Was it a fantasy or was it becoming reality? Was it all in my dramatically vivid imagination or had these events actually happened? Did I dream them or act them out? Was it all simply emotional or had my physical being been involved as well?
I was getting to the stage where I wasn’t all that sure. I knew that the psychological and emotional nightmare I’d gone through just before and for some time after my husband and I had decided to live apart had done things to me. Unbalanced me a little, unsettled me and had played tricks with my feelings and thoughts. The absence of his mental stimulation, albeit in the later times of a quite negative way, the loneliness I suffered during, particularly, the first few months of him staying in Copenhagen and me moving to London and the brain wrenching thinking I’d gone through as I set out on planning a whole new life had made me very introspective. I had gone to bed many nights my head so full of worries, guilt, hopes and plans that I’d laid awake for hours my mind in a whirl.
The loss of sex with him and the knowledge that he was finding that elsewhere didn’t help. Ok being Danish we had a cooler, more relaxed and very different outlook on sex to most countries. All the time we had been together our relationship had been open and we had both had other partners, but that was part of a Danish marriage. In the end he always came back to me. But now he didn’t and that hurt so much more than I could ever have imagined.
On top of that I was drinking too much and smoking far too many spliffs and had taken to the odd snort of Charlie now and then.
Despite my full resolve to effectively finish with him there was hardly an evening and certainly never a full day when I didn’t think of him inside me, him kissing my breasts or placing his face between my legs or me feeling his erection against all parts of my body and in my mouth. That I was enormously frustrated I had no doubt, although it was not a state of which I had much experience for usually we had sex four or five times a week. My entire body almost continuously ached and pulsated for the touch of a man on it and my complete being and brain screamed out for the relief he would bring by giving me a total orgasm.
So why not take up some of the offers I get from guys I know in London? I had done that many times before so why not now? I have no idea. I was mixed up in so many ways and that was just another example as was my convoluted logic. I sort of rationalised things as: I didn’t want any romantic involvement with a new guy; I dreaded becoming emotionally dependent upon anyone; I hated the phoniness of one-night stands, the ‘I don’t usually do this as I suck the dick of a total stranger’ or the ‘yes of course I feel something for you’ and the ‘you are not just a one night stand to me’ bullshit.
All these mental and physical sensations were now combining and closing in on me. In my depressed and confused state they seemed to merge fantasy into reality to a point that I was at times not sure where one ended and the other began.
Had I really spent time driving around the East End of London looking for likely places? Was I imagining that hidden in a suitcase securely locked so that no one could ‘accidentally’ find them, was the thin, black leather dress, with the spaghetti straps and the black fishnet holdup stockings? Was I kidding myself when I sat in my apartment in London Docklands, perhaps finishing a bottle of wine or smoking a joint on the balcony, planning it down to every detail? Living every moment, imagining what it would be like, how I’d feel doing it and after? Thinking what would he would be like, how he’d react and how he’d treat me?
I’d given myself a timetable. I’m like that sometimes. When I have a big decision to make I often say to myself. “Give it two or three weeks and if the idea hasn’t gone away then decide a date and then do it.” So I did that. If I still had the fantasy in mind after so much time then I would do it on such and such a date.
And I did still have it in my mind. If anything it was firmer and as that period of thinking ended so the excitement mounted and the idea took on a clearer view and my resolve became stronger. So the actual date was set for 7 days away, a Thursday night, chosen specifically for it was the Cityboy’s night out and I knew the pubs would be full with what I needed to be there.
