Susan first appeared in
Entertaining at Home.
Other characters mentioned joined the story in subsequent episodes of
Entertaining at Large
. If you like the look of this chapter it might be worth checking them out to discover people's back stories and the details of events mentioned. Comments, suggestions and support welcomed as always and thanks to those of you who already have.
*
'What's the difference between a dildo and a vibrator?'
'Great question, Kieran. Anyone else know the answer?'
I was enjoying this. After I agreed to take ten virginities in a single session, I almost immediately regretted it. Whichever way I pictured it happening, I couldn't envisage the encounter being anything other than sticky, embarrassing and uncomfortable: physically and emotionally.
The idea of treating the whole thing as a seminar had come about by accident. Nigel, the guy whose idea it was after I made such a sensitive job of deflowering him at his brother's stag night, asked his mum if he could use the house for a business studies group whilst she and his dad were away on holiday. Being the sensible mother of an eighteen-year-old she, of course, refused. He called me straight away.
'She thinks I want to have a party.'
He sounded devastated.
'That's the trouble with mums. They're smarter than you think.'
I know we live in a digital age and all, but I was amazed at how quickly Nigel had arranged everything. One morning I'm waking up realising the full enormity of what I had agreed to, only gaining comfort from the conviction that an adolescent wouldn't be able to organise a piss up in a brewery. It was a bit like a hangover, except there was no headache or missing underwear. The next I'm looking at a text with the password to an on-line user group set up for the gig and being asked whether I want cash or transfer direct to my bank account. Everything was arranged in less than thirty six hours. Everything that is except the venue.
'She said that she wanted to speak directly to you.'
'Me. Why?'
'I told her you were the seminar leader and that the whole thing would have to be cancelled otherwise.'
So it was that I ended up lying to someone who sounded very nice on the phone and agreeing to pop round to see her on my way home from work. My friend Scarlett, who is a graphic designer when she's not stripping, knocked me up some very convincing looking business cards, headed notepaper and even seminar folders. (The guy who ran the local print shop was something of a fan.) I turned up at her house lugging one of those easels for A1-size paper that were de rigeur for seminars about twenty years ago. I'd found it in a stationery cupboard at work. Permission for me to take it was granted so quickly I reckoned I could have charged them for taking it away. Thank goodness for PowerPoint, I thought, as I felt my new stockings ladder on a protruding screw.
Monica turned out to be as nice in the flesh as she sounded on the phone. She was harassed, of course, having just seen her eldest son off on his honeymoon and having to pack for a Caribbean recuperation with her husband. Ensuring there was enough food and clean clothes in the house to last Nigel for a fortnight was a side project.
We sat and drank tea whilst I lied to her at length about the tutorial. I told her I was doing this as part of a business in the community project I thought would look good on my CV. The bullshit about encouraging young people to take an ethical approach towards modern business was the sort of stuff that ministers trot out at Tory party conferences when they're excusing the latest cuts in the budget. I told her that we would usually have use of the college but that due to caretaker cuts no cover was available at weekends. We commiserated with each other at the state of modern Britain.
For her part, she was grateful I had taken the time to come and set her mind at rest. Further, she was delighted that her son was taking an interest in something other than on-line gaming with his friends. When she offered to compensate me for my time I was so touched I almost came clean. I gave her one of my bogus business cards before I left and insisted she call me if she had any complaints when she returned from St Lucia.
I felt a bit bad as I walked away. But it did spark the idea of running a proper seminar for the boys. I had been thinking of ways to get them to look on sex as an enjoyable activity for two, not some sort of game of conquest. For them, no doubt, losing their cherries was the biggest challenge of their short lives. For me, looking back, it was the prelude to years of unsatisfactory relationships, confusion and dissatisfaction. Perhaps I could do something to make things better for them and the women they went out with in the future?
I started at Mr J's.
'I want to borrow some of your mucky mags. You know, the ones from the sixties and seventies. Preferably without historic semen stains.'
It's hard to phase a pensioner, particularly one who has enjoyed a front row seat as you came out as an exhibitionist. He went to a series of box files he had in a bookshelf in his sitting room.
'Will I be getting these back?'
