The sun was streaming in through the window, announcing it was morning. I lay on my bed, mostly on my back, naked, my legs splayed. My mind was somewhere between asleep and conscious.
He slipped into the room, then knelt at the foot of the bed. His hand reached up to my crotch area, toying with my pubic hair. He stroked it, pulled it slightly, his fingers running through it. I lay motionless. With his hands he spread my lips, his fingers slipping into my crevice. As they wandered around exploring, touching sensitive places, doing delicious things, I rolled a bit more to my back, spreading my legs to allow him better access. He stroked my most private parts. His finger pressed on my urethral opening, and he admonished me, “Don’t pee!” He massaged my private parts. Feelings of utter delight passed through me. I lay there, absorbing the stimulation.
The light became stronger. I glanced around, looking at the window, and at the clock. He was not there, of course. He never was. He was but a figment of my imagination, something between a fantasy and a dream. I closed my eyes and lay deep in my pillow, trying to return to that dream which had so penetrated my mind. For a moment it seemed to come back, as I seemed to feel that hand on me again; but, as quickly as I slipped back to it, the dream was gone. I almost longed for it to be real. Slightly awake now, I glanced at the clock, announcing that I must soon arise. My hand slipped to my lower region and I fingered myself for a minute, trying to draw back that delicious sensation. It didn’t work. It was time to get up.
Slowly, stretching a little, squirming a little, I drew myself from the bed. I had no nightclothes to shed, for I slept naked. Why did I do this, I thought to myself. Through the years of my marriage I rarely slept unclad, yet, now, with no one nearby to seduce, I had developed the habit of sleeping unclothed. I told myself it was precisely because there was no one else around, and so my appearance need not reflect modesty. Yet somehow I knew that in that state of nudity I felt a kind of erotic sensation, a feeling that I was just a little vulnerable, ready for something I could not really describe.
I crept from the bed, then turned to straighten the bedding. I headed for the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, looked at myself in the mirror and groomed myself for the day. It didn’t take long. I was never a great beauty, and used little makeup. I turned to the toilet, and started to seat myself. In my mind I heard my imaginary visitor utter his instruction, “Don’t pee!”. Before brushing my teeth, I had an urge to do just that, but it had subsided considerably. My bladder, not emptied since the previous evening, was rather full but not really uncomfortable. I decided not to urinate.
I dressed myself for the day, my work costume a rather simple skirt and blouse. I slipped on my shoes, flats, suitable for a rather informal office, then put on my bra and a half slip. I slipped on my blouse. I rummaged in my drawer for clean panties, then, a pair in my hand, hesitated. Maybe I would go without panties today - but I hesitated only a moment. I was not that adventuresome. I slipped them on, and wandered to my little kitchen for a quick breakfast of coffee and toast.
An hour or so later, I was at my work station, my large drawing board in front of me. I worked as a commercial artist, doing artwork for advertising, brochures, signs, an assortment of assignments that came my way. I prepared my work area, beginning a sketch I had left off the previous day. As I leaned forward, I noted the increasing discomfort in my belly. My bladder wanted its relief. I would make it wait.
A short time later, my boss summoned me to his office. A new assignment was to be explained to me. I listened, absorbing the instructions, yet increasingly distracted by my insistent natural needs. On the way back to my work station, I relented and stopped at the ladies room. Enough is enough, fun is fun, but now it’s time to work.
My working associates were a mix of men and women. My relations with the males around me were friendly, but not romantic. At forty six, divorced five years ago, I enjoyed the company of men, but was not sure I wanted another permanent attachment. My marriage had ended, my two children were grown, and I now lived alone. In the past few years I had dated on occasion, but nothing serious had ever emerged, and I spent my nights at my own place.
My work was fun for me, and at times I indulged myself in a bit of private art. I could draw passable portraits of people, and sometimes did so for friends. My own very private secret project was a book of sketches I had made and kept at home. They were all caricatures of men I had known or worked with. I drew them all as nudes. They weren‘t explicitly sexual, just my impressions of how some of them would look undressed. None were done from life, they were, like my early morning visitor, figments of my fertile imagination, and I kept them from the sight of others. Occasionally I would view them to myself, or draw a new sketch of someone I had met.