Had I really arranged to leave work early and booked the next day off to give me the freedom and peace of mind to act my fantasy out? Was I actually standing in my bedroom naked taking the suitcase from the top shelf of the wardrobe? Was it in my mind that I was removing the clothes and laying them on the bed or was the feel of the black leather real and strangely exciting me? Standing looking at myself in the mirror clad just in the long, seamed, black, fishnet holdups I could hardly make out whether they were real or whether the blatantly erotic image was me. And when I slipped the tight, short dress on and almanbahis yeni giriş again looked in the mirror did I know whether that was really a reflection of me, with the vividly tarty, shiny leather pelmet of a skirt and black net stockings, or was that image a figment of my sexually tormented imagination? Had I really, completely purposefully avoided pulling on any panties or bra, not that the dress could be worn with such a garment, I wondered as I slipped the thin straps up my arms and onto my shoulders? Would I really sit in a bar wearing such a blatant ‘come and fuck me dress’ I was thinking as I clipped the two sides at the front together and settled that clasp between my breasts? Was that also a reflection or was something playing tricks with my mind I wondered as I looked and tried working out what other’s gazes would think as they saw the masses of bare flesh. Not just on my shoulders, back and chest where the low cut dress left little to the imagination about the size and fullness of my breasts, but also of my lower chest. To add even more sluttishness to the sordid creation the designer had left a circle of flesh about six inches in diameter bare beneath the clasp that snuggled between my tits. Still not sure whether the mirror was sending back faithful reflections or whether it was all in my mind I saw the woman sitting, crossing her legs, slowly, and I watched mesmerised as the skirt slid up her legs until beneath its hem could be made out the darker strip of her stocking tops telling whoever might be looking that she was indeed wearing stockings.
In a daze, a dream, a flight of fantasy or maybe in vague reality it went on. Was that really the rather prudish, 30 something year old, now single, professional woman casting that image of an utter slag from the mirror. Could it really be the successful businesswoman, the banker, the head of a massive department and the bastion of middle class Copenhagen and now London Docklands that beamed back from the beguiling glass of the full-length mirror? Was it her or mirage that was looking, at best, an easy, good time girl or, with just a tad more imagination, a rather cheap whore about to go on parade? And that thrilled me, it played to my needs and desires, my imagination and the fantasy that had been gathering strength in my mind ever since I parted from Kel and had my supply of sex curtailed.
It could well have been part of the fantasy or a particularly vivid dream that saw me wrap a long, black leather coat around me and call a cab. It could have all been in my mind as I climbed out just ten minutes later outside a drinking club in Bethnal Green. Yes I felt nervous. Yes I was concerned and worried about how it would go. Not worried for my safety for I was ok on that and accepted that some pain might be needed to fulfil my fantasy, but more just what it would be like, how I’d feel and what it would do to my feelings and emotions.
As I walked slowly across the room to take a seat at the bar so my feelings began to explode. I saw lots of eyes following me as I undid the coat and let it drape down my back as I perched myself on the high stool. I saw several men’s eyes riveted on me as I lifted myself and locked one heel of the, almost, stiletto high heels in the rung between the legs of the stool. In a surprisingly calm voice I heard me ordering a vodka with a drain of waterdry white wine from the young waitress behind the bar. I was beginning to experience some of the feelings I’d imagined so often as I sat there knowing I was being ogled and possibly also spoken about amongst the, largely, male clientele. It wasn’t long before I was offered a drink that I declined or before a man asked if I was waiting for someone. I said I was and turned away.
It was getting towards 10.30 the time I knew from my fantasy research when many of the customers would move onto the clubs nearby and sure enough it started thinning out. I casually looked around and saw several couples, male and female, a few groups of men and several guys by themselves. In my fantasy or this new reality I looked each of the singles up and down when they were looking at the TV so they wouldn’t notice. One was in his forties At least and was immediately rejected along with another younger guy with ginger hair who was no more than 5 feet6 or so. I wondered if the fantasy was about to unravel when looking around slightly panicking I only saw two others and neither of them in any way met the image I’d dreamed up during the long time I’d been thinking about it. And then I saw him. Coming out of the men’s room he was over six feet tall, nicely built with a shock of blondish hair. Fairly good looking, although that was of no real concern to me, I saw as he came closer walking past me that he could not have been more than 21 or so. Perfect I thought turning a little on the stall to follow where he went.
