Kimberley

'As a rule of thumb, Max, women are most attracted to men with power, money or style. If you have all three, you can be as ugly as an old boot, and you will still never find yourself without a compliant female on your arm - or in your bed. A modicum of good looks helps, as does sexual stamina, a sense of humour and an organ as big as mine, but they are not actually a necessity. Thank God, women are not quite as superficial as men as in regards to physical perfection... or none of us would ever get laid...'

My uncle Henry was a wise old bird and his many and varied sayings, ranging across such diverse topics as cricket, wine, comedy, politics and the conquest of the female sex often strike me as I chart my own course through life. I was only ten when he delivered that particular piece of advice to my willing ears so Henry could not be blamed for failing to expect me to grow up to be quite such a handsome chap as I have done. Nor did he appreciate that I would inherit his genitalia - well, to be perfectly honest it is my genitalia as passed down from my dearly departed father but obviously a common Skinner characteristic- nor could he have known that the size of my balls would reflect my chutzpah on the London Stock Exchange, render me a small fortune and a very large amount of power. He didn't even have a great deal of experience of my natural sense of humour and wit either as I grew to manhood...he would have been so proud to see how I turned out, though. He predicted I would be a shit. Indeed he always called me a little shit. Wouldn't he be delighted to know that I had become a really big shit after all?

He would especially empathise with my success amongst the fairer sex. Let me explain. I have a reputation: Maximilian Skinner, is generally known to cut quite a figure with the ladies. It's another thing that men hate about me.

Isn't being a bastard wonderful?

Actually, I can safely say that most women don't actually like me a great deal either, but that suits me perfectly fine. I do so hate it when they hang around after the event, expecting something. Let's face it, I'm hardly the hearts and flowers sort of person but to be fair, I never promise more than I am going to deliver. Except for when I am chatting them up. Of course then I say any old bollocks to get them into bed. That's surely the convention of the game, is it not? Do women not read the same books as men?

I'm not in it to be liked. If you worry about what people think of you then you're going to get precisely nowhere in life. There's no place for nice guys, except at the back of the queue. My preference is to make people dislike me, even better if they can't stand the sight of me or are so intimidated that they leave the room when I enter. It makes life so much simpler and cuts down on endless mindless social foreplay when we all know everyone shafts you in the end. Frankly, I think I'm the most honest man I know. I might be unscrupulous but everyone knows what to expect. It's their problem if they still can't catch me out, eh?  

Where was I? Oh yes, you asked about Kimberley. I met her at the wine bar in Claridges one Friday night after a rather successful week on the market. I was totally wellied after a bottle of Bolly and a few cans of Guinness and cannot be blamed for thus being distracted by the best pair of tits I have seen in a long time. Now, that is quite a claim in London where girls seem to be flashing their mammaries at me most days of the week. Uncle Henry was right on the money. It matters not a jot if I am conventionally nice to the girlies. They know what I'm carrying when I enter an establishment and if they get burned lighting my fire, they only have themselves to blame. Mercenaries who shoot themselves in the foot? Pardon me my bleeding heart...

So, Kimberley. I swear her tits defied any law of physics known to mankind. They were a triumph of both engineering and cosmetic enhancement and probably deserved a National Trust plaque on them; there was no doubt they were one of our national treasures and totally made in G.B. I could have watched them all night. They were so impressive that I think we had already had carnal knowledge of each other in a cubicle in the ladies' loos before I actually noticed her face. Which, fortunately, was also quite lovely. It has not always been thus on such nights, I am ashamed to add. One does occasionally find oneself having to make a quick getaway after such assignations now and again.

But Kimberley was not one such lady. She had everything a man desires: a body to weep over, perfect angel face, fabulous thick blonde hair - and about as many brain cells as a new born kitten. She purred and I preened. We had absolutely nothing in common except for my taste in bountiful female flesh and hers for good looking men who are seriously wadded in both senses of the word. It was a one night stand made in heaven. It went something like this:

"Well, hello there...have I died and gone to heaven? I thought only angels looked like you..."

Giggle, giggle. "Ooooh, you are funny...!"

"You think so? Should I tell you what my uncle Henry said about comedy? He believed it was all a matter of timing...which also goes for many things in life. Like making money....and shagging successfully. Have you ever realised that, my fair lady...?"

"I haven't got a bloody clue what you're on about, but I love that posh way of talking..."

Oh goodie, goodie, she can't even speak the Queen's English. I believe she's from Essex. And you know what they say about Essex girls... 'What has a higher sperm count than an Essex boy...?' You already know the answer, don't you, boys and girls? Maxie metaphorically rubs his hands together as he gleefully sails on with the chat up:

"So what do they call you? No, no...let me guess...Waiter? Another bottle of Bolly and two glasses, if you would be so kind...I would guess...Kylie? Vanessa? Lola?" Giggle, giggle. I filled up her glass and handed it over flamboyantly.

