Sex in the City--London Read online

  It’s a different receptionist when I go back down and she doesn’t comment when I hand her the keycard and head out. The rain’s got much heavier while I’ve been in the hotel and I find myself wishing that Victoria had packed a raincoat. I cross the road to The Castle, still absorbing the changes in my body. Her body. I can’t stop myself from fingering the extra weight at my hips and wondering whether Damien will find the transformation sexy. I walk up to the bar and order a Southern Comfort without thinking, even though it’s a drink I’ve never had before in my life.

  I sit at a table in the corner by the window and look around the other people in the pub, wondering whether Damien’s already here in disguise. There are two men drinking alone, one of whom is sitting at the bar chatting with the barmaid and another at a table at the back drinking a pint of Guinness and reading. I don’t think either are my secret lover.

  There wasn’t a watch in Victoria’s suitcase so I’m not wearing one, but he must already be at least ten minutes late. Damien’s always arrived early before so I wonder if this is also part of his new character.

  The door opens and a tall man in a black suit and white shirt enters. He looks round the room, sees me and grins. It’s definitely Damien, albeit in someone else’s body.

  The person he’s inhabiting is nearly a foot taller, and has a sharper edge to his physical appearance, especially his face. Inside this stranger, Damien looks smug and excited, like a man test-driving a Porsche. He walks towards me. ‘This is going to sound cheesy, but I’m sure we’ve met before.’

  ‘Really? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Are you sure? Sometimes you see someone and you recognise them and you don’t immediately know why but you definitely know them. Are you here alone?’

  I nod.

  ‘Would you mind if I joined you? We could work out whether we do know each other. If that isn’t going to annoy you …’

  ‘Are you confident? I’m only interested if you’re confident.’

  I can see he’s surprised by this – doesn’t fully understand the new me yet – but hides it well, taking a seat opposite me and saying, ‘I think you’ll find I’m very confident.’

  Fifty-seven minutes later we’re back in the Jury Inn, standing outside my hotel room door. He kisses me for the first time and as exciting and bizarre and unique as this all is, I can’t help feeling wistful that our first kiss should be through other people’s mouths. The kiss becomes a passionate snog and Damien – who tonight is a man named James – dips down and scoops up the material of my long skirt as he strokes my thighs and brings his fingers up to my crotch. Victoria’s fanny feels much more active than mine – I’ve been feeling new internal wobbles and twinges all night and she’s already much wetter than I normally get until at least ten minutes of full-on foreplay. I turn away from Damien and push my keycard into the slot.

  The door opens and James backs me towards the bed. I turn away from him and crawl across the duvet towards the banked pillows and cushions, pretending I’m trying to escape. He lifts up my skirt and throws it up over my hips as if uncovering an artwork. He stares at my butt for a moment, then reaches out and stretches the damp G-string back from my ass-crack. ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘I like this.’

  I assume he’s referring to Victoria’s underwear rather than her anus and I smile, about to reply, I thought you would, when I catch myself and manage to avoid blowing the game. I gently move away from his attentions and take off his jacket. Then I unbutton his shirt and unzip his fly. When I pull out his cock it’s one of those agaric mushroom kinds, with a thin stalk and a large helmet that is so shiny beneath the hotel room lights that it looks like it’s been polished. He whispers, ‘I’m bigger than him. Wider. Uncut.’

  I laugh. ‘Was it worth breaking character to tell me that?’

  ‘I am, I promise. Take me in your mouth and I’ll prove it.’

  Since it seems to mean so much to him, I kneel down on the floor in front of James and put his cock in my mouth.

  ‘Now, be careful,’ he tells me, ‘I don’t want to choke you.’

  ‘Stop boasting.’

