Jessie 1 Greens Court Soho Walk Up
DISCLAIMER: I think her name was Jessie, could be wrong, sorry it was late!
I had zoned out some time in May. I looked up and it was December - soon time for another fucking “holiday season”. I had been getting some talking therapy that had highlighted my cynicism as an obstacle to feeling less depressed. I decided I would head out into the West End, see the lights and try to engage a bit more with the festive spirit. I think we can all see where this is leading…
It has been difficult since the divorce to move on from the happy cozy Christmases we had spent together in semi-detached suburban bliss before I fucked it all up with my penis.
Anyway, I went down Regents Street and it was nice. I felt better than I had for a while. I treated myself to some over-priced posh nosh and felt a bit more engaged with society. I decided to make an evening of it (was Wanking From Home the day after so could swing a late one) and headed into Soho for a few jars. It was nicely buzzing but not over packed with the weekend crowd.
I was half/half on a punt at this point. Toying with the idea. I was neither desperately randy nor totally dis-interested. More like a slight twitch down there that I could possibly exploit, or happily settle for a self-congratulatory wristy in the dis-comfort of my poorly appointed studio flat.
I checked the Lisle street walk ups – neither of the over worked and underpaid Romanian girls grabbed me. I was even more ambiguous about a punt at this point, but for the sake of valour I hauled myself the hundred or so meters to Greens Court, past the trafficked Chinese massage girls, drunk toffs and substance peddling road men. First floor, number 1, **knock knock** BUSSSAAAAAY. Fuck sake. Huffed up to the second floor through the pain of a dicky knee, **knock knock** and something special happened. “Hiya babe wana wait 10 minutes for me?!”. Fuck me she was stunning, fuck me, wait?! WOULD I! Balkan, 5 foot nothing if that, brown eyes, black hair, slim fit figure and nice B cups, some remarkably tasteful and well-done tatts (non-withstanding the bizarre AK47 toting cherubs etched onto each shoulder I would notice later as we fornicated). The maid even complimented my jacket, a vintage 90s brand now back in vogue with the teeny bopping Dalston wankers. Things were looking up. “Jessie” I think her name was, pushed a grubby menu at me like I was in Wong-Kei. Prawn chowmein? Nah. Black bean beef? fuck that. Oral and sex for a pinkie, that would go down a treat. Plus an outrageous £5 service charge for the night maid! But still, £55 quid these days is a bargain.
She disappeared to satisfy some other soy boy. I shot the shit with the maid and watched a few minutes of a generic action movie. Jessie re-appeared looking surprisingly chirpy having just serviced an ungrateful gamma. Things were looking promising. I went upstairs, to notice a new menu offering many different uniform options and I think the room has been decorated. I stripped down while I listened to the typical walk up hum of crap TV, knocking on the door and banter between whore and maid while she had a restorative snout. She appeared and made small talk, dropped her panties and unclipped her bra. Shes a looker and told me she worked Soho prior to COVID, I mused to myself that I would never in a million years knock anything this young, fit and feisty in real life. This gave me a strange thrill as she began to stroke my body and balls and gently wank my cock. Amazing how many working girls don’t know how to touch or suck cock, but this one did and she went at me with a variety of techniques and even made eye contact, what a sight. I was soon rock hard, she had dispelled any doubts about having a punt I had earlier. With a naughty look in her eye she asked “how do you want me?!” what a question. And there would only ever be one answer, missionary. She slipped me in and she was warm and wet. At this point, looking down at her and the reflection of us copulating in the mirror I was really into this. I fucked away as best I could, she was reaching under and playing with my balls as the bed was squeaking and she was doing her best to feign passion as I ploughed her field. I shot in the bag and ground my pelvice into hers as I came long and hard, she did not rush me nor attempt to grip the bag but kept squeezing my prunes. I was out of breath but satisfied, what an end to the night. We made small talk as she offered me a wet wipe and proceeded to freshen herself up with a quick wipe with a cunt cloth, followed by smoothly slipping back into her bra and hoisting up her knickers. What a sight - I love prostitutes.
Dressed, dreaming of my bed, and about to bolt down the stairs I remembered I was part of a band of brothers, our oath sealed with KY jelly. I had a duty at the very least to gather some HUMINT before extraction, or I risked a stony reception tomorrow in the mess hall. “what days are you working please babe?” “double shifts every day this week and next week to build my customers back up, but I might take Saturdays and Sundays off it depends”. Wow. Fuck me, she should make the Navy Seals if she manages to get through such a “hell week”.
My advice, skip the scrums Hamleys and Selfridges, get down to Soho, empty your nuts and keep the wheels turning.
