Young guys like me could start getting complacent after breezing into the lives of older women we really did not know, and finding their panties coming down in no time at all. I'd had two unforgettable recent visits to two very fine women... I had to be careful not to get carried away.
All their lusting after me could have made me get big-headed, cocky, arrogant. But I have a little wisdom, and when I was back home I left the amazing online list alone for a week, just getting on with my routines; studying a little, putting in a few kilometers on the bike through beautiful countryside and trying to get better at guitar, messing around with simple chords and melodies.
But of course my thoughts soon enough drifted back to "Les Désirs des Femmes", the treasure-box of promises that had fallen into my life by chance, offering up ways to meet all the women who had ever desired me (see part 1 of this series). There had been 44 names on that list, and as I sat down in front of it again, I knew that I just had to see... her.
They say never go back, but was this the same? Never go back to places where you had the best ever holiday or best ever restaurant meal, and all that, sure. But as far as the biggest crush of my teenage years goes, I had never actually "been" there, so how could I disappoint myself knocking on that door now?
Her name was Anne and she was by far my greatest teenage crush, roughly from when I first saw her when I was 13 to when I went away to college, although, of course, my awareness of her all-in-one gorgeous, sexy, homely, cheeky-cheerful, feminine, smart and ever so slightly flirty self never went away. I never could. She was special. If someone had offered me a night with her, even a kiss with her during any year of my life since then, I would have kicked the door down at the chance.
I will simply say that she was a married friend of my parents, but whose husband was a little full of himself, expecting her to be for ever in his shadow and never his equal, and so me aged around 17 got around to imagining that he was not treating her well and that it was just too unfair for her to be left uncared for and frustrated. And so I thought... what can I do about it?
I won't go into the details of those times, as I am sure you can imagine well enough the fantasies I cooked up: the sneakily arranged imaginary rendez-vous, the accidental brushing against her, the hilarious climbing up the drianpipe at her home, to be welcomed to her bed and to kiss her long-unkissed body. We've all been there... and we have almost all enjoyed the many, many times pleasuring ourselves alone, with our crushes playing the game to perfection right there in our mind's eye, stripping off for us, or being trapped together in the elevator, or dragging us behind the bushes and screwing us silly, time and again; and how simple it all seemed... Thank the heavens above for crushes and teenage fantasies!
Anne was just under 40 when I first met her, not quite knowing where to divert my eyes to from her curves and besides, she had great hair, eyes and lips, and I could never focus on her words, as I fell quickly into infatuation. She once gave me a lift in her car, into town 3 miles away, just to be neighbourly, and I can tell you I must have embarrassed myself with the halting, brainless handful of words I must have spoken to her then, just the two of us in her car, maybe 20 inches apart - her hand on the gear-stick beside my knee, and the car seeming to me more and more like some seperate country only we two existed in, and could it stay like that for ever, please? And can we stop sometime, Anne, please, and see about you letting me hold you... even, Holy Christ... touch you where I want to touch you, and you touch me, and kiss me?
Where would we be without crushes?
Even worse was the time my parents were out of town for one night and they did not want me being home alone that night, even aged 17, so they had asked Anne to let me sleep over at her home that night, when, coincidentally, she was also home alone, her husband away on business and her son away on some school trip or other. The most electrically charged and agonizing night of my life, in which, of course, I never got near to managing anything with Anne, but the possibilities were screaming at me from every direction as I first arrived with overnight bag and climbed the stairs right behind her, noting her perfume and skirt material and slippers (even
they
were sexy!) and the sweetest voice I knew.
Then later as I brushed my teeth in her bathroom, almost feeling her through the wall, and finally as I lay in her guest-room bed just after putting the lights out, praying and wishing that she would come in to see if I was alright, and did I need her to sit on my bedside, and did I mind if she just reached under my duvet for a minute, and...
That, dear readers, is a twenty page story in itself; how I nearly went to her room a half hour later that night, how I envisioned silently climbing into bed beside her, smiling before our first kiss, and hoping that she would lead me joyfully along the path up to teenager heaven. But I'll leave that to your endless imaginations, and get back to what I did about Anne now, three years later.
Anne B-------. She's right there, low down on the list I had stumbled upon, of women who had ever desired me, and I felt like the proverbial kid in the toy-shop, with just one big toy beaming back at me. Anne, my Anne.
She still lived in the same place, I knew that, and the great news from my perspective was that her shit-head husband had moved out after marriage troubles, unspecified, and her son, whom I knew a little and who was, unlike his mother, reserved and a little awkward, was off at college, so the house was now a palace and castle just for Queen Anne herself. I have to see her, I have to try something, but I do not want to mess this up, coming on too strong or arrogant - seeing as she is on my women with desires for me list.
It could go very badly. She might just have had a silly, momentary fantasy about me years ago and would now send me to hell if I even half-way suggested she might still desire me. I had to make a plan.
# # #
Lady Luck moves in mysterious ways, and I found my opening only two days later. My brother had been sent round to Anne's house by my parents earlier that day, to give back some baking dishes that had passed between our homes to do with a dinner party not long ago. When he got back he had a cheeky grin on his face and looked a little flushed.
"Well, Anne's in the Christmas spirit," he chirped, as he passed me in the kitchen.
"In what way?" I asked, immediately turned on to any chance to hear anything about the target of my new lusting.
My parents were not at home, so my brother was bold enough to put it into plain words:
"She's got misteltoe up by her front door, and she pulled me in for a kiss on both cheeks. And screw me, man, she nearly gave me a third, but stopped herself, and her hand brushed my hair, and her blouse was gaping a little. She might even have had a glass of something, she was... flirty, bro!"
I hope I was able to control my reactions to this, and my brother did not know about my ongoing crush on Anne, so I continued to do the dishes, chatting with him about this and that, then tidied up a little more in the kitchen before making a dumb excuse about going out for some fresh air.
No time to lose. I headed right over there, heart beating pretty solidly as I neared the house, with its familiar oak beamed front, roses climbing the walls, and her glistening red SUV in the driveway.
Flirty blouse gaping? Seemed a bit tipsy? Misteltoe kisses? This was like ten Christmases in one. So, please, please, please be alone, Anne! Please have a little free time... and please imagine that you can flirt with me, you really can. I totally wish for that and nothing else....
