I guess everyone has favorite sexual fantasies they use from time to time to get themselves off on lonely evenings before drifting off to sleep. I know I do. Probably what's different in my case is that my best fantasy is actually a memory. It began in my sophomore year of college. I was nineteen.
My sophomore year in college I had shacked up with my boyfriend, a man I dearly loved. He was a senior, older and wiser, and also while not the first, nor the second, nor even the third man who had ever bedded me, he was my first long term relationship. I was in love, and I was convinced at the time it could not get better than it was.
What was special about Rob was he that he understood my need for discipline. I loved how he would tie me up and ravish me, sometimes whipping me if I had been bad, and taking me anally as a special punishment, which I secretly loved. No other man had ever realized I had these needs, and in fact before I fell in with Rob, I myself had not realized it. I really did need it, though. I loved the slightly sadistic discipline he provided me on a regular basis.
True, I did not like that on occasion he would beat me, but those occasions were rare, and at those times I felt that he was justified because inevitably I would have royally screwed up. I never told anyone about the beatings because I just knew they would want to intervene on some level, and I was not prepared for that. I mention this just to explain that while I thought life with him was perfect, perhaps I was just a little naïve. I knew deep down the discipline was fine, but the beatings were not. I just could not admit it to myself.
My mother called one day. It was a Wednesday in March and the daffodils were poking up out of the ground. I could see the beginnings of tulips, partially hidden in their leaves. One of her best friends from her college days was coming to New York the next weekend, together with her son Carl who was a college senior, and she asked me to show him around New York, and to "show him a good time."
I'm sure my mother had no idea of the sexual implications of the phrase "to show a man a good time." I told her I couldn't do it. I had theater tickets, I had too much school work, I was planning to get a migraine headache, and I was fairly sure I was coming down with the flu, I had really bad PMS, and oh yes, that particular weekend I was going to Boston for the wedding of an old high school friend. Nothing worked. She really wanted me to do it.
"He'll pick you up Friday night. Wear something cheerful and bright. Try not to look like a refugee from a motorcycle gang, okay?" she said.
"Yes, Mom," I replied. If I had to count the number of times I had said 'Yes, Mom' up to that point in my life, I would have needed at least four digits, maybe five. I explained the situation to my boyfriend Rob, and to my surprise he handled it with aplomb, mostly I think because he knew I was dreading it. Blind dates with men my Mom sets up for me are not my idea of fun. They're nobody's idea of fun.
Carl showed up on time. I had picked a time for him to come when I knew Rob would not be home. He was good looking, so at least I would not be embarrassed to be in his presence. One point for Mom. He took me out for Peruvian food at a secret little restaurant he knew about. I had never before had Peruvian food and it was wonderful. Two points for Mom.
The wine was good, too, and even though I was 19 and obviously not yet 21, I looked as if I were 21 in my nice clothes with my prominent boobs, and we polished off a full bottle of a delicious red Chilean wine from the Maipo Valley. That was after two cocktails, too, and I was feeling no pain. Full marks for Mom. This was becoming the best blind date ever.
Carl then took me dancing at a little club he knew about down in the Village, and when a slow song came, he pulled me into him, and my body just melted into his as I wrapped my arms about his neck. He put his hands around my waist, and I ground my body against the area of his sex, which responded nicely to my actions.
Indeed, Carl's groin responded remarkably. Can a man's cock even be that big, I thought at the time? I can be bad at times, and as such I enjoy being a tease. Carl's hands moved south to cup my ass cheeks. I have a tiny ass, and Carl had huge hands, so my cheeks were nicely cupped, and it felt really sexy. It felt even sexier that I was letting him treat me that way in public, as if I were a tramp, or a slut, or something like that.
It was a clear and beautiful evening and after the village we took a cab to Battery Park to look out at the Statue of Liberty, all lit up at night. I'm a sucker for such a romantic gesture, but it was also a windy and cold evening. I was shivering. Carl wrapped me up in his jacket, it being warm from having just been on his body and feeling the warmth from that hunky male body being passed to me was erotic. Carl held me tight to keep me warm. It was a magical moment, and when he went to kiss me I kissed him back and poured affection into my kiss, while once again grinding his hard cock with my tummy.
We went to a bar down there to warm up, but Carl made an innocent mistake and it was a girlie bar. Carl turned bright red. I handled it easily, giggling and laughing, but Carl's shame for having taken me to such a place was palpable.
"It's okay, Carl," I told him. "I know what a girl's boobs look like, you know. I've looked in a mirror. Besides, there's such variety with women's boobs. This way I can check out the competition. Welcome to New York."
Carl smiled. "I'm sure none of these pretty women can compare to you, Joanne," he said, and I think it was at that moment I was seduced. We had a couple more drinks, and it became time for Carl to take me home. At that point, I am sure I could not have walked a straight line, nor touched my nose with my index finger. I was plastered.
I wanted a chance to make out, just a little, with this hunk of a man who had shown me the best evening I had had in a long time, maybe ever. If he took me home, Rob would be there, and that would be that. "Let's go to your hotel instead of my place," I said. "I have a live-in boyfriend." Just like my mom earlier, I was not thinking of the possible implications of such a suggestion. Like stupid mother, like even stupider daughter.
Carl looked at me funny, and I immediately regretted having mentioned the existence of Rob. So, I added, "He beats me, you know."
Now Carl looked at me. In retrospect I think he was flummoxed, with a "Who is this woman? What is it with this woman?" attitude. At the time, however, in my drunken state, I thought he did not believe me.
"He hits me where it won't show. Where the sun does not shine, you know?" I said. He nodded, but he looked skeptical. So right there, in the girlie bar, I lifted my blouse and pulled down my bra, and showed him my black and blue boobs. I quickly covered up once he saw the bruises. I figured since it was a girlie bar, no harm, right?
I had not realized at the time how sexually aggressive such a gesture was. I was only trying to prove my veracity at the time, not to arouse Carl or to give him the wrong idea. I had not thought about what a provocative gesture it was to expose myself publicly in front of Carl. It's not your typical first date activity. This was my big mistake number two.
"My hotel it is," Carl said. He was staying at the Marriott at Times Square, the world's most anonymous hotel. Gun toting terrorists could stay there and nobody would notice. The place is mobbed by conventioneers, all the time, and you can identify them by their badges.
