Candid Confessions of a Shameless Sexaholic...Part One: Just What The Doctor Ordered (2 page)

Anyway, where
was I? Oh, yes, I was talking about sex. My favorite subject. Time to confess,
I guess:

‘My name is
Angel, and I’m a...(sob)...I’m a...a sexaholic!’

There now, I’ve
said it. Look, I can’t help it...I just like to fuck guys, OK? It’s not my
fault.

I didn’t plan it
that way, and I guess that isn’t what my parents had in mind when they named me
Angel. But that’s how it turned out. Life was pretty straightforward until I
reached the age of fourteen, then my boobs took on a life of their own, and
boys started to notice. And to be honest, I liked the attention. Me and my
boobs have been getting a lot of attention ever since, and I foresee that trend
continuing for some time to come. All three of us are very happy with the
situation, and we will continue to accommodate whatever dick comes our way.

I was never a
classic cheerleader kind of girl, but if I say so myself, I was pretty damned
sexy in a smouldering kind of way, even back in my teens. I was never going to
be a supermodel, but I had the kind of looks that guys go for. That is, I
actually had some curves, and I could do the cute-smile-and-fluttering-eyelash
thing that makes guys melt. They should teach girls that in school...it’s worth
a million bucks, easy. Luckily, I managed to figure it out for myself.

I was born a
brunette, but they say that blondes have more fun, so for a while I found my
future in a bottle of peroxide. And if you can find a blonde who is having more
fun than me, I would love to meet her...she must be permanently horizontal!   

Anyway, I was a
good girl for a while...honest! I didn’t give my first blowjob until I was
sixteen, and I was gone seventeen before I got a whole pussyfull. So I was a
bit of a late starter by some standards, but once I got the hang of it, I made
up for lost time.

You don’t’ want
to hear about the guys I banged in school and college. Well, maybe you do (some
of them were really cute), but I don’t want to end up writing War and Fucking
Peace, so let’s stick to the condensed version and skip to the bit where I
graduated from college.

And yes, I did graduate
properly...I didn’t have to blow my tutors to get a pass grade. Really...I just
did it for free. For the good-looking ones, anyway. The men that is. Oh,
yes...and one woman, just for the hell of it. That was fun, too. Anyway, I
scraped through with a good enough degree to get me a job as journalist on a
local rag in my local town in Australia. And that got me the job on Hot and
Hunky magazine, and a new life in the big and beautiful city of Sydney...which
led to my frustrating encounter with Sven.

One thing I loved about my new job was
the trip to the office in the morning. Yes, you heard that right - I enjoyed
the morning commute. That’s because my trip included a ferry ride across Sydney
Harbour, and if there is a more beautiful sight than the Sydney Opera House and
its surroundings on a beautiful summer morning, I have yet to see it. I
disembarked at Circular Quay, and strolled the five-minute walk to the office,
grabbing a Starbucks coffee on the way.

What is it with
Starbucks? Everybody else sells coffee in small, regular or large. Starbucks
has to go for Tall, Grande and Venti. Big isn’t big enough...they have to start
at huge and work their way up. It’s a petty penises aren’t graded in a similar
kind of way - no small or regular, just Large, Enormous and Bet You Can’t Fit
it All In. That would be awesome! But looking at most of the guys in suits
hurrying past me along Pitt Street, small and regular seemed to be the norm.
Pity.

I got to the
office a shade after nine, and spread a few papers around my desk to make it
look as though as I had been busy working for ages. I stuck my head into
Vanessa’s office to say good morning, but realized she was on the phone. I was
about to duck out again, but she motioned for me to stay while she wound up the
call. A minute later, she hung up. I gave her a friendly ‘good employee’ smile.

‘Good morning,
Vanessa...I just wanted to tell you someone called Brad phoned you last night.’

‘Yes, I know -
that was him calling back.’ I realized her cheeks were a little flushed. So
even the cold and efficient Vanessa was not immune to Brad’s charms, whoever he
was. Maybe he wasn’t so fat, bald and ugly after all. Vanessa regained her
composure.

