The Collector Read Free

small, slightly grainy photograph of a writer. It claimed her name was Jen. He suspected that was not the case. It simply didn’t suit her.
He smiled. So, he’d been screwed in the interests of research. Seemed like a good reason. He thought perhaps that would be one story he didn’t need to read though, for he knew he would remember it always. In fact he was going to remember later at home; vividly in the comfort of his own bedroom, or maybe even in the shower.

Chapter Two
    The majority of the stories I have collected are from total strangers. Find the right angle and they seem to relish telling their inner-most secrets. There is a piquant delight in sharing a lurid confidence with someone you don’t know, and are unlikely to see ever again, especially someone who might immortalise your adventure in print.
    When I met Jay, on the bus from Five Mile Drive to St Giles in Oxford, and saw her blurred eyes looking into the distance, a tired but satisfied smile playing at the corner of her mouth, I instinctively knew she had a story to tell. I just hoped she wasn’t too hung over or too stoned to tell me about it.

Jay
    She couldn’t back out now. This was it, the only chance she would ever have to live out the wild fantasy her mind continually replayed into the small hours of the night.
    She nodded, her long black hair falling across her rounded face, hiding a nervous smile. A tall girl took her hand and led her into the ladies cloakroom, away from the buzz of the club. Jay caught her breath as she took in the scene. The action was already underway.
    Pressed against the mirrored wall, arms placed high behind her spiky red hair, a fantastically curvaceous girl had her eyes tightly closed. Kneeling before her, an eager petite woman was licking between her spread legs, soft fingers teasing the skin above sheer silk hold-ups. Jay took in the round exposed globes squeezed out seductively above the willing captive’s startlingly bright green basque. She didn’t need telling what to do. Jay’s tongue was quickly lapping at the right nipple like a hungry cat, while her escort greedily attacked the left.
    The pace quickened and the nameless girl let out a body racking cry as she bucked away from the mirror, leaving a smeared sweaty outline against the glass. She fell forwards, pulling her attendants down with her.
    In the tangle of smooth arms and legs, Jay felt all the hands fall onto her. So, she was to be next. As she was positioned onto all fours, Jay prepared herself to dispel the myth that it is better to give rather than to receive…

Chapter Three
    It was in a small conservatory attached to a coffee shop near Carfax, that I overhead the makings of my next story. I had no need to earn the trust of the rather severe middle-aged gentleman who was sat at a table nearby. He was sat explaining to an equally stuffy looking blonde woman how his latest student (apparently a graduate of somewhere unpalatably red-brick), was responding to his particular brand of adult education. I simply had to listen.
    Quickly picking up on the tone of their conversation, I knocked over my drink by “mistake”, apologised to the staff, and moved to a table closer to the conversation. Taking out my notebook, I pretended to be engrossed in what I was writing – which I was. They had no way of knowing I was recording their conversation in short hand. I doubt if they even noticed me at all.

Learning
‘I have been a very naughty boy again haven’t I.’ A baseball cap brim hid the sorrowful bowed face.
    ‘Yes, I see that you have. You are well aware that you are not allowed to do that without my express permission.’
‘I’m sorry Sir. I couldn’t help myself.’ Blonde hair peaked out from under the cap. The blue hoodie was rucked up at the waist and a pair of jeans and stark white boxer shorts were positioned around the miscreant’s ankles. ‘I needed to so badly.’
The room was bare except for a small wooden chair and a desk set in its