  ‘November shovel,’ he says, and it turns out he’s telling the truth. The cock in my mouth swells in an entirely different way to a penis growing harder from oral attention. But his body changes shape too and I have to suck hard to stop the cock getting away from me as his body shrinks. I give it a couple of licks, trying to judge how he’s feeling, then put my hand around it and gently slip it out of my mouth. ‘You know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking this opens up lots of possibilities …’

  He grins. ‘And I want to explore them.’

  ‘Damien,’ I say, feeling able to talk about this now he’s paused the fantasy, ‘I have to confess something … as fun as this is, I am a bit disappointed that you didn’t want to see me naked first. I mean, as myself …’

  ‘Oh, I do want that, more than anything. But I needed to test you first …’

  ‘Test me?’

  ‘I needed to know whether this would freak you out. I probably shouldn’t admit this and I can promise you that you’re the first woman I’ve done this suitcase thing with, but this isn’t the first time that I’ve had one of these weird experiences and in the past, well, it’s been hard to find a partner-in-crime. I knew you were open-minded, that’s what all the porno talk was about, testing your barriers, but there’s a difference between being sexually adventurous and being able to cope when the usual rules of the universe no longer hold …’

  ‘Damien, wait up, you’re going too fast. Do you mean that you’re the one who’s making us change? That you can control this?’

  ‘No, not that. It’s hard to explain. Ever since I was a child I’ve occasionally had these incredibly lucid dreams where I see myself able to do extraordinary things. And I’ve found that if I follow what happens in these dreams … if I go to the places I see when I’m sleeping and re-enact what I do in the dreams, then I gain the ability to do these things in real life.

  ‘Three months ago I had a dream where I went to an auction house, purchased a suitcase … I didn’t even know such a thing was possible … took this case home, dressed in the clothes and then … you can see how hard this would be to explain if you hadn’t experienced it … turned into the person whose clothes I’d bought.

  ‘Now a normal person probably wouldn’t think anything of such a dream. But because I’ve had these sort of weird experiences before, I went on the internet and looked up where these auctions take place, went and bought a suitcase, took it home, and transformed.

  ‘The experience was fun, and trippy, but there’s only so much you can do in someone else’s body. I went to a club, picked up a woman, took her home and fucked her. And it was interesting, but creepy, because I knew I couldn’t tell her what was really going on without freaking her out.

  ‘So I decided that the best way to enjoy this would be to find someone I could share it with. Of course, I had no idea whether it would work for you, but then I had another dream where I was inside someone else’s body fucking someone who looked like you do now.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ I say petulantly, ‘you’ve had this experience already.’

  He smiles. ‘Not exactly, but, I must admit, I didn’t realise you’d be quite so chilled out about this.’

  ‘I was scared when I changed,’ I tell him, ‘but now that I know that the transformation’s not permanent …’

  ‘But aren’t you frightened that such things are possible? Doesn’t it challenge your belief system?’

  ‘I don’t have a belief system. And I’ve always been open to having my consciousness expanded. Maybe this’ll seem weirder to me once it’s all over, but right now all I want is your cock up my cunt.’

  He’s gone a bit limp while he’s been talking so he wanks himself as he advances on me once more. ‘November shovel,’ he says again, becoming James. I go to pull off my G-string but his fingers halt mine. ‘Take off your skirt but leave your knickers on for a mom
ent. I do want to fuck, more than anything, but what you said before, about wanting me to see you as yourself. I wonder if we could try something. Take off your skirt.’

  I unzip it and kick it to the floor. ‘Shoes too?’

  ‘No, there’s something about those shoes that is just so fucking sexy.’

  I laugh, pleased that I made the right choice. They’re just a pair of ordinary flat brown shoes, but somehow they perfectly complement Victoria’s G-string and cunt.

  ‘Get up on your knees,’ he tells me. I do so. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘show me your holes.’ I do as I’m asked, slipping my finger under the material of the G-string and pulling it back, allowing him a full rear view of my cunt and ass.

  ‘Spread it a bit,’ he instructs. I do so. ‘Now change back.’

