Doing What You Love

Some bloke -- I can't remember exactly who -- once said: 'Find something to do that you love doing, and you'll never work another day in your life.' I can see what he was getting at. But it's not that simple, is it?

For a start off, you still need the dosh. I gather that Picasso once paid his butcher by making a quick sketch on a sheet of the butcher's wrapping paper. He also -- rather generously -- told the butcher that he could keep the change. But, of course, not everyone is Picasso. If I made a drawing on a sheet of Frank's wrapping paper in exchange for a couple of pork chops, he'd probably charge me extra for ruining a perfectly good sheet of wrapping paper.

Second, if something that you love doing becomes your job, then it becomes your job. And then you have to do it. Even on days when you don't feel like doing it. Because ... well ... it's your job.

Before I spotted the fishhooks in the advice, I sat down with pen and paper to make a list of all the things that I really liked doing. Not just the things that I quite liked doing; but the things that I really liked doing. It took me a while. But, eventually, I had a list of four things: eating well, drinking well (that is to say drinking good wine and the occasional single malt Scotch), listening to good jazz, and having sex.

I did briefly wonder if I might roll them all into one favourite thing: eating, drinking, and listening to good jazz while having great sex. But I decided that that might be a bit difficult. You can't really do justice to a meal prepared by a Michelin-starred chef while you have your cock buried deep in your current main squeeze. Also, think of all the wine you'd probably end up spilling. At six or seven quid a bottle, maybe that's not too scary. But at 200 quid a bottle? It doesn't bear thinking about.

Actually, the first few weeks that I worked at The Sound Shell almost amounted to doing what I loved -- especially once I had convinced Harold, the owner, that I should review a selection of each week's new jazz releases for the store's online newsletter. Writing the actual review only took an hour or so. But, of course, first I had to listen to each CD -- including those that didn't make the cut -- several times. For a while there, work at The Sound Shell didn't feel like work at all.

I should have realised, however, that working at The Sound Shell was hardly going to be a long-term career. Digital downloads were already taking over from CDs. And then the lease on the store came up for review.

'I'm sorry,' Harold said. 'This used to be a good little business. But I'm going to have to pull the plug. The new rent is going to be more than the monthly sales on a good month.'

I could see what he meant. 'Are you going to have a closing down sale?' I asked.

'I guess so,' he said.

'Will I still be able to get the usual staff discount on the already discounted price of the CDs in the sale?' (Hey, it was worth asking.)

It was a week or so later, when I was getting my hair cut and telling Louise about my forthcoming redundancy, that another item on my list got ticked -- albeit temporarily.

'You like wine,' Louise said, with a frown that suggested that she couldn't possibly imagine why anybody would like wine.

'I do,' I said. 'I like it a lot. Especially if it's good wine. Why?'

'Well, Gerald is looking for an assistant manager. Says he needs someone who knows about expensive wine. You know ... posh stuff. Perhaps you should go and talk to him.'

Gerald -- who had some unpronounceable Hungarian surname -- ran Woodland Cellars. 'I need to go up market,' Gerald said. 'The supermarkets are killing me. Tescos in particular. I need to be dealing in First Growth Bordeaux wines, Super Tuscans, stuff like that.'

'Then I'm your man,' I said. 'Just as long as we can have some decent jazz playing in the background.'

But I should have realised: Gerald wasn't really capitalised to deal in first growth Bordeaux and Super Tuscans. A month or so after I started a Woodland Cellars, I finished at Woodland Cellars. But at least I scored a heavily-discounted case of Chateaux Lynch-Bages and half case of Chateaux Haut-Brion before I left.

'What now?' Louise asked, as she snipped away at my notoriously fast-growing locks.

'Don't know,' I admitted. 'Although I'm sure that something will turn up. It usually does.'

'I sort of feel a bit guilty,' she said. 'You know ... about suggesting Gerald.'

I told her that she shouldn't feel guilty. It certainly wasn't her fault that Gerald was half a million or so short in the working capital department.

Louise generally likes to chatter non-stop while she's cutting my hair. But, for the next five minutes or so, she snipped away in uncharacteristic silence. Then, as she manoeuvred the hand-held mirror to show me what the back of my freshly-styled barnet looked like, she said that she had an idea.

'Oh?'

'Yeah. But I can't talk about it here. Maybe we could catch up for a drink? The Carpenter's Arms? Say six o'clock?'

'I'll be there,' I said. I was intrigued.

