I think it was that film I'd seen that really started me off on what I came to think of as my "Belles". The old French film I mean with Catherine Deneuve, Belle de Jour." She was an ultra-respectable married woman who wanted more in her life and became a part time prostitute in a brothel. She had no need of the money for her husband was immensely rich and generous and she had everything she wanted apart from illicit sexual thrills. In a way a little like me. With her also there was the psychological side for she too was never quite sure whether it was all in her mind or not.
And that had been me as I went to that bar the first time, dressed like a whore, picked up the young man and fucked him in that warehouse doorway. Until this day I'm not sure whether I really did it or whether it was all some extraordinarily vivid erotic dream in which I acted out the events that had been built up in my mind over the preceding months. Maybe I often wondered some of the pills I occasionally popped or the little coke I sniffed had strange hallucinatory effects on me.
Whatever it was it had been dramatically real and had made me realise that I could have sex in that fashion and that I could get an enormous amount from it. Far more than I could from making love as part of a relationship with someone that I had no emotional tie up to. So of course the other fantasies that had lurked in the deepest recesses of my sexual mind started to move nearer to the front of my consciousness. And always it seemed there was similar thread running through them. Me being degraded. Me being on the face of it abused. But in my way being in control, taking what I wanted and giving none of me apart from sex. It was as 'if I can't enjoy a normal tender relationship for I can't handle the emotional involvement needed for me to have successful sex, then have no emotional involvement at all and just the sex.' Quirky and unusual and probably hard to understand I know, but it's what I felt and was certainly what turned me on. Sex with total strangers who I'd never see again. Sex where I became just an erotic object. An item that gave sex and nothing else.
I know you may say why not get a fuck buddy as the Americans call it. A man who I could have sex and nothing else with. God I meet so many in my job as a pretty successful M and A Manager in a major investment bank that should be easy. And of course it would be but it wasn't what I wanted. To an extent I'd know them. As well as the current of fucking someone I knew, there'd be a history and some future. They'd know what was going to happen and that wasn't in my fantasy script. No this way was better and was what I chose. Find strangers have sex and leave. No involvement, no strings, no emotions and no aftermath with them.
In my mind I became more sexually daring. Not that picking a guy up in a bar and taking him to a doorway and having sex wasn't daring and possibly dangerous, no I mean with the act itself. I mean with the type of sex and what I wanted to do with who I picked up. Yes I dredged up those fantasies that the women's magazines tell us are perfectly normal and are thought of by most sexually active women at some time or the other. Perfectly normal and thought of by many they may be, but is it normal to feel as though one acts them out to the point that they are as though they've become part of reality?
I visualised myself in a different outfit, something cheaper and more tarty. A black, frilly, lacy, see-through blouse with the buttons all the way up the front. No bra of course and one too many buttons undone. A pelmet of garish, red fake leather of a skirt the hem of which just reached mid-thigh, which is far too high on a near forty-something woman. No need for the long leather coat I had worn last time for it was now early summer so it was replaced by a light denim jacket. Short, but able to be done up when the need would arise later.
I'd ventured further afield. Into North London, Islington. Trendier but with a similar plethora of bars inhabited by young people. Again I'd visited the bars and pubs and clubs in my 'civvies.' That was easy to do for the area wasn't far from the City, where I worked and several nights I had to entertain or be entertained. The research and planning played a big part in the creation of my fantasies. It was exciting being in a bar dressed in a power suit that may well have cost six or seven hundred pounds knowing that if I returned it would be looking very different with completely other aims in mind. It was also incredibly stimulating to poke around in open places searching for the venue where I would do it. Seeing in my mind a doorway, now empty and just a few feet from people passing by where soon I might be writhing on the end of an unknown erection, where I would be bare chested with my skirt around my waist being fucked by a stranger. I imagined doorways, alleys, parks and even graveyards. It excited me to think about and look at places in the cold light of day knowing that they might form part of this amazing fantasy that was more and more taking shape in my mind.
I'd passed up several likely prospects largely because it was still light outside. That might be just a little too much for tonight's adventure. Then I saw him and heard him. Standing just down the bar to me he was chatting to a someone at the bar in an accent, Dutch or German I thought or maybe Swedish, I couldn't tell, but knew that he wasn't Danish like me. He caught my eye across the other guy's shoulder and I saw his piercing blue eyes and sweep of blue hair. He was nicely tanned wearing just a white tee shirt and tight jeans. He looked muscular, very fit and as they say well hung. I looked away and watched him from the corner of my eye. Obviously a regular for he talked to quite a few people and I was beginning to give up hope of being able to see him by himself so I started to think of leaving and go to my secondary bar, see how detailed my planning is?
But then the bar started to clear a bit and I was the only one apart from him sitting at it. He went to the men's room, came back and after chatting to a group walked back to the bar his eyes pinned on my crossed legs all the way across the room. He smiled and went to move along the bar, but I stopped him with a slight shake of my head. He lifted his glass indicating as to whether I'd like another drink. I again shook my head, but as I did so I undid the last stud on the denim jacket letting it fall open. I was getting adept now at longer range, silent pick-ups and was quicker at it than I'd been that first night in Bethnal Green. With his eyes on me I recrossed my legs taking my time letting him see well up my skirt probably even above my stocking tops. I Leaned forward over the bar giving him a good, if rather long distance, view down my top. I could see from the way he was looking that he was interested and had that appearance I'd become used to now. I was he was it.
I slid off the stool letting the cheap skirt get caught on the seat before brushing it down slowly wiggling my boobs and hips as I did. I picked up my mobile and glasses case and put them into my bag. Although I am not comfortable with them I was purposefully wearing contact lenses that evening rather than the glasses I prefer. After all with what I was planning it would be easy for my specs to fall off and be lost or trodden on; a little discomfort was a small price to pay I smiled. I knew he was watching my every move. That done I stood there a moment fumbling in my bag as if getting car keys or something and then looked up quickly and caught him staring at me. He looked flustered but my smile reassured him. He came up to me and said,
"Can I buy you a drink or something?"
Now used to how to get through the usual pick up routine I looked him up and down feeling pleased that just like last time this one was in his early twenties. It adds something when they are young enough to be the child I have never had. I looked right into his eyes and said.
"No but if you want to fuck me you can."
