Champagne Kisses (16 page)

Maybe it was her lack of social skills that made me
go
extrovert? Who knows? I’m not sure I have the energy to care any more. She says tomato – and I say where’s my next drink coming from?

As a spray of green, white and orange lit up the cold dark sky, I could see in the distance that sexual sparks had started to fly yet again between Parker and Jeff. Although they weren’t kissing, there was a lot of laughter and tactile hand-holding. They looked really good together. It was just a pity that such a sweet guy as David had to be the pawn in Parker’s gambit to win back Hairy Hands.

Four slices of white toast smothered in butter and marmalade, two cups of Barry’s tea and a large bottle of Ballygowan water later, and I felt somewhat ready to ring my mother.

‘Hi, Mum.’ I did my best to sound cheery.

Her lacklustre attempt at ‘Eva’ didn’t!

‘I was just ringing to wish you happy St Patrick’s Day. How are things with you?’

‘I can’t talk now. I’m just out of the bath. Your sister is having us over for lunch.’

‘Oh. That’s nice …’

‘Anything else?’

‘Eh, no. I suppose not. Just called to say …’

The phone line had already gone dead.

It might have been a bank holiday, but Parker still had to work, much to my irritation.

Both Maddie and Lisa were spending the bank
holiday
with their families. Maddie said she was curled up on her couch, depressed and watching
Pirates of the Caribbean
with her nieces and nephews, which was ‘doing her head in’, as her folks spent the afternoon in the kitchen arguing again about her dad’s drinking; the Princess was skiing with her folks in Chamonix.

So I invited Robert over to the apartment to keep me company.

I had been avoiding his texts over the weekend, but I was bored and he was happy to oblige.

Wanting to erase what a disappointment I was to my next of kin I planned to raid Parker’s champagne stash. He normally didn’t mind, once I admitted to taking it.

‘Laurent Perrier rosé is not for wasting on fools,’ Parker would say. ‘Dom Perignon is for footballers and Cristal is for gangster rappers. Laurent Perrier is for the more educated and cultured among us. Though if the fool is cute and you get a ride out of it, go for it!’

While the journalist in me had managed to extract plenty of details about Robert’s life, I had told him very little about myself.

Totally out of character, I was a typical woman when it came to dating, and usually blabbed inappropriately about ex-boyfriends and my personal downfalls. Even though I know I shouldn’t reveal the particulars of previous relationships to new men, I’d forever find myself saying, ‘I once went out with this musician’, or ‘The doctor I used to go out with always
told
me to drink a glass of water within sixty seconds of waking up to kick-start your metabolism.’

But with Robert I hadn’t bothered to try and impress him with the importance of my former lovers. I thought my world too vulgar to embarrass him with. To him I was a blank canvas. Someone who obviously had the luxury to take a career break – yeah, right! And now I was this chick who lived in a three-bedroomed penthouse apartment.

On the outside it all looked very rosy.

Despite my casual approach in getting to know Robert, when I heard his voice over the intercom I felt a flutter of excitement.

As much to make myself feel good as in preparation for our date I had shaved all relevant areas, as there hadn’t been any cash for waxing of recent times. Applying my natural, I-look-like-this-all-the-time make-up, I spent twenty minutes with my trusty GHD styler getting a perfect sheen look and donned my favourite Rock & Republic jeans which give me the best bum, and my sexy gold chiffon top that hung low on one shoulder. Checking myself out in the hall mirror as I waited for Robert to come up in the lift, I thought I looked hot. Maybe it was the muted artificial lighting, but that mirror was always kind.

I’m going to have sex today, I thought. And as soon as I saw him step out into the hallway, my mind was made up. I definitely fancied a mouthful of muesli.

* * *

‘I never knew holy boys could get kinky like that!’

‘It’s good to learn something new every day, I think,’ smirked Robert.

‘Well thank you,’ I replied, quite stunned by what I had just experienced, ‘that was indeed quite a lesson.’

Dumbstruck at this quiet boy’s sexual practices, I topped up my glass of champagne with the bottle I had brought into the bedroom, and took a large mouthful to cleanse the palate and settle my nerves.

