Mr. Maybe

So, as I was saying in my musings yesterday, as amusing and sexy and pleasurable as all this hot, sexy, dirty, twisted messaging between The Shark and myself, I was certainly expending a whole lot more energy than I anticipated in trying to get my groove on … and my groove was SO not satiated …

So this brought me to Thursday afternoon, sitting there after another sex-drenched frantic G-mail exchange between The Shark and myself.

Bugger it … time to take care of myself and throw caution to the wind.

So … Mr. Maybe … I hadn’t meant to give him my email address … yes, because he is married. But somehow he just kept on cropping up in my thoughts … not least because he was a mere 20 minutes away.

Nor was the correlation lost on me that, like Mr. X, he was from Salisbury, had married an older woman, and was now outsourcing for sex since she was no longer interested in him.

So … if Mr. X wasn’t interested (yes, he’s still completely mind-fucking me but that’s a whole other story) … why not try out an older version of him? It appealed to my over-analytical brain (okay, I admit ... AND to my vindictive side, given the parallels between the two ... )

I wasn’t sure if I was that attracted to Mr. Maybe … but there was something so sexy about him, something about his face … that wicked grin and devilish attitude that most guys born north of Beit Bridge have …

And I didn’t HAVE to have sex with him. I could always just make him give me what I wanted … Yes, I am starting to realize that most guys’ No. 1 fantasy – apart from the one about a threesome with two girls – is the one where the woman turns out to be a complete Dominatrix.

So what the hell? If, when it came to the crunch, I couldn’t go through with it 100%, I could just drink a beer with him, and discreetly size him up while having that first drink. Then, if I decided I liked what I saw (which I had a feeling I already did), I would - when he least expected it - push him to his knees and order him to remove my panties, raise my skirt, push me back so I was lying down on the back of his bakkie, legs raised and spread wide open. Then I would make him reach down and spread my lips, lick me, stroke me, tease me, tantalize me, fondle me, rub me, touch me, suck me, caress me … until I came. And then order him to stand in front of me and make him take himself in his hand (which would now be very wet from all my juices) and jerk himself off, close to me, very close, but not quite touching, just looking at me, and slowly, slowly, move his hand up and down his hard, stiff shaft. Then towards the build-up: harder and faster and with more force, faster and faster, until he came in great gushing spurts all over … well, we’ll see where exactly when the time comes …

(Salacious grin)

Hmmmm … I liked the sound of that. Not too much effort or contact on my part … but a definite release of sorts.

And I knew for definite that he would be up for anything. After all, he had sent me this message on The Sexy Site two weeks before when I had asked him nicely to stop sending me messages because he was married:

“I must just tell you, I haven’t had sex in 3 weeks and woke up with such a hard on this morning, the pre-cum was oozing out of my throbbing hard dick. I had to take a cold shower...... sigh, ain’t life a bitch..... Wish I had a wet juicy something to suck on...... Ohhhhhh, hope I ain’t offending you with this "dirty" talk....”

Hmmm … Yes, he would be SO up for anything I offered … even if I wasn’t ready for full-on sex.

So I sent him a message:

“Nice afternoon for a beer overlooking the dam.”

He wrote back:

“TEASE!”

Hmmm. He was online. Sounds like this could really happen. I replied:

“Seriously. It’ll be dark in 3 hours. Want to meet there in an hour?”

And I rushed off to have a bath, threw on some clothes, back to the computer, hit the Refresh button on my browser … and … Nothing!

This is not happening to me!

I had run out of data bundles!

Panicking slightly, I grabbed my laptop and ran out the door. I mean of course I was panicking! I had just made an offer and, if I didn’t follow through with it at this moment, I knew myself … I would return to pontificating and contemplating and musing over it for the rest of the weekend.

I hotfooted it over to the shopping centre, bought a MB / data bundle thingie and went back to the vehicle to check my email … still nothing.

But it was still light, at least another two hours until sunset.

So I went into the supermarket, grabbed some beer and ice and went to queue to pay for them. While I was waiting for my turn, I looked around the shop. I saw a man with his daughter … it was a very normal, everyday picture: a dad shopping with his child. But also very touching. This big, masculine farmer-type choosing sparkly, pink hair clips with his 12-year-old daughter who had just come from ballet.

But then it hit me … this could be Mr. Maybe …

How could I do this? What was I thinking?

I suddenly felt like a terrible person: dirty and depraved and twisted.

I paid for the beers, drove home and sat on the fence of the horse’s paddock overlooking the valley. By 9 pm the beers were finished … and so was I.

No. He didn’t reply to my invitation that day. Was I relieved? Maybe.

But I was still frustrated.

x