She. Masturbating under thin summer sheets.
He. Watching unseen from the darkened doorway.
It was one of my favorite fantasies, my eyes scrunched up tight, imagining an unseen unknown lover taking my orgasms to places they've never been. When I did finally open my eyes, I caught a glimpse of him in the shadows.
I suppose I should explain first up that it's all part of 'my thing'. Call it a fetish if you like but that word makes it sound like something that's bad, and for me it's not, for me it's just 'my thing'; it's what turns me, it's my favorite turn-on, and it always makes me feel good, never bad.
'My thing', the thing that turns me on the most, is not seeing not knowing what my lover will do next. Actually it's more than that, much more, it's also not knowing what my lover is doing right now. It's the excitement of anticipating what he'll do next – eyes closed during sex feeling his body move, anticipating he's moving to suck my nipple into his mouth, my nipple hardening in readiness; never disappointed that his move may actually be to withdraw his cock and cum on my belly, the unexpected move adding a new dimension to my excitement of the unknown.
Of course there are more dimensions to 'my thing' and perhaps I'll mention others later.
I was masturbating through the sheet. Fantasizing I was asleep in a motel room. A man given a key to the wrong room enters ready to play out a game with his wife. Finds his way to the bed in the darkened room, the first touch a hand on my exposed throat, the only words repeated through the fantasy are a warning "don't look, close your eyes, don't see what I'm about to do." No foreplay. The next touch a firm hand on the sheets between my legs, a strong erect finger massaging straight at my slit. Then a mouth. On my ear, whispering "don't open your eyes". Then no touches anywhere. The dark silence. The absence of touch. The longer the moment lasts the more excited my anticipation becomes. Suddenly. Two hands. Strong on my knees, pushing them apart. Then no touches anywhere. Movement felt on the bed all around me. "Don't look, don't see what I'm about to do." Something pushing again at the sheets between my legs. I can feel my juices soaking into the satin. It's a cock. Hard and thick. Trying to force into me through the sheet.
I was masturbating through the sheet. My hand on the outside simulating the fantasy mans cock trying to enter me. Bringing myself to climax in this way. As I felt the orgasm begin its hot rush through my pelvis and onto my finger, I threw my head to the side and opened my eyes; daring a brief glance at the back of my mystery lover as if her were leaving the motel room.
It was then, in the dull reflection of my bedside mirror, that I saw I was not alone.
There was fear. There was excitement also – remember 'my thing'. The fear is what kept my eyes open. 'My thing' is what kept the orgasm alive. I lay there, watching the shadow, orgasms shivering through me and dissipating into a spreading wet patch under my finger.
The shadowy figure moved and a beam of moonlight lit up his face.
I closed my eyes, paralyzed.
I woke at dawn, a dream still active in my head. A dream of the only man who ever really understood me, the only man who ever protected me; my father. But in the dream my father wasn't charging to my protection; he was standing further back in the shadows, looking over the shoulder of the young man I'd seen.
Wrapping a sarong around me I ventured out of the bedroom, trying to anticipate what might confront me. I found a handwritten note on the kitchen table.
Water no good. Not going now till tomorrow morning. There's some fruit in the fridge.
Getting the bowl of mix I sit down and contemplated my son out there on his morning ride. No hint in his note that he'd seen or heard anything last night. Did I dream it all? I thought not.
Water no good. Not going now till tomorrow morning. That could only mean there wasn't enough raging white water coming off the spillway to scare me into worrying he'd drown for sure this time. It was a constant mystery to me how such a good looking 18yr old, with the determination and strength to win state kayak titles, could be so passive and unsure around women. He isn't gay, I've seen the way he looks at girls in the mall and those secretive sideways glances he gives his beautiful younger cousin Rochelle when she's splashing in our pool. And now it seems, those secretive glances at his mother.
As I said, there are more dimensions to 'my thing'; if you knew them all then you might (just might) understand why the revelation that my son might (just might) have been aroused at watching my arousal, was not as repulsive and some people tell me it should have been. I know those court appointed analysts would say they understand how it came to this, but they'll be wrong now just like they were all those years ago.
I masturbated for my son again very early the next morning. Actually it was for myself that I masturbated, after all it's 'my thing' not his that anticipates the unseen.
I began to anticipate the event before he'd come back from his morning work out. I tested him when he returned and even gave him hints that there'd be other nightly shows if he remained alert to the signs. What time did he get back last night? "Um err round midnight I think." Did he hear anything? "Um no, um hear what?" I told him I'd been having some really vivid dreams lately and wondered if I'd made any noises or cried out. "Um no, are you having bad nightmares?" "No honey, not bad ones" staring at his Lycra bike shorts anticipating tomorrow morning. "What time are you leaving in the morning?" He sees where I'm looking but too naive to make any connections says "they're new, called 'Close Fits' for better streamlining on the bike". "Nice" I say adding "snug fit" looking at the impressive though presumably soft bulge, teasing only myself seeing that he's oblivious. "Riding out at 5am." "Oh, um if I'm dreaming noisy again when you get up, try to ignore me and just pull the door to my room shut." "Um sure."
