Fantasies

No one knew why I always parked on the same deserted stretch. That afternoon, a runner turned his head toward my window and realized everything.

I knew exactly what I was doing when I put on the gown the wrong way. What I didn’t know was how far that stranger would let himself explore me that afternoon.

I wear a thong under my cycling shorts and no one knows. It’s my secret on the bike, the start of the fantasy I play over and over in my head.

I was pregnant, alone, and hotter than I’d ever been; when those two men offered to walk me home, I already knew what I was going to let happen between the three of us.

Sitting in the armchair, the key dangling between her breasts, I knew that night I’d finally watch her give herself to another man while I stayed locked up.

It started as a joke in the park: “Should I wrap him up so we can take him home?” Months later, a hidden camera would turn that joke into something else.

I said I had heartbreak just so someone would look at me. I didn’t expect two strangers to take my cure so seriously… or for me to let them.

I was sweaty and breathless when his voice reached me from behind. He didn’t want to take me to dinner: he wanted to buy my whole night, and I wanted to be bought.

That afternoon, in the silence of the house, an accidental brush revealed a language my body spoke and I still didn’t know how to read.

She was coming of age, and the entire sanctuary held its breath as she walked naked to the altar where her two mothers waited, ready to initiate her.

I changed the song to a slower one, let my fingers travel down my neck, and suddenly the massage was no longer just a massage. Care to imagine it with me?

We’d fantasized about it for months. As she went upstairs behind the waitress, I knew I was going to watch everything from the room next door.

He had spent years pressing his ear to the walls of cheap motels. One night he found a forum promising more: booths with a view of other people’s pleasure.

I had never gone out into the street dressed like that. That morning, with the house all to myself, I decided it was the day to fulfill the fantasy that had been keeping me awake.

He had a meeting and left me alone all afternoon. Bored, I opened a folder on his computer I had no business opening… and couldn’t stop looking.

I had my fuchsia dress in my backpack and one idea in my head: that night, I was going to belong to whoever paid for me.

The voice on the other end of the headset gave me a simple order: I couldn’t finish until she decided. And then she logged off without saying when she’d be back.

I used to dream about men. Now it’s only her: the stranger who touches me under the table and slips into my bed every night, even though my partner sleeps beside me.

She came out of the changing room with her back to me, wearing a bikini she had never shown me. I felt jealous. And, without knowing why, I started to feel something else too.

In front of the mirror, with the dim light and the music low, I discovered that the best company that night was my own: my hands, my vibrator, and a desire that kept growing.