I loved running my fingers through Yan's spiky dark hair, loved looking into his puppy eyes, holding his high cheekbones in my hands. And I loved having his thick hard cock inside me. I can't remember much about our relationship aside from the hangovers, and being underneath him, and drinking the cups of tea that he made on his old upright cooker.
In Kerala I clocked in two hours of Ayurvedic treatments a day, letting myself be pampered by a beautiful eighteen-year-old girl who couldn't speak a word of English. She'd coat me in warm oils, from eyebrow to toenail; walk across my naked body with her tiny feet; sprinkle powders over my skin. The oils and powders smelled bad, but the treatment was the perfect antidote to weeks without sex. Despite being touched so intimately every day, she never got any closer to my pubes than my upper thigh and she circled her palms around, not over, my breasts. She was a tease. It was horny, but I knew an Ayurvedic spa in an Indian resort wasn't likely to offer the kind of 'specials' one can find in the back of a 42nd Street massage parlour. So, back in my hotel room, I made do with the little plastic leopard-print vibrator I'd brought with me from England. It was quiet and didn't take up much room in my bag. And it was efficient, always bringing me to climax in minutes.
When I returned from the trip, I realised six full weeks had passed without any fucking. That was the longest I'd gone without sex, not counting the last four years of my marriage.
I knew I could do it – ha! I felt a real sense of accomplishment. I also felt really horny. I called Pat with the news.
'Guess what, I haven't had sex in six weeks! And you thought I couldn't do it.'
'Wow. I'm impressed.' Her tone was cynical. I wondered if she didn't believe me. I decided not to tell her I'd had to masturbate every day to get through it.
During the first month of my celibacy phase, before I left for India, watching men wank on-cam became my second job. Once again, I returned to my one-stop shop for quick cock: Swinging Heaven. I'd found the site a few years earlier whilst searching the web for play partners. It was free, and it always came through for me, so I'd bookmarked the link on my computer.
Not only did I meet a number of guys on Swinging Heaven who'd remained my regulars, some for years, but also it had lots of busy chat rooms. My favourites were the Bi, Bi-Gay, and especially the Bi-Curious ones, because that's where most of the cock shots were and people willing to go on webcam. I didn't want the shy types. I didn't really want to chat, either.
I'd get a little obsessed – if one can be obsessed only a little, be obsessed and not be an addict. Usually, I went straight to the temples of cock, but sometimes, for kicks, I'd go online just to pop into rooms with fun names or amusing activities. Small Gang Bang showed groups of average-looking guys taking turns pounding an overweight woman. Watch Me Fuck My Wife, Big Beautiful Women, Big Black Cock For White Girls – those rooms had names that said it all, like a Sun headline. And then there was Claire's Room.
I heard about it after popping in to my local Borders and running into my friend Marc, who worked at the bookstore. We'd met a year or two earlier, when he'd asked me to come in and sign copies of my first book. A writer on the side, and a perv in the making – I'd corrupted him by telling him about my favourite erotic websites – he appreciated Swinging Heaven because the site gave him plenty of stories to tell. But I got the sense he stopped work on his novel when his fingers started tapping the keyboard.
'Thanks for Swinging Heaven, Suzanne,' he said, sarcastically. 'My girlfriend really loves you for that. She says she never gets to talk to me any more, coz I'm always on the computer.'
That sounded familiar.
'The other day she found me poised over my laptop, fingers at the ready over the keys,' he continued. 'I told her I was playing a computer game, but then she walked over and saw this chat room I had open. I was on Claire's Room – know it? Some gal in Yorkshire sits in a room, stripping.'
'No,' I said, 'but glad to hear something's going on in Yorkshire.'
'It's a game. It's genius. This couple has this chat room, and it's really hard to get into really popular. The woman gets all dolled up in sexy underwear and fuck-me heels, and then her husband asks quiz questions – it's like a pub quiz – and whoever answers right gets to choose what she takes off. She has on, like, ten or twelve items, so it can go on for half an hour. Everyone's at home jerking off and looking up stuff on Google or Wikipedia. It can get quite competitive.'
'I bet,' I said. 'Did you ever get one of the questions?'
'Yeah, just the once, but only because it was about the Sex Pistols.'
'So what'd you have her do?'
