Chapter 61
Aida
When I court controversy, it is absolutely not because I seek drama.
It’s because I believe the subject at hand warrants more profile.
And if I can increase that profile by throwing my weight behind it, I’ll do it.
I’ll push boundaries, question assumptions, engage in uncomfortable conversations.
I will stir that shit as much as I deem it necessary.
Doesn’t mean I always enjoy it. Especially when the public backlash to my actions is as downright vitriolic as it has been today.
Do I believe that my journey to “find paradise” is the right one for me and the right dialogue to raise in society more broadly?
Unequivocally yes.
Am I comfortable with my particular kind of profile shifting from that of a hardened journalist and uncompromising interviewer to a woman of a certain age putting herself out there, not on the dating market, but worse: on a journey for sexual satisfaction, pure and simple?
Fuck no.
But for the first time all day, the special kind of terror that is putting one’s head above the parapet for all the world to see is dulling, easing a little.
Because, for the first time all day, I have something that succeeds in distracting me where even Simone’s pep talk and my boys’ cuddles have partially failed.
Callum is kicking off a performance for me on my iPhone screen, and I am one lucky gal.
‘When you said you wanted to be there for me today,’ I remark, ‘I did not expect this.’
‘You should expect the unexpected where I’m concerned,’ he shouts.
The shouting is necessary, because he has Enrique Iglesias singing Tonight (I'm Fuckin' You) at full pelt.
His shirt is already off, and his bare torso looks magnificent in the low light of his bedroom.
He gets his belt unbuckled and pulls it out of its belt loops in a single smooth movement before throwing it somewhere behind him.
‘I’m beginning to work that out,’ I mutter as I shamelessly watch him drop his pants, but it’s not totally true. Really, I’ve known this since Callum Sinclair rolled that ice cube over my underwear at the Zebra Club.
A second later, I’m narrowing my eyes in disbelief. ‘Is that… baby oil?’
‘You know it,’ he pants, dousing his palm liberally with some Johnson & Johnson’s.
He sets the bottle down and rubs his hands together before smoothing the oil over his shoulders and down his biceps.
I swear, this routine would not be out of place on stage at London’s iconic G.A.Y.
club. They’d go crazy for him with his gorgeous body, the tight little black boxer briefs with their alluring bulge, and those dangerously gyrating hips.
‘If it all goes wrong at Alchemy, you could be a go-go dancer,’ I tell him. ‘Or even a Chippendale.’
‘Nah,’ he says. ‘They’d probably make me wax my chest. And I’m all man, baby.’
I giggle as he smooths the oil through the dark hair on his chest. ‘Yes, you are.’
Satisfied that he’s oiled his chest up sufficiently, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs. ‘You ready for me to be all man?’
I take a sip of the large glass of chardonnay on my nightstand and settle back against my pillow. ‘Hell yeah,’ I say with the bravado of someone who’s not actually in the room with him. ‘Bring it on.’
He shimmies out of them and his cock pops out. He’s fully hard and fucking gorgeous. I am one lucky woman. I lie there and enjoy the view as he dances around the room, singing about motivation and reputation, turning so he can wiggle his ass at the camera.
And it is a very fine ass.
When he turns back to me, he has his dick in his hand.
He comes toward the screen, which seems to be at perfect dick height, and grabs some more oil from the bottle before smoothing it liberally over his length.
His crown is gleaming, and I involuntarily run my tongue over my bottom lip, which is my tic for most emotions from fascination to arousal.
‘When you lick your lips like that, baby, it makes me even harder,’ he tells me. The song begins again—he must have put it on repeat—but he turns the sound down.
‘I wish I was there,’ I confess. I really do.
It’s odd. I haven’t known Cal long, but he knows exactly how to bring me down from wherever I’m spiralling to.
He knows how to get me out of my head. Case in point: this little stripper routine.
I could really use the comfort of his body and his hugs and his touch right now.
I could also really use his gorgeous dick in my mouth.
‘If you were here,’ he rasps, backing away from the camera so I can see him more fully, ‘I’d have you on your knees so fucking fast, and I’d shove my cock past those fucking ridiculous lips of yours so hard you’d choke on me.’
‘I want that,’ I tell him, shifting in my bed and rubbing my thighs together. Beneath my loosely fastened robe, my body is heating.
‘I bet you do, you filthy girl,’ he says. ‘You like it when I choke you with my dick, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Show me your tits.’
I tug my robe open and slide it off my shoulders. His teeth catch on his lower lip as he takes me in, and I have the strongest desire to run my mouth all over his body. To snag that lower lip between my own teeth before sinking to my knees to take him in my mouth.
He’s so, so hard. I’m actually jealous of his hand as it works his length. The amount of baby oil he’s employed has it moving easily over his stiff column of flesh.
