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Who the Fuck are You, Anyway? Ch. 1

By: NoJo



Alice and Beth giggled as Alice dialed. They looked furtively across the office towards Tim, who sat behind his desk nibbling a tuna sandwich and doing a crossword. His bespectacled face was half obscured by a large computer monitor, on top of which perched a New York Yankees baseball cap. Tim had never been to New York -- in fact he'd never even ventured out of England except for a day trip to Boulogne. 

A woman's voice answered. "Hi, this is, WT-FAY, who's calling please?" "Hi, My name is Alice Davis, you left a message asking me to call you about Tim Pearson, who I nominated for the show." 

"Oh, yes, Tim Pearson. We just needed to fill in a couple of details you missed out on the form. Firstly, how old is Tim? You don't have to be exact." 

"Alice conferred rapidly with Beth. "He's 30, but looks closer to 40." 

"Thanks. And what's your relationship with Tim, Alice?" 

"I work with him. And he's a friend of the family." 

"And why did you think he'd make a good candidate for WT-FAY, Alice?" 

"Well, he's a really nice guy, and quite good-looking really, in a Hugh Grant sort of way, but, well, he doesn't have a clue about women, or men for that matter. He's really, really, shy. But you can tell when you get to know him that if he could just come out of himself he'd really be quite successful with women. He's very easy to work with, I'm sure he'd really try his best if he was on the show. Is this Susanne I'm speaking to?" 

"No, Susanne will contact him tomorrow with the shooting schedule." 

'Who the Fuck Are You', or WT-FAY as it was popularly known, was the surprise hit TV show, in which a team of three experts would attempt to transform people who for one reason or another were unable to get it together to go out on dates. The experts would use a combination of techniques on them over a six week period, to redefine their image, improve their body language, and enhance their vocal charm and conversational skills. 

There seemed to be two broad categories of people who submitted to this six-week personality make-over. 

The first type were people who had recently undergone some sort of confidence shattering emotional turmoil, perhaps a messy divorce, or the loss of a pet Labrador. They had started to "let themselves go", put on weight or stop grooming themselves, until they'd reached the stage where a kind-hearted friend or relative had put their name forward for the show, in a last-ditch attempt to restore their former confidence. 

The other sort of person who ended up on the program would be not so much a "has-been" of love, but more of a "never was": Ok-looking, twenty- or thirty-something, socially inept, totally devoid of any dress sense, and sexually a virgin. 

While the panel of experts on the show didn't promise to turn these social Cinderellas into Belles of the Ball, more often than not they succeeded in achieving a lot in the few weeks available to work on the victim. And viewers loved it, watching the poor fool repeat the same embarrassing social mistakes we all made in our teenage years. And of course every single viewer probably also privately wondered what these guys might have done for them if they themselves were in the victim's place. 

As avid fans of the show, Alice and Beth had both naturally thought of Tim, who was firmly a type 2 candidate. He probably scored close to 100% on the suitability scale. The photo they'd enclosed was a Polaroid of him at the office Christmas party, where he was standing forlornly under the mistletoe, clutching a glass of beer, with two waggish male colleagues either side of him, pretending to kiss his cheeks. Beth had slightly unnecessarily indicated Tim in the picture by drawing an arrow pointing to him in felt pen. 

The people from WT-FAY evidently agreed with Alice and Beth about Tim, for Alice had that morning got a letter back saying that they would like to meet him as soon as possible. 

When the girl from the show had told Alice that they would be contacting Tim tomorrow, she and Beth had exchanged glances. The time had come to break the news to Tim; Alice and Beth had up till then been acting in secret. 

"Think he'll go for it?" asked Beth. 

"No problem," said Alice firmly, and she meant it: The combination of her maternal, but forceful personality and Tim's complete pliability meant that if she had to resort to persuasion the result would be a foregone conclusion. 

She immediately dialed her husband. "Dave, its me. Can you pick up some turkey breast on the way home, darling? I completely forgot: Tim's coming round for dinner tonight." "Tonight? Funny, I bumped into him yesterday in the High Street and he never mentioned it." 

"He didn't know yesterday. In fact he still doesn't know. I better hang up, Love, it's nearly five. I have to tell him he's coming, before he leaves for the day." 

Alone in his simple two-bedroom house, Tim hummed a Stevie Wonder tune to himself while he shaved. He enjoyed going round to Dave and Alice's. And their three-year old, Max, was a lovely little kid. Tim hoped that Alice's next baby, which was due in three months, would be a girl. Then they'd be a perfect family. He wondered who they'd pick for a godfather this time. He wasn't sure, but he didn't think the rules allowed for him to be godfather to both of their children. 

Tim, overly worried about the punctuality of the bus, ended up arriving at their house twenty minutes early. He considered setting his wristwatch twenty minutes ahead and ringing their bell; if they looked annoyed, he could blame it on that. But suppose Alice then asked him why he hadn't known earlier - after all he hadn't arrived early for work that morning. He tried to think the pretence through. If pressed, he would say that the wristwatch had dropped onto the bathroom floor while he was shaving, which was probably the cause. But then Dave would start a conversation about how he never took his watch off when he shaved, because it was waterproof. "Bugger, so's mine," Tim realized. Perhaps Tim could pretend he didn't know that. But Alice might suspect; she'd often remarked on how thoroughly he'd read the instruction manual for any new piece of office equipment as soon at it was installed. Everyone at work acknowledged his expertise when it came to the coffee machine. Yes, Alice would be immediately suspicious; it would be too unlike Tim to be unaware of the features his own wristwatch. 

It was all so fucking complicated! 

While he stood weighing up his chances of carrying the 'wristwatch scam' off, he happened to look up at a lighted upstairs window, and caught a very clear glimpse of Alice wandering back and forth in their bedroom, clearly nowhere near ready to receive visitors, as she was wearing only a black lace bra and panties. She came to the window and whisked the curtains closed. He looked down at the ground quickly, but although he knew she hadn't seen him, he was just as distraught as if she had: The vision of her remained burned into his retina like an after-image: He knew that now, Alice would become yet another woman he would have to struggle to resist invading his sexual fantasies every night. She would now be vying for his erotic attention during his daily masturbation sessions, along with most of the other women in the office, the young girl who trimmed his garden hedge, and even the old dear at the Post Office who always asked him about his tongue, ever since he was stung there by a wasp, which had somehow become stuck to a postage stamp she'd given him. 

He brooded gloomily on the impossibility of shutting out this irresistibly alluring image of her, his closest, in fact his only female friend. He was reminded of the schoolboy's challenge: "Shut your eyes and don't think of elephants." 

Tim waited in front of their house. It started to rain. There was a flash of lightning, then the rain turned to a downpour. Three minutes later the rain suddenly stopped. He looked at his wristwatch, sadly wiping the raindrops off its face to reveal the time (7:58PM) and the word "WATERPROOF". He marched up and rang their doorbell. To his relief, it was Dave who let him in. "Hi, matey," he said cordially. "You're wet. And you're late for a change; it's five past. You usually come as punctually as a Swiss au-pair. Interesting tank-top you're wearing." 

"Yes, the fruits of my first foray to the winter sales without Mum or my sister in tow." 

"Yeah, I can see you weren't pandering to their taste when you chose it. I hope you feel like filling your belly tonight, we went a bit overboard with the starters. Talking of filling your belly, here's Alice now." 

Alice came downstairs, her expression suspicious. Tim blushed. "What's my husband saying about me now? He's not going on about my fat tum is he?" 

Dave kissed her ear gently. "That 'fat tum' is half my fault, and I take part of the blame for the atrocious effect it's having on your self-esteem." 

Alice, clearly placated, affected to ignore her husband. "Tim, come in. Get pissed. I can't because of 'you know who' here." She patted her tummy. "And for Christ's sake take that revolting tank top off, I've only just got over morning sickness." 

They sat down to eat. Tim soon forgot any embarrassment he felt in Alice's presence. As usual, he was relaxed and lively with his friends over dinner. He made them laugh when he described his ongoing battle with the stupid staff of the local record store, who'd put Marvin Gaye's CDs in with the Village People and Barbra Streisand. Tim seemed to talk freely, even passionately, whenever the subject turned to music, particularly 70's soul, but he was only this voluble when he was with his two closest friends. 

After the main course, Dave got up from his chair and started to clear away the dishes. Tim rose to help, but Alice held his arm. "Stay here, have some more wine. Keep me company. Anyhow Dave's got to get used to looking after me again." 

Dave called from the kitchen. "Yes, Tim, you men sit have a chat about World Affairs. Don't worry about me, I'll be happy here in the kitchen with my soap suds and my dreams." He was actually in on Alice's plan to reveal what she and Beth had done, and he'd decided that a one-on-one would be less intimidating to start with. It had all been her bright idea anyway, so he figured he'd only come on as backup. 

Alone with her, Tim suddenly felt awkward again. The image of her in her underwear floated back. 

Alice looked at him keenly for a moment. There was no way he could have guessed anything, she knew, otherwise he would never have come; but he seemed strangely agitated. Could it be that he sensed something nasty coming? She decided to use her tried and tested technique, Sudden Ambush. After all, she'd hooked Dave that way. 

"Tim darling, you're a good-looking, solvent, funny, heterosexual guy, but am I right in assuming you haven't even had a date, let alone a fuck in your whole life?" 

Tim, abashed, suddenly laughed hysterically. "HAHAHAHA! Oh, Alice, you're absolutely, brilliant. I was completely -" 

Alice interrupted, assuming the same tone she used when scolding little Max. "- Tim, I want to know: What do you think it is that stopped you from going with Sarah Maxwell at the Christmas do last year - and will probably stop you again this year, and every other fucking year? You do fancy her don't you? Because any man who doesn't fancy Sarah Maxwell is either gay, which you aren't, or dead, which you aren't either. So just tell me what you think the problem is." 

"I - I don't know, I'm not in her league really. I do find her attractive, of course I do, it's just - I - I don't know, I don't really think I'm cut out for it all. Alice, I've never really understood how to do all this Sex stuff." 

"Well let me tell you about what Sarah thinks of you. She thinks that you think she's too slutty for you. You made her feel cheap, Tim. She really likes you, you know. Not 'likes' as in 'wants to be your friend', 'likes' as in 'fancies'. So do lots of the girls at work." She leaned close to him, moving in for a knockout punch. "Sometimes I even wondered about you and me…" 

"Stop it, please, Alice, I don't know what you're trying -" 

Alice feigned anger. "Oh for fuck's sake, Tim, you need to get over this fear." She sighed. "look, relax, you aren't my type, and I love what's-his-name, you know, my husband." Tim laughed. "Oh, darling, I was just trying to shake you up a little, stick a firework up your ass. And by the way it's true about lots of the girls at work." 

Tim was silent for a whole minute, eyes downcast, contemplating her words. He knew she didn't like to hurt him, and had his interests at heart. Finally he asked, "which girls in particular?" 

Dave came in with coffee. "Tim, That's what Alice is trying to say: You see, you don't even know when a girl fancies you. To most men it would be obvious, they've learned to read the signs. Except for me, where it's always the same: They see me, they want me." 

