GURU His Magic Fingers

By Peter Wilkie

An Expert Like no other
The pleasure guru has an expertise that no other man seems to have. What he knows will blow your mind, not to mention what it will do for your body.
When you come to see the guru you will always be offered a glass of Kir royal. This could easily become your favourite drink.
Why are all these classy and elegant women paying a thousand pounds a time to see this man? Find out what the guru knows about helping women find pleasure like never before … and how he fulfils the needs of so many women, who love what they experience with the pleasure guru and his magic fingers.
There is a much darker side to the guru's story, though. Why does the suave ex-army intelligence officer make friends with him, and is the mysterious, glacial artist who he is introduced to all she seems to be?

The main characters
The Guru, a gentrified ex-builder, bit rough round the edges but with a good heart, who enjoys helping people and learns to mix with the upper classes.
The Artist, an exceptional talent having landed in the UK not speaking the language, but her talent shines through to becoming a known artist, but has a dark side.
The Salon Proprietor, very well respected intelligent businesswoman, she met the Guru some years earlier, goes into business with him, which is highly successful, but she then falls in love with him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Wilkie
• Release date: Jan 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370197132

Peter Wilkie

Property guru takes up writing with raunchy novel A property developer from Eastbourne has demolished his demons to write a steamy, adults-only five-star novel. Peter Wilkie struggled his way through ten different schools with awkward left-handedness and dyslexia. The 63-year-old, who has become a renowned healer, only lifted the pen for the first time six years ago after taking some spiritual guidance. His hugely entertaining first novel, Guru: His Magic Fingers, has been met with unanimous praise. Peter, who now lives in the Montenegrin coastal town of Tivat, said: "I found education during that era very difficult, never passing English O' Level. "I still find spelling a hassle and no, spell check does not work for me, however being technically minded and artistic, I managed to pass a few exams. "I was able to make some money in property, but the crash of the early 90s severely crushed me. "However, out of this adversity I found healing and healed quite a lot of people. The experience led me towards a spiritually-minded life, leaving the hustle and bustle of the creed for greed behind. "I had a spiritual reading six years ago which stated I would be writing… this was a complete shock as I never saw myself writing. "When I started this book it just came to me. It was like someone talking to me when I sat to write." Guru: His Magic Fingers is the thrilling, sexually explicit story of a former property developer who acquires the gift of bringing great pleasure to women. From a basement room the guru's services become the hottest property in London for bored housewives. But all good things have to come to an end. Peter added: "The business takes off and makes a lot of money, but the guru gets pulled into a liaison with an artist, who has a dark secret, and it all gets messy. "I gave the rough draft of Guru: His Magic Fingers to four women to read and they all liked it, and asked for it to be completed." Since the publication of Guru: His Magic Fingers by PublishNation it has been given a full complement of five-star reviews by readers.

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GURU

His Magic Fingers

by

Peter Wilkie

Copyright © 2016 Peter Wilkie

For more information, please visit: www.guru-peterwilkie.co.uk

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-326-72491-7

I wanted to say a big thank you to the following people, all know who they are... for there support and encouragement especially as they only saw really rough drafts but it spurred me on to complete the work, also to Joanne for the mammoth task she did an amazing job on the editing I am surprised, but also a big thank you to PublishNation for taking this project on.

Bless all.

Kevin R

Liz D

Carolyn V

Lu

Fee

Treen

Mo

Sonesy

Also my friend and business partner Mr P

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Prologue

Another day ended after running around the City of London. It was fun, it was exhilarating, it stroked the ego, and the adrenalin flowed: a complete contrast to what I had been used to. After what seemed a lifetime, but it was actually only twenty years or so of having carpentry as my main talent, I had changed career. But I had also learnt everything to do with the property market – building and designing everything from houses to flats and restaurants, etc., so I was well used to adapting and learning on the go. In fact, on looking back, a great number of skills and a large amount of knowledge had already been built into my toolbox of life.

What I was doing now? Well, this was a massive cultural change for me – moving in circles of extreme wealth, I mean. Working in the City was something that I had always wanted to do.

The City of London, in fact, drove me to become much of who I was, because I always thought I belonged there. I was not made to be the builder cum carpenter. In fact I hated it. But life is funny and, as the saying goes, the grass is always greener. After this short time in London, while running around like a headless chicken at times, I found something. Well, a few things.

