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He opens his mouth to reply, then stops as the waiter comes up with our whiskies. “Thanks,” Huxley says, taking them and passing one to me. The waiter withdraws, and we sip the amber liquid. Ooh, that’s smooth, warming me all the way down to my stomach. Mind you, it should be good for that price.
He studies me for a while, maybe thinking about what I’ve said. He’s obviously mystified.
Eventually, I smile. “You genuinely don’t understand why that girl said what she said, do you?”
“It’s a nice compliment. I mean, I don’t think I’m bad in bed. What puzzles me is that it’s not difficult.”
“Maybe technically. But not everyone has your patience or interest in pleasing the girl. Not in my experience anyway. Obviously, Rich suffered from premature ejaculation, so extended foreplay definitely wasn’t on the table there. But even with the others… they just couldn’t be bothered.”
“Did you talk to them about it?”
“Yeah, of course. But the odd thing is that in the movies it’s really common to see two people start kissing and then move straight to intercourse. The woman acts like she’s ready for it immediately, and then she has an instant orgasm. It’s no wonder guys are puzzled when that doesn’t happen, or why they think that if the girl’s not like that, there’s something wrong with her. They don’t consider it’s partly their fault. Not all, obviously. It’s up to us to explain what we want in bed. But they have to be willing to listen and act on it.” I give him a curious look. “How did you learn what to do?”
“I minored in gigolo training at uni.”
“Hux, seriously…”
“I don’t know. Lots of practice?” He looks amused.
He genuinely doesn’t realize that he’s unusual. Maybe it’s just the way he is. Unselfish, always interested in making sure that other people have a good time.
Lots of practice. Something occurs to me then. “Was there someone along the way who helped you… ah… develop your techniques, shall we say?”
“Yeah, because sharing the bedroom antics of past partners is a real turn on.”
“You don’t have to go into detail. I’m interested. Was there someone?”
He sighs. “Well… When I was in my early twenties, I dated an older woman for a while.”
“What was her name?”
“Gillian.”
I don’t remember her. “When you say older…”
“She was thirty-four. Ten years older than I was at the time. She was a yoga instructor, and I met her at the gym. We had a fling for a few months.”
Ten years is quite a bit at that age, and especially when the guy’s younger. “So you were her toyboy?”
He gives a wry smile. “I guess.”
“And she taught you about foreplay?”
I can see he doesn’t like talking about it. He just says, “Kinda.”
“Why didn’t you stay with her?” I ask softly.
He sips his whisky. “She was separated from her husband when I met her, but in the end she went back to him. She’s got two kids now.”
That implies he’s still in touch with her. And then the penny drops. “Are you talking about Gillian Porter?”
He just smiles.
“Oh…” Her husband is a member of the club. I met her once. I was out with Huxley and the others in a restaurant, and she came up to our table with her husband. Huxley stood and gave her a hug, and seemed genuinely pleased to see her. He introduced her as an old friend. She was small, I remember, and dark-haired.
“She didn’t look unlike me,” I comment.
“What a shock,” he says, rolling his eyes.
