I never thought I would end up like this. I never imagined I could even feel this way. But then... It’s always the eyes, that give yourself away, isnt it. That’s where it all begins. The adventures that follow, can always be traced and remembered backwards through time, to those eyes. Those, fucking, eyes. Glittering. Wide and dark and full of mischief. Plaintive, and yet mysterious. Yearning. And unstoppable. And that’s when things start, when circumstances begin to conspire to take us here. To place me here. You Fucker.

But then there’s the Voice. The silkened tones of every word you’ve ever said to me. Every expression that made my heart jump. And made my soul quiver. Every reason I want to make a decision that I should regret, but dont want to, is Your... Fucking... Fault... I can’t even explain it. I just feel like I need it, and deserve it. It’s that moment when you let someone in, when you giggle and sigh, and let yourself be utterly naked, and then let them surprise you. And you havent even done that yet. I’ve only imagined it. Thought about the possibilities. You Fucker. You’ve made me think of such things. Such filthy things, as I go about my daily business. Letting my imagination rove. Wandering in my head. Whether the things I imagine could possibly be true. And you have no idea what those filthy thoughts are. You’re just the man with the Voice. The glint in the eye.

I’m a grown woman, not a child, I shouldnt be blushing when I see you every day, on my way to work. I should be able to be in control. I should be able to stand there in line, to get my daily paper, and chocolate, not standing there thinking that I chose these panties for you at seven eighteen in the morning thinking how it would feel if you took them off. I shouldnt do that. I really shouldnt. But when he locks eyes, and says, ‘Hello, my young lady’, and I blush, knowing that he doesnt know just how wet my cunt has become, I just want to leave, because I dont want him to know. I do, but I also dont. I’m so confused. But he knows, when I blush, it’s because of him, he can always tell, I’m almost sure of it. The glistening spark in his eye tells me this. He can just sense it. He might even be able to just smell it, dripping out of me. And then when I get in the car, I take a moment, to close my eyes, and make myself polite and presentable, and still my imagination races.

I’ve imagined fucking him so many times, it’s almost become normality. I have toys that I’ve used because I want him to make me cum. And then again, make me cum. And then... AGAIN, make me fucking cum. I’ve always imagined what he looks like when he does so. And I want him to be greedy. I’ve felt the muscles in my belly spasm, just thinking about it, and I want him to claim me as his own, as if I were just a piece of property. I want to wear flimsy things against my skin, and wonder how they could be removed. Torn asunder. I want to throw him down and show him just how I want to fuck him. I really have had those thoughts. Closing my eyes and thinking if he would like me to wear black lace. Or shades of blue. Scarlet even. But I hope he wants black when I want to fuck him. I hope he adores the delicate tights I want to wear. The tights I want to wear that can be torn off. Or gently peeled away, after my heels are removed. My head is just buzzing right now, and I dont think decisions have been made yet... But... The delicate touch of his hands, the hands of an older man. The quiet hands, of a man who knows what he wants. The man who knows what he needs...

It’s when we have people behind us in the queue, and he motions me gently to the side of the counter, so he can finish dealing with them, and yet still continue the tales he tells me. Of how he grew up around here. Of how he met his wife. And when he describes such personal things, I hear the gentleness in his voice, and it takes the decisions away from me. I find it difficult not to put my fingers aside my aching lips that I have dressed in lace, that I’ve imagined he would growl at. And then get wetter, just closing my eyes at the cadence, the moments when he pauses. When his eyes crinkle. When his eyes look at me... When he sees me blush...

I’m a fucking grown up. I should be able to make decisions that make me smile. I shouldnt have to go to work every day, wondering how an imaginary man could make me orgasm. I shouldnt have to have a man lay next to me every night in my bed, and then wonder just how the cock of my imagination is going to be placed in my dreams. Perhaps in my mouth? Could I show him really what I’m capable of? In my cunt? Could he see the eager hunger that I think he’s going to know about me? Could it even be slowly inside my arse? I’ve imagined it. I really have. I just dont know anything any fucking more. So many imaginations that I have. I dont even know what this cock looks like. Is it small? Is it thin? Is it hot to the touch? Is it thicker with my hand wrapped around it?

Sigh...

I want to show him myself. Display myself. I want him, and his white snowy hair to have my fingers touch him. I want him to know just how he makes me feel. I want him to know I hate him when he’s not there, behind the counter, and his nieces are there instead. How I stomp to the car, not having my daily fix. How I check my phone, not thinking clearly, because the man I shouldnt like, hasnt told me things I want to hear, in the Voice I want to hear. Before making the car cough, because I’m not being gentle. Before urging it to get me where I need to be. And then I swear a lot.

I know. I shouldnt be in this position. I never thought I would be. I never imagined these things before he tempted me to do so. I didnt need to do so. I didnt think I could be affected like this. But. I will find out one way or the other. I need to sigh, and be made to moan.

I think I’ve made that decision. I cant keep it controlled. I need to know if it’s as joyous as I think it could be. I sigh at the possibility. But I just need to know. I want that silk across my skin. I want to imagine things and feel them come true. I think I do want to feel those aching things for real this time. I want to be made to feel the woman I need to be. I know I want to be made to feel those things. I understand now. The softest smile becomes alive, as I blush again. And grow wet. Again.

Fuck it.