Neon Boulevard

Introduction

Those readers who have been following my anecdotes will remember that at the end of "Toys for the Teacher" I expected it to be my last fact-based story. However, then I remembered this particular episode. I had almost forgotten it after a comparatively peaceful life over the past 30 years. Call it a senior moment as I approach my 69th birthday! (No pun intended). There is some sex involved, but most is a memory of an unusual happening that most of us don't have (or want to - though it was exciting at the time)

*****

I was in my fifth year of a miserable marriage. My sex life with Leanne was virtually non-existent, but I had my doubts about hers! Our two children were now at primary school, and I had given up on my own career out of sheer frustration, and I had gone back to my life on the road as a trucker. Leanne didn't seem to mind me and the kids being out of her hair, for some reason!

It was the mid-year school holidays, and the children spent most of it at their grandmother's house. She hated me, but loved the kids, fortunately. I passed up a few delivery runs and took the overnight ferry to the continent (Europe) on a package trip. This started of in Brussels, and took in Austria and some of France. I really needed to get some space, had a fair wedge of cash and was ready for anything.

Normally I couldn't afford to stay at a top hotel in the heart of the Euro parliament city, but this was part of the package. After luxuriating in my room, which was fitted expensively enough for any politician, I decided to go for a walk. With a new found "travel buddy" (put that in for my USA readers!), who had approached me in the lounge and began chatting in a friendly manner I walked round the corner and down a main street for perhaps three blocks. The bright lights and fancy shops gave way to a row of smallish terraced houses. We walked along this street without fear of possible consequences.

The first few houses were quite normal in appearance. Then we came upon a small shop with a large window. This window was brightly lit with neon strip lights round the whole of the window frame. We looked in and at first thought we saw a display mannequin sitting there - until she moved to swing one leg over the other in a provocative way! This lady was dressed in a long white fur coat - but obviously had very little underneath, as her movement displayed.

Looking up and down the street allowed us to see that a surprising number of similar windows lit up the street. Amber, blue, green, but all with at least one red strip light. We wandered the length of the street gazing intently on the wares on display inside. You name it, these windows had as wide a variety of ladies of all shapes, sizes, ages and ethnic origins, though most were under 30 years of age at a guess. And in varying stages of interesting dress!

Yes, unintentionally, we had found one of Brussels' redlight streets! And convenient for bored Euro politicos to relax in! My friend and I decided to sample the goods on offer. Or rather, I did. My friend, we'll call him Jack, was far more innocent than I, although I had never frequented such an establishment myself either. I chose a window about halfway along with a well developed black girl inside.

The lighting inside was far dimmer than the window, but took light from the neon light straining through the lightweight curtain. A small, half round counter was tucked neatly into one corner, and behind this was a much older woman. About 50 years old, with features heavily coated in make-up, she addressed me.

"Bonjour, messieurs, vous aimez mes dames?"

"Oh, oui," I replied.

She realised immediately from my accent I could only be British, so spoke in heavily accented English.

"You like to see my ladies?"

"I have seen the one I want," I replied, "the lady in the window."

"I see if she comes," the woman answered, and putting her head round the curtain, spoke rapidly to the girl in the window. It seemed there was some difficulty, as their voices became as heated as only foreigners can, but in a minute or two, the curtain opened and the girl came through.

"It is the time for her to sit, but she comes for you," the madam told me.

Putting a professional smile on her face, the girl sidled up close to me. Her perfume was too strong for my liking, but what the hell, I wasn't taking her home to meet mam! I admit, the closeness of this girl, and anticipation had my dick twitching. Jack was hanging back a bit, but before he could up and run for it, two more girls entered the room through a door at the back of the room, and stood there, waiting.

"Now, your friend, he make the choice," the madam suggested.

I really wanted to laugh at the look on Jack's face. On the one hand, he wanted to see what was on offer, on the other, he was, as we say, shit-scared! I decided it might upset things if I did laugh, bearing in mind these places usually had some muscle hidden away, so I just smiled politely, and nodded. Tapping Jack on the shoulder I told him he'd better choose one before things got ugly. He nodded, dumbly, and chose one of the two girls. The other girl opened the curtain and sat down in the window.

I hardly noticed his choice, I was thinking of the big tits, well-rounded arse and wide lips on the black girl next to me. The madam returned to her desk and produced what looked like a menu, but was in fact a price list! It was in several languages, which wasn't surprising considering where we were. Don't ask what the options and prices were, I can't remember, but I wouldn't normally pay that much for screwing any woman back home, professional or not! But I really didn't care, I just wanted to get hard and shoot my load as hard as I could.

