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What If I...

By: Midastouch1313



What if I were to watch you touch yourself? I picture you sitting down, cross-legged with your long, dark hair covering all the essential parts of your sleek and cinnamon naked body, (shoulders, breasts, nipples and partial thighs).

Both of your hands would be folded together between your legs, hiding your precious pussy. You would then lean back, relax, rest your head back on the wall behind the bed headboard and slowly start touching yourself. You take your hair strands and gently stroke your shoulders and chest, like a feather. You arouse your nipples with soft brushstrokes from the ends of your hair strands. Your nipples are extremely erect and hard with goosebumps. You wet the tips of your fingers with your tongue and roll them around their circumference while gently blowing on them. You hold both your breasts tightly close to your body with both hands.

You then take one hand and slowly run your index finger down from your breast to your thigh. You go up and down your soft inside thigh with slow and Paisley shaped movements. You look downward and slouch a little to get comfortable. Then you start slowly touching your wet and swollen clit. You're still caressing your breast nipple with your other hand and strands of hair.

You hear a noise in the background. Where did it come from? At this point, you don't care. You're so focused and intent on getting off, you don't care. You proceed to touch yourself. You are incredibly wet and happen to look up and see a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You say to yourself 'I look good and especially good when I do this. If someone was watching me, that would be incredibly exciting for me and for him.'

You insert one finger deep inside you while rubbing and massaging your outside clit with the base of that finger. You are soaked and hot. You are so wet that you want to taste yourself from your fingers, so you oblige yourself and indulge.

You hear that noise again. This time it's a little louder and a little closer.

It's me watching you from behind the curtains. You see, that my pants are down and I'm touching myself also. You find this a little disturbing, but it turns you on even more. You spread your legs further apart to expose your tasty and glistening pussy to me. And you start rubbing harder and faster. You roll you eyes back in ecstasy, but try and keep them open to glance at me and yourself in the mirror. You're about to cum but scream out "I know you're watching me. Come out from behind those drapes and let's cum and watch each other together."

I emerge from behind the drapes a little embarrassed but very hard. I continue stroking and we watch and listen to each other climax loudly.

But before we climax, you command me to strip naked in front of you. You sit there, cross-legged and continue touching yourself as I strip. You tell me to sit in front of you. I sit opposite you between your legs. You tell me to stop stroking. You just want to watch me sit there hard and frustrated while you pleasure yourself. As I sit there spread Eagle and at attention, you rub yourself rhythmically. My dick is bobbing and throbbing on its own enjoying your show.

You climax is so strong; it shakes the bed like an earthquake. You scream loudly and ferociously. Every curse word imaginable comes out of your mouth as you shiver and shake, yet you don't remember what you say.

I sit there in amazement over what I'm witnessing. A woman so sexually charged charging full speed ahead like a steam engine.

After your mind blowing orgasm, you wipe the burning sweat off your eyes and fan your satiated face with your hands. You look up and notice me sitting there ready as your boy toy.

Now, you have me in a compromising and vulnerable position. With a confused, awkward yet welcoming face, I nervously await your directive.

"How dare you sneak into my room and watch me in my most personal and private moments." You say angrily and adamantly. You are about to slap me across the face. I close my eyes, wince my face and turn my head anticipating the impact. Your hand stops in mid air and you quickly change direction and decide not to slap my face, but my hard cock instead. You start slapping it hard with both hands in different directions, left and right making it red and sore. In a strange way, we both find this most exciting. You continue doing this to me. In fact, you grab a silk scarf out of your closet and tie a knot tightly around the base of my erect penis, thus cutting off the blood circulation. You firmly grasp and hold my dick by mid-shaft with one hand and grab my swollen balls with the other and pull downward.

You look squarely at my face and say, "Had enough yet?"

"No", I say with un-satisfaction, "continue doing that. Pretend my body is your playground."

This further excites you and brings a new round of unexplored exploration to you.

You hold and squeeze my shaft just below its head harder and without mercy, making it swell. You're squeezing it so hard, it's oozing out its pre-cum. You squeeze a good healthy glob on your finger, put it on my tongue and make me taste it.

"Don't swallow", you tell me sternly. "I want to share it off your tongue."

After we share that you let go of my cock, grab my hand and put the top of it against your pussy lips to show me how fucking wet you still are. As I look there and become distracted you take your other hand and firmly grab my hair to pull my head down between your legs. My face is soaked from your sweet juices. You want me to devour you. I make my tongue rigid and extend it as far out as I could. As my tongue enters your wet hole, you feel an incredible inward rush toward your pussy. You push your body close to me face, practically suffocating me. I'm moving my firm tongue vigorously inside you, fucking you with it. As I tongue fuck you, I suck hard practically creating a vacuum inside you. You taste wonderful and you're still holding my head firmly between your legs.

Then you push my head away forcefully, which causes me to lie flat on my back. You untie the tight scarf from around my cock and mount me. You turn your back to me, and slide me ever so easily inside you. You rest your hands on my feet and grind my dick with deep, circular motions. Your motion of grinding, slowly massages and strokes your inside clit. Even though my dick is swimming inside you, we still feel your intense grinding. You gyrate, push and squat up and down. I pop out for a second, but you glide me right back in gracefully.

You rotate around while I'm still inside you, lean back, hold my knees again and continue to grind while facing me. You intently look in my deep, dark Brown eyes and say, "I want to feel you explode inside me as I gyrate around your cock".

I see and feel the strength of your thigh muscles as you squat on top of me. I feel you squeeze my dick from your Cagle muscles. You rest, lean back, more and start rubbing your clit with your fingers. You never once took your eyes off mine. Intensely, I'm about ready to shoot. You feel the rush of my Jizz coming from my tight testicles. You reach around grab and hold them. I'm about to blast and you squeeze your Cagle muscles tightly around my dick while still squatting up and down on top of me. You want me to keep my eyes open as I cum. I try my best, but I am unable to.

The sheets, and us are soaked with sweat and cum. I look up at you and see that gorgeous dark head of sweat soaked hair, draped along your sweaty chest. Your body is shaking with after-cum vibrations and tremors. But you still grind a little just for comfort and relief. You don't want to pull me out yet. I sit inside you, quasi hard, with an occasional Cagle squeeze.

"You just don't let up on me." I say while catching my breath.

Just for that comment, you slowly gyrate a little more. But you don't have much energy left. After a few seconds of silence, you lift off me and I slide out of that warm pool inside you.

You squeeze my cheeks together with your thumb and forefinger and are about to say something wicked, but you think twice about it and just say "You, you...."

We give little kiss and jump in the shower together.

What If I Had Submitted . . .



Here's a story i wrote a while back. It's based in fact - i used to have a girlfriend who kept wanting to tie me up. For whatever reason, i kept putting her off. i've often wondered since what would have happened if i had said yes . . . .

She had been after him for some time to try new things with her. He had always held back. There was just something very mischievous in her eyes that made him think, "Nah – I don't quite trust her . . ."

But they had drunk copious amounts of wine that night, and it made him horny; it made his defenses drop. So when she asked again, "Can I tie you up?" he thought, "Sure, why not!"

They lay in bed together, bodies shining with the moist sweat from their foreplay. He loved the feel of her fingers on his skin as she traced patterns over his chest. He pulled her on top of him stroked her ass with one hand and caressed her long dark hair with the other. Slowly she pulled his one hand from her bottom and the other from her head and pulled them up towards the headboard.

"Let me tie you up . . ." This time it was a bit more assertive. He looked deep into her eyes. What he found staring back at him was the most serene, mature, purposeful look he had ever seen from her. "Okay . . . yes", he found himself saying. She smiled. Licked her upper lip a bit. He thought he'd better one more thing in. "Here's the deal"; he found his throat becoming a little dry; "If I'm able to get out, I get to do whatever I want with you." She coyly turned her head just a little from him and smiled. "Deal" she smiled, "But I first get to do whatever I want to with you." He found his heart racing, yet he said, "Sure, whatever!"

"Go pee first," she said, "and I'll get ready." He hopped off the bed, leaned in to give her a kiss, but she placed her fingers on his lips. "Pee – go!" And so he did.

