The Pornographer Diaries

18. Hello hello hello

In my limited experience, I’ve come to the conclusion that things usually happen to you when you’re least expecting them. Some days you can get all threaded-up and go down Fanny Fandango’s Discotheque brimming with confidence, dentist-white teeth and immaculately gelled-hair, yet go home at the end of the evening with nothing more than two pieces of chicken and chips. Other days you can go down the supermarket in a six-day-old t-shirt and slippers and end up meeting the woman you’ll spend the rest of your life with. You never can tell. I think it’s God’s way of keeping us on our toes.

Or women’s.

After I left Peter’s office, I spent the next three days drunk. I would’ve spent the Thursday drunk too but the police phoned me in the morning (just before the pubs opened) to ask me if I’d be home that evening. What was I going to say, no? So, I sat around watching telly and working out convincing answers to every possible question. I half-thought about phoning my newly appointed solicitor to have him present but I couldn’t be bothered and figured I’d handle the situation myself. Well, I’d done all right so far.

I just wouldn’t say anything. I’d appear to co-operate but I wouldn’t add anything to what I’d said already.

Just after seven there was a knock at the door and I went down and found WPC Kensington staring back at me.

‘What’s this, CID or something? Where’s your uniform?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I got off duty an hour ago. This is nothing official, I just wanted to ask your advice about something. May I come in?’ she said.

‘Yeah, sure. Come on up.’

WPC Kensington came in and followed me up the communal stairs to my first floor room. She shut the door behind her once inside and came and sat on the sofa next to me.

‘Do you pay a lot for this room?’ she asked.

‘Only in terms of social standing,’ I replied, a well-worn joke of mine that has yet to win a single laugh. ‘You wanted to ask my advice about something?’ I asked suspiciously.

‘Yes, but this is strictly confidential, you understand. You have to give me your word you’ll never tell a soul about this without my permission, my job depends on it,’ she told me. ‘Do I have your word?’

‘Of course, anything you say will be strictly between the two of us.’

I wondered what the hell she was going to say and sensed a little tension in her voice. She’d come across at the station as a stern sort of fish but now here she was apparently nervous.

Hang on a minute. She wasn’t thinking about...

No. That couldn’t be it.

Could it?

‘Well, basically, I’m kind of interested in how you... how I... might go about appearing in one of your magazines. Like I said, you can’t tell anyone because I could lose my job over this, so I just wanted to sound you out first, find out about the procedure. Would I be able to do it anonymously? Not show my face or have to use my real name?’ she asked. It took me a moment or two to gather first, my thoughts, and then my socks, as they’d blown right across the room.

‘Erm, well, yes, it’s possible. Hardly any of the girls use their real names anyway and as for covering your face up, yes, some women do that. Though I should say not in the mags like Bling. They only use professional models. You’d be better off sending in your pictures to someone like Froth, who deal with the er... (how shall I put this?) amateur enthusiasts. With Froth you can just send in polaroids or normal 35mm snaps that you take at home and get those printed. You would have to send in ID and a model release too but this would be for publication or anything, just for our records. That would probably be your best bet,’ I told her. I’d have to make sure I got hold of a copy of that issue of Froth, that was for sure.

WPC Kensington gave this some thought and said she liked the sound of it.

‘How do I go about getting my pictures taken?’ she then asked.

‘Well, you just, I don’t know… do you have a husband or a boyfriend or someone who could take them for you?’

‘Yes, but I really don’t want anyone knowing about this. I’m just doing this for myself, no one else,’ she explained.

‘Well, you could set the camera up on a self-timer.’

‘That’s a possibility I suppose. Or you could take them for me,’ she then suggested, and I had to go over and collect my socks again. ‘I know it’s a bit of a cheek, me asking you this, but as far as I’m concerned the fewer people who know about this the better, and you are a professional. Could you do this for me?’ she pouted. ‘I’ve got money, I can pay you for your time.’

How does that expression go? Fuck me!

I couldn’t believe my ears, here was WPC Kensington, who only last week had me in cuffs, offering to give me money to take pictures of her rhubarb. Naturally, this didn’t need even a second’s hesitation, though I tried not to act too keen in case I gave her the creeps.

‘Of course I’ll take them for you, and look, don’t worry about the money. It would be my pleasure,’ I told her, and she could be sure about that.

WPC Kensington broke out into a big nervous smile and thanked me.

‘Do you want to do them here, tonight?’ she asked.

‘Yes, but I’ll just have to nip out across the road and get some film for my camera. I won’t be five minutes, it’s literally just across the road. You will wait, won’t you?’

