Entertaining at Large Ch. 15

Susan first appeared in Entertaining at Home. Other characters mentioned joined the story in subsequent episodes of Entertaining at Large. If you like the look of this chapter it might be worth checking them out to discover people's back stories and the details of events mentioned. Comments, suggestions and support welcomed as always and thanks to those of you who already have.

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'What's the difference between a dildo and a vibrator?'

'Great question, Kieran. Anyone else know the answer?'

I was enjoying this. After I agreed to take ten virginities in a single session, I almost immediately regretted it. Whichever way I pictured it happening, I couldn't envisage the encounter being anything other than sticky, embarrassing and uncomfortable: physically and emotionally.

The idea of treating the whole thing as a seminar had come about by accident. Nigel, the guy whose idea it was after I made such a sensitive job of deflowering him at his brother's stag night, asked his mum if he could use the house for a business studies group whilst she and his dad were away on holiday. Being the sensible mother of an eighteen-year-old she, of course, refused. He called me straight away.

'She thinks I want to have a party.'

He sounded devastated.

'That's the trouble with mums. They're smarter than you think.'

I know we live in a digital age and all, but I was amazed at how quickly Nigel had arranged everything. One morning I'm waking up realising the full enormity of what I had agreed to, only gaining comfort from the conviction that an adolescent wouldn't be able to organise a piss up in a brewery. It was a bit like a hangover, except there was no headache or missing underwear. The next I'm looking at a text with the password to an on-line user group set up for the gig and being asked whether I want cash or transfer direct to my bank account. Everything was arranged in less than thirty six hours. Everything that is except the venue.

'She said that she wanted to speak directly to you.'

'Me. Why?'

'I told her you were the seminar leader and that the whole thing would have to be cancelled otherwise.'

So it was that I ended up lying to someone who sounded very nice on the phone and agreeing to pop round to see her on my way home from work. My friend Scarlett, who is a graphic designer when she's not stripping, knocked me up some very convincing looking business cards, headed notepaper and even seminar folders. (The guy who ran the local print shop was something of a fan.) I turned up at her house lugging one of those easels for A1-size paper that were de rigeur for seminars about twenty years ago. I'd found it in a stationery cupboard at work. Permission for me to take it was granted so quickly I reckoned I could have charged them for taking it away. Thank goodness for PowerPoint, I thought, as I felt my new stockings ladder on a protruding screw.

Monica turned out to be as nice in the flesh as she sounded on the phone. She was harassed, of course, having just seen her eldest son off on his honeymoon and having to pack for a Caribbean recuperation with her husband. Ensuring there was enough food and clean clothes in the house to last Nigel for a fortnight was a side project.

We sat and drank tea whilst I lied to her at length about the tutorial. I told her I was doing this as part of a business in the community project I thought would look good on my CV. The bullshit about encouraging young people to take an ethical approach towards modern business was the sort of stuff that ministers trot out at Tory party conferences when they're excusing the latest cuts in the budget. I told her that we would usually have use of the college but that due to caretaker cuts no cover was available at weekends. We commiserated with each other at the state of modern Britain.

For her part, she was grateful I had taken the time to come and set her mind at rest. Further, she was delighted that her son was taking an interest in something other than on-line gaming with his friends. When she offered to compensate me for my time I was so touched I almost came clean. I gave her one of my bogus business cards before I left and insisted she call me if she had any complaints when she returned from St Lucia.

I felt a bit bad as I walked away. But it did spark the idea of running a proper seminar for the boys. I had been thinking of ways to get them to look on sex as an enjoyable activity for two, not some sort of game of conquest. For them, no doubt, losing their cherries was the biggest challenge of their short lives. For me, looking back, it was the prelude to years of unsatisfactory relationships, confusion and dissatisfaction. Perhaps I could do something to make things better for them and the women they went out with in the future?

I started at Mr J's.

'I want to borrow some of your mucky mags. You know, the ones from the sixties and seventies. Preferably without historic semen stains.'