After my short lifetime of assumptions it came to me that we are all the same. It’s just a matter of communication and knowledge, and the higher the levels the better life becomes. We are in fact all running our own races and, more to the point, we are all wining our own races of life. We just needed to stop judging ourselves against others and aspiring to get there, wherever ‘there’ is. It is the journey that counts, which I had to keep constantly reminding myself about.

I had been honing my skills on these facts, and had trained as a counsellor and in transactional analysis, which is basically how we communicate and how to get people to communicate at a level you need them to be at – to sell to them, mainly, but socially as well. It worked when I was selling shares, which is what I was doing now – on the front line, so to speak. I was walking the streets with a mobile phone and a black book in my hand on behalf of two start-up companies who were planning to get a listing on the lower AIM stock market in London.

I was just in the flow, and one share sale led to another. There was not some grand plan for me. I was too green – in fact, naive – for that. I did not even have a target to aim for. It was Just keep going, so I did. But it was not for me, and I soon found out that all I had aspired to – the City – was the proverbial den of thieves, closed off to all, and the real money was only made by a selected few. It was almost a secret society.

The signs were everywhere. There were the very posh gentlemen’s clubs where money was never used: everything got paid behind the scenes. And then there were the handshakes, other signs, and signals – even the neckties. It really was becoming abhorrent to me. The greed and the power of some in the City is mind-blowing. It woke me up as to the amount of money anyone really needs to actually enjoy life. It was certainly not in balance, but what really did it for me was their attitude. Let them run along like rats – rats being the average person (me) – was their philosophy. I was disgusted. I could not bear it any more. I was more on the side of the philosophy that there is enough for everyone, but that was not the view in their world.

I had become – after some serious personal ups and downs in life – I suppose more akin to the spiritual side of life, where this creed for greed, the love of money at all costs, did not sit well. I had always in the past paid anyone working for me well. They had to work, mind you, a hard, full day, but fairness was always there. We are, after all, all brothers, and sisters, was my view. In fact I had formulated the philosophy that there are three types of people. All people were your brothers or sisters, and then there’s your lover, and they were all to be treated similarly.

My next parallel venture was not so much money-oriented as what I saw as a gift, although I would be charging for my services. I would be helping some of the 50 per cent of the population have a great time, a time that most had not enjoyed or even knew existed. In my experience, and after some research, it was much less than 10 per cent – more like 10 per cent of 10 per cent was the number. So my target numbers were massive, which encouraged me, as I felt my chances of succeeding were greatly enhanced. I needed to leave the money city and the building game behind and start a new way of life surrounded by good people, and they would all be women. No, I am not in a dream state.

Chapter 1

I was knackered after the day running around London, but once I had showered I was refreshed. I was off out to an art exhibition. Thank God I did not have hair, so it was literally ten minutes and I could be out of the door. I had a cleaner. She also did my laundry and ironing and the odd bit of cooking, so it was always handy to have home-made freezer food ready to go. It was my treat to myself to have this, and it always made me smile when I opened my wardrobe doors to see all the shirts lined up according to their colour. I was not a control freak by any stretch of the imagination. I could be very untidy and slovenly when I wanted, and that was OK because she would take care of it. But, all the same, it always made me smile.

So it was easy for me to be out of the apartment in double quick time. I had a space in the underground car park, which was heaven. When arriving back home after a heavy day it was a real treat, although most of the time now I was using public transport. I had got quite used to travelling by bus around London, and actually really enjoyed it. You see so much more than travelling on the Underground. I was actually starting to get claustrophobic feelings on the Tube. I found it easier to start up conversations with people, which never seemed to happen on the Underground. Everyone was hidden behind something or other – either the paper or listening to music, or buried into their phones.

I had been invited to the exhibition by one of my share dealing clients, and thought, Why not? I had never been to what I would call a private – by invitation only – upmarket art exhibition. The only thing I was hoping was that they would not be expecting me to purchase. I was still climbing the ladder, not only socially but also money-wise as well. I had money, but was not what you would call comfortable. I was still learning, and was hungry for new knowledge and experiences. This exhibition would be a good start to see if I could hold my own in another new environment, hold a conversation, and not make myself look too stupid. I was blessed with a quick brain and had trained myself to speak slowly to be a good listener, and to come up with some sensible questions. I hoped so, anyway. It fitted well into the new idea that I was forming.

I knew nothing about art in any medium – oils, pastels, or watercolours – nor artists, old or contemporary. All I knew was there were sure to be some upper-class females there. They were going to be my target for the next venture. I needed clients with money. So I was happy to go – although I was a bit nervous, I had to admit.