Louise and I arrived at pretty much the same time. 'Let me get the drinks,' I said. 'I see they have a New Zealand pinot noir that might be worth a go.'

'Is that wine?' Louise asked.

'Yeah. A medium-bodied red made from the pinot noir grape. It's a bit like a good Burgundy.'

Louise screwed up her face and shook her head. 'Would it be OK if I had a vodka and lemonade?' she said.

I ordered a vodka and lemonade for Louise and a glass of Mount Difficulty pinot noir for myself. 'Cheers,' I said.

Louise raised her glass. 'Look, I need to ask you something,' she said.

'Fine,' I said. 'Ask away.'

'I hope that you won't be offended. It's a bit ... well ....' She took a gulp of her vodka and then, frowning, she blurted out her question. 'Do you like sex?'

'Sex?'

'Yes. You know ... do you like, well, doing it?'

It wasn't quite the question I had been expecting. Still .... 'Umm ... well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Why do you ask?'

'And how do you feel about doing it with someone watching?'

'Umm ... oh, gosh. I don't know. I'm not sure that I've ever done it with someone watching. Well, not that I can recall, anyway.' (I took a sip of the Mount Difficulty. It was very good, very good indeed. There were silky-smooth cherry and plum flavours overlaid with fresh herbs and warming spices. Yes, very good indeed.) 'Why do you ask?'

'I have a client. Cedric. An older gentleman. Rich. Really rich. He said that he'd like to watch me having sex. At first, I thought that he was joking. But apparently not. I also thought that he just meant that he wanted to watch me, well, you know ... just diddling myself. I think some guys get off on that, don't they? But he said, no, he wanted to watch me doing it with a fella. He said he'd pay. Handsomely. Five hundred quid.'

'Five hundred quid? I see. And so now you're not sure whether or not you want to?'

'Oh, no. I want to,' Louise said. 'I've already decided that. I just need a bloke. I was wondering if you'd like to do it with me. We'd split the money, of course.'

'Gosh,' I said. (Well, what else could I say?)

'Of course, you'd want to have a ... what should we call it? A test drive? You know ... just to make sure that I'm OK. I mean ... I think I'm OK. I think I'm pretty good. But then I would say that, wouldn't I?' And she laughed.

For a fleeting moment I thought that perhaps Louise was pulling my leg. I was half expecting a bunch of my friends to suddenly leap out from behind the bar and shout: 'April Fool!' Except it was only February. And Louise seemed to be serious.

'And your friend, your client ... he just wants to watch?'

'Well, actually he and his wife both want to watch,' Louise said. 'That's the whole point.'

'His wife? Well, yes, of course,' I said. 'It would be a bit mean not to invite your wife to such an event. Assuming that you had a wife, that is.'

Louise smiled. 'He wants it as a sort of Valentine's Day gift for her. I gather she's quite keen on watching. So ... what do you think?'

To be honest, I wasn't quite sure what to think. The sex part appealed. Of course it did. And the more I thought about Louise, the more I thought that that half of the equation could definitely work. I just wasn't sure about Mr and Mrs Filthy-Rich watching. I took another sip of the Mount Difficulty.

'Your client,' I said, 'would he be expecting anything in particular? I guess what I'm trying to say is that, while I really like sex, I'm pretty much a vanilla kind of guy. I'm not really into whips and chains and chocolate sauce. Well ... maybe chocolate sauce. But not whips and chains and stuff like that.'

Louise smiled. 'As far as I can tell,' she said, 'Cedric and his wife are just into sucking and fucking and things like that. Maybe a little bit of anal. But, no, I don't think he's into chains. Look, I'll tell you what, why don't we go back to my place and have a bit of a test drive, and then you can make up your mind after that.'

It made sense. 'OK,' I said. 'Just let me finish this wine. It's far too good to just abandon.'

Louise's flat was a bit of a surprise. I don't know why -- possibly my mind was making some sort of connection with the theme running through the hair salon -- but I expected a mixture of industrial chic and Ikea modern. However, it was nothing like that. Instead, it was filled -- some might even say over-filled -- with cottage antiques. And, as far as I could tell, very good quality cottage antiques at that.

'I didn't have you down as a fan of The Antiques Roadshow,' I said.

'Ah. My great aunt,' Louise said. 'She used to have a stall on Portobello Road. When she died, she left me this flat and everything in it. I had intended to sell off all the furniture and replace it with something a bit more modern, but the longer I lived with it, the more I got to like it.'

