PHAEDRUS & FERMINA A Shared Fantasy Come (Cum?) Real He had been looking down the airport corridor for a few minutes. would he recognize her? he'd seen pictures of her, but all he knew was that she was a tall, pretty blonde. Finally he went out to the ticket counter and THERE SHE WAS! She was beautiful -- tall, slim, long blonde hair. She was wearing a leather vest over a tight red and black shirt, and an indecently short black miniskirt that showed her legs to wonderful advantage. "Hi," he said. "You must be Fermina. I'm Phaedrus." "Hiiii," she purred. "It's so good to meet you at last!" They hugged each other, then kissed. She was even hotter than she looked! I wonder what she's like in the sack, he asked himself. They'd met on a computer network a few months earlier. She had a nice way about her, kind of girl-next-door, but there was no mistaking her passion. It hadn't taken them long to start "hot chatting", typing erotic fantasies back and forth to each other. She'd sent him some pictures. One had particularly excited him: she had stood in front of a mirror, wearing only a skimpy bra, and taken a picture of herself. * * * * * She was stunned. He was everything she found attractive in a man. He had a great body, was tall. But it was his eyes that told the story: they revealed everything that turned her on ... smart, clever, penetrating, warm, and overtly sexual. Very sexual. His clothes were a disheveled mishmash, clean, non-descript, the sign of a man who knew his own worth and didn't need to embellish what he was. The sign of a man who wasn't a materialist. He'd refused to send her a photo. This had worried her a bit, not that what a man looked like was very important (certainly a couple of her lovers hadn't been much to look at, but it hadn't mattered to her). Now she knew why he didn't bother sending a photo. He knew -- he knew -- that she'd find him attractive. She liked his confidence, and his refusal to be pre-approved by mail. For weeks, she had wondered how she'd feel when their eyes met. She'd first known him as a pal, a nice guy who for some reason didn't mind her bridge play (relearning the game after a 17-year absence was excruciatingly difficult and slow), even though he was a devotee of the game. Months before, when he'd asked her if she'd play with him at the nationals, she thought nothing more than that they'd have a great time and it would be pleasant to play with such a sweet fellow. (Sweet. She smiled to herself, looking at him for the first time, her nipples and clit swelling in reaction to his raw sexuality. This guy might be sweet, but she could tell he was an animal in bed, and that she'd soon find out. The anticipation was overwhelming. She resented that they had to drive anywhere. She wanted him.) During those months preceding their meeting, she'd occasionally wondered if he had more in mind. Most men did, she reminded herself. She wondered if she could restrain herself if she found him appealing, sexy. Yes, she knew, it would be no problem. After all, he was married, and she wasn't about to have a fling with a married man. And, she was an expert at presenting herself asexually to the men she encountered in her business. She knew, almost too well, how to keep men at arm's length and rebuff any hint of romance. One afternoon, while they were playing backgammon on the "live" online service where they'd met, he and she began to discuss what it would be like if they were attracted to each other. It was then she realized he'd been wondering about her as well. Their computer chat that day rapidly escalated from entertaining the possibility to very erotic fantasizing. She couldn't believe what he'd typed to her; this was a side of him she hadn't begun to imagine. He was obviously very bawdy and loved sex. As he described his cock and what he was going to do to her, she was pleasantly shocked by his graphic descriptions. She wanted to tell him how she'd like to pleasure him. Part of her wondered if she dared, but she did, reveling in imagining his pleasure, his reactions. She got so hot, she began touching herself. She wanted to know if he was stroking his cock too, but she was too shy to ask him. The afternoon only ended when another online male pal found her, and started talking to her. Phaedrus had left very hurriedly, snapping some remark as he departed. She was frustrated. She hadn't wanted him to go. The weeks after were alternately exciting, sexy, maddening, and upsetting. She'd recently broken off with a man who'd turned out to be a cad. She was in no mood to get involved in another serious relationship immediately. Yet, she felt a very powerful attraction to the sweet Phaedrus, the raunchy Phaedrus. Her caveats about married men haunted her. Through online chat and phone conversations, they made rules. This was a fling. Nothing more. One weekend. Pure pleasure. Somehow, that was almost acceptable to her. Then he changed, seemed suspicious; he began grilling her about why an attractive woman like her would settle for a fling. She didn't have an adequate answer. Maybe at this point, it was all she wanted. Maybe he was an interlude before she was ready to start dating again. Something about him, besides his brains and warmth, appealed to her, made her very hungry. His protestations, though, wearied her. If it was all this complicated for him, and he was so wary of her and her motives, why bother? Why