It had proved a very successful lubricant to slip us both into a state of undress. And in Robert’s case, had drastically helped to alter his personality; although I hadn’t remained shy about my carnal intentions, with direct comments such as, ‘We should shag soon so we can bypass the awkward getting-to-know-one-another stage.’

To be honest, I actually surprised myself by being so forward, but after recent events I wasn’t prepared to let any more opportunities get away from me.

He had been utterly respectful and gentlemanly during our first date, not pushing past a romantic snog or placing his vice-gripped hands on the base of my back, and just about slipping the tips of his fingers inside the top of my jeans. Today though, he had let go of any inhibitions and truly let his animal instincts take over. No honestly, he seriously let himself go!

The games all began when we had been sprawled on Parker’s couch watching
Will & Grace
and I had lost a handful of dry roasted peanuts down my top. I had lost interest in the episode as I’d seen it a hundred
times
before, when I started play-acting with the old pub trick of throwing a nut in the air and catching it in my mouth.

Suggestively I opened my mouth, but playing the hapless girl I let several nuts disappear down my cleavage.

After I’d sent out all the right signals, my date saw this as his moment to make a move and took on the role of bounty hunter.

With a fresh confidence he winked. ‘Finders keepers,’ he said as his powerful fingers lowered my chiffon top to reveal my white lace bra and my breasts, which shimmered fantastically from a light dusting of Melon powder from MAC.

Remaining still, I calmly looked down to his hand on my chest, and then raised my eyes to meet his. With the most subtle smile, I gave him permission to continue, and waited for him to make the next move.

‘You’re so very sexy, baby girl,’ he told me before lifting several peanuts away from my skin with his devilishly long tongue. And before I had a second to reply his hand delved into my bra, scooped out my left breast, and he wrapped his warm mouth around my nipple.

Gently humming he curled and swirled his firm tongue, flicking and licking and sucking and biting. Darting me a playful look as he popped my second breast over the bra, he then nuzzled his face between my chest as he mumbled, ‘Hmmmm. Home.’

Not sure what to say to that I just quietly moaned, as sex talk had never really been my thing.

Without wasting time, his rough hands worked downwards and unzipped my jeans and inched them off past my ankles as he kissed my thighs, knees and several bruises I had acquired on Saturday along the way.

Light-headed from the champagne, I decided to let go of my hang-ups about my body. I had put on at least half a stone since London and I was conscious of the extra bulge. But it didn’t seem to bother Robert. He was definitely in the zone.

In a moment of clarity, I thought it best not to romp on Parker’s suede couch, so I took hold of Robert’s wandering hands and a bottle of LPR, and led him in the direction of my bedroom.

As I knelt on the edge of the bed, the underwire in my bra dug into my chest, so I unhooked it at the back and dropped it to the floor like I was performing in a burlesque show.

Crawling on to the bed beside me, Robert brushed up to my ear and whispered, ‘Have you any stockings?’

Confused I asked, ‘Do you want me to get dressed up to undress for you again?’

‘No,’ he said, a little embarrassed, ‘I want you to tie one around my cock.’

Not wanting to appear unworldly, I stepped over to my dresser and started rooting around in one of the drawers for a spare stocking. Trying desperately not
to
spill any Bridget Jones knickers or woolly tights on the floor, I finally found an unopened pair boxed up at the bottom.

Hesitant to open the packet as they cost €30, I turned to him and asked, ‘Do you really want one?’

Leaving no doubt in my mind, Robert jumped off the bed and grabbed the packet out of my hands, ripping the stockings out of the plastic in seconds. Throwing the lot on the bed he stripped himself, leaving a small pool of clothes on the floor and then shuffled up beside me.

His cock, as he called it, was long and narrow. It wasn’t the prettiest I had ever seen. Michael’s had been perfect and not even Michelangelo could have designed it better.

But Michael wasn’t here and Robert was. So long and thin would have to do.

‘I’m going to tie this here,’ he explained as he placed my expensive barely black stocking around the base of his dick, ‘and when I reach orgasm I want you to pull it tighter – it helps to intensify the orgasm.’

Nodding in bemusement I wondered what exactly was in it for me. ‘So what’s a girl get in return for her stocking, then?’ I asked.

