going up the Congo with a backpack, not returning to Belgravia in a car.
Mark kisses Marion's hand and then says something that makes
both women laugh but I can't catch above the noise.
He shakes my hand firmly and says 'Seeyaround', like he doesn't
care whether he will or not.
'Thank God that's over,' says Marion as we get back into the
car.
'Didn't you enjoy it?'
'No! Did you? Things I do for charity. I'll get my reward somewhere,
I suppose.'
Although she hasn't said anything to the driver, I discover that
we are going back to hers. She hardly speaks as we set off through Hyde Park Corner
and Belgrave Square. I suddenly feel that I should be saying something. I'm not
being paid for tonight, I suppose, but I am being paid for so I should still entertain.
Or, at least, break this huge, overwhelming silence.
Just then the driver overtakes a coach aggressively and we pass
a bus. A couple of the passengers look down at us.
We are on for sex, aren't we, Marion? I give her a sideways glance.
There is tension in the air that has nothing to do with exhaustion after the non-stop
chat and introductions of the last few hours or the state of the late-night traffic.
She is clutching her evening bag as if it were a life jacket.
We arrive at hers and Marion mutters good night to the driver.
She lets us into the house. The lights are on and it seems more comfortable, more
inviting than when we left it. She asks me something.
'Mmm?' I say, raising my eyebrows quizzically.
She rolls her eyes unnecessarily, like 'don't make this even
more awkward for me'.
'I said, do you want a drink?'
I look at her. We are standing very close. She suddenly seems
very small, very vulnerable. I shake my head. Then I cup her face in my hands and
kiss her. She accepts my tongue and I hear her moan slightly. She puts her arms
round me and pulls me nearer. Then I pull away and begin to move down to her neck,
enjoying the softness of her skin, the mixture of smells: that expensive perfume
plus alcohol and someone's cigarette smoke. She gasps again and starts to push my
jacket off my shoulders. I bite her neck gently, messing up her immaculate hair.
She gasps again and I realise I've done the right thing. Whatever our relationship
is, and at the moment, I really don't care how you'd categorize it, this just feels
good. I can't rationalize now, partly because I've never been in this situation
before but mainly because I'm thinking with my dick.
I begin to get an erection and push my groin into her as I kiss
her neck further. She mutters something. I move round and begin to kiss the top
of her breasts above her dress. I wish someone could see this: her beautiful dress
being crushed and pulled, my smart dinner jacket, my mouth caressing her smooth,
tanned breasts, me grinding into her, the effect I'm having on her, a man young
enough to be her son.
She pushes my head away from her and then leads me upstairs.
Once in her bedroom, she begins to unbutton my shirt. Thank God I got a real bow
tie, not a false one. Good old Vinny, he talked me into it. He may be from Birmingham
but he's got style. What the hell am I thinking about Vinny for? Quickly I get back
to matters in hand and reach round to the zip of her dress. It slides down and I
finish taking off my shirt. Marion looks up at me again. Her body is in incredibly
good nick for a woman of her age - whatever that is. I bend down and kiss her again.
She reaches round and takes off her bra. Her breasts are small and round and well
shaped with large, dark nipples. She pulls my head towards her and I kiss them.
Then I quickly slide off her panties and she kicks off her shoes.
This must look like some high-class porn movie - like the ones in hotels when they
invite you 'to join us after hours for the finest in adult entertainment' and you're
terrified in case, by accident, you do and it shows up on your bill the next day.
Stop it! Concentrate! I pull off my shoes and yank off my trousers, socks and
Mark kisses Marion's hand and then says something that makes
both women laugh but I can't catch above the noise.
He shakes my hand firmly and says 'Seeyaround', like he doesn't
care whether he will or not.
'Thank God that's over,' says Marion as we get back into the
car.
'Didn't you enjoy it?'
'No! Did you? Things I do for charity. I'll get my reward somewhere,
I suppose.'
Although she hasn't said anything to the driver, I discover that
we are going back to hers. She hardly speaks as we set off through Hyde Park Corner
and Belgrave Square. I suddenly feel that I should be saying something. I'm not
being paid for tonight, I suppose, but I am being paid for so I should still entertain.
Or, at least, break this huge, overwhelming silence.
Just then the driver overtakes a coach aggressively and we pass
a bus. A couple of the passengers look down at us.
We are on for sex, aren't we, Marion? I give her a sideways glance.
There is tension in the air that has nothing to do with exhaustion after the non-stop
chat and introductions of the last few hours or the state of the late-night traffic.
She is clutching her evening bag as if it were a life jacket.
We arrive at hers and Marion mutters good night to the driver.
She lets us into the house. The lights are on and it seems more comfortable, more
inviting than when we left it. She asks me something.
'Mmm?' I say, raising my eyebrows quizzically.
She rolls her eyes unnecessarily, like 'don't make this even
more awkward for me'.
'I said, do you want a drink?'
I look at her. We are standing very close. She suddenly seems
very small, very vulnerable. I shake my head. Then I cup her face in my hands and
kiss her. She accepts my tongue and I hear her moan slightly. She puts her arms
round me and pulls me nearer. Then I pull away and begin to move down to her neck,
enjoying the softness of her skin, the mixture of smells: that expensive perfume
plus alcohol and someone's cigarette smoke. She gasps again and starts to push my
jacket off my shoulders. I bite her neck gently, messing up her immaculate hair.
She gasps again and I realise I've done the right thing. Whatever our relationship
is, and at the moment, I really don't care how you'd categorize it, this just feels
good. I can't rationalize now, partly because I've never been in this situation
before but mainly because I'm thinking with my dick.
I begin to get an erection and push my groin into her as I kiss
her neck further. She mutters something. I move round and begin to kiss the top
of her breasts above her dress. I wish someone could see this: her beautiful dress
being crushed and pulled, my smart dinner jacket, my mouth caressing her smooth,
tanned breasts, me grinding into her, the effect I'm having on her, a man young
enough to be her son.
She pushes my head away from her and then leads me upstairs.
Once in her bedroom, she begins to unbutton my shirt. Thank God I got a real bow
tie, not a false one. Good old Vinny, he talked me into it. He may be from Birmingham
but he's got style. What the hell am I thinking about Vinny for? Quickly I get back
to matters in hand and reach round to the zip of her dress. It slides down and I
finish taking off my shirt. Marion looks up at me again. Her body is in incredibly
good nick for a woman of her age - whatever that is. I bend down and kiss her again.
She reaches round and takes off her bra. Her breasts are small and round and well
shaped with large, dark nipples. She pulls my head towards her and I kiss them.
Then I quickly slide off her panties and she kicks off her shoes.
This must look like some high-class porn movie - like the ones in hotels when they
invite you 'to join us after hours for the finest in adult entertainment' and you're
terrified in case, by accident, you do and it shows up on your bill the next day.
Stop it! Concentrate! I pull off my shoes and yank off my trousers, socks and
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