Kaylene, The Woman Next Door

When I first discovered what Kaylene did for a living, I was a little surprised. No, that's not true. When I first discovered what Kaylene did for a living, I was very surprised.

I knew that Kaylene was a model of some sort, but I thought that she probably modelled for retailers' websites and catalogues and stuff like that. It never occurred to me that ... well .... But then, after thinking about it for a moment or two, I thought: Why not? Everyone needs to find a way to pay for the groceries. And if Kaylene was happy to pay for her groceries by exposing parts of her that weren't normally exposed, then why shouldn't she?

If you ran into Kaylene in the grocers (while she was shopping for said groceries) you probably wouldn't pick her for a model. But then I suppose that's true of many, if not most, models, isn't it? Not that I've known that many models, I hasten to add.

Kaylene is my upstairs neighbour. For a couple of years, we passed each other in the entrance hall and said hello to each other when we met at the bus stop or the Tube station. But that was about it. At least that was about it until the day that she returned from a photo shoot and discovered that she didn't have her door keys with her. Fortunately, I was working at home that day, and I was able to buzz her in the front door. But after that, I wasn't a lot of use. She still needed a key to get into her flat.

'Can you think where you might have left them?' I said.

She shook her head. 'I went outside, got a cab straight away, went straight to the studio, and then, afterwards, I came straight back here.'

'And you didn't leave them at the ... umm ... studio?'

'I phoned the studio. That was the first thing that I did. And Hannah looked. But, no, they didn't seem to be there.'

'When did you last see them?' I asked. 'The keys.'

'Yes, well, that's the thing,' she said. 'The only thing that I can think of is that I left them in the flat. I don't know why I would have done that. But it's the only thing that I can think of. I guess I was just in a hurry. I don't like to keep Dora waiting if I can help it. Well, I don't like to keep anyone waiting. Even though it's a bit of a challenge in London, I pride myself on being where I say I will be, when I say I will be there. I think I'll just have to phone for a locksmith.'

Kaylene phoned a locksmith and, yes, they could send someone, but not for another hour or so. 'Well, I don't suppose I have a lot of choice, do I?' Kaylene told whoever answered the locksmith's phone.

'Right,' I said, 'it's probably time that I took a coffee break anyway. How do you take it?'

Over coffee, I asked Kaylene what today's shoot had been about.

She looked at me for a moment, and then she smiled. 'Today? Oh, just cunt shots,' she said.

I had clearly mis-heard her. Or perhaps not. Perhaps 'cunt shots' was some sort of trade lingo for difficult shots. One of my colleagues, an Australian, often refers to a difficult day as 'a cunt of a day'. 'Oh? So difficult,' I said, to clarify the situation.

'Difficult?' she said. 'No, not really. Pretty straight forward really. It's just a matter of giving yourself a bit of a rub, a bit of a warm-up, and then applying a dab of personal lube. Not too much though. You want to keep everything looking almost real. But no one much wants to look at a dry cunt, do they?'

'Are you serious?' I said.

'Oh yes. Why? Do you prefer a dry cunt?'

'No. That wasn't what I meant,' I said. 'I meant ....' But what did I mean?

And then Kaylene laughed. 'Oh. Sorry. You didn't realise, do you? You don't know what sort of modelling I do.'

'Umm ... well ... I don't know why, but I thought that you probably modelled for retailers' websites or catalogues and stuff like that.'

'I used to,' Kaylene said. 'Bras and knickers, mainly. And swimwear. Bikinis. Stuff like that. You get paid a slightly better rate for underwear and swimwear. But then I got too old. Retailers -- or perhaps their art directors -- like their models really young these days.'

I nodded.

'And then, one day, one of the photographers asked if I would be interested in being in a little video that he was putting together. He said that he needed a slightly older girl. I think that I was 27 or 28 at the time. I remember thinking: If I'm old at 28, what will I be at 38? But I said that I'd give it a go. In some ways, I didn't have a lot of choice. I had applied for a regular job with an insurance company, and they said that they were only hiring people with a university degree.'

'Right,' I said. 'And how did it go? The little video.'

'That first one was sort of fun,' Kaylene said. And she smiled and nodded. 'There was a bit of a story. Not much of a story. But a bit of a story. And the guy was quite nice. After a couple of sherbets, I probably would have fucked him even if I hadn't been getting paid for it.'

It was my turn to smile. Kaylene was certainly a girl to 'tell it like it is'.

'But after that, it all went a bit downhill. Donald got it into his head that it didn't make much difference whether there was a story or not. "Most people just want to watch the sex." Or so he said. And he started hiring the blokes based on the size of their cocks. Some of them were real slime balls. The blokes. Also, don't let anyone tell you that bigger is always better. It's knowing how to use it that matters.'

