The Not So Invisible Woman (10 page)

'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 watching 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.

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.

Clearly, Rio's wasn't going to happen for me that night. I'd hung out for over an hour and seen just a handful of men. Of those, only two caught my eye: massage man, who was off-limits, and a guy who looked a bit like Osama bin Laden, only shorter and lacking the headscarf. He had a decent-sized knob, but when I got a closer look, I saw the hair sprouting from his shoulders and ass and the Prince Albert on his cock. The idea of metal clanging against the back of my throat did not appeal. I left Rio's feeling disappointed, and hornier than ever.

I went back to my car and flicked through the names on my mobile. I texted Greg. 'Free?'

He was – in three days. I debated just driving over to OurPlace4Fun later, after midnight, but didn't want to risk striking out twice. At least Greg was a sure bet. He was hot, always horny and knew how to get me off. And I knew that, as a self-employed carpenter with irregular working hours, he could always make some time to fit me in, or to fit in me.

'Great,' I texted back. 'Monday. Sorted.'

If I were going to get back in the game, this man would help me do it in style. I'd found Greg a few years earlier when I typed the words 'big', 'cock', and 'London' into Google and answered the personal ad that popped up. We became playmates, and got together for one-on-ones or teamed up for sex parties. He could be relied on to stay hard for ages, fuck me in at least six positions and at varying degrees of intensity, and he loved anal.

Fucking me up the ass was a sure-fire way to make me come, especially if I used a bullet vibrator on my clit at the same time. It's the combo of the forbidden and the clitoral stimulation that pushes my buttons.

After six weeks solo, I wanted a thunderous orgasm. Greg's thick nine-inch cock was just the tool for the job, and worth waiting a few more days for. It had a big head that felt great when it entered and stretched me, and balls that fitted nicely in my palm. He liked to dominate and talk dirty, too, which sounded slightly unnatural, and therefore hot, coming out in a middle-class accent. 'Go on, take that cock right inside your mouth,' he'd say. 'The head of my cock is in your ass,' he'd announce, as if I didn't already feel it. Whatever he said, it turned me on.

Greg was nice and smart and amusing, so was fun to be around even when off-duty. He would have made great boyfriend material, too, but he already had a girlfriend. They'd been together for ten years. She wasn't in the game but enjoyed hearing about his exploits. And that made Greg and my get-togethers even hornier, knowing he was providing fodder for sexy stories that would get another girl off. That's the kind of life-partner I'd want – one who got off on hearing my sexy stories and wasn't jealous when I played around.

I went home, made some tea, walked up to the loft and went online for a wank. There was a message in my inbox, a response to an ad I'd placed on Swinging Heaven months before, when I had been looking for playmates. Most of the responses I'd trashed straight away; others I'd put aside in a folder labelled 'Hopeful', for future reference.

'I am looking for a party buddy,' the message in my inbox said. 'I go to FUN places during the week where you can play 1 on 1 or in a group. If you'd like to link, let me know. To sum it up, I enjoy sex ... friendship would be nice too.'

I liked the message, loved the pics, so tossed him in with the other hopefuls. Then I reread some of the past come-ons, and that got me thinking. Maybe instead of one guy on Monday, I should have three and make this jail break a real ball-breaker.

I wrote to two of the hornier-sounding hopefuls, asking if they were free to meet up on Monday for lunch at Rio's. Both replied with a yes. I texted Greg to ask if he'd mind my scheduling a group thing. It seemed the polite thing to do. I knew it would get him salivating, too. He enjoyed group sex as much as, if not more than, the one-on-ones.

'Go right ahead,' he tapped back.

Just before noon on Monday I received a text message from Greg. 'I have a chest infection. Running a temperature. Feel like shit. So sorry.'

'No problem,' I texted back. 'Feel better.'

I was disappointed. I was also happy I'd made plans with the other two. I learned years ago that men were completely unreliable, even when pussy was on offer. It isn't that they don't want it. It's a scheduling issue. Trying to fit it in between work and other responsibilities, even a sex date with a horn dog can't be guaranteed.

At 12.45 I was walking out the door just as a text came through on my phone. 'I can't be there until 3.' It was HotKnob, one of my two. 'Can you hang around?'

I didn't feel like extending my lunch hour so long and didn't expect my number-three man would, either. If he even showed. He'd not confirmed that morning – a bad sign.

I was beginning to fear my big celebration was devolving into a party for one, no different from the past six weeks.

I went to Rio's anyway. I stepped across the threshold, grabbed my fluffy white towel and made my way to the changing rooms. I was just about to close my locker door when my mobile went off. It was a text from man number three. 'Have to leave town to view a boat I want to buy. Will be in touch soon, xx.'

That seemed an odd excuse, and pretentious. I didn't reply. I put my mobile back in the locker and walked to the steam room.

A couple of familiar faces were already there. One was a guy who was average looking but with a cock that was outstanding, the size of a Coke can. None were play pals, just guys I'd chatted with in the steam room or Jacuzzi on previous visits. They'd been with others at the time, or I had been, and we'd just never connected. If there was nothing going on elsewhere, I figured, one of them would do, perhaps Mr Coke Can. If not all of them.

I walked over to the far side of the steam room and stayed there for a half-hour, alone. I could make out little through the thick of the fog. Then a very tall black guy, about six-foot-five, sat down next to me. He had massive shoulders and the widest chest I'd ever seen. He was completely bald on top, with a trim goatee and a thin moustache. His lips were so large they might have looked comical on a normal-sized face, but like everything else about him that I could see, it wasn't normal sized. Naturally, I wondered if his cock was proportionate.