It's hard to phase a pensioner, particularly one who has enjoyed a front row seat as you came out as an exhibitionist. He went to a series of box files he had in a bookshelf in his sitting room.

'Will I be getting these back?'

'Of course.'

'And in the same condition that I'm lending them to you?'

'Certainly.'

''I'll put the kettle on.'

He handed me a dozen or so copies ofParade andGirls, Girls Girls and disappeared into the kitchen. They were just what I wanted; vintage soft-core. For the most part they were in black and white. The girls were variously described as housewives, secretaries, students and the like. I doubted accuracy, but they certainly looked the part. In the days before photoshop only film stars could have their negatives doctored. The women on display here looked like they could indeed be your neighbour.

'James and I were thinking of using some of those in a girl-next-door series. What do you think?'

'Good idea. Have you spoken to Mrs Arbuthnot?'

She lived in the next house to me and was probably on the wrong side of eighty. We had very little to do with each other, but I had been touched when she brought me a home-cooked meal after my ex-husband Dave left. She was of the generation of women who assumed the man was always to blame when a marriage broke down. It's possible I could have done a little more to enlighten her, but frankly my stocks of self-criticism were running pretty low at the time.

'Ha, very ha. She said she was up for the idea, but that her husband wouldn't let her.'

I told Mr J I wanted the magazines so the boys could see some real women.

'You know, with pubic hair and boobs that haven't been surgically enhanced; the kind of girls they'll be meeting in the back of parked cars.'

We chatted inconsequentially about what I was up to. My friend-cum-neighbour-cum-occasional lover was never judgemental. He did no more than slightly raise an eyebrow when I told him how I had stumbled into escort work. It was enough to confirm my own conclusions that I needed to sit down some time and have a long, hard think about the whole sex-for-money thing. When I explained the virginity-snaffling project in full, he just couldn't stop laughing.

'I wish I'd met someone like you when I was their age -- well a bit younger actually. Enjoy yourself, I'm sure they will. We'll make a date and you can tell me all about it afterwards.'

'You'd better get a better class of biscuit in then. I'm not as cheap a date as I use to be.'

When the boys started to arrive at Monica's, I was ready. They came in ones or twos. I kissed each one on the lips as they came in. I might be going to run a seminar here, but I didn't want them to be confused about where we were going to end up.

It was mid-afternoon on a Sunday. Mr J's magazines were laid out on side tables with colas and bottles of water. Nigel encouraged them to flick through them as they waited for everyone to arrive. They were more than enthusiastic. From my point of view, it was interesting to watch them as they nudged and sniggered together. When I was their age computers and videos were already replacing print as the main medium for pornography; only the seedier end of the newspaper industry still commanded mass circulation for smut. I guess for these boys the magazines were like historical documents.

They had all been given smart-looking folders and told to print their names on attached badges. They were definitely confused. They had come to get laid and here was this woman setting them up for what looked like a college lecture. There was a Kieran, a Neil, two Charlies, one, a spotty youth with a stammer preferred 'Spike', Arlo, William, Harry, George an Stefan made up the rest of the group. Not forgetting Nigel, of course, who was deferred to in all things erotic given his exponentially greater knowledge of the opposite sex on the basis of his night with Scarlett and I.

I had dressed carefully, choosing a dress which I could have worn to the office; just about. It was sleeveless with buttons from neck to hem. The skirt flared from the waist; I like the way it swirled when I walked. The muted pastel blue matched the colour of my bra and knickers. They didn't know that yet; though more than one was trying to surreptitiously position themselves so they could check me out when I crossed my legs. I did that a lot while we waited for the whole group to assemble.

I opened by introducing myself -- as Suzette -- and telling them in as prim a voice as I could muster how much I was looking forward to fucking them all. Then, I had them stand in a line along one wall and organise themselves according to birthday. From there I had them number off in three's and separate into three groups. Nigel was the odd-man-out. I put him with the trio who seemed the most nervous. There were a few fleeting looks of worry as best friends were parted from each other.

