It Was Just Chloe

"Me too!" she answered, fervently.

"Are you available for er tonight?"

"I am, very available."

"Is there anything you would especially like to do?"

"That restaurant was nice."

"Yes, it's actually the best restaurant I know."

"But, we shouldn't go there again, not right away, anyway. Can you perhaps pick something else."

"The Dorchester Grill"

"Pick me up at 20 hours."

"Eight o'clock."

"A-yee o'crock."

***

Chloe was pretty and cheerful and happy. We went straight to dinner - "I'm so hungry" and once again she ate and drank with gusto.

"Perhaps you'd like a walk along the river?" I asked as we tottered out of the restaurant, three sheets to the wind, if anything worse than the night before.

"That would be so nice, but I think I'd rather go back to your place" she said with a grin that managed to be both shy and lascivious.

When we got in my house, Chloe took me by the hand and led me through to the couch. No need to do a house tour this time. She sat me down, sat next to me, again proceeded to open my pants. All this without a kiss or a word. She brought out my raging stiff prick and used her fist on me for a minute, ending by bringing up spunk.

She stood up and shrugged out of her skirt and blouse. This time she was wearing a bra, but that was gone too a moment later, along with her shoes and pants. She fossicked in her little handbag for a moment, brought something out, I couldn't see what, and put it away again. She stood in front of me for a moment with her hands behind her back, and then knelt down and pulled off my pants and shoes and socks.

Once she had me in the nude, completely nude this time, she slobbered over my cock, and brought up more spunk. Of course I thought I was going get a brow job, but instead, she stood up, closed my legs, and stepped forward and straddled me, facing me, sitting on me astride. She reached under and took my penis firmly in her hand and maneuvered it up against her bum.

Holding me like that, she pressed the knob onto her crack. My penis was slippery and so was her anus - the item she'd retrieved from her handbag was apparently something like vaseline - and she squirmed herself onto me and in a moment I felt the head of my penis open up her tight little ring, incredibly tight and greasy, I thought I would come immediately.

Then she slowly and deliberately sat down on me, panting a little as my penis slid all the way up her anus. She paused and looked me right in the face, it was fairly dark but I could see a little, and she frowned with concentration and clenched her anus on me, squeezing me like a very tight firm fist. Then she started moving up and down, slowly pumping me, and she leaned forward so her tits were against my chest and breathed onto my face

"What you call this?"

"Well, sodomy of course, but slang - taking it up the arse, bumming."

"I bumming you?" She was panting as she bounced her petite nude satiny body up and down on me, driving herself down as far as possible at each perigee so her cheeks spread flat against me.

"Perhaps. No, I think I'm bumming you."

She sighed and a moment later, as she worked herself obscenely on me, sort of serving me with her anus - "I like when getting bumming."

Then she settled in to bring me off, twitching my nipples delicately in her fingers and sliding herself up and down on my cock, no kissing, no words of endearment, and brought me to a shattering orgasm, almost painful, with my penis gripped so tight.

A quick visit to the bathroom and she was gone.

Sex without overt affection, just raw dirty sex acts, that summed up my fantasies. Now I was experiencing it for real, I liked it for real too. I was by now totally besotted with Chloe, but I found I didn't need her to smother me with kisses or whisper endearments. These intense almost anonymous couplings were perfectly in tune with my sexual make up.

***

The next night Chloe was going to a private gallery showing with an older couple, friends of the Bains. I wasn't invited - not a slight, it was part of Lady Bains' cultural immersion program for Chloe.

By now Chloe was constantly in my head, but I was surprisingly relaxed about her, not at all paranoid. It was evident that she was completely genuine in her liking for me, viewing me as perhaps her only friend.

I went and had a couple of beers at my local. Delaroy was there and asked if I'd managed to kiss Chloe yet, and I told him "Well, a peck on the cheek, you know" and he smiled his worldly smile and offered to take her off my hands. "Do both of you good" he said.

Later I was reading before bed when the doorbell rang. Of course it was Chloe, "Come to say you goodnight". She looked around my sitting room and said

"I like better with light off" and switched them off - she had never been there with the lights on before, I realised. She shucked out of her dress. No bra.

Then she once again sat me down, opened up my pants, easier this time because I was in my pajamas, took out my penis and began manipulating it with her expert little fist. She drew up spunk and casually started to masturbate me.

