Seeking Satisfaction

Jenny Cook had a good job as a feature writer for a leading UK Sunday paper at the more serious and worthy end of the market. It was heavy and thick, made up of ten different sections, as well as two magazines, and attempted to walk the line between left and right of the political spectrum. Twenty-eight years old, she could consider herself a success in her career. Dark-haired, long-legged and with a figure that many women envied and men admired, Jenny owned an up-market car and lived in a one-bedroomed flat in a luxury block near Regent's Park. She was totally independent yet, for some reason, had a hankering for the responsibility of a home and family.

The relationship between Mark Cale and Jenny was a constant source of gossip and speculation amongst their friends. They were always warm and friendly enough with each other, even quite loving, and yet they seemed to make no progress in any direction. Their free weekends, which was most of them as her work was all done by Friday afternoon and he was a Westminster MP, were spent in his flat. Their sex life was OK, but a little dull, with a notable lack of fireworks. They almost always used the missionary position, though sometimes she persuaded him to let her go on top. He had no desire for her to perform fellatio and was equally uninterested in putting his lips and tongue to her vulva, though he did use his fingers. He was also extremely fond of her breasts.

When she was being really honest with herself, Jenny had to admit that Mark was a most unadventurous lover. An orgasm was nothing more than a dream. But, she persuaded herself, that an orgasm wasn't everything and too much was made of it in books and magazines. She enjoyed it when Mark ran his hands over her and kissed her breasts, though he spent too little time on foreplay. Quick to harden, he was quick to penetrate and equally quick to finish, leaving Jenny with a sense of unfinished business.

The subject of marriage had been broached on several occasions, usually - in fact, always, as she came to realise - by Jenny, and several times she thought she'd won Mark over. When it came to the crunch, he always found an excuse for not committing himself just yet. He invariably pleaded the necessity of putting in a great deal of time and effort on his political work, but Jenny was becoming more and more sceptical; after all, many politicians were married and had families, but still carried out their Westminster duties.

"Just give me time to settle in." They were lying in bed after their few minutes of sex and debauchery; Jenny had reached a climax of sorts, but missed an orgasm. "It's all very strange and new. I'm still trying to get my bearings and find my feet."

"You've been an MP for more than two years."

"Yes, I know, but there's a lot to assimilate."

"I'm beginning to think you don't want to get married."

"Not at all," Mark protested. "It's not something we should rush into, that's all."

"You've been fucking me for nearly three years. That could hardly be called rushing."

"I wish you wouldn't use such language," sighed Mark. "It really sounds most inappropriate coming from the lips of an educated young woman."

Jenny swung her legs out of the bed. "God, Mark, you sound such a prig sometimes. In fact, you're becoming like a pale imitation of your bloody Leader! Now he's going do you intend to model yourself on his successor?"

She walked naked across the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door after her. Mark was left open-mouthed at the final insult; not to him, but to his revered boss, the Prime Minister. This was one of the reasons for his hesitancy about marrying her; she had little respect for everything he held dear, often making scathing remarks about politicians in general and the government in particular. He loved her - at least, he thought he did - but her attitude was a bone of contention between them. It was something he tried to ignore as much as possible and refrained from criticising her too often. All the same, it put an unwarranted strain on him.

Jenny came out of the bathroom and began to put on her clothes.

"I thought you were going to stay the night."

"Not much point, is there?" Jenny sounded more sad than angry. "We've made love, dismissed marriage yet again and had a tiff. I don't think there's much left. Do you?"

"Not if you're in a mood."

"I'm not in a mood, as you put it, but I can't help but be disappointed at your refusal to name a day. I don't know why I keep trying, I really don't."

Having pulled on her panties and tights, Jenny put both arms through the straps of her bra, tucked her full, round breasts into the cups and fastened the clasps.

Mark was watching every move. "I'm always impressed by the way you make that look so easy."

"Practice."

Anyway, she presumed it was. When she first wore a bra she had as much difficulty as Mark. On the occasions he tried to undo the clasps as part of their love-making, he fumbled and cursed, even though he could see what he was doing and wasn't reaching behind. Heaven knows what he'd be like trying to fasten them; Jenny had refrained from asking him. She slipped into her dress.

"I'm going away the day after tomorrow," Mark announced.

"For good?"