'I had her take off this choker-necklace type thing. Not the knickers. That's the last thing off, always after some really hard motherfucker of a question. And then she does a little dance and a tease and slowly peels the knickers off, then the couple fuck on the bed in the corner. And then they do it all over again, sometimes five times a night. Poor sod. Or is it lucky sod?'
'Doesn't it get repetitive after a while?' I asked.
'Not really. Except maybe the music. She always strips to "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" by Shania Twain. Now, I can't watch VH1 Classic any more, in case that song comes on. It'll never be the same.'
Naturally, I went online that night to find Claire's Room. It was exactly as Marc described it. Then I skirted from one room to the next until I found the King's Cross of cock. As usual, it was the Bi-Curious room providing the best action. The straight rooms are filled with women flashing their tits, maybe playing with vibrators or sucking off their partners. That's to be expected – it is, after all, an ostensibly hetero website – but I found it more stimulating to watch one hard disembodied cock after another. Gay, straight or bi, it didn't matter to me – at least not when I was in the cyber world – although I sometimes felt as if I were trespassing. Most of the men in my nightly cock menagerie, I suspected, jerked off for the pleasure of other guys rather than for horny gals like me. Usually, I was the only chick in the room.
Every night during my six dry weeks, I came home from work, cooked dinner and policed my kids, making sure they did their homework and brushed their teeth. Then, whilst they watched a football game before going to bed, I headed upstairs to the loft, home of my virtual sex club, the family PC. I'd flick on the computer, type in my favourite URLs, and prepare for an early evening's entertainment.
I came to know a lot of the guys, or at least their cocks.
Day one of my celibacy countdown, the first guy who caused pause was 'Frank241'.
'You have a beautiful cock,' I wrote, and I meant it. My favourite type is big, thick, hard, uncircumcised and hairless. Just like Frank241's. I decided to stop trolling and stay with him awhile.
He stopped stroking his cock momentarily and moved his hands to the keyboard, 'thx. wot r u in2?'
'I'm into watching men wank,' I replied. 'I hope you don't mind.'
He typed with one hand while carrying on with the other, which took care of any doubts, 'do u hv a cam?'
'No, it broke,' I wrote. Not that I ever knew how to use it in the first place. I could never figure out how to focus the lens, and finally disconnected it. 'You'll have to use your imagination.' I began fingering myself.
His hands, alternating with left and right, continued moving up and down his shaft. Sometimes he used both hands, and I noticed that even with both gripping his cock, one on top of the other around the shaft, the head still poked over the top. His webcam was blurry, the picture froze a lot, and even when it unfroze, everything moved in slow motion. No matter. The quality of the visuals was lousy, but Frank241 made up for it with quantity.
I presumed my alias, SuzyQ, tipped him off that I was a woman, and that he really was bisexual, since he kept private-messaging me. Lots of guys who went on bi and 'curious' sites were gay; it was part of their sex-with-a-straight(ish)-guy fantasy.
From time to time I'd pop a guy's alias into Swinging Heaven's search engine, to check out the man behind the cock. Most of the time
they'd listed 'bisexual' next to the S.O. box. 'Married' also tended to be noted. I thought the bi bit was hot; the married part, not. For married guys especially, hanging out in the Bi-Curious room was probably as close as they got to being with another man, and I thought it was sort of sad and pathetic. For me, Swinging Heaven was a temporary diversion from getting the real thing. I'd learned to go out and get what I wanted a long time ago. Most of these married guys stayed in, jerking off on-cam with guys they'd never meet. In all my years of swinging, I'd never met a married woman who let her husband suck cock.
I debated checking out other boners to see if I could find one that was bigger and harder, but decided to stick with Frank241 until he came. Clearly, he was getting close, as his hands were moving faster and faster and were now focusing on the sensitive tip of his shaft. The blurry cam couldn't keep up. My good deed didn't exactly call for great patience. Thirty seconds later, he came. I could just barely make out the white globs of come, in freeze-frame, as it dripped onto his fingers.
That's one downside of webcams. For someone like me who likes watching eruptions, the climax is anticlimactic. The spunk doesn't exactly shoot out, like in real life, when a cam can only relay a series of static images, like time-lapse photography.