As he finished, he thought about what was about to happen. He had played at bondage before, but the girlfriends were not into experimenting, or just lay there waiting for him to finish fucking them. Anne was different. She was more – bohemian, yeah; she would have made a good hippie chick years ago. What with her being a vegetarian, the long hair she wore in braids sometimes, her peasant skirts, the sandals,. She was not the type of girl that he usually went out with, and that's what made her even more attractive to him. She was . . . different.

He washed off the tip of his dick, thinking that if she went down on him she wouldn't want to taste piss. He looked at himself in the mirror. Not a handsome guy, but fit. He thought to himself, man this'll be fun.

She called out for him; "Hey come back before I fall asleep . . ."

He wandered back to her bedroom. They had the house to themselves. She had been able to get his tiny little summer cottage for herself last fall and so they need not worry about making noises.

He came back into the room. She had lit several candles that gave the room an eerie shimmer. Along with the wine he had drank, he had the feeling he was underwater; in another world. She sat in the wicker chair next to the bed. When he saw her his mouth grew dry. She was not the hippie chick, she was wearing shiny black boots that went just over her knees. Short shiny leather gloves covered her delicate little girl hands. Her legs were crossed and her chin rested on her folded hands. "Lie down" she told him. Wordlessly he crawled onto her bed and propped himself on his side facing her. "On . . . your . . . back." He laid backwards, fidgeting with his arms, not sure what to do with them. Then he remembered and opened himself speadeagled. "Good boy," she cooed. She fairly leaped off the chair with a length of rope in her hands and tied his left wrist to the pole on the headboard. Once done she did the same to the right wrist. Good knots, he thought as she cinched and tied them. Then she walked to the foot of the bed. The first touch of her leather fingers to his legs made him arch his back a little. She smiled, but he did not see it as he had closed his eyes in ecstasy. She pulled his legs together and then PULLED him down towards the foot of the bed with such strength that it took him by surprise. He yanked his head up to look at her, but she admonished him to lay it back down. She spread his legs and tied his ankles to the footboard poles. For a moment he thought she was finished, then he felt her tie just above his knees and pull them towards the edge of the bed. He winced a little as she tied each knee to the frame of the bed. His legs were now stretched apart almost to their limits.

He struggled a little. "Go ahead, try and get out," she challenged him. He struggled a little harder each time. Man, he thought, she is good. "You dared me to make it hard to escape, so I did." Was he reading too much into things, or did she say that a little matter of factly. He heard her pouring some wine. Then, she was on top of him.

"Hi," she said, "are you okay?"

"Yeah; yeah I am."

"Good. Drink this." She pulled his head up with one hand and poured some wine into his mouth. It dribbled down his chin a little and she leaned over and licked it up. Then she took a long pull off the goblet. She put the glass down on the night stand, turned back to look at him in the eyes, took his face into her gloved hands, leaned down and kissed him. It was a very innocent closed mouth kiss at first, then he felt the cool liquid slip between his lips. He opened his mouth and she opened hers, pouring the wine down. It was a trick he had taught her months ago. When she was done, she looked at him and said, "Now kiss me as if it would be the last time." They mouths met passionately, he reaching up as far as he could to kiss, suck, nibble, lick her wet lips. She teased him by pulling her head backwards until he was almost begging for her to kiss him, then she attacked his mouth. That was the best way to describe it. She lunged at him with such force and sensuality that it took their breathes away. Then she stopped, jumped off of him and said, "Because that was the last kiss for a long while." Very matter of factly.

From under the bed she pulled out a suitcase. He heard the locks pop open. She turned back to him and told him to open wide.

"What?"

She grabbed his nose, pinched it and pulled up. Instinctively he opened his mouth and she stuffed a rubber ball in between his teeth. She then told him to keep his head up. He had seen ballgags in the bondage magazines, but never live and in person. He felt the straps dig into the corners of his mouth and winced. "Oh hon!" she exclaimed, "too tight?" He nodded his head and gave the best "uh huh" he could. Then she buckled it a notch more. "Too bad." She then pushed his head back onto the bed. She turned back to the suitcase. He could see just above his arms that she was pulling out a roll of white tape. She ripped off a long piece and covered over the ball and strap. More ripping of tape. When she was done the lower part of his mouth from ear to ear was covered in tape. She climbed up on top of him and very carefully smoothed out the wrinkles.

"Talk for me."

"Mmmmuh ah aan mu ah sse?"

"Tell me this is your biggest fantasy."

He nodded his head.

She gritted her teeth; "Say it!"

"Tttss ahs mh iiggsh pphnahee."

"Can you open your mouth wider?"

Beneath the layers of tape, he managed to open his mouth a little wider. Almost immediately she pushed the ball deeper in, and then notched a leather strap between his teeth and behind his head. His eyes widened in panic.

"Close your mouth." He did as he was told.

She then pulled out an Ace bandage, held the end and wrapped it around the top of his head under his chin. She wound the elastic bandage around his head and taped the end. The effect was that the ball was deeply in his mouth and he was practically biting into the leather straps holding it.

She then leaned over, and whispered in his ear, "Tell me this is your biggest fantasy."

All he could make was mewing sounds.

She traced her gloved finger around his chest, moved it down between his legs and whispered in his ear, "Tell me this is your biggest fantasy." The she grabbed his balls.

He made noises somewhere between sobs and cries.

She released him and lay down next to him.

"I know this is an effective gag. I used to do it to my sister."

His breathe came out quickly from his nose.

"Don't be scared. Don't be nervous," she reassured him. "I love you. I would never harm you. It's just that I've wanted to do this with you since we first started sleeping together."

He turned his head to look at her. She pushed it back and made him gaze at the ceiling. He watched the candles dance on the ceiling as she whispered to him. "It'd be okay; I won't let you get hurt."

For the next few hours she used him. She rode him like a slutty rich girl rides a pony. She went down on him until he was ready to explode and then stopped. She sucked on almost every part of his body. When he fought against his bonds in frustration, she tied his elbows and waist to the bedframe. She sat on his face until he clenched his hands into fists, then she taped the fists up. When she took a break, she would lean into his ear and sometimes breathlessly say, "Tell me this is your biggest fantasy."

Finally when the sun began to paint the sky, she cuddled with him. She took out a bottle of baby oil, drenched his cock with it and then began to give him a hand job with her gloved hands. In no time what so ever he came. As he did, it went into another dimension, another reality, where all the pieces came together and all was right with the world. He looked for her, but she was gone. He soon fell asleep.

When he awoke, he blinked and squinted. Had it all been a dream? He rolled over, but could not stretch. He tried calling for her, but realized that the ball was still in his mouth. "UUHHAAAHHNN!!" He tried to yell for Anne, but something has keeping him from opening his jaw. Then he realized that darkness was still around him. Crap, she blindfolded me, he thought.

He tried to sit up, but discovered that his arms were tied behind him, each wrist tied to the other arm's elbow. It felt like his hands were still taped.

"UUHHAAAHHNN!!"

He could roll around on the bed, but dare not go too far for fear of falling off. He took stock of his condition: hands tied behind me; she has me gagged somehow, my balls feel tight, my knees are tied together, but I . . . can . . . move . . . my ankles a bit. I wish I could see . . .

"UUHHAAAHHNN!!"

"You don't have to shout!"

Her voice was in front of him. Honey let me go, he thought.

"Uh huh, yeah he's awake now. Come on over when you can."

He shook his head. What? Who is she talking to?

"Good morning," she purred. He felt her sit next to him. "Have fun last night?"

He nodded his head yes, then remembered what she did before. "Jyss ah duhd."

"Good boy." And she was gone. He listed for her movements. Shuffling, scraping.

"Close your eyes," she told him and he obeyed. He felt her untying something around his head and then the . . . scarf? bandanna? ace bandage? came off.

"Open your eyes."

He looked and saw a reflection on himself. On his head was a leather harness that covered his mouth and jaw, and was secured with numerous leather straps. He found himself wearing a collar with a ring in front. Ropes wrapped around his upper body pinning his arms to his back. She tied his balls with thin leather straps, the long end of which hung down between his legs. His knees were bound, above and below, with white clothes line as was his ankles.

"It wasn't hard to get you untied, but it took hours to tie you back up like that."

He breathed steadily. Was this okay? Should he feel safe here?

He looked to her, tried to stretch a little, and moaned. Anne let me go?, he thought.

"Nope" she said, as if she read his mind. "What was it you said: 'If I'm able to get out, I get to do whatever I want with you?'"

