**Disclaimer: The following is completely fictional and it is nothing but pure fantasy
I wonder if The Beatles felt the same way when descending on America as I do now, arriving in Liverpool for the first time. The John Lennon Airport was grand in name but ordinary in stature, so far as I could tell. Everything about it screamed of a mid-sized city, not a major destination like LAX or La Guardia. But, the one perk was that a line of cabs was set up to take visitors directly to their lodging. And I hailed a ride with minimal effort.
"Where are we going today?" The cabbie spoke in a gruff, direct tone.
"The DoubleTree, please."
"Ah, so we got an American chap. Let me guess. You're here to see The Beatles or catch a Liverpool match."
"The latter, actually. What tipped you off?"
"That's all we're known for over on your side of the pond. I, myself, am an Everton supporter, but you lot cling to whoever is top of the table."
"I suppose I am just a walking stereotype then. My apologies." I stared out the side window, and our ride was silent from then on.
As we rolled down the road, I began to notice the murkiness and gothic architecture that defined the city. Each block had a history that was rare to come across outside a city like Boston in the United States.
However, there were still pockets of modernity. For instance, my hotel looked like prime real estate for guests but hardly had a historic flair. The lobby was as generic as it came for a facility of this type and class. The doors were all pristine wood. The floor was marble. It was typical. Upon approaching the front desk and asking for my room, that was where the expected became less so.
"The other guest staying in your room has already arrived and has your room key. I suggest you check in with her upstairs. She arrived only an hour before you." The attendant was polite but poignant in his reply.
As I rushed to my room, I began to ruminate on who Clint could have invited on this European getaway with me. Was it Priscilla, my wife? No, even he would have recognized that was beyond salvageable, no matter how much he valued the integrity of his couch. Surely, me sleeping on it was not so much wear and tear that he would resort to the nuclear option like this. So, then who?
Was it Cazzie? Sure, I had quite a fun night with her, but she hardly seemed one for emotional investment, and a vacation for a second encounter screamed romantic. Truthfully, Clint was not one for romance or emotion. He preferred his arrangement to be logical and straightforward. But who could be my guest for this weekend's rendezvous?
Once I knocked on the door, I saw Avery Cristy standing in the doorway, and I was speechless. Clint arranged a pornstar to meet me here? Honestly, despite being nearly half my age, I had to admit that the girl looked good, real good. Cazzie had the body of a model, but Avery was fit, not just skinny.
"You must be John," Avery welcomed me inside. "I hear you are a big fan."
Avery motioned like she was jerking me off with her hand, causing me to blush.
"I see. Clint knows what I jerk off to. That is embarrassing."
She smacks me on the shoulder playfully, "Please, I've heard way more revealing stuff from fans of mine. I am the last person you should care knows you jerk it to her regularly. I expect it, actually."
That response lingered as I took in my surroundings. There was only one bed for us, and Avery already had her luggage on the bed so she could unpack. I wheeled my bag to the other side of the bed, further from the doorway, and tossed my belongings on it.
"So, what has Clint told you about me... other than you know?"
"Just that he is your agent, you write books for a living, and you are a massive Liverpool fan."
"Interesting. He covered all the basics then."
"I suppose so. I even collected our tickets for tomorrow's game before I got here," Avery produced the tickets from the front pocket of her luggage to show me.
"Nice," I take the tickets to admire them momentarily. "So, you are just here to spend the weekend with me and watch a match?"
"That and to fuck your brains out." Avery was so nonchalant in her delivery of that news. "From what I understand, you've been out of the game for a while. Maybe it's time for a proper British snog, yeah?"
"Right now?" I can feel my heart pound with anticipation. How I had remained this calm for this long was beyond me, considering who was in my room, but that facade was slowly shattering. I had one of the best-looking women I had ever seen all to myself. If I had not just gotten blown by a hottie like Cazzie, Avery would seem less realistic, but if Clint's idea was to get my confidence back with all these women, then he was a master tactician.
Clint was owed more than a few pages of my latest manuscript, and since his income is strongly tied to my output, maybe my agent was playing the long game with all these treats. Perhaps this was all just an act of self-preservation.
"Maybe I can suck you off tonight, but I'd rather save anything more until after the game. That way, we can get to know each other better and perhaps develop some chemistry."
"Sounds ideal," I confessed.
"You know, if you want to add a bit of an edge to it, I ordered room service. Maybe we can see if I can finish you off before it arrives, interested?"
My head nods before I can even think to make it do that. Baser instincts are taking over as I look at this porn star princess before me. Avery baits me with her finger, luring me to the armchair by the door. I sit like a king with his devoted subject bowing before him.
"Before I get to it, I was just wondering if you prefer cumming in my mouth or all over my face?"
"How often does a guy get an offer like that? It's usually spit or swallow if anything."
"In my line of work, I get it down my throat and on my face often."
"Well, I have never nutted on someone's face, so I might as well take this opportunity."
"Good choice, babe." Avery beams at me from her kneeling position.
Her hands go to my crotch just like Cazzie's did mere days earlier. Except, Avery handles my belt and unbuttons my pants with more precision. Then she takes my zipper between her teeth and unzips my fly. By this point, a visible bulge protrudes from underneath my pants, bursting out when my fly comes undone.