The following encounter is an intensely felt, extravagantly pondered and profoundly thought over recollection of a union which never in actual fact took place. I don't mean to step out of place as the narrator in this recollection to you however, reader; as more than my audience, in reading these words you have become my dearest friend and closest associate for this journey.
I therefore need you, the reader, to imagine us and these events taking place, for we don't really exist, and the encounter will never occur, if you don't.
The poor descriptions I attempt to arrange centuries old words to form, struggle feebly to depict two souls who actually do exist, but in a setting that is off limits to all realms but imaginative ones. While I have endeavoured to be true to their personality quirks and desires insofar as I can, for the bulk of situations toward which this scene refers, the creative artist within me has been given the upper hand over the honest gentleman.
This story is the result of the first spark of the strongest emotional force in existence; infatuation! Infatuation that infected thousands before me, and drove them mad, wanting, craving; needing more! I was a strong lad and survived; but the poison was in the wound, and the wound remained ever open. And ever since, when I find my mind reflecting on the subject of my fantasies and try to fulfill my own cravings, motives, actions and so forth, I surrender to a sort of retrospective imagination which feeds the analytic faculty with boundless alternatives and which causes each visualized route to fork and re-fork without end in the maddeningly complex prospect of my past. I therefore confidently expect this almost entirely fictional recollection memoir to have several parts rewritten, revised and altered to suit the protagonist (of course), so many times that by reaching this tale's end, I will have quite lost the plot with all I was doing; other than spending A-grade time of top merit, with my dearest and deepest infatuation.
For me a work of erotic fiction exists only insofar as it affords readers, and the author, what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected and involved with the experiences the lead characters are engaged in (carefree, lust, sluttiness, desirable partners).
The good reader is one who has imagination, memory, a dictionary, and some pornographic obsession- not to mention a like-mind for desire fueled would-be romance.
The porn industry is multi-layered, with all facets directed toward the film based varieties, that earn the most revenue.
Thus, in pornographic novels, action has to be limited to the copulation of clichés, which are visually stimulating (not to mention possible) for two (or more!) actors onscreen. This novel deviates here, in fully exploiting the actuality of its impossibility, which opens the gateway to several other non-realistic occurrences.
There are two kinds of imagined scenarios: one when you skillfully place yourself within an image in a dirty magazine or on a phone or computer screen with your eyes open, and then you masturbate seeing Charlotte in real life before you: light-colored skin, blue eyes, blonde hair, yoga pants, torn hole showing off her pussy.. oh!-; and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, Charlotte, absolutely optical replica of her beloved face, tits, pussy and/or ass; a little Pornstar in your visual cortex to masturbate over in the shower. Such imaginings take infinite forms throughout life, and are ever changing and influenced by the slightest provocation in the most disregarded avenues of life. Memory of a single standing urination will echo in your mind every time you leak throughout your days. And in this, we create the greatest spectacle of all. The combination of all of our ongoing recreation, in vast accumulation to the ultimate culmination of the coda to the biggest living artwork that is life. Our meagre lives therefore, are but a series of footnotes to a vast obscure unfinished erotic masterpiece.
I am trying to describe these things not only to live them to please my present boundless sexual appetite, but to sort out the portion of selfish fantasy, and the portion of shared desire in that strange, awful, maddening world- Pornstar infatuation.
Our story commences with the conclusion- to the life of a very close friend of Charlotte's (specifics are unimportant for, as you may be catching on, this while this person is clearly in a state of not existing now; neither did they exist previously, they are but a imagined figment entirely exclusive to this novel.)
At the time, I just happened to be in the passerby vicinity, bearing witness to beautiful weeping people, and the most inconveniently timed happenstance misthrown wedding bouquet, from before the church that fronted the graveyard.
No pickup line or scenario can bring about the perfect sexual encounter; chance, however, can do it.
The horribly flung bundle of overpriced flora was careering on a trajectory that I immediately knew from my years long ago as a High School Wide-Reciever, would collide with the sunlit blonde halo of hair shining brightly out from beneath one of a group of several black fascinators set out upon heads of funeral attendees clustered on the churchyard lawn.
I am lanky, big-boned, brawny-chested 40-something year old Rohan Ravenous, with thick black eyebrows and an Australian accent, and a shining wall of white teeth behind his warm half-laughing and all-caring smile.
And so it was that my myriad of season receiving yards records amounted to more than highly polished wood and metal hanging loosely from my pool room wall. On identifying the abominable results that would ensue the unobstructed flight-path of the blossoming-ball, my game-bred instinct commandeered my bodily functions, my legs springing to a brisk hustle and hurdle over the small picket fence, to intercept the parcel micro-metres before it had made its rendezvous.
It was only as I rose, and handed the now scuffled flowers to their would-be victim, that I was captured and not to be released; by unprecedented infatuous longing. It was lust at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight. Her black fascinator perched just so atop her perfectly straightened hair. Her dear red eyes, showing signs she had been crying just minutes previously. Her light dress hanging softly down from her bare shoulder-tops. Her breasts! Now fully exposed to me following her autonomous flinch at the flowers' sudden appearance.
She smiled at me and thanked me profusely, as I miserably failed to maintain my eyeline on her face rather than her lovely perked nipples.
"... thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, this has just been the worst day! I- Oh my...!"
My companion had most unfortunately noticed her partial nudity by this point, and rearranged her light gown to disclose her body from me once more. I was upset for just a moment, as a heartbeat later, one of my companions' companions had dis-companied her dress-straps from her shoulders, and I was accompanied by her divine nude body, a trimmed bush of light pubic hair drawing attention to, but not hiding her sweet labia, poking forth from the juncture of her legs.
My dear companion was all of a fluster, and once more my assistance was offered as I shed my slightly too large blazer, and offered it to her as a shield. This chivalrous act was performed with a union of both purely altruistic and purely selfish desires. My jacket was accepted graciously and with great indebtedness. It also lead to the now compulsory future sequence of events in which I would accompany this heavenly apple of mine eye until I could again watch her disrobe, before getting fully dressed - or so I had planned.
Suddenly we were seated beside each other on the foot of a bed within a room I had never seen. We were dressed just as before, and my craving eyes traced the delicious looking skin exposed between the break lines and lapels of my jacket, and between the areolas and nipples of my companion. She seemed to be as surprised by our sudden change in location as I was, and my heart hammered as I saw her instinctive glance around the room for a doorway leading out. She did identify one, but on noticing it she leant herself back against my body, turning me into her physical support in addition to psychological, defensive and clothing.
I looked down at her still red eyes and it became all too clear. She felt no desire to go anywhere different as you see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go.