I was worried, especially when shaking hands, as my hands were still rough, with hard pads from working with the tools. Susie, a friend who owned a beauty salon in London, was helping me with this to reduce the hard pads, and to soften my hands in general. Also my nails were short. It was the only way I could maintain any strength in my hands, which I needed to do, so she had a big job on her hands to get mine up to speed on that front, although some of my nails would be kept short for other reasons in the future. But I did need to have my hands looking good. Women always look at the male hand and, after all, it is always the first point of contact. I was still fit and strong and my body was in good shape. I never needed the gym: my body was still well sculptured just from physical work. I looked good in my fitted white shirt with detailed cuffs and nice buttons and a blazer, set off with expensive jeans. My pride and joy were my handmade shoes. Well … laced short boots, really. I just felt good wearing them. So off I went.

In Ebury Street, London, the taxi pulled up outside a very exclusive-looking jewellery boutique. As I moved towards the entrance I could see inside, through the Georgian-looking bay windowed facade. There were also stairs down to a cellar or basement. The well-painted black Victorian railings completed the picture. There appeared to be quite a few people already inside.

Oh, well, deep breath, I thought, and went up five steps and into the lobby.

I entered, and could see now that it had been taken over for the evening and that art hung everywhere. Ken, my host, found me quickly. Thank God he did, and did not leave me to hang around on my own for too long. Yes, I was nervous. It was not many years previously that in this situation I would have had a panic attack. In fact I had not been able to even walk into a pub or eat in a restaurant on my own, so in fact I was very pleased with my advancement. I hoped I did not let it show.

Ken was ex-military – army, from what I gathered. He was in intelligence, was very charming, and had a way with him that got him on the good side of anyone he was around, male or female. He was very intelligent and had done very well for himself. He was six foot two inches and still looked good for his age: mid sixties, I had him down for. He was always very well turned out in bespoke suits. He also wore handmade shoes, but nothing over-the-top. He did not need to prove anything. He was just himself.

He introduced me to a few of the guests and popped a glass of Kir royal into my hand.

A good start, I thought. We caught up on a few things to do with some shares. He also said there was a shooting day coming up and asked if I would like to go. I was so excited. I used to go clay pigeon shooting at weekends and had really enjoyed it but, like many things, had stopped going, so I accepted the offer. It appeared he knew everybody. This was perfect, as I wanted this to be a social evening, not business – well, not the business he thought it would be.

I had other ideas. I was in my early forties, five foot ten inches, medium to slim build, bald – well, there were a few grey stragglers around the back and sides. I had kept myself very fit, and I suppose I would say I was reasonably attractive. I think my main attributes were intelligence and an inquisitive mind, with a good, positive attitude and nice hands … Ah, yes, the eyes, as well, and I would I was say a very good listener. This I had learnt at the counselling course, not knowing it would stand me in good stead not only now but for the rest of my life. I actually find it offensive now when talking with people who just cannot listen, it appears, without thinking about what they are going to say next … so in fact they’re not really listening: they’re working out how they are going to sound like when it is their turn to talk. They’re all ego.

I did not have what I consider a photographic memory but certainly I could and did make videos of events and places in my mind and hold them in the memory bank, so to speak. I saw everything as video – everything. I could not memorise a page of text, which always puzzled me. I think being dyslexic did not help, but I was good with numbers.

As I wandered around I was torn between the art and my interest in the females in attendance, which I suppose is an art form of its own. Most were on their own. However, they all seemed to know each other … probably the upper-class social circuit. I did not know, but was going to make it my job to find out. They were rich women just oozing money. They all seemed to have the latest designer handbags and shoes. Almost all of them, to me, looked bored out of their heads. They probably had nothing to do all day except do coffee, go to charity events, or just shop.

God, I thought, what a lonely life they must lead. All the better for me, then … most of them with their men either at their clubs or doing the late meeting routine, out with the lads, or being entertained in another way.

This was going to be my picking ground in the future, but first I had to try out my first lady. I had to go and see my old friend Susie, who owned and ran a very upmarket beauty salon right in the middle of London, near Piccadilly. Susie’s salon was going to be the venue for my new venture I hoped. No one would have an excuse for not being able to get there, because it was right next to the Tube. But, more importantly, it was a good cover for what they were going to actually do there. I needed the women to feel safe. And, also, if they were seen, it would be good that they were seen entering a beauty salon for a pedicure or whatever. Susie ran a very good and profitable business, had a good name, and was very well connected at the highest levels of society, so if any of the husbands or partners found expensive bills to a beauty salon it would not be a problem. Well, so I assumed.