 "Wrong! My name's Kimberley..."

"Kimberley? You must have been named for the diamond mine...Kimberley, you are a jewel amongst women...I should write an ode to your ...er...statuesque... beauty!"

"You're mental...but I like you...what's your name?"

"Maximilian Skinner, at your service, ma'am..." I bowed.

"Maximilian?" 

"Max for short..."

"I used to have a dog called Max...he had a bad problem with wind..."

"Hmmm...I promise I'm better house trained than that...and I haven't eaten beans all week...we should be safe..."

"...he used to lick me in embarrassing places as well..."she beamed, rolling her eyes saucily.

"That I can manage...would you care for a demonstration?"

It had only been an idle suggestion but the fair Kimberley seemed to take it as the prime directive or something for she grabbed my hand and before I could have uttered those golden words: 'Buy!' I found myself thrust into a cubicle in the ladies' and my trousers down round my ankles.

"I thought I was the one supposed to be doing the licking..." I gasped as she set to work on my delicate exposed parts.

"I just wanted to get a look at the goods first. Bloody hell, Max, you don't get many of these in a pound..."

It was fast and furious and I was seriously expecting the partition wall to collapse before we got to blast off but, if I say so myself, I did not disappoint. Kimberley announced her orgasm with a yell that almost burst my eardrum and as she is a rather tall lady, hoisting her against the wall whilst thrusting upwards did play hell with my back (I picked up a bit of an injury playing indoor five-a-side last week) but we pulled it off. Gently I rested her back on her six inch heels where she had the decency to rock backwards and forwards as is only right and fitting after a Skinner special.

I restored my deshabilé while Kimberley wiggled back into her tiny skirt and top. I fished her hem out of her knickers as she eased past me and out into the restroom.  Sliding out after her, I nodded over to a few of the ladies at the sinks. It is always better to act like you own any stage I have found.

"If it isn't the Smug Bastard himself...well, Maxie baby...you really have found your level at last, have you...? In the toilet, you shit..."  A strident female voice shouted over at me from the other side of the room.

I wish I could say it was bad luck to run into an old fling in the little girls' room but frankly there wouldn't be many of the better establishments in the City where I wouldn't find at least one of my cast offs lurking in wait for me. There have been times when I've bumped into several ball breakers all at once and barely got out with my pants, never mind my life... But it all adds to the rich tapestry of life.

I smiled sweetly in reply, scooped up the lovely, compliant and post-orgasmic Kimberley and danced her out, turning to bow to my erstwhile bed mate as a parting shot. I only just managed to dodge the flying stiletto that was aimed at my head. Some women are extremely vicious.

"What was she on about?" Kimberley asked as we made our way back to the bar. I could see right down her front from the position I was in wrapped round her.

"No class, Kimberley. A potty mouth is never pleasant on a woman... Should we adjourn somewhere a little more private? The champagne to go, perhaps? Or would you like a quiet supper somewhere...I feel suddenly ravenous..."

Kimberley cooed. I love a docile woman, putty in my hands. "We could go to my place...my flatmate's in Paris on a job..."

"Job...?"

"We're glamour models..."

Yummy, my favourite drug of choice. 

"We could pick up a takeaway to go with the champers..."

"Nothing matches Bolly quite like a Chicken kurma and rice, I have found..." I slipped my arm around her slender waist, claimed the bottle and we swanned out, hailing a cab instantly and falling right into it. This was my lucky day: a market hit, the easiest lay in town on my arm and a cab stops straight off? It wasn't even raining. I love being me.

I loved it even more when we got home. The front door had hardly closed when she pounced again. I reminded her we hadn't eaten. The look she gave me told me that I would be a very silly boy if I put a curry before another excavation into the diamond mine. I just managed to rest the bags on the table before she pushed me into an armchair, ripped off her skirt and top and then she was all over me again. I love women on top. It is so different from the real world. Where no one gets on top of Max Skinner. Well, not for long anyway.

So there we were, with Kimbers bouncing up and down on my manhood, her gravity-defying tits jiggling pertly before my eyes. I was in danger of being knocked out by a ball of silicone. It's a risky business, but someone's got to do it.

She ran her hands through her hair groaning and writhing sensually as I clung on to her hips for some leverage. "Oh, Max...your cock is so big...!"

