"And what about you, Ma'am, how do you like to be fucked?"
It's not a question you can ask every day, but....
They call it an expo, but really it's a junket - an unhealthy gathering of strong personalities swapping business cards, trading success stories and basically trying to out-pitch each other. If you were one with a wandering eye and a moral compass with a tendency to wander from true north, such events are the perfect opportunity to get up to mischief. Which is more or less exactly what I did, despite being someone whose eye was normally firmly focused and whose moral code usually kept him on the straight and narrow.
Normally. Usually.
As my company was the one sponsoring the event, I was asked by the Managing Director to get out with a microphone and interview as many people as I could about how much they were enjoying their experience. What it meant was that by the time everyone made their way out of the cavernous venue, to the restaurants and bars, to close deals and tell tall tales, I was well and truly over asking shallow, meaningless questions.
The hotel bar wasn't too far from the venue, and as I arrived I was joined by one of my colleagues - Celia, who had been working the concierge desk ensuring all of our priority guests were given the right levels of service, and she had the same beaten look that I was sure I was wearing.
"Redbull and vodka?" she asked by way of a greeting.
"Redbull to pick you up, vodka to numb the pain."
I smiled my agreement and watched as she walked confidently to the bar of one the standard, sterile establishments that you find in places where there's no such thing as regular customers - just those that are in town for work.
I'd known Celia for a couple of years, and whilst we'd always exchanged pleasantries and got along well, I couldn't say I really knew her, which is why I didn't feel remotely guilty really checking her out as she waited to be served. She was one of those women who always wore a little too much make-up, which made it hard to tell if she was genuinely pretty. Her cleavage promised a lot, but you never knew if it was a push-up bra bra doing outstanding work or whether she was actually delivering on that promise, but the reason you never really looked at her 'like that' was because her humour was such that she could foot it with the boys.
When she returned with the drinks (2 each), she put mine down in front of me and promptly drained the first of hers.
"Every year I do this event, and every year I hate it more and more. Why do we do it, Ash? Why do we sell our souls?" She was being dramatic for effect, but behind the facade, I caught the hint of seriousness.
"I really, honestly and truly don't know, Celia, all I know is that I have not got one more fake smile in me."
I held up the digital recorder I'd been using all day, and the little microphone that I'd been dangling in front of people's faces all day.
"You want to hear this stuff, it's soul destroying."
She took it from me, put the headphones in and pressed play, and it wasn't long before her eyes widened in genuine horror. She pushed stop, removed the headphones, and - like she was handling something disgusting, she placed it on the table between us.
"I thought I had it bad, Ash. You cannot be okay after that. There's no way in the world anyone in the world should be that comfortable spouting that much corporate bullshit."
She seemed to have an idea. She picked up the machine, pushed record and then put the microphone to her mouth, and with a wicked grin, began to record herself.
"My name is Celia Elspeth Mullaney, I work at the concierge's desk and I look after a bunch of utter wankers and wankettes all day every day. I like to have my nipples pinched during sex, I like it on top and in the arse, and I just hope to God that this time next year I am doing something other than selling my soul to the devil."
She pushed stop, took another long sip of her drink and gave me a look that dared me to say something.
"So, is that true?" I asked.
"Which part do you mean?" she asked.
"Is it true that your middle is really Elspeth?"
That made her laugh out loud and she fixed me with a look.
"Now, most blokes would want to know about the nipples and the arse, and I know you probably do, too - but it's cool that you ignored it. Ten points for the corporate-interview-man."
At which point I had an idea.
"Let's be an interview team" I said. "Lets go round asking people what they like in bed, and see what people have to say."
She obviously saw the potential for tremendous sport.
"Great idea - roving reporters attempting to get to truth. Let's start with each other, and considering you've already 'done' me as it were, let me do you."
She got herself ready, cleared her throat, pushed the record button and began.
"So, Ash - what do you like in bed?"
I wasn't sure I liked having the tables being turned on me, but the alcohol was working wonders, and Celia was fantastic company, so, cautiously, I responded.