'And so ...?'

'I'd pretty much decided to give it all up. But then Dora -- who started out as one of Donald's lackeys -- got approached by a chap who had this idea for a high class erotic website. Subscription only. I had my doubts. But Dora's chap had money. And he was prepared to spend it.

'The way that he saw it, there had been a serious decline in the production values of porn -- well, porn, erotica, whatever you want to call it. The amateur stuff -- Delia and Darren getting it on in the back bedroom of their council flat -- had always tended to be a bit ropey, a bit rough around the edges. But that was OK. It was supposed to be. It was part of the naughtiness. But, in an effort to meet the market, the professional stuff was also getting pretty shonky.'

'Shonky?'

'Slap-dash. Sub-standard. Not really fit for purpose.'

'Right,' I said.

'Gerald also had this idea that there was a market that would pay to watch solo women. He wanted to make solo women the centre of his website. And he wanted everything beautifully lit and beautifully photographed. He wanted the site to be a celebration of female sexuality. "And I want real women," he told Dora, "not skinny little schoolgirls. And I want the punters to be able to count the individual pubic hairs." I think Gerald has a bit of a thing about pubic hair. Well ... I know he has a bit of a thing about pubic hair.'

I nodded.

'Anyway, Dora thought of me. I met with her and Gerald, and I was off in a new direction. And I didn't have to pretend with those over-endowed slime balls anymore. On most shoots, it's just me, Dora, her lighting assistant, sometimes a make-up girl, and an endless supply of classy lingerie. And sometimes, of course, no lingerie. Today was a no-lingerie day. As I said: today was a cunt day.'

I laughed. 'And how is the site going?'

'I don't think it's making Gerald rich,' Kaylene said. 'At least, not off subscriptions. But the online lingerie store seems to do quite well -- especially in the run-up to Christmas and Valentine's Day and such. And the mail order toy shop, of course. That seems to do OK. It seems there are still a lot of people who are not comfortable shopping at a High Street sex shop.'

'How does one find this ... umm ... site?' I asked.

Kaylene looked at me and laughed. 'So, you want to see what I look like without my clothes, do you?' she said.

I had to admit that it had sounded a bit like that. 'Umm ... no,' I said. 'I was just interested in ... well ... what a high class erotic site looks like.'

'That's OK,' Kaylene said. 'I don't mind if you want to see the working Kaylene. Come up stairs -- once the locksmith comes -- and I'll log you in.'

And then, right on cue, the doorbell rang. It was a locksmith. Not the one we had been waiting for, but one of his oppos. He had been to a call just around the corner and so, instead of making Kaylene wait for an hour or more, the cavalry had arrived in just 20 minutes.

'Lost keys?' the locksmith said.

Kaylene looked somewhat embarrassed. 'Sort of,' she said. 'The more I think about it, the more I think that I might have left them inside the flat.'

'The locksmith smiled. 'Well ... you wouldn't be the first person to do that, love. You certainly wouldn't be the first.'

Kaylene was right. She had left the keys inside. And, five minutes later, a very relieved-looking Kaylene was again knocking on my door. 'Well, that's one way to spend a few bob on a Wednesday afternoon,' she said.

'Oh? A bit savage?'

'Could have been worse,' she said. 'At least I didn't need a new lock. Now ... are you ready to take a peep at Gerald's baby?'

'Well ... you know ... only if ....'

'Come on,' she said. 'And bring your keys. I think we have spent quite enough with the fraternity of locksmiths for one day.'

I followed Kaylene upstairs to her one-bedroom flat on the first floor. 'Gosh, your place is tidy,' I said, as she led me into her living room.

Kaylene laughed. 'Yes. As well as being a time freak, I'm a bit of a neat freak. But at least I'm happy being a neat freak, so I don't think it's OCD.'

'Perhaps you could give me a few lessons,' I suggested.

'Do you feel that you need a few lessons?'

'I could do with being a bit tidier,' I admitted.

Kaylene just smiled. 'Let's sit on the couch,' she said. 'But, before we do that, I think I should get each of us a glass of wine. I feel that I deserve one after this afternoon.'

Kaylene got a couple of glasses of wine and, after toasting each other, we sat on the couch. And then Kaylene picked up a remote and aimed it at a flat screen on the opposite wall. Then she picked up a laptop and started tapping away. A quick confirmation that we understood what we were doing, and that we were over the age of 18, and we were in.