I paid up, Jack did also, but the pained look on his face made me want to laugh again. His choice, probably blonde, but possibly not, depending on the light, took his arm and led him through the little door and out of sight. My girl led the way through the same inner door, and up a flight of narrow stairs to a small room, which was furnished with a bed and not much else. A dim light bulb swung from the ceiling. Not much luxury here!

"Do you speak English?" I asked the girl.

"A little," she replied.

I had paid for a blow-job, followed by a fuck, so bending down I took off my shoes, dropped my trousers and briefs, and stood there in my shirt. She slipped the fur coat off her shoulders, draped it over the only chair in the room, and stepped towards me. She surely had a great body despite her profession; heavy tits which jutted out with the nipples pointing slightly upward, reasonably slim waist and a really high, protruding, and well-rounded set of arse cheeks.

She was shaved, which normally I don't go for, but with her being almost completely black, this actually accentuated her pubic mound. At first glance, despite the thick, Negroid lips, she had an almost beautiful face. Until I looked into her eyes. Not cold, or drugged up, but totally impersonal, as though she was looking at a scene too familiar; which you could say was a fact! She knelt down, and got to work on my dick.

Now, I've had more than a few blow jobs, but this girl was something else. She really didn't need to do much to arouse me, as I was pretty near as hard as I could get, but she slid her thick lips over my dick. As I've said before, I'm no porn star in size, but I could feel the tip of my dick nudge the back of her throat. She had a great swallowing action, which she combined with sliding her tongue along the length of my dick.

She would lick, then swallow, then suck. She moved her head as we went along, first rubbing my dick with the inside of one cheek then the other, Every so often she pulled her head clear then went for the kill, as it were. My foreskin had retreated and I got a tingling shock as her tongue jabbed the naked flesh at the exposed end of my dick, These actions went on for a good ten minutes, and I needed all my control not to come, so I managed to relax the tension at the root without going limp.

With the instinct and experience she had, she seemed to know when it was time to move on. Or, more likely, she was mentally timing our session! She stood up, went to the small bedside chest and took out a fresh condom.

"Only with this," she said, again in that impersonal tone, but with a professional smile on her face.

That suited me fine, I had been a tad concerned about that, but I was happy to oblige. I stood there as the girl quickly stripped the sachet edge, and smoothly, and expertly nipped the end in thumb and forefinger, and rolled the rubber down my shaft. Wow, she had even judged the appropriate size. Having done that, she turned and lay down on the bed and looked at me as though to say "get on with it, time's ticking away!" In French, of course!

I climbed onto the bed, and she opened her legs wide, with her knees raised. I lay down on top of her, elbows holding my weight, put my hands on the side of her tits to squash them up towards me, and rested my chest on those glistening black mounds of titty flesh. Even with the condom on, I had no difficulty in finding her fanny opening, so pushed quick and firm all the way inside her.

At first I was slightly disappointed; even with only the lube on the condom, there was no drag, and not a lot of resistance as I went into her. However, once inside, she started to contract the muscles in her fanny, on and off, and really the sensation of fucking became fantastically intense. Seeing as I was actually paying for this, I was in no hurry, so kept up a moderate speed so as to get the most out of things. After about ten minutes, the girl put on a realistic exhibition of humping, clamping her fanny hard on my root, again and again.

Even though I knew her movements were not for real I admit I had got to the stage where I just had to shoot my load as I felt myself tighten up the tension on my dick, and after another five or six pumps, I let it all go into the condom, which just happened to be fully up her channel.. As I finished, the girl relaxed her efforts, put her hand down to the base of my shaft, and held the condom firm on my dick as I slid out. I climbed over her, and stood on the floor, with my shrinking dick barely managing to keep the condom on.

The girl stood up, and this time had a real, if slight, smile on her face. I assumed she thought my moderate initial speed a considerate improvement on the hurried, hard fucks she was used to. She reached over, took the condom off me, and dropped it into the waste bin by the bed.

"OK, now?" she asked.

Yes, thank you," I replied. as I smiled back.

It had been my first time with a black girl, and even though it was a professional job, I did enjoy the experience more than I expected! Dressing quickly, ignoring the stickiness on my dick as I pulled on my briefs, I turned and followed her back down the stairs. She put the fur coat back on, followed me down the stairs, and exchanged places with the girl in the window. I looked around, and noticed Jack already standing near the door.

"Merci, Madame," I said to the madam, then grasped Jack by his arm and steered him out onto the street.