For the first task I gave each group a magazine and asked them to choose which girl was the best. I gave them a few minutes to check through the candidates and begin their debates before circulating to offer assistance. My real purpose was two-fold: to undermine the vociferous leader -- there's one in any group of lads; and to get them to at least think about more than tits and arses when making their selection

'Is breast size the best criterion for selecting someone as a partner?'

No one, even an alpha male, wants to be seen as that shallow.

'It says she's a model, but doesn't she have rather too much pubic hair for that?'

In each group I had them stand individually as we chatted. I then lifted their shirts or polos and wrote their names on their chests in indelible marker.

'You're not going to be wearing the shirt for the whole session and I'd hate to get your name wrong while we were getting to know each other better.'

I'd like to say my actions were as detached as my tone. I made a point of teasing a nipple, or absentmindedly running my hands over their chests as I wrote. Each received a kiss on the cheek when I had finished with them. It gave me an excuse to lean in against their erections. Naughty I know, but hell, a girl should get her kicks too. Suffice it to say, by the time I had reassembled them I was as hot and flustered as most of them.

They took in good spirit the fact that there was no right answers to the questions of which was the best girl. I was tossing sweets to all those who gave intelligent or considered answers. I told them to keep the wrappers as there'd be a special prize for the team with the most points. That encouraged even more openness and they started letting slip stories of their less-than-fulfilled contacts with girls.

More admissions emerged when I asked them to indicate erogenous zones on drawings of naked women. Only Arlo had actually touched a breast, albeit inside a bra -- a very drunk girl at one of his brother's parties had permitted a few minutes fumbling while they queued for the toilet together. As for the rest, the sketches of women were obviously like maps of a foreign country. They all got boobs and pussies, but when I went down a list of places I like being touched, stroked and licked they looked at me as if I was winding them up. Spike made furious notes on his pad so I gave him an extra sweet.

It did get them asking questions. We went through propositioning, proposing, positions and prophylactics; and they were only the Ps. After a disastrous game of 'find the clit' on the drawings of vaginas I gave them, they all took notes

The bed-making competition was also a less than spectacular success, though they obviously enjoyed the flashes of stockings and thighs I gave them as I stretched over the sheets they inexpertly laid over Nigel's parents' double bed. I wagged an admonishing finger.

'OK boys, that's your homework. From now on, make your own beds, do your own washing and learn to cook. You'll all be going to university in the summer. Take it from me, a man who can look after himself will be way ahead of the field when it comes to impressing the girls you'll meet there. The last thing they'll want is a bloke who can't cope without his mother.'

They all laughed. Harry asked if it was OK to hire a cleaner. I don't think he was joking.

I sent group one -- Kieran, Neil and Spike -- to make tea and coffee for us all; they had the lowest number of sweet wrappers. The rest of us continued with question and answers. It was fascinating. Turned out they were as interested in what girls thought about sex and what they liked almost as much as they wanted to quiz me on how to get into their knickers in the fastest time possible. I unbuttoned the top and bottom of my dress. I was feeling hot in more ways than one.

'Do you like my dress?'

There were a few mumbled responses, most of them positive.

'Schoolboy error, lads. When a woman asks you if she like something she's wearing the only answer is "yes". And if she's asking your opinion she might even be coming on to you. Let's try it again.'

After a nervous start I had them laying the compliments with a trowel. We were all laughing but I think I made my point.

'More homework.'

Spike reached for his pen.

'Say something nice to your mum every day about something she's wearing, or done for you. Those of you with sisters could flatter them too. It'll be safe, but it'll get you in the habit of noticing. If you're feeling brave, try it with the girls at college.'

I stood up and gave them a twirl. I felt the skirt lift treating them to a fuller view of my legs.

'Do you think it makes my bum look big?'

Neil was straight in there.

'No. Don't be silly. It really emphasises your shapeliness. I'd say you're perfectly proportioned. The shade also brings out the colour of your eyes.'

'Round of applause for a perfect answer. Come up here and get your prize.'

