In Control 7

It all began with a small, unobtrusive advertisement in the ‘Personal' section of a local newspaper -

‘Are you a woman who enjoys most aspects of female to male intimacy but can get much of her sexual satisfaction just from being the one in control?'

- then finished abruptly with merely an email address.

It was so spare, and even when I read it a second time, so lacking in any really useful information that my curiosity was aroused. My first thought was that it probably carried some kind coded message for either S&M or B&D aficionados. But there were several of those included in that section of the paper and they were all quite explicit, so why would this advertiser need to be so bashful? I read it again - but no, there were still no obvious clues so my interest went up another notch - perhaps I should explain why.

Some years previously I'd had a very nasty run-in with cancer, a somewhat rare form of uterine cancer and it took both chemotherapy and radiotherapy to destroy it, then some internal surgery to at least partially repair the damage the whole process had caused. Although the procedures were successful and there is virtually no chance of that particular beast ever returning I was left with a good deal of vaginal wall scar-tissue damage - which has made normal penetrative sex all but impossible for me.

But of course my innate sexuality remains just as strong as ever - in fact, perhaps merely because some things are now denied me, in many ways my sex-drive actually seems even stronger.

I have and do continue to try to establish relationships, and being still in my early 30's, well-informed, good humoured, and still reasonably physically attractive, I initially have not too much trouble getting dates. At first things usually go quite well, but of course my difficulties begin once things between us become sexual. Nearly all the men love having me give them blow-jobs or tit-jobs and some seem more than happy with me getting them off with my hands - but of course sooner or later they all expect proper sex, and so far my explanation as to why that's not possible has always sent them running.

But perversely, perhaps in the same way that people blinded seem to find their other senses sharpened in compensation, I have found that the pleasure I get from merely handling a man has increased dramatically. Even if a man no longer has a youthfully athletic body, if his cock is reasonably sized, well-shaped, and both he and it are responsive, I always get aroused while exciting him, and it usually takes very little self-stimulation to make sure I also climax while he is coming.

I have also found that having what most people would consider this limitation applied to my activities has in fact brought a perhaps previously buried aspect of my sexuality to the surface. I was surprised to discover just how strong a sexual kick I got from the sense of power that having a man's physical responses and reactions under my control gives me.

So, although I had no high hopes of it leading to anything satisfying, perhaps that explains my more than passing interest in the strange little advertisement.

I spent much of that day mulling over the sort of response I could possibly make to it; ranging from equally terse one-liners, to full-on explanations as to just what I was capable of and was prepared to offer in return. I finally decided on a slightly longer version of the former -

‘I am intrigued by exactly what your advertisement might mean. If it is merely some sort of cute subterfuge for raw sex do NOT bother to reply! But if not, tell me a little more - I MIGHT be interested…'

I won't say I spent the following day in a state of heightened excitement, but there was a frisson of that when I got home and saw my computer had received a reply. I opened the email and saw -

‘I am a man with somewhat limited sexual proclivities - which EXCLUDE normal intercourse - but in return I am prepared, no eager, to provide whatever other forms of stimulation you enjoy. If you are still interested I will happily tell you more about myself - physical, political, religious, hobbies and interests, etc. - just give me a few clues as to what you would like to know.'

My eyes stared at that one phrase - ‘

which EXCLUDE normal intercourse'

- for ages. Did he mean it? Was it some way of hiding some other, perhaps utterly despicably depraved practice? It had to be something like that - didn't it? If not, wasn't the chance of my spotting that particular advertisement just too good to be true?

However, ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained', I decided and drafted a short, but what I hoped was a carefully worded reply. Having asked him for a few of what I considered the more important personal details and stated I was not at all interested in what might be considered deviant sexual practices I ended with a very short sentence that merely told him my own limitations were caused by physical difficulties.

He must have been waiting for me reply because within an hour I heard my computer beeping the arrival of his response. I was surprised, pleasantly so, to see how much information he had come back with, and not just comprehensive text answers to everything I had asked for, but also a name and a photo. His name was Martin, and, if the photo was accurate and recently taken I was even more pleasantly surprised - he was quite handsome, in a craggy, youthfully middle-aged sort of way. Then, at the end of his email, after he had asked if I was prepared to send similar information about myself, and perhaps stimulated by my own final sentence, he made a comment that his ‘proclivities' as he continued to call them, were caused by a psychological, not a physical problem.

He had then added a PS, stating that although he would naturally like to see a picture of me if I preferred not to send one at this stage of our communications he would quite understand. I thought that showed great sensitivity and I felt both my interest and my regard for him going up several notches, so much so that I immediately began composing a reply to his request for information about myself. I highlighted those areas where we seemed to have something in common; music, theatre and arts, adding that I enjoyed both Italian and Asian food, then thought long and hard about whether or not to also include, ‘sensual intimacy'. But again I thought, ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained' - and after all at that stage I was just an email address - so I edited the text to include it.