He rolled his eyes in his head and nodded as if to say "yea, I know . . ."

She leaned down into his face and gave a little gulp. She pressed her lips together and then bit the lower one. In a soft voice she said, "You frightened me when you said that." His eyes grew wider. He shook his head.

"You frightened me when you said that," she repeated. "I can't let you go," she whispered

Just then the phone rang, Anne picked it up and spoke in a completely different tone: "Hey . . . yeah still here. Okay see you then." She started to walk off. He began to struggle and call out for her.

"You are staying here, do you UNDERSTAND!!??" He fought and under the gag called her names he would never mention out loud. She grabbed the leash that held his balls and pulled on it. She then grabbed him by the back of the head and said in her sexiest voice, "Baby, calm down. We're role playing, okay? Shhhhhhhhhh...." Her soft voice calmed him down. He stopped struggling and caught his breath.

"Is this your biggest fantasy?" He stopped and thought about it. She sat next to him on the bed. "It's the weekend, you've got nowhere to go, no family to see. Play with me please?" His breathe drew regular as she rubbed his back. "Please?" He nodded okay. "Don't be scared. Don't be nervous," she reassured him.

"I love you. I would never harm you. It's just that I've wanted to do this with you since we first started sleeping together." He blinked. They had never said they loved each other, and here she was telling him this twice in . . . . how many hours had he been out?

"Lie down and relax." She pulled out so hankies and an ace bandage. "First, I'm going to blindfold you again." She folded the hankies into squares and placed one over his eye. She taped over it, then did the same over the other. Then, unexpectedly, she placed a plug into each ear. He didn't fight it as she wrapped the ace bandage tightly around his head. She laid him back onto the bed, but didn't cover him. As he laid there, he found himself drifting off, not into sleep, but into a peaceful calm. Remembrances came back to him. The cowboys and Indians games played in the neighborhood. Smelling his mother's perfume, but not being able to touch her or kiss her goodnight. The overwhelming sense of . . . security . . . safety . . . when she used to bind and . . . .

He didn't know how long he lay there, but hands were touching him, pulling him up to sit on the edge of the bed. The head harness came off, then the gag. He was fed a banana. "Anne?" he called, but fingers on his lips told him to shush. He was given a chocolate shake to drink, no . . . wait . . . it's one of those diet chocolate drinks for breakfast. Is it breakfast already? Is it Sunday?

He felt the edge of the ball touch his lips. He opened his mouth wide . . . wider . . . crap this one is huge! The ball popped between his teeth and was strapped tightly in. Then he felt the straps of the harness weave over his head again. I'm being a compliant little slave, aren't I hon, he thought.

The straps of the harness dug deep into his skin. Even if he wanted to, he could not move his jaw. The drool started almost immediately.

The fingers checked, rechecked and in some cases tightened the ropes around his body. It hurt, but he was getting really turned on. He was feeling very calm. The fingers undid the bandage around his head, slipping it carefully from beneath the straps of his head harness. The tape was peeled off and the hankies taken away from the eyes . . .

To reveal Rachel Servage. What the fuck! Rachel?

Rachel was a mutual friend of Anne and his. She was what writers would call a "handsome" woman. Somewhat like the stereotypical nerdy kid on TV. She even wore her hair in pigtails sometimes. The three of them had been lunch friends for a while, but nothing more. Right now she was sitting next to him on the bed. Smiling. Saying something he could not hear. His eyes betrayed his confusion. She covered her mouth and laughed. She then reached over and took out the earplugs.

"Surprised?" He slowly nodded yes. "I imagine you would be." He tried to say what are you doing here . . .

She leaned over to him, took him by the chin and said very firmly, "Shut the fuck up."

He actually shuddered when she said that.

"It's Saturday night, and Anne lent you to me." He gulped.

Rachel stood up and began to undo the farmers' jeans she wore. "Actually, we've been wanting to do this for a while but you would not cooperate." The jeans fell to the floor. Rachel was wearing . . . stockings?

She lifted the sweatshirt over her head to reveal a red satin corset. "I know I look like a nerd," she said still with her back to him. She reached into a duffel bag and pulled out two red satin gloves. "But I also am a very assertive woman." She then pulled out a pair of stiletto heels and slipped her feet into them.

When she turned around the pigtails were gone. Rachel loomed over him. The corset had no cups and her breasts were full and exposed. She stepped over to him and bent forward into his face. "I know what I want. And I have wanted you for some time." She then grabbed the leash on his balls and pulled him up. He winced and she pulled higher. "I told you to shut the fuck up" She then pulled out a wide leather strap wrapped it over his mouth and notched it in tight. The effect was to drive the large ball further into his mouth and crush his tongue. He began to panic.

"Stop" she commanded. "Calm down. You will get used to it." He summoned up all his willpower to calm himself. Once his breathing was normal, she tugged his leash and he shuffled behind her.

She took him out to the living room. All the lights were off, and he hoped the shades were down. In the middle of the room was a short stocky figure kneeling on a barstool. It didn't take much to realize it was Anne, but why . . .

Rachel left him standing and walked over to a floor lamp, the kind with a bendable neck. She flicked on a switch and a very bright light illuminated Anne. He could see that she was bound with her arms behind her, in an almost reverse prayer. Ropes criss-crossed the upper part of her body, and her breasts were tied in a figure 8. She was kneeling on the barstool with her legs and thighs tied to each other and then to the seat of the stool. He long black hair had been covered with a bathing cap, and she was gagged with tape as effectively as he had been the night before. A wide strip of silver duct tape covered her eyes.

Rachel walk over to her and without warning ripped the duct tape off her eyes. Anne squinted. Rachel pulled up on her chin and he could see she had been crying. Mascara ran from her eyes to her cheeks.

"Do you like what you see?" Who was she talking to? He felt that Rachel's words were mocking him. She could see his hard on. She knew he was excited.

"Her ears are plugged. She has no fucking idea what I am saying to you. What I will tell you is that neither one of you will get released until Monday at dawn." He whimpered and shook his head. At his distress, Anne mewed.

"I am going to explore every dominant feeling I have, and you two WILL be my willing subjects."

He rolled his head back, he shook no over and over again. Anne began to cry.

Rachel walked over him, wrapped her arms around him. Held him. Rubbed his back. Relaxing him as he smelled her perfume while not being able to touch her or kiss her. The overwhelming sense of . . . sanctuary . . . refuge . . .

Suddenly he felt calm. He knew this woman, and he found himself wanting her to want him.

"Don't be scared. Don't be nervous," she reassured him. "I love you. I would never harm you. It's just that I've wanted to do this with you since we first started sleeping together." She nodded her head towards Anne.

Then she took his face into her satin hands and looked him deep in the eyes.

"Tell me this is your biggest fantasy."



What If It Hadn't Rained?



There must be thousands -- possibly millions -- of 'what ifs' in everyone's life.

Without even pausing to think too much, I can recall a number of really significant ones in mine.

I mean, 'what if' I hadn't turned down (very gently, I might add) the rather odd-looking boy who'd asked me for a date when we were in our final year at school? He had a pleasant enough manner, always dressed smartly and was a brilliant student. He's now a friend on Facebook and that's how I know he's been very successful, has a house that's virtually a mansion, plus a lovely wife and three adorable children.

Instead, because I was considered to be what, in those days, was referred to as a 'looker,' I attracted the attention of one of the school's best looking sporting types. As it happens, he's also been successful in some ways; he followed his dream and became a pretty successful tennis player. Of course, as I've also learned from Facebook, the fact that he's already had two failed marriages and his third appears to be heading in the same direction probably detracts from the term 'successful' a bit. The fact is, though, that he dumped me after our third date when I wouldn't let him get his hand inside my blouse.

And then, 'what if' I'd chosen to go to university -- my grades were (just about!) good enough -- instead of deciding to seek employment and the chance to be independent? Perhaps I'd have followed a proper career path instead of restlessly moving from job to job in those first few years. Who knows; I might have become a wealthy lawyer (is there any other kind?), or a doctor or one of those accountants who appear to rule the world nowadays, or... well, I'm sure you get the picture.

