When you're alone, usually at home, when your wife is out doing something you don't understand and have little interest in, do you fantasize? I don't mean fantasizing about winning the lottery, bowling a 300 game or hitting a hole in one. I mean, real fantasizing. About sex. About big breasted, big assed loose women who want you and will do anything you desire.
I do and I don't believe you don't. My fantasies are usually not unrealistic or bizarre. I don't dream about a beautiful white witch who will magically manifest a huge erection between my legs that lasts for hours. I have what I have. I only imagine I'll use it to its full ability and the women of my fantasy will be forever grateful.
I fantasize about realistic scenarios. Something that could conceivably happen. For instance, meeting an attractive woman during a business trip, having a few drinks in the hotel lounge and then wandering off to one of our rooms to satisfy each other's need for companionship. Just once, or twice, and then we go our separate ways, never to meet again.
A recurring fantasy of mine is a simple one. I imagine it could actually happen but, realistically, it probably won't. I'm sitting in an easy chair at home, alone, reading or watching TV. Someone enters the darkened house from the back entrance, walks into the living room where I'm sitting and just sits on my lap.
My fantasy woman is not beautiful but very pretty, with long dark hair, dark eyes, pouty lips, slightly larger than average breasts with large, prominent nipples and unshaven pubis neatly trimmed. I know all this because, in my fantasy, she's come into the living room completely naked and she sits on my lap, crosses her legs and runs her fingers through my hair while I catch my breath.
My fantasy usually doesn't go much further than that. I just can't imagine what comes next or how it will play out. I keep repeating the opening, changing tiny details, trying to make it perfect.
One evening, several months ago, Marge, my wife, and I were playing, naked together after a particularly satisfying sexual romp. We were just being silly. Actually, we were the best part of two bottles of red wine inebriated. Unexpectedly, Marge brought up the subject of fantasies.
Marge wanted to know if I had fantasies. I admitted it but, when she pressed for details, I was too embarrassed to tell her. Changing tactics, Marge told me one of her fantasies. It seems she had vulgar thoughts about men with long tongues. I considered her fantasy a realistic possibility since tongue activity was one of my specialties and her reaction one of her specialties.
Her revelation put me in a difficult position. I felt obligated to tell her something, so I confessed to my thought about a naked woman walking into the room and sitting on my lap. When she pressed for details, I had to admit I didn't have any. My fantasy ended with the woman comfortable in my lap and me frozen.
Marge thought that was odd, even unhealthy. She did admit that I was better in real life than in my fantasies. I took that as another complement. What I didn't know, was that Marge wanted to know how my fantasy might end.
A few weeks later, I was working at home on a Thursday. I worked at home three days a week, usually including a Thursday. Thursday was a good choice, since Marge had a number of activities on Thursdays. She left early to volunteer at the local rehabilitation center, had lunch with one of her girl friends and then spent the afternoon working with the garden club.
It was a little after noon. I was taking a break for lunch, hunched over my plate in an easy chair watching the local news and weather. Someone came into the kitchen through the side door. I was surprised that Marge was home so early. It wasn't part of her usual routine. I wondered what brought her home.
I waited patiently while Marge puttered around in the kitchen. Eventually, I heard her footsteps coming into the living room. I looked up as she rounded the end of the sofa. The woman who walked toward me wasn't Marge. This woman had long dark hair, dark eyes, pouty lips, slightly larger than average breasts with large, prominent nipples and unshaven pubis neatly trimmed. I knew this because this woman was, except for the black, three-inch heels, completely naked.
Without saying a word, she walked over to me, turned and sat in my lap. She said only one word to me after she settled down, wiggling her ass as she did so, "Breathe."
She smiled and put her arm around my neck. I sat frozen, exactly as in my fantasy. I did know two things. I knew the woman well, and Marge had put her up to what she was doing.
The woman sitting in my lap, naked, with her legs crossed, was Janice. Janice lived up the block from us and was a frequent visitor to our house with her husband, Travis. Now she was cuddled up in my lap, naked, without her husband nearby. I suspected Marge knew what was going on but did Travis? What the hell was I supposed to do? Should I keep to the details of my fantasy and do nothing, possibly disappointing Janice, Marge and myself or should I take Janice on a wild ride including everything I could imagine with a naked woman and possibly disappoint Travis?
