The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl by Belle de Jour Page A
Authors: Belle de Jour
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myself and cups of tea for us both while he read to me from the paper.
Later I tried to kick him out of the flat so I could have a bath. It's been too long since I indulged in a long, bubbly soak. 'I'll wait,' he said. He's an odd one and stubborn as well, and I was too tired to argue, so I let him.
When I came out of the bath he rolled me over on the bed and kneaded my back from neck to ankles. I would have thanked him ‐ I imagine the satisfied sighs got the message across. On his way out the door he paused. 'Next time, of course, I want at least a blowjob for that,' he said.
53
'That's only funny because I know you're not kidding, sweetheart.'
Some people wouldn't ask. I can think of one in particular. I've always been attracted to strong, tall men. And they have not ever forced anything on me. Except for one. But I begged him to do it.
It was GBH with kissing. I'll call him W. When we met we were both in love with other people but it didn't matter. What we did could only loosely be called sexual congress anyway.
W was tall and nicely built, the result of a career in sport. We flirted over the course of a week and agreed to go out on the Friday night. I dressed and thought about W, his long, thick limbs and large hands, knowing something odd was happening. I couldn't imagine myself in this man's arms so much as on the end of his fist. He looked capable of breaking me into small pieces, and crushing those pieces into a ball. I could not stop thinking of him hurting me, and the thought made me sick. It also turned me on.
Our meeting place was just south of the river. We stood at the crowded bar of a pub for a while before going on to a comedy club where I got legless on gin and tonic. The acts ranged from bad to criminally awful. I began fantasising about having W's bulky shoulder rammed into my face. I went downstairs to the ladies'. W followed me in.
'You're not going to corner me in the loos, are you?' I asked, pawing his shirt. My head came to not quite the middle of his chest. I could smell the sour waft of a day's sweat on him and was aroused.
'I'm not stalking you,' he said. 'Much.'
I bit him as discouragement. The layers of fabric felt fuzzy on my tongue. My teeth closed just hard enough to make it hurt. But he didn't flinch. 'Now then,' he said, taking my face in his hands, 'you'll pay for that. I'll see you outside.'
54
I was unstable on my heels, leaning heavily on his arm all the way to the corner of my street. We stopped and I looked up. He lifted my body easily, standing me on a bench. From that height we had our first kiss.
'Get a room,' yelled some teenagers from the other side of the road.
We didn't. Not that night, anyway. The night after.
The location was a pastel‐decorated chain hotel in Hammersmith. I didn't even take an overnight bag. He pushed me down on the bed as soon as we were inside and straddled my waist. Pulling out his cock, he aimed it not for my mouth or my cleavage but at my cheek.
So it began. After that first time, when he hit the side of my face so hard with his erection that there were blisters inside my mouth afterwards, there was no going back. 'I've never made a woman cry before,' he said. 'I liked that.' No pretence of romance. Just us, anywhere we could be together alone, and his open palm. On cold days in parks where the biting weather would make it sting all the more, he'd stop the car suddenly, and we'd get out and he'd smack me one. My knickers were always sopping wet after.
I couldn't explain the bruises. 'Ran into the door,' I shrugged. 'Hard session at the gym.' Or, 'A bruise? Where?'
There was the weekend W reserved a room at the Royal College of Physicians. Visiting medics can stay there when in London; I don't know how he blagged his way in. We sat on the narrow single bed, watched a porn documentary and ate pizza. I had too much to eat ‐
when I went down on him, his member was too big and it choked me.
I coughed up Meat Feast and Diet Coke on his
Later I tried to kick him out of the flat so I could have a bath. It's been too long since I indulged in a long, bubbly soak. 'I'll wait,' he said. He's an odd one and stubborn as well, and I was too tired to argue, so I let him.
When I came out of the bath he rolled me over on the bed and kneaded my back from neck to ankles. I would have thanked him ‐ I imagine the satisfied sighs got the message across. On his way out the door he paused. 'Next time, of course, I want at least a blowjob for that,' he said.
53
'That's only funny because I know you're not kidding, sweetheart.'
Some people wouldn't ask. I can think of one in particular. I've always been attracted to strong, tall men. And they have not ever forced anything on me. Except for one. But I begged him to do it.
It was GBH with kissing. I'll call him W. When we met we were both in love with other people but it didn't matter. What we did could only loosely be called sexual congress anyway.
W was tall and nicely built, the result of a career in sport. We flirted over the course of a week and agreed to go out on the Friday night. I dressed and thought about W, his long, thick limbs and large hands, knowing something odd was happening. I couldn't imagine myself in this man's arms so much as on the end of his fist. He looked capable of breaking me into small pieces, and crushing those pieces into a ball. I could not stop thinking of him hurting me, and the thought made me sick. It also turned me on.
Our meeting place was just south of the river. We stood at the crowded bar of a pub for a while before going on to a comedy club where I got legless on gin and tonic. The acts ranged from bad to criminally awful. I began fantasising about having W's bulky shoulder rammed into my face. I went downstairs to the ladies'. W followed me in.
'You're not going to corner me in the loos, are you?' I asked, pawing his shirt. My head came to not quite the middle of his chest. I could smell the sour waft of a day's sweat on him and was aroused.
'I'm not stalking you,' he said. 'Much.'
I bit him as discouragement. The layers of fabric felt fuzzy on my tongue. My teeth closed just hard enough to make it hurt. But he didn't flinch. 'Now then,' he said, taking my face in his hands, 'you'll pay for that. I'll see you outside.'
54
I was unstable on my heels, leaning heavily on his arm all the way to the corner of my street. We stopped and I looked up. He lifted my body easily, standing me on a bench. From that height we had our first kiss.
'Get a room,' yelled some teenagers from the other side of the road.
We didn't. Not that night, anyway. The night after.
The location was a pastel‐decorated chain hotel in Hammersmith. I didn't even take an overnight bag. He pushed me down on the bed as soon as we were inside and straddled my waist. Pulling out his cock, he aimed it not for my mouth or my cleavage but at my cheek.
So it began. After that first time, when he hit the side of my face so hard with his erection that there were blisters inside my mouth afterwards, there was no going back. 'I've never made a woman cry before,' he said. 'I liked that.' No pretence of romance. Just us, anywhere we could be together alone, and his open palm. On cold days in parks where the biting weather would make it sting all the more, he'd stop the car suddenly, and we'd get out and he'd smack me one. My knickers were always sopping wet after.
I couldn't explain the bruises. 'Ran into the door,' I shrugged. 'Hard session at the gym.' Or, 'A bruise? Where?'
There was the weekend W reserved a room at the Royal College of Physicians. Visiting medics can stay there when in London; I don't know how he blagged his way in. We sat on the narrow single bed, watched a porn documentary and ate pizza. I had too much to eat ‐
when I went down on him, his member was too big and it choked me.
I coughed up Meat Feast and Diet Coke on his
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