Soho is my favourite part of London. I can sit for hours outside a cafe, people watching. The eclectic mix of the passers-by – the tourists; the elderly couples on their way home from the matinee, and the subtle shift as the sun goes down. The trannies tottering over the cobbles in their towering heels; a young rent boy walking hand in hand with a leather-clad sexagenarian; the groups of camp, flamboyant young men jostling and flirting as they head out for the evening; the lap dancers on their way to work.

I spot Natalia sashaying towards me. The last time I saw her was a few months ago, and she was Rodrigo that night. This evening she is obviously on the prowl – all red pvc, fishnets and eyelashes. The platinum blond wig against her sun-kissed Carioca skin shouldn’t work – but then she is not looking for subtlety.

I call across and she gives an exaggerated wave in my direction.

“Eh, Bonitinha! What a surprise!” she calls.

My acquaintances in this world are superficial, hedonistic. I don’t have her number, she doesn’t know my surname. She was openly hostile the first time we met, but we bonded outside the club - sharing a cigarette, reminiscing about Rio – and since then, when we bump into each other, it is all air-kisses and exaggerated excitement. Her gaze wanders off to somewhere over my shoulder as I tell her how I have been.

She has to go. She has a client in 10 minutes, her second of the day. She tells me in mock disgust about her first client, his shriveled cock, gesturing with her little finger as she cackles. The next one is a rich Arab on a brief trip – her favourite kind, apparently.

I feel my clit throb as she tells me, look at her vulgar red lips and imagine them wrapped around the shriveled cock. I can’t help but think of it as she kisses me goodbye.

I am horny. I can feel the slipperiness of my labia sliding against each other as I walk along. I am tempted to slip into one of the cafes and use the bathroom, but I like this feeling. Of building my excitement to such an extent that the release is all the more satisfying.

I head down the steps of one of the sex shops – a lone pervert amidst the dildos, the gimp masks, the pictures catering to every kind of sexual proclivity. I push back a heavy velvet curtain to see a girl in just a thong dancing around a pole. The eager gazes of the punters, the bulges in their trousers.

I pick up my phone. He will be with me in half an hour.

*******************************************

He is already standing by the concealed entrance to the cinema when I arrive. He looks so out of place. He looks up and smiles at me as I walk up to kiss his cheek, breathing him in. I can never have enough of his smell. I take him by the hand and lead him in. He seems unruffled by the bizarreness of the situation, the sleaze, but I am not surprised.

Coming in from the light, the room is pitch black, but for the flickering of the screen – two women with huge tits being fucked by three men.

I pull at his head as I sit down, and he comes awkwardly to his knees – squashed between me and the seat in front.

I feel slightly self-conscious as he pulls my knickers aside. I have been recently showered for him on our previous encounters. This time, I am still in the same underwear I put on this morning, various hours worth of arousal between then and now. But it only serves to increase his hunger. None of the teasing this time – the whole of my cunt seems enveloped in his mouth, the tip of his tongue going straight to the spot that has been causing me so much exquisite discomfort.

It doesn’t take long. The shudder goes straight through my body with gut-wrenching delight.

I need to be penetrated.

I don’t know whether it is me pulling him up, or his cock seeking a destination, but I taste his lips as he unzips his trousers. I am filled. He opens me up and it squeezes against him – still alive from my orgasm. He fucks me hard. Fast. Hungrily. His hot breath flowing down my throat, tinged with my flavour. The spasm as he bursts inside of me.

His body relaxes against mine, and I am crushed comfortingly beneath him for a moment, his panting in my ear. Mine in his.

He lifts himself up on his elbows to release me, and I push him back to his knees. I know that I am filled with his cum, but we are so intermingled, I can’t feel whether it is his or mine that is trickling down my thigh.

He goes back down more hesitantly this time, his tongue flicking tentatively against my slit. I like it. The almost ticklish sensation that I can take pleasure in, now the urgency is gone.

Through the haze, I can see our row has filled up somewhat – there are maybe 4 or 5 people in our row. It is rare to find a woman in a place like this, and they have edged in for a closer look. It is so dark in here, I can only make out their faint outlines, but I can sense the brisk movement of their hands.

His mouth has become more pliant now, and I am sinking back into my rhythm. My concentration has reverted back to him.

I feel a warm pair of hands reach around from behind me to stroke my right breast, and a couple of figures that were seated a few seats away have moved in. I am sure I see a hand caressing his cock, feel something warm, wet against my knee...

******************************************

I study him across the table as we share some tapas. I thought he would feel cheapened, dirty after what I have put him through, but he has lost none of his easy charm. We chat conspiratorially over our Croquetas about the evenings events. Natalia saunters past on her way home, and I introduce you. She slips into Portuguese to recount the details of her previous client, sparing you the sordid details, before turning to leave.

“Ay, menina, que gato e o seu homem. Traz pra mim algum dia!”