Outside, I looked back into the window, and the girl actually gave me a smile, which at the time did not strike me as odd. Jack and I walked down the street to a little café on the corner, discussing our experience. He was so excited, describing his involvement that I did wonder if he had had much experience of sex anyway, but what the hell, it was the first, and my intention, the last time I paid for professional services. We ordered coffee and sat at a table in the window.

Jack put his hand in his pocket, and a shocked expression hit his face.

"My wallet's gone, it's gone," he cried.

We hurriedly looked all over the floor, to the amusement of the barman and customers, but no wallet was to be seen.

"We had better look on the street," I suggested, as I paid for the drinks.

Not surprisingly, in the dark we had no luck.

"It's in that house," muttered Jack, I'll bet the friend of the girl I was with lifted it!"

"You got to be careful," I warned him, "they're bound to have muscle somewhere!"

Jack paid no attention. He ran the few yards to the house, rammed open the door and rushed inside. I decided on discretion and stayed outside. After all, we were very recent acquaintances! There was a deal of shouting, Jack's voice cursing and swearing in English, mixed with a cacophony of high pitched female voices.

Now, Jack was quite a big fella, and after a few moments of crashing furniture and screams, I wasn't too surprised to see that the figure bursting out of the now broken door, wasn't Jack, but a thickset, bald-headed guy, who was dressed in a torn shirt and blooded trousers.. Give him credit, he picked himself off the dirty street and ran back inside.

This being before the days of mobile phones, there was nothing I could do to help, unless I wanted to get into a fight in a redlight street in Brussels - which I didn't! Before I could make up my mind, a car roared up the street and jerked to a halt outside the house. A glance at the broad stripe along the top of the car, and the signage on the door told me the police had arrived. The front doors of the car swung open, and two Belgian cops shot out and into the house.

Things quietened down a bit, but I could hear Jack complaining, and the women shouting back. After a couple of minutes the cops emerged, shepherding jack with them. Trust Jack, he had to look at me and call my name! As one policeman pushed Jack into the back of the car, the other cop approached me.

"You will come with me," the policeman said in excellent English.

"What's the problem?" I asked, hoping my voice sounded firm, but curious, "I was just passing by."

"Into the car, please" was the only answer.

I didn't have much choice, so joined Jack in the back seat. The cops both got in the car, shut the doors and the driver put pedal to metal. Now, in my younger days I drove stock cars on the short circuit, but this man would have left me standing! We hurled through the streets of Brussels, the street lights a blur, and at each corner the tyres squealed, and Jack and I were thrown hard against each other.

We turned into a side street and pulled up outside a non-descript building which stretched halfway down the street. In contrast to the hectic drive, the policemen casually got out of the car, opened the doors for us, and steered us inside the building.

The first thing I noticed was that the walls were painted in a glossy combination of cream and green. That is a colour scheme I have always associated with correctional institutes, so it was appropriate. We were shown to the reception desk, which was a window behind a wooden surround which covered the whole of one wall. After a moment, a shirt-sleeved officer came to speak to us.

The senior policeman held a quick converse (in French, of course), with the reception officer, with a decided humorous tone of voice. Jack and I were then taken to a small room and both car cops left. Another officer came into the room. Jack was taken out and I was left there alone.

I must admit, I did not spend the happiest half hour of my life! I had no way of knowing what was going to happen, I had no knowledge of Belgian law, and was left there, sweating, wishing I was anywhere else, even back home! After the half hour, one policeman came into the room and we went over everything that had happened. I just hopd he would beliive my innocence!

I can't remember everything that I said, except I tried to explain the reasons behind the fight. Actually, the officer was quite sympathetic - he must have been used to this sort of happening. He wrote down everything I said, and then left me alone again. I was highly relieved when I was escorted back to the reception area, where Jack was waiting for me.

The upshot of all this was that we were told there was no chance of proving the theft although a record would be made of our statements. And Jack was told that in view of the circumstances nobody would be allowed to press charges for the damage. We had to wait another hour in that inhospitable place until a car arrived to take us back to the hotel. That drive was less frantic than the previous one.

I was so happy to be back in the luxurious surroundings of the hotel, a stark contrast to the police station. After a shower in my room, I collapsed into bed, and although my head was still in a whirl, I did manage to get to sleep. The next day, our party travelled on its pre-arranged way. My fellow passengers seemed to have found out about the previous night, and although some of the elderly ladies avoided me for the rest of the trp, I had gained the admiration of others. I kept them amused most of the trip with my, slightly embroidered, account of my exploits!

And Jack? I never found out what happened to him, and I never saw him again.