"Is this alright?" she asked.

"Yes" I croaked. She smiled and said

"The gallery was interesting, photos of men with no clothes."

"Of nude men. What did Mrs. Prescott think?" I laughed.

"Oh, she couldn't come, just me and Mr. Prescott." She reached down onto my balls and massaged me a bit, continuing "I think he like me to do him nosh" and she giggled.

"To nosh him."

"Yes, to nosh him. Or him to do me bumming ... I mean or him to bum me. I think he like of that too."

"Like that too. Isn't he a bit old for you?" and even as I said it I realised it was a childish thing to say.

"Oh, yes, perhaps. I have done men who are more old though."

"Older."

"Yes, I have done men who areolderthen Mr. ... um ... Plescott." She went back to gently masturbating me, and said wistfully "I like to nosh men who are older."

I wouldn't have thought Chloe could surprise me any more, but I was absolutely flabbergasted. It didn't make me jealous, it was such a casual, unaffected statement, as if she'd mentioned she liked ice cream. But I didn't know what was the right response.

Chloe went on "And I like to do older man with my bum. I like to do younger man with my bum too." She was clearly quite aroused. So was I.

"Would you like a younger man to do you in the bum right now?" I asked.

"Oh, yes!" she breathed, almost panting, and she stood both of us up and we quickly offed the rest of our clothes. "Yes, do me bum" and she knelt down on the floor, against the couch, facing away from me, presenting her bare little bum.

"My handbag" she said. "There is ...glisse"

"Something slippery" I translated, picking up her handbag. There was a tube of something like KY Jelly. I had never seen or even heard of this before, but I had used vaseline to masturbate for years, and I understood what it was for. I took a big dollop and lathed it on her crack, and worked it into her anus.

I knelt behind her. Her legs were already spread wide, waiting for me, and I placed my knob against her tight slippery little anus and applied a little pressure. I needed very little, it was so slippery, and in a moment, accompanied by a gasp from Chloe, the head of my penis opened her up and went through her ring and right into her hole. I paused and then pressed on, feeling the delicious muscley resistance, sliding all the way up while she panted and grunted with the effort of accommodating this hard, stiff object in her bum.

I paused again, and then began slowly humping her bum, and, incredibly, she picked up our conversation from where we had just paused. Panting, breathless, she said "Yes, I like to get older man and nosh him, I like to take my clothes off and kneel in front and do him like that, brow him ... "

"Suck him off"

"Yes, suck him off and make him ... "

"Ejaculate? Come?"

"You know, like squirt - you know, like hose? - on my face." and she gasped and panted, rubbing her bottom on me, her anus clenching on me in a mounting sexual frenzy. (I know you might be thinking that I'm embellishing this, but I'm not, if anything, I'm having trouble finding words to convey just how coarse, howlewdshe was. I had never imagined, let alone encountered, anything like it.)

Catching the moment, I joined in with her - "I'm sure an older man wants a little slut to go down and kiss his balls too, and lick under his balls, maybe even get her to lick further down ... "

"Oh, yes!" Chloe breathed. "He make me lick in his bum!"

"That's right, put your face right in between his buns, lick right in his crack ... " and Chloe came, long and intense, gasping and groaning again and again, shuddering, her tight anus grabbing my hard cock like a fist, and I realised she had her hand on her twat, rubbing herself.

After a long silent pause, she knelt up half way and slowly took my penis out of her bum. I was still as stiff as a bottle. She stood up and went to the bathroom, coming back with a warm wet facecloth, and she cleaned my penis.

Then she sat me on the couch and sat beside me, and, amazing, picked up again - put her hand on my penis and gently masturbated me.

"What do you call that?"

"I'm not sure I know a word - "

"In French it is'fantasie', yes?"

"Oh, yes, same in English, fantasy. Yes, you have fantasies about older men."

"Yes. About many other things too, but tonight we talk just of older men."

"But in English, the word fantasy usually means it's just in your mind, you don't actually do it."

"Oh, I see. Then is not the right word."

I thought about it for a moment. Language is so tricky. I told her

"Well, sometimes a person does act out a fantasy, and I suppose it's still a fantasy for them. It's hard to say - I suppose it can still be a fantasy even if you've done it."

"Yes, I definitely done. But still has strong excitement for me to - think about?"

