A Capital Quim Pt. 01

Note to readers: If you're a fan of BBC, or BWC, or even BGC, this story may not be for you.

I was standing there. Next to my bed. Naked as the day I was born. Well... we both were. Although, come to think of it, Valerie was still wearing stockings. We were about to embark on our 'first time'. In fact, possibly our only time. It certainly wasn't something that we had planned. It was just... well... happening.

'You're quite...' She waved her hand in the direction of my crotch.

'Piccolo,' I told her. (I pronounced it the way Italians tend to: PEEK-co-lo.)

'Piccolo?'

'My nickname at school. It's Italian,' I told her. 'It generally translates as small.'

She laughed.

'Is that going to be a problem?' I said.

'Umm... no. I don't think so. It's just that I was expecting...'

'Something bigger.' I nodded. 'Yes. Mind you, I do find that its less-than-monstrous dimensions sometimes gets me invited into places into which I might not otherwise be invited.'

She laughed again. 'I can imagine,' she said. And she, too, nodded. 'And, no, I'm not a size queen. It's just that you have a bit of a reputation. I think I was expecting...'

'A reputation?' I nodded resignedly. 'Oh well, I guess everything's fair game in this day and age. That's just the nature of the internet, isn't it? If the word is out, the word is out. Not much that I can do about that.'

'A reputation for being something of a Duracell bunny,' she said

'Oh. That? Yes. Well... perhaps,' I said. 'I think it's just that I can't quite see the point of stopping when you are having fun.'

She laughed again.

'Just as a matter of interest,' I said, 'how did you come by this particular piece of news? Is it... well... scrawled in lipstick on the mirror in some ladies' loo somewhere?'

'Oh, no. Nothing so crass,' she said. And then she smiled her I-have-a-secret smile.

'Good,' I said. 'Because I don't think I'd like to wake up one morning to find a queue of neglected, middle-aged women stretching back around the corner into Paddington Street. There are limits to just how much fun one chap can cope with.'

She laughed again, and then she said: 'Well... are we going to get on with it?'

Were we? 'We could do,' I said. 'Yes. We've come this far.' Although, I must say that I was by no means sure exactly how we had come this far. 'Why don't you just perch yourself on the edge of the bed and spread your legs a little? Let me get a taste of your delicious-looking quim.'

'My quim?' She laughed.

'Yes. Why? Is there something wrong with quim?'

'No. It's just... What is it? Quaint, I suppose.'

'Well, you can have cunt if you'd prefer,' I said. 'Personally, I rather like cunt. Although I should tell you that I'm not a fan of pussy. Not the word, anyway. I'm not sure why. As a nursery term for feline quadrupeds? Yes. At a push. But vulvae? Not so much.'

Valerie nodded. 'Yes. I like cunt too,' she said. 'But, no, quim is fine. I can go with quim.'

And so, with semantics out of the way, I positioned myself between her spread thighs, parted her down-covered outer lips with my thumbs, and set to work with the tip of my tongue, trawling her already-slick cuntal valley.

Was this what Maria had intended when she had introduced Valerie and me to each other?

'Marco!' Maria had shouted, with her customary over-the-top enthusiasm. 'Come and met Valerie. I really don't know why I didn't think to introduce you two earlier. You'll be perfect together.' (Perfect for what, Maria didn't say.)

Valerie was on the verge of being petite. She was slim without being skinny. And she was certainly not tall. Her silky blonde hair was cut in a timeless bob, and she was wearing a navy blue linen dress that I guessed might have cost a pretty penny. But what really struck me was her smile. It was one of those gentle, closed-lip smiles that seemed to say: 'I have a secret. But then you probably realise that already, don't you?'

'The... umm... photograph on your book jacket,' she said, 'it doesn't do you justice. When they do the reprint, you should ask for a new one.'

I laughed. 'You're assuming that there will be a reprint,' I said.

'Oh, there will be,' she assured me. 'David is notorious for underestimating the potential of new authors. His first print runs are invariably too small. But he comes around. The moment that the cash registers start ringing. Mark my words.'

'Well, at least he published me,' I said. 'Which is more than I can say for a dozen or so other publishers.'

She smiled her I-have-a-secret smile, and nodded. 'He did. Yes. At least he got that part right.'

Maria's so-called cocktail parties are nominally six-to-eight affairs, but they often go on until way past midnight. However, shortly before nine, Valerie glanced at her watch and announced that it was 'time to go'.

'Yes. I should probably be going too,' I said.

'That's what I said,' Valerie said. And, together, we went and found Maria, thanked her for her hospitality, and wished her goodnight.

'Oh. Going already?' Maria said. 'But the night is still young.'

'School day tomorrow,' I said. 'Words to arrange. Books don't write themselves. Deadlines to meet.'

'I too have a deadline,' Valerie said. 'Lovely to see you again, Maria.'

'Oh, OK then,' Maria said. 'We will catch up again soon. I'm thinking of organising an end-of-summer picnic. Perhaps a picnic in the park. I'll be in touch.'

Valerie and I let ourselves out and, once we were out on the street, Valerie turned to me and said: 'Right. Now where's your place?'

'My place? Umm, Marylebone,' I said. 'Just off the High Street.'

Valerie nodded. 'In that case, your place is probably closer. In fact, I'm sure it is.' And, right on cue, a black cab rounded the corner and pulled over to pick us up.

'A glass of wine?' I asked as we entered my flat. 'I think there's some half-decent sauvignon blanc in the fridge. Or would you like something a little stronger?'

'Umm... no. Thank you. I think I've probably had enough to drink for one night,' Valerie said. 'Now... where's the bedroom?'