"Yes, very good Dave, go upstairs and check on Max, dear. We don't need you flashing your twelve inch ego around right now." She turned to Tim, was staring at the whorls of cream in his coffee. She put her hand on his. "Tim, Who the Fuck are You, anyway?" 

Tim looked up. She was smirking naughtily. Suddenly he guessed. 

"No. NO! Alice, you didn't…" 

Alice nodded. "I did. Well, Beth and me did." 

"Beth and you. Without asking me first. Don't you think -" 

"- No Tim, sometimes people don't think, they just act." 

"Ok, ok… Ok Maybe you're right, I would never have agreed to it if you'd asked me." He thought for a moment while Alice stirred sugar into her coffee. "Tell me: Beth, is she one of, you know, one of the 'lots of girls'?" 

"Maybe you'll be able to find out for yourself pretty soon. Susanne Simpson's calling you tomorrow. I think they want to start filming next week. 

Susanne Simpson. Tim shook his head. Susanne Simpson, syndicated editor of Cosmopolitan and expert on everything to do with the art of flirting, dating and seduction, not to mention extremely knowledgeable on what to do after you've actually 'closed the deal'. And she also happened to be one of the major players in his masturbation fantasies, appearing almost daily, even if she sometimes only had a walk-on part. 

Tim would make a point of watching WT-FAY every Thursday, and then dream about his Perfect Date with this woman, beginning with the witty chat over the aperitif, culminating in her completely unfaked multiple orgasm. The final line was always the same. She would lean across him and kiss his chest and say, "Tim, all my books, my syndicated advice to millions of women everywhere, are nothing, hollow, meaningless bullshit. Now I know the truth: I've never really understood how to do all this Sex stuff until You." 

Alice, as the only one of three sober enough to drive, gave Tim a lift home. She stopped the car at his house, leaving the engine running. She smiled at him sympathetically. "Go on, darling, off to bed with you. You've got a big day tomorrow." 

Tim looked apprehensively at his front door. He almost felt like asking if he could sleep on their sofa tonight. 

After brushing his teeth perfunctorily and chucking his clothes on the floor in the vicinity of his clotheshorse, Tim jumped into bed, and lay on his back. He stared sleepily at the crack on the ceiling. His mind buzzed with the wine and Alice's words. His stroked his cock lightly with the tip of a middle finger. He imagined tomorrow's call from Susanne Simpson. It would come at eight in the morning. He'd still be in bed: "Hello, Tim," she would say in her husky voice. "I'm looking forward to working with you over the coming weeks. Oh, and talking of coming, can you guess what I'm doing with the phone cord right now, Tim?" 

And then minutes later she'd appear at his bedroom door, with a camera crew, and he'd be naked, having just got out of bed. She'd stand before him, and begin undressing slowly and seductively. And then she would turn into Alice, in black lace bra and panties, with her smooth pregnant belly. And Alice would smile at him and say, "come on darling, back to bed with you. You've got a big day today." 

Tim stirred, and quickly changed mental channels: Suddenly the old lady from the post office appeared naked at his door. She barged past the film crew and said, "Mr. Pearson, guess what, I'm going to be your first trial date for WT-FAY. Have you got a glass of water for my teeth? Now, let's have a look at that poor tongue of yours." 

Who the Fuck Are You, Anyway? Ch. 2



At five to eight the phone woke Tim from a disturbed night's sleep.

Groggily he groped for it, knocking his glasses to the floor. It was Alice, calling to tell him he'd left his mobile phone at their house last night. 

"How're you feeling this morning, darling?" She asked.

Tim, who still only vaguely recalled the previous evening, told her he was fine, a little hung over.

"WT-FAY just called to say that they'll be there by nine. Need a lift into work?" 

He remembered.  He looked at his watch, but shock had temporarily rendered him incapable of telling the time.  

"No, thanks, I'll be ok."

After she hung up he leapt out of bed, landing on his glasses and breaking a lens. 
At this point panic set in.  Myopically he scanned the floor for underpants, and failing to locate any he pulled on his trousers anyway.  Yesterday's socks would have to do. 

He reached into the bedside table for his spare pair of glasses, which he had had since he was twelve.  They had been taped together countless times over the years. 

Five minutes later he was at the bus stop, with a white lump of soap still clinging to his cheek, and far too much aftershave to compensate for his not showering.  

On the bus, Tim frantically rehearsed his upcoming meeting with the WT-FAY team.  Oblivious to the surreptitious glances of the other passengers, he experimented with a variety of facial expressions to for this, much to the alarm of the schoolboy who had been unfortunate enough to have taken the seat next to him.

Taking a deep breath, he strode into the office, with the feeling that he was entering an examination room to face a test he had only just found out about and had had no time to revise.

The desks were empty.  Instead, all the staff was gathered at the far end in a small crowd.  As he approached, he suddenly recognized amongst them Susanne and her two colleagues,  Richard Smart, the verbal skills man, and Tanya Beam, the Queen of Image Management and author of the top-selling book 'Dress your way to the Boardroom'.

The first to see him was his boss, Ernie.  

"Tim, you rascal. Nice one, good for you! And good for EBM Accounting, too.  You know how much we'd have had to pay for this kind of advertising?" Playing the valet, he picked the piece of soap from Tim's chin and adjusted his tie for him.

Alice and Beth came forward.  Alice squeezed his arm. "Come on Tim, meet the WT-FAY team.  They're very nice. Really.  You'll like Richard Smart."

Autographs were signed, the crowd was finally dispersed, and Tim was left to face the Tribunal alone, Ernie having given up his office for the occasion.

They sat on the sofa and armchairs in the meeting area of the office. Ernie would rarely use this except to read the newspapers in the mornings, resting his feet on the coffee table.

Tim took an armchair. The women took the sofa, leaving Richard the armchair adjacent to Tim.  Richard immediately put him at ease, leaning out of his chair to shake Tim's hand and saying, "Tim, first of all, congratulations! Just by agreeing to do this, I think you've shown how brave you are.  We've always felt that it takes a special person to have the confidence to come on the show.  I know that might sound funny, given what the show's about.   But that's really it: We don’t want to change you, what we're hoping to do is show you that you already have inside you all the confidence and skills you need." 

The women nodded at this.  Tanya, who was rapidly scribbling notes, stopped and murmured "Absolutely," scratching her nose.  Susanne smiled at him.  He looked a little too long at her, then looked back hastily at Richard, then looked down at his hands in his lap. He noticed his palms were sweating, and there was made a damp mark on the arm of the sofa.

Richard proceeded to explain the schedule.  The filming was to last six weeks. There was to be a "practice date" with a woman Tim could choose himself and felt comfortable with, after one week. Shooting would culminate in a real date with a woman that Tim himself had not met before - this time Tim was to start from square one – ‘first contact’, using all his newly learned chat-up skills.

Tim said that he knew the plan, having watched the first series.  "Actually, I'm a BIG FAN!" For some reason, he had slightly lost control of the volume of his voice as he said this, and the last two words came out far too loud.  Richard and Susanne exchanged glances.  

Susanne shifted her position, crossing her legs. She leaned forward.  "So, Tim.  Alice has talked to us a bit about you, and said a lot of nice things.  What do you think of this all?  What would you like to get out of all this?"  She looked into his eyes, and brushed her hair away from her cheek.

Tim, unconsciously mirroring her, crossed his legs, leaned towards her and returned her gaze.  "Well, I didn't actually volunteer, and I haven't had much time to think about it really.  But, well, I suppose I could do with a change of image.  And learning a few chat- up lines could always come in handy! HAHAHAHA!"  

The too-loud laugh had Tanya scribbling even more furiously.  Susanne and Richard appeared not to notice.  Susanne fingered a silver pendant nestling in her cleavage. "Well, we'll see what we can do, won't we guys!  I must say I really am very pleased with how well you're doing already, Tim. If you knew how much resistance we usually get.  It takes a lot of confidence to admit that you need more confidence."

Susanne crossed her legs the other way.  Tim was not sure whether the brief glimpse this gave him of her knickers was intentional.  He played with the top button of his shirt, and rather clumsily and violently attempted to re-cross his legs as Susanne had done. Something flew high into the air from the end of his trouser leg, landing in the middle of the coffee table.  It was his missing pair of underpants.

After a second of silence, all four of them burst out laughing.  The laughter grew. Richard actually fell off the seat, clutching his sides.  

After this, the stiff atmosphere magically cleared.  Conversation ran as freely as if he were sitting with Alice and Dave.  In this way they learned about his hopes and fears, his loneliness and almost pathological shyness, his love of music, and his absolutely hopeless grasp of the basics of social intercourse.  And although the other form of intercourse was not explicitly mentioned, by the end of an hour none of the experts were in any doubt about Tim's virginity.

Tim left the room, exhilarated.  He was actually really looking forward to the coming weeks.  As soon as he emerged, he was surrounded by a swarm of people, asking him how it went.  He already felt a celebrity.

Inside Ernie's office, the experts compared notes.  They all agreed on one thing:  Tim was just perfect for the program. 

Susanne ticked off points on Tanya's notes. "Ok.  What about the dummy date:  Someone from work, right?  I think we should give Tim a little 'help' making his choice, otherwise he might end up picking his Mum."

"Ok", said Richard. "I'll do the reccy."

"Tanya, Image: It's got to be Hugh Grant, hasn't it?"

"Oh, I think we can go a bit further.  He's got great bone structure.  I just hope I don't blow the budget."

"Don't worry, we'll make it all back with this guy.  Now.  To bring him out, I was thinking of getting him to try and sell women's underwear in the street market."

Richard shook his head.  "Not bad, but I think we should just put him in front of a mike somewhere and get him to sing."

"Too much like Karaoke night.”

Richard and Suzanne debated this.  Eventually Susanne let Richard's idea stay.

“Ok.  He better not be tone deaf. Rick, check him out tomorrow."

"What do you think of him, Su?  Think you can turn him around?"

"When I've finished with him, he could have anyone.  You know I might even keep him for myself!  Actually Rick, that's a point:  even for the dummy date, we should find him a really tasty girl.  I'm sure they all want to shag him already.  Find the sexiest one and work on her, will you?  Rick, Don't take no for an answer."

"Do I ever?"

At around eleven o clock in the morning Tim, back at his desk, started to panic again.  Beth and Alice were on a coffee break, reading a copy of ‘Heat’ magazine, which happened to have a feature on the WT-Fay team that week.  Beth said that Richard Smart was better looking in the flesh.  Alice sniggered and said she hadn't seen him in the flesh yet.  

Beth looked over at Tim.  Wordlessly she prodded Alice with a pencil and they looked across at him.  He was fidgeting wildly, occasionally looking over at the two of them with a mixture of fear and malice.  Beth started to have second thoughts. 
Beth was about to say something to Alice when Richard Smart himself, not quite in the flesh but pretty yummy-looking in his black suit and navy cashmere sweater, walked over to their desk, giving Tim a friendly wave and a wink as he passed.  Tim winked back savagely, which made him look as though he had now become afflicted with a facial tic to add to the rest of his strange mannerisms.

"Hi, I’m Rick. You're Beth, right?"