"Fantasise?"

"Yes, I like that, I hope you not - object. About older men, I mean"

"No, not at all."

"It is very, very exciting for me this thought."

"I can tell." and we laughed.

"Exciting for you too, a little bit?"

"Yes. But not a little bit. It'sextremely exciting."

"That I have pleasure from older men?"

"Yes, the whole thing." And it was true. The image of Chloe going off and sucking off an older man sent a powerful thrill through me.

"So, would be exciting for you if I pick older man up, perhaps in Dorchester, and go with him and get in nude for him and take off his pants and make him stiff and put my mouth on his penis and suck him till he - hose me on my face. That would be exciting for you?"

I groaned, it was the most arousing thought I had ever heard, and all the more intense because she was expertly masturbating me as she said it. "Get his spunk all over your face ... "

"That I really do it? Not just talk about like this. Actually do it?"

"Yes, actually do it. It would make the fantasy even more exciting if it was - true." Another fantasy for me – to have a relationship with a girl so dissolute that we would share our pasts during passionate sex sessions, and when we ran out, go and commit new acts even more shameless, to tell one another about.

"Alright, I do it like that. Dorchester Bar is good?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

Another pause.

"What about you, you have fantasies also. Tell me what are your fantasies."

"Well, I like ... "

She was still gently fisting me, sliding her whole fist up and down my penis, sometimes pausing to squeeze the head.

"Do you masturbate?" she asked. I realised this wasn't the moment to be coy.

"Yes."

"Much?"

"Yes, quite a lot."

"Yes, I think all men do. I like to see man masturbate. I like to masturbate man. But ... what do you think about?"

"Well, I like the idea of someone being tied up."

"Like prisoner?"

"Yes."

"The word is tydup?"

"Two words - tied is the first word, up is the second word."

"Oh, I see. Yes, I like that too, very much."

"I like the idea of someone being made to do things - forced. To take clothes off, to please the other person."

"Yes, me too. To be like a slave."

"Yes, or a servant."

I had to pee, and when I got back she had moved herself to my bed. I got in beside her, still no lights on, and she snuggled over, handled my cock, brought it back to being hard, and said

"Now, where are we?"

"Where were we?"

"Ah, yes, wherewerewe. So, idea of being servant is very exciting, or prisoner, especially no-clothes-on prisoner."

"Nude prisoner. Yes. But I haven't been in such a situation."

"No? Not even when you were more young - younger? You never nosh someone, suck someone's cock?"

I faltered. This was really getting down to a level of honesty I had never practiced, not even with myself. But she was always frighteningly perceptive and she understood my hesitation instantly -

"Ah, yes, so you did suck someone cock. Yes?"

"Yes. I did."

"More than one?"

"Several. Not ... many. But more than one. More than two."

"Your age or older?"

"Older."

We talked about all this, candid, lewd, obscene, our heads touching, lying in the almost-dark room. She took my hand and placed it on my cock and had me masturbate myself as we talked, and she took some spunk and slimed my crack and as we talked she gently frigged my anus. I came buckets and almost immediately passed out.

A minute later Chloe, now fully dressed, bent over me and kissed me lightly on the lips.

"I really enjoy this. We do some more." And she kissed me lightly on the lips.

"Marry me" I whispered to her, dazed.

"Definitely we can talk about that. You make very good husband for me. I make very good wife for you."

"I'm serious."

"Me too. We talk." she said, seriously, and was gone.

***

In the morning I wasn't sure whether that last bit had happened. The rest of it had definitely happened - I had never seen so much dried spunk on my sheets. Once again I'd woken at first light, and I showered and went to work, arriving earlier.

I sat down and in less than an hour wrote another piece about my invented character, Charro, the Philippino prostitute. It seems she had also a wealthy Greek client, a businessman who came to London fairly regularly. She was aware that it was a cliché that he liked her to engage in anal sex with him, even a little bit funny because it was such a stereotype. But he did, and she enjoyed it, she told me.

She enjoyed everything she did, though she knew girls for whom that wasn't true. But as for herself, she had a small and select group of clients, and she was fastidious about who she would take. She saw nothing wrong with what she did. In fact she bristled at the thought that some people did think it was wrong. "If they don't like it, I say, they don't have to do it."

What about the charge that she takes men from their wives?

