Sexual fantasies.

My first fantasy takes place in a bar. I’m alone. A man walks in, tall dark and handsome. ‘A stranger.’  In my fantasy, he comes towards the bar, looks around, notices me, moves in and asks: ‘Is this seat taken?’ I smile and indicate for him to sit down. He buys me a drink. The air is electric. We sip. Chat. Eye each other out. Have another drink. Move a bit closer. It’s sexy. He whispers for me to follow him to the bathroom. He gets up first. I follow. The sex, against the wall, with people just there on the other side, is amazing.

In reality, I meet the stranger in the bar. We sit together. It’s quite sexy. There’s some electricity. We have a good time. His hand is on the nape of my neck.  He draws me closer to him.  We’re going to kiss, long, slow, sensual kissing. And then – I sneeze. My eyes start streaming and my nose starts running. It’s a Cigar Bar. I’m allergic to smoke. It’s a disaster. We do leave together. But to rush me to the casualty section at Milpark Hospital – I’m having a bad asthma attack.

A week later I decide to fulfil my next fantasy. I’m with a man on our way home from a delicious dinner date.  I’m driving. The evening has been fantastic; we both know we want sex. He has his hand on my leg. It goes up my thigh. Creeping, higher, higher. It’s so good.  I want his hand, stronger, harder, right there, between my legs. This fantasy has turned to reality. Dinner was great; the drive home is sexy, brilliant. But I’m struggling to change gears, his hand keeps getting in the way, and I’m driving badly. It’s almost impossible to focus. So I pull over to the side of the road.

It’s dark. It’s quite wild. I lean over. We kiss. Intense. Delicious. Sexy. His hand is up my skirt. I’m fiddling with his fly. Knock. Knock. ‘Step out of the car please Ma’am, Sir, we need to check…’ It’s CSS Tactical. They think we’re, well, I don’t know what they think. It’s mortifying. Embarrassing. Very unsexy. A shocker of an ending. Plus I have bruises all over my ass from the handbrake.

We acted out one more fantasy. This time it was his. He wanted to spank me. I was quite keen; this was of course my fantasy too. I wore a very short skirt, tied my hair in pigtails, took off my underwear, and bent over his knee. THWACK. He hit me. Hard. Really hard. Very hard. Much too hard. With a cane. I was expecting a ruler. Covered in fluff. But I got a cane. I called him a sadist. He called me a wussie.

A wussie?

I’ve given up on fantasies. And I’ve ended our fantastical relationship. It was a disaster from Fantasy One.

But please – send me your fantasies – I’d love to hear them. And, you never know, I might change my mind.

Woman with hands tied behind back

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