Right from the start, I could see that Gerald's little site was head and shoulders above any other erotica site that I'd ever seen. Not that I'd seen that many, you understand. To be honest, I generally find them sleezy rather than erotic. But this one just screamed quality. The colour choices, the typefaces, the transitions, they all said: This is no cheap, cobbled-together pornsite. This is quality ... well ... entertainment, I suppose.

And then, suddenly, there was Kaylene. She was dressed in a sort of silky chemise with matching boy-short knickers. And she looked as sexy as all hell.

'Oh, hello,' the on-screen Kaylene said. 'Nice to see you. I'm just about to go through to the Members Only Lounge. If you are already a member, you'll know how to log in.' And she pointed to the lower left hand side of the screen where a box appeared. 'And if you are not already a member, but you would like to become one, then just click on this box here.' And another box appeared. 'Of course, if you would just like to browse The Lingerie Lounge or The Toyshop, then just click on one of these doors. I'm going in now. I hope to see you on the other side.' It was all very slick. But it was also all very welcoming.

'You're good,' I said. 'You're very good.'

'I do my best,' Kaylene said.

The ... umm ... action part of the site was structured around a series of photographic 'essays', each celebrating an aspect of female sexuality. The essays were 'animated'. For hands-free viewing. 'What do you fancy?' Kaylene asked. 'The Nurse? The Policewoman? The Secretary?' And then she laughed. 'No,' she said. 'Silly me. We should start with The Woman Next Door, shouldn't we?'

I'll say this for Kaylene, she wasn't backward in coming forward. Mind you, if she had been, she probably wouldn't have chosen to star in Gerald's little pictorial essays.

'Please feel free to loosen your trousers,' she said.

I laughed.

'I'm serious,' Kaylene said. 'In fact, why don't you just take them off?'

I laughed a second time. But I could see that Kaylene really was serious. 'Come on. Stand up,' she said. And almost before I knew what was happening, she was undoing my belt, lowering my zip, and helping me out of my trousers. 'And your briefs,' she said. And there I was, naked from the waist down.

'Happy?' I said.

'Delighted.' And she took the remote and pressed the Play button on screen.

For once, The Woman Next Door really was the woman next door. Well, the woman upstairs anyway.

The photographs were all beautifully composed stills, but they had been compiled in such a way that they were continuously moving, slowly panning, zooming in, pulling back, dissolving into the next shot. And they were wonderfully, wonderfully erotic.

'I know that I've already said this once,' I said, 'but you really are very good.'

'Thank you,' Kaylene said. And she took my growing cock in her fingers.

The essay started quite slowly. In the beginning, it suggested that things might happen. But not just yet. Not just yet. And then, little by little, the pace began to pick up. And, as the pace picked up, Kaylene's ... umm ... costumes became briefer and briefer. And, on the couch in her real-life flat, her fingers got busier and busier.

And then there they were: the cunt shots. And what sublime cunt shots they were. Or perhaps I should say what excellent shots of a sublime cunt. Of course, it may just have been that Kaylene's cunt was my idea of what a proper grown-up cunt should be. Plump outer labia. Frilly butterfly-like inner labia. And such a beautiful glossy pink with little dabs of more greyish pink. Fabulous. Oh, yes. And you could have counted every one of Kaylene's neatly trimmed pubic hairs if you had been of a mind to. And then, for any boy (or girl) who wasn't sure what they wanted to do next, there was a superb close-up of her vagina, ready and waiting to receive tongue or cock. It was all it took to push me over the edge.

'Is that a yes then?' Kaylene asked.

'Fucking fantastic,' I said.

Kaylene smiled. 'I'll give you a guest logon and password,' she said. 'You can peruse some of the other essays in the privacy of your own ... well ... in the privacy of your own wherever.'

'If the others are anything like the one we have just watched, I may even want to become a subscriber,' I said.

We sipped our wine and I asked Kaylene how long it took to create one of the little erotic essays.

'It varies,' she said. 'But days rather than hours.'

'So it's pretty much a fulltime job?'

'Oh yes.' And then she said: 'How's your beautiful cock coming along?'

Strangely, having now seen pretty much every nook and cranny of my neighbour, I felt surprisingly at ease sitting on her couch with my trousers draped over a chair on the other side of the room. 'My cock? Oh yes.'

'I was just thinking that we should take this through to the bedroom,' Kaylene said. 'But I thought that you might need a little recovery time.'

'The bedroom?'

'Yes. I hadn't watched The Woman Next Door for a while, and watching it with you and your beautiful cock has left me ... well ... in need of a little relief. Perhaps fingers to start with. But then ... well ... who knows? Would that be too much of an imposition?'

'Oh no,' I said. 'No. I think that I could be ... umm ... helpful. If that's what you would like.'

'It is,' Kaylene said. 'Yes.'