"Ridiculous. How about if man goes to good restaurant and eats better meal than wife can cook for him? I don't take the husbands. I don't want to take them, any more than chef does. Just an arrangement, satisfies healthy appetite, suits both of us."

I signed it with my pseudonym, and gave it to Sue Watt, our pretty but bossy office lady. She glanced at it and said "Oh, yes, about that prostitute again. They printed the first one in the current issue. Editor Dan said he didn't want to change a word." Dan was the editor of several of the magazines. He was fussy and I was flattered that he felt no need for changes.

"Oh, do you have a copy?" and she came back a minute later and dropped the current issue on my desk. I can't remember who it had on the cover, some narcissistic advertising twit showing off his new Jensen. But of three articles mentioned on the cover, one was by 'Percy Smythe" - my pseudonym. It pleased me to get on the cover.

I was in a good mood all round, in fact, but with a feeling of excess energy. I went for a walk, and then went shopping. I felt completely alive, fulfilled, as happy as I'd ever been.

But when I got back to the office Watt immediately chewed me out.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, do you know how long you've been gone? Voltan wants to speak to you, he phoned earlier." and she handed me a slip with a long phone number on it.

My job was at Swinging London Magazine, a weekly glossy focusing on what we would now call lifestyles. The word 'swinging' had not yet acquired its present-day slang meaning of casual sex; in those days it captured a group of traits centered around style, fashion, youth, and liveliness. This connotation of 'swinging' had almost run its course at that point.

As in fact had Swinging London Magazine, as it turned out. It was one of a group of niche magazines, living off advertisements for luxury cars, travel agents, airlines, luxury clothing makers, and upscale shops. We were all owned by the German newspaper tycoon, Viscount Lindmann. Voltan.

Viscount Lindmann had rescued Swinging London and its sister magazines from the financial rocks, put in reasonably competent management, hired some new blood to write something people might conceivably want to read, and then fairly much left us alone. I came aboard under the 'new blood' category.

I'd had very little contact with Voltan and I was a bit worried that I hadn't even been in the office when he'd phoned – I was supposed to help write advertising copy for clients when not writing my own articles. I settled my nerves, wrote a list of talking points, and dialed the number. Clicks and warbles, phones were very different then, and then "Gutten morgen ... bitte" etc, and in a moment Voltan himself came on the line, his booming exuberant voice shaking me and reviving me, an impossibly enthusiastic and bouyant man.

"Andrew! I'll be in London on, ah, let me see, next Wednesday, and I'm hoping you will be able to have dinner with me."

"Yes, Sir, I would be delighted."

"Excellent! Let me give you back to Beryl and she'll give you details. But please, don't call me "Sir", it makes me feel old. You don't call me "Sir" and I won't call you "boy", ja?" He laughed unaffectedly at his own joke. "You are Andrew. I am Voltan. Cheers!"

A true anglophile, Viscount Lindmann. Though he apparently hadn't noticed that no-one in Socio-Economic Group A said "Cheers". (They do now, though.)

Beryl came back on the phone and said "The Count would like to have dinner with you at 2100 hours on Wednesday. Is that alright?"

"Certainly."

"He would like you to choose a restaurant. Do you have one you think he might enjoy?"

"Has he been to Le Gavroche?"

"He has, and he loves it. Excellent choice. I'll make reservations. Auf Wieder!" and she was gone.

***

The day dragged on. In the late afternoon Chloe phoned. Dinner?

We went to the Bistro, a pre-chic little place on Kensington High Street. She was looking absolutely stunning. The owner, Maurice, came over and gave us a warm "bon soir" - I was a regular, and a few months before I'd managed to slip a discreet positive reference to the Bistro past Editor Dan and into Swinging London Magazine.

After the initial greeting Maurice said to me in rapid French something to the effect that absurdly sexy girls like Chloe were meant for real men like him, not for pip-squeak faggoty pseudo-intellectuals like me.

I said "Yes, she's very pretty. But perhaps you are right, perhaps she would prefer to be with you. Why don't you ask her, she speaks excellent French, fluent in fact."

Maurice coughed and gave us the menus.

As soon as he'd left I said "So, have you thought about it?" She gave me a puzzled smile. "About, marrying me."

"Yes." She nodded her head. "I have thought about it. I have thought about nothing else all day. We would make very good ... "