Saturday, February 06, 2016

The Gift of the Imaginary Lover




My fantasies always involve kneeling humbly and reverently and worshipping at the Altar of Venus -- usually with a woman whom I've met casually, talked to, laughed with, and gazed into her eyes. Often an elegant customer with greying hair and knowing eyes, sometimes a mature sexy celebrity like Helen Mirren, sometimes a horny gaggle of young tongue riding girls who use my mouth and tongue mercilessly and endlessly. Or maybe an insatiable multi-orgasmic pillow princess. These fantasies are certainly delicious and exciting and gratifying but they're fleeting and lack a critical element -- romantic love. Raw lust and delightful debauchery, the heart not involved. One is left with an empty feeling. So I keep returning to the sweet girl who started it all, many years ago.
L was a petite beauty with mesmerizing dark eyes and a face that was part angel, part princess and part je ne sais quoi. A wholesome and conscientious girl, top student and model of decorum, yet warm and sincere. A chance meeting at our adjoining lockers in high school late one afternoon when the innocent conversation hinted about that taboo subject -- sex. Even though she was coy and teasing, I was so excited that this lovely lass would would go there, even lightly, with a shy naive lad like me. It was a defining moment, my sexual awakening, a coming of age. A spark touched my loins igniting an erection which I was fortunately able to hide with my jacket. I went straight upstairs to my room when I got home, relived the conversation, and masturbated feverishly to orgasm for the first time. I was 14.
I loved it and immediately became addicted to the joys of stroking and ejaculation, and to her. But we were taught that this was disgusting and shameful behaviour and I could not look her in the eye for very long the next day, or on the many days after I had indulged my secret fantasy. I feared that somehow she would look at me and know what I had been up to and disapprove, or express disgust or, horror of horrors, tell someone. Oh the shame and embarrassment and humiliation !
Though nothing ever happened physically between us, the fantasy persisted for several years and usually just involved kissing and touching and erotic conversation. Whenever I had a girlfriend the fantasy disappeared and L would lie dormant in my imagination, until I needed her again. Scenarios varied from time to time then permanently changed once I discovered the delicious delights of cunnilingus. Years later I learned that she was married with a family and the fantasies ended for the most part. Relationships came and went but eventually she was there again and so was passion and lust and the aching desire to taste her. Somewhere along the line the sexual fantasy matured into an intimate romantic one and became enormously gratifying.
When our class reunion was announced the fantasy returned in full erotic force. I was hoping she'd be there and in the weeks leading up to the event we made love countless times in my imagination. She was there and we talked briefly -- but I still had trouble looking into those mesmerizing dark eyes. Still afraid that she would look into my eyes and know everything. When I last saw her, she was laughing and smiling and sitting on someone else's knee.
Recently I saw L's photos on Facebook, still married, now a grandmother, and I've been besotted since. She's as gorgeous as ever, gracefully aged, poised and princessly, her adorable face virtually unchanged. But what's compelling is simply that it's her, looking right at me with those same devastating dark eyes. Maybe she has forgiven my sins and accepts that a stunning woman is going to be the much desired subject of many male fantasies. 
She's always on my mind. I fall in love and lust all over again regularly and it's like all the great love affairs of history rolled into one -- and she's in my arms. Endless deep kisses and uncontrollable passion, awe and reverence, hunger and lust. Nuzzling her soft neck and inhaling the intoxicating scent of her hair. My hands squeezing the glorious globes of her delectable derriere. Soon I'm on my knees, eager to worship the holy grail of her womanhood. She's a Goddess and graciously offers me a taste of heaven. Everything about her is exquisite and she blesses me with her mews and moans of pleasure. I'm an eager tongue slave and happily addicted to this magnificent feast. It's like lover's communion when she convulses in the sweet agony and my mouth fills with her delicious essence. My heart pounds in my ears and warm tremors wash like waves throughout my entire being. Swallowing her sacred juice is the ultimate sacrament and the biggest thrill ever -- my cerebral orgasm.
Such a beautiful gift, such joy, such love and lust.




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