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."