He gave her a withering look. "Don't be silly. A few days, that's all. I'm joining a fact finding tour to the States. It's a great privilege for a mere back-bencher and a marvellous opportunity. It could get me onto the first rung of the ladder."

"Where does the ladder go?" Jenny quietly asked.

"Up to Number 10."

"Are you serious? You want to be Prime Minister?"

Mark laughed. "That's where the ladder goes. I'm not saying I'll get as high as that, but a few rungs up would be most acceptable."

"I'm pleased for you, darling. What facts are you finding out?"

"Law enforcement."

"I didn't realise you knew much about it."

"I don't, but I'm going to learn. Crime is a serious issue, both in this country and the States. I want to get involved in something important."

Jenny came over to the bed. "I'm sure you'll do well." She leaned over and kissed him. "Will I see you when you come back?"

"Of course, if you want. I'd rather got the idea that you'd gone off me."

"I keep trying, lover, but you must have some indefinable charm that keeps me tied to you."

"I'll give you a ring."

Jenny crossed to the door in her natural graceful movement, with a slight swing of the hips. He liked the way she walked. She turned.

"Enjoy yourself."

"It's work."

She smiled. "Um." She blew a kiss. "Bye."

After a moment Mark heard the front door close. Suddenly the flat seemed strangely empty. Perhaps it was time to fix a date; time to settle down into wedded bliss.

After his return from America.

*****

The following day Jenny had lunch with a friend, Kathy Matthews. Inevitably the subject of Mark came up; it was a recurring theme in their conversations.

"If the wimp can't give you an orgasm you should ditch him." Kathy was nothing if not blunt.

"Mark's not a wimp," Jenny protested.

"He's a bloody MP, isn't he? And dickless. Par for the course."

"There's more to a relationship than having an orgasm."

Kathy snorted. "Name something."

"There's caring about the other person; being interested in what they do."

"Is Mark interested in your life away from him?"

"Not very," Jenny reluctantly admitted.

"There you are." Kathy was triumphant. "I don't understand what you see in him or why you've stuck with him for three bloody years. I can't begin to count the number of men I've had in that time."

"That's the difference between us, you see. I need an attachment; to feel something for the man."

"Oh, I feel something all right." Kathy grinned. "Lust."

Jenny ignored her. "I'm comfortable with Mark."

"God, comfortable! You're not even married to him. Comfortable is the last thing you should be feeling. You want the thrill of adventure...uncertainty...discovery. You don't need to know a man to have bloody good sex, take my word for it. I'm fully qualified and speak from experience. It's not always great, of course, but what does it matter? I'm not committed to the guy; I move on. One night stands. I love them."

"One night?" Jenny shook her head. "I could never do that."

"Have you tried?"

"No."

"Have you had anyone else since meeting Mark?"

"No."

"You should."

"That's not my style. I'm monogamous by nature."

"Monogamous my eye! You've not given yourself a chance. Mark's away. Now's the time. Dress sexy and come along to Demarco's tonight. We'll see who we can pick up for you."

"I couldn't."

"I'm not talking about getting involved in a relationship. Nothing deep. Avoid feeling at all cost. Except lust, of course. You want to have his hands, lips and tongue all over your body and his penis inside you or it's no good. The big O is what you're after."

"The big O?" Jenny was mystified.

"Orgasm."

"Oh, of course."

"That's what it's all about. Too many fellers push it in, flood your cunt and think they've done a good job. Then they expect to do it again the next night or whenever they fancy."

"Like Mark."

"Exactly my point." Kathy sounded triumphant. "But not with me, they don't. And, if you put your mind to it, not with you. What do you say about tonight?"

Jenny shook her head. "No."

"You're a fool."

"Maybe. I want a stable relationship and Mark suits me very well."

"He doesn't give you an orgasm."

"I'll have to try harder, that's all."

"Why should it all be down to you? It takes two to tango."

"Yes, I know, but a little pushing won't hurt. I need to pep up our relationship in bed, for a start. We should be more imaginative and adventurous when we make love."

"That's impossible. Mark Cale is a dodo."

"He's only thirty."

"Which only makes it worse. And 'making love' is the problem. It's a good fucking you need."

"Same thing."

"Not at all."

"And I have an idea about geeing things up."

"What?"