It was time. All the thought, the planning and the fantasising were about to come together. I tried to recall exactly almanbahis how I’d imagined doing this as I’d laid in my bed so many times masturbating about it. I tried to shake my head to see whether I might wake up and find that it had been a particularly vivid erotic dream. I tried to see if really I was in my home and that my imagination had gone into overdrive and all this was the fantasy and not the reality. But as I turned on the stall so that I could look directly at him it didn’t seem unreal for I could feel the unlined leather on my bare bottom, slightly sticking to me. And as I saw him look straight at me the sudden pounding of my heart felt far from anything other than real. I caught his eye and I quickly looked away, taking a swig of my drink. Holding the glass to my lips I looked back and he was still looking at me. I held his gaze a moment and this time he looked away. I took another sip averting my gaze from him as I did. But then with my phone in one hand and the drink in the other held near to my lips I raised my eyes and caught his stare. I held his gaze looking deep into his eyes as my pulse raced. I slipped my tongue out almost unconsciously and licked the rim of the glass, suggestively I thought.
Was I really doing this? Was this actually happening, at long, long last, I speculated, or had my sex ravaged body corrupted my emotionally damaged mind so much that I could imagine this?
Still staring, now unashamedly at him, holding his look I slowly, so slowly crossed me legs. The feeling of the cheap, leather skirt sliding up the net of the stockings seemed so real and surely I didn’t imagine the feeling of air on the skin slightly above the tops of the stockings as I stared at him. He was the only one left sitting in that area and I was shielded from the few other customers by the bar and sitting there my skirt now so far up my leg that I was sure he would be able to see the stocking tops. I looked into his eyes again and I saw him standing. He smiled at me and mouthed, “drink?” I shook my head slowly, but smiled as I inclined it to one side towards the door.
Was I really easing myself off the stool and allowing the leather stick to the seat so that the hem rode up almost to my crotch? Surely I could not really be doing this? Exposing nearly all my legs to a man almost young enough to be my son in a public bar? I dropped my eyes as I stood and taking each side of the skirt in my hands I wiggled it down knowing that my breasts would jiggle beneath my blouse as my body moved. That done I looked at him again and made a meal of struggling into the coat. I knew that the thin straps and neckline and the ‘hole’ in the dress would all move and that my tits would wobble alarmingly as they fought for their freedom from the ridiculous dress. I knew that would be happen for I’d rehearsed that and the other moves so many times in front of my mirror and I wondered if perhaps I was now really in front of that mirror again and all else was purely imaginary. I also knew that he would get as good a view of my breasts and maybe a nipple as my mirror had several times. But this time after giving the mirror so much to look at I was not going to masturbate as I had so many times with this in mind. This time was I imagining walking over to him, looking down and smiling? Was it in my mind that he stared at me a slight grin on his rather better looking face than I’d thought at first? It surely couldn’t be an illusion that I whispered. “Follow me,” before turning and walking confidently to the door. And the footsteps I heard on the pavement were so loud and seemed so real that surely they weren’t a fantasy were they?
“Hi,” I heard him say exactly as my imaginings had thought he would as he drew alongside me. “May I walk with you?”
Now that hadn’t been in the plan. In the fantasy he didn’t speak after the “hi”. He said no more and we didn’t speak at all. “Is it ok if we talk?” He asked confusing me for I hadn’t covered that in my planning.
I had to quickly develop a contingency plan. Did that mean this had to be real? In the fantasy I controlled everything but now I wasn’t so perhaps I really was walking alongside him down Bethnal Green Road towards the narrow street I’d selected.
“No, you mustn’t talk,” I said not even looking up at him.
“Oh right,” he replied obviously confused. I said more so that told me that this may well have been real for in the fantasy I had never uttered even one word.
“You can walk with me. You can follow me, but you mustn’t talk to me. OK?”
He didn’t speak for a moment so I stopped and turned towards him looking up into his eyes. He must have been well over six feet tall and he looked down at me as we squared up to each other. I held his gaze as I put one hand on my hip pulling the coat open as I did. I knew that the top would be gaping and the hole would be billowing and I saw his eyes go right there. I was now operating completely off script and that somehow added to the fantasy.
His almanbahis adres eyes roamed from my chest to my eyes quite confidently as he asked. “Why not?”
I smiled running my tongue over my lips as I pondered on my answer.
