Like most women I have all sorts of sexual fantasies. When I first started having these I didn't tell anyone, not even my best fiends. I thought I must be rather peculiar and different from other women. But a few years ago I was spending an evening out - celebrating a girly birthday - with four of my friends.
We talked endlessly about all sorts of things, especially our main interest - men! After drinking quite a drop of alcohol our chatter became more daring and, naturally, sex cropped up. It was then that Kath, who is a psychologist, told us about a report she'd studied when she was in university back in the nineties. It was by a man called Glenn Wilson and was all about sexual fantasies of men and women. It was published in 1987 and she regaled us by quoting some of the figures she remembered and about how the fantasies of men and women differed. One thing she said startled us all; it concerned rape or forced sex fantasy where, for every 4 men who fantasised about this, there were 13 women.
When I heard this I felt brave enough to tell them about my sexual fantasies, and particularly about my rape fantasy. To my utter astonishment three of my friends confessed to having the same fantasy. The situations varied with regard to the place where the rape happened and the number of men involved.
I began to realise that I was not peculiar after all and that there must be many thousands of women who shared my fantasies. Emboldened by this thought, I stunned the others by saying that one of my rape fantasies had come true.
"No!" they all chorused. Then they pressed me to tell them how it happened. So I did.
I must be honest here and say that it wasn't a true rape inasmuch as the guy concerned, Rob, had my full cooperation throughout, but it gave me the greatest sexual thrill and orgasm I have ever experienced.
I had been going out with Rob for the best part of a year and we got on really well together. He was a keen amateur photographer and from time to time he would ask me to pose for some photographs, sometimes to enter for one of his club's competitions. He also entered a few shots of me in photographic magazine competitions which we never won. Sometimes I'd pose nude for him. I quite liked that and got quite a kick out of it, and he was always very appreciative. I'm a great fan of the naked female clothed male genre.
He was an estate agent by profession and apart from selling property for other people he also bought and sold on his own account. On one occasion he bought an old derelict warehouse. When we next went out he told me all about the place and asked if I'd like to see it. I was rather surprised at this.
"Me?" I replied. "A derelict warehouse? I don't treally have much interest in that sort of thing."
He smiled. "I think it has distinct possibilities as a venue for a photographic shoot," he said.
I still had doubts. "An old warehouse?" I queried. "Not a very glamorous place!"
I could see he was keen. "Look," he said, "suppose I pick you up tomorrow evening and take you to see it. It's difficult to explain what I mean without seeing it. When you do I think you'll agree with me."
I didn't want to pour cold water on his idea. I always found Rob's enthusisam for his ideas to be infectious so I agreed to go along with him to see his latest acquisition.
When he parked his car outside the building I got out to take a look. The evening July sun was slanting across the stonework throwing into sharp relief the rather battered masonry. It was clear that there were three storeys all lined with small grilled windows, many of the lower ones being without glass.
Rob opened the squeaky door and invited me in. "Please enter my palace, miss," he joked.
I laughed and followed him inside. It was quite dark at first until my eyes got used to the small amount of light able to enter the building through the tiny windows. I could see the rows of green iron pillars holding up the ceiling stretching in every direction. Quite clearly it was a large building. I noticed that the floor was littered with papers and opened cardboard boxes, lengths of rope and some bundles of netting.
"This floor is a bit messy," Rob said. "There are two more above. There's less junk up there. Come and have a look."
I followed him, gingerly picking my way in my high heels through the obstacles which met me every few yards until we arrived at a partitioned off piece in the corner. Rob opened a door and I could see a short flight of bare wooden steps leading up. These led onto another short flight, then onto a third. All the steps creaked as we ascended until we eventually arrived at an unpainted wooden door with a small glass panel in it.
This took us into another huge room. It looked bigger than the one below but this was probably because it was absolutely empty and there was no junk on the floor.
"Let's go to the top," suggested Rob leading the way just around the corner where there was another door leading to further flights of wooden steps. They led to a double door, one side of which was open. We walked straight through into the top storey. It seemed lighter than the other two. On reason for this was a large oblong opening without glass on the one side with a round steel bar across inside it. It had obviously been used for hauling goods up for storage.
All around the sides of the room were stout wooden uprights with sloping beams between them, obviously very strong and used to hold up the huge roof. As we entered there was a fluttering of wings as we disturbed a noisy group of pigeons. I could see the piles of mess they'd made in various places around the edge of the room. Right in the centre, and, seemingly, completely out of context, were two upright upholstered chairs.
Rob was enthusiastic about this room. "Come and have a look at this," he said. He led me over to a huge iron tank with studs around the edges.
"Look at that!" he said. "Strong and rugged. I could get some great photos of you posing nude in front of that. The contrast between your soft skin and the hard metal would be great. What d'you think?"
I was beginning to catch Rob's enthusiasm for the photo shoot. "Mmmm. Yes, I see what you mean," I replied. I liked posing naked for Rob anyway. He usually showed his gratitude in a very personal way afterwards. The top floor of a deserted warehouse seemed to offer distinct possibilities.
He took my hand and rushed me over to one of the huge wooden uprights. "Just look at these massive wooden stanchions," he enthused. "Just imagine you posed nude, hands above your head around one of these and one foot up resting against it. Yes, this place has definite possibilities. What d'you think Claire?"
I was becoming convinced. "Yes, I think you're right. But isn't it a bit dark in here for photography?"
"But that's a plus," he replied. "I can light you with flash and the dark background will be a perfect foil."
"OK," I replied. "I think we could have fun up here." I hoped he got my message.
We arranged the shoot for the following Saturday morning so we'd have plenty of time.