And 'what if' I'd accepted the job that was offered to me, when I was nineteen, to model lingerie for a mail order catalogue? I know I had the looks for it; I only have to look at the photographs from around that time to see a lissom blonde with an attractively sexy face and a five-foot-six frame that seemed to be mostly legs. The offer came from a customer in the unisex hairdressers where I was working at the time. He'd arranged to meet me after work and took me for a coffee while he showed me a portfolio of his work. It had been sexy, of course, but a long way from explicit. I'll admit that I'd been tempted at the time, but I was sensible enough to say I'd think it over. Eventually, I decided not to (I was still a bit shy and the idea of appearing in a catalogue wearing very skimpy bits of material was just a bit too much for me), and, although the money on offer was pretty good, I eventually found out that the man was also a staff photographer for what may be politely described as a 'men's magazine.' So heaven only knows where that may have led me to.

And a final 'what if' before I get into the story proper. Later that same year I began my first serious affair. I don't mean that it was my first experience of sex -- I'd already had two (very disappointing) 'brief encounters' by then - but it was the first time that I genuinely believed I was in love. He was a trainee manager in the bank where I worked (I'd given up on the hairdressing -- long hours and lousy pay!), his name was Jerry and he was a dish! Not only that, but he was intelligent, witty, charming and, above all, patient.

We'd been dating for nearly three months before I slept with him -- I'd become a fairly cautious type -- and it was different to anything I'd known before. My previous experiences, as I've said, were pretty unsatisfactory. Both of them had resented having to use condoms, both of them had paid little attention to very much in the way of foreplay and each of them had lasted no more than five minutes or so between putting the fresh condom on and taking the filled one off.

Jerry was four years older than me, but he'd only had a couple of fairly long-lasting affairs. Even so, he'd obviously learned a lot from them because, for the first time, he showed me how enjoyable sex could be. He took his time with me, concentrating on getting me to relax and feel comfortable with those intimate touches and then steadily bringing me to arousal. It was the first time, as far as I can remember, when I actually reached a state of craving for penetration -- something he accomplished very gently and very smoothly -- and, far from there being any resentment at wearing a condom, he did so of his own accord. Perhaps I've got my rose-tinted spectacles on as I recall that first time with him, I can't be sure, but I remember that night as being as being a very special one for me. It was the first time I'd 'made love' rather than just 'having sex;' the first time I reached a climax while my lover was inside me. It was also the first time that I was given a long, loving cuddle afterwards -- something that went a long way to making me feel comfortable with him and wanting to be with him again.

I wasn't able to spend the night with him that first time (I was still living with my parents at the time and they'd have worried if I hadn't turned up), but he insisted on getting dressed and giving me a lift home in his car. 

The following day was a Sunday, which meant no work, so I didn't really expect to see him until the day after. By mid-morning, however, he was on the phone to ask me if I'd come for lunch with him. When he turned up at the house a couple of hours later, instead of just parking and waiting, he came to the door and introduced himself to my parents. They were definitely impressed by the smart young man with the well-cut suit and the charming manners, especially when he asked if they would like to come with us for lunch. Fortunately, my mum declined very graciously (I think they'd have been pretty cramped in his small car). Anyway, he took me a pub way out in the countryside where they served an excellent Sunday lunch and where, afterwards, we were able to work the effects of it off with a pleasant walk through some nice scenery.

Of course, we ended up going back to his small, but comfortable apartment where, for the first time I can ever remember, I was actually looking forward to a sexual encounter. And he didn't disappoint me. The only major difference was that, when he went to put the condom on, I told him that it wasn't necessary -- that I was on the pill. I'd actually been taking it for a couple of years at my mum's insistence -- "You never know, Sally," she'd said, "these things can happen when you least expect them... it's always best to be safe." With my two previous lovers (not really the word I'd choose, but it'll have to do), I'd preferred the extra security -- unsure how many partners there'd been in their pasts and, therefore, what unwanted souvenirs they might leave me with - but I felt confident, as well as comfortable, with Jerry.

That was the first time I undressed for a man. Jerry asked if I would and, though still a bit shy, I was willing to do it -- and absolutely delighted when he undressed and I saw the effect it had on him! We made love, if I remember correctly, three times that day -- each time being better than the one before -- and, by the third time I was, thanks to his encouragement, able to tell him what felt good, what felt really good, and what absolutely blew my mind!

About a month later, with my parents' blessing, I moved in with him. Thanks to our combined incomes, plus a little help from both his parents and mine, we were able to buy a much better apartment and I guess everyone, including me, thought it was only a matter of time before we decided to 'formalise' the arrangement with a wedding.

The thing was, though, that once we were living together, something changed. For the first few months it was like an extended honeymoon -- and I'm not just talking about the sex. I mean, don't get me wrong, the sex was absolutely terrific! We tried just about everything we could think of doing. When sex wasn't on the menu -- during my period, for example -- I learned how to give him a proper blowjob. It was something I'd never done before -- the thought of it had actually disgusted me to be honest -- but I was so determined to please him that I gave it a try and found that I actually enjoyed it. I'm not saying I enjoyed it as much as he did -- and I only learned to swallow because he clearly preferred it -- but, I enjoyed his enjoyment, if that makes any sense. 

We also, after several months together, tried anal sex. It was okay, and something we returned to from time to time, but it didn't do a great deal for either of us. His particular preference was for normal, straight sex - with me on top so that he was free to play with my breasts and then, as he approached his climax, to flip us over so that he could feel my long legs clasping him tightly.

So, it was quite idyllic for a while. We spent virtually all our time together; at work, at home and at play. Then he was promoted and became a fully-fledged manager.

The bank had a policy that promotion of that kind meant a transfer -- probably to prevent any kind of favouritism towards those he knew - and, even though it was only to another branch in the same town, I honestly believe that was the point where it all began to go awry. It wasn't that he minded leaving to go somewhere else, more a case of not wanting to leave me where I was. For the first time, I began to realise that Jerry had a real problem with jealousy.

Let me make something very clear; he didn't have any reason to be jealous. I was, and probably would have continued to be, entirely his and no one else's. There was a bit of flirting, of course, as there always is in what was basically a pretty humdrum job. A couple of the younger men who worked with us had tried to chat me up a bit when they knew Jerry wasn't watching, my looks were good enough to get me a lot of admiring glances, and a couple of the more senior men (both of whom were married and ought to have known better) made oblique, but fairly clear approaches that I simply laughed off; which was all fine as long as Jerry was working in the same building and we were able to talk about it.

Once we were working apart, however, it was different. 

At first, it was phone calls and texts from him; asking how I was doing, asking what I was doing, asking if I was missing him. I thought it rather sweet to begin with but, after a while, it began to interfere with the work I was supposed to be doing -- and it must have been the same for him. Eventually I had to tell him, quite truthfully, that my immediate boss -- a lovely old lady who looked as though she'd been with the bank since they dealt in sovereigns and guineas -- told me that I needed to spend a bit less time answering private calls. His reaction wasn't good. He called the old dear a lot of names that were not only unpleasant but extremely vulgar -- vulgar enough to shock me because, as I've said, he was very well-mannered.

At around that time, I also realised that the e-mails on my laptop at home were being opened before I had a chance to get to them. When I asked him about it, his reply was to query whether I had anything to hide. I didn't, of course, and they should have shown him that -- they were mostly from relatives who lived far away, friends who were inviting us (and I must emphasise the 'us'), to social events, and far too much spam!

Then he began to ask me about what my day had been like. Now, I don't mean, a casual enquiry -- it was practically the third degree. He wanted to go over every conversation I'd had. Then he wanted to know if the usual lechers were still trying to chat me up ("Get into your knickers" was the phrase I think he used most often), who I'd talked to during my lunch break, and so on. Eventually, and inevitably, we had a row about it. I told him he had no reason to question me, that I wasn't the least bit interested in anyone else, but I knew it wasn't getting through to him. What made it worse was that I was studying for some banking exams that would mean an improvement in my position and my earning capacity, and there were some days when I had to stay behind for that. I could absolutely guarantee, when I eventually emerged from the bank and drove home, that I would catch a glimpse of his car just a little way behind -- trying not to be seen.

Finally, our sex life began to suffer. He began to treat me quite roughly and I really didn't like it. I don't mean he was violent; it was just that there were now many times when it felt as if I was being used rather than loved.