'I can understand that,' I said.

'Do you want a drink or something?' Louise asked. 'Or shall we just go and get started?'

'Lead on, McDuff,' I said. 'Although, I think the actual line is: Lay on, McDuff. But you know what I mean.'

As I followed Louise to the bedroom, I suddenly realised that I had never really had sex with a new partner from ... well, from a standing start. It had always been the result of one thing leading to another. Too much of the grape, a bit of serious flirting, a bit of serious seduction. And now here we were about to embark on a test drive without even spending time perusing the glossy brochures and savouring that wonderful new car aroma.

The other thing that occurred to me as I followed Louise to the bedroom was that, during the five or six years that she had been cutting my hair, I had never her seen her dressed in anything other than designer jeans and some form of designer T-shirt or jumper. But that was about to change.

A couple of steps into the room, and Louise kicked off her shoes. She immediately appeared to be two or three inches shorter.

Next to go were her Isabel Marant jeans -- and I had to wonder why she never wore skirts. She had the kind of legs that most women could only dream of.

And then her hot pink Chanel T-shirt joined her jeans on the rather elegant stick back Windsor chair in the corner of the room. 'Are you going to get undressed?' she asked. 'Or do you need help?'

'I was rather enjoying watching you,' I said.

'Oh. Sorry,' she said. 'I suppose I should have done it all a bit slower. Still ....' And she leaned forward and made a slightly theatrical performance of removing her bra. 'Better?'

'Works for me,' I said, tapping my growing cock through the cotton fabric of my chinos.

'Good.' Louise seemed pleased with herself. And well she might be. Her breasts, while not overly large, were beautifully rounded, with nipples that just begged to be sucked. And then it was time for her knickers to join her jeans and T-shirt.

'Well, this is me,' she said. 'What you see is what you get.'

I certainly wasn't about to complain. I just wondered why I hadn't been having dreams about her since the very first day that she had cut my hair. 'You're beautiful,' I said. 'Just not sure why it took me so long to realise.'

Louise smiled and started removing my clothes. 'Well, something's working,' she said, as she lowered my chinos and my half-hard cock sprung up to sniff the erotic air that filled Louise's antique hideaway.

At this stage, I guess that you are waiting for a detailed description of our first kiss -- which, given that we were just going for a test drive, did not happen with a great deal of expectation. But it was, nevertheless, pretty nice. In fact, very nice. Very nice indeed.

Then you'll be wanting a detailed description of how I fingered her slippery slot, and how she pumped my growing cock, and how, eventually, I pushed my purple-helmeted soldier between her smooth outer lips and her slick pink inner lips and into her magic tunnel. But I'm not going to tell you about that. You'll just have to use your own imagination. Suffice to say: it felt absolutely fucking fantastic.

'So ... what do you think?' Louise asked, as we both gently descended from our suitably noisy orgasms.

'Hmm ... don't know,' I said. 'I might need one more spin around the block -- you know, just to be sure.' And I glanced sideways just in time to see her clenched fist heading for my upper arm. Thump! 'OK. Maybe not,' I said. 'Show me where to sign. Oh, and do I get a free set of floor mats?' And we both started laughing.

Having taken the test drive, my only real question was: Why had it taken us so long to take this first step? On the face of it, we seemed to have been made for each other. 'So what happens now?' I said.

'Well, you still need to decide how you feel about Cedric and his missus looking on.'

'You want to do it?' I asked.

'Only if you do,' Louise said.

'Hey, you only get one go at this life,' I said. 'Maybe we could have something nice playing in the background. And then a glass of something special afterwards.'

'You mean a glass of wine?'

'Well, I could have a glass of wine. You could have a vodka and lemonade.'

'No,' Louise said. 'I think it's probably time that I learned to drink wine too. I'll send Cedric an email.'

The fixture ... event ... performance ... call it what you will, was set for the following Sunday evening. Well, it would be, wouldn't it? February 14. Valentine's Day.

Louise and I were cordially requested to present ourselves at a discreet and unquestionably upmarket hotel in Knightsbridge at 7pm. 'Ah, yes,' the receptionist said. 'Daniel will show you to your room. And Mr Smith has asked me to present you with our Dionysus wine list. He thought that you might like a small libation after your journey.'

I took a sneak look at the list as we ascended in the lift. Bloody hell! The Dionysus wine list was like some Master of Wine's all-time greats list.