Beth nodded, relieved that her dark skin hid her blush, and stood to shake his hand.  The magazine slid from her lap to the floor by his feet. Richard's photo was clearly visible as it landed, having been artistically framed in assorted colors of highlight pen by Beth.  He bent to pick it up, but she swept it quickly under the desk with her foot, crushing his fingers.

"Sorry," they said simultaneously.  He rose slowly, checking out her buxom figure as he did, delaying slightly at the level of her round breasts.

Once upright, he cupped his hands together briskly. "Well, ladies, the Deed is done.  No turning back. Believe me, I'm sure he, and probably you too are having second thoughts about this right now, but trust me: he'll be thanking you in about two days."  As he spoke he smiled and looked from one to the other keenly.  Alice could see he was sizing them up as he spoke. And she noticed that Richard was making a lot more eye contact with Beth than with her. 

"Okay," she thought,  “No need to get paranoid.  Pregnant married thirty-three year olds are just as attractive as slim twenty-four year olds."

"Look", said Richard to Beth, quietly.  "Can we just step outside for a chat and a bite to eat for a bit?  You too, Alice, I'd really like you to come, if you don't mind."  Alice was too flattered at being included to argue.  And when he actually helped her up from her seat she felt a small twang of pleasure, right down in her pussy.  Wow.  Even the chivalrous Dave, God love him, didn’t affect her like that any more.  

"Thank you," she said, stroking her hair.

They stepped out into the street and sat down at a table in the bustling French cafe next door to the office.  "Ok.  You know how the program goes.  We love Tim, and we'd really like some help from you to make this a really good program -- for him as well as us.  Any idea who he'd be likely to pick for his practice date -” Alice was about to say that he'd probably pick his mum or sister but Richard was too quick  “- besides immediate relatives?"

There was a pause.  Alice and Richard both looked at Beth.  Beth, realizing they meant her, shook her head.  "I think it might seem a bit strange, seeing as how I was one of the people who put him up to this.  No, I really think it should be you, Al."

Alice burst out laughing, but Richard turned to her with a questioning look.

"Um, I really don't think a pregnant married woman is the best choice for this.  Besides, it wasn't just your idea, Beth.  And I did most of the work."

Richard was silent, waiting and listening.

"But Al, you know how he is with you. You  keep telling me how relaxed he is, like a different person.  You're about the only woman I can think of that wouldn't freak him out."

Alice felt that there was a vague insult  in what she said.

"You mean, he doesn't find me a threat, because he knows that nothing would happen."

"Yes -- I mean NO! It's just that on his first date, he'll be so nervous that he'll need someone he's -"

"- not attracted to. Why don't you just say I'm a fat blimp."

Richard, whose attention had apparently been lost, as he had been looking round at the people in the cafe, suddenly stepped in as arbitrator.

"Ok, ladies.  I think that we're not getting anywhere with this. Let's try thinking a bit here:  I think Beth, you're not comfortable with doing this, so that he'll notice that and will therefore probably feel awkward himself.  And Alice, you're too much of a close friend of his.  It could lead to tension afterwards."

Both women were relieved.  Richard didn't tell them what he really thought, that the real risk was the damage it might do to the relationship between Alice and Beth themselves. There was obvious rivalry there. 

"Hey, " he said, "what about her? She works with you doesn't she? She seems nice."

They looked. "Sarah Maxwell!?" they said in unison.

Back at the office, Richard introduced himself to Sarah.  She was incredibly sexy, though not a classic beauty.  She had a pout to her lips that had lost her her virginity at an early age.  Men would turn and look at her whenever she appeared.  Nobody could put their finger on it, but most men wanted to.

She suffered the typical frustration of women in her situation:  She never felt that men would take her seriously.  And the constant envy she felt from other women made her feel lonely and isolated.  Richard took all this in immediately, and had already planned his strategy.

"Sarah.  Nice to meet you.  Alice and Beth have told me how nice you were.  And Tim also said nice things about you.  You know he's really worried he's lost the respect of the women here by doing this."

After five minutes of Richard’s schmoozing, Sarah had not only agreed to be Tim's practice date, but also to send Richard her CV in regard to a possible job opening in the "Flying Eye III" traffic watch helicopter for the local BBC station. Richard hadn't mentioned what had happened to Flying Eyes I and II.


The next day, the schedule started in earnest.  For the next few weeks Tim would spend much of his life in the company of the experts, and a couple of slobby, blasé, seasoned professional camera operators.

Susanne started the first filmed session, teaching him the basics of chatting up women, while they sat at his kitchen table.  Richard looked on.  Tanya was not there; she was out working on a shopping list for his wardrobe.

"Ok, Tim.  Question:  What's the best subject of conversation to have on a date?"

Tim thought, avoiding her eyes.  "It depends on the woman really."

"No it doesn't.  There's one subject that is always best, on any date."

"Okay... Not the weather... probably not sports... I've got it, Art!"  All women would think that you're sensitive and..."

"COLD!" shouted Susanne.  "The answer is: HER.  Always talk about your date to your date.  That fact equally applies to women going out on a date with men. Always talk about the person you're with. Now, talk to me about me, Tim."

Tim fidgeted.  He scratched his nose and blurted out, "You know, you're one of the most sexy women I've..."  he stopped, confused.

Susanne laughed.  "Not bad, but definitely coming on too strong for a first date.  Plus you were scratching your nose, which makes you appear dishonest. Try again. Don't tell me things, ask me things.  Show me you're interested in me." 

"How long were you working at Cosmopolitan?"

"Better.  Lean forward." He leaned forward, knocking his coffee mug. "I still work there.  I've been doing it for about twelve years now."

"TWELVE YEARS? I didn't think you were that old! Wow, I was still at school then."

"Look at my eyes.  Not my tits, Tim.  My eyes are up here.  Well I was also still at school when I started.  I'm actually three years younger than you.  Stop looking at the cameramen; they're just changing a reel of film. Christ."

"Really, and when did start changing a reel of film?"

Richard, leaning against a cupboard with his arms folded, interrupted. "Tim, listen to her, give her your attention.  And respond.  Dialog, Tim, give and take."

Tim stared at her lips as she spoke.  He got a hard-on, imagining those lips tickling his balls, still chattering, yammering away.  Suddenly he leaped up and left the kitchen, and ran up the stairs to his bedroom, slamming the door.

"Leave him for a minute Su."

"No.  I'm going to break the ice. You lot stay put."

She knocked gently on the door, and came in.  He was sitting on the far side of his single bed, facing the window.  She sat down next to him.

"Look, Tim.  We'll take it slow. Okay, really slow.  She put a hand on his shoulder and looked out the window, sharing the gray suburban view in an effort to sympathize. 

After a few minutes he spoke, still looking out the window. "You know," he began, "I wanted to be a singer.  I auditioned for a few groups.  They all told me the same thing: They liked my voice, but told me I didn't have enough 'presence'.  Finally one group gave me a chance.  Before my first gig with them, I looked out at the audience, saw all these women, and bottled out.  I decided that I was never going to have what it takes. That's what's so scary.  I feel that I'm going to bottle out again."

Susanne held his face and turned it towards her.  "Listen, Tim, you're not going to bottle out of this gig.  We're not going to let you." She looked at him, and suddenly kissed him passionately on the lips.  He felt himself melting.  Crikey, she was a good kisser.  Not that he could compare her with anyone. He put his hand on her leg and stroked her, his hand moving upwards, pushing her skirt up. Her tights felt deliciously slippery.  Gently she pulled away.  She adjusted her skirt.

Susanne was visibly put out. "Oops. Sorry. Totally unprofessional.  Sorry.  Wow." 

She tossed her head.  She was confused. She thought to herself, "Did I do that deliberately, or what?  Whatever, it's done the trick. Let's get him back down and get Rick onto him."

She wiped her lipstick from his lips and took his hand. She led him out of the bedroom, and back down the stairs.  After a quizzical glance at Susanne, Richard sat down next to Tim. Susanne had composed herself by the time she had entered the room, but she wondered whether Richard suspected.  He was even better than her at reading body language.  She pulled the hair from behind her collar and sat down.  Fuck it, she hardly knew what had happened up there, let alone him.

"Okay.  Lets analyze.  Remember when you met Su yesterday.  What did you think of her?"

Tim looked up sharply at him.  Richard's expression was innocent.

"Well, she seemed very nice, very friendly."

"Did you find her interesting?"

"YES! Yes, that's just it.  She was so interesting.  That's the word."

"And yet you know absolutely nothing about her." Tim was taken aback.  Still puzzling over this, Richard continued.  "She liked you, didn't she? You felt that she liked you, I mean."

"Well I - yes, I suppose I did."

Well Tim, I'm not saying you were had, exactly, but she was consciously using a whole barrage of techniques on you to let you know she liked you.  Sexually, I mean.  She played with her pendant; she touched herself; she leaned towards you.   She asked open questions about you.  But most of all, Tim, she made eye contact with you.  Good eye contact is the key to good communication."  He pointed to his own eyes.  Tim felt as though he'd been the victim of a scam.  His face burned.  Susanne shifted in her seat awkwardly.  Somehow she felt as though she was being accused.  She had to remind herself that she was still unsure of her own motives regarding him.   




Who the Fuck Are You, Anyway? Ch. 2



Richard continued, "When you make eye contact with someone, the hormone phenyl ethylamine is released. This gives you the 'melting heart' effect that's often confused with Love.  You can read about it Su's book.  Have you read Su's book?"

Tim shook his head blankly.  So he'd been duped.  Inside him, a hard core suddenly grew around his heart.  He would never let this happen again.  He would learn every trick from these people, and learn how to see through games like this in future.  And he would play the game himself, and beat them all. He’d never be taken in again. Never.



Who The Fuck Are You, Anyway? Ch. 3



Tim sprinted to the bus stop just as the driver shut the doors. He tapped and looked pleadingly through the glass doors at the driver, who ignored him. The bus roared off.

Tim sighed and returned to the curb. He looked up at the sky. It had begun to rain. His brand-new Kenzo suede jacket was going to get rain spots. He felt a fleeting pang of irritation at Tanya Beam, who’d insisted that the jacket had been “absolutely you” when she bought it for him. She’d also outfitted him in Diesel Jeans, Ralph Lauren Polo jumper, and clunking Timberland boots. The jacket alone had cost more than he’d spent on clothes in the last five years. In addition his hair had been styled and waved, his nails done, and his cheap and reliable digital watch replaced with a stylish Swiss Army chronometer.  Instead of his old National Health frames he sported a pair of thin Armani glasses, which still preserved his slightly little-boy intellectual look, but added a hint of Piazza Navona.

He received a sympathetic smile from a woman waiting at the bus stop.  The pang quickly passed; there was no doubt about it, he admitted to himself, he’d certainly got more attention from women with his new image. He turned to face her and smiled back, shrugging. She was an attractive dark-haired forty-year old, with wrinkles round her eyes. She wore a wedding ring. She probably had teenage kids, he thought.

“Don’t worry, they come every five minutes,” she said.

“Just enough time for me to get my jacket ruined.”

