Neither of us had anything to write with when I bumped into Lesley yesterday, and so I called her today to exchange our mobile phone numbers. I could sense that she was a bit reserved from the start. Later on she admitted she was contrite because of her recent sexual escapades. She wanted to clear the past away. I consoled her as well as I could, trying to separate her experience with me from those with others, including the black guy in a pub. “Now that we are so close, we both have yet another person we can talk to without any fear,” I argued. She accepted my gentle assurances, and we ended up by agreeing to meet from time to time in a Paddington hotel. “Remember,” I said sweetly, “I promised you a nice fuck.” What I did not tell her was that I was kept awake last night by fantasies of making love to her together with another man, one of her regulars. She admitted to having a few men with whom she would meet regularly albeit infrequently, and I could easily imagine us teaming up with one of them for an occasional menage-à-trois. At least one other man she enjoys fucking must be a nice guy like me. I must bring up this subject the next time we meet. With some luck, I may taste of real debauchery, including an excursion or two across the great sexual divide. I could see myself reaching with my open mouth for a glistening prick that just slid out of her swollen cunt… Lesley may turn out to be the find of a century, indeed.

Addendum (January 19, 2000)

The last few days I have had a lively correspondence with Lesley via our mobile phones. We do not talk but exchange text messages, which can run up to hundred-sixty characters. The short messages are short indeed, but they still allow quite a bit of scope for raunchy banter. Yesterday we went on for close to an hour, and we covered quite a bit of territory. This is a transcript of our correspondence:

Ranko: What’s up? Got lucky since the seventh?
Lesley: I don’t remember.
Ranko: When are we going to try our luck again?
Lesley: ASAP, preferably this weekend.
Ranko: Where? A friend with a nice flat? Menage-a-trois?
Lesley: Great! Is he cute?
Ranko: I was thinking of your lovers?
Lesley: They’re young and selfish.
Ranko: Shucks! Do you have a fuckable girlfriend?
Lesley: I want two guys.
Ranko: Fine. By the way, am I cute?
Lesley: I only have fuckable boyfriends.
Ranko: Fuck you soon. Over and out.

When I turned on my mobile phone this evening, I found a whole bunch of Lesley’s messages waiting for me. The phone kept beeping in my hand until all the messages were received. They were so direct that I was taken aback at first. The first one appeared to be a continuation of yesterday’s exchange: “You’re very cute, especially with your face in my pussy—fuck me.” The next one probed a bit deeper: “Take me on an adventure—fuck me, use me, worship me.” The third one was bit more practical, asking me to send her an electronic-mail message at an address with a funny suffix: cheapdate.co.uk. Again, the whole thing made me a bit worried, but not worried enough. I responded in kind.