The web had come a long way since I first logged on some seven years earlier, but not the webcam. Towards the end of my marriage, I posted my first personal online. I was looking for a pen pal, not sex, so hadn't asked for a picture. I just wanted someone in whom I could confide my sexual frustrations. I didn't have a digital camera or a scanner then, so wouldn't have been able to upload a pic even if asked. Now, that equipment is mandatory, as are pics, and I wouldn't consider dating a guy who didn't send a cock shot and a full-body pic, or, in a pinch, have a webcam. Many cams continue to transmit out-of-focus images and, coupled with my slow internet connection, they usually leave me wanting more. More than just Frank241 and his big uncircumcised cock. So after he came, I went – back to the chat room.
I knew UKChesterGuy by the colour of his screen. It was orange, which seemed appropriate, as he was large and hairy and reminded me of an orang-utan. He had a beer belly. And man boobs. He didn't show his face. His shirt was always open and hanging down past his gut, so that only a few inches of cock were visible as he wanked underneath it. Which was probably just as well. To me, even a big hard cock does not compensate for a big fat belly. Normally, I would have moved on to a better body, a bigger cock, but I'd checked in on UKChesterGuy just to see what he was wearing. Every time I clicked on, he had on a different Hawaiian shirt, size XXL; he must have had a huge collection. I gave him points for attempting to distinguish himself in a sea of sameness.
That night, a new trick got my attention. Instead of sitting in his chair wanking under his loud Hawaiian shirt, he was standing, giving a side view. His little cock standing out at a ninety-degree angle to his body, UKChesterGuy was bouncing it up and down, up and down, without using his hands. Not just stylish and multi-talented, too. And generous. He was doing his pelvic floor exercises for everyone's benefit, unlike me, who selfishly did it in private. Whilst contracting his muscles to bounce his bits up and down, he was typing: 'Anyone in Cheshire free to suck my cock?'
Not me. I signed on for action. I clicked onto the next name down the list. That was TrannyGirl, who was wearing black hold-up stockings.
There are always at least a couple of guys in the Bi-Curious room who do. The UK is full of fetishists and, if Swinging Heaven is an indicator, then cross-dressing probably tops the list. I gave TrannyGirl points for making an effort. Plus, I had to admit he had good legs, better than mine, so I stuck around.
He was wanking, legs spread, showing the tops of his stockings. I could barely make out something tight, black and PVCish hitched up his thighs. A miniskirt? Probably, as he was wearing ladies' underwear, as well.
He pulled his panties to one side, releasing his cock. I got out my Pocket Rocket, my favourite amongst the dozen or so vibrators in my drawer.
I soon realised that instead of my clit getting twitchy, my thoughts merely turned to Flora, a tranny I'd met at OurPlace4Fun. I'd gone to the North London swinging club a few months earlier, when I was on my own and in the mood to suck some cocks in the grope room. I'd been there so many times, it was like my local, but instead of going for a pint, like most people did at their neighbourhood spot, I went for a pounding or some oral. I enjoyed being alone in that four-by-four dark room, with its familiar holes cut into the walls at crotch level, staring at a line-up of cocks.
I'd been particularly horny that night and had sucked off half-a-dozen guys before returning to the bar to refuel. A 45-ish tranny was sitting next to me, dressed as a firewoman. She was wearing a fitted firefighter's jacket, a tiny firefighter's hat that looked like it came from a children's party shop – it was much too small for an adult's head – plus black fishnet stockings under a pair of black knickers. Her shoulder-length honey-blonde wig spilled out from under the hat.
'You looked like you were enjoying yourself in there,' she said to me, smiling.
I wondered if she was one of the guys I'd sucked off. The room was so dark, all I'd seen were the cocks poking through the walls, not what anyone was wearing.
'Absolutely,' I said. 'Always.'
'I'm Flora.'
'Suzanne,' I said. We kissed on both cheeks. 'So, Flora, what do you do?'
'Ohhhhh,' she cooed. 'I can't tell anyone that.'
'OK.'
We both reached for the peanuts and Chinese crackers on the bar. I thought she was kind of cute and sweet, but not particularly sexy. Transvestism doesn't really turn me on, though the she-male thing does a bit – they get all the best bits. Still, next time I saw Flora, I sucked her dick, just to be nice.