  ‘November shovel,’ I say, and there’s something wonderfully exposing about returning to my normal self.

  He groans. ‘I don’t think I could ever explain how erotic this sight is.’

  I make the transformation back and forth a few more times, letting him enjoy himself as he watches the movements of my asshole and pussy. Then he gets up on the bed, holding the G-string to one side as he enters me. I let him take me as Victoria – she’s bigger and wetter – then once he’s inside, I turn back.

  ‘Oh God,’ he moans, as the transmogrification of her cunt into mine provides his penis with a squeeze more intense than any amount of Kegel exercises would allow me to furnish. ‘Now you do it,’ I say, while he’s inside me as me, and the swell of his cock inside me is not painful at all but more divine and intense than anything I’ve experienced before. I let him fuck me for a while and then ask, ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  He withdraws his penis from my vagina and I have an anxious moment wondering whether this is going to work or if it will do some terrible trauma to my insides.

  But it has to be tried, so I let him finally remove my sopping G-string and lick my asshole for a while and then grease me up with some lubricant he’s brought before sliding inside my butt as James.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asks.

  ‘I am a little scared.’

  ‘I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘No,’ I tell him, thinking about how James’s cock swelled in my mouth as it turned into Damien’s and deciding my rectum can take it.

  ‘November shovel,’ he says.

  It does burn badly to begin with, especially as I think he’s up to full size but then he swells again, but then his fingers find my clitoris and the pain turns to pleasure. I stuff my hand into my mouth and bite down.

  ‘Is it too much?’ he asks.

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘but don’t move for a moment. November shovel.’ I transform into Victoria and her rectum must be wider than mine or more used to getting it this way as the pain from before immediately lessens. He continues to finger my clit as he sodomises me without mercy.

  When it starts to ache just a little too much, I ask him to turn back and he does so. After feeling the full force of Damien’s wide cock in my arse, James’s smaller penis feels much more manageable and I relax enough to let him fuck me until he comes.

  He’s feeling bad because I haven’t orgasmed yet. ‘Is it the situation?’ he asks. ‘Is it too weird?’ It amuses me that even in this situation his ego remains healthy. ‘No,’ I tell him, ‘I just find it hard to come when I’m being ass-fucked. It’s too intense or something. Besides, our clits need more attention.’

  I roll over and just for an instant I’m not even sure who I am any more. Then it comes back to me. I’m still Victoria. He crawls up on me and puts his hands on her thighs and begins to kiss and lick me. I have this strange sensation in my head where my brain keeps trying to force me to acknowledge that it’s not my clitoris he’s expertly stimulating, a distinction that our body is finding it increasing hard to make. I transform back to myself and he takes a moment to locate my now much smaller clitoris with the tip of his tongue. But when he does find it, it’s suddenly so much more intense, and I stay as myself until he brings me to the greatest, most oddly guilt-free climax I have ever experienced.

  ‘You want to come on us, don’t you?’ I ask him afterwards, remembering his talk about cum-shots on our date.

  ‘Do you have to keep saying “us”?’ he asks. ‘It creeps me out.’

  ‘Really?’ I reply. ‘It turns me on.’

  ‘I definitely chose the right person for this, didn’t I? And yes, I do.’

  He arranges himself on top of me and starts masturbating. I change back and forth as he’s doing it. He may not like me talking about it, but he certainly likes the reality of it, my face turning into Victoria’s and back again, and with every transformation he grips his penis and wanks faster.

  It’s a game for both of us, the suspense being whether he’ll come on my face or hers. As he’s doing this I remember reading an online confession by an American teenager who said that something similar to this was all the rage at high school and college parties – ten girls would kneel in a circle while ten men would wank and rotate around them, so that you never knew whose face would get whose load. The game seemed delightfully inclusive, in a twenty-first-century way, as the teen had written that the game wasn’t any fun unless there was a mix of attractive and ugly women and men.