I woke at four thirty and opened my eyes only once to check the lighting. Perfect. Too early for dawn to have any effect but the near full moon streaming through my opened curtains put most of my bed in a spotlight. My head and shoulders obscured from the doorway by a large box I'd placed on the nightstand. Perfect. If he kept quiet he could see me without being detected, and more importantly for me, I couldn't succumb to the temptation of a peek (not that I would).
I began to slowly fondle myself, anticipating a time soon to come when I'd be excited and sigh loudly – a call to him in his room. I imagined he'd been awake all night, straining ears for his mothers dreams. Anticipating him gliding silently but swiftly like a moth to a flame. Anticipating a rapidly growing erection. This is what was driving 'my thing' - with the many men before who I've asked to watch me, the anticipation game is almost too easy. I know they'll get excited, I know they'll begin to stroke their cock, I know that they'll eventually make a move to touch me or cum on me. The excitement is all in anticipating when and how, never if. However with my son, 'my thing' opened the excitement of uncertainty in a way it never had. Will he even show to watch? I anticipated he would. Will his cock stiffen with rigid desire. I anticipated it would. Will the lust be too strong and guide him to get a closer look and even to touch? I anticipated it wouldn't, but I anticipated that the desire in his mind would be taking those brave steps even his body wasn't.
With eyes closed tight I gave an excited cry. The story I was masturbating to was taken from real life. The only changes I made were to edit out the parts that I've promised myself I'll improve upon next time. And there will be a next time. You'd be surprised how difficult these things are to arrange.
I met a man in an Internet chat room. I was never sure he was a man until the very moment he entered me. But I was anticipating he would be.
If you get an introductory message from someone one day that says "DO NOT tell me your asl" then it might be me, or someone like me; I know I'm not the only one, I met another once; but thats a different story.
In the rooms I made it as plain as I could that I wanted to know nothing about the person I was chatting to. I wanted sex. And I wanted it in a certain way. Answer yes or no to my questions, say nothing more. So many failed to follow such simple rules. Many said yes early and kept saying yes as my requirements unfolded but sooner or later they'd feel a need to tell me how big their cock was or feel they needed to embellish a yes with "yes baby I can fuck you like that thats so hot". At last someone made it through to the final yes. "Will you meet me at the Family Inn Motel, Room 17, at 8pm this Friday, knock twice then enter, don't say a word, do 'your thing' then leave?" "Yes."
My excitement was building quickly as I remembered the uncertain anticipation of that Friday; and with the uncertain anticipation that a strong young man may at this moment be excited at watching me relive the day. I made another loud moan. My eyes squeezed shut.
I remembered being wet before he even arrived. Wondering if there were one or two tell tale drops running down the inside of my leg as I stood there with my back to the door of Room 17. Anticipating that when he discovered this it would make him all the more horny, anticipating that as an early move he might dip his finger into me and taste me. Or put the wet finger into my mouth. I simulated this now, taking my finger from under the sheet and sucking it in my mouth moaning; wondering if there was a frustrated young man at my door daring to wonder himself if the mouth he couldn't see was doing what he was anticipating. Will he take a cautious few steps into my room to satisfy his curiosity?
The door of Room 17 was rapped twice. The sound of traffic became louder then quiet again. The door had been opened then closed. The longer it took him to touch me the more aroused I became. Anticipating him sizing me up from behind. The short skirt easy to get a hand under, anticipating his surprise and pleasure when he finds there's no panties. Nice legs he'll be thinking, the body ok too. That looks like a button up shirt from here I wonder if there's a bra I'll have to undo? There isn't. And you'll be amazed when you put your hand round the front to feel them, my tits are my best assets most men have said. Not particularly large but they have remained firm with no sign of any middle age sag, my nipples prominent when erect. As they were then in Room 17, and in my bedroom now. In taking my hand from the sheet to my mouth I'd exposed most of one breast. I exposed the rest of it now as I rubbed the nipple between thumb and forefinger. Exciting two men at the same time. The one in Room 17 reaching to touch it and the one at my bedroom door wanting to reach.
The man in Room 17 touched my shoulder first. Then quickly licked my neck. His hand excited me by racing ahead of my anticipation, his next touch was on my ass, then down and between my legs. I opened my stance. A finger was slipped into my wet and waiting pussy. Another hand encircled me and onto my breast. My shirt open, my nipples erect. Surprised I think at the perfect shape of the breast he held, the first hand left my pussy and he had both arms round me cupping and fondling my tits. Then, satisfied he could freely touch any part of me, he moved back and away. Before moving, he pulled my skirt to the floor. My eyes were closed in ecstasy, anticipating the lust drooling from him as he saw the skirt around my ankles, my bare firm ass, legs spread and wet, two perfect nipples calling to his fiddling fingers. And all his for the taking.
