London, the city of SEX! - Sex Stories

London, the city of SEX!

... was almost over before it began. Well, over within three or four minutes anyway. 'We must try that again when we have a bit more time,' Laura said. When Tom got back to his flat, there was a large wedge of quiche lorraine ('fancy bacon and egg pie,' Tom's mother would have called it) sitting in the middle of the table. There was also a magazine. The writing on the magazine's cover was in French. And perhaps the four people photographed picnicking were also French. It was difficult to tell when they weren't wearing any clothes. Tom took a couple of leftover boiled potatoes from the tiny fridge, chopped them into smaller chunks, and put them in a frying pan along with a splash of olive oil, a pinch of salt, and a shake of pepper. Then, while the potato chunks began to take on a golden brown hue, he made a simple salad with some shredded iceberg lettuce and slices of tomato. While Tom dined on the exceedingly tasty quiche lorraine with accompanying sautéed potatoes and a simple salad, he dipped into 'the French magazine'. Even allowing for the fact that first impressions can sometimes be deceiving, it seemed to Tom that if Health & Efficiency was about, well, health and efficiency, the French publication was leaning more towards unbridled hedonism. There were even a number of photographs in which the male naturists seemed to be sporting partial stiffies. Mind you, who wouldn't with all that tasty crumpet on display? And then there was page 24. Was it a coincidence? Or was there ...

... something magic about the number 24? In Health & Efficiency, page 24 was the home of Maria who enjoyed 'a refreshing glass of homemade lemonade'. On page 24 of the French magazine there was a show-all photograph of a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Tom's landlady. The woman in the photograph was wearing sunglasses - and that was all that she was wearing - so it was hard to be sure. But it certainly looked a lot like Michele. Later that evening, Tom enjoyed a very satisfying wank imagining that it definitely was Michele. On Sunday, Tom went for a long walk: across to Kensington Gardens, along the south side of The Serpentine, to Hyde Park Corner, up Park Lane to Speakers' Corner, and then back along Bayswater Road to Pembridge Road, and back to Portobello Road. He had just returned when he heard the familiar sound of Michele's footsteps on the stairs. This time, Michele knocked. 'Bon soir, mon ami,' she said. 'Tomorrow I will make for us zee supper. Seven o'clock?' 'Oh. Umm ... thank you,' Tom said. 'Yes, I can do seven o'clock. Yes. Oh, and thank you for the quiche. It was really nice. Delicious. And the ... umm ... the, umm, magazine.' Michele smiled and nodded. 'I think you are secretly the naturist, mon ami. Secretly.' On Monday afternoon, Warren sent Tom to do an on-press check at a printers in White City, not far from QPR's Loftus Road stadium. When Tom phoned before leaving the agency, the foreman said that the job would be going on the press at four o'clock. ...