‘I think you
made an impression - he was asking about you,’ she said. Was that a look of
jealousy in her eye? Surely not. ‘Anyway, I’m going to lunch with him tomorrow
to talk about the next quarter, so I’ll need you to take my calls while I am
out.’

‘Sure. But who
is Brad, exactly?’

Vanessa raised her eyebrows quizzically,
then took a copy of the latest proofs off her desk and handed them to me. I
walked back to my cubicle, sipping my Latte and studying the article she had
given me. The headline and byline jumped out at me:

‘True Love, Sex
and Happiness. By relationships expert, Dr. Brad King.’

Next to the name
was a photo of a man who was definitely not old, bald or ugly. He looked like
the kind of doctor you see on TV medical series. That is, a hunky, square-jawed
actor who looks the part, but who couldn’t save your life for peanuts. In this
case, though, he wasn’t an actor - he was a bona fide clever dick, as the bio
at the bottom of the page made clear. I vaguely recognized him, but I wasn’t
sure from where.

‘As well as
providing regular relationships advice to readers of Hot and Hunky, Dr. King
runs successful clinics in central Sydney and Bondi beach. He is the author of
a number of bestselling books and contributes to TV programs worldwide as an
expert on sex and relationships.’

He’s an expert
on sex?
I thought.
Wow! We have something in common!’

I wanted to read
the whole article to find out more, but there was no time. I was already
running late for a photo shoot with a male model. Yes, I know, it’s a tough
job, but someone has to do it. I caught a taxi across town to the
photographer’s studio. When I got there, everything was already set up for the
shoot. I had met Amanda and Tom, the photographer and her assistant, the day
before, but this was the first time I had met the model, Matt.

Whoa! Did I tell
you I had the best job in the world? Oh, yes, I did. And this is one of the
reasons why. Matt looked like...well, like a male model. Tall,
broad-shouldered, muscular abs and a nice tight butt. All topped off with a
beautiful smile, great white teeth and a frothy mass of brown, curly hair. He
was hot! So if you’re not feeling just a teeny bit jealous, maybe you should be
checking out the LGBT section after all.

Amanda and Tom
were busy adjusting the lighting, and - after a quick introduction to me - Matt
stood in front of the cameras wearing nothing but his Calvin Kleins. I could
tell you that I was professional and helped the team prepare for the shoot. But
that would be lying. The honest truth is that I stood there gawping helplessly
at Matt, and the package in his underpants. Oh come on, you would too, wouldn’t
you?

Then I noticed
that he was paying rather more attention to me that was strictly necessary from
a professional point of view. And I must admit, I was looking pretty hot that
day. No way was I going to walk around looking like a Sunday school teacher
with all these hot guys in my life. My skirt was as short as I could reasonably
get away with, so there was plenty of bare thigh to catch his eye while the
photographers fannied around. And as usual, my boobs were bulging out of my top
and saying ‘hello’ in their own special way.

A few minutes
later, I noticed something else, too. Matt was looking a little embarrassed and
awkward, and he seemed to be trying to avoid looking at me. It took me a moment
to figure out why. Then I saw that the bulge in his underpants had grown
considerably. Hey, I was giving him a hard on! That was certainly an ego boost
for me. This was the kind of guy who could pick almost any woman he wanted,
just because he looked so hot. So for him to find me so obviously attractive
was a big turn on. I was grinning inwardly, and trying to hide it. But there
was no time for frivolities...we had work to do.

Matt was looking
a little flushed. I think maybe he was thinking of cold showers or something to
try and lower the temperature inside his undies. I guess this issue is what you
would call an occupational hazard for male models, but it was kind of
embarrassing all round. You’d think that the pros would be used to this sort of
thing, but Matt was certainly uncomfortable with the situation. But somehow, we
muddled through the first part of the shoot, with Matt modeling various items
of clothing for a new fashion range.

