the third sex

I’m still in cold, frosty London for a few more days. I took a walk to my neighbourhood pub this evening, where I met up with the local hooker (I live in a colourful part of London when I’m there). She is a lady of about 60 years, usually drunk when spotted in the pub, but still in good condition. Blond hair, trim figure, could pass for 40 in a good light.

I had never had a proper conversation with her before, but this time she was alone and standing by the bar, and three sheets to the wind. So I got talking to her. She asked me what I did. I explained that I was a writer and photographer. She asked me what kind of photographs I took. Er, travel, industry, a bit of glamour, I said, because I seldom let on with what I really do.

“Sex?” she asked.Well, erm, yes, I said.

Would you take my photo, she asked, urgently.

I explained that I was only in London for a couple more days and that I didn’t have my cameras and lights with me, but that I would be back in about six weeks time and I would be happy to do it then.

She was wearing black thigh boots and a black PVC coat (I’m not making this up). Suddenly I could see myself producing some very erotic photographs of this lady, and having myself a fun time into the bargain. She went on to tell me what she would like.

“Deep,” she said “Real deep. As kinky as you like. I like bondage and sadism, and I like being spanked.”

I watched her getting more and more into the idea of being photographed in the wildest poses. She clutched her glass so hard as she spoke I was afraid it would shatter. And yes, I could see how the pictures could work, because she has very pale skin and very blond hair, and if you match that with black leather it is going to work.

We swopped phone numbers. I know what will happen, and I’m going to need a tab of Viagra when I get round to doing the shoot. It would be even more sexy if she had a cock, but hey! It’s art, right?