Eventually, at my insistence, we took a holiday together. We spent our days lying on a sunny beach and our evenings going to shows or the cinema. During the second week, when I felt that the time was right, I made him talk about the way he felt. It wasn't easy -- he was very reluctant at first -- but he eventually apologised for having been so jealous and promised it would stop.

It didn't. It got worse.

When I challenged him about it again, we had a blazing row and, for the first time, I spent the night on the couch in the living room because I knew that I'd be in for a night of pretty harsh sex if I didn't.

The following day, instead of the usual apology (I was perfectly prepared to offer one as well), he insisted on driving me to work. On the way, he said he wanted to pick me up at lunchtime -- he'd arranged a few hours off for himself -- and take me to choose an engagement ring. He said the only way to settle what was happening was to get married. Then we could start a family; I'd be at home to look after the children instead of being out to work and, since he'd be free to phone, text or even drop in at home at any time of the day, it would remove his 'concerns.'

So, 'what if' I'd agreed?

'What if' I hadn't left work mid-morning and gone back to my parents' home and explained everything to my mum? 

What if I hadn't heeded her advice to get out of the relationship as soon as possible because I'd end up being a life-long victim if I didn't?

I've no idea, of course. That's the thing with the vast majority of 'what ifs;' we can never really know the answers to them. What did happen was that he came round to see me -- my mum stayed with me -- and claimed that I was imagining most of what I'd said about him. It didn't work. Despite his charm and his impeccable manners, there was no way that he could have won either of us round and I moved back in with my parents for a little while. Eventually, after a tortuous few months (during which he always seemed to be in my driving mirror whenever I went out), he finally seemed to accept that it was over. The apartment was sold and the money divided between us. Unfortunately, he still tended to show up wherever I went -- far too often for normal coincidence, and I began to realise that it was time for me to move on.

I left to take a job with an 'offshore' bank, found a rented apartment and settled down to nurse my wounds.

To begin with, I thought it was the worst decision I'd ever made. It was difficult to be so far away from everything that was familiar to me -- especially as I was now based on a fairly small island where everyone seemed to know everyone else and an outsider such as myself had to be patient when it came to acceptance. 

It didn't help, of course, that I'd arrived in mid-October. The weather was foul; lots of rain, a good deal of fog and mist, and frequent high winds.

So there was nowhere to go without a companion -- other than an occasional trip to the local cinema -- and I was finding it really difficult to make new friends. So I spent most evenings alone; usually watching a load of dross on the television and eating takeaway meals. The lifestyle (if you can really call it that), along with my sedentary job, meant that I began to put on weight. There was one evening in early December when I stepped out of the shower and took a look at myself in the mirror. I'd looked at myself every day, of course, when I was fixing my hair and putting make-up on, but what I mean is that this time I really looked. And I really didn't like what I saw.

It wasn't just the fact that I was beginning to have to squeeze into my clothes -- so much so that I was close to buying a larger size -- but my face was beginning to show signs of 'puffiness' and there was definite evidence of blotchiness on my skin from my poor diet. That night, I cried myself to sleep and seriously thought about returning home. I desperately missed my family -- especially my mum (who was probably aware of my unhappiness from the amount of time I spent on the phone to her saying that everything was 'good'). I missed my friends, too. I missed all the stupid gossip, the discussions about their relationships, about clothes, about holidays -- all the things I'd taken for granted.

Did I miss sex? Well, yes... and no. I'm not prevaricating, because there are genuinely two answers to that. What I missed most was what some romantics refer to as the afterglow. You know, the feeling that comes to you when you've shared those pleasures with someone you care about; when you settle down afterwards with a pair of strong arms around you to make you feel safe and secure while your whole body seems aglow with a deep contentment. Drifting off to sleep like that was one of the special pleasures I really craved -- along with waking up beside your partner and having an early morning kiss and a cuddle that would sometimes lead to a little bit more.

And I was beginning to lose my looks.

When I phoned home the following night, mum was out seeing a show at one of the local theatres and it was dad who answered. When I told him that I was really missing everyone, he wasn't the least bit helpful. As far as he was concerned I should have stayed and settled down with Jerry who was 'a good, steady bloke.' His view of Jerry's obsessive jealousy, although he didn't say it in so many words, was that 'there's no smoke without fire.' 

For the second night in a row, I cried myself to sleep -- but when I woke up the next day, I vowed that I never would again. 

To begin with, I joined a gym that was near enough to work to be able to nip in for a session in the evenings after work. Then I splashed out what seemed an extortionate amount of money for the good, protective clothing that enabled me to go for long walks at the weekends in what was remarkably beautiful countryside -- even in the depths of winter. 

I also began to make use of the cookery skills I'd learned from my mother. The frying pan was relegated to the back of the cupboard and I invested in a slow cooker and a decent grill. I cooked everything 'from fresh,' and takeaway food was reduced to a very occasional treat. Even after just a couple of weeks I began to feel much better and maybe it was the feeling of wellbeing that enabled me to become more outgoing, more assertive and more approachable.

After Christmas (when I'd managed to fly home for a few days) I found that I was being accepted far more by the people around me. I made friends with some of the girls I worked with while, once again, I was back to fending off flirtatious advances from my male colleagues -- both single and married. It would have had to be someone truly exceptional to persuade me to become involved with a man I worked with again!

I began to go out occasionally, usually in a small group, more often with a girl from work named April and her friend, Sandra. They were good company, and I was a bridesmaid at April's wedding in early summer. From then, of course, it was mainly Sandra who was my companion. I double-dated with her a couple of times and went on one or two dates on my own, but nothing ever came of it.

The nightclubs were pretty dire; they were filled with loud music, drunks, people who were high as kites on something other than alcohol, and lots of leerers and gropers. After trying them all, I found I didn't particularly want to visit them unless Sandra was really keen to, usually because there was some 'bloke' she fancied that was certain to be there (He never was!) 




What If It Hadn't Rained?



There was, though, a late-night bar called 'The View' that was much more to my taste. It had a tiny dance floor and a jazz trio -- piano, bass and drums -- who played really cool music that was good to listen or dance to. I didn't go much on alcohol, usually just a couple of glasses of white wine before I changed onto the diet soft drinks (my healthy regime was still in full swing and working well). The men who did approach us to request a dance from time to time were nearly always good natured and pleasant.

The summer was a good one. The place filled up with tourists and came alive. The scenery was unbelievably beautiful when I went for one my walks. The evenings at the View were just what I needed to relax and unwind after a week of working hard (I was beginning to take it seriously in the belief that it would be a lifelong job) and I began to feel contented at last. 

August, after the fast couple of weeks was, exceptionally good; there was bright, warm sunshine almost every day and so, on the last Monday of the month (The 'Summer Bank Holiday' in the UK), having found myself with nothing to do, I decided on a nice long walk. I wore a tee shirt, shorts and a good pair of walking shoes, and I took a small backpack containing bottled water and a slightly warmer top in case it began to cool down before I got back.

Normally, I took my little car, parked it, and went on a circular route somewhere; but this time I was feeling a bit more adventurous so I caught a bus going out of town, stopped off about twelve miles from home, and began a leisurely stroll across country. It was actually less than ten miles in a straight line, but there were several steep hills, some deep valleys and a gorgeous glen that I wanted to explore. It was tiring, but immensely enjoyable and I was following a narrow path through a wooded area in late afternoon when the sky suddenly began to darken.

Had I checked the forecast? Of course I had! And, even though the local forecast was normally quite accurate, it hadn't given any indication of what was to come. 

I'd only paused to pull the light sweater over my tee shirt as it began to grow cool, and I'd just about emerged from the trees, when the dark sky suddenly lit up spectacularly. Sheet lightning, followed just four seconds later (I counted them automatically to see how far away it was) by a crash of thunder that seemed to shake the very ground on which I was walking. 

The next one, just as bright, had an interval of nearly seven seconds, so I guessed that it was passing down the east coast of the island and I wouldn't be any danger from it but, just as I gave a little sigh of relief, the heavens opened and I was exposed to the full force of a torrential downpour!

I was faced with two possible routes, both of which led to a led to an out of the way pub where I could find shelter and warmth; one was a long but gentle descent along a well-trodden path, the other a steep descent over jutting rocks and overgrown grass. Obviously, the second one was much shorter and quicker and, equally obviously, that was the one I chose.