"Depends, I said. What I'd like to happen in bed, and what actually does happen in bed are two different things. I like to watch porn with my wife, by which time we're both well and truly in the mood, and the sex is great. But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't want to one day be fucking her from behind whilst she was going down on a busty brunette."
The interviewer's eyes twinkled.
"Nice. Does your wife know about this?"
"Yep, we tell each other everything." I said.
"And she won't do it for you?"
"That's just it" I replied. "I don't want her to do it for me, I want her to want to do it, for her."
Celia took the mic away from her mouth, and seemed to mull my response over. As if she'd made up her mind about something, she began again.
"I see. What if you could live out the fantasy with someone other than your wife?" she fixed me with a look that might have been dangerous if you decided to see it that way.
"Not a chance. Tabby is sex, sex is Tabby - that's what I signed up for. All I'm saying is that it would be amazing if Tabby wanted to do it with a Tammy." I said, surprising myself at my honesty.
"What about a Tommy or a Timmy?" she asked.
"Not for me, but definitely for her. That's her thing - being taken by two men, with one of them being black preferably."
"Ah, a woman of taste."
The interview was over. She paused the recorder.
"Excellent. This is great fun, let's find another victim."
For the next two hours we made the rounds of the bar which had filled up at some stage, and with the beer flowing it wasn't long before people were lining up to be quizzed. We'd heard variations on the theme, we'd listened to cock-sure alpha males try to convince us that they did it three times a day every day, and those that were happy to tell us that sex wasn't in fact for them.
We tended to stick to the bubbly ones in groups, those that gave the perception that they were open minded and up for a good time. Celia had fended off a few well-aimed gropes, and on one occasion had let a hand find its way to the target before she half heartedly patted it away.
"That was too close for comfort" she said as we left the group.
"Or not close enough." I added.
"Oh, no, he hit the bull's eye all right, I nearly came on the spot."
"Is this getting to you?" I asked.
"Like you wouldn't believe. I really, really need some relief tonight, and I swear that before I go to sleep tonight, I will be riding the wave of an earth-shattering orgasm, be it self induced or assisted."
"Here's your chance," I said, as I saw a tall, dark man watching her with an amused grin stuck to his way-too-chiseled jaw. And the minute I saw her response, I knew she would get her wish after all, and that she wouldn't be flying solo. I left her to it, and a look over my shoulder confirmed my suspicions - she was leaning in, thigh to thigh, beginning the ancient slow dance of courtship.
I ordered myself a vodka and red-bull, and as it was to be my last drink, I was taking my time, thinking about some of the truths that had been told, and wondering how many of our contributors would remember what they'd said in the morning.
Most of the bar patrons had drifted off in search of extra curricular entertainment and I found myself almost alone with my thoughts, and as ever when I was away from home, they drifted to Tabby and what she was doing right at that moment. It was late, so she'd be sleeping, and even though she told me that I had 100% access to her at any time of night, I knew that even if I was home and wanted to exorcise my demons with her, the truth was that sleep always reigned supreme. I was smiling at this, and the knowledge that so many relationships are built on half-baked promises, when a quiet cough beside me caught my attention. I turned to look, and I could hardly make her out, sitting by herself in a dark booth along from the bar where I stood.
"You didn't ask me."
I realised right then that from this point on in my fantasies, hers would be the face of the busty brunette that my wife was pleasuring. It would be her eyes closed as she rode the tongue of the woman I loved. It would be those lips that would slide up and down my cock as my wife licked her from behind. And now, hearing her delightful English accent, it would be her voice urging me quietly to "fuck me, please, please would you fuck me."
"I'm sorry." I said. "We were kind of sticking to those getting drunk and voluble."
"How much of what they were saying was true, do you think?" she wondered.
"Hard to say, but at least they had a little fun, and you never know, someone might get to live out their fantasies because of it."
Her gaze was steady, but softened by her catlike eyes, and I was totally in her thrall.
"Ask me now." She said.