'Of course.'
'And in the same condition that I'm lending them to you?'
'Certainly.'
''I'll put the kettle on.'
He handed me a dozen or so copies of
Parade
and
Girls, Girls Girls
and disappeared into the kitchen. They were just what I wanted; vintage soft-core. For the most part they were in black and white. The girls were variously described as housewives, secretaries, students and the like. I doubted accuracy, but they certainly looked the part. In the days before photoshop only film stars could have their negatives doctored. The women on display here looked like they could indeed be your neighbour.
'James and I were thinking of using some of those in a girl-next-door series. What do you think?'
'Good idea. Have you spoken to Mrs Arbuthnot?'
She lived in the next house to me and was probably on the wrong side of eighty. We had very little to do with each other, but I had been touched when she brought me a home-cooked meal after my ex-husband Dave left. She was of the generation of women who assumed the man was always to blame when a marriage broke down. It's possible I could have done a little more to enlighten her, but frankly my stocks of self-criticism were running pretty low at the time.
'Ha, very ha. She said she was up for the idea, but that her husband wouldn't let her.'
I told Mr J I wanted the magazines so the boys could see some real women.
'You know, with pubic hair and boobs that haven't been surgically enhanced; the kind of girls they'll be meeting in the back of parked cars.'
We chatted inconsequentially about what I was up to. My friend-cum-neighbour-cum-occasional lover was never judgemental. He did no more than slightly raise an eyebrow when I told him how I had stumbled into escort work. It was enough to confirm my own conclusions that I needed to sit down some time and have a long, hard think about the whole sex-for-money thing. When I explained the virginity-snaffling project in full, he just couldn't stop laughing.
'I wish I'd met someone like you when I was their age -- well a bit younger actually. Enjoy yourself, I'm sure they will. We'll make a date and you can tell me all about it afterwards.'
'You'd better get a better class of biscuit in then. I'm not as cheap a date as I use to be.'
When the boys started to arrive at Monica's, I was ready. They came in ones or twos. I kissed each one on the lips as they came in. I might be going to run a seminar here, but I didn't want them to be confused about where we were going to end up.
It was mid-afternoon on a Sunday. Mr J's magazines were laid out on side tables with colas and bottles of water. Nigel encouraged them to flick through them as they waited for everyone to arrive. They were more than enthusiastic. From my point of view, it was interesting to watch them as they nudged and sniggered together. When I was their age computers and videos were already replacing print as the main medium for pornography; only the seedier end of the newspaper industry still commanded mass circulation for smut. I guess for these boys the magazines were like historical documents.
They had all been given smart-looking folders and told to print their names on attached badges. They were definitely confused. They had come to get laid and here was this woman setting them up for what looked like a college lecture. There was a Kieran, a Neil, two Charlies, one, a spotty youth with a stammer preferred 'Spike', Arlo, William, Harry, George an Stefan made up the rest of the group. Not forgetting Nigel, of course, who was deferred to in all things erotic given his exponentially greater knowledge of the opposite sex on the basis of his night with Scarlett and I.
I had dressed carefully, choosing a dress which I could have worn to the office; just about. It was sleeveless with buttons from neck to hem. The skirt flared from the waist; I like the way it swirled when I walked. The muted pastel blue matched the colour of my bra and knickers. They didn't know that yet; though more than one was trying to surreptitiously position themselves so they could check me out when I crossed my legs. I did that a lot while we waited for the whole group to assemble.
I opened by introducing myself -- as Suzette -- and telling them in as prim a voice as I could muster how much I was looking forward to fucking them all. Then, I had them stand in a line along one wall and organise themselves according to birthday. From there I had them number off in three's and separate into three groups. Nigel was the odd-man-out. I put him with the trio who seemed the most nervous. There were a few fleeting looks of worry as best friends were parted from each other.
For the first task I gave each group a magazine and asked them to choose which girl was the best. I gave them a few minutes to check through the candidates and begin their debates before circulating to offer assistance. My real purpose was two-fold: to undermine the vociferous leader -- there's one in any group of lads; and to get them to at least think about more than tits and arses when making their selection
'Is breast size the best criterion for selecting someone as a partner?'