I was more than halfway down when I found that it was much steeper than I'd expected. Without wanting to, I was almost running and trying desperately to regain control of my descent when, predictably, I lost my balance. It was an unseen rabbit hole that actually brought about my downfall but, to be honest, it could have been anything because it was almost bound to happen. As I tumbled, I felt a horrible pain in my ankle but there was nothing I could do about it because I was rolling, and falling for what seemed like ages until I finally came to a stop just a few yards from the roadside, but still a long way short of the pub.

I tried to stand up -- and immediately fell down again with shriek of pain. I didn't think the ankle was broken, just that I'd received a nasty sprain but, even so, it hurt like hell. So, there I was, by the roadside; sitting on wet grass, soaked to the skin, and in a lot of pain while the rain continued to pour down on me. All at once I felt helpless and lost.

I tried to manoeuvre myself into some sort of position where I could at least manage to regain an upright position, but the ground was so uneven that I found it very difficult and, when I finally did succeed, I almost immediately fell again when a stone moved beneath the foot I was standing on and I landed quite heavily. I think that was when I put my head in my hands and began to cry. I know that's what I was doing when I heard a voice say;

"What's up, Love? You alright?"

Slowly, I looked up, sniffed loudly and saw a large and very tall man standing over me. I was too sore and too depressed to take very much notice of him other than to notice that he wore jeans and a cagoule jacket with a hood on it. 

Not even looking at him properly, I gave a brief outline of what had happened. And his response?

"You're obviously not a local... only someone from 'across' would think of trying to come down that way... especially when its pi... pouring down!"

"Well, thanks very much!" I snapped, then winced with the pain and tried not to sob in case he'd say that a local wouldn't cry about it either.

"Right, then... well, you can't stay there all day," he said, and I just about managed to bite my tongue before a sarcastic reply about being 'perfectly comfortable, thank you,' was able to surface. I was about to ask him if he'd be kind enough to get some help when, without hesitating, he suddenly reached down, scooped his arms around me and lifted me up as if I weighed nothing at all! I did my best to protest about it, saying that if he could just put me down on the road I could hobble to the pub and call for a taxi to come and pick me up.

"Don't be daft!" he said, "I'll put you in the Landrover and take you to the hospital...."

"I just want to go home," I wailed.

Where do you live?" he asked and, when I told him, he said, "The hospital's nearer. You need to get that ankle looked at. I'll take you to A&E." and it was said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Although he was extremely strong, he also had a very gentle touch; that was confirmed by the way he placed me on the passenger seat of his vehicle and made sure I was comfortable before getting in the other side. There was practically no conversation -- I couldn't make up my mind whether he was shy or just surly but, as we entered the outskirts of the town, I asked him if he had blue lights on top of the car.

"Why's that?"

"Because you're driving too fast -- and this isn't an emergency!"

He turned towards me with a smile on his face and I realised that he was rather good looking in a sort of 'grizzled' way. He didn't say anything, but he did slow down to just a little over the speed limit and we reached our destination a few minutes later. I just about managed to open the door and swing myself around to clamber out when he was suddenly in front of me (he moved fast for a large man!) and my plea that I could manage from there was completely wasted as he simply hoisted me up and carried me inside.

As soon as we entered the casualty department, one of the nurses greeted him with:

"Hallo, Monty! Found another stray, have you?"

"Aye... they're always managing to slide down the hill! This one's damaged an ankle."

I didn't know what on earth that was all about, of course, but the nurse told him to bring me through. He held onto me while a plastic sheet was placed on the examination bed (my clothes were soaking wet and sticking to me) then he carefully placed me down on it, turned, and left.

It took nearly two hours before I was sorted out properly. The ankle (which was quite severely sprained) was tightly bandaged up, I was given an aluminium crutch to support me and some fairly strong painkillers, and a taxi was called to take me home. I had, of course, asked about my kind rescuer and the nurse had told me his name was Winston Montgomery. Apparently he hated his forename and his friends all knew it was best to call him Monty. He lived on a farm with his parents, their only son (their two younger daughters had already married and left) so he practically ran the place now that they were getting older. He was single, even though a few females in the farming community had 'set their caps at him, and seemed content to remain that way for the moment.

A couple of weeks earlier a youngster had fallen while making the same descent and Monty had brought him to the hospital. The youngster hadn't been quite as fortunate as I was because he'd actually dislocated a shoulder and received what they referred to as a 'greenstick' fracture of his wrist -- hence the comment about finding 'strays.'

The following day, I rang work to tell my boss what had happened and that I'd be staying at home for a couple of days. He was fine with it (he was one of the flirtatious married men who'd made a couple of gentle passes at me and I just prayed he wouldn't turn up at the door with a bunch of flowers or something!) and told me to take as long as I needed. By the second day, however, I was getting restless at being confined and needed something to do. I was also, to be honest, intrigued by my rescuer. Eventually, I found the number of the farm in the phone book and, after hesitating about it for a long time, finally plucked up the courage to ring it. The first time, there was no answer (and no answerphone to take a message, either) but, when I tried again a couple of hours later, it was his mother who answered. 

I briefly explained who I was, and that I hadn't had a chance to thank him properly for his kindness. She took my number, and told me she'd get him to call me back when he came home. It was almost nine o'clock that evening before the phone rang and I heard his voice saying;

"Hello... is that Sally?" He didn't sound terribly enthusiastic when I asked if I could treat him to a quiet meal sometime and thank him for being so helpful (I eventually found out that he'd been working since early morning and was very tired). When he hesitated, I suggested a couple of places in town but he rejected them straight away. Although they were both pricey and seemed well run, he simply said that he'd seen inside the kitchens when he delivered fresh produce and wouldn't want to eat in either of them. I wondered for a second if I ought to pass the information on to the senior management at the bank who used both places on a regular basis to entertain important clients, but decided that I wouldn't be thanked for it.

"Okay, then..." I said, trying not to sound as exasperated as I felt, "You're the one with the local knowledge. You name the place and time and I'll meet you there."

"It won't be this week," he replied, "There's too much to do." Then he went silent -- he never did like to talk unless he really had something to say -- I'd already been told that!

"So?" I tried, hoping for a little more help." There was another silence, but this time I just waited and then he said:

"Next Thursday evening, if that's alright?"

"Yes... that'll be fine..." was as far as I got before he interrupted.

"I'll pick you up at seven." And then he was gone.

He had, without even trying, managed to irritate me. I was the one who'd called to thank him, to invite him for a meal and yet, somehow or other, he'd completely taken charge of the whole thing. Who the hell did he think he was? I was almost tempted to call him back and tell him to forget it.

I needed a third day off work but, when I returned to it on the Friday, I found my desk was covered with flowers, chocolates and 'get well' cards. I was really touched by it and, though still hobbling a bit and using the crutch for support, I went round every office to thank them for their good wishes and, as I did so, I finally felt that I was 'accepted.'

On Saturday night, I managed to make my way to the View to meet Sandra. It was a lovely evening; the band even played their version of Dave Brubeck's 'Waltz Limp' when they saw me with the crutch although, thank heavens, no one was crass enough to ask me to dance! At the end, one of the young men who'd sat down and talked to us for the latter part of the evening, asked if he could see me home. 

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. He was good looking and pleasant; I'd danced with him a couple of times in the past and his hands hadn't strayed (well... maybe a tiny bit!) and I knew he was single and unattached. Somehow, the injury had made me much more aware of my own body and, to add to that, there was the fact that I hadn't had any sex for a long time. So... yes... I was definitely tempted, but no one was offering anything to Sandra and I didn't want to make her feel she was being deserted, so I turned him down. 

By the beginning of the next week I was able to discard the crutch and, with a simple, elasticated ankle support replacing the heavy bandaging, I could walk with just the merest suggestion of a limp ("walk slowly, but walk as normally as possible -- that way you'll heal quicker" is what I'd been told) and, once I was back into my daily routine, I almost forgot about it apart from the occasional twinge of discomfort.

More than ever, I was content with the atmosphere at work. I was happy and it must have showed, even in my voice because, when I rang mum on Wednesday night, she remarked on it -- and even asked if there was a new man in my life. I told her there definitely wasn't (although my mind went back to the man who'd asked to see me home from the View, making me wonder if he'd be there this weekend and whether I might be tempted to make a date with him). I also told her, fairly truthfully, that I wasn't really looking. "Good... that's when you're more likely to find one!" She told me and we laughed about it.

