Security

Connie was waiting for me at the outdoor cafe in front of Big Museum. The first thing I noticed was that she didn't have a handbag so much as a piece of luggage, lurking next to her chair like a medium-sized dog. She'd settled in comfortably, sipping a large latte, wearing sunglasses and a large smile. Clearly, the anticipation of an afternoon spent indoors on this lovely summer day seemed to please her a great deal.

I realised immediately why she hadn't wanted to wait for me inside - the dog-sized bag. The serious uniformed security staff at the entrance would probably have raised an eyebrow or two at the contents during bag search. Although, come to think about it, if you search bags for a living in London, chances are you've pretty much seen everything already. A couple of silicone dildos and a bit of bondage tape couldn't be the worst of it. Even at a museum.

"So what do you have in there?" I asked when I sat down next to her under the umbrella, discreetly stroking her thigh.

"I brought lunch," she smiled cheerfully, pointing at the plastic bag at her feet. "And fun stuff," pointing at her handbag.

"Want to go inside, see what the security guards say when they look in your bag to make sure you're not a terrorist?"

"Why not? I can just see the Daily Mail headline: 'Suburban Adulteress Caught in the War on Terror.'"

"Good point." We kept well away from the entrance.

A remarkably short while later, I was sliding her translucent pink knickers down her thighs. She stretched out and wiggled her bottom against the mattress. And just as I delicately traced the length of her labia with the tip of my tongue, relishing the ticklish anticipation of having her in my mouth, I felt a giggle coming on.

Connie spread her legs further, wanting my tongue on her clit...

The giggle kept pushing its way up out of the pit of my stomach. I had my face between the legs of a beautiful woman purring with horny appetite, and I couldn't concentrate. The thought kept accosting me: Her roomy handbag being unpacked by a squad of grim-faced security guards, a burly man with latex gloves, pulling a thick, long pink dildo out of it, his eyes trailing longingly along the bulging veins of the shaft...

It escaped, this giggle. It just had to get out.

If there's one thing worse than laughing in someone's face, it's laughing in the face of their genitals. Particularly in a state of arousal.

"What?" She wasn't exactly pleased.

I looked up from in between her thighs. "Sorry, I just couldn't help thinking about the War on Terror..."

She started laughing.

"You wouldn't happen to have a huge pink dildo with you?" I had to ask.

Busted

Usually I am not one of those men who seem unable to control their eyes or smirking lustfulness in the presence of a beautiful woman showing a bit of cleavage or a bit of thigh.

At least this is how I like to imagine myself. So it came as a surprise to get caught in a meeting, absentmindedly letting my eyes linger with unmistakable carnality on a woman I had just been introduced to by a business acquaintance who sometimes conducts meetings one after the other in a quiet, accommodating bar. I was about to leave, she was early, and while I was packing my laptop and finishing the coffee she sat down for a chat...

And I realised why I almost felt like I knew her. She reminded me of an old friend - tall, with a London-Caribbean accent and very long legs. She lowered herself on to the sofa across from me. I checked her out discreetly while she was sitting down, arranging herself on the slightly awkward seat, taking her mobile out of her brightly coloured bag to switch it off... And that's when I got careless.

My eye trailed down from her scoop-necked top, down to the tight jeans and back up to find her looking straight at me, smiling.

Not in anything resembling a "come hither" kind of way, mind you. More like "got a good look, asshole?"

I was leaving anyway, so there was no way to rescue this in any other way than saying goodbye politely. Walking out I couldn't stop thinking about the horrifying awkwardness if I'd started to explain... "You know, you remind me so much of someone! This funbuddy of mine, you know, the resemblance is striking... well, she's a bit taller than you, but you've got much bigger breasts... uh, and the way you move too - very similar. Have you by any chance worked as a runway model?"

Or even better "Say, you look just like a hottie I know. Mind if I take a look if your phone numbers are similar too?"

On Paper

Sometimes I like to be told what to do. I particularly like the sense of being in the calm, confident hands of someone who knows what she's doing, and takes pleasure in showing me the way.

This is the pleasure of being edited.

We bloggers are usually masters of our own little domains, and there's no quality control to keep us in line. We can publish whatever we want, and the only filter between us and the world is the very limited time and attention of readers, whose linkage and recommendations weed out the interesting from the tedious.

There's a lovely sense of freedom involved in this, but when the opportunity comes along to write for an edited paper-based publication of the old kind even the most seasoned blogger appreciates the discerning eye of an editor. Bloggery is a solitary vice until the comments start to roll in, and the feeling of having my writing scrutinized and tweaked is a surprising combination of anxiety and the pleasure of validation. It's a delightful thought that a seasoned professional is taking the time to go through my prose and declaring it fit for publication.

And now, by a coincidence of publication schedules on either side of the Atlantic, two books I have contributed to are coming out at the same time.

First by a couple of weeks is Ultimate Burlesque, a collection of smut, filth and glamorous depravity, edited by Emily Dubberley and Alyson Fixter, for the noble purpose of raising much-needed dosh for Macmillan Cancer Support. If you order it straight from Xcite Books, 55% of the cover price goes to charity (15% if you do it via Amazon).