all the third degree questions, if he weren't suspicious of her? She couldn't understand; she wasn't the type of woman to engender suspicions, and hoped she'd conveyed that to him. After the initial fantasizing about the fun they'd have, he was making it burdensome. Although he never cancelled their plans, she decided that when she picked him up at the airport, that if the mood wasn't right, if he wasn't friendly, if he didn't turn her on, she'd politely drop him off at the hotel and go home. In fact, a few days before he flew out, she'd phoned him and cancelled. He'd called back, they'd talked. She had backed down, although she still wondered if it was wise to spend a weekend with this man. He knew he was turning her off, driving her away. Was this some special test she had to pass? Didn't he realize that she didn't have any hidden agendas with him? She had, quite simply, wanted to enjoy him, pleasure him, play bridge, knowing she'd probably never see him again. Although she didn't have ulterior motives or unrealistic fantasies, she did worry that she might feel more for him than she'd intended. She'd been alone so long, raising a child and earning a living, that she could count the times she'd had sex in the last 12 years on her fingers and toes. She feared that made her more vulnerable. He, however, was married, had had a steady diet of sex, she surmised; for him, it would be probably be easy to separate sex from feeling, attraction from emotion. She relied on that. They'd have pleasure, and great memories. Although she could never quite buy that scenario, at least for herself, she thought she could accept her role, and have a great time. It is so rare, she decided, that people allow themselves to bring a much-wanted fantasy to life. Almost all the adult men and women she knew found reasons to deny themselves a chance for happiness, not just through living out a fantasy, but also in their daily interactions, interactions pockmarked by accusations, unrealistic expectations, fault-finding, ill-conceived worry, or cynicism. Time after time, she saw new love between a man and a woman become warped by the negativity and fears of both. It would take, she knew, an exceptional man, as well as her at her very highest emotional, philosophical and spiritual levels, for her to ever feel, and most of all give, real love and to keep it alive by not allowing each other to taint it. It would take energy and great sensitivity, as well as remembering, tapping into those special feelings they'd had initially and that were most certainly still there. At least, for one weekend, she hoped, the two of them could give themselves to each other completely. * * * * * "How was your flight?" she asked, caressing his back. "Fine", he said. "I thought about you the whole way." He put his arm around her slim waist, and they walked out to the garage. When they got into her car, they wasted no time groping each other's bodies. He opened the leather vest and caressed her breasts through the cotton shirt. Her nipples were already swollen; he rubbed them gently. She reached between his thighs and massaged his bulging erection through his pants. He reached up under the cotton shirt and unhooked her lacy white bra. My god, what nipples she had! Her breasts were warm and soft under his groping hand. Meanwhile she rubbed his cock and smiled at him with a guilty look. "Let's go to the hotel", she said. "It's not far". Soon the car was speeding away from the airport. In a moment of impetuousness he unzipped his pants and pushed them down over his thighs. She reached down with her free hand and stroked his erection. "My god, you've got a great cock", she said. "I want you inside me!" Soon they were in the hotel parking lot. He zipped his pants, grabbed his one bag from the back seat. They walked in slowly, arms wrapped, hands wandering up and down each other's bodies. In the momentary privacy of the garage elevator, they kissed and pressed their bodies against each other. He checked in. "I have to call my wife", he said. "Sorry. Can you wait here for a minute?" She nodded, shaking her long blonde hair. He hurriedly called his wife, hoping his thoughts weren't being revealed to the wife on whom he knew he was about to commit adultery. Then he went back down to the lobby to get her. He looked closely. Her bra was still unhooked. Once inside the room they tore at each other's clothes with reckless eagerness. Her miniskirt fell away to reveal an exotic black garter belt, which highlighted her terrific, long legs. "Oh, God, Fermina", he said. "You're gorgeous". They lay down on the bed. He pressed his chest against her breasts and ran his finger lightly over her blonde pubic hair. He pushed his middle finger into her, and she moaned and gyrated her hips to press herself against his finger. "Let me suck on your cock", she pleaded. Then her wide mouth was surrounding him, thrusting up and down. She rolled over on her back, spreading her legs to him. She reached down, taking his cock, and placed it at the entrace to her vagina. Slowly he pumped into her. Gradually their fucking became faster and faster. Soon they were uncontrollably enjoying each other to the fullest. Her breathing became shorter, faster. "Oh, oh, oh! oh!...." As she approached her climax, her breasts jiggled slightly, her nostrils flared, and she shrieked "Ohhh...!" He exploded into her, wave after