It wasn't until Thursday afternoon that I remembered about the arrangement to meet Monty that night. To be honest, I thought of it as an obligation rather than a 'date' and, because work happened to be a bit hectic that day, I was tempted to call and try to rearrange it for another time. Believe it or not, although the high street banks close quite early, that is not when the staff normally leave. I knew I wouldn't be able to get home much before six -- if I was lucky -- and that wouldn't leave much time to get ready.

As it happened, it was well after six when I tumbled in through my front door, scattering my working clothes wherever they fell as I rushed into a quick shower. After drying off, I applied my make up (far less than I'd needed when my face had been blotchy and puffy!), decided to leave my hair down for a change (and because there simply wasn't time to do much else) and rummaged through the wardrobe for something to wear, eventually settling for a fairly simply-cut, white dress. I hadn't worn it since the previous summer, and it was good to discover that it fitted perfectly (another sign that my healthy regime had paid off!). It was fairly short, but not too revealing at either end; and my legs were tanned enough not to need any covering.

Right on the very stroke of seven, the doorbell rang (Actually, it played one of those strange little tunes that are unidentifiable but stick in your head for ages afterwards -- the landlord's choice, not mine!). I hastily slipped a cardigan over my shoulders, grabbed a small bag, popped my keys, purse and emergency make up in it, and was on the way down the two flights of stairs when a couple of things made me suddenly panic.

The first was that I'd forgotten to put my ankle support on; the second was that I'd chosen a white dress (and a fairly expensive one as I recalled) to climb into a working farm vehicle! God alone knew what kind of stains it might get on it!

So, I was already a bit flustered when I opened the outer door of the apartment block -- and immediately became even more disconcerted when I saw him waiting there for me!

By that time, I had only a vague memory of him from our previous meeting; just an impression of someone tall and strong, with limited conversation and a pleasant smile -- but not much else, really. As I've said, I hadn't really thought about this meeting because I'd been occupied with other things -- and I certainly wasn't prepared for the man I found waiting for me.

He was, in fact, well over six feet tall (I'm 5' 6" and he towered above me!), broad and muscular (and, when I say 'muscular' I mean with the kind of build that comes from regular hard physical work -- not the "I'm-a-body-builder-don't-I-look-wonderful" kind!). He wasn't handsome in the style of pretty-boy male models, but his rugged, weather-beaten face was attractive and clean-shaven.

Presentation? I'd have awarded ten out of ten for that. He wore a crisp, white tail-less shirt outside a pair of smartly-pressed, cream-coloured trousers, with pale grey shoes. It was perfect for a warm summer's evening and the top two buttons of the shirt being undone allowed me to make out some stray chest hairs.

I'm not sure whether I gasped out loud or not -- I do know that I wanted to. He looked absolutely stunning and, when he turned on that wide smile, it suddenly felt as if I had more problems with my knees than my ankle -- because they were trembling as if they were about to give way. I can honestly say that no man had ever made me feel that way before.

"You look very nice," he told me.

"You don't look too bad yourself," I managed to answer, hoping it didn't sound too much like the come-on that I probably wanted it to be. The grin returned to his face -- and the evening sunshine suddenly seemed remarkably warm as he said;

"Aye... me mam says I scrub up okay when I put the effort in!"

He guided me to the Landrover (both of us probably remembering that he'd carried me to it the last time we'd met) and I could see that it was absolutely spotless, both inside and out. He held the door for me (I'm old-fashioned -- I like it when a man does things like that) and, when he'd climbed in and started the engine, I took a deep breath to calm myself before asking:

"So... where are we going?"

"It's in the south of the island," he replied as we moved out into the sparse traffic, "a little place alongside the harbour. Good, plain food and decent portions."

"Sounds good." I said, just to keep the conversation going.

"Yeah... I've been there a few times. It's not licensed, unfortunately... but we can pick something up on the way if you want?" I hesitated, and he added, "I don't want to sound like a wimp, but I never drink when I'm driving. I got caught doing that when I was 18 and I learned my lesson... but you're free to...."

"No... honestly... I'm fine with soft drinks," I told him. I was feeling giddy enough as it was without adding alcohol to the mix!

"There's just one thing though... and you may not like this," he said, rather hesitantly and, when I just raised my eyebrows, he explained; "I'm a bit old-fashioned... I can't help it... it's the way I was raised. When I go out with a lady... I'm the one who puts his hand in his pocket!"

"But this is...." I tried to protest.

"...Something we're not going to argue about," he laughed, but his words had sounded very firm. "I know you intended it as a way of saying 'thanks' for last week...."

"Exactly!" I said, "And...."

"...And your company is reward enough for me!" I'm sure he blushed a little when he said that, and I know that I positively glowed. "So... no argument... this is on me."

And that was how the evening went, with Monty taking charge of everything -- very gently and good-naturedly. I was happy to accept his recommendations when it came to the food; Sweet potato & thyme soup, followed by Cannon of lamb and spinach mousse, wrapped in Parma ham, with carrot puree, minted peas, chateaux potatoes, redcurrant & aromatic herb jus. Everything about it was perfect. We were both too full to contemplate a dessert, the coffee was quite enough.




What If It Hadn't Rained?



He didn't talk a great deal in the restaurant, the place was quite crowded and it seemed to make him shy but, after the meal, we enjoyed a gentle stroll around the harbour, looking at the small yachts and the fishing boats that gently bobbed on an incoming tide. There was a beautiful full moon by that time, bright enough to make the street lamps seem unnecessary and I made a remark about it.

"Yeah... it's the harvest moon," he said softly, "that's why it's such a busy time for farmers," he mused and, for a moment or two, my heart sank as I thought he might be looking for a gentle way of saying that he wouldn't be seeing again.

"It's one of those times of the year when it's all work... and very little time for play."

By this time we'd returned to the car and he was, once again, holding the door for me. I was starting to feel depressed. I'd had a wonderful evening with Monty and I didn't want it to end there. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to get to know him properly.

"I'd really... errm... really like to see you again, Sally," he suddenly blurted out -- and my heart did a couple of somersaults with full twist and icing on (I know that doesn't make any sense -- but it's how I felt -- so there!).

"Yes... errm... I'd like that," I said, trying to sound reasonably cool, "I really would."

The journey back was a quiet one. I think we were both reasonably content having agreed that we enjoyed being together, but when he drew up outside the apartment block, I had to make a decision about whether or not to invite him. I wanted to; make no mistake about that! I wanted him to carry me up the stairs and into the bedroom, put me on the bed, and make wild and passionate love all night long!

"I realise you're really busy, right now," I said, fumbling in my bag for one of the business cards the bank issued," but... if you really want to," I added as I scribbled my home number on the back, "just give me a call." And then, hoping I wasn't being too 'forward,' added a soft "Please."

He gave one of his big grins as he took the card.

"Are you doing anything on Sunday?" he asked, "I could pick you up and bring you out to the farm for lunch."

"If you're sure," I stammered slightly, "I... I mean... your parents...."

"They'll be delighted," he assured me, "You'll need to bring a big appetite with you though; the plates tend to be a bit full when mam cooks! Anyway, she said she can't wait to see what kind of nutcase tries to walk down that hill when it's raining!"

"Hmmmph! Thanks very much!" I said with mock-severity. "Anyway, if it hadn't been raining...." Then I stopped in mid-sentence, not wanting to go down that route. "Okay, Mr Montgomery... it's a date," I laughed.

He kissed me, very briefly, very gently, when he came round to open the door for me, said; "See you on Sunday, Sally," and was back in the car and away.

And that, when I look back on it, is probably the biggest 'what if' of my whole life. 

If it hadn't been raining, I would probably have continued on my way down the longer, safer path -- blithely unaware of what my destiny could have been. Would have I met Monty anyway? Eventually? 

Who knows? That's the kind of secret that I'll leave to much greater minds than mine to think about. The fact is that did rain; that I did have that accident and it led to me meeting my Monty.

Yes, I said 'my' Monty. That was a long time ago now. We were 'courting' (the kind of old-fashioned word Monty likes) for the best part of a year before our wedding. And, since this is Literotica, you'll probably want to know whether we had sex before marriage and was it good and -- tough! I'm not telling!