“You shouldn’t have worn it today, silly. Don’t you check the weather forecast before you go out?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not used to wearing this. It’s new. It was – bought for me”. The woman raised her eyebrows.  

“Somebody likes you -- Somebody with money to spend!”

“I – It’s not really my kind of… I mean I don’t feel very comfortable in this jacket…”

“I think it suits you. Here…” She held his shoulders, turned him gently around and pulled his jacket off. While he stood in complete confusion at this, she turned it inside out and handed it back to him. 

“Keep it like that till you get out of the rain.  That silk lining is easier to dry clean than the suede.”

Tim, relieved, laughed. “Thanks.”

“Here’s your bus. Bye now…” With a thrill, Tim noticed a tinge of regret in her voice.

He sat on the upper deck, smiling to himself. He looked idly down at the hurrying pedestrians and suddenly noticed the unmistakeable figure of Sarah Maxwell. She was running; she was trying to reach the next bus stop to catch this bus! She would never make it, he thought.  But suddenly the bus screeched to a halt, causing a lot of tutting from the passengers. He heard the doors downstairs opening to let her in. The bus was still over a hundred yards from the bus stop.  Sarah bloody Maxwell: A figure that could stop a speeding bus. And she’d asked the WT-Fay team to be his practice date for tomorrow night. He listened, and heard Sarah and the driver laughing. Bloody flirt. She appeared on the top deck. Her incredible lips parted in a smile as she saw him. He knew that every man on the deck was staring, envying him.

She sat down next to him. “Hello!” 

“Hello, Sarah! We mustn’t keep meeting like this, people will talk!” That perfume! He felt his cock uncoiling in his pants. He hoped it was not noticeable.

“Tim, it was really nice of you to pick me for the date tomorrow. I really didn’t think you thought of me that way – as a friend.”

Tim managed to hold his tongue, instantly figuring out that the Richard Smart must have set this up, telling each of them it was the other’s idea, when all along…

“Well, I do, Sarah. A friend, a colleague, someone I can have a nice evening with in a restaurant.” And hopefully losing my virginity with.

“You see, I normally – I mean I usually – oh, never mind. It’s just that I don’t often meet nice blokes, who take me out to restaurants.  And if they do, they’re usually calculating the cost of the evening the whole time. They lose their façade of politeness at around the fifty quid mark.”

Tim laughed, surprised. She had a sense of humour! And she used words like ‘façade’! Not bad… he decided to play the humour card too. Feigning a surly frown he said, “Well, no need to worry about that with me. We’re going halves tomorrow evening. Got it?” 

It worked. She looked shocked for a second, then laughed deliciously as she remembered that, of course, it was WT-FAY that would be footing the entire bill. 

“Okay, Tim, Dutch treat tomorrow. Of course you know that means no sex afterwards.” Now it was his turn to be shocked. She proffered a hand to shake. Recovering, he shook her hand, resisting the sudden urge to push those cool fingers onto his hard-on. 

A few minutes later she said, “I bet all the passengers are annoyed at me because the driver stopped suddenly for me. They don’t know that the driver’s my Dad’s mate. My Dad used to drive the buses too, till he failed the eye test. Did you know I wanted to become a bus driver, but my Mum and Dad thought it was a waste of my “talent” – meaning my looks, I suppose? As though answering the phones at EBM is less of a waste.”

Tim tried not to laugh at the image of her as a bus driver. Instead he asked, “how come you wanted to drive buses?” 

“I’ve always loved them. With some people it’s, I don’t know, collecting stamps, or old books. With me it’s buses. I take after my Dad. I’m a bit of an ‘Anorak’. I don’t normally tell people about it because they’ll laugh.”

“Well I won’t laugh -- I’m an ‘Anorak’ too. With music.”

“Really, what sort, I love music!”

“I - Oh, sorry, this is my stop. See you tomorrow.”

That night, Tim let himself drown in the image of himself sitting in the driver’s compartment of an empty Number 26 bus in the deserted depot, with his spurting cock thrust deep into Sarah Maxwell’s perfect ass, as he inhaled her perfume. As they climaxed, her London Transport driver’s cap fell to the floor and her rich golden hair fluttered over his face tickling it like angel kisses.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The team bustled round Tim like three boxing trainers before a big fight, giving him advice from every direction.  They were in the quiet Italian restaurant where his practice date with Sarah Maxwell was to take place.  The “evening meal” was actually going to take place at four in the afternoon.  Sarah, like a bride before a wedding, was not allowed to meet Tim until the cameras were rolling.

The restaurant was deserted except for the staff, the ubiquitous camera crew and the production team. An outside broadcast van had been set up, and the WT-Fay team were sitting huddled in it. At the time of the shoot they would provide a running commentary on the date.

Tim just wanted them all to go away. He was ready. He felt completely confident. He had listened, studied, followed their advice, and had been transformed beyond recognition – outwardly at least. He was now a cold-blooded and calculating expert in the art of flirting. He had the sang froid of a matador. When he wanted, he could appear deeply interested in his victim, no matter how much he railed internally at her dull personality. And Sarah Maxwell would be a simple kill, he was sure, with her big trusting eyes and lack of self-confidence.

Finally everything was ready; the red ‘recording’ lights glowed on the cameras. He sat down at the table. Sarah entered. She was wearing a plain black low-cut dress with a string of pearls. She looked like Marilyn Monroe.  He stood up and helped her into her seat. She smiled shyly.

Start with a complement: “Hi, Sarah. What a lovely dress! Really elegant!”

“Thanks. It’s quite old. I got it for my Dad’s funeral. Did I tell you my Mum remarried after my Dad died five years ago?”

Tim was taken aback by this sudden and inappropriately intimate remark. He’d been so concerned about playing his own part perfectly that he hadn’t considered that she might commit a few faux pas herself. He decided to continue the flattery, while acknowledging her feelings.

“Really? You think about him a lot, don’t you -- you mentioned him a few times on the bus yesterday.  Five years? I don’t think I’d fit into my clothes from five years ago. You keep yourself in good shape.”

They ordered wine. Sarah was vegetarian. Tim agreed to try a vegetarian dish. Listening inside the O.B. van the team applauded at this. Always show that you respect the other person’s taste.

Throughout the meal Tim, with body language and nods and smiles, subtly and smoothly increased the intimacy level; he seized an opportunity when they were talking about fingernails to make the first physical contact since they shook hands yesterday:

“Yes, they’re fake. I got fed up with them always getting chipped”, Sarah said, spreading her blood-red fingernails for him. 

“Really?” He said, picking them up and examining them, stroking her fingers with the tiniest movement.

“Yes.” He looked her in the eyes. She smiled and her eyes widened as she added an unambiguous come-on: “That’s the only part of me that’s fake, in case you were wondering.” In the van the team burst out laughing.

Tim decided to move in closer, and play his trump cards.  “You know, when we met on the Leyland M851 bus yesterday, I smelt your perfume, and I knew it was you before you came upstairs. It’s Bill Blass ‘Nude’, isn’t it? I really like it. It’s hard to find, isn’t it?” 

Tim’s face fell for an instant as he thought this was a mistake; he suddenly realized it was obvious that he must have asked someone from the office the name of her perfume (it was Alice who’d provided this info) and researched London bus serial numbers somewhere (on the Internet). This was too much like spying – or stalking.  But in the event it worked, though not quite in the way he had intended.

“You’ve been researching buses, to impress me! That’s so sweet, Tim!”  And she leaned over and kissed him, on the lips. He knocked over his wine. Two waiters quickly cleared up the mess. The O.B. van was rocking as the WT-Team collapsed in hysterics.

The meal continued past the dessert (one dessert, two spoons), and the coffees. Both of them were enjoying themselves, chatting, smiling, touching, and looking into each others eyes.

So the practice date was a resounding success. The team were unanimous. Afterwards Sarah said to the team (and the future TV audience) that she hadn’t been on such a nice date “since ever”.

Tim finally arrived home late that night. He slammed the front door and leaned against it. He caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror. He turned to his reflection and said; “Tim, you fucking lying hypocritical two-faced bastard, you’re good.” 

He took off his clothes and put his comfortable tracksuit on. He started to lay out his work clothes for tomorrow.

The phone rang. It was Sarah. He felt caught off-guard.

“Hi, Sarah … how are you? Tired?”

“Not really, no. I – feel a bit funny about this evening. Do you mind talking, Tim, or are you too tired?”

“No, I’m not tired,” Tim lied.

“Can I come round? I’d rather not talk on the phone.”

“What now? Can’t it wait, Sarah?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, otherwise.”

Tim, dimly beginning to realize that success with women had its complications, reluctantly accepted. One second later the doorbell rang. It was Sarah – she’d been calling from her mobile from his doorstep. He let her in. She was wearing a grey raincoat over her dress, done up with a belt. Her figure was still visible.

“Well, Sarah, what’s the problem? Did I say something to upset you?”

“No, I mean yes. No.  Tim, I want to know: Was this whole evening a fake? Were you, you know, bullshitting me?”

Tim felt the blood drain from his face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Tim, you see I know. Everyone at work knows. About you being gay. I didn’t understand why you never – why we never – you know, at the Christmas Party, until they told me. But the way you were talking, flirting, this evening, I got confused. You were so, well, you really seemed like you wanted me.”

Tim laughed. “I’m not gay, Sarah. Technically I’m not anything. I’m a virgin. But I don’t fancy men. And I think you’re lovely.” He put his arms around her comfortingly. And with a happy feeling, he knew that for the first time since the first “training session” with the WT-FAY team, he was being himself again. It felt good. His cock agreed.

She pulled away and examined his face to check he was being truthful. She decided he was.

“Well, well! A virgin!” She looked at him impishly. “Not for long! Come on!” and she kissed him passionately. This was a full-on stuff. Even better than the first kiss, the one with Susanne Simpson. Her tongue pushed and sucked at his. Golly, it was so dirty.

Still in the hallway, she stripped naked. He felt dizzy at the sight of her. He reached out a hand to the umbrella stand to steady himself, but missed, and he fell, his arm inside it. His face was directly in front of her pussy.  She grabbed his head and pushed his face into it. She crooned, “That’s a good boy. Isn’t that nice and comfy. Isn’t that all nice.”  He grabbed her ass and felt the perfectly smooth skin. She pulled him up.

“Take of your pants off, Timmy.”

He pushed his track-suit pants down and his cock flew back upright with a slap against his skin.  She looked at it, and ran her fingers over it. She smiled and said “Only one careful owner. No accidents. Never used in the rain.” She knelt and bit gently all along the shaft like it was a corn on the cob. Then she opened that great mouth of hers and closed her lips over his helmet. She sucked powerfully, stroking the backs of his thighs. He came. She gulped it down, her lips tight. 

She stood, wiped her mouth, and moved close to him. She was almost as tall as him. He felt her tits pushing against his chest. She stood on tiptoes and manoeuvred his cock inside her. She squirmed and wriggled and sucked at his neck. He felt a wonderful warm rippling feeling in his cock as she slid her pussy up and down over him. So this was fucking! It was easy. He came again. She laughed, sending aftershocks through him.