Susie was an amazing person. She had everything a man could want, but she had not been very successful in that department and had never really found her true love. She always seemed to get involved with stupid men with hang-ups: either jealous control freaks or insecure types.

We met about ten years ago. I was doing a course and she was on it. We hit it off straight away. I think it was because I just talked to her in a normal way. It was not a sexual affair. We just hit it off. She was highly intelligent, funny, and had an amazing figure. I suppose most men were just in lust over her. Also, I think she scared men. I think she was bored of this and that’s why we hit it off – not that I did not find her highly attractive, and still do. She was successful in her business and had won a few ‘Best Woman in Business’ awards, but not just for the business side. They were also for her hairstyling, as first and foremost she was a hairdresser. She had diversified and cleverly built on this, and supplied hair products wholesale to the hair world. So not only did she have day-to-day clients, who were mainly AAA women, but a massive supply business running on behind it that most clients did not have any idea about.

The plan was formulating in my head as I walked around the exhibition. I had to restrain myself from not talking about it. This had to remain a total secret until the first lady had approved of the pleasure experienced and would agree to recommend the service. It was going to be purely a recommendation-only business. This, I felt, would be the safest way to build it. In fact was the only way. This was going to be something that you just could not advertise, and discretion was definitely going to be the better part of valour. It was, I thought, going to be a dilemma for some of the potential clients. Would someone recommend this very personal pleasure? It got me thinking, Oh, well, we shall see. As they say, the proof is in the pudding.

I could see some negotiating going on in the background. A petite, very well-dressed dark-haired woman was in discussion regarding, I assumed, prices for certain pieces. I would later find out this was the artist’s agent, Ava. Little did I know then that we would become very good friends not too far into the future.

A few stickers started appearing on some of the art pieces. This to me was good news indeed. The artist, who I knew was a woman, would be very happy. Money was flowing her way. Little did she know that so was something else.

This was going to be a longish evening, so I had to pace the intake of the Kir royals. It was so easy to drink. I had never had it before, but thought it might fit well into what I was planning as well. It certainly took the edge off feeling nervous – well, just made you relax, really. Also there were a few canapés, which was helpful for me. Soaked up the drink.

I was studying the woman who I hoped was going to be my first subject. She was tall, elegant, and slim. She had long black hair and was obviously from the eastern side of Europe. She had such talent. What was achieved with the brush was truly unbelievable; awe-inspiring. It was not like being in an art gallery, where you are normally ten feet from the art. Here it was right up in your face. It was great to find the distance that suited my eyes, in fact.

As my first test subject no money would exchange hands. It would have to take place in their own home or at a place of their choice. This could not happen in my apartment because there had to be complete separation. My apartment was sacrosanct: never the two would cross. This was for my protection and, I was thinking, for my future sanity. This was going to be a money machine only limited by the hours in a day, and it would be run alongside my selling shares for a while. I was the total optimist, always looking for other opportunities. I was once given a tip from a top industrialist. It was to look down every alleyway and make a decision as to whether it was worth pursuing or looking into further. Then delegate. This has stood me in good stead. This, though, was not to be delegated. This was going to be all mine.

My brain was racing. I was trying to be interested in the art and make polite conversation at the same time. This plan was taking me over, possessing me, consuming me. I took a quick look at my watch. Time had flown by, and it was time to make the move and get formally introduced to the artist.

Ken, my host, was a wealthy man. He had sold his software business for many millions, and just loved to dabble in start-up companies. He was so well connected and loved women. He had been married and was now divorced, and had two grown-up girls whom he loved with a passion. He was always talking about them. It was good to be around this type of energy. He was not ever scared of showing his feeling and his love for his girls. His treat was to take them to Langham’s for sausages and mash. Not that I think that’s what they ate, but it was a good story. He grabbed me by the arm.

Come here, old boy, he said. "Can I introduce you to the reason we are all here tonight? She is one of the brightest talents in the modern world of art, and is already famous in some circles in London. She has painted for many of the richest people around the world, supported many charities with donations of art, and is an overall good person. That’s why we are here tonight: to return the favour of support.

Kattrina, don’t be modest now, he said. Can I introduce you to a good friend of mine? I took her hand, shook it, and looked her straight into the eyes. I knew there and then that she was going to be one of them. After the intros she was very kind and said, Please let me show you around. She walked me through what was temporarily the art studio, and explained the thought processes on how each piece came into being. I asked what I thought were sensible questions, trying to not embarrass myself. She was kind and obviously knew art was not my forte. We got on, and although she seemed nervous around me – maybe it was just around men – she carried it off. Anyway, I was grateful for the learning experience.