Should you fancy seeing some of the authors in hot, sweaty action, the Ultimate Burlesque tour will be bringing dirty talk to bookstores across the land. Enjoy the mellifluous voices of the authors themselves reading filth in reputable bookstores on these dates:

2nd October
6.30pm The Big Green Bookshop, Wood Green Featuring Richard Bardsley, Maxim Jakubowski, Mark Farley, Sarah Berry and Carmen Ali
Tickets: Free
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=27401121021

9th October
7pm Notting Hill Waterstones
Featuring Katie Fforde, Mark Farley, Christiana Spens, Alyson Fixter and Emily Dubberley with a burlesque performance from the fabulous Ophelia Bitz and Femme Ferale
Tickets £3 redeemable against purchase
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=28404965675&ref=ts

12th October
3.30pm The London Fetish Fair, Shillibeers, Caledonian Road, Islington N7.
Featuring Mark Farley, Sarah Berry and performance from Beatrix Von Bourbon and Tallulah Mockingbird
Tickets £5 Fair runs 12-6, with author event from 3.30
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=23404688157

16th October
8pm The Vibe Bar @ The Truman Brewery, 91 Brick Lane, London E1 Featuring Christiana Spens, Mark Farley, Alcamia, Sarah Berry and performance from Fifi La Bomb, Leyla Rose and Ivy Paige
Tickets £7/£5 NUS/concs
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=22819034670

17th October
8pm The Dogstar, 389 Coldharbour Lane, Brixton SW9 Featuring Olivia Darling, Mat Fraser, Wanda Von Mittens and Mark Farley
Tickets £5
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=40747621072

30th October
7pm Brighton Waterstones
Featuring Emily Dubberley, Carmel Lockyear, Kristina Lloyd and Richard Bardsley
Tickets £3 redeemable against purchase
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=64067400514

1st November
5pm-7pm, Sela Bar, 20 New Briggate, Leeds, LS1 6NU As part of Leeds Erotica Festival (LeedsErotica.org.uk) featuring Alyson Fixter, Miranda Forbes and Claire Worldley plus performances by Anna Fur Laxis, The Boneshakers and Beatrix Boom
Tickets: Free
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=36150649736

2nd November
Erotic Literature Day. 2pm onwards. Upstairs at Sela Bar, in Leeds, as part of Leeds Erotica Festival (LeedsErotica.org.uk) featuring Alyson Fixter and Miranda Forbes from BABC, along with Victoria Blisse, Alison Brumfitt, Tilly Green and Becky Cherriman.
http://www.new.facebook.com/event.php?eid=35451336531&ref=mf

Once you've gone to that little lot, you could always book a ticket to the Burlesque Against Breast Cancer Ball at http://www.burlesqueabc.com and help raise even more money for Macmillan...

As for the other book I'm in, it's not out just yet, but I'll post something about it when it does. I'm very excited, because it's edited by none other than Susie Bright. All I know right now is that the book will be gorgeous on the outside and filthy on the inside.

View

The window of her room on the 6th floor took in the towering lights of the City. We dimmed the lights and removed our clothes, the view from the bed almost distracting us from the eager hands on each other's skin.

Note to a worried friend

Really, it's OK. You can't cause any serious damage.

I know, it feels like it, but trust me - you will not hurt my hand, no matter how powerfully you think you're crushing it with your pussy. I know it's a tight fit, but really, just let go. Enjoy yourself. Don't worry about me.

Now, where were we?

Dress

There was lousy mobile phone reception in Audrey's basement flat. I used to get into a cab after spending an evening at hers, and the text messages would pour in like half my address book had decided to ping me a the same time. This only added to my usual reluctance to leave the cozy isolation of her underground retreat.

This day we spent the afternoon in bed. When I arrived, she came to the door naked underneath a flimsy robe, which she had removed almost immediately after I shut the door behind me.

"Coffee?" she asked.

It had been a late night for her, and she was just getting back to the world of daylight at one in the afternoon. I said yes please and she pointed to the bedroom. "Make yourself comfortable and I'll bring it."

I stripped off and got into her warm bed, lying back on the pile of pillows, relaxing. The curtains were drawn against the sunlight. She brought the coffee, we chatted, stroked, fondled, I took her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and squeezed gently, she pounced, nibbling on my lip while her hand slid down my stomach...

I'll spare you the details of the afternoon; it's the afterwards I'm interested in right now.

The moment arrived when we had to get out of bed and attend to the obligations of our lives. Audrey took a bath, sighing loudly with the pleasure of lowering her sore pussy into the hot water, the door to the bathroom ajar so we could continue our in-bed conversation while she cleaned up for a date.

She was planning to meet him at a pub down the street, half an hour later. "I'm having a slutty week," she said when I asked if she was going to tell her date what she had spent the day doing. "Yeah, I'll probably tell him." I liked this. We discussed how turned-on her date might get if she gave him a few pornographic details. Audrey emerged from the bath, freshly shaved and moisturized, soft, warm and fragrant.

"Let's just see what he does. If I'm lucky, maybe he'll decide to punish me."

I lounged around, my limbs still mostly useless from all the sex, watching her put the evening's outfit on. She started with a lacy black bra. Facing me, with her back to the full-length mirror, she bent over and began to pull on a delicate pair of black seamed stockings. With precise movements and a steady gaze over her shoulder, she steered the seam in a miraculously straight line up the back of her calves and thighs, attaching the tops to black garters that matched the bra.

"Shall I wear knickers?" she wondered, turning around to face the mirror, looking at herself the way her horny date might do a few hours later.

"More fun to remove," I suggested helpfully, and was rewarded with the delightful sight of watching Audrey put on a black thong of such evanescent skimpiness that it didn't so much cover her nudity as draw the eye to the cleft of her buttocks.

At last, the dress. It was a blue and white floral number, and the naughtiness of the lingerie underneath, implied by the seamed stockings, was heightened by its flirty innocence.

I put my own clothes on without much enthusiasm. We waited for my cab on the pavement outside her door, and Audrey left me with a mischievously red-lipsticked kiss on the cheek.

"Have a good date!" I said, both meaning it and envying the guy she was about to meet.

"Thanks darling, I plan to."

By the time I had cleaned the lipstick off my cheek, she had probably already kissed him hello.