“Because,” I said smiling and pausing as I stared at him. This hadn’t happened in front of the mirror so I was on unsure ground. I moved closer holding the coat open by my hand on my hip. I stood like that now sure he’d be able to make out that I wasn’t wearing a bra for my nipples had gone as hard and as pronounced as acorns. The already low neckline had slipped a little and I knew that he would be able to see the swells of both of my breasts as well as the sides and bottom through the hole
He smiled and repeated. “Because? Because what?”
The fantasy was now no help for this hadn’t been factored in. Reality has that habit of being stranger than fiction. Somehow summing all my courage and confidence I plunged on into the unchartered waters.
“Because” I said quite firmly. “If you want to fuck me that’s the only way you’ll get to do it. “
I looked at him as I tilted my head to one side waiting for his response hoping against hope that he wouldn’t turn me down and make me go through the whole thing again.
“You mean if I don’t talk to you I can have sex with you?” he asked blushing and looking both very young and oddly appealing.
“Exactly,” I replied.
“Er, um, ” he stammered. “Is there a charge?”
That made me smile for I had seen that happening in the fantasy. In fact that’s how the fantasy had started with me imagining me being a working girl.
“No,” I said adding as a joke. “I won’t pay you, all I want is for you to stay silent and then you can fuck me. Ok?”
He got the message and nodded which again made me smile as he’d obviously cottoned on.
My imagination or my memory from checking out the streets during my late night sorties took us down the gloomy back streets just behind the very busy main road until we came to the warehouse I’d selected. In the dreaming about this I’d wandered confidently into the big doorway, like a porch really. Inside that it ran for about twenty or thirty feet until on the left there was an alcove tucked away so that if anyone came past the main doorway they wouldn’t be able to see into it. With the young man beside me my stride wasn’t as jaunty as in the vivid imaginings I’d had about it. No as we walked into the doorway and then into the alcove that had a dim light thrown onto it from inside the warehouse that I knew was deserted at nights, I didn’t feel quite the confidence I’d thought I’d have. But I felt excited, expectant and really quite in awe of myself.
For a woman that had found it almost impossible to have casual sex after her marriage break up for fear of becoming dependent on a man this fantasy had been the perfect alternative. For one that had tried having sex with a number of partners that had wined and dined her until her resistance had weakened to the point she’d let them into her knickers to then find that such sex, sex without an emotional involvement as well, was unsatisfactory, this type sex appeared to be the answer. To have sex where there was absolutely nothing else involved and where she was in control represented to her somewhat mangled mind the logical way. The fantasy had started as the frustration had become so hard to endure. As her body ached for a man. As her need grew to enormous proportions. But she was constrained by this emotional hang up. And that had made her, well me really, start thinking and fantasising. Fantasising so often about some of the more outrageous feelings concerned with sex, feelings and thoughts I’d never had before and would never have thought I would have. Thoughts like being completely demeaned, degraded and debased. Of being treated like a whore, a slag, a slut. Of being mentally and physically mistreated, abused and made to act and feel so wanton, perverse and just plain dirty. Yes I was aware that I had some psychological damage, probably from the break up, but that didn’t help. I wanted to be treated like that and in all the many lonely hours I had spent since moving to London for my job and forsaking my marriage so more and more I had started living a fantasy life. But now that was maybe becoming reality for the perimeters of both were fading and where one ended and the other began was all fuzzy.
It was like that, blurry and unclear, as I turned, leaned back against the wall and looked at the boy. He was clearly nervous and unsure. Little did he know that I was just the same but I knew that he wouldn’t realise that and it certainly didn’t show as I reached up to my shoulders and took the thin straps between my fingers. I eased them one by on off my shoulders and let them dangle down my arms. I saw them widen as he looked, presumably trying to see my breasts that by now were aching to be touched or sucked. They were riveted on my hands as my fingers fumbled with the clasp that was snuggled in my wider cleavage. And I heard him gasp and saw him blink in disbelief as with one quick yank I pulled the dress open and thrust my chest forward a little so that my bare, full breasts leared beckoningly at him. He watched open eyed and open mouthed.