Suzanne Portnoy

“Do you think we’ll ever stop being naughty?” he said. The question was redundant.

I was sucking his cock in one of the newly refurbished relaxation rooms at Rio’s. The answer was obvious enough. He was my second of the afternoon.

I laughed. “I don’t even know your name,” I said. Despite having met once before, year’s earlier, when he had interrupted a threesome I was having in Rio’s to bring me lemonade and get in on the action, we’d never swapped names. I’d written about that experience in The Not So Invisible Woman. “I only know you as the Lemonade Guy.”

“John,” he said. “Lemonade guy indeed!”

***

We were covered in sweat and the baby oil which John had smoothed over my body fifteen minutes earlier. He had lured me into the room with the promise of a ‘proper massage’ and not the usual Rio’s five minute rub down on the way to feeling my pussy that I’d had forty-five minutes earlier from lover No. 1. When I felt warm oil being dripped onto my ass after only five minutes, I knew that I’d need to employ a professional to get rid of the knots in my shoulders. John had no intention of giving me a real back rub either.

“Look what you’ve done to me,” he said as he pushed his hard on between my bum cheeks.

“Oooow,” I said in my best coquettish voice. I raised my hand and felt his hard, thick 8″ cock. “Did I do that?”

John had an easy going way about him, a cheeky smile, broad shoulders, and a fit, hairless body. His bald head and the Chinese inscription tattooed on his upper arm made him look like a bit of a convict but he didn’t seem particularly dangerous, just dirty.

“You have a beautiful cock,” I said.

“And you like being fucked up the ass,” he said.

“It’s true,” I said raising myself on my knees. I felt him get into position behind me. “I do.”

“When I shoot I think of the time you asked me to slip my cock in your ass whilst you were sitting on that other guy. You gave me the best hole,” he said.

“Gentle,” I said and then he was inside me.

You would think after spending fifteen years working in PR that I would know how to give a decent interview but I’m still learning. Mainly I tend to ramble on, straying off the subject matter, relating anecdotes just for the sake of it and with no coherent message. When I read back what I’ve said, I want to hide my head under my long, black wig… that is, until today.

It seems I may finally have processed some of the top tips I’ve recommended to my clients. Today, for the first time ever, I read an interview with myself that didn’t make me cringe. Unfortunately, the online edition doesn’t feature the picture of a rather stunning 30-something model pretending to be me but no matter, it still reads well.

Tonight I have an evening with two or possibly three men. One of my regular partners sent me a text to say that he thinks I deserve a specially, especially large treat this evening to celebrate the release of ‘Not So Invisible’ and is organising an all-male soiree just for me. I can’t wait!

Tomorrow morning at 11am I’m looking forward to hanging out with Vanessa Feltz on BBC London. The last encounter I had with her was at a my local ATM where she was checking her balance. How do I know this? She left the slip in the machine. She had a staggeringly large amount in her current account. I generally tend to avoid the button on the ATM machines that says ‘Check Balance,’ preferring the one that says ‘Withdraw Cash.’ It’s a good thing we’re not talking about money tomorrow otherwise I’d be really stuck.

Actually, I like Vanessa a lot. She’s smart and funny, blonde, Jewish and has a penchant for black guys. I think we have a lot in common. I wouldn’t be surprised if at one point we we had shagged the same guy. Maybe I’ll ask her. Shame I’m only on for a half hour.

Oh, and I should mention that fellow New Yorker Ed Hamell is on for only two more nights at the Soho Theatre withi his wonderfully witty and inventive show, ‘The Terrorism of Everyday Life.’  Ed lets rip on his 1937 Gibson acoustic whilst ranting about everything from death to drug taking, parenting, love and friendship.  His delivery is rapid fire (I don’t know how he manages to keep up the pace for an hour) and deadpan.  OK, I was given tickets but he’s actually worth the £17.50 it costs to see him.