Suzanne Portnoy

You should meet Flint,’ Viviane had said at the Perverts Tea Party last Sunday.

‘Jefferson, wouldn’t she like Flint?’ she said.

‘Who’s Flint?’ I asked.

‘He’s another sex blogger - young, tall, black, absolutely gorgeous,’ she said.  ‘Maybe I’ll try and get him to the reading on Wednesday.’

Nothing more was said.

Then Wednesday arrived and between Howard Stern, and my reading at In the Flesh, not to mention a photo shoot for the UK’s Daily Mail, I’d forgotten about Flint until I found myself sitting opposite him at a restaurant that Viviane had invited me to after the show.  I’d invited along Greg, one of my very few MySpace friends whom I’d met a few days earlier.  He was forty-seven, with dark brown hair and a little goatee beard and mustache, short brown hair and I thought he was sexy and cute.  He was intelligent and fun too and after he told me he had slept with over a thousand women I thought, ‘Mmmn.  A man after my own heart.’  After all, practise makes perfect.

Flint was gorgeous.  I couldn’t determine his age but he couldn’t have been over 25 and was 6′3″ with a slim build, shaved head and little round glasses that made him look like a bit of a geek.   I’d had a couple of Manhattans at the reading and was feeling happy and horny.  We ate some Vietnamese food and then after Viviane said she had to get up early, leaving Flint, Greg and I alone.

‘Fancy Soho House?’ I said.

‘You a member?’ said Greg, before remembering that of course I was a member.  I’d written pages in my book about nights spent at Soho House London.

So we grabbed a cab and within minutes we were in the bar upstairs, drinking more Manhattans.  The conversation was getting very loose.  We were talking about sex and monogamy and about how hard it is to find a person that you can f*** and have a deep conversation. Then we ended up in the billiard room with me kissing both men in front of a room full of men.  I was wearing a tight black dress with little cherries on it and my high, black patent f*** me shoes.  ‘Listen guys,’ I said. ‘Let’s go back to mine.  I have a bottle of wine in the fridge.’

‘Sounds good,’ they said, before both kissing me again.

We got back to mine and I must admit the rest of the night is a bit of a blur although I do remember Greg ripping the crotch of my tights in the taxi ride back and then slipping his hand between my legs, whilst Flint did the same.

And I remember falling off the bed whilst Fint was on top of me, both of us so carried away that I didn’t feel a thing until my body landed with a crash on the floor; I’d forgotten that I was on a small double and not my superkingsize at home.  Greg had been watching us and laughed his head off when that happened.  Greg left at about 3am and Flint and I passed at about 4am.   At 5am I woke up to go to the toilet to find that I couldn’t.  The four poster had moved into the centre of the room and there was a chair wedged against it.  Flint’s body weight made it impossible to move the bed and so I’d had to climb over his naked body to get to the loo. It wasn’t until I eventually regained consciousness at 9am that I saw that the room had been completely rearranged.  The place looked a mess.  Condoms and condom wrappers littered the floor.  There were half empty glasses of wine on the sideboard and the sheets were crumpled and stained.

Then the phone rang.  It was the front desk.  ‘There has been a complaint from one of the other guests about the noise, Suzanne,’ said the manager.

‘Yes, I’m really, really sorry about that,’ I said.  ‘It won’t happen again.’

I put the phone down and went back to sleep until noon, feeling exhausted but satiated.