*****
A great many people have undertaken to portray Agatha Christie's Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot, but in my opinion, none has done it as well as David Suchet, star of ITW productions of Poirot. It is his image that I use as my visual and those of Hugh Fraser (Captain Hastings), Pauline Moran (Miss Lemon) and Philip Jackson (Chief Inspector Japp). ENJOY! *****
The next morning at breakfast, Hastings noticed another distinct change in the Belgian detective. He ate nothing, which in itself was unusual, but when he turned down his beloved tisane, he knew there was something wrong. The captain ate quietly, observing his friend between bites and wondering when he should say something. In the end, the choice was taken from him. Poirot spoke.
"Hastings, you are my very best friend, do you know that?"
Hastings set his utensils down, wiping his mouth while staring curiously at Poirot. "I didn't know that but thanks."
"You have always known that deep in your heart, Hastings. I may not always show it but I surmise that you know me well." Both men nodded to the other. "I rely on your advice far more than you know and right now, I desperately need your help."
"Just say the word, Poirot. I'll help you with anything you need!"
A small smile broke the serious man's features and Poirot gave his excited friend a small pat on the shoulder. "I am happy that you are most anxious to help me,
mon
ami
, but it is a delicate matter and one not easily spoken of." Poirot paused to order a tisane from the passing waiter and settled into silence until the man returned with his order. He took a few calming sips, then turned to Hastings. "It is about sex."
"Sex?"
"Sshh!" Poirot harshly shushed his friend, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed the outburst. When he was satisfied that no unwanted attention was being turned their way, he continued, giving Hastings a stern look in the process. "Please do not tell everyone our business, Hastings!"
"I'm sorry, Poirot. It was just ... " He searched for a word. "Startling to hear that from you."
"Why,
mon
ami
? Hercule Poirot is a man, after all."
"Yes, but ... "
"But what? Do you not think I've had sex before?" The captain's uncomfortable silence lent him an answer. "Hastings! You do not think that I've had sex before?"
"Uh ... er ... "
"Do you think that I am a man who likes other men?"
"No, no! Not at all! It's just that you are always so involved in your cases ... and I've never seen you in a relationship with a woman long enough to consummate it."
Poirot sighed in defeat. "That has been true of late, my friend, but I have enjoyed sex before." Poirot took another long sip of his beverage. "But it was only once, as a young man and I fear that I did something wrong last night."
"With Joceline?"
The great detective nodded. "I think I have made a mistake monumental and I wish to fix it. I do not want to lose her over my ... inexperience."
"Surely you wouldn't lose her over that, Poirot. Joceline doesn't not seem like the kind of person to rub one's nose in one's problems."
"No, she is not, but I ... last night, she did something to me that ... that I have never before experienced and I fear that I had the wrong reaction to it."
Hastings leaned close. "What did she do?"
Poirot's mouth opened and closed several times as he searched for words of explanation. "She ... put her mouth on me."
"Ah!" The captain sat back, a smile on his face. "She gave you a blowjob."
"Blowjob? This is what you call it?"
"Yes. The woman takes your cock in her mouth and sucks until you shoot."
"Oh, Hastings! These words you use!"
"Well, that's what happens, Poirot. No use mincing about it."
Poirot shook his head in understanding, fighting the uncomfortable feelings that went with this conversation. "So this ... blowjob ... is it a normal occurrence?"
"Sometimes. If you find the right woman."
"What do you mean?"
"Some women are not interested in it. I mean, think of it from the woman's point of view. She has a thick cylinder of hard flesh shoved into her mouth, stretching her jaws and throat. Makes is damned hard to breathe, especially when the man is persistent in ramming it."
"Is that not what a man is supposed to do?"
"A man should be compassionate and let the woman set the tone. She should have the control. If she is comfortable, she will give you back degrees of control. A lot of men force the issue and then the woman never gives them a blowjob again."
"I see."
"That's one of the reasons I said, if you find the right woman." Hastings squirmed in his seat a bit, embarrassed to find himself hardening over this discussion. "The other reason is that she has to take your cum into her mouth or swallow it."
"Cum, Hastings?"
"Semen, sperm ... you know. Ejaculate."
"Ah, this word I know." Poirot hesitated, running the new word over his tongue. "Cum."
"Yes. Some women don't like to swallow and they'll spit it out. The best is when the woman takes you fully into her mouth or throat just as you're cumming and swallows every drop. Her throat muscles squeeze you as she swallows and that ... " Hastings gave his own cock a squeeze under the table. "That is magnificent."
Poirot thought back to what Joceline had done to him, how she had licked him up and down like a child's candy pop, then had taken him deep in her mouth, her tongue swirling around him and sucking until ... a shiver ran down his spine as he remembered spilling into her mouth. "That was what Lina did to me."
"By Jove! You've got a good one then!" Hastings exclaimed, then quieted, noticing his lack of response. "How did you react to it?"
"I left her."