She said, “my turn now. You’re two nil up.” And she turned and faced the hallway mirror. Tim had a front and rear view. He grew hard again. She rested her arms against the mirror and leaned her forehead on them. She thrust out her ass. She turned her head and looked at him, almost defiantly. “Get some cooking oil from the kitchen and rub my ass with it. Then fuck me up the ass, Tim. Go on. Fuck my ass. Fuck it. Go on.” She turned her head back away from him and waited.  

Tim rushed into the kitchen, his erection bobbing wildly, and found he had a choice of two bottles of oil; one was premium cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the other was chilli oil. He considered which was best. Virgin olive oil, definitely more appropriate. 

He ran back and poured it into the crack at the top of her ass and watched it trickle down the inside of her thighs in a greenish stream.  He smeared it with his fingers and thrust his middle finger up her now slippery asshole. She made a noise. “Fuck my ass. Fuck it. I want your fat cock sliding up my ass.”  He began to push his cock inside her. There was more resistance than before, when he’d been in her pussy. This felt a little bit violent. Would it hurt her?

“Go on. Fuck me. FUCK ME. That’s it. OHH, FUCK ME TIM…FUCK ME…” She was almost scary, with her voice deep, like that possessed girl in the Exorcist. He pushed right inside. Involuntarily he started pumping her. He grabbed her hipbones and thrust hard and quickly. He’d been wrong a few minutes ago: That hadn’t been fucking, that was being fucked. This was fucking! As she came she screamed and catapulted back from the mirror so they were flung against the opposite wall, still locked together. She reached behind him and grabbed his ass and gripped, digging deep into his flesh with her fake fingernails. She pulled him even deeper inside her. He imagined his cock emerging from her mouth.  He smelt her perfume and felt her blond hair whipping his face.  Finally. Finally. Finally, his fantasy had met reality…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Susanne, Richard and Tanya and Tim sat in Ernie’s office.  The cameras were not yet rolling. The WT-FAY team looked at him. They were all smiling, proud of their achievement. Susanne spoke.

“Tim. You were great last night. Really, really, great. How do you feel about it!”

“Well,” said Tim truthfully, “I think it was great too. It got better and better, in fact. Thank you. Thank you, all of you. You’re amazing.” He leaned over and they all hugged him warmly, in turn. As Richard released him, he said, “you’ve lost your cherry, haven’t you?”

“H-How do you…”

“Well, for a start, you smell of Sarah Maxwell. Her perfume, I mean.”

Susanne looked at Richard. “Well, you would know, Rick.” The comment was not lost on Tim. Of course. It stood to reason, Richard and Sarah. It was so obvious now… he’d been ‘had’ again.

But, now he came to think of it, so what if he’d been ‘had’? Last night he’d ‘done it’ with the sexiest women he’d ever known. So what if Richard had ‘persuaded’ her to do it. He should still thank him for it.  Or was he just being paranoid? He suddenly asked Richard straight out: “Richard, did you put her up to coming over to my place last night?”

“No, mate. Honest. It was you. You really scored. In fact you did a better job than I could have done. And between you and me I tried.”

Tim apologized to Richard for suspecting him. For some reason he suddenly felt slightly disgusted with himself. “Oh well”, he thought. Just his singing night at the club to do, and then the “real” date in five weeks. Then it would all be over.



Who the Fuck Are You, Anyway? Ch. 4



At nine a.m. on Sunday morning Tim picked up his bedside phone after ten rings. 

“Good morning, EBM Accounting, Tim speaking”, he said automatically.

It was Susanne Simpson. 

“It’s not EBM Accounting, Tim. It’s Sunday, and you’re probably in bed. Look, sorry to ring so early, I wanted to go over next week’s shooting schedule. Get a pen and write this down: Wednesday at ten a car will pick you up and take you to the Chihuahua Club. The owner is called Colin. I’ll be there with the crew at ten thirty…” She continued breathlessly with the schedule, without giving Tim a chance to interrupt. Finally she paused. Tim took the opportunity to tell her that he was not interested in doing the show anymore. He wanted out.

There was a pause. Tim grew apprehensive. Susanne Simpson was not the sort of person you opposed. She could probably get nasty.

“Tim, why? I can’t believe it. You’re doing so well! I don’t fucking believe this.”

“I don’t feel like discussing it now. My contract says I can pull out if I’m not happy for any reason with the way things are going. Well, I’m not happy, that’s all there is to it.”

“THAT’S ALL THERE IS TO IT?? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN FUCK ABOUT WITH TWENTY PEOPLE’S LIVES FOR A MONTH AND THEN JUST PULL OUT WITHOUT ANY FUCKING EXPLANATION??” Tim held the phone six inches from his ear as the tirade continued.

“Stay there. I’m coming over. Got it? STAY THERE.”

“I’d rather you didn’t…”

“Too fucking bad. Stay there.”

Twenty minutes later she rang his bell. Tim had butterflies in his stomach as he let her in, anticipating physical violence of some sort. She was speaking on her mobile phone. She gave an order to the person on the line: “I’m turning off the mobile. Take messages. I’ll check back in fifteen minutes”. She switched the phone off. Tim was relieved that by the sound of it, at least she’d be out of his house in a quarter of an hour.

“Okay, Tim. Don’t worry, I’ve calmed down. Let’s talk. Let’s see what the issue is here.” She smiled and put her hand on his arm. Come into the kitchen. We need a Kitchen Talk. She led him into his kitchen.

Over coffee, Tim explained that he had nothing against anyone in the WT-FAY team, he thought they were all great. It was just that “things had happened” that had made him feel unhappy about carrying on.

“What ‘things’, Tim? You don’t mean your fling with Sarah? She seems fine about it. Did you know she’s leaving your firm to do the ‘Flying Eye’ traffic broadcast?”

“Yes, I heard. No. It’s not about her. It’s more about me. I feel like, like, I’m not really myself. Oh, I’m much more confident now, I’m really grateful for that, but I don’t know, I – I feel that it’s just not ME. I’ve stopped being so nice – neglecting my friends… and, and…” Tim suddenly started to cry.

Susanne handed him a paper kitchen towel and waited. After blowing his nose loudly, Tim went on, head downcast:

“It’s my friend, Alice. You know Alice…” he mimed a pregnant belly with his hands. “I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly even spoken to her. She’s so nice, Susanne, so nice…” he started sobbing again.

Susanne glanced at her watch. “Yes, she does seem nice, Tim. Is she all right? Is the baby okay?”

“Yes… It’s just… She – She’s just found out her husband has been seeing other women behind her back.” 

Susanne immediately understood why he wanted to quit the program; she also felt that Tim himself still didn’t know: “And you’re worried you might end up becoming a smarmy two-faced bastard like him.”

Tim looked up.

“Well Tim, you won’t. You’re an honest guy. We’re not teaching you how to trick women into sleeping with you, or become some kind of slimy Casanova. Just how improve your confidence. You see you don’t really have the confidence yet, Tim, you’ve still got a way to go. Right now it all seems like a fake. But that’s because it’s so new, it’s not really integrated. Trust me, Tim. Come on. It’ll be great. And it’ll be fun. I promise.” She put her hand on his. He glanced down at her hand, then up at her face. 

“Anyway,” she continued brightly. “We got you laid after a week, didn’t we? More than you’ve managed in thirty years. Tell me, how does Sarah compare with your other experiences? You know, with your fist?”

Tim looked at her angrily. God, she could be a bitch. “You’re a bit of a smug one, aren’t you? Well actually, I’m guessing you might be jealous -- because she got to me before you.”

“Yeah right. Sorry to disillusion you, but I’m a professional. I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

“Well that’s not the impression I got after you snogged me in my bedroom. Also Gordon told me one or two things....” Gordon was one of the cameramen.

“Oh, I get it: You have sex once, and you suddenly think you’re irresistible to women. Come to think of it, maybe you’re right, Tim. There is a chance that you’ll become like Alice’s two-timing hubby.” She stood up. “Maybe you better quit before you turn into an even bigger asshole.”

Tim stood and faced her, smiling grimly. “Don’t play games with me! Admit it. You fancy me. You want me but you can’t have me. And it wasn’t once. It was three times.”

Susanne, enraged for a moment, went to slap his face but suddenly stopped. She wasn’t going to let him claim a moral victory. Besides, she thought, she didn’t see why she shouldn’t pass up an opportunity kill three birds with one stone: She could teach him a little lesson, get him back into the show, and have a bit of fun herself. After all, she had been wondering what he’d be like to shag.

She advanced towards him. Tim flinched. But instead of slapping him, she stroked his cheek affectionately.

Tim’s resolve weakened. “Susanne, I’m sorry, but --”

“Tim, you silly tosser. Come here…”

Susanne pulled his face down by his ears till their lips were touching. She slid a hand up his tee shirt and gently tweaked his nipples while she kissed his face all over. Suddenly she grabbed his ass and slid her knee up behind his groin, between his balls and his asshole. This pumped up his hard-on till it grew as hard and as big as a salami. She slipped her hand into his fly groped his cock appreciatively.

She undressed him rapidly, her hands flickering over him, tickling and pinching him as more of his skin was exposed. He felt unable to resist. Not that he actually wanted to. There was a kind of inevitability in the way she seduced him that was highly arousing. She was quick and purposeful in her movements, driving him crazier every second.

Without recalling how he got there, he found himself naked and back in his bed, with Susanne, still fully dressed, sitting astride his chest with a victorious smile on her face. She looked down at him and said, “Right: Three times with Sarah Maxwell, eh? And how many orgasms did she have? One, or none?”

Tim managed to say, “One, I think…”

Susanne laughed. “One, you ‘think’? Well, here’s your challenge for today, Tim: I’ve got to have three orgasms, and you have to have none. Any jizz from you, then I win and you have to continue the program. Otherwise you can quit. Okay?”

She sat sideways on him, squashing his erection into his abdomen with her ass. She dangled her legs over the side of the bed and kicked off her shoes. She jumped up and unzipped her skirt. She didn’t remove her black cashmere V-necked sweater, or her tights. Tim could see she wore no knickers. She noticed his gaze and explained that knickers with her tight skirt showed. She hated V.P.L. “Although some men seem like to it,” she muttered half to herself.

She climbed back astride him and shuffled forwards till she was astride his face. The smell of her pussy was unlike any he’d experienced. It was a combination of the natural aroma she exuded, blended with some kind of subtle perfume, and it drove him instantly wild with passion. He panted and his muscles tensed.

She put her hands against the wall behind the bed and swayed, her crotch just above his face, wafting the aroma into his nostrils. 

“So, you like my pussy perfume? I get it made up specially. The ingredients are a secret. It’s expensive, Tim. Ve-ry, ve-ry expensive… breathe it in deeply…”

Slowly she lowered herself onto him as she spoke. 

“Now, Tim, remind me: What song are you doing at the club?”

“Let’s stmph tmph mph.”

She raised herself a little. “Pardon? Could you repeat that?”

“ ‘Let’s stay together’ by Al Green”.

“Sing it, Tim.”

Tim began to sing, but she immediately pushed her pussy back firmly down onto his face, and he stopped. “Don’t stop Tim. Keeping singing!”

