Hi, it’s me, Caprice. I wanted to tell you my side of the story. I see my ex-boyfriend John has been on here talking all kinds of shit about me, and how I treated him unfairly and used him for money. Well, some of that’s true but a lot of it is bullshit, and I wanted to say why.
Here’s the thing: I knew John was a cheater. I knew he had cheated on a previous girlfriend, and I knew he always had eyes for other women too. He was the kind of guy who always had eyes for the prettiest girl in the room. A lot of the time, it was me. But if it wasn’t, he’d ignore me like I was a grandmother. He was just like that. So, I didn’t feel bad about cheating on him so much because I knew that he was a cheater at heart, even if he never actually cheated on me.
OK, so I am admitting I cheated on John, but it’s not actually what you might think. Basically, every month or so when I had money, I used to slip away to this place in Soho where they did erotic massage and lesbian escorts and BDSM and all sorts of things, and I would let Jay, the lady who ran the place, do this to me.
Jay was about thirty-five and calm and confident and mature and had amazing arms and hands and a lovely, husky East End accent. I never asked if she was a lesbian but the place catered mostly for women, so I guess she was.
She’d start by totally coating me in oil, and gently working the tension out of all the big muscles, before moving up to my shoulders, and then starting to gently tease my breasts, which makes the nipples puff up.
Then she’d focus on them more intently, and while she was doing that she’d start talking me through some stuff that was almost like hypnosis. She’d tell me to block out thoughts about past, future, or any other people, and just focus on breathing good energy all through my body, which became the centre of the world. After a few minutes of this, I was totally under the spell.
The first time she did this I thought an erotic full body massage would probably not include my pussy, but when I felt her fingers drift down and start brushing my clitoris, I realised that indeed, it really was going to be the full body. I did wonder if this was going to cost more, but it felt so good I didn’t say anything.
I moaned my compliance and she asked me to spread my legs. She began slowly massaging my clitoris and labia. I felt dizzy, completely relaxed, and waves of tingling pleasure began rushing up into all the places where I had had just breathed the good energy.
After a few more minutes her fingers delved deeper into my pussy and began to play around the opening, the first inch. The back of my cunt now glowed with pleasure and yearned to be filled, and sensations like minor orgasms began to sweep through me in time with my breathing.
‘Lift your legs,’ she said, and my body obeyed without knowing too much about it and she held them in place with one strong arm.
For a moment her thumb played teasingly in the opening of my cunt, and I squealed and was about to start begging her to put something inside me when she plunged her middle finger in deep and I wailed.
She didn’t move her finger in and out, but pulled her hand up and down rapidly, so the tip of her finger rubbed into the top wall of my pussy over and over, and I felt an absolutely huge orgasm building inside me, and I began to moan uncontrollably.
Then after a minute of that, she withdrew, but was soon back inside me with two fingers, and this time she went at it hard and fast on the top wall of my pussy and within about fifteen seconds, I had the largest orgasm I had ever had, bigger than I even used to think was possible. (I’ve had plenty bigger, since then. Most of them from Jay, and for a hundred pounds. Total bargain.)
‘Good girl,’ she said. ‘Next time we better gag you, though.’
‘Was I noisy?’ I said, worried.
She laughed. ‘They probably heard you in Norway, love. You’ve got to let go more, that’s my advice.’
I wanted to tell her about John, about boys in general, about how I constantly worry, that I will be rejected, that I will be a loser, that I will have to work at some crappy job the rest of my life. But she was just a masseuse, not a therapist.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Um, that was totally amazing.’
‘Spread the word, girl. Tell your girlfriends I’m the best in London,’ she said.
‘I don’t really have girlfriends,’ I said. ‘I’m not actually a lesbian.’
She laughed again, the self assured tone. ‘Right. But you don’t have to justify yourself to me, darling. Not in here.’
So that’s the story of my first massage, and how I went home feeling amazing, and dimly wondering if I was in fact, a lesbian.
And, that is what I used to think about when I was with John, and when I was masturbating.
Incidentally, he is wrong about all that. I did have orgasms with him, usually because I was thinking about Jay’s fingers. But he was right about me faking the second one in the bath, that time he came in to perv on me.
I am not sure why I did that, really. Just to be mean, I suppose.