Trifesta

So I did as he told me, but it wasn’t easy; the Stolichnaya must have started vaporizing or something inside my brain by then because as Chris nuzzled my ear and touched one of my tits I felt like bursting out into an fit of giggles. Maybe it was having the camera pointed at me, or maybe it was just the sheer silliness of the situation, having a prat like Chris trying to get me panting with passion.

Phil wasn’t happy though: “Look, Chris, you might have warned me your girl friend was going to show up half pissed. Taking portraits of drunks is a job for the blue heelers.”

“She’ll be alright. What next?”

“Sit her down on the couch before she falls down and then you sit behind her. If you think really hard perhaps you can find something you’d like to do then.”

Chris got close up behind so I was leaning back onto him and put his hands under my boobs. “Here, let me take the weight off your chest for a while.”

He started doing a kind of combined juggling and weight judging effort with both hands as Phil played around with the camera. That was alright, but when my self invited partner started his heavy breathing routine in my ear again it set me off snorting through my nose with uncontrollable laughter. Between us it sounded like a pod of whales surfacing for an air break. I wasn’t really trying to spoil Chris’s fun, it was the mix of nerves and booze. Still, I could understand why he started whinging.

“Bloody oath, Perdita, trying to turn you on is about as much fun as making a pass at Roseanne.”

Phil sighed: “Take her jacket off and give her some mouth to mouth resuscitation. Maybe that’ll do some good.”

It could have been worse, I thought. Chris was a repulsive little turd of a male but at least he was ahead of forty per cent of the men I knew in sexual attractiveness simply by being a non-smoker. Tonguing a smoker is as much fun as licking a saliva soaked nicotine patch.

What surprised both of us — me, anyway — was that once I started frenching with Chris everything suddenly seemed to turn around. I enjoyed having his tongue in my mouth and feeling his hands tugging away at my nipples as though they were Nintendo play stations. I even found myself holding his head against me as I wriggled around on top of the couch.

“That’s more like it, people,” Phil encouraged. “Passion, energy, that’s what a photographer needs to work with.”

For God’s sake, he was taking a few quick porno pictures at cut rate prices, not shooting the Kama Sutra with Kidman and Cruise. What next, a display in the National Gallery; “Seventies retrospective: Hippie has it away with big fat bird”?

“Chris, perhaps you’d like to help Perdita out of her clothes?”

At least he knew my name. That hasn’t always been the case with some of the men who’ve seen me served up au naturale.

Thankfully, I’d at least stopped giggling. Schoolgirls giggle when they’re having their panties pulled off: grown women should simply smile graciously and wave politely to the onlookers, if such there be. Chris had a wide smile on his lips, which I couldn’t understand.

“What are you so happy about? I can’t see anything there that’s worth six thousand bucks: not to you, anyway.”

“At least I got six thousand as well and the chance to shut your big mouth up in the best possible way. You’ve got to take what life offers and make the best of it, Perdita. And I foresee that what’s coming straight towards you right now is the flying fickle finger of fate.”

He stood up, dropped his jeans, went over to a table and opened a drawer, taking out a cock shaped vibrator. “You’ll like this,” he said. “It’s solar powered.”

“Solar powered?”

“That’s right. It’s designed for women like you who think the sun shines out of their arses.”

“Chris, if it’s a choice of being raped or having to listen to your jokes, for God’s sake start banging away.”

“Don’t worry about that, darling, I’ll soon have you laughing, one way or another.”

As a prediction it wasn’t too far out. Maybe I wasn’t outright laughing but I soon smiling. Chris totally surprised me: most guys know as much about the fine art of fine tuning pussies as I do about ballet dancing but the vibrator and his finger had my box de-frosted in no time — damp, empty and ready for the weekly meat delivery.

“Not laughing now, are you, Perdita?”

“Give me a chance; I haven’t seen your cock at full stretch yet.”

 “Well, I bet you haven’t seen your cunt for years, judging by the size of your tits.”

“At least I have seen one before, which is probably more than you have.”

Phil was almost ready to stamp his foot in anger: “I would really appreciate if we could get down to business here. ”

“Going down now,” Chris said cheerfully. “Don’t forget the diver, folks. If I’m not back in a week just put up a sign ‘At the bottom of this hole lies a big, big man.’