Tim, his mouth completely muffled by her pussy, started singing again. He found it hard to breathe, let alone sing.

“LOUDER! That’s better. I can feel that. Much better.”

And so, using Tim’s sweet tenor vocal chords as a vibrator, Susanne reached her first orgasm. She squeezed his head with her thighs and gasped.

“Ooh, that was nice.” She whisked around and felt the end of his cock. 

“What’s this? A little pre-cum… you haven’t got a hope…” She pulled off her top, arching her back gracefully and undid her bra. She had full, shapely tits.

“Nice, aren’t they? You’ve tried to stare down my cleavage enough times. What do you think of them now you can see them properly?” 

She played with them slowly, springing the nipples up and down, squeezing and rolling them.

“Here, have a closer look…” she suddenly bent and pushed her tits onto his face, her sliver pendant landing with a clunk on his forehead. She maneuvered one erect nipple into his mouth and told him to “suck on it till you taste my milk”. He sucked. “Slowly! Slowly… that’s better… Mmm… My nipples are one of my erogenous zones, Tim. I’ve got six. Shall I tell you them, or would you like to find them yourself? Keep sucking. Good boy… What a good little baby… You like me treating you like a little boy, don’t you? You like Mummy’s milk, do you?”

Her back arched. There was a pause.

“Was that number two?” asked Tim.

“That was number two.” She stretched languidly, stood and unhurriedly took off her tights. She straddled him again. He stroked her naked thighs. They felt smooth. She grabbed his cock and stuffed it in her pussy. Then she did something that felt to Tim as though she had a clenched fist inside her, gripping his cock tight, but also rolling and sliding like a coiling snake. He felt the cum being inexorably being drawn out of his cock as though it were a tube of toothpaste. The pleasure he felt was so strong it was frightening. He felt as though he were on a “white-knuckle” ride; it was too fast, too strong. And yet, like a fairground ride, once he gave into it, it was even more pleasurable.

Her fingertips circled his nipples.

“I can keep you like this for ages, you know. It’s one of the tricks in my sex book. Do you like it?”

Tim liked it, but found it hard to reply.

“You won’t be able to come until I relax my grip. What do you think, Tim? Should I let you come?”

Tim made an inarticulate sound and turned his head to the side and stared blankly out of the window, lost in a dreamy ecstasy.

She grabbed his chin and turned his head roughly so that he was looking up at her. 

“Now tell me: Are you going to quit the program?”

Tim didn’t answer.

“SURRENDER?”

Tim nodded.

She squeezed his cheeks with her thumb and forefinger to force his mouth open, and spat into it. 

She continued gyrating slowly for what seemed like an eternity, occasionally asking him teasingly if he still wanted to quit, until eventually she brought herself to a delicious climax. He was fun to fuck. Definitely a lot of potential there, for a beginner. She eased her strange grip on his cock.

Immediately she did so, he cried out, as a huge orgasm engulfed him like a tsunami.

She climbed off him. She put three fingers to her pussy, scooped them out with a slurp, and then shoved them into his mouth. 

“Taste familiar Tim? Or have you never tasted your own cum?”

She kissed him gently on the nose and said. “Thanks, Tim, I enjoyed that. See you Wednesday at the club. Ten thirty. I’ll show myself out.” She dressed herself while Tim lay on the bed, still semi-conscious.

As she descended the stairs he heard her talking on the phone with her assistant, checking for messages.

“Did all that take only fifteen minutes?” Tim thought vaguely to himself.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Tim spent the next few hours in bed, alternately pondering the Meaning of Life and masturbating furiously. He had now learned a basic fact about sex: The more you get, the more you want. Rather than feeling sated after his time with Susanne, he found himself rolling around the bed sniffing her maddening perfume on the pillow and bedsheets, groaning and wanking. 

It was only the sudden appearance of a squirrel at the window that brought an end to his erotic squirming. With the lack of logic that panic sometimes induces, Tim was convinced that the squirrel would talk, and the news about Tim’s onanistic debauchery would somehow travel from woodland creature to woodland creature, eventually reaching his family, friends, and all his colleagues from EBM.

“Alice!” He suddenly said aloud, sitting up. “What am I doing? I haven’t rung to see how she is!”

Her line was engaged. He dressed hastily and rushed out of the house, frantic that she may have tried to do something to herself.

Although he was usually thrifty, Tim today had no hesitation in hailing a cab – after all, this could be Life or Death…

“Any chance of avoiding this traffic?” Tim called to the driver.

The driver, without replying, did a U-turn and turned down a side-road. After a few minutes the driver said, “What’s the hurry mate? Wife going into labor?”

Tim, startled at first by the driver’s question, quickly yielded to the confessional atmosphere of a London Cab and proceeded to tell the driver about Alice and Dave.

“Probably just got cold feet,” said the driver and popped a chewing gum in his mouth.

Tim arrived at their house and rang the bell. Supposing no one answered? Should he break the door open? Could he break it open? He’d seen it done, but only on TV. He took out his own keys to see if by chance one of them worked when the door was opened by Beth.

“The phone was engaged, and I – I – how’s Alice?”

“And hello to you too!” said Beth.

“Sorry, Beth. It’s just that I -”

“She’s okay, Tim. She’s kicked him out. He’s staying at a hotel.”

Alice appeared in the hallway. She’d obviously been crying a lot. Tim thought her tear-stained face made her look beautiful, like a Madonna. He was slightly disturbed to find that his cock had jumped to attention.

She ran to him and buried her face in his chest. He put his arms around her and swept her hair away from her face. He kissed her tenderly on the ear. He felt her round belly pressing against his groin. She felt so good in his arms. He pulled away hastily. “Alice. I’m so sorry. I’m almost as shocked as you must be.”

“Oh, I’m not shocked, Tim. I’m not even surprised. You see my Dave is a terrible coward. That’s what made him do it.”

Tim might have doubted this assessment of her husband, instead putting his philandering down to pure selfish lust; but he was recalling the taxi driver’s comment about cold feet. Maybe they were right: Maybe Dave was just scared of the responsibility of being a father of two. 

“Alice, you are sure – I – I mean did he tell you, or, or...”

Beth looked reproachfully at him. “Tim…”

“It’s alright, Beth. Yes, he told me. I smelt perfume on him when he came back late from work, and I asked him point blank. You know how I am, Tim. I tend to speak from the hip. I asked him if he’d slept with another woman, and he admitted it. I told him to fuck off out of Max’s sight. I gave him ten minutes to pack. I don’t think he took any underpants. He’s probably bought himself some new pairs by now.”

The mention of smelling of perfume was a sudden reminder of Tim’s recent encounters with Sarah and Susanne. “Which hotel is he in? Do you know? Have you spoken to him?”

“Yes, actually he just called me a few minutes ago to ask if I was okay. I suppose that was good of him. He’s at the Novotel.” Beth comforted her, as she seemed about to cry again.

“Well, I’m going to talk to him. No, Alice; not to persuade him to come back, or to get his side of things, just because -- well, because he’s my friend too.”

“Alice, I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to go too. I’m picking up a dress for next Wednesday --” she stopped short and Alice and her exchanged glances. Wednesday was the day of Tim’s singing night at the club. Tim was too preoccupied to notice that Alice and Beth were apparently keeping another of their schemes from him.

“Tim, I can give you a lift if you like, I’m going into the West End.”

Beth tried to make conversation in the car. She asked him how he felt about singing, and mentioned she used to sing in a choir. But Tim ignored her, lost in thought. He was actually trying to work out what to say to Dave. He hated confrontation. An idea struck him: All the assertiveness training and conversation skills Richard Smart had given him were now going to be put to some real use.



Who the Fuck Are You, Anyway? Ch. 5



Tim arrived at the Novotel at six. The clerk called Dave's room. He was in.

"He said he'll meet you in the lounge bar, Mr. Pearson." 

Tim sat at the almost deserted bar. He was nervous. He had no idea how Dave would react to what might be seen as Tim's interfering. He recalled an occasion a few years ago, shortly after he and Alice were married, when Dave had knocked down a man in a nightclub who had tried to dance with Alice. 

Out of habit Tim ordered a bitter, then changed his mind. "Make it a scotch on the rocks. A double." He decided he should at least act like a tough guy, even if he didn't feel like one.

Dave arrived and, without a word, sat down next to Tim. He spoke to the barman. "I'll have one of what he's having. Put them on my tab. Room 320." 

"Double, sir?"

"Why not."

They sipped their drinks silently. Finding that conversation was awkward, they both lapsed into a terse John Wayne or Humphrey Bogart style of speaking, which felt safer, as it was less communicative. 

"How's Alice?"

"Fine. Did you buy underpants?"

"Yeah. M & S."

"Yeah. M & S is good."

"Good value."

"Uh huh."

"Another drink?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, bartender, bring us a couple more."

Half an hour, and four double whiskeys later, Dave and Tim had loosened up considerably, and they chatted freely, albeit mostly about work, money, cars, loft extensions and football; all safe topics of male conversation. 

Tim decided it was time; they were both just inebriated enough. He took a sip of his drink. "Why did you do it, Dave?"

Dave attempted to sit upright, managing it to within fifteen degrees of vertical.

"Why did I do what?"

"Why d'you shag that girl at work? I assume it was someone at work."

"You assume wrong, matey. Well, half wrong: It was indeed a girl at work, uncommonly pretty girl too, but shagging was not involved in any way, shape or – hic – form."

"But you said, Alice said…"

"Ahhhh! Alice. Yes. Here we come to the nub of the issue, old pal. Alice, she of the quick tongue and sushpish – shuspiss – paranoid tendencies. I'm afraid, in the heat of the moment, Words Were Said."

"You mean basically you lied, telling her you slept with someone else when you didn't, just to piss her off?"

"Yes. Words Were Said."

"But the perfume…"

"Yes, the perfume. Yes well. The perfume indeed. Jenny is a very physical lass, Tim, and she adheres to the Continental school of greeting. I recall that on leaving the pub after work, she may have given me the old left-right-left cheek Froggy-style adieu, with perhaps one in the middle for good luck. That was probably where the smell came from. That, mate, was the maximum extent of the affair."

"So. Let me see if I've got this right: You have a few drinks after work, come home drunk and smelling of this girl Jenny's perfume after she kissed you goodnight. Alice, probably fed up with waiting for you, is miserable, lonely, feeling fat and unloved and seven months pregnant. She asks you what you mean by coming home smelling of beer and strange women. You tell her – what: 'Mind your own business?' Or 'I had a client meeting'?"

"I told her I'd taken the afternoon off work to spend it rogering my mistress senseless."

"Which unfortunately she believed. She lost her temper, and threw you out without a letting you explain."

"Pretty much. Except I didn't really mind going. I was fed up with her accusing me all the time. Silly nit. Anyway. Case for the defense rests."

Tim decided that, after sobering up, Dave would come to his senses and apologize to Alice. He could already see Dave was looking a little forlorn, as though he'd had enough of being petulant, and was ready to come home. Tim felt he'd done his job. In fact he was even prouder of the way he had handled Dave than of the way he had handled Sarah on their date. Most importantly he'd done Alice a good turn, even though a small part of him wished Dave could have – No. Don't go there.