wave of pleasure rolling over his body. They held each other tightly and reveled in each other's sheer pleasure. * * * * * So there she was, looking for him in the airport. When she spotted him, she reached out at the same instant he did ... God his body felt good ... she looked into his eyes. They reflected his warmth, but more so his desires. His hands roamed over her as if they'd been lovers for a while. When they got in her car, he reached over to her, kissed her. She could feel the heat of his body, his excitement. God, what a sexy man! He was very aggressive. Touching her everywhere. She was taken aback, felt so shy, but his urgency, his passion were overwhelming. She saw the bulge in his pants. She wanted to rub his cock through the thick material. Finally, she couldn't keep her hands from wandering and caressing his cock. His eyes were wild from being so aroused. He spread his legs a bit, allowing her hand to slip down and rub his balls ... she stroked his balls and his cock ... she imagined what it would be like if he entered her. His hips were moving in response to her touch. His hands were all over her, up inside her sweater, reaching up her skirt and feeling her moist puss. When they finally pulled out of the airport parking lot, they laughed. Wouldn't it have been great if someone had been watching them? Maybe someone had. She knew he was like her. A part of him wanted someone to see her breast as he'd pulled up her top and reached inside her bra. They both had a bit of the exhibitionist in them, although she recognized that he, like her, was far too pragmatic to ever risk public exposure. The fantasy, though, was such a turn-on. She glanced at him. He smiled. It was his naughty boy smile. She'd just met this man face-to-face, but she knew that look. Then he pulled his zipper down, and when she turned again to look at him, she saw his cock. It was incredible. She felt that electric, lightning shock shoot up from her clit to her vagina and up her body. Her nipples pressed against her shirt. She smiled and reached over, and grasped his cock. What a cock! It was huge, swollen, moistened with pre-cum. She touched the head, explored, felt the ridge that ringed his cock. She wanted to pull off the freeway and give him a blow job. Then she wanted to sit on his cock and wiggle her hips as she guided him inside her. He was so big, she hoped she could take him .... When they arrived in his room, he reached out to her, pressed his body hard againsther. She could feel his cock was still hard. Her hands reached down, stroked it through his pants. She peeled his pants off, kneeled before him as he pulled her top over her head. She took his cock in her mouth, tasting his cum, licking up and down and around as her hands lightly touched his balls. He was holding her head, pushing her face into his belly. Her eyelashes were flicking against his groin. He tasted so good. His cock was even harder now. He was thrusting inside her mouth as her tongue flicked the tip of his penis. He lifted her up, and took her skirt off. She knew in a minute she'd be standing there completely naked, in the light, while he looked her over. She fought her shyness. She'd always wanted the lights out, she'd avoided sex in the daytime. She realized he didn't know he was the first man she'd allowed to see her entire body in the light. She recognized that he had no idea how incredibly difficult this was for her to be so exposed and yet how very exciting, although frightening, it was. He stripped her panty hose down, unfastened her bra. She looked at his cock, reached out to touch it, slick and wet from her saliva and his pre-cum. Her other hand stroked his buttocks, his back. She unbuttoned his shirt, pulled his pants down more, made him sit on the bed while she pulled his pants and briefs, then his socks, off. Her hands slid up his legs, caressing, tickling, teasing. They laid down on the bed, their bodies pressing against each other. His heat, his passion, his energy. He was incredible. She remembered the shy, sweet guy she'd known for months. Never in her wildest dreams had she predicted he would be like this. He was unhibited, forceful, sexy, wild. Her pussy was aching for him to enter her. He was fingering her clit, sucking on her breasts. She started begging him to put his cock inside her. She reached down, began stroking his hard cock again, rubbing it against her thigh while she rubbed her pussy against his leg. When he mounted her and began to penetrate her, she gasped. He was so hard, so big. He pressed against her opening as she felt her vagina loosen, giving into his pressure. As his cock entered her, he filled her completely. She felt her pussy contracting. She was so close to coming. His cock rubbed her inside, while it pulled on her pussy lips. She jutted her hips to bring him further inside her as she squeezed her vagina around his cock. He leaned towards her, kissed her, tongued her lips and mouth. She raised her body so she could rub her breasts against his chest. Every time he pushed inside her, she felt that same electricity coursing through her. Her clit was throbbing, her vagina was sensitized to every inch of him, her uterus was contracting as she came. When her orgasm hit, she cried out. Then he stroked his cock inside her with hard, deliberate motions and sighing, fell spent on top of her as she wrapped her arms around him. She felt