlier, and I'd forgotten what a price it was to pay for company in the bedroom.

After falling in and out of sleep for hours, I tried breathing to Scott's rhythm, but soon realised I was putting more effort into matching the ever-changing rhythm than into trying to fall back to sleep. First, there was the heavy gasping for breath, followed by a few snorts. Then came the trombone honks from his nose, then the gurgling of his throat. Then blessed silence. A minute later, the pattern repeated. Gasp, snort, honk, gurgle. Silence. Gasp, snort, honk, gurgle. Silence.

I was really tired. I was also really drunk. I knew sleep would not have come easy even in the best circumstances. It never did when I'd had more than two glasses of wine. And Scott and I had shared almost four bottles. That'll teach me, I thought, again.

I got out of bed and quietly opened the bedside cabinet, hoping to find the wax earplugs I used to wear when Daniel snored beside me. I found my butt plug, a selection of vibrators and a blindfold, but couldn't find the earplugs. I contemplated turning on the light to have a better look around, but remembering that Scott had to wake up early, I didn't want to disturb him. So I made the best of it: I wrapped myself around Scott's body.

There was a lot to wrap around: his torso was long and broad, his slim legs went on for miles, his tight bum was a hill of meaty flesh. The sound effects were excruciating, but at least if I were going to lie awake, I had a delightful body to cling to.

A few hours later, I woke Scott with the promised cup of coffee. Then, noticing his morning hard-on, I took the initiative and straddled one of his legs.

'Suck my cock, baby.'

I took him into my mouth.

God, he really gets me, I thought, as I leaned over to obey. No tedious discussion about what he was into, no distracting monologue telling me what he wanted to do to me and how and in what position, just a straightforward command. I had a swinging partner who rarely spoke during sex. When Greg, my regular, spoke it was only to tell me what he wanted me to do next. 'Lick my balls. Twist my nipples. Sit on my face.' That turned me on, and it spoiled me on the mattress-mouth types.

I spit onto the mushroom head, to lubricate the shaft for my sliding hand.

Scott grabbed the top of my head and pushed my mouth farther down his cock until I gagged.

'That's right, baby,' he repeated. 'Suck it good.'

I felt myself get wet and his cock get harder in my hands.

'Mmmn,' I moaned, more to myself than for his benefit. 'Mmmmmmmn.'

I felt him get harder as I continued riding his shaft. I removed my mouth and started wanking him furiously.

Scott stopped me. 'Not yet, baby. I'll tell you when I want to come.'

I loved being called 'baby'.

So, I slowed down, working my mouth around the head of his cock, my right hand working the shaft up and down.

'Cup my balls.'

I cupped his balls.

'Lick them.'

I licked, as ordered.

'Stroke me.'

I stroked.

'I'm going to come soon,' Scott said shortly afterwards. I felt his body begin to tremble and the pulsing of the veins that ran down the full length of his long hard cock.