"She really is a lovely woman, you know, Dave…"

"Who, Alice? 'course I know. I know she's a lovely woman. A temper like a fucking baboon, but a lovely woman."

"No, I mean it. She's special, Dave. She's such a lovely, beautiful..." Tim sighed and stared at his empty glass.

"I know." Dave turned and looked hard at Tim, and understood. "I know. So're you special, pal."

He leaned over to give Tim a consoling hug, but fell off his stool. Two women, appearing out of nowhere, it seemed to Tim, picked him up and propped him back on it. The barman glanced over at the two women, then went on wiping glasses.

They pulled up two stools, and sat down either side of them. 

"The usual, ladies?" Dave ordered two Margueritas and two more whiskeys. "Tim, these are two very good friends of mine, whose names escape me right now. They have provided an invaluable source of solace over the last few days."

The woman next to Tim crossed her long bare legs, took out a cigarette and popped it between her bright red lips. She waited. Tim felt his pockets for a light, pointlessly, as he didn't smoke. The bartender deftly lit her cigarette. She blew a cloud of smoke and stared ahead of her, apparently uninterested in Tim.

She was thin, and very smartly dressed in a pale gray pin-striped two piece suit, the lower half of which was a skirt with a hemline eight or nine inches above the knee. This, and the heels on her shoes, which were a good six inches high, led Tim to surmise that she was probably a prostitute. 

He examined her via the mirror behind the bar. This confirmed his opinion: She had a hard bony face that looked both jaded and sensual. Her pale hair was tied in a ponytail, which accentuated her long neck. 

Her friend, or partner, whatever she was, looked a good deal older than her, maybe in her late thirties. She also was a lot jollier; she was chuckling at one of Dave's wry comments and slapping his knee. There was something similar about the two women that made Tim guess they might be related. Possibly they were mother and daughter. But then that would have made her a mother at fourteen or fifteen at the oldest. Tim frowned.

Before his transformation by the WT-FAY team he could never have sat so calmly next to a woman like this. He would have been fidgeting and squirming, and completely unsettled by her. Now, however, although he didn't talk, his silence was one of quiet self-confidence. He was aware that the almost disdainful way she apparently ignored him was part of a well-rehearsed act: 

She was like an angler, waiting patiently. Some of them got away, some she caught. She wasn't that bothered. Sooner or later she ended up landing a catch, just by sitting and dangling bait, which, in her case were her long shapely legs.

Suddenly the older woman cried "Oooh!" She leaned over the bar and peered across at Tim. "Dave, this isn't the Tim you were telling us about, who's going to be on WT-FAY? Hey, Lara, he's going to be on that program! It's him!"

Lara finally looked at him and smiled. Her teeth were nicotine stained. "Nice to met you Tim. I'm Lara. This is Anita. Dave you already know. So. WT-FAY… That explains your jacket." She laughed quietly, exhaling smoke. She had a husky voice and spoke very properly, as though she'd had elocution lessons. 

Anita, apropos of nothing, shouted "Call me Anita, I'm a Man-Eater!" and laughed loudly.

"Explains my jacket? What do you mean? Is it that obvious?"

Lara turned on her stool to face him and looked directly at him, holding her chin. Tim smiled. Susanne had showed him that little move. 

"Well, Tim, I was trying to figure you out. You look uncomfortable in those clothes. That jacket didn't seem entirely you. I thought maybe you had a rich girlfriend or something, or that you were some kind of con-man, trying to pass yourself off as an urban playboy. But then I knew you were a friend of Dave's, and you'd more likely be an ordinary office worker like him. So I was puzzled by that jacket, wondering how you came by it. Now I can guess. It's that what's her name from WT-FAY, Tanya Beam. She must've picked it out for you. I would have chosen something a little more English Tweed, myself."

Tim was unsettled by her shrewdness. He also started to doubt his assumption about Lara's 'vocation'. He decided on some subtle questioning. He toyed with "How much for a fuck", but on consideration decided it would be a tad rude, especially if he turned out to be wrong. 

"Do you work round here, Lara?"

Sometimes. I work in personnel. Recruiting." Tim wasn't sure if she was lying.

Dave's eyes were closing. Anita jumped off the stool and said "Come on, let's get you up to your room."

Tim looked at her sharply, but she laughed and said, "don't worry Tim, I won't take advantage. I'll be down in a tick once he's all tucked in. Poor thing."

She helped him off his stool. He stood swaying for a moment and said, "'Night Tim, old boy. And thanks. Thanks. Night Lara. Come on Anita, take me to your leader."

Lara said to Tim, "I feel like another drink." 

Tim replied, "Go for it." Damned if he'll pay for her.

She called the barman and ordered another Marguerita. She opened her purse and took out a twenty-pound note. "Another one, Tim? What are you drinking, Scotch?" 

This unsettled Tim further. Was this part of her act? Or was he completely barking up the wrong tree; was she simply what she said she was, a recruitment consultant, who just happened to dress like a tart? Part of him wished Richard Smart were there. The best actor in the world couldn't fool him. 

"Okay, one more. That'll make it a nice round number: Ten." She didn't laugh. She paid, and scooped up the change into her purse.

Tim thought. If she were a prostitute, any attempts at light-hearted flirting and chitchat would be a complete waste of time. After all, all he needed to do was offer her money and he could have her. He was actually quite excited by the prospect. He stared at her crossed legs and wondered, "I wonder how much you charge…" 

"How much I charge for what?"

"I – I thought I didn't say… did I just say…"

"You said ' I wonder how much you charge'. And I said 'How much I charge for what'".

"Oh, shit, I'm really drunk, I'm sorry."

"Do you think I'm a pro?"

"No, no, of course not, I'm just drunk as a skunk, I don't know what I'm saying."

"Well, you've raised an interesting question, Tim. If, say you offered me ten thousand pounds to have sex with you, and I said yes, that wouldn't necessarily mean I was a prostitute, would it?"

Tim agreed, wondering if that was in fact her hourly rate. "No… I suppose most women would probably say 'yes' to an offer like that…"

"On the other hand, if you didn't offer me any money at all, and I had sex with you, that would definitely not make me a prostitute."

"Yes, but --"

"So somewhere between zero and ten thousand pounds is a figure that would make me a prostitute. So you tell me: How much would you have to pay me for you to be pretty sure I was one?"

Tim wasn't very good with money. He felt that fifty pounds sounded a bit cheap, she might be offended. "A hundred?"

"Okay, Tim, let's see your money."

"I don't have any."

"Have you got a bank card?"

"Yes, but I --"

"There's a cashpoint in the lobby."

Confounded, Tim followed her to the lobby. He had difficulty walking. He was very drunk. He stood at the cashpoint, trying to focus on the screen. Lara pressed the buttons for him, and took the cash. Tim couldn't be sure, but it looked like a lot more than a hundred pounds.

"There you are Tim, that should be enough for the whole night, plus a room. Shall we find out if I'm a tart?"

"Oh, so, you are a pro."

"I never said that."

"Yes, but you're taking my money."

"Yes, but mainly because you're too drunk to pay the concierge. And you're going to fuck me, and love it. It'll be worth it. If that makes me a prostitute, fine."

Tim laughed. "Well it does in my book! Anyhow, I think I'm a bit too drunk to do anything. Touch of Brewers Droop."

"Don't worry about it. Take one of these." She handed him a blue diamond-shaped pill, and produced a hip flask for something to wash it down with. "That should do the trick."

So Tim found himself upstairs in a room with Lara, still unclear as to what she actually did for a living.

They stripped, silently. Lara lay on the bed. Tim stood at the foot and gazed at her. She was thin and bony-hipped. Her ribs showed beneath her little tits. She had downy hair on her arms. She had a tattoo on her upper arm that looked like a braided armband. And she had two gold studs through her labia. Her pussy had been waxed. Tim stared at it, fascinated. Pussies were complicated things, he could see. Not just a hole. Lips, and inside them, more lips. She spread the outer ones open with two fingers.

He looked down at his cock. It was erect. She put her hands behind her head and looked up at the ceiling. Crikey, she couldn't have looked more bored if she tried. She had to be a pro. He lay on top of her and guided his cock inside her. She murmured, "ooh… nice…"

He started to pump her. She felt good. The walls of her cunt felt slightly rough, like a soft glove. The studs felt cold on the sides of his shaft. He lay with his full weight on her body frame. She spread her arms out to her sides, which raised her chest, so that he could feel her hard little nipples against his.

He started fucking her quickly. Her cunt made little slurping noises, to the rhythm of his thrusts. The sound made him more excited. She raised her legs, like a baby having its nappy changed. With this slightly altered angle, he felt the tip of his cock touch the roof of her womb. She made little grunts, in time to his thrusts, in time to the slurps. 

He sucked her upper lip. She bit and pulled his lower lip gently. Their mouths were wet with each other's saliva. She cupped his ass with her long hands. She turned her middle fingers inwards, so that with each thrust they pushed against his asshole.

He pumped harder and faster, and the bed started squeaking. He felt himself coming. As he came, her middle fingers pushed deep into his asshole and she pushed down hard on his buttocks with her heels, as though squeezing every drop of his cum out of him. He sank onto her and slowed down to a halt, breathing heavily.

When he pulled out, he found he was still hard. Probably that pill. She turned onto her front and reached across for her cigarettes. She lit one and flicked the ash into the ashtray on the bedside table.

He looked at her little ass, shiny with sweat, and grew excited. He climbed on top of her. She seemed not to notice him. He tried to push his cock inside her ass but she reached around from underneath her, and pulled it lower, so that it found her pussy instead. He pushed in. It felt very different from before. It didn't go in as deep, but his helmet flicking back and forth against those studs sent him crazy. He cried out, "Oh my Gosh, that's so good! Oh… my… GOLLY!" As he fucked her, she was propelled back and forward so that her head nearly hit the headboard. She tried to flick the ash into the ashtray, but missed. He came again. He pulled out of her with a pop. He was still hard!

She got up and used the toilet in the en-suite bathroom. He could hear her peeing. He lay on his back on the bed, looking at his unabated hard-on.

She padded back into the room and picked up the TV remote. She turned on the TV. She straddled him, facing away from his face, towards the TV. She reached behind her and grabbed his cock. Then she sat down slowly on it so that it was plunged deep in her asshole. Tim lay back and groaned. She started to flick through the channels. 

Tim ran his hands up and down her slim back. She seemed utterly oblivious.

He found that her complete unresponsiveness was actually making him more turned on than if she had reacted to his touch.

Finally she settled on some Financial News station or other, and started to wiggle her ass quickly. Tim immediately came strongly, almost painfully, and then immediately fell asleep. Even then, his erection showed no sign of sagging, so Lara still had no idea that he was unconscious, until, after fifteen more minutes of watching and wiggling, she turned around for her cigarettes and noticed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Next morning Tim woke, naked on the bed. The TV was still on. Lara had left. He found a message scrawled on the back of a card, which she had left on the bedside table besides the room key so he'd be sure to notice it. She'd written:

"Tim: took £300 from cashpoint = £100 for double room + £200 for 'finding out'. Took £10 cash from yr wallet for the Viagra. Lara x"

Tim turned the card over. It was a business card. It read: 

MIG GROUP PLC

I.T. RECRUITMENT CONSULTANTS

LARA MCINTYRE - WEST LONDON AND CITY SPECIALIST.



