Suzanne Portnoy

An Excerpt from ‘The Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick Maker:  An Erotic Memoir.’ 

So here we are again, only it’s a couple of weeks later, and even though I knew he is a bit of a voyeur and I had found him an irritant the last time we met, part of me just wants to fuck him. His attentiveness, coupled with his impressive hard-on, is beginning to arouse me. I’m horny.

We head upstairs to one of the relaxation rooms. The word, of course, is a misnomer. It’s not a room built for relaxation. But there’s no mistaking when you enter what is going to happen. A gym mat covers a wooden platform base. White tiles surround the platform and serve as a kind of splash back, useful for cleaning up spontaneous spillage. There’s a metal receptacle on one wall for used condoms, tissues, and other rubbish. It serves as the only decoration in the room.John lays some towels down, a kind of protective layer over the platform. It covers the who-knows-what that’s gone on before you. Plus, it’s added comfort; it would be hard to fall asleep on such an unforgiving surface unless you padded it first with towels or had not slept for three days.

I love the relaxation rooms for the way they marry sleaziness with functionality.

I lie on my stomach and John starts massaging my back with baby oil. Then he moves down my leg, then between my legs. His right hand is working the inside of my leg. The other he is using to work himself. I can feel his left fist bumping rhythmically against my left leg, a telltale sign. In other words, a typical Rio’s massage. I’ve got my head down, my eyes closed and I’m just relaxing into the sensations. It’s all fine. Time passes. Do you want to fuck me?’ I ask.

You can buy my book in the UK here or in the US here.