‘Like what you see?’ I ask, sinking back against my pillows.
‘I like it so much I’m going to pretend I’m coming all over those gorgeous tits. Stay like that, sweetheart—actually, cup them for me.’
He steps forward again, crowding the camera so all I get on screen is his big hand working his giant dick for me with even, hypnotic thrusts.
Scratch the Chippendales. This guy would kill it on Only Fans.
I can’t believe this performance is just for me.
The way his engorged crown is pulsating, leaking is positively pornographic.
I lean forward, wineglass back in hand, because this beats The Crown hands down.
Jesus fuck is the sight of Cal jerking himself off mesmerising.
He begins to moan, and it’s so male and unrestrained that it gets me all kinds of hot.
‘Show me,’ I say. ‘Show me how much you wish I was there on my knees for you. Pretend it’s my mouth taking you.’
‘Jesus, sweetheart,’ he groans. His hand works faster, a blur of hungry jerks. I tilt my head to one side and watch in fascination.
Then there’s the pained intake of breath through his teeth, and in the split second that follows, I don’t really process what’s happening until the screen goes whitish at the same time as I hear a wet splat.
Did he—?
Another anguished noise from him, and the screen goes even whiter. I can’t see a thing.
Oh my fucking God. I think he just came all over his phone.
I can’t help it. I lose my actual shit. The laughs burst out of me and I quickly set my wineglass back on the nightstand, because I’m definitely going to spill it otherwise.
‘Fuck,’ he says, the hunger in his voice turning to panic, and I begin to howl. I collapse forward on my bed, smacking my hand hard on the comforter.
‘Oh my God,’ I gasp. ‘Did you just shoot all over your phone?’
‘Yeah—shit, hang on…’
My forehead hits the comforter, because this is the best thing ever and actual tears are coming out of my eyes. I’m laughing so hard in this position my abdominal muscles are screaming, but I can’t stop.
There’s a scrabbling noise, and I look up in time to see something dark passing over the camera. I can make Cal out now, blurry and indistinct courtesy of a layer of remaining cum-smear. Jesus Christ. I will never get over this.
‘Fuck,’ he says, ‘I think I need a flannel. Can I use something wet, do you think?’
‘Just make sure you wring it out as hard as you can before you do it,’ I advise. I raise myself up with difficulty and resume my seated position as he takes me on a little virtual trip. I recognise his bathroom floor tiles before the phone is laid flat somewhere.
There’s the hiss of running water, followed by lots of drips, and then more rubbing on the screen. A blurry, fluffy towel comes towards me, turning the screen black, and then Cal’s handsome face appears from above.
I grin at him, still giddy from that slapstick high. ‘Hey there, stud.’
‘Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious.’
‘Did you get your cum out of all the crevices?’ I manage to ask before collapsing in a fit of giggles again.
‘Your concern is truly touching, but yeah, I think so.’
‘Good. Because that would have been an awfully awkward conversation with the Genius Bar.’
He flashes me a cheeky grin. ‘Yeah, it would. And for that, you’re going to watch me wash my cock.’
He sets the phone on a ledge and gets to work rinsing the washcloth, or flannel (such a weird boarding school word—it gives me the ick), again before tending to his still-semi-hard dick.
He’s so fucking adorable in the brighter light of his bathroom, his dark hair falling over his face as he looks down, stomach flat and hard and dissected by my favourite trail of hair.
He really is a beautiful man.
Still, I have to ask. ‘Did you mean to aim right for the phone?’
He gives me a sheepish grin. ‘I was aiming for your tits.’
‘Which were on the screen. So that’s a yes, I guess?’
‘It’s a I didn’t really think through the consequences. I got a bit carried away, as you could probably tell. Besides, I wanted you to have a bird’s-eye view of the action.’
That sets me off again. ‘Ohmigod, I definitely had that. That splat was hilarious. Just hilarious. It sounded like bird shit hitting a windshield, but louder.’
‘Did you just compare my powerful, masculine ejaculation to a bird shitting on a windscreen?’ he hisses.
‘Yes. Yes I did. Only, you know, far more erotic, and, um, masculine.’
‘Aida fucking Russell. The mouth on you. If I were there, I’d put you right over my knee.’ He picks up the phone and I smirk at him as he takes me back into his bedroom.
‘I’d like that,’ I tell him honestly.
‘I know you would, you little slut. Now, let’s get you off. Maybe we can see if you can spurt all over your screen.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him through my giggles, ‘I think that ship has sailed tonight. But you made me laugh so hard I forgot all about the people who called me a haggard old whore and a disgrace to Britain for a few minutes, in case that makes you feel better?’
‘Bullshit,’ he says. I can tell he’s kind of pissed, and I kind of love it. ‘Open your fucking legs for me and show me how much you want me.’