Who the Fuck Are You, Anyway? Ch. 6



It was Wednesday morning, the day of Tim’s singing performance at the Chihuahua Club.  Susanne Simpson and Richard Smart were already there, waiting for Tim to arrive.  They sat at a table near the stage.  They were looking through a stack of resumes and photos, deciding on their next victim, as Tim was coming to the end of his six weeks with them.   

“We’ll need a contrast from ‘Timid Tim’…”

“Yeah, I agree Rick… I think it’s down to either ‘Gay Gordon’ or ‘Fat Karen’.”

“We’ve done ‘fat’ last series, Su.”

Susanne sighed heavily. “You know, I’m pretty fed up with all this.  The series is stale.  We’ve been through every type of sad fuck on this planet.  I dunno, maybe in six months we can do a ‘Where Are They Now?’ on some of them.”

“I bet Tim will have quit his job. Maybe he’ll go into music.”

“I’ll take that bet.  He’s too much of a coward. 

“But he does have a good voice, Su.”

“I know.  I’ve heard him.  He projects his voice well.  Of course I had to give him a little encouragement.”

Richard knew straightaway what encouragement meant:  He wagged a finger at Susanne. “Su, you’ve been a naughty girl again!”

“Only to keep him from crapping out of the show completely.  You know, on Sunday he’d decided on quitting, so I went over to talk to him.  Somehow I ended up shagging the poor guy stupid.  I’ll be surprised if he can still walk.   You know me.  I’m just a pathetic little nympho.”

Richard laughed, showing dimples and flashing a row of pearly teeth. “I certainly do.”

Susanne smiled at him. “I really wish you weren’t such a pillow-biting fag, Rick:  I’d love to do you sometime.”

“You have.  You don’t remember. You were pissed.”

“Really?  How was I?”

“Pretty good, considering you don’t have a knob.”

As they were talking, some musicians arrived and started setting up their equipment.   Susanne looked up at them.  “What’s this? I thought it was going to be Karaoke.”

“They’re good.    A mate of mine is managing them.  Don’t worry; they’re not expecting to be paid.  Come on, Su, please.”

“That drummer is nice.  Introduce me to him, and they can stay.”

- - - - - - -

Tim arrived, and searched around in the gloom for them.  Susanne beckoned him over.

She kissed him on the cheek.  He caught a whiff of her perfume; his cock stirred. 

“Hi, darling.  Sit down.  Nervous?”

Tim nodded.  Richard clapped him on the shoulder. “Good.  A little adrenalin before a show is good.  You know I still --”

“-- get nervous before a shoot.  I know. You told me.” Tim was in no mood for any more coaching.

“Ok, Tim.  Sorry.  You’re right.  I’ll shut up.”

“I’m Sorry, Richard, I had a bad night.  Nerves.  I had a weird dream: Susanne and Sarah Maxwell and Lar -- another woman were all in this a car,  and they asked me if I wanted a lift to the club.  But I said no, I had a cab booked already, but the cab driver was Beth, and Alice and Dave were in the back, so I sat in the front.”

“Beth’s singing tonight after you.  I hope you don’t mind.  A friend of mine is a talent scout looking for black female artistes.  And she’s got a good voice.”

- - - - - - -

Finally it was time.  Susanne, Richard and Tanya were in Tim’s dressing room, where they had just given him a final pep talk, in front of the WT-FAY cameras.  Tim had said that he was literally shitting himself with fear.   “I guess you’ll edit that bit out.”

Susanne shrugged.  “Why?  Crapping your pants is right in character.  It’s what ‘Timid Tim’ is all about.”

“Is that what you lot call me? ‘Timid Tim’? You assholes.  You fucking assholes.  You know you --”

Susanne grabbed his shoulders and kissed his lips affectionately, almost maternally.  “Don’t worry, Tim, we love you.  Really. Get up there and enjoy it.”

Tim did enjoy it. He sang his heart out.  He was almost oblivious to the crowd, who in any case were hardly visible in the gloom beyond the dazzling stage lights.  Richard’s mate’s backing band were really good players. They made him sound like a real professional.  And half of them were black!  He’d always dreamed of singing with a real black soul band.

After he finished, he smiled blithely, listening to the applause and cheers.  Although he couldn’t see them, he knew his mother and sister were somewhere in the audience, along with Alice and Beth… and Sarah Maxwell.   The musicians smiled and clapped him too, though he felt they were congratulating him more on his bravery than his talent.  After all, he was really still an amateur.

The MC came up and got the audience to applaud again.  “Tim Pearson, ladies and gentlemen.” 

Tim walked off the stage down into the audience, on his way to the dressing room.  The applause died down. The M.C. continued:   “And now, please welcome to the stage… Beth White, ladies and gentlemen, Beth White!”

Tim stopped and turned.  Beth stepped up on stage.  She looked gorgeous.  She wore a short blue dress that showed her nicely muscled legs, and low-cut to show the frills of a lacy white bra cut low enough to reveal cleavage between her full tits.  She had tied up her straightened hair, and worn a pair of very large but delicate earrings, which enhanced her high cheekbones.  Her large, blue-brown lips shone as she smiled.   Tim stared.  At a table nearby a middle-aged black couple cheered loudly. 

“Your daughter?” Tim mouthed at them.

They nodded.  “And my son on drums!” shouted the mother.

Beth’s mother beckoned Tim to sit with them, at Beth’s vacant seat.  He was about to say no, as his mother, sister, friends and the WT-FAY team were expecting him backstage, but changed his mind.  He was curious to hear Beth.  More than curious.

Beth’s mother put a hand on his arm. “That was lovely singing. Tim,  Lovely.  And such a lovely song.  Did you know --” 

“Doris,  quiet! I don’t want to hear you nattering away when my daughter is about to sing!”

Beth began.  She sang Alicia Key’s “Falling”.  Tim’s heart leapt.  She had a beautiful voice.  He felt the hairs on his arms stand on end, and tears welled up in his eyes.  Her mother whispered,  “She used to sing in the choir. Did she tell you?  She used to sing in church, when she was a little girl.  A voice like a sad little angel.”

When Beth had finished, there were loud cheers.  Tim stood and clapped loudly while she came off the stage and skipped back to her table.  He rose to give her back her seat. She looked startled when she noticed him, and for some reason, her smile faded.  He suddenly felt awkward and shy. He shook her hand.  “That was incredible.  Beth, that was so – amazing.”

 “Thanks. And congratulations to you!”

“Me!  No, I’m no singer.  I just – no, I’m not a real singer.  You had me in tears.”

“Oh. Yes, well, thanks. I’ve been singing since I was little.  But, I meant congratulations on getting Alice and Dave back together.  Dave told me you convinced him he was being a bit stupid.”

“I really didn’t do much.”

Beth raised her eyebrows.  “That’s not what Dave told me.  He told me you persuaded him to get back together with Alice.  And then he told me he came back down to find you that he’d decided to go back to her, but couldn’t find you in the bar.  And then guess what he told me?”

Tim blanched.   “Wh – what did he tell you?”

“He told me that the barman saw you leave with a hooker.  God, Tim, you really are…” Beth sighed. “I know it’s not my business, but why?  It’s so unlike you. Are you so desperate to make up for lost time?”

Tim was surprised and angry that she felt she could talk this way to him.  She was damn office colleague, not a friend.  What business was it of hers who he fucked?  But it was her ‘It’s so unlike you’ that raised his hackles so suddenly.

“One:  She wasn’t a hooker.  Two: You’re right; it’s not your business.  Three:  I’m not desperate; I enjoy it.  I enjoyed fucking her – her name’s Lara by the way.  I also enjoyed fucking Susanne Simpson, although to be more accurate she fucked me; and I enjoyed fucking Sarah Maxwell.  Up the ass.  And I’d probably enjoy fucking you too.”

“Unfortunately you’ll never find out, creep.”

Tim, overcome with shame at his outburst, turned and fled out of the club, forgetting the crowd in the dressing room waiting to congratulate him.  Beth was left sobbing in her mother’s arms.

He stood and paced in the alleyway outside, shivering.  He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and it was the dead of winter.

Beth had been out of order.  And on top of it, he had to face it: she’d stolen his limelight by completely outclassing him with her singing.
But why had he been so damn rude to her?  She was right:  He was unlike the Tim everybody knew.  But maybe that was what he really was like, all along, inside, and had been bottling it up all these years.  Who the Fuck Are You, Anyway.

“You can run, but you can’t hide!”  

Susanne’s voice made him jump. 

“You’ll freeze your bollocks off out here.  Poor little Timmy.”  

She stroked his bare goose-pimpled arms with the back of her finger.  He felt himself calming down.  And his cock stirred again.  She really had something about her.

“You did great, Tim.  Really great.  I was creaming myself when you sang.  It reminded me of Sunday.  That was fun, wasn’t it?  Sex is fun, Timmy.  Remember that, darling.”

She stood facing him. She pulled him gently towards her by the lapels of his shirt till   their bodies pushed against each other.  He shuddered as they made contact.  She ran her arms up and down his back and sucked hard at his neck.  She looked, and laughed.

“I’ve given to give you a huge love-bite.  Now everyone will know we’ve done it.”

She arched her own neck, and he kissed it.  Slowly she hoisted her skirt and guided his hand to her crotch.  She squeezed his hand between her legs and slithered over him.

She released his hand and pushed her tights halfway down her thighs.  In her jacket, with her tights rolled down, she reminded him of a dancer from the Folies Bergere.

“Drop your trousers, Timid Tim, and fuck me.  That’s right.”

Under the yellow lamplight, they fucked.  He felt as though they were part of a Brassai photo.  She was very different from Sunday, gentle and affectionate.

He came, deep inside her, sighing, “I love you… I love you…”  

When it was over she pulled up her tights in a business-like way and said, “No you don’t.  You don’t love me, and I don’t love you.   I don’t love anyone. You’re in love already, and you don’t even fucking know who you’re in love with! You’ve got a lot of work to do if you want Beth to go for you now.”

“Beth?? Are you crazy!”  As he said it, he recalled his dream.  And he remembered how happy he had felt in the dream, sitting in the front seat of the car next to Beth.  Suddenly he remembered more of the dream…she had put her hand on his knee…

“Oh, Fuck.  Fuck. I’ve so blown it.”

“No you haven’t.  All you have to do is apologize.  Really apologize.  And don’t worry about the love-bite.  She’ll see it as a challenge.  And it’ll make you more desirable to her.  Believe me, that’s how we women work.  Ask her out.   We’ll film the date so you can show your children how Mummy and Daddy first met.”  She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she considered the WT-FAY spin-off potential of a wedding.

Tim shook his head slowly.  Suddenly a nearby door opened – it was the fire exit of the club.  He saw Alice and Dave.   Dave shouted, “There he is!  There’s the star!  Come back in and sign autographs!  Your public needs you!”  And they linked arms either side of him and took him back inside.