I turned my attention back to TrannyGirl. To my surprise I liked the contrast of the soft panties against the hard-on, the way the transparent fabric revealed the big cock underneath. Like Flora, he definitely wasn't a real girl.
I flicked back to UKChesterGuy. No change there. He was still bouncing his cock up and down and typing into the keyboard, looking for a partner.
I turned back to the menu. Someone tagged BigManMeat had switched on his cam. The name got my attention. Nothing like the direct approach.
I pulled up his profile and a picture of an average-looking, middle-aged white guy came onscreen. He was smoking a cigarette and glancing at the monitor in front of him. He definitely lived up to his tag: a long thick sausage hung down between his hairy legs. Typing a note in the open forum, he was telling BigWilly that his cock looked good enough to suck.
Curious, I pulled up Big Willy's profile. His willy didn't look particularly suckable to me. It was long enough, but thin, and I've always had a preference for long and fat. Not that it mattered; during my austerity phase, I was only window shopping, not buying. Still, I wanted to check out more merchandise, so flicked through a couple more names of guys on-cam.
RP1980 was wearing silky white women's knickers. Done that. UK_Wanker had a skinny white cock and a pale hairy chest. Two strikes. Mashed was naked and had a fit body and a hard cock which looked to be eight or nine inches and quite thick. Bingo. I couldn't see his face, but that was not unusual. Sex sites are pretty focused places, so aiming the cam at the one thing everyone's signed on to see – cock, in my case – makes perfect sense. The cyber sexual smorgasbord gets straight to the point, advertising, upfront, the erotic appeal of everything, from leather, cross-dressing and BDSM to water sports, nipple play, dogging, threesomes ... whatever. The straightforward approach is about the only thing about cybersex that is straight.
Mashed didn't show his freckles and dimples and bedroom eyes? Who cared? He showed his big cock, and that's what I wanted to see. I imagined my lips around the head, pulling him into my mouth, teasing his balls. I was getting closer. My vibrator had found my sweet spot.
He reached for his keyboard and typed a private message. 'Hi.'
'Hi,' I typed back. 'I'm w
atching you wank. Just about to come. Please, don't stop.'
I didn't wait for his reply. I felt my body tremble and I stifled a gasp, knowing my children were downstairs.
9. OFF THE WAGON
Now that I'd silenced my critics, it was time to start making some noise of my own. I'd proven my point, that I could go on the wagon for six weeks and survive the ordeal. Fuck it. Fuck me! After six weeks of having nothing but virtual sex, I wanted some real sex – loud, big, messy sex. Hot sex.
Because I'd been so good for so long, I wasn't leaving anything to chance. If I was going to relaunch my sex life, it wasn't going to be vanilla, one-on-one, with just an average-sized penis, especially after all that hot virtual sex, watching kinky, well-hung fantasy men flaunt their mega-meat.
The six-week anniversary came on a Wednesday, but I had to wait two days, until the start of my kids-free weekend, before I could celebrate. Friday night, I ferried the boys to their father's place, then got back in the car and drove over to find some men at Rio's. It was the first sex club I'd ever been to, it was the place where my former partner, Daniel, and I had done our first three-way, and it was the place where I first had sex with my favourite playmate ever, good ol' Greg. So Rio's seemed the perfect venue for popping my post-celibacy cherry.
It was early evening, and Rio's wasn't busy. Weekends are a crap shoot – they're either really busy or really dead, depending on the weather. If it's sunny outside, no one wants to sit in a sauna; if it's cold and damp, everyone does. For a moment, I almost resented the sudden burst of sunny warm weather we'd been having. It was so un-London. It put a real spanner in the works.
I strolled around, didn't see much, so took a nap in the sauna, then strolled around some more. Nothing. I dropped in to the Jacuzzi to kill some more time. Still nothing of interest. I went into the steam room. A guy with a decent-sized cock was in there, but he was already busy, massaging another woman, an anorexic with big fake Victoria Beckham tits. I didn't feel like butting in. It would have been rude, I told myself, to approach two people who hadn't even looked up when a third walked in. Besides, I had to admit, if I were going to do group sex, I wanted two guys, not a guy and a gal.
The Not So Invisible Woman Page 10