I don’t think she really enjoyed this part of being an artist. Sitting in front of the easel was much easier than meeting and greeting the public, even though the atmosphere was very convivial with the upper classes. They had the money, and tonight Kattrina had been very successful in that department. Not only a lot of art had sold but she had taken orders as well. She was a happy bunny indeed. I needed to make my move while she was elated and arrange, hopefully, to see her again, and soon. My plan could not wait too long. I was hungry to get started. I took her card and arranged to call her in the next few days.

What a result, I thought. I caught up again with Ken. We had a laugh and I thanked him for the evening and the offer to go shooting. He was great. It was good to be around such intelligence. I really was starting to enjoy intelligent people. It strengthened me and opened me up to greater possibilities. My life is truly turning a corner, I thought.

The evening came to a close with a small speech from Kattrina’s agent Ava, in which she thanked everyone for their support and wished everyone safe journeys home. My, she was polished and very professional, and came over as genuine. What a great lady, I thought.

Chapter 2

The next day, Thursday, was manic. I had a breakfast share meeting in a hotel round the corner from Victoria station, then lunch at the Savoy Grill. It was great, selling shares and, in doing so, making commissions. It was good job I was slim and had a good metabolic rate, never putting weight on. I hardly ever touched alcohol, only the odd glass of something, but never heavy volumes of pints or spirits. This stood me in good stead. I was amazed at some of the meetings I would attend where executives would get half-cut at lunchtime and purport to be in charge of their faculties. To me this was a bonus. I used to say to myself, Stay sharp, and you will always have an edge.

I phoned Kattrina as arranged. It was 1 p.m. She answered my call. She was very friendly. I was busy and so was she, so the conversation was short. We arranged to meet soon. There was something strange about her. This was just a gut feeling. I was fairly intuitive and sensitive to energy. It was a niggle in the back of my mind. Oh, well, I thought.

My next few days were full with meetings, and some travelling out to the suburbs of London, mainly Kent and Sussex. I was staggered at the number of people hungry to buy stock, all hoping that they would make their fortune. I was in the same boat, and had accumulated quite a few shares on the way. But all through this my – the – plan … God, the new plan … It was consuming me, actually, but in a good way. It was as if it already was a reality. As you think so shall it be comes to mind. I could see the whole thing as if it was real and already working, like a video. I carried on with the next stage of the plan and arranged to see my friend Susie at her very upmarket beauty salon.

We went for coffee and I outlined my idea to her. She listened with interest. She was always open to new ideas: I think that’s why we got on so well. We were always bouncing new ideas and schemes off each other. She was clever, and very attractive with it. She had brains but was feminine and soft – a very powerful combination, and she knew it, but not in an egotistical way. She suggested using her premises, as she had rooms downstairs that would fit the new business. I was blown away with the offer. The clients were to pay her, which was great as a cover and safe as well. She had all the credit card facilities and computer database stuff already working, which would be very important. I would invoice her company for my bit. This would be ideal for the clients. They would be safe and secure being in an environment they were used to – well, most of them. I discussed the fee structure and the percentage split. It was all agreed and done on a handshake. It was so good to do business the old-fashioned way. Trust is hard to find these days in the creed for greed life we live in.

I was very happy, and we agreed to meet in a few days’ time for me to check out the premises. I needed to check the rooms and other facilities, like showers etc., and other things that would be required for me to have my first practice session with a real client. I was now thinking, actually, that my first real trial event should be Susie. This I would have to run past her later. She had to agree, as I could only trust her opinion on this, but first I was glad to have her approval and then agreement to use her salon, as this would give me credibility and a ‘one port of call’ new business. Hopefully all the appointments would be made through her business, so as long as I had good forward notice I could carry on doing my day job, so to speak. It was certainly interesting times as I travelled around having my daily meetings, mainly in bars, restaurants, and hotel lounges. I was constantly looking out for clients – well, actually, looking to see if I thought these women would participate and, more importantly, spread the word.

Because I was an astute observer this – people watching – was an interesting exercise in itself, but gender-specific people watching was something else. I had never really done this type of observation, and it was getting hard not to get caught out staring. I was thinking that they would think I was some kind of a pervert. Which type? This was bothering me. Would they tell their friends, I wondered, or would they be too embarrassed?

I thought discretion would be the key. I had to work on how they could approach their friends without compromising themselves. It would have to be as if by chance they had stumbled on this fantastic thing. And it was