"A-ha." Jenny mysteriously tapped her nose with a fore- finger. "That's my little secret."

*****

She told Mark about her idea on their first night together after his return. As usual, their sexual passions had hardly set the bedroom on fire; nor Jenny.

"You want to do what?" He was incredulous.

"We love each other, don't we?"

"Yes, of course."

"We want to make each happy."

"I'm perfectly happy."

"Don't you think there's something missing?"

"No."

"A sexual frisson."

"You make me hard and I ejaculate. That's enough frisson for me."

"What about me? You ignore my needs."

Mark frowned. "Don't I satisfy you?"

"Not completely."

"I don't know what else I can do or what you expect from me."

"I'm telling you."

Mark jumped out of bed, pulling on a dressing gown; he had a distaste for walking around nude. "I'm not listening to any more of this nonsense."

"It'll be a turn-on."

"Ridiculous."

"Try it. What harm is there in that?"

"Dammit, Jenny, I'm an MP struggling to make my way off the back benches. Sleaze is the last thing I want."

"But we're an item, darling. We've been sleeping together for three years."

"Yes," Mark shouted, "but you weren't a prostitute!"

Jenny spread her hands. "I won't be tomorrow night."

"Maybe not, but you're proposing to pretend you are. I'm expected to play an elaborate game and for what?"

Jenny smiled. "Adventure."

Mark snorted.

"All right; the hell of it."

"Stuff and nonsense."

"There's no harm at all; it's just between you and me. It's role playing, that's all, and it could be fun. Oh, please, darling."

"But why would I get turned on by you pretending to be a prostitute? Tell me that."

"I really have no idea, darling. I'm not able to delve into a man's psychology, but I read this article about how men are fascinated by prostitutes. Take 'Pretty Woman' for example."

Mark held up a finger. "Ah, but Julia Roberts wasn't really a prostitute."

"Of course not. But the character was and look how Richard Gere couldn't resist her."

Mark looked puzzled. "I don't see what this has to do with you pretending to be a prostitute."

"It all has to do with a woman being paid for sex and group feelings of sharing her with other men." Jenny waved her hands in the air. "Or something to that effect."

"But you wouldn't really get paid. And I'm not sharing you with anyone."

"No, no, of course not. But that's where the role playing comes in. We pretend that's the situation."

Mark shook his head. "I can't see the sense of it."

Jenny took a deep breath. "I'll try and explain."

It took some doing, but she eventually persuaded him to enter into her little scheme.

The following morning Mark booked a room in a good class central London hotel in the name of John Hancock. He had no intention of identifying himself, feeling thoroughly embarrassed by the whole charade. His was not a well known face and there was little chance of anybody recognising him. His pseudonym was acquired from knowledge gained on his recent trip to America when he learned that a John Hancock was an informal term for a person's signature.

It was Saturday and he had little to do except read the papers, catch up on the mail, meet a fellow MP for lunch and try to possess his soul in patience. He longed for the ridiculous business to be over.

Mr. J. Hancock checked into the hotel just after six and was shown to a fourth floor room furnished in style, but not opulence. There was a drinks tray and he poured himself a stiff whisky to fortify him for the ordeal ahead. He had been instructed to play the part of a client hiring an escort and was supposed to forget that it was Jenny on the other end of the phone. He used his mobile.

"Allo."

He had the wrong number! The voice was different and sounded foreign. He cut off and redialed.

"Allo. Theese is Dominique speaking." She was definitely foreign. Mark checked the number on his display; it belonged to Jenny. "You wish an escort, oui?"

"Er....yes."

"For tonight?"

"Yes. Eight o'clock." He gave the name of the hotel and his room number.

"And your name, monsieur?"

"Oh...erm....Hancock. John...John Hancock."

"Your little Dominique will be there at eight o'clock."

The phone went dead and Mark stood staring at it in bewilderment. "Dominique? Who the hell is Dominique?" he muttered.

He took another drink. Jenny. Of course it had to be. She was playing her part; up to the hilt, by the sound of it. Funnily enough, despite feeling like a prize idiot, there was a small stirring in his loins at the thought of a visit from his 'little Dominique'.

