The Art of Desire

I really need to calm down.

Right now, however, I can't stop giggling and as any of my friends will tell you, I am hideously embarrassing once I start. I have one of those laughs, the infectious kind. Not the loud, hilarious ones that grab other people and sweep them along in a wave of humour but the silly, immature ones that remind people of high school. The type that cause people to turn around in their seats just to see who on earth laughs like that.

I feel sorry for Megan, she's not in on the joke. I mean, she's funny and clever and can poke fun at anything no matter how morbid but she doesn't understand why I'm in such fits of hysterics. But then, no-one in this restaurant does and that is not helping me to stop laughing. Her joke wasn't really funny in the first place, it only got a snigger out of me but then I started thinking about where I was an hour ago and I can't help myself.

I'm sorry, I should start again. Hi, I'm Jessica. Except no-one calls me that. Except Jeremy, my ex and he's an asshole anyway. Jess is how I'm known to most people, my friends, family, work colleagues, even my son although I dissuaded him from that notion very early. I dislike children that call their parents by name, it seems disrespectful. I'm 34, separated and work in a solicitor's office even though I'm not a solicitor of any kind. Yeah, I know, how boring. So would it make it more exciting for you to know that an hour ago I was face down across a kitchen table being mercilessly penetrated by a very broad dicked man? That my wrists were bound and that he was pulling hard on my hair as he thrust relentlessly into my raw pussy? It certainly makes it more interesting for me and the fact that no-one in this restaurant, not even my best friend, would suspect my illicit activities is what's causing me to snigger and snort as if I had inhaled laughing gas.

It's certainly not where I thought I was going to be before coming here and definitely not what I thought I would have been doing two months ago. But that was before I placed the advert. One discreet, three line advert that changed everything. It read:

Single lady.

Adventure Wanted.

Call me.

And then a box number through which they could contact me. Which they did.

I hated it at first. I'd posted it one night in a flurry of tipsy excitement and woke the next morning immediately regretting it. It was ok, I told myself. I could just not call the mailbox, ignore it. It was a stupid idea and the random capital 'W' bugged me. But it sat on my mind for over a week, tormenting me. It was meant to have been some liberating act, redefining my character and somehow, by ignoring its existence, it felt as if I had elected to crawl back into my shell and remain my old, dowdy, boring self.

"I am definitely not ordering another bottle," says Megan as I return to just sniggering, the patrons of the restaurant going back to their meals.

I smile, holding my wine glass with both hands, enjoying my freedom. I still feel wet from earlier, the tops of my thighs moist and if I think about it too much, I can feel myself succumbing to pleasurable thoughts again. But I'm being rude and I don't get anywhere enough time to talk with Megan as it is.

"That's ok, I've only got another ten minutes before I go and pick Jack up," I say, checking my watch. "Plenty of time to finish off the bottle."

I have no intentions of getting drunk anyway. As much as I like a drink, in recent months it's been problematic. I tend to get carried away with my little 'gift' and then things get very embarrassing indeed and I have to make a hasty exit. There's nothing like a room full of people lusting after you to make the night an interesting one. Yeah, I figure I should tell you about that. Or better, maybe I should just demonstrate?

"I'll get this," I say, "you can get the next one." I wave at one of the waiters, indicating that we'd like the bill.

"When will be the next one?" asks Megan. "Seems like you're hard to get hold of these days Jess. You're too busy letting your hair down at wild parties."

She grins, both of us knowing full well that the days of wild parties are long behind us, traded for the joys of motherhood and mortgage. I would have agreed with her a few months ago but if Meg could have seen the party I was at on Saturday, she might revise her opinion. Being taken against a wall while jerking off another man was something I would have blushed crimson at a while ago, let alone allowing them to jizz across my face once they were done. A third man tried to give me my first experience of anal sex but it was neither the time nor the place for it. I sucked him off instead with a wicked wink that promised 'next time'.

Either way, it had been an eye opener for me and I can't wait for the next one given that I left with an open invitation to return. And despite having to send one of my favourite dresses for dry cleaning, I certainly intend to just as soon as the spunk has been washed out of it. Who knows what delights I might encounter next time?

The waiter arrives with the bill on a small plastic tray and the payment machine. I flash him a smile as I search for my purse, playing for time while I concentrate. I can feel the warmth radiating from him and it doesn't take long for him to go red and look nervous. Poor boy, he doesn't look as if he's much out of school. This is probably his first job and I'm playing with him in public. He's trying to look elsewhere now, focussing his attention on the restaurant while I seek my 'elusive' credit card but it's no use. My aura is seeping into him, flicking the switches of his libido. I can see him subtly twist, his body warming, wanting me, his member beginning to swell and throb in my presence. I finally retrieve my card and hand it to him, making sure that my fingertips brush his hand as I do. It's cruel but I love it. This is power, the power to tease and it's revolutionised my life.

He fumbles with the card, trying to get it into the machine and I can see Megan giggling to herself, trying to hide her smile. She can see the waiter's frustration but she has no idea that it's being caused by me. Finally, he inserts the card and thrusts it back, bending over to hand it to me, do doubt to disguise the bulge that is not prominent in his pants, his excitable little prick throbbing and dying to blast its sticky load all over me. I give it back, letting him hastily tear off the payment slip and give both it and my card back to me, rushing to be out of my presence.

Megan gives me a look as if to say 'did you see that?' and I nod, allowing myself to laugh. It would have been impossible not to notice the poor boy's efforts at restraint and I sigh, letting my concentration lapse and my power over him to wane.

It's not mind control, let me make that clear. I can't make them do anything. All I can do is arouse them with little more than a glance in their direction, cause them to desire me. It's a subtle, inconsequential power and one that I never thought I would own: the ability to make men fawn over me like a goddess. It certainly is better than where I was two months ago. Good grief, being hit on by anyone would have been a cause for celebration back then.

I get up and say goodbye to Megan, making arrangements to meet next week and placing a hefty tip on the table to try and apologise for the boy's embarrassment. I've got to pick up Jack, get him home and then check my mailbox to see if there are any more messages for the alter ego that I've acquired in recent months. And then I will have to check my diary, make space for any contact that sounds interesting.

How did I come across this remarkable ability? Good question. But to be able to answer it, we have to skip back in time a bit; precisely two months, one week and six days. If you're still interested that is? I hope you are. Because if you're not... I could always persuade you.

To be continued...