Scarlet men share the fantasies they’d never tell their girlfriends. Chris dreams of fixing a marriage. But it’s not entirely altruistic…
I’m sitting in a bar and I spot a woman over in the corner, with big blue eyes and ladylike hair. And that’s all it takes for the brain to start working.
In my fantasy, I met her in here one night a few months ago. She asked me for the time. Then she asked me to read her the cocktail menu. She was hopeless without her glasses, she said. I started off just reading her the ingredients, because it seemed a bit early to start joking about the titles they put on them… Ice Breaker, Tush Warmer, Kiss On The Beach, that sort of thing. Mr Diplomatic, that’s me. But when I got to the one she wanted, she asked what it was called. I think she knew damned well.
“A Slow Comfortable Screw!” she repeated, laughing and putting out her tongue.
“That sounds nice.” She looked me in the eyes. “Unless they’ve got a fast hard one?”
I said they hadn’t, but if she let me buy her a drink I’d see what I could do later.
“So what are you doing here?” she asked then.
I said I was waiting for my mates, which was sort of true, although my best guess was they were already hitting the town. There was probably a message on my phone. But I was getting a more interesting message where I was.
I didn’t know why she’d picked on me. I’d had a wash and a change after work but I wasn’t her class. She smelled of quality and she made a rustle that sounded like money every time she crossed her legs. I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Senor Chav? That’s me. But she’d clearly made up her mind that I would do, if I was up for it.
Hubby had been caught playing around, it turned out. So she was out on her own, leaving him to look after the kids and wonder when she might come home. I was beginning to get the picture. She was leaning closer, giving me a glimpse down her expensive shirt, at her expensive titties, nestled in an expensive bra.
Then she asked me, “What are you thinking about?” So I told her.
She asked me what I imagined it would be like and I told her that, too. A plump one, the sort that would sit in my hand like a fallen fruit, with a blonde fuzz on it, so fine it would almost look nude, trimmed tidy, but not shaved.
Pants? Maybe very soft leather with a lace up the side, I said, but I was teasing.
She pretended to look offended. Probably silk, I said then – wet silk.
She asked if I knew a taxi rank. I said I’d walk her to one. I managed to take her down an alley on the way and she hung onto my arm as we went into it. We bumped hips and I gave her arse a bit of a pat. Next thing, she was eating my face off and undoing buttons so I could haul out a tit.
I rucked up her skirt and grabbed her pussy. It ate my hand through her tights. I got hold of them and hauled them down and she helped me, kicking off her shoes and holding up a foot at a time while I pulled and tore the nylon away. When I got my hand back where it mattered, I found the silk knickers. I worked a finger in under and found the centre of the sticky mess underneath.
She was going “yes, yes, yes” which I took to be a go-ahead. I pulled her pants down and she stepped out of them. I got my cock out and put it where my finger had been. She jumped her legs up and wrapped them round me, so she was hanging on me like a snake on a branch. I grabbed her arse to hold her up and banged into her greedy hole, scraping her bum against the brickwork, until I came hard and then she came too, sucking what was left of my cock up inside her and pushing down onto my shagging bone. She leaned against the wall, panting, while I straightened myself out. She was wearing my hat, I noticed.
I wasn’t sure about the etiquette of afterwards with a woman like this. But I did try. As she put her knickers back on, I said, “Do you want to go for another drink or something?”
Mr Romantic, that’s me.
She squeezed my arm.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said. “Got to hurry home to hubby.”
As we headed for the taxis, she whispered in my ear, “I’m going to make him lick me out. He can’t argue. I’m going to lie back and enjoy it. But I’ll be thinking about me and you, fucking like chavs.”
I guess that mopey bloke she’s with now must be him.
The marriage mender, that’s me, eh?