'The bedroom?' The bedroom!? Yes, we had both had a drink or two (or three), but I was still a bit surprised. Bedroom suggested sex. And I had never had sex with a woman on a first date before. Not that ours was a date. Before Maria had introduced us, we had been complete strangers. We had been introduced by our hostess, we had chatted, and now here she was asking for directions to the bedroom.

'It's downstairs,' I said. 'This an upside-down house. The kitchen and reception rooms are on this level, the bedrooms and bathrooms are below.'

Valerie nodded.

Oh, well. I led the way -- quite prepared for Valerie to change her mind at any moment. But she didn't.

'Nice,' Valerie said when we got downstairs. 'Two bedrooms, two bathrooms?'

'Yes, two bedrooms, two bathrooms,' I confirmed. 'And a compact utility room next to the back door.' (I don't know why I mentioned the utility room or the back door. I was beginning to sound like an estate agent.)

'Yes. Nice.'

We entered my bedroom and Valerie immediately kicked off her shoes, removed her dark blue linen dress, and looked around for somewhere to put it. 'I know that linen is allowed a few wrinkles,' she said, 'but if I'm not careful, this dress takes wrinkles to a whole new level.'

I found her a coat hanger.

'Thank you,' she said.

Beneath the dress, she was wearing a pale blue lacy bra and matching knickers. But not for long. The knickers came off first. I would have been happy for her to have stopped there. I find there is something very sexy about a woman wearing a bra and no knickers. Especially when the woman in question is sporting a neatly-trimmed tuft of blonde pubic hair. But then her bra came off. 'Come on,' she said.

And, yes, she had a point: at that stage, I was still fully dressed. But not for much longer. And that was when she smiled, nodded, and, after a brief pause, commented on the substance (or otherwise) of my 'equipment'. That was when we had the 'piccolo' conversation.

To be honest, there might have been a time when I would have considered that to be a pretty inauspicious start to proceedings. But I was already beginning to understand that Valerie was Valerie. And Valerie was different. Also, the rumour that I was a bit of a Duracell bunny balanced things up a bit. That had to count for something. Surely.

It didn't take long to bring Valerie to the boil that first time. And so we did it again. Recipe as before. And again after that.

'Wah-hey!' she said. 'That's one educated tongue you have there, mister.'

'Educated? Umm... pretty much completely self-taught to be honest,' I said. 'My parents spent a good deal of money sending me to a couple of rather good schools, but neither of them included quim dancing in the curricula.'

'You say pretty much self-taught?' She nodded. 'But not completely, I take it.'

'No. Not completely,' I said. 'On my eighteenth birthday, I did get a few tips from an Australian barmaid named Geraldine. I say tips, but it was perhaps more a case of a demonstration. As I recall, Geraldine removed her knickers, perched on the table in her little kitchen, and then grabbed me by my ears and steered me around her nether regions as if she was steering a motorbike along a particularly bumpy road.'

Valerie nodded in what I took to be approval of Geraldine's pedagogical methodology.

'Is this the point at which I need to see if I can find a condom?' I asked. (After taking Valerie to the top of the mountain three times, my educated tongue was beginning to feel in need of a bit of a rest.)

She smiled. 'Up to you, really. But I'm on the pill. And I wash my hands regularly.'

'Nice to know,' I said.

'Also, your... What are we going to call it? What is the male equivalent of quim?'

'I'm not sure that there is an exact equivalent,' I said. 'But cock is a good all-purpose term.'

'Cock. Yes. Your cock looks as though it might enjoy exploring damp places without the encumbrance of a safety helmet. But, as I say, it's entirely up to you.'

And so explore without the encumbrance of a safety helmet is precisely what we did. And my piccolo and Valerie's quim went together perfectly.

I think it was probably about eleven by the time we decided to finally take a break. 'I think that I probably need some water,' I said.

'Yes. Water. A capital idea.'

'Capital?' I said.

'Capital,' Valerie confirmed. 'Capital. A good old-fashioned word, capital. I like capital. And it goes nicely with quim. Don't you think?'

I could see what she meant. And I nodded. 'A capital quim,' I suggested.

'Well, I think I shall have to let you be the judge of that,' she said.

'Certainly seems pretty capital to me,' I told her.

Valerie with the capital quim didn't go home that night. And, the following morning, she phoned her office and told them that she thought that she may have eaten something which hadn't agreed with her. And then she came back to bed and did 'eat' a little something, a little something that seemed to agree with her just fine. Thank you very much.

'I'm going to Italy on Sunday,' Valerie said, when we had sucked and fucked once more.

'Italy.'

'Yes. Milan. A trade show. I shall be back on Thursday afternoon.'

To be honest, I wasn't quite sure why I needed to know all of this. I wasn't Valerie's keeper. It wasn't as if we were planning to get married or anything. In fact, it wasn't as if we were planning anything.

'Perhaps we could meet up for a glass of wine on Thursday evening,' she said.

'A glass of wine?'

'Perhaps you could come over to my place,' she said. 'I'm only about two minutes from the Holland Park Tube. Five if you dawdle.'

'When you say evening...?'

'I think my flight gets in just after two. Give me, say, an hour or so to get home and get showered. What do you think? Four o'clock?'

'Four?' I said.

'Too early for you to start drinking?'

'Well...'

'We can fuck first, if you like. And then celebrate with a glass of fizz afterwards.'

'Celebrate?'

'Yes. By then it will have been one week.'

'Since?'

'Since last night,' she said. 'So... do we have a date?'

I nodded. What else could I do?