tagHumor & SatireWho the Fuck Are You, Anyway? Ch. 5

Who the Fuck Are You, Anyway? Ch. 5


Tim arrived at the Novotel at six. The clerk called Dave's room. He was in.

"He said he'll meet you in the lounge bar, Mr. Pearson."

Tim sat at the almost deserted bar. He was nervous. He had no idea how Dave would react to what might be seen as Tim's interfering. He recalled an occasion a few years ago, shortly after he and Alice were married, when Dave had knocked down a man in a nightclub who had tried to dance with Alice.

Out of habit Tim ordered a bitter, then changed his mind. "Make it a scotch on the rocks. A double." He decided he should at least act like a tough guy, even if he didn't feel like one.

Dave arrived and, without a word, sat down next to Tim. He spoke to the barman. "I'll have one of what he's having. Put them on my tab. Room 320."

"Double, sir?"

"Why not."

They sipped their drinks silently. Finding that conversation was awkward, they both lapsed into a terse John Wayne or Humphrey Bogart style of speaking, which felt safer, as it was less communicative.

"How's Alice?"

"Fine. Did you buy underpants?"

"Yeah. M & S."

"Yeah. M & S is good."

"Good value."

"Uh huh."

"Another drink?"


"Hey, bartender, bring us a couple more."

Half an hour, and four double whiskeys later, Dave and Tim had loosened up considerably, and they chatted freely, albeit mostly about work, money, cars, loft extensions and football; all safe topics of male conversation.

Tim decided it was time; they were both just inebriated enough. He took a sip of his drink. "Why did you do it, Dave?"

Dave attempted to sit upright, managing it to within fifteen degrees of vertical.

"Why did I do what?"

"Why d'you shag that girl at work? I assume it was someone at work."

"You assume wrong, matey. Well, half wrong: It was indeed a girl at work, uncommonly pretty girl too, but shagging was not involved in any way, shape or – hic – form."

"But you said, Alice said…"

"Ahhhh! Alice. Yes. Here we come to the nub of the issue, old pal. Alice, she of the quick tongue and sushpish – shuspiss – paranoid tendencies. I'm afraid, in the heat of the moment, Words Were Said."

"You mean basically you lied, telling her you slept with someone else when you didn't, just to piss her off?"

"Yes. Words Were Said."

"But the perfume…"

"Yes, the perfume. Yes well. The perfume indeed. Jenny is a very physical lass, Tim, and she adheres to the Continental school of greeting. I recall that on leaving the pub after work, she may have given me the old left-right-left cheek Froggy-style adieu, with perhaps one in the middle for good luck. That was probably where the smell came from. That, mate, was the maximum extent of the affair."

"So. Let me see if I've got this right: You have a few drinks after work, come home drunk and smelling of this girl Jenny's perfume after she kissed you goodnight. Alice, probably fed up with waiting for you, is miserable, lonely, feeling fat and unloved and seven months pregnant. She asks you what you mean by coming home smelling of beer and strange women. You tell her – what: 'Mind your own business?' Or 'I had a client meeting'?"

"I told her I'd taken the afternoon off work to spend it rogering my mistress senseless."

"Which unfortunately she believed. She lost her temper, and threw you out without a letting you explain."

"Pretty much. Except I didn't really mind going. I was fed up with her accusing me all the time. Silly nit. Anyway. Case for the defense rests."

Tim decided that, after sobering up, Dave would come to his senses and apologize to Alice. He could already see Dave was looking a little forlorn, as though he'd had enough of being petulant, and was ready to come home. Tim felt he'd done his job. In fact he was even prouder of the way he had handled Dave than of the way he had handled Sarah on their date. Most importantly he'd done Alice a good turn, even though a small part of him wished Dave could have – No. Don't go there.

"She really is a lovely woman, you know, Dave…"

"Who, Alice? 'course I know. I know she's a lovely woman. A temper like a fucking baboon, but a lovely woman."

"No, I mean it. She's special, Dave. She's such a lovely, beautiful..." Tim sighed and stared at his empty glass.

"I know." Dave turned and looked hard at Tim, and understood. "I know. So're you special, pal."

He leaned over to give Tim a consoling hug, but fell off his stool. Two women, appearing out of nowhere, it seemed to Tim, picked him up and propped him back on it. The barman glanced over at the two women, then went on wiping glasses.

They pulled up two stools, and sat down either side of them.

"The usual, ladies?" Dave ordered two Margueritas and two more whiskeys. "Tim, these are two very good friends of mine, whose names escape me right now. They have provided an invaluable source of solace over the last few days."

The woman next to Tim crossed her long bare legs, took out a cigarette and popped it between her bright red lips. She waited. Tim felt his pockets for a light, pointlessly, as he didn't smoke. The bartender deftly lit her cigarette. She blew a cloud of smoke and stared ahead of her, apparently uninterested in Tim.

She was thin, and very smartly dressed in a pale gray pin-striped two piece suit, the lower half of which was a skirt with a hemline eight or nine inches above the knee. This, and the heels on her shoes, which were a good six inches high, led Tim to surmise that she was probably a prostitute.