Our room was on the third floor. Daniel, our porter-cum-guide, completely ignored the fact that we had no luggage. (Perhaps he knew why we were there.) He also made a better-than-average job of indicating where everything was, and then, discreetly, he opened a door which opened onto the blank back of another door. 'Adjoining rooms,' he said. 'I'm sure that you understand. Now ... perhaps I can get you a glass of wine?'

I requested a glass of Château Pichon Longueville Baron. And, for Louise -- who had decided that she was going to 'learn wine' -- a glass of Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc. 'I assume that the glass of Pichon Longueville will be a large glass,' I said.

Daniel smiled. 'But of course, sir. We only serve large glasses.'

'What now?' I said when Daniel had gone in search of our wine.

'We could watch TV,' Louise suggested. But, somehow, that didn't seem right. So we just sat there. Smiling at each other. And then Daniel returned.

'So ... what am I supposed to be tasting?' Louise asked, taking her first sip of the Cloudy Bay.

'Up to you,' I said. 'They're your taste buds. But you'll probably notice a hint of citrus -- lemon, lime, something like that. Then maybe a touch of nectarine, possibly peach. Then, as it slides down, just a hint of fennel perhaps?'

Louise took another sip. 'Lemon? Lime? Fennel? You're right,' she said. 'Yes. Yes, you're right. Sort of like vodka and lemonade, but much better. Much, much better.'

'And hopefully without the spritz.'

'Spritz?'

'The fizz,' I said.

'Oh, yes. Vodka and flat lemonade then.'

For the next ten minutes or so, we sipped our wine and talked about nothing in particular. I suspect that we were both a bit nervous. I know that I was. And then there was a knock on the connecting door.

I was just about to get up and open it, when I realised that it could, of course, only be opened from the other side. And it was.

'Good evening, Louise,' the man who I assumed was Cedric said. 'How nice to see you. Sorry to keep you waiting. There was some sort of kerfuffle on Eaton Square.' He held out his hand. 'And I assume that you are Charles. How do you do? I'm Cedric. And may I present my wife: Marjorie.'

When Louise had described Cedric as 'an older gentlemen', I had envisaged someone in his early 60s. But both Cedric and Marjorie had to have been at least 70. And they were both wearing full evening dress. These rich guys certainly knew how to do Valentine's Day in style. Together with the champagne flutes they were carrying, the evening dress made them look as if they had just arrived for a night at the opera. And, in a sense, I suppose that they had.

'Perhaps if we just sit over here,' Cedric said, and he steered his wife towards one of a pair of Louis XV style elbow chairs that seemed to have been carefully placed for an optimum view of the king-sized bed. 'Right,' he said. 'Over to you ... I suppose. Just pretend that we're not here.' And he smiled the kindly smile of a chap who seemed to think that the world was a pretty decent place -- by and large.

When Louise and I had taken our test drive, a week or so earlier, Louise had almost ripped her own clothes off and then wasted no time in getting mine off. But with Cedric and Marjorie looking on -- and paying for the privilege of looking on -- we took the disrobing at a more measured pace. I won't say that it was exactly strip tease, but it was certainly leaning in that direction.

When we had achieved an appropriate degree of nakedness, Louise made what I thought was a master move. She positioned herself on the bed, on her hands and knees, with her perfectly pulchritudinous posterior in the direct eye line of our 'audience'. Maybe she was party to a piece of information that I was not. Maybe she knew that Cedric and Marjorie had a penchant for arse. It's amazing what some people will tell their hairstylists. But, regardless, it was a master move. I positioned myself beside her -- being careful not to obscure Cedric and Marjorie's view -- and began spreading her smooth outer lips and gently manipulating her wonderful 'pink bits'. I noticed a smile spreading across the faces of both of our 'clients'.

Over the next forty minutes or so, we worked our way through an abbreviated version of The Karma Sutra, doing our best the ensure that Cedric and Marjorie had the best available view of what was going on. And then ... well, it would have been nice to have gone on and on, but it wasn't to be. Louise and I both got a little too close to the edge, and then fell over it in a rather noisy orgasm.

'Bravo! Bravo!' Cedric said, rising to his feet as though it was the end of a particularly good opening act at the opera.

'Oh, yes! Bravo!' Marjorie echoed.

And then I thought that the CD of the Mellow Miles compilation that had been playing throughout the performance must have hit a glitch. Wah-wee, wah-wee, it went, in a manner most untypical of the late great Mr Miles Davis. And then I realised that it was not the CD player, but some sort of alarm.