Did I tell him about my past? Yes... absolutely everything, because I didn't want there to be any secrets between us (He hadn't exactly led a monk-like existence either, as it turned out!). We live in a house that's really an extension of his parents' house (they're absolutely lovely, by the way) and we have two beautiful children; Sandra, who's nine and is named after probably my best friend (who's now happily married too, by the way), and five-year-old Alex (Monty's dad wanted him called 'Nelson' but we dug our heels in about that!). I don't work at the bank any more, but I do a fair bit around the farm -- especially sorting out the accounts, seeing the bills are paid on time and so on -- and enough physical stuff to ensure that my figure's still in pretty good shape for a mother of two. After all, I do want to be the kind of wife that my Monty's proud of.



What If It was a Love Story



My story starts after college. Up until then I had a fairly unremarkable life. In fact I married my college sweetheart after graduating, and I thought we were happy, after all we had good jobs, a nice house in Atlanta, went on nice vacations and even had a few bucks in the bank.

Joann and I had been married about 6 years when the baby talks began, first more as a question of when, then she began to see her biological clock ticking as she reached the big "30". 

After a long talk one night it was decided, Jo would go off the pill, and so she did, but after two years of trying and no luck. Jo brought up the subject of doctors and tests, something I was not too keen on, but I loved her, so off we went. After a year of tests and injections, we found out Jo was not able to have children. A blow to her, but, I was settled and happy with things as they were. 

We talked about adoption, and even a surrogate. However since Jo could not contribute to a surrogate, and adoption would take years, our thoughts of kids was pretty much put out of our minds, "or so I thought" 

As luck would have it one Friday my boss told me the company was opening a new factory in Florida and I had been chosen to oversee the site selection and start up. It would be a year long assignment.

At home that night I broke the news to Jo, who was less then thrilled. She loved her job and was doing well, and did not want to leave it for a year. Since I was to get 1 week off every 8 weeks it was decided I would go on alone. The company would be giving me a huge raise as well, as per diem. So money would not be an issue. 

The next 2 weeks I was busy getting ready and planning just what I would need to get the project off the ground while the higher up's were picking the site, for the new plant. 

Just as I was finishing my plans the President of our company announced it would be Tampa, an area well known to me as Jo's mother Jan, lived in Clearwater only a 30 minute drive from the new site, and we had visited her often over the years living as close as we did only an 8 hour drive away.

At home I broke the news to Jo, who seemed a little too happy that Tampa was where I would be going, after calling her mother it was decided I would stay at her place and we could bank all that extra money. 

Now all this seemed pretty innocent to me, I liked Jo's mother who was only 50 and hardly the retiring type. In fact she had been married to Jo's dad 30 years, who was 20 years older, but had died as he lived on the golf coarse, 2 years earlier, and left Jan pretty well off financially, and with a large beachfront condo.

So, on the following Monday I packed my bags, and headed off to my new assignment. I arrived just about 7 that evening, and was greeted with a warm hug and kiss by my mother. 

Jan, was ready for my arrival, and had made me a great dinner, after which we when out to the deck with a drink and I began to tell Jan about my new job, and how excited I was since this would allow me to jump several levels in the company, and that I had already been named the youngest VP in the company, in order to have the authority I needed for the job.

Now, Jan is really not the mother type, she is very young looking, with long black hair, pretty face, and fun to be with. But, Jan was by no means the drop dead gorgeous women always written about, she was pretty enough, but had wide hips, flat stomach, but small boobs, which I thought were about a 34B comparing them to my wife's 36DD's

Jan and I talked for awhile, until I said, "I really need to get to bed and get an early started in the morning". 

Jan, got up and lead me to what was to be my home for the next year, it was then I became somewhat confused. You see the condo Jan had was quite large and had 2 bedroom wings on either side of the main house and I was to sleep in the room next to Jan, that had an a joining bath. No matter, I began to put my things away, and get ready for bed, after all it was her house. 

The next few weeks went by quit fast as I was working 10 hour days, but every night I was welcomed home by Jan, with a great dinner and drinks. I called Jo every night, and she always asked, "how are things going living with my mom" 

I told her, "it was certainly better then a hotel room and dinner alone, I loved the company at night, and on the weekends Jan and I would go shopping, or just lay on the beach." Jo seemed to be pleased we were getting along so well.

Over the next month Jan and I became close friends, even more, we began to appear like an old married couple, especially to the people living in the condo, who did not know our real relationship.

Then one Friday night, Jan asked about kids, "after all Jo is my only child, and I've always wanted grandkids" she said. After my third drink I began to tell her about Jo's problem, and there would be no children in our future. 

My week off was starting the next day and when I got home Jo, and I made love every night, trying to made up for the time away. 

The second day after I got home, Jo started in on me about her mother, things like, "don't you think mom looks young for her age?' and "I bet you two look like lovers when you go out". Then Jo, really dropped a bomb, with, "don't you get horny, alone with and attractive woman like mom and no sex for weeks at a time?"

Well, the more she talked the more attracted to Jan I became, as I was leaving at the end of the week, Jo's parting words to me were "give mom a big kiss for me when you get back."

Well, when I arrived at Jan's about 8, I was no less surprised then when I had left Jo. Jan had made a transformation, she was dressed in very short, short's and a bikini top, with high heel sandals, her hair and makeup were perfect, and as usual dinner was ready. 

After dinner we went out to the patio, with our drinks, but rather then sitting in the chair a she always did Jan sat next to me in the small swing, I always sat in, it was a tight fit, and I was in my shorts after my trip, and our legs were touching. I could smell Jan's freshly washed hair, and her perfume began to make my head swim.

As we talked Jan put her hand on my thigh, all this was beginning to work on me, until I began to rise to the occasion. This did not go unnoticed by Jan who moved her hand up higher until, it rested just below, my erection.

All of this was starting to work on me, my own wife asking how I could resist her mother, then Jan, seeming to make a move on me, when all of a sudden I turned my head to look a Jan, who leaned over and kissed me, as her hand move to my now very hard cock. I brought my hand up to Jan's breast and began to pinch her nipple, as the kiss continued. Then, reality hit me and I pulled away, since I knew we had gone too far. 

As I was starting to get up Jan began to speak, as she held my leg, "You know Randy, Jo and I have been talking on the phone a lot since you got here, and over the weeks we talked of mostly you, and sometimes me. As for me I've been without a man for 2 years now, and I'm hardly old, and your young and going weeks without sex must be difficult?" 

Jan told me, "mom I love you and I know over the pass weeks Randy has come to love you too, so what would it hurt if you two got together and. well. sort of help each other out" 

"Do you mean Jo, said we should have sex while I'm here?" I said.

"No, Jan said, that since we are really not related by blood, and since we both have needs, we could make love." "after all I'm hardly going to steal you away from my own daughter." 

All this seemed to make perfect sense... OK, maybe only to me! With that said Jan lead me to her bed. She dimmed the lights and began to undress as I sat there watching this beautiful woman, slowly unveil what I knew was under those clothes all those weeks, wide hips I'd guess about 37" with a flat stomach, and small upturned breasts, with nipples at least ¾" long.

I couldn't argue with the logic, especially since my wife was giving her blessing, so I began to undress and lay down next to Jan.

Our mouths came together in a soft, kiss and we began by exploring every inch of each others bodies, my hands moved over Jan's body, as they left her nipples I replaced them with my mouth ., and moved down over her flat stomach, to her neatly trimmed bush of jet black hair. Her pink lips were already protruding and her juices were flowing. 

Jan, had moved her hands from my chest, down to my very hard cock, not 10" like the stories tell, but a respectable 6 ½" and hard as a diamond, after all this is the first time in 8 years I've been with anyone other then my wife.

By this time we were both breathing hard and there was really no time for all that oral stuff, "we needed to make love." So, I rolled over on Jan found her opening and pushed myself in, it was sweet, wet and I fit her just right. I held myself there for just a minute or two, to enjoy the feeling, Jan enjoyed it too by the look on her face. We began to kiss softly at first then with more urgency. 

As I began to move slowly in and out, it felt like I was making love to a wife, not a mother. And so we went slowly, and we were both enjoying the moment, until Jan began to buck up and breath even harder and I knew she was ready to cum, and speeded up to meet her, as we came together. It seemed like I couldn't stop cumming. I let myself shrink inside her and slide out before I rolled over, and held her in my arms until we both fell asleep.