such an inner glow, so very satisfied. It was exquisite. She didn't want him to move off of her. She could have fallen asleep with him lying on top of her, his full weight pressed against her warmed body. When he did, she sighed a bit. He felt so very, very good. They lit cigarettes, cuddled, chatted. She knew that what she had done was all right. How could anything that felt so wonderful be wrong? She could even accept the terms and limitations of their contract. It was a joy to feel unabashed, unencumbered pleasure. She wished that he were single and available, but didn't dwell on it. What was the point? He'd made his commitment to his marriage so very clear to her. She admired that about him greatly. She sensed that, although he was truly dedicated to his marriage, that perhaps something was amiss, else why would he be here with her? He seemed the type of man who didn't frivolously alley-cat about. He had a seriousness about him that denied the possibility of that kind of behavior (the same seriousness that had made her feel so uncomfortable when he'd grilled her before they'd met). That this wasn't his typical behavior was very important to her for many reasons. The last time a married man had made a pass at her, it had been a client whose wife was in the hospital having just given birth to their second child. Both this man and his wife, a prominent stage actress, had been clients and friends for years. She'd asked him to help her get the belt back on her vacuum cleaner, and as they'd both been working on the machine, he'd grabbed her, pulled her to her feet, and pressed his body against her. She'd felt such revulsion towards this man that it was all she could do to politely rebuff him and get him out of her house as quickly as possible. Phaedrus was unique, she knew. And there was something about him that had drawn her to him and allowed her to trust him. Trust did not come easily for her, but that was another long story. Phaedrus had an authenticity about him. He was what he was. It was so refreshing, and so attractive. He was sleepy. She wanted to enjoy him some more and told him to turn on his stomach. She'd brought a massage oil with her that she'd hoped she'd have a chance to use. She poured some in her palm, warmed it in her hands, and began massaging his neck and back. She liked touching his body. It had given her such pleasure. She stroked his arms, his shoulders, pressed especially into the small of his back, and let her hands glide down his buttocks to his thighs. She looked at his body, studied it, as she touched it. His legs were spread, and in the light, she could see between his legs, his balls. Her fingers massaged and touched and explored. She wondered how he felt about being so exposed to her, his buttocks spread. She wondered what her touch might do for him, as her fingers lightly rubbed down his crack to his balls, her hands brushing the inside of his thighs, her still-swollen puss resting lightly on his leg. She hoped he'd lie there and allow himself to receive pleasure, focusing only on each sensation that her touch brought him. She murmured something to him. He didn't respond. Then she realized that he was asleep. She laughed. How could someone fall asleep while being so openly explored and looked at and touched? However, she was pleasuring so much in touching him that she continued, knowing that his body, if not his mind, would experience her touch. She stroked his thighs, his calves, his feet. She massaged his feet for a long time for they looked as though they had walked upon too many cement sidewalks and not enough sand or grass. She rubbed oil into his soles, slowly, methodically, patiently. For her, sensuality melded with sexuality. She wondered what turned him on most. She wanted him to tell her. Her entire body was an erogenous zone, although her most sensitive areas were the side of her neck, her eyes, her scalp, the insides of her ears, her back, the insides of her thighs, and all of her pussy. Having a massage was for her an erotic prelude; it relaxed her, warmed her, aroused her. For a long time, she'd not thought her breasts that sensitive, but that had changed when, after reading some erotica, she'd rubbed her clit very slowly and lightly while pulling on her nipples. Having slept alone so much in the last few years, masturbation had become as much a solace as a relief, and it had taught her much about which fantasies aroused her more, what ways of touching stimulated her most. When she was younger, she'd masturbated occasionally with one aim: orgasm. Now, she touched herself in a more lingering fashion. The escalating excitement, each sensation, each twinge, as she filed through the fantasies in her mind, searching for the one that night that would most excite her, were what felt best. Many times she did not want to come. She did not want the sensations to end. But, while the masturbating had become a highly erotic and enjoyable experience, it was nothing compared to seeing and feeling Phaedrus' pleasure and excitement, and it was nothing compared to his touching her. Afterwards, and remembering their sex earlier, not as a video replay in her mind but more as an all-encompassing fusion of heat and connection and orgasm, she smoked a last cigarette and gazed at him sleeping. Finally, for the first time, she turned out the lights, slipped under the covers and felt him without seeing him.