Having sent the email I sat staring at my PC, wondering if perhaps I had gone a little too far too early by including those two words in my list - but they must have hit the spot with him because within a matter of minutes I had a reply. He suggested that as we had so many things in common it would be a shame not to meet, to see if we hit it off face to face. He said he understood my probable need to maintain a degree of anonanimity and came up with what I thought a very smart suggestion. He proposed we meet over an Asian meal somewhere, either close to where I lived, or, if I preferred, near where he did - the inference that if all went well we would thus be able to continue on after we had eaten, was obvious - then gave me the names and addresses of several possible restaurants in his area.

Whether unwittingly or not the names of the not too distant suburbs of course gave me yet another clue about him; they were all long-established and relatively wealthy, mostly housing solidly middle class people from sound professional backgrounds. Not that I thought a population of that sort couldn't contain its fair share of child-molesters or wife-beaters, but at least they should be well able to afford to buy a woman a decent meal. So, having decided that if there was a chance of something happening after we had eaten I would much prefer it take place on my home-ground rather than his, I picked the best of my local restaurants and sent off an email suggesting both it, and a date and time that best fitted my diary.

That time the reply was virtually instantaneous; he agreed and said he looked forward to meeting me, thoughtfully adding the name that the table would be booked in.

I was surprised to find that the intervening days seemed to pass more slowly than usual. I found myself considering, then re-considering what I would wear. Wondering whether I should make an unscheduled appointment with my hairdresser. Cleaning and tidying my sometimes unruly apartment, and paying particular attention to the bedroom. Then catching myself and thinking, ‘Surely I'm not still some anxious teenager anticipating her first date? Or some sex-starved spinster grown desperate to hook a catch?'

Deciding I was neither calmed me and by the day of our arranged meeting I had not only settled on my outfit but was also back to my more normal self. The restaurant I had chosen was sufficiently up-market that I could wear something more formal than I might have otherwise chosen and although the ‘little black dress' was quite modest it did nothing to hide my feminine curvaceousness and would also leave a reasonable length of leg on display. Then I decided that the occasion called for stockings, not pantyhose, and bought myself something I hadn't had before, a pair of ultra-sheer, black thigh-highs. Having done so it also seemed a good idea to treat myself to some new underwear, ‘just in case', I thought, and in a moment of pure recklessness picked out a bra and panty set of outrageously wispily lacy black ‘next to nothings'.

The personal stuff he'd sent me told me he was good head taller than I am, so when the evening came I knew I could confidently complete the outfit by wearing a pair of high-heeled sling-backs. Then, having taken more time than usual with my hair and make-up I stood back to take a final look in the mirror, and decided that if he didn't like the finished package there would have to be something very definitely wrong with him.

A short cab ride later I was taking a deep breath before pushing open the restaurant door, then stepping inside and almost immediately both being greeted by the hostess and spotting Martin sitting at the small cocktail bar. He had obviously been keeping one eye on the door and seen me enter, but although I was given a long, apparently appreciative look, he then surprised me by looking away again. ‘I'm dining with Mr Leander.' I said somewhat uneasily to the hostess, and was relieved that my original recognition of him had not been misplaced when she indicated the man at the bar.

I had only a few seconds to observe him before he looked around again - and I liked what I saw. Far from being overtly flattering the photo he'd sent me simply hadn't done him justice. Just the set of his head and shoulders and the way he held his body, none of which were of course included in the picture, indicated an appealing inner strength. His hair, other than at the slightly greying temples, was black and mid length, with a faint curling wave that gave it a texture I could imagine myself enjoying running my fingers through. Then when my approach made him turn again I found myself looking into a pair of wide-set, meltingly dark brown eyes that quite literally sent a shiver of excited anticipation through my entire body.

The expression on his face was one of questioning surprise. ‘Linda?' he asked uncertainly.

‘That's me.' I answered with a relieved smile.

‘Good heavens, I never imagined!' he stuttered as he stood up, then quickly regaining his composure, began to pull a bar-stool across behind me. ‘Would you care for a drink first or shall we eat straight away?'

‘Oh I think a drink would be a good idea Martin, thank you.' I replied as I settled myself beside him.

Once he'd ordered for us he spoke quietly. ‘I must apologise if I appeared flustered, all I can say is that I had never imagined you would be, well, to be frank, so stunningly attractive. I saw you come in of course, but just couldn't imagine that such a beautiful woman could be the one I only knew as Linda.'

I think I may have actually blushed at his complimentary, and in the circumstances, quite unnecessary explanation and probably mumbled something incomprehensible in reply. To be honest I was too busy taking in the many other attractive features of the man I had so inadvertently stumbled across through a newspaper advertisement - and at the same time doing my best to ignore the still niggling concerns I had as to what underlying faults this ‘too good to be true' man must have that were still hidden away.

Apart from those liquidly mesmerising dark brown eyes he had a well shaped nose and sensitively full mouth that showed a set of fine white teeth, but what really caught my eyes in those first few minutes were his hands. Large, long-fingered, but soft and with beautifully manicured nails, which he used to add subtly expressive movements to whatever he was saying. And even while we were exchanging our first few sentences I found I couldn't help myself also trying to imagine what it might feel like to have those beautiful hands wandering caressingly over various parts of my body.

By the time we had finished our drink and had decided we were both more than ready to eat we were talking much more freely and had even begun smiling and chuckling at each other's initial reactions to the way we had come to be together.