He squeezed in next to me, and it wasn't long before his fingers began to travel. They moved closer along the tile bench towards me. I felt his fingertips touch my leg. I didn't move away. Soon his fingers inched up my thigh. Again, I didn't move. Emboldened, his fingers marched straight towards my pussy. Still, I pretended not to notice. After a few minutes I opened my legs a crack, and his fingers slid right onto my clit.

That's when he broke the silence. 'I was at Arousal on the weekend. It's a club near Dunstable. Ever been there?'

'No, not tried Dunstable,' I replied. Perhaps not your usual opening, but not so exceptional. People at swinging clubs tend to talk about swinging clubs; they don't talk about the weather as an ice-breaker and, as I'd been reminded by Flora, they certainly don't talk about their careers.

'It's pretty good,' he continued. 'I ended up flaking out at about six a.m. after taking turns on a couple of girls with about six other guys.'

'Sounds fun,' I said. That's exactly what I had in mind when I came here.

'Have you met Nigel?'

How strange. Did this guy think just because I went to a swinging club in London I knew every man in every club in England? I hated to reinforce his presumption, so stayed quiet even though I actually had heard of Nigel, if not met him. He was a legend. Apparently, he was really tall and really skinny, with a ginormous dick. My friend Dawn, a fellow swinging partner of Greg's and the horniest woman I'd ever met, had told me that she'd once met Nigel at Bristol Gardens, a club in Brighton, and had taken his humungous tool up her ass. They attracted quite a crowd, because no one could believe anyone could take in the whole thing.

'Nigel. Black Nigel. Big-cock Nigel,' he continued.

'No,' I said. 'Never met him.'

His fingers rotated inside me. 'He was there,' he continued. 'I thought you might know him.'

'No,' I said. 'But big-cock Nigel. Sounds like I should.'

He was a bit annoying, a bit too big for my liking, and his cock was covered by a towel, so a bit of a mystery, too. I wasn't sure whether to pursue him when he went out the door. But bearing in mind his size and shape, I thought it likely that this huge guy might possess a huge cock. I followed him into the Jacuzzi.

Another chap was already sitting in the pool, in addition to a pair of old ladies comparing bathing caps and ailments. 'Do you mind scooting over, please?' I asked the new guy, smiling, knowing what the answer was going to be. I'd never met a straight man who didn't want a naked woman sitting next to him.

He looked up at me and smiled back, then made enough space so that I could sit beside him. I removed my towel, hung it on hook number nineteen, and climbed naked into the Jacuzzi. The new guy checked me out. I checked him out. Judging from how high he sat in the water, I figured he must have been a little shy of six feet. He had short black hair and was of average build. It was hard to see much, given that most of his body was submerged, but his chest was tight and he looked to be in decent shape. He reminded me of a marine, but I couldn't say why, exactly. He wasn't macho or square jawed or overly muscled, which is my cartoon image of a marine type. But he was rugged looking, had a deep voice, and a tattoo on one arm. Not a marine, but the kind of guy that could get cast in a movie as one.

The black guy was to my right. The three of us began chatting. I told the guys about the three-way I'd tried to set up, pointedly mentioning that it had not panned out. Before either could respond to that info-nugget, four gorgeous black girls walked up. They were all wrapped in towels, their arms holding the cloth close to their bodies. Their presence was unusual. Aside from the ladies over 65, who all wore one-piece swimming costumes and shower caps and used the place as a spa, it was rare to find young sexually available women at Rio's during the daytime. These girls obviously hadn't sussed that the place was a sex club, or, like the older gals, were taking advantage of the £2 entrance fee for women between 11 a.m. and 7 p.m. and were just there to chill out.

The girls all looked like they'd stepped out of a pop video on MTV Base. They were tiny, with the kind of perky tits and smooth skin that can only be found on very young women. Not a hint of cellulite. They were perfect. Each wore underwear under her towel, I noticed, as they stepped into the Jacuzzi. They obviously had never been to Rio's before and, hearing their nervous giggles, I suspected they probably wouldn't be back. For now, though, they were incredibly good value. They kept me and my two mates entertained as we watched them wriggle in and out of the pool whilst trying not to show too much.

'This must be your lucky day, boys,' I said, after the four left the pool. 'I've been coming here for years, and it's the first time I've seen four gorgeous girls all at once, at least before midnight.'

Marine Man turned to me and smiled. 'Did you see the tits on that one?' he said, pointing with a tilt of the head.

'Beautiful,' I agreed, looking over at the girl. 'A combo of youth and good genes. Hard to beat.' She was about a 32B. Her breasts were small and round, with a slight uplift and nice-sized nipples. You better get what you can now, girl, I thought. 'I don't think you'll be seeing any of them here again.'

'No,' Marine Man said, sounding almost forlorn. 'They're not playing. Shame, innit?'

Not for me, I thought. I didn't want the competition. Had those girls been up for fun, my chances of scoring would be zilch.

'I've seen you here before,' said Marine Man. 'Sorry your plans didn't work out today.'

'You're not the only one, believe me,' I said. 'I've been celibate for six weeks, a record for me. That's why I'd planned a little lunch-hour celebration. And now it's been scuppered.'

'Not necessarily,' said Marine Man, smirking.