Suzanne Portnoy

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m on Kennington Road. Want to pick me up?’

‘You want to go dancing? I want to go dancing,’ I said. It was a kids’ free Friday night and I was alone and had a desire to go dancing. Karume was the best dancer and the best looking guy I knew.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Meet you on Kennington Road. I’m outside the gallery.’

Thirty minutes later I pulled my Golf Cabrio up to the curb and Karume stepped in. He was in his usual Friday night attire. Vintage Chester Barry two-piece single breasted check suit, black shirt and Buddhahood purple ankle boots.

Six foot two, black, lean and wearing a straw trilby, he looked his usual sexy self. Damn him.

I looked over and him and smiled. He leaned over and kissed me. Deep, wet, far too friendly for friends which is what we were. I could smell champagne on his breath. ‘You’re drunk.’

I turned the car around and headed for the West End.

Stopping at the traffic lights on the Vauxhall Bridge Road he said, ‘Don’t you want to suck my cock?’ He reached to unzip his fly.

‘No,’ I said, without missing a beat. ‘Not really.’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Have it your way.’

Karume hated rejection.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘Not right now anyway. I’m driving.’

We drove in silence until Berkeley Square. I pulled the car into a free space and turned off the engine. Our destination was a dance club near Centrepoint but I fancied a pit stop.

Parked opposite the Millenium Hotel, I could see a porter standing in the doorway. The street lights were dim but not so dim that anyone passing us couldn’t see exactly what we were doing.

I reached across and unzipped Karume’s fly, pulling out his cock in one swift movement. My mouth followed soon after. He was hard within seconds. I felt his hand reach around the back of my head, pulling me into him.

I heard footsteps in the distance.

‘Stay down,’ he said.

My tongue worked the distinctive pink head of his cock. The shaft was black. Flicking over and under and around the ridge, he moaned.

‘Miss me?’ he said.

I moved my mouth down to the base and then back up again. Up and down. Up and down. Even now, three years later, I still think about sucking his cock when I masturbate.  Double damn him.

Then I pulled my head off him, rearranged my clothes and turned on the engine.

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘C’mon. Let’s go dancing.’