He examined her via the mirror behind the bar. This confirmed his opinion: She had a hard bony face that looked both jaded and sensual. Her pale hair was tied in a ponytail, which accentuated her long neck.

Her friend, or partner, whatever she was, looked a good deal older than her, maybe in her late thirties. She also was a lot jollier; she was chuckling at one of Dave's wry comments and slapping his knee. There was something similar about the two women that made Tim guess they might be related. Possibly they were mother and daughter. But then that would have made her a mother at fourteen or fifteen at the oldest. Tim frowned.

Before his transformation by the WT-FAY team he could never have sat so calmly next to a woman like this. He would have been fidgeting and squirming, and completely unsettled by her. Now, however, although he didn't talk, his silence was one of quiet self-confidence. He was aware that the almost disdainful way she apparently ignored him was part of a well-rehearsed act:

She was like an angler, waiting patiently. Some of them got away, some she caught. She wasn't that bothered. Sooner or later she ended up landing a catch, just by sitting and dangling bait, which, in her case were her long shapely legs.

Suddenly the older woman cried "Oooh!" She leaned over the bar and peered across at Tim. "Dave, this isn't the Tim you were telling us about, who's going to be on WT-FAY? Hey, Lara, he's going to be on that program! It's him!"

Lara finally looked at him and smiled. Her teeth were nicotine stained. "Nice to met you Tim. I'm Lara. This is Anita. Dave you already know. So. WT-FAY… That explains your jacket." She laughed quietly, exhaling smoke. She had a husky voice and spoke very properly, as though she'd had elocution lessons.

Anita, apropos of nothing, shouted "Call me Anita, I'm a Man-Eater!" and laughed loudly.

"Explains my jacket? What do you mean? Is it that obvious?"

Lara turned on her stool to face him and looked directly at him, holding her chin. Tim smiled. Susanne had showed him that little move.

"Well, Tim, I was trying to figure you out. You look uncomfortable in those clothes. That jacket didn't seem entirely you. I thought maybe you had a rich girlfriend or something, or that you were some kind of con-man, trying to pass yourself off as an urban playboy. But then I knew you were a friend of Dave's, and you'd more likely be an ordinary office worker like him. So I was puzzled by that jacket, wondering how you came by it. Now I can guess. It's that what's her name from WT-FAY, Tanya Beam. She must've picked it out for you. I would have chosen something a little more English Tweed, myself."

Tim was unsettled by her shrewdness. He also started to doubt his assumption about Lara's 'vocation'. He decided on some subtle questioning. He toyed with "How much for a fuck", but on consideration decided it would be a tad rude, especially if he turned out to be wrong.

"Do you work round here, Lara?"

Sometimes. I work in personnel. Recruiting." Tim wasn't sure if she was lying.

Dave's eyes were closing. Anita jumped off the stool and said "Come on, let's get you up to your room."

Tim looked at her sharply, but she laughed and said, "don't worry Tim, I won't take advantage. I'll be down in a tick once he's all tucked in. Poor thing."

She helped him off his stool. He stood swaying for a moment and said, "'Night Tim, old boy. And thanks. Thanks. Night Lara. Come on Anita, take me to your leader."

Lara said to Tim, "I feel like another drink."

Tim replied, "Go for it." Damned if he'll pay for her.

She called the barman and ordered another Marguerita. She opened her purse and took out a twenty-pound note. "Another one, Tim? What are you drinking, Scotch?"

This unsettled Tim further. Was this part of her act? Or was he completely barking up the wrong tree; was she simply what she said she was, a recruitment consultant, who just happened to dress like a tart? Part of him wished Richard Smart were there. The best actor in the world couldn't fool him.

"Okay, one more. That'll make it a nice round number: Ten." She didn't laugh. She paid, and scooped up the change into her purse.

Tim thought. If she were a prostitute, any attempts at light-hearted flirting and chitchat would be a complete waste of time. After all, all he needed to do was offer her money and he could have her. He was actually quite excited by the prospect. He stared at her crossed legs and wondered, "I wonder how much you charge…"

"How much I charge for what?"

"I – I thought I didn't say… did I just say…"

"You said ' I wonder how much you charge'. And I said 'How much I charge for what'".

"Oh, shit, I'm really drunk, I'm sorry."

"Do you think I'm a pro?"

"No, no, of course not, I'm just drunk as a skunk, I don't know what I'm saying."

"Well, you've raised an interesting question, Tim. If, say you offered me ten thousand pounds to have sex with you, and I said yes, that wouldn't necessarily mean I was a prostitute, would it?"

Tim agreed, wondering if that was in fact her hourly rate. "No… I suppose most women would probably say 'yes' to an offer like that…"

"On the other hand, if you didn't offer me any money at all, and I had sex with you, that would definitely not make me a prostitute."

"Yes, but --"

"So somewhere between zero and ten thousand pounds is a figure that would make me a prostitute. So you tell me: How much would you have to pay me for you to be pretty sure I was one?"

