Read Online Adventures of a London Call Boy by Ben Franckx - Free Book Online Page B

She lived further out of the city, up the hill, in an area full of fancy old apartment blocks and expensive Sixties maisonettes. She and her absent husband lived halfway up an elegant building with excellent views of the park and a lift that took you straight into their hall. The flat was lit with uplighters and spotlights, and around the walls were memorabilia from their travels, generally to countries with large fossil fuel reserves.
    She was a woman who worked hard to look after herself. I don’t think she’d ever been pretty, but she was striking, and her outfit – a leather skirt and tight blouse – was sexy and suited her.
    From the first time we went to bed though, I realised that there was something strange about the sex. Although she was an experienced and very pleasurable lover, with a technique that made up for any lack of purely physical attractiveness, I got the impression that part of the reason she was so willing to fuck in almost any position imaginable, as well as enjoying using vibrators, whips and other toys, was that it was a preamble to something else.
    An example: somehow, we ended up talking about group sex. She said she’d never been with more than one man at once, but would like to, or at least know what it felt like. After we’d been screwing for a few minutes, she produced the vibrator that I’d used to warm her up. Her pussy was very wet, and I found a tube of lube. I pulled out of her and gently moistened her with the gel. Then I entered her, and once I was half inside, I slowly introduced the vibrator. She gasped as it slid in, tight against my own cock, and then moaned with pleasure once I’d turned it on. We both came, noisily and enthusiastically, only a couple of minutes later.
    But these sorts of games and experiments just seemed to pass by. Really, what she seemed to want was the time afterward, the pillow talk, as we lay amongst discarded dildos and torn tie-up knickers, and she told me one element or another of her life story or someone else’s. The sex was great, which was great for me, but that wasn’t really what she was interested in me for. I was something like a store for spare words.
    I didn’t mind – particularly as she was willing to indulge and indeed encourage pretty much any sort of pleasure that came to mind. But it was obvious when, a few weeks later with her husband back from offshore, she stopped calling, that I or whoever else was just serving time.

Chapter Seventeen
    We’re taking a roundabout route to get there, I realise, but the story of how I became a call guy isn’t simple.
    People often ask about the first time, and I guess the first time I took cash for sex was sort of because of my Internet dates. That’s why I say it’s all Celeste’s fault. Before that moment I’d thought that I was getting something for nothing. I’d had a pretty good few weeks, with a few different girls, and although I was still no closer to anything like employment, I was feeling a lot better about things.
    It’s a big gap between having lots of enjoyable casual sex to fucking for money or sex becoming a way of earning a living. There are a lot of people who don’t have the good fortune to enjoy the former before the latter. For those who do take the step, it’s a major change.
    I guess that what changed was realising that I didn’t need to feel grateful for getting sex. Even more, I discovered that quite a few women had thought that they were getting something for nothing from me. There were even some, in fact quite a few of them, who were willing to make it worth my while.
    After a few weeks of fairly regular success via Internet dating, I was in a good position to keep to my standards. That’s not to say all my dates had ended in riotous screwing. A couple had been perfectly pleasant and polite but gone nowhere. On a few occasions, it took dates, plural, to get into the sack. And there’d