A London Transsexual Escort 246.

To Bentley’s seafood restaurant in Piccadilly to meet JR for dinner, before going onto his hotel to indulge in a touch of frivolity, The Cavendish (Noir toiletries), not the most creative of product names, I wonder how long it took them to come up with that one?
I got to choose where to eat, as the restaurant is a mere 5-minute walk from the hotel, it was the obvious choice.
I’m always given 6-12 months notice of his arrival from the US, which is around the first or second week of January, so, there’s no excuse for me being late. Although we’ve known each other for more than 10 years now, I still don’t know what the initial ‘JR’ actually stands for, I should ask.
It was a crisp, frosty January evening, making it all the more lovely to step into a warm, softly lit dining room. Dressed in his usual attire, foppish bow-tie and silk handkerchief poking out the pocket of his tweed jacket, he looked like a university lecturer sat up at the long oak polished bar.
‘Frances, you really must write more Blogs, I’ve read them more than twice over now, lovely vignettes and amusing travel logs, oh, and when am I going to get a mention again,’ well...here you go; enjoy.
I had oysters to start, which means I’d have little red spots on my torso for the next few days, due to a mild allergy to them, however, it doesn’t stop me eating them. This was followed by sea bass, spinach and buttered mash, for pudding we shared a few scoops of vanilla ice cream, in my opinion still the best flavour. And yes, being nil by mouth dry January, I passed on the wine; I comforted myself with the thought that sober sex is far better than drunken sex, not that I ever get drunk these days, tipsy yes.
We talked about living in America where Trump plays at being the Great Oz, a time of polarisation for a nation, whilst here in England, we have our own calamity playing out, Brexit. Anyway, more than half an hour spent discussing politics is futile and a waste of good air, which of course they’ll eventually find a way of taxing too.
JR went to collect his coat, I sat at the piano and tickled a few ivories, the manager encouraged me to play on, but I had other things to be doing with my fingers back at the hotel. ‘Let’s get a cab, it’s too cold,’ ‘Are you kidding, we can walk it in the time it takes us to get one,’ I replied. JR insisted and flagged down a cab, ‘The Cavendish hotel please,’ ‘Eh…ok,’ said the cabbie looking slightly bemused, ‘I’m sorry, he’s American, he doesn’t do walking,’ I joked.
Back at the room I changed into a big fluffy bathrobe, fetched some body lotion and suggested he lay on the bed whilst I give him a back massage, this was welcomed. Things began to rise and becoming a tad too warm, I soon dispensed of the robe. ‘You know, you’re in a good position for me to take advantage of you,’ ‘Please do, I’ll assume the position,’ he replied and so I obliged.
I took advantage again, commanding JR to turn over onto his back so as I could straddle and ride him. Things were heating up; I filliped around to the 69 positions with no resistance from the body below and, guided each other’s cocks into each other’s mouths.
JR wanted to finish himself off whilst sat over me, spunking over my breast and neck; it would have been my mouth but he didn’t manage to make it in time. After a little wash and tidy up, I was handed an envelope addressed to ‘Frances.’ ‘You might want to take this bottle of vodka too, I bought it but only had a glass, just pour me enough for one drink.’ ‘So, here's a toast to the New Year, my first.
What I'm reading in bed...
Peas & Queues: Sandi Toksvig.
My Website

Post new comment

The content of this field is kept private and will not be shown publicly.
  • Web page addresses and e-mail addresses turn into links automatically.
  • Allowed HTML tags: <a> <em> <strong> <cite> <code> <ul> <ol> <li> <dl> <dt> <dd> <img> <br> <object> <embed> <p>
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
Copy the characters (respecting upper/lower case) from the image.
Your Ad Here