  The whole point was that the girl geek might get a face full from the quarterback, or that the boy nerd might get to shoot his sperm over the homecoming queen’s perfect features, and afterwards these people would feel closer to each other than anyone from my generation ever did. Call it sexual networking.

  He didn’t transform as he wanked, staying as James the whole time. It was Victoria’s face he shot over, a relatively small payload but still impressive for his second time of the night. ‘I wonder if his spunk tastes different to mine,’ he says, and then to my surprise, licks some from my cheek. ‘Turn back,’ he tells me, ‘I want to see what you look like with my jizz on your face.’

  I do so, and he kisses me, the sperm sticky between our lips.

  Later that night, before leaving the hotel room and returning to my husband, I ask Damien, ‘So how long do you think this is going to last? Is it a one-time thing? If you get more suitcases will it happen again?’

  ‘I can only go on the past,’ he says, ‘and when this sort of thing has happened before it’s generally lasted for two or three months. And when it stops it’s usually about a year or so before I have another dream.’

  ‘OK,’ I tell him, ‘I will carry on doing this for as long as it still works. When we stop changing, it’s over … agreed?’

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He seems to appreciate that I’m offering him a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card, but at the same time is unable to quite accept it. ‘But if this hadn’t happened … how long would you have continued seeing me then? Would you have left your husband for me?’

  ‘Never. Maybe our affair would’ve lasted longer, but who knows? Maybe this time will be different to your past experiences. Maybe we can keep transforming for years.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he says, ‘but I doubt it.’

  ‘Agreed then?’ I ask.

  ‘Agreed. But just in case, in the meantime, I think we should make the most of it. How soon can you get back here?’

  ‘Next week,’ I say, looking at my watch, ‘but I still have another couple of hours tonight. He’s used to me coming back very late.’

  ‘So what are you saying, the other suitcases?’ he asks, and we both look at them.

  ‘Well, I’ve already looked in one of them, the designer one, and I don’t want to turn into her, but the third one … I haven’t looked in there yet …’

  He smiles. ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘I think we’re both going to find what’s in there very exciting.’

  ‘Really?’ I ask, getting out of bed and walking, naked and achy, to the third suitcase and unlocking it, ‘let’s see.’

  About the Story

  I’VE ALWAYS BEEN INTERESTED in t
he process of going to a luggage carousel at the end of a journey. For a while I’d thought about writing a novella about a couple of thrill-seekers who steal people’s luggage from airports. Then when I did a bit of research into this, I discovered that there’s a perfectly legal way of doing this: buying other people’s lost luggage from auction houses. Most writers, I think, are fascinated by other people’s secrets, and, for me, the whole fun of writing is imagining yourself into somebody else’s life. It occurred to me that a couple going to buy other people’s suitcases and dressing up in their clothes could be a good starting point for an erotic story. Some people don’t like descriptions of clothes or dressing up in fiction, but for me there’s nothing more exciting or memorable, whether it’s Belle de Jour’s ‘butterfly-printed knickers’ or Abby’s ‘silk tap pants’ (in Nicholson Baker’s Vox) or darling sodomite Albertine’s ‘black satin dress’ (Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past.) The exciting thing about writing this story for me was that it was a good justification for writing about dressing and undressing, of focusing on knickers and bras and shoes.

  It wasn’t until I started writing the story that a further possibility occurred to me – what if, in dressing up in these other people’s clothes, my characters became these other people. I liked the idea because it seemed a good way of dramatising the fantasy of making love to someone and thinking of someone else, only in this instance the characters were both making love to their partner and someone else at the same time. I set the majority of the story in and around Islington, as that area’s always struck me as a strangely sexy part of the city, filled with hidden nooks and crannies that occasionally hide an illicit couple or two. And because it was where a stunning woman I sat next to at a dinner party made me a present of her underwear at the end of a dinner, stuffing it inside my jacket pocket as I stopped by the door to kiss her goodnight.