Tim wasn't very good with money. He felt that fifty pounds sounded a bit cheap, she might be offended. "A hundred?"

"Okay, Tim, let's see your money."

"I don't have any."

"Have you got a bank card?"

"Yes, but I --"

"There's a cashpoint in the lobby."

Confounded, Tim followed her to the lobby. He had difficulty walking. He was very drunk. He stood at the cashpoint, trying to focus on the screen. Lara pressed the buttons for him, and took the cash. Tim couldn't be sure, but it looked like a lot more than a hundred pounds.

"There you are Tim, that should be enough for the whole night, plus a room. Shall we find out if I'm a tart?"

"Oh, so, you are a pro."

"I never said that."

"Yes, but you're taking my money."

"Yes, but mainly because you're too drunk to pay the concierge. And you're going to fuck me, and love it. It'll be worth it. If that makes me a prostitute, fine."

Tim laughed. "Well it does in my book! Anyhow, I think I'm a bit too drunk to do anything. Touch of Brewers Droop."

"Don't worry about it. Take one of these." She handed him a blue diamond-shaped pill, and produced a hip flask for something to wash it down with. "That should do the trick."

So Tim found himself upstairs in a room with Lara, still unclear as to what she actually did for a living.

They stripped, silently. Lara lay on the bed. Tim stood at the foot and gazed at her. She was thin and bony-hipped. Her ribs showed beneath her little tits. She had downy hair on her arms. She had a tattoo on her upper arm that looked like a braided armband. And she had two gold studs through her labia. Her pussy had been waxed. Tim stared at it, fascinated. Pussies were complicated things, he could see. Not just a hole. Lips, and inside them, more lips. She spread the outer ones open with two fingers.

He looked down at his cock. It was erect. She put her hands behind her head and looked up at the ceiling. Crikey, she couldn't have looked more bored if she tried. She had to be a pro. He lay on top of her and guided his cock inside her. She murmured, "ooh… nice…"

He started to pump her. She felt good. The walls of her cunt felt slightly rough, like a soft glove. The studs felt cold on the sides of his shaft. He lay with his full weight on her body frame. She spread her arms out to her sides, which raised her chest, so that he could feel her hard little nipples against his.

He started fucking her quickly. Her cunt made little slurping noises, to the rhythm of his thrusts. The sound made him more excited. She raised her legs, like a baby having its nappy changed. With this slightly altered angle, he felt the tip of his cock touch the roof of her womb. She made little grunts, in time to his thrusts, in time to the slurps.

He sucked her upper lip. She bit and pulled his lower lip gently. Their mouths were wet with each other's saliva. She cupped his ass with her long hands. She turned her middle fingers inwards, so that with each thrust they pushed against his asshole.

He pumped harder and faster, and the bed started squeaking. He felt himself coming. As he came, her middle fingers pushed deep into his asshole and she pushed down hard on his buttocks with her heels, as though squeezing every drop of his cum out of him. He sank onto her and slowed down to a halt, breathing heavily.

When he pulled out, he found he was still hard. Probably that pill. She turned onto her front and reached across for her cigarettes. She lit one and flicked the ash into the ashtray on the bedside table.

He looked at her little ass, shiny with sweat, and grew excited. He climbed on top of her. She seemed not to notice him. He tried to push his cock inside her ass but she reached around from underneath her, and pulled it lower, so that it found her pussy instead. He pushed in. It felt very different from before. It didn't go in as deep, but his helmet flicking back and forth against those studs sent him crazy. He cried out, "Oh my Gosh, that's so good! Oh… my… GOLLY!" As he fucked her, she was propelled back and forward so that her head nearly hit the headboard. She tried to flick the ash into the ashtray, but missed. He came again. He pulled out of her with a pop. He was still hard!

She got up and used the toilet in the en-suite bathroom. He could hear her peeing. He lay on his back on the bed, looking at his unabated hard-on.

She padded back into the room and picked up the TV remote. She turned on the TV. She straddled him, facing away from his face, towards the TV. She reached behind her and grabbed his cock. Then she sat down slowly on it so that it was plunged deep in her asshole. Tim lay back and groaned. She started to flick through the channels.

Tim ran his hands up and down her slim back. She seemed utterly oblivious.

He found that her complete unresponsiveness was actually making him more turned on than if she had reacted to his touch.

Finally she settled on some Financial News station or other, and started to wiggle her ass quickly. Tim immediately came strongly, almost painfully, and then immediately fell asleep. Even then, his erection showed no sign of sagging, so Lara still had no idea that he was unconscious, until, after fifteen more minutes of watching and wiggling, she turned around for her cigarettes and noticed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Next morning Tim woke, naked on the bed. The TV was still on. Lara had left. He found a message scrawled on the back of a card, which she had left on the bedside table besides the room key so he'd be sure to notice it. She'd written:

"Tim: took £300 from cashpoint = £100 for double room + £200 for 'finding out'. Took £10 cash from yr wallet for the Viagra. Lara x"

Tim turned the card over. It was a business card. It read:




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