Double Tap

Before COVID I did a lot of travelling, sometimes for work and sometimes for leisure. On one occasion at Vienna airport, I, along with everyone else, was asked what I did and why I was visiting Austria.

The lady in front of me said she was a doctor attending a conference on the prevention of infectious diseases. Pretty hardcore, and I imagine she got much busier the following year.

My truthful answer would have been that I write bollocks on the Internet and wank to Judge Judy.

That wasn't the answer I gave.

My next destination was London and, on the way to the hotel, I loaded up Tinder and swiped right as many times as possible. No discrimination, just rapid finger movement, which was hopefully good practice for later that evening.

The idea was that I might get a match or two and, if they were vaguely agreeable, take it from there.

My profile was carefully honed. I was properly dressed and well groomed. I had a picture with a mate's pet dog to demonstrate my caring side.

The last few pictures were of me in exotic locations or famous casinos playing poker. I looked like a playboy.

My matches weren't to know that for one of the casino pictures I'd qualified for free, accidentally clicking all in with fuck all and cracking someone's Aces.

Tinder doesn't allow such skullduggery anymore. You actually have to give the appearance of not just being willing to shag anything.

Nevertheless, it worked then.

A lovely woman liked what she saw and agreed to meet me for a drink.

When she turned up I couldn't believe she was actually there to meet me. She was an absolute goddess in a little black dress and we got on famously.

Before long we left the bar and headed back to my hotel, grabbing a couple of bottles of red on the way.

Being a Hilton, my room had a marvellous armchair, huge and ridiculously comfortable. I sat in that while my lady friend sat on the bed.

Our effortless banter continued, probably for too long on my part. I didn't want to lunge at her and risk buggering things up.

Luckily, she soon decided it was time and popped to the bathroom.

When she returned she was wearing some sexy lingerie and looked incredible.

She strode towards me, kissed me, then dropped to her knees.

Five minutes later I was sitting back in the armchair, thoroughly enjoying myself and making sure to moan occasionally so she knew she was doing a good job.

Eventually my balls started to fizz.

I erupted triumphantly and sat there exaltedly, convinced I'd just experienced the best blowjob of my life.

I looked down at her, expecting her to show me the fruit of her labour before gulping it down like a Yakult and saluting me.

“Thank you, Admiral. That was amazing!”

Unfortunately, that didn't happen.

Instead, she jumped up, ran to the bathroom and spat my baby batter into the sink.

She returned in a rage.

“I told you not to do that!”

For a moment I wondered if she had.

She definitely hadn't.

Until it started, I wasn't totally sure I was going to get noshed off at all. I'd given the meat and two veg a thorough scrub with tea tree oil beforehand, just in case, but I'd received no such warning.

I asked what I should have done.

She told me I was supposed to pat her on the head twice.

It's a compliment to her that even if I'd known, I probably wouldn't have been able to manage it.

We still had a good time, but she lay back and relaxed, having got her work out of the way.

A couple of hours later she was happy.

I was fucking exhausted.

We agreed to meet again, but my heart wasn't in it.

I'm very much an “I've started, so I'll finish” kind of guy, and if I can't finish as I'd like, I might as well not start.

Also, she'd used my powers against me, which I didn't like.

I'd developed a tactic some years earlier. Get the oral out of the way first, then I could lie back and let her them on with things.

It wasn't laziness. It was efficiency.

Well, actually, it was laziness.

Ultimately I never saw her again.

In a way, I'd given our relationship the double tap to the head she'd asked for.