She merely nodded by way of reply and gave me a little smile.

I pretended to check my pockets for my keys while adjusting the lie of my jeans, then jumped up out of the sofa and headed for the door.

‘Just five minutes, that’s all I’m going to be. Don’t go anywhere,’ I almost pleaded with her.

I threw myself down the stairs and out of the front door as if the hounds of hell were after my ass. The late night shop, which was usually a leisurely ten minute stroll away, suddenly seemed like the other side of Middle Earth. I sprinted as fast as my legs could carry me, terrified that WPC Kensington would get cold tits and do a runner while I was away. I kept pleading to who ever was listening, ‘Please, please, please, let this happen,’ almost sobbing at the prospect of returning home to find her gone. I didn’t think I could take the disappointment if that were to happen.

But then, what was I getting so worked up about? I was, after all, only going to take pictures. She hadn’t promised to shag me or anything. In fact, the possibility of sex seemed distinctly unlikely, seeing as she had a ‘husband or boyfriend or someone’ and had approached me because I was ‘a professional’.

Oh bollocks.

Should I try it on? Should I try it on like Howard always did and suggest some pictures of her sucking someone off (and leave it up to her to work out who I was talking about)? Oh yes, very smart move. She’d see right through me and have her clothes back on and me in cuffs for the second time this week before I could say ‘Jack Toff. Of all the people to try it on with, a policewoman was perhaps not the smartest.

In fact, what if this thing was a ruse, a honey trap to get me to incriminate myself even further and I was walking right into it?

That thought stopped me in my tracks.

Of course that was what this was. How was I being so blind? My little head was doing all the talking and my big head the listening but it would be both of us, together with our attractive virgin backside, that would end up in the slammer.

No wait, that couldn’t be it. That would be entrapment. She’d asked me to take the pictures, there was nothing illegal about that. As long as that was all I did, take a few pictures of her, there was nothing they could get me on. It would be a completely wasted operation. In fact, it might even be a good way of getting the other charges against me dropped – by showing persecution. Okay, so that’s all I’d do, just take a few pictures.

I wondered how far WPC Kensington was prepared to go with the ruse.

Would she actually do as she’d said and take her clothes off for the camera, or would she bottle out at the last moment when she realised I wasn’t taking the bait?

I returned with two rolls of film after fifteen minutes and found her still sitting on the sofa.

‘I hope you don’t mind but I helped myself to a scotch just to calm my nerves,’ she said, and I told her that was quite all right. She could have as much as she needed.

I loaded up my camera, a simple 35mm Canon and asked her if she was ready.

‘Shall we move you over onto the bed then?’ I suggested, and she downed the last of her glass.

‘Okay, let’s do it.’

I put on some music to relax us both and positioned her on the bed. She had a knee length skirt on and dark stockings and when I told her to open her legs, I saw that she had on matching pants and suspenders. I snapped away as she lay there spread-eagled in-front of me and my woody soon lost all reservations and returned with interest.

‘Undo a few of your buttons on your blouse,’ I told her and she complied. If this was a sting, I had to admire her dedication. Time to get her to do something dirty.

‘Okay, rub the front of your panties with one hand and pull down your bra with the other,’ I half-said half-choked. Again she complied without hesitation and when her nipples popped into view I felt a head rush I’d not felt since watching Zoe strip all that time ago.

‘That’s good, that’s really good. Now lose the blouse completely. Take it off and sling it to one side.’ SNAP SNAP SNAP. ‘Now the bra, lose the bra.’ SNAP SNAP. ‘Okay, cup your tits and lick one of your nipples.’ SNAP SNAP BLIMEY.

At least I knew she wasn’t wearing a wire. There was now no hiding the bulge in my trousers and I even pointed it out to WPC Kensington to diffuse any potential awkwardness.

‘It doesn’t matter how many of these I do, I just can’t help getting a hard-on.’

‘That’s good,’ she smiled, eyeing my packet. ‘I’d be upset if you didn’t get one.’

‘Take your skirt off,’ I told her. SNAP.

WPC Kensington lay just in-front of me in her undies and high heels, rubbing herself all over, panting hard and looking me straight in the eye.

Okay, I thought to myself. Let’s see if you’re really ready to go through with this.

‘Lose the pants.’

She didn’t even flinch. She lifted her bum and slipped them off, then opened her legs, showing me everything.

SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAPPIDY SNAP...