I moaned as she rammed her tight little arse down hard and clenched me between her smooth thighs. My little fellas were struggling to defy gravity themselves. I had a vision of Old Faithful gushing forth and bit my lip hard. I do so enjoy the anticipation quite as much as the actual gratification in all things...playing sport, making money...and, of course, having sex. It's the thrill of chasing the buzz that makes everything worthwhile. Then comes the letdown and you just want to get out there and do it all again, constantly after the next high. It mustn't come too easily.

Yeah, it does seem like a bit of a treadmill put like that. We're all just lab rats underneath, even the big cheeses like me. There's always some bastard on everyone's tail pulling the strings.

Dinner did follow, eaten out of plastic trays with the champagne to wash it down. Next we had a bath topped off with a snifter of cognac each. Finally we fell into her fragrant sheets, had another quickie and then floated to dreamland on a haze of sex, booze and pleasure. That's when I must have made the mistake. It's a dangerous moment for a man, that post-coital period. He tends to only see the positive side of a woman when his brains are addled by sexual exhaustion. Especially when the said lady has fantastic tits and a rather tight pussy graced with unbelievable internal muscles - and just loves to swallow...

I can't say I actually remember the actual moment but there is a vague memory of cuddling and some love talk. Apparently I asked her for a second date the next evening - dinner at her favourite restaurant. I also think I might have mentioned something about love in an unguarded moment. I meant something like: "I love your breasts!" but I suspect it didn't quite come out like that.  It looked like I might have to be a little brutal with Miss Kimberley.

As I am not usually regarded as the retiring type, blowing off unwanted women rarely giving me any problems, I could have wriggled out of that one the next day. As yet she didn't know my telephone number or place of work so I was fairly safe just to slip out, promise to call her later and then get the hell out of Dodge. But, I am only a man made of flesh and blood and waking up to those breasts and the other parts of the package made me momentarily weaken. I asked her again. In no time, Kimberley had my details and the date was set.

Life ticked on like that for a couple of weeks. Every time I decided to do a bunk, she showed me another trick from her compendium of sexual techniques and I found myself grovelling (occasionally literally) at her feet. She even persuaded me into such no-nos as Sunday lunch at her parents' house, a weekend in Amsterdam (on me) and drinks with a few of her friends and partners. I was being edged further and further into coupledom.  Her father even asked me where we were thinking of buying a house.

Then one day, whilst walking down Oxford Street, Kimberley made the ultimate mistake, something so bad that there was no further question of there being a future for us. We were passing a boutique when she called out in excitement and pulled me over to the window. "Maxie darling...isn't that the cutest little baby dress? Wouldn't it be darling to have a baby girl...! Max, you'd make such a wonderful father...!"

Any woman who says that to me has to be lying. Max Skinner a good father? She was after my money. There was no other explanation. All that dreamy eyed love talk was just fake, the conniving little cow.

It was time for emergency measures. I looked dramatically at my watch. "Good God! Is that the time? Kimberley, sweetheart...I just remembered I have a very important business meeting. Let me just get you a cab while I dash off and meet this guy... and I'll call you later..." I flagged a taxi and ushered her inside before she could think of an argument.

"But who works on a Saturday night...?" she began.

"..The City never sleeps, my dear...and remember...it's already Monday morning in....The Easter Islands..."

I slammed the door and banged on the roof for the cabbie to drive off. Kimberley hung out of the window, shouting at me. "Max, baby, call me! CALL ME!"

I waved goodbye fondly with a broad and extremely fake smile on my face.  Dragging out my phone, I called up Gemma.

"Gemma! I'm diverting all my calls from a bird call Kimberley to you...whatever she says, lie. It doesn't matter what you say. Just lie..."

"Oh, Maxie...! Can't you simply clean up your own mess for once? It's Saturday!  I'm on a date....!"

"You still want to be in a job come Monday?" I countered smartly.

"You bastard! You can't fire me for not getting rid of your girlfriend...!"

"I can do whatever I like, Jasminder my little poppadum, I'm a man, your boss and as such your natural superior in all things..."

"You're a moral coward, you love rat...!"

"My prerogative, love...noblesse oblige and all that rot, you know? You have a date...?" I asked, hand in jacket pocket and walking with my usual swagger restored. It was Saturday night and I was blissfully free of encumbrances. The night was young. I was a wealthy young bachelor and this town was mine.

 I bloody love my life.

 "...So who's the lucky devil? I hope you two practise safe sex, Gems...I never allow pregnant women on my watch, sweetheart..." I grinned as I hung up, cutting off Gemma's indignant string of profanities and ill wishes to he heaped down on my head. She's actually quite a fun girl, and not bad looking either. I always prefer dark hair really. God knows what I was doing with a blonde like Kimberley anyway. Maybe I should ask Gemma to dinner one night?  I'll bet she's a little raver in the sack...Maybe...