Once we had ordered and started eating our conversation ranged much more widely; comparing our personal likes and dislikes in a variety of areas and discovering that although our backgrounds were vastly different our interests had more than enough in common to hint at our being able to spend time together quite compatibly.

Martin came from a family that had successfully established a large import-export business which provided him with both a good income and the opportunity to travel to various exotic parts. But unlike many similar businessmen, who he said were only ever on the look-out for opportunities for profit, Martin explained how he had developed an equally strong interest in the traditions and way of life of the societies which provided the products he purchased. But he made what might have been an otherwise dry as dust exposition on the merits of either business or a variety of native cultures truly interesting, and he kept me smiling by sprinkling his conversation with humorous anecdotes of his travels and dealings - and, most importantly, demonstrated his ability to include some that showed himself in less than a perfect light.

Even though much of what he told me was really quite fascinating I still found that every now and then I was having to make a very serious mental effort to concentrate on his words. I found that his hands, his eyes and just his overwhelming maleness were having a very powerful effect on me - and long before he finished I felt both the familiar tingling in my tightening breasts and even more significantly, the rapidly increasing warm moistness between my legs.

Although he told me he had once been married he didn't go into any further details about his personal life, suggesting that it was then my turn to tell him something of myself. He listened attentively while I gave him a brief summary of my own and from time to time even asked the occasional insightful question. Taking my cue from what he had done, once I had brought him up to date with my life and career I too called a halt before proceeding to the more personal stuff.

By that stage we had both finished our main course and he asked if I would like dessert and coffee. But by then I knew I wanted to see if what I had been sensing between us was more than just a fleeting attraction and decided that a moment of boldness was called for, so replied. ‘A little sorbet would be nice Martin, but I'm sure I can make us an equally good cup of coffee - unless you would prefer us to finish this here.'

‘Not even if they nailed my feet to the floor Linda!' he answered with a crinkly smile, then quickly turned to catch a nearby waiter's eye and ordered the sorbets.

So it was only a relatively short time later that we left and as I was busy giving him directions there was little chance for us to talk further during the short drive to my place. But even though he kept a careful watch on the traffic I also knew he was taking whatever opportunities presented themselves to cast occasional glances in my direction - and I have to admit that the rising sense of anticipation I was experiencing was increasing the feelings I had been having in the restaurant. My breasts were feeling tight and tender, their hardened nipples sending tingles through me as they rubbed against their silky covering, and what had been no more than a pleasantly warm moistness between my legs had by then increased to the point that I began to wonder if the flimsy panties would be capable of containing the flow.

Once inside my apartment I showed him where the stereo was and suggested he choose some music for us while I went to prepare the coffee. ‘I hope you're not going to take this opportunity to slip into something more comfortable, as they say.' Martin said as I turned to leave him.

‘I wasn't, but why shouldn't I?' I asked a little worriedly.

‘Because I want a little more time to look at you as you are - you look absolutely stunning in that dress Linda.' he replied.

He said it with such obvious sincerity that I think I might have once again blushed a little as I smiled, and said - ‘Thank you, I'm glad you like it.' - then, feeling just a little girlishly light-headed, went off towards the kitchen.

Once the coffee was set to percolate I made a short trip to the bathroom, checked my hair and make-up, then gave a serious thought to changing my panties - but, as nothing else would quite match the rest of what I had on, and I still wasn't certain that things would go that far on what was after all, merely our first date - I decided to leave things as they were.

As I opened the bathroom door I heard the first strains of one of my favourite pieces of music, Mozart's clarinet concerto, and took his selection of it as a further example of the things Martin and I had in common.

With that thought still in my mind, and remembering the various compliments he had already paid me, as I went back to rejoin him I said. ‘I don't want you to think I am either pressurising you or pre-empting things between us Martin but I do want you to know how much I have enjoyed both the meal and the time we have already spent together. You are a very handsome and attractive man, and I don't know any woman who wouldn't enjoy being in your company.'

I could tell from the expression on his face just how much my little outburst both surprised and pleased him. ‘Why Linda, what a nice thing to say - thank you! I'm just glad you feel a little of what I do. As I told you when I first saw you, I couldn't believe that my email correspondent could turn out to be such a beautiful woman, and several times during the evening I've had to pinch myself to prove I wasn't actually merely dreaming it all.'

Then he stepped closer, and as his hands reached out for mine, he added in a much softer voice. ‘If you think I'm being a little too impetuous please just say so - but would you mind very much if I kissed you?'

‘Far from it!' I whispered as I slipped between his arms and pressed myself close to him.

That first kiss was fleetingly hesitant, our lips merely briefly brushing against each other - but his were moist, soft and tempting - so when a second or two later he re-kissed me I was more than eager to respond much more positively. As our lips met again he released one of my hands and slipped his up behind my head, his fingers combing up through my hair before holding me as he pressed his mouth against mine. I knew it was pointless either ignoring or trying to disguise my body's response, so I reached around for his arse and pulled him even closer, then felt eager thrills running right through me when the tip of his tongue began flickering teasingly at the corners of my mouth.