The boys did as they were told and were quite enthusiastic about it. Neil approached me with a big grin and held out his hand expecting a sweet. I took his head between my hands and kissed him full on the mouth. I could feel his shock as our lips met. I massaged his lips with my tongue until they parted. I pulled him to me and almost jumped when I felt his erection against my thigh. He was hard as oak and, I estimated, pretty well hung. I broke the clinch with some reluctance. I was definitely ready, but Neil was one of the bolder ones, obviously, and he barely thawed when I came on to him. Time to warm them all up, I thought.

I'd watched the faces of the crowd in The Crown while I stripped. They knew that despite the tease they were definitely going to see me naked in the next few minutes. I knew most of them would be fantasising about how much they'd like to fuck me while I performed. These fresh young faces stared with similar lust as I toyed with my clothes or gave them tantalising glimpses of what lay beneath as I adjusted my stockings or crossed my legs. While they couldn't believe they might get to screw me, I knew they were on a promise. I smiled and thought what fun Tracey would be having if she were here now.

I pressed play on my phone to provide background music while we drank. One advantage of spending time with teenage nerds was that I now knew how to feed my songs through to Nigel's parents' expensive bluetooth sound system. I promised them extra points if they could name the tunes; they all looked blankly at each other as a medley of jazz burlesque numbers played.

The lads really liked talking. I have to say I didn't mind answering their questions or giving an opinion on their problems with girls. But t was clear, very clear, that they were petrified of taking any initiative. Not one of them had tried to cop a feel since I had arrived even though I had kissed and stroked all of them at one time or another. I'd expected a hand on my bum at least when I stretched on the bed almost doggy style. But nothing. I knew they were looking when I flashed my thighs and panties, but it struck me that none of them had, for instance, moved to the floor to get a better look. I was definitely going to have to up the ante.

We were four songs into the striptease medley before Stefan made the first guess.

'The Stripper, David Rose, 1962. Made number one in the US charts.'

The others looked from him to me with expectation. He was right about the song, of course. But who remembers who recorded it? I put down the awful coffee I had been sipping at, got up and handed Stefan the bag containing the remaining treats I had bought as prizes. The boys looked triumphant and relieved. George slapped their champion on the back. It could have been because of his expertise, but more likely because our discussion had strayed onto the subject of rimming. From the queasy looks on one or two of their faces I'd say they were definitely considering whether this whole sex thing was worth it after all. I put my forefinger under Stefan's chin and gently raised his lowered face so I could look into his eyes.

'How on earth do you know that?'

He gulped. I could feel the heat coming off his post box-coloured face. I bet he thought I was going to kiss him like I had Neil.

'I just like old stuff. You know from the nineties and earlier. I set up a programme to play all the number ones from when charts started.'

I stopped him with a finger on his lips. I had no interest in hearing about the musical equivalent of train spotting.

'And there was I thinking you'd been watching old stripper movies on YouTube.'

Stefan dropped his head again as soon as I released him. The others' laughter told me I wasn't far from the mark.

'Have any of you seen a striptease?'

Hands started to go up.

'I mean live, not on some porno channel.'

Only Nigel continued to raise his hand. I nodded to him to put it down. Everyone in the room knew the full details of when and where that had happened. Only he and I knew that he shouldn't be bragging about it. I looked around; the others were all shaking their heads.

'What, none of you have been down to the Crown and Anchor on a Friday? There's always girls getting their kit off there.'

It was clear from their expressions that they all knew where the pub was. Clearer still was the fact that its reputation and location meant that even the prospect of seeing naked girls was not enough to make them brave going there. I fiddled with my phone to put The Stripper on continuous play and eased the volume up a little.

'Would you like to?'

The all nodded. One or two of them spoke to confirm they would. William even said please. I smiled at them and sat down crossing my legs quickly. No flashing this time. I did, however, reach into my bag and slowly change my sensible shoes for a pair of high heels.

'Well you'll have to be a lot more enthusiastic than that.'

I looked around with a straight face at the mixture of confusion and disappointment on their faces. Charlie braced himself to speak.