**Fantasy for a Day**
I’m a writer, among other things. Though I find all the stereotypical things sexy that most men would find when it comes to being attracted to a woman, having sex, etc., I realize there are places where my high sex drive and artistic vision intersect that are not common to most men. Currently, I write literary erotica alongside my traditional literary work (though the erotic is almost always published under a nomb de plume), and will continue to do so, but I wanted to do something new and unique with my sex drive and artistic endeavors. That’s what this series, Fantasy for a Day, is all about.
I work in public a lot, writing and researching in places all over the Cleveland area. There are many beautiful women at the establishments I frequent, women that incessantly interrupt my work with the fantasies I can’t help but have about them. I want to share those fantasies with you, fantasies that arise in the places you are familiar with, fantasies about women you might know…perhaps fantasies about you.
I’m a slight exhibitionist and voyeur. The thought of mixing the very public venues where I sometimes write with the very private nature of my work is a huge turn on for me, and I imagine there are women out there like me that would be very turned on by a man partaking in this kind of project. I imagine there might be women who want to read about my fantasies, women who might hope to be in the same establishment as me, dressed in the ways they find sexy, to see if they make it into Fantasy for a Day, women who might want to experience me in the flesh.
Finally, I should tell you a bit about myself. Some women will be totally turned off by the thought of some guy in a public place writing about fantasies he has about random women who are there with him. I understand that. I also understand some women will be entirely turned on by the thought, no matter who the dude is. However, I feel most women will be in between. If the guy is attractive and a normal (minus the intersection of high sex drive and creative sexual thoughts/ideas/needs which are, I think, rather unique) then I imagine many of those in-between women will be attracted to the idea of Fantasy for a Day. If the dude is a greasy perv, not so much. Good news—I’m not a greasy perv!
I’m 35, 6’0, 200lbs but am told I look 185. I’m in shape but not ripped or yoked. This time of year, I rock shortish hair and a short beard, sometimes a ball cap, sometimes not. I’m a fiction writer, poet, and scholar. Despite how this might look, I’m a women’s lib guy in all ways, including sexual expression. I guess one could argue that I’m a pervert because of how I sexually objectify women with a project like this. I get that, but I feel differently. My thoughts are mine, as is my writing. I can do with them what I want, as long as nobody gets hurt or their lives are not affected negatively in anyway. Nobody can tell me how to thin, nor should they. However, my treatment of women is always as equals and platonic, unless it is made crystal clear they wish it to be different, and even then, there are many concerns to consider, being that human beings are the feelingest mother fuckers. It’s good and bad. This part of me is just one identity, the identity of a man with a sexuality typically not accepted by our culture, mixed with my artistic side. I’m looking to interact with women who shares a similar existence. I know you’re out there.
If you read this, please feel free to share your thoughts! I won’t take requests for fantasies; however, I will partake in sexual repartee with you when I have the time. It could inspire me! Also, I would like to know places in the Cleveland area you think I should go to work, places that can generate new fantasies, perhaps places you visit! Where are the hottest people in the area?
I hope you enjoy the read. Message me! Let me know how you’re engaging!
Sincerely,
MAT (Man About Town)
**Remember, Remember, the Fifth of…May?**
Fiona’s—a café in Willoughby where an American flag snakes seductively on a thin pole in the breeze and tight-framed women are not shy to show off their hard-earned bodies as they make their way to the café from the attached yoga studio. Sometimes, Fiona’s is a great place to write, to think, and work. Other times, it’s a perfect place to fantasize. There’s so much spandex that at its peak, the place is kryptonite to any blue-blooded American. Passing through the shop is the fluid pump of athletic thighs and lean calves attached to small pedestal feet, covered in bright-colored Nikes that flash with every step. It’s easy to imagine that inside those shoes you’d find painted nails, hot colors and cream colors, shades that make you want to suck a women’s toes when you’re hilt-deep inside her, her breath stolen, her legs hiked over your shoulders.
There are the stolid frames too, those of mothers not afraid to show the world the bulk they’ve earned through motherhood. They call to me, tell me—a man who tends to be dominate—that I’m about to be subject to force.