She walked into the lobby at precisely the right time and heads turned. Her dark hair fell around her face in a designer straggle and she wore too much make-up; lips were a vivid scar of red, cheeks rouged, eyelids blackened. She walked on impossibly high heels with swinging hips looking every inch a sex kitten. A long-line, slim fitting jacket was open to reveal the dress beneath, a black and shimmering silver bandeau dress in the same wet look fabric, high on the thigh, low on the bosom.

Remembering how it was done, she walked with total confidence to the row of lifts and pressed the button for the third floor. From there she walked up the stairs and along to Room 405. Pausing outside the door she took a deep breath and knocked.

When he answered the knock, Mark was completely floored by the apparition before him.

"My God! What do you look like?" He unceremoniously dragged his visitor inside and slammed the door. "My God!" he repeated. "You've turned yourself into a whore."

"Monsieur!" Dominique was indignant. "Please be careful 'ow you address me. I am an escort."

Mark buried his face in his hands. "I knew this was a big mistake."

"I will go if you wish it, but you still 'ave to pay." She held out her hand. "You take my time and my trouble."

"This is idiotic! Absolutely insane! I refuse to play your game."

Dominique arched her eyebrows in surprise. "Game, monsieur? Of what game do you speak?"

"Dammit, Jenny, enough's enough. I'm an MP and you're a perfectly respectable career woman. I don't get any kind of kick out of this sort of behaviour and I want you to drop it. Now!"

Dominique looked at him for a few moments, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. It was Jenny who slowly sank down onto a chair.

"You're not even going to try."

"Try what?"

"Behaving as if I was a French prostitute."

"Is that why you had the ridiculous accent?"

Jenny sniffed. "I thought it sounded rather good."

"Why would a French prostitute be plying her trade in London?"

"I thought it made her sound more interesting. This has been a total failure, hasn't it?"

"Total. A waste of money."

"You haven't paid me." It was a small voice.

"There's the hotel bill. And what about those clothes? They don't look anything like your usual wardrobe."

"Bought them today. I thought I looked good. And a lot of men thought so, too. I was aware of eyes on me all the time as I walked through the lobby."

"Yes." Mark sounded grim. "I can imagine what they were thinking. I don't need all this. I love you the way you are."

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Love me?"

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you."

"But you don't show me." Jenny stood up. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For a while, anyway."

Mark reached out to take her in his arms. "Jenny. Darling."

She shook her head and evaded him. "I hoped we could work it out, but there's something missing and you don't even want to try and find it."

"God, you talk in riddles sometimes."

"I'm sorry, Mark." Jenny put her hand on the doorknob and turned. "I hope you manage to climb a few more rungs of the bloody parliamentary ladder."

Mark stepped towards her. "Jenny...." But she was gone.

*****

Jenny closed the door and walked along the corridor towards the lift. In front of the doors was a fairly extensive area with seats, large windows and a view across the city. Close to tears, she sat down and gazed at the twinkling lights outside. Deep in thought she was unaware of the lift doors opening behind her.

"Good evening."

Startled by the unexpected voice, Jenny jumped up and whirled round. A man was smiling at her. He was of medium height, good-looking and in his mid-thirties - or so she judged - and was vaguely familiar.

"Hello."

The lift doors had already closed and Jenny reached out for the button.

"Are you leaving?"

"Yes."

"Business completed?"

"What?"

"I presume you have satisfied another client and your purse is all the healthier for it."

"I beg your...." Jenny's instinctive reaction to the implication of his remark was indignation, but then she remembered how she was dressed and the image she must present; indeed, had intended to present. It was only to be expected he would jump to the wrong conclusion. "Yes. Yes, that's right."

"Have you another appointment?"

"Erm...no."

"The evening is young. Maybe you and I could do business."

"Oh...I..." Jenny struggled to think how she was going to get out of this awkward situation.

"I can think of no better way to spend an hour or two than with an attractive, sexy woman like you."

"You really think I'm sexy?"

The potential client nodded. "Absolutely."

Jenny relaxed and smiled. After all, she'd started out to play prostitute tonight, so why not? What difference did it make who the client turned out to be?

"I don't come cheap."

"Name your price."

"Two hundred pounds for an hour."

Jenny was pleased with herself for doing some research on the subject, wanting to feel as if she was really doing the job. A bit like a method actor, she had thought.

"I'm thinking of a little longer."

"Three hundred for two."