I had never been in this situation before. I had no guidance on how to proceed. I sat silently and still while Janice ran her fingers through my hair, played with the buttons on my shirt, nibbled gently on my ear lobes and kissed my neck. After about ten minutes, Janice sat up straight and got up off my lap. Standing in front of me, she whispered, "Maybe next time," and headed for the kitchen. She puttered around in the kitchen for several minutes, presumably putting her clothes back on, and left the way she came in.
My thoughts were intensely wild. Had I done the right thing, possibly saving two marriages, or had I screwed up the best opportunity of my life, organized and condoned by Marge and Janice? I could still feel the weight of Janice on my lap. I could still feel the heat of her genitals through my pants against my erection. I could still feel her soft kisses on my neck and ears and the warmth of her breath against my skin. "Fuck," I thought, "what have I done or haven't done?"
Working at my desk in the afternoon was impossible. I couldn't concentrate on the task at hand, only the memory of best ten minutes of the day. Marge came home about half past five. I met her in the kitchen without attempting to hide the stain Janice had left on my trousers.
"How was your day?" Marge asked with a welcoming smile.
"Fine," I responded. "You know. Same old, same old."
"Anything unusual happen?" she asked.
I was sure Marge had arranged for Janice's visit that afternoon, so I interpreted her question as an attempt to get me to tell her about it. I decided to string her along for as long as I could. "Nah. Just another boring day working at home," I said.
"Come on, Tyler. Something interesting must have happened," pushed Marge.
I was even more positive that Marge knew about Janice's visit. "If you're so sure something unusual happened then why don't you tell me all about it?" I asked.
"I haven't a clue. I just can't believe your days at home are without something happening that's worth talking about," Marge said.
I thought I'd give her a hint for her to follow. "One of the neighbors did stop by for a short visit but I don't think that's unusual or worth a conversation," I told her.
"See, your days aren't just work. What did she want?"
She? She knows it was a woman. Marge did set it up. So, what is her purpose in trying to get me to tell her what happened? Is she testing my loyalty to her or is she looking for confirmation that Janice delivered the goods and she's looking for a thank you? What's the right answer? Is there a right answer? I tried a defensive move. "How did you know it was a 'she'?"
"Did I say 'she'?"
"You did, so you must have known she was coming by today. Why don't we cut to the finish and you tell me what you two discussed and why you thought she would stop in to see me?"
"Okay," said Marge. "But first I want you to know that I didn't ask Janice to come over nor did I suggest a reason she might. However, I had a feeling that she might want to see you in person. I was just asking in case she didn't. I didn't want to create a problem about something that didn't happen," explained Marge.
"I'm not sure I understand what you're trying to say. Why don't you just tell me what you and Janice discussed and why you thought she might want to see me afterward?"
"Okay. I run into Janice frequently and we usually have interesting conversations. I ran into her downtown last weekend and we had lunch together. Somehow, the topic of fantasies came up."
Interesting," I commented. "I have a good idea how the topic came up," I thought.
"Do you want to hear more or not?" Marge said.
"I do. Go on."
"Well, we exchanged some personal fantasies and she shared one of her husband's fantasies. I felt I should share one of yours as well. I suddenly realized how much Janice looked like the woman you described when you told me about your fantasy. Do you fantasize about Janice?" Marge asked.
"Don't change the subject. Finish the story and, for your information, the answer is no."
"Well, I told her your fantasy. That's all."
"She had a lot of information about me that only you and I know," I pushed.
"I did tell her the details. She seemed interested so I told her."
"How was it that she came to visit me?" I asked.
"The way she acted, I thought I might have said too much. I wasn't sure what she would do."
"Your instincts were right. She came over to visit this afternoon."
"Was she appropriate?" Marge asked.
How was I supposed to answer that? She wasn't appropriate as a neighbor but she certainly played to my fantasy appropriately. "That depends on what you mean by appropriate," I offered.