‘Patience,’ he whispered, as he pulled me down the bed on to the flat of my back, before removing my matching white lace thong, which he threw to the floor to join the rest of the clothes.

I wriggled my hips with nervous excitement as
Robert,
his dick neatly tied in a bow, crouched down over me and began to munch his way across my belly and down to my neatly shaved vagina.

‘Tell me what you like,’ he said as he began to stimulate my clitoris by softly nudging it with his nose.

‘What you’re doing there is nice,’ I said, praying that he didn’t want to start a dialogue. But I was out of luck. He was in the mood to talk.

‘Do you like it when I tease you there?’ he asked in between his sloppy vaginal kisses.

‘Oh, yeah, that’s good,’ I offered, trying not to sound too awkward.

‘And how about this?’ he asked again as he started to insert what felt like two fingers inside me.

‘Yeah, yeah, that’s really good,’ I said again, hoping that he would shut up.

But he wouldn’t. The questions kept on coming.

‘Do you want me to lick you harder? Do you want me to do it faster? Does it feel better when I rub you with my nose? Can I stick a finger up your ass?’

I felt like telling him to shut the fuck up, but I was horny now and I just wanted him to get on with it rather than give me a spot quiz.

Then without thinking and almost as a knee-jerk reaction to his interrogation I blurted out, ‘Just worship me!’

Chuffed with himself, as if I had shared a fantasy with him or something, he submissively ducked his head and said, ‘Oh, yes please. I will be your slave.’

Biting my lip so as not to call him an eejit, I snapped back, ‘Get back to work then.’

In hindsight, it was a pretty comical moment, but it shut him up temporarily as he used all his digits to make me climax.

He didn’t succeed.

I faked it.

Somewhat unsettled by his rattle-tattle I wasn’t able to fully concentrate on the job, but it was still pleasant enough once he was gagged.

But just as I pushed him off I saw his dickie bow waving at me.

He looked ridiculous. Letting out a loud laugh, I had to shrug it off as an orgasm aftershock.

I was just lucky I hadn’t made the mistake to point. Not that I think he would really have noticed. He was extremely focused on setting up the second act of our sexual play.

With no wardrobe change he switched location to the full-length mirror on the wall and positioned me in front of it on my knees. ‘I want to be able to see everything,’ he said lustfully as he took up his position beside me.

Let’s make this quick, I thought. If Parker comes home and hears grunts and groans coming from my bedroom he’ll barge in on top of us.

And if he finds Robert wearing women’s clothes he’ll have a field day. I’d never live it down.

Either that or he’ll try to freak me out by asking to watch.

With my right hand I took hold of the shaft of Robert’s dick and gently started to stroke it. With my left I held his balls and massaged with my fingers. And just as I had started to lick the head of his dick, the chatter started again.

‘Oh yeah,’ he groaned, ‘go on, you dirty bitch.’

Not sure I’d heard him right I continued what I was doing and built up more momentum.

But I wasn’t mistaken.

‘You’re – nothing – but – a – dirty – whore,’ he blurted out, jerking as he spoke.

Assuming that it wasn’t said to mean offence, I kept with it. Massaging and licking and rubbing and pulling. In between each lunging motion I looked at him in the mirror. He was snarling and grinding, it was very primal, though a tad gay looking as he posed with one hand on the wall to steady himself, and the other on his hip.

Then just as my mind had started to wonder what Parker might think of this, he screeched, ‘Stick a finger in my ass!’

Snapping back to reality I passively inched my middle finger towards his anus, separating his legs further apart on the way. Wishing I had a pointy stiletto to throw up there – then again, he’d probably love that – I darted my finger as hard and as far as I could.

‘Jesus Christ, woman!’ he screamed, as he fell against the mirror. ‘Did you not think to grease her up a little?’

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, then tried again. But he wasn’t taking any chances. ‘Just suck my balls,’ he demanded as he took control of his cock and began to pull himself off.

‘Just a dirty bitch,’ he whispered under his breath, ‘Just – a dirty – fuckin’ – whore!’

And just as I thought I had taken enough verbal abuse, he screamed again, ‘Pull on it!’

Not completely sure what he meant, I tugged down on his balls with my mouth. But he wasn’t impressed.

‘The fucking stocking!’ he screamed.