My ex and I had parted after twenty odd years, on terms that were not exactly pleasant. I had rarely seen him since, and now, with my children grown, there was rarely a need to communicate. I had my own life.
Yes, I missed the sex. It was the part of my marriage that had never gone sour. I could recall encounters that I loved - his body against mine, the vigorous, almost athletic matings. Particularly I liked the times I had been atop him, thrashing around, expressing and enjoying my own freedom, all the while imparting a special excitement to him. Such an encounter had produced one of the products of our union, who now had her own home, life, and mate - and, probably, her own style of erotic thrills..
But physical unions I had not sought, nor allowed myself. To engage in the a complete mating would require, for me, a kind of commitment for which I was not ready, nor was I sure I would it in another. So, I found gratification in my own little dreams cum fantasies, some forms of solo physical activity, and subtle bits of sexual innuendo or subdued but sometimes creative activities carefully shared with occasional male friends.
My boss told me one day I would be sent to a city several hundred miles away, to do some sketches for a real estate project for which a brochure was being prepared. I would spend about two days there, seeing the area and doing the groundwork for the artwork.
I liked the travel, and the chance to meet new friends. This one was especially nice, because it took me to a growing area which had a beach nearby. It was early summer, and I just might work in some beach time.
The trip was uneventful. I arrived at my destination, where I proceeded to my previously arranged hotel. I called the client from there, and made an appointment to meet with them.
A short time later, a man of forty something appeared. He was not especially good looking, just a guy in a business suit, perhaps mildly overweight, but friendly.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Kelly, I am Mark Hudson. You are here, I believe, to work up the artwork for our sales program. I hope your quarters are comfortable!”
I assured him they were. “I’m going to enjoy being here”, I assured him. “Where will we be going this afternoon? You don‘t need to be formal, I‘m just Karen - Karen Kelly. Friends call me KK.”
“I will drive you to the site, show you around a bit, and then we will go to my office and introduce you to the staff. It will probably be too late for much more today, so we will save the planning discussions for tomorrow, if that is OK with you.”
He took me a few miles to a large undeveloped land area, marked only with a few small signs and some surveyor’s flags.
“Right now”, he observed, “there is not a whole lot to see. But when we get started, this will change dramatically. Instead of wild grass and trees, there will be home sites, roads, a shopping center there, and space in the opposite direction for churches and community buildings. We think it has promise.”
“Not a lot I can do with this”, I replied. “Will you be showing me your plans or diagrams on how you envision it developing?”
“We have plans, and a few rough models. But the pictures are what you are here for. We will need an artists rendition of how different areas will look when finished. Hopefully, tomorrow, you may have time to rough up some ideas.”
He took me to the office, where I met several co-workers. We did little planning that day, as it was getting near closing time, so after our introductions, Mark indicated he would pick me up the next morning and bring me to the office by eight thirty.
Mark took me back to the hotel, depositing me at the door. “Will you be all right tonight?” he asked. “If there is anything you need, let me know. Otherwise, I will pick you up here at eight in the morning!”
“No, thank you, Mark, I will be fine. See you in the morning!”
The hotel was quite satisfactory. I had dinner in the restaurant, and retired to my third floor room to unpack and prepare myself for the night.
The room looked out over a business area, now quiet. Most of what I could see nearby were rooftops. I unpacked and took out my clothes for the next day.
In my suitcase I had placed a nightgown. It was one I rarely wore, but I packed in case I found myself in a situation where some kind of nightwear would be necessary. I glanced out the window, decided there was little danger of anyone looking in, and simply returned the nightgown to my suitcase. I would sleep nude.
I watched a bit of television, showered, and prepared for the morning. Unclad, I flopped on the bed and settled in for the night.
In my mind, I saw someone looking through that window. Of course, it would be a man, inspecting my body through that glass. Half hoping my fantasy would be repeated in a dream, I fell asleep.
The next morning, I was up early. This was a work day, and there was no time for my clever erotic inventions. I dressed, went down for breakfast, and awaited my ride.
Mark arrived on time, and drove me to the office. We had a long day, as I was briefed on the various aspects of the planned development, and given descriptions and shown crude models. From time to time I attempted rough sketches to express my understanding, which were then critiqued by the client’s staff. The day was both long, and for me, exhausting. I had hoped that we might finish early enough for me to enjoy a beach excursion on my own, but it was not to be.