Today, I’m in the mood for the type of girl sitting beside me. She’s younger than me, for certain. I’m in my mid-thirties. She’s twenty-five, maybe twenty-seven. This is not to say that I’m the stereotypical man, only interested in women younger than me. I’m very attracted to women my age and older who are powerful women, execs, pencil squirt, blouse and blazer types. Often, independence is hot to me. Today though, with what I’ve witness pass through the doors, it’s her, this twenty something girl.
She is rather plain, something I’ve been drawn too because my first real girlfriend, who I was with for three years in high school and to whom I lost *all* my virginities, was very plain. She was the best kept secret. Nobody would’ve expected us to be the freaks we were.
This girl beside me, she looks innocent enough, but I’ve learned the sometimes the look of innocence means nothing. If anything, in a day in age when women are obsessed with presenting an almost fallacious rendition of themselves, I find myself insatiably drawn to a woman who lures me in with a lack of advertisement.
This fantasy started when I caught sight of her body as she sat poised on the stool. First, I noticed her curves. She has the kind of body that fights back, hips and ass that can take it, that want to, that were made for it. Her body dares you to try your damndest to break it. Her biology is dominate, all of her tucked away but present. The fact that I can see her form, her curves, her prowess without her trying, turns me on even more. Her outfit is simple, jeans and a teal hoodie. She sits facing away from me. I can’t see her face, but I don’t have to, not in my current fantasy, where I imagine her pinning my feet together as she rides me reverse cowgirl. You see, the way she sits on the backless stool, a slight arch to her spine as she focuses on good posture, the way her hips and ass jut out just enough that her thickness stretches the seams of her jeans—I can see it, her riding me slowly just like that, a thong the color of her hooddie, the lacey fabric slipped to the side so that I can slide in.
I imagine tracing a single finger down her spine as she rolls her hips forward and back, forward and back, her breaths steady. She has two dimples at the small of her back. I can see them now, when I furtively peer her way. Her hoodie is hiked up just a bit, and because of the arch in her back, the waistline of her jeans just puckers out in the rear, the two dimples exposed.
In my fantasy of her, my finger pauses between those dimples as she rides me. I trace them with my finger, realizing I have plans for them, but not yet. Soon. When she’s ready to be handled.
I keep tracing her spine to her tailbone. I stop, my finger just above her crack. She inches forward, tacitly. It’s not permission, exactly, but it’s not a no, either, so I inch my finger down and pause at her asshole. I trace it with the tip of my finger. She opens a bit more for me, her hips rolling back and forth faster now, the whole of her pushing down on my cock as if she wishes there were more gravity on earth. I apply pressure to her tight hole . Her breathing pauses a moment but then is released forcefully. I tease her, lay off with my finger, trace, then apply pressure again. She’s breathing more rapidly now, grinding harder. There’s a moan. I don’t enter her with my finger. Not this time. Instead, I take hold of her thick hips in my calloused hands. I put a thumb in each dimple, and I seize control of her body from the waist down. She’s my sex toy now, the whole of her my fuck doll. I take what I want.
She’s becomes vocal, her breathing morphing into panting exclamations. I release my hand only to slap her ass, to spur her on; otherwise, she’s in my clutches. She leans forward, but I want her postured up. I want all her weight pushing her down on me so that I’m as deep as I can be. I wrap a wad of her curly brown hair in my fist and yank, standing her upright again, her back arched just as it is on the stool beside me now. She pumps her hips until I feel my cock seized within the clasp of her pussy, tight, like she wants to take it with her when she’s done. Then, she releases me, her cum running the length of my cock, her breathing slowing, the depth and length of her thrusts declining, everything settling down.
This is where my fantasy stops. I might hold on to it and use it when I get home. I might go to the bathroom here and touch myself. Maybe you were this girl. If so, message me. Maybe you want to be this girl. Are you close to her age? Built like her? Message me. Perhaps you want me to write about you. Perhaps you want to know how I might fantasize about you if given the chance. Perhaps you want me to share my fantasy of you with the Reddit world. Grab a coffee at Fionas. Perhaps I’ll be there too. Perhaps you’ll catch my eye, be my fantasy for a day.
MAT
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8hi3nt/fantasy_for_a_day