‘Damn it, hold on, I’ve got to change the film already,’ I told her. I knew I should’ve got 36 exposures. Unlike most models I knew, WPC Kensington didn’t attempt to cover herself up while my shaky hands attempted this fiddly operation. She just lay there, stroking herself all over and staring at the ceiling.

God I wanted to shag her so badly. She might not have been as stunning as Tanya or as cute as Cindy, and she’d need a little airbrushing around the tits before she could be printed, but she was still a looker, no question about it.

I had the film back in and was standing over her again, this time considerably closer.

‘Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘Make me do things.’

‘Pleasure yourself in front of me and I’ll take some pictures.’

WPC Kensington went straight into it. She whacked herself off more frantically than... well, I knew I would whenever I remembered this rainy Thursday in Tooting.

SNAP SNAP SNAP.

She was moaning like a banshee now and I was right there with her. I knew it was the wrong thing to do and that I was meant to be a professional but this was absolutely killing me. Okay, sure, yeah, it was probably a trap, but even if it was I couldn’t help but walk right into it.

‘Okay, right, listen,’ I grimaced, unbuttoning my flies, my heart absolutely smashing against my ribcage. ‘I just want to get some pictures of you with this in your mouth.’

WPC Kensington leant up and looked at my meat, then seized it like a girl possessed and stuffed it into her mouth. I’d never known such a wanton blow-job in all my life, so much so, in fact, that it made me wonder if this is how it would feel to be sucked off by a Velocirapter.

‘Oh God, yes!’ I called to the heavens as she worked me like a suction pump. SNAP SNAP SNAP.

WPC Kensington was so short of breath that it took her three attempts to tell me to take some pictures of me fucking her. I pushed her back on the bed as she ripped the shirt off my back and yanked my trousers and pants down, painfully twanging the old fella. As I climbed aboard I felt an overwhelming sense of relief that I was finally going to get to experience sex, rather than disappointment.

However, I should just say that the mind can play funny tricks on you. I know it sounds stupid, but even at this point, with me rogering her bandy, I still wasn’t one hundred per cent convinced that I was actually going to get to shag her properly. I’d gone through such a cruel drought (Tanya and Cindy aside) and known so many last-minute knockbacks that my mind refused to take for granted the fact that we were now having sex. I continued to SNAP away just for show and it was only when I told WPC Kensington that I was having difficulty taking pictures with her moving about so much and she replied, ‘Well put the fucking camera down then,’ that I finally accepted the facts.

‘Oh yeah give it to me! Give it to me hard!’ she was yelping, slamming me in and out of her for all she was worth. ‘Now from behind.’ ‘Now with me on top.’ ‘Now up against the wall.’ ‘Now me doing you with this.’

‘What?’

I’d never known anything like it. Yes, it had been a long and arduous drought and yes, I’d pined for sex more times that I cared to remember, but by jove, it caught up with me with a vengeance.

She was insatiable. That was the only word for her, absolutely insatiable.

I had gouges out of my back, bite marks on my nipples, cuts and bruises all over and a black eye before the night was out. We must’ve done it every which way but loose, and then done it loose, for there was nothing left taut on either of us by eleven, and I put in the performance of a lifetime.

I don’t know what her home life was like but she was the dirtiest girl I’d ever known. She told me that she just couldn’t bring herself to do these things with her boyfriend because she’d be too embarrassed all the rest of the time, but with me, a low-life scumbag pornographer, she could do or say anything because I didn’t matter to her one little bit. I was just a fuck.

Then she asked if I wanted to wee on her face.

‘Er... not really,’ I told her. ‘Besides, I can never go when someone’s watching me.’

‘Let me know if you change your mind,’ she said as she attempted to coax one last fight out of my battle-weary cock.

And she got it too, though it weren’t much to write about, so I won’t bother.

Just before midnight she showered, gargled and thanked me for a spectacular evening (her words, not mine), then asked me what I was going to do with the pictures. I told her to photocopy her birth certificate and passport and send me a copy along with a letter confirming her address and telephone number so she could be contacted by Jackie or Mary for verbal confirmation.

‘We have to go all through that?’ she asked, reluctantly.

‘I’m afraid so,’ I told her.

‘I’m not sure I want to give out my details and I certainly don’t want anyone ringing me at home. Can’t you just slip a couple in somewhere discreetly?’

It would be difficult now that I’d lost my job (though I didn’t tell her this), but possible if a few of the boys were willing to do me a favour or two.

‘I’ll see what I can do. Now you take care.’

Well, it might be breaking the rules but how could I refuse a woman who’d only minutes earlier had had my spuds in her mouth.