I pranced around
the studio on my high heels, making meaningless notes on my iPad, just so that
it looked as though I was doing something useful. I got an opportunity to view
Matt from all angles, and after careful consideration and debate, I decided I
liked the look from the rear best. He had one hell of a tight butt with great glutes.
Great muscles for fucking, in other words. What else do you want from a man?

The morning
session was almost over when the power went out and the studio faded into
semi-darkness. You don’t realize just how many lights photographers use until
they suddenly switch off. Tom fussed around checking the fuses, but we soon
realized that the whole building was out. There was a portable generator in the
back of the studio, but it wouldn’t  power all the lights and equipment needed
to do a professional shoot. So Amanda suggested that Matt and I take a break
for lunch while they tried to find out what was happening with the power
supply. That suited me. It’s not every day you get to eat lunch with an Adonis,
at someone else’s expense, too.

A few minutes
later, Matt was dressed like a regular human being, and I followed him down
stairs to the street outside. He gave me a grin.

‘Let’s go in my
car. I know a great little restaurant that serves awesome seafood.’

The honest truth
is that seafood makes me puke, but I wasn’t going to mention that minor detail.
Any kind of lunch with macho Matt would suit me just fine. I could just sit and
watch him eat. I was feeling hungry, sure – but not for food. But I kept those
thoughts to myself. I smiled in agreement. ‘Sure.’     

Matt’s car was
something of a boy racer machine. A souped up Ford that made a lot of noise,
without delivering much power. He explained apologetically that he was going to
change it for something more sophisticated when a little more modeling cash
rolled in. I didn’t really see the need. The back seat looked plenty big enough
for all the important activities. Matt pulled out into the street, and started
heading towards the coast.

Before you say
anything, I am well aware that what I did next comes straight out of the Slut’s
Handbook. But if you had just spent the last three hours staring at a hot guy
with a bulging erection that you had inspired, you would probably do the same
as me. Oh, come on - you would!

Anyway, Matt was
driving and talking away about his career, and sneaking a sideways look at my
boobs when he got the chance. That reminds me...girls, why do guys think they
are getting away with this? Do they really think we are so dumb that we can’t
see them gawping? It’s like they think that if they look for half a second and
then look away again, we won’t have noticed anything at all. Guys really can be
dumbasses sometimes.

But if he wanted
an eyeful, I decided to give him one. I adjusted my legs in the seat, letting
my skirt slip right up my thighs almost to my butt cheeks. Matt momentarily
lost interest in my boobs, and grabbed a few half-second stares at my crotch. I
reciprocated with a stare at his crotch, and I saw that I was having an impact
again. Now he had a bulge that had graduated all the way from Grande right up
to Venti. Starbucks would have been proud of him.

Now, you have to
admit, it’s not fair to leave a guy like that, especially when he’s driving.
Anything could happen. He could end up crashing or driving into a ditch. The
only thing a girl can do in that situation - in my humble opinion - is to
relieve the pressure a bit. So I unbuckled my seat belt, leaned right over and
buried my face in his crotch.

‘Holy shit,’ he
said softly, and I heard a car horn blaring as he swerved in the road. Now I
have to confess, I had found myself in similar situations once or twice before
(cough), so there wasn’t much in the way of fumbling going on. Within a few
seconds, I had undone his belt, unzipped his flies and pulled out a plum - a
plum penis that is. I don’t know if length of penis is a factor taken into
consideration when you go into male modeling, but if it is, I can see why Matt
passed the test. I pulled the organ in question free of his Calvins, and
watched it grow even bigger and harder before my eyes. Hey, I can do magic!

Matt was so
erect now that the foreskin was pulled right down the shaft, revealing a purple
helmet standing to attention and ready for action. I was ready for action, too,
so I slid my tongue around the tip, circling slowly. I could hear Matt moaning
softly. If they gave medals for prick teasing, I would be bringing home gold.
When I felt he could stand the teasing no more, I slid my tongue down the
length of the shaft and back up again, then slipped the whole thing in my mouth
and sucked deeply.