8 comments/ 52386 views/ 6 favorites A Secret Admirer By: Many Feathers It had been a while since my divorce. Unused to the dating scene, I'd refrained from going to any singles bars, not much of a drinker anyway. But there was another reason for that too. Standing in the bathroom looking at myself in the mirror didn't exactly boost my confidence. Before I could really get serious about wanting to meet anyone, I knew that I had to do something about myself first. And so it was that I soon after joined a health club. I'd been going three days a week for nearly two months. And though the change had been gradual, I actually began to see one. The reflection coming from my bathroom mirror no longer quite as hard to take as it once was. As I always worked out after work, I'd just finished up and was on my way out the door when the receptionist stopped me. "Mr. Davis? There's a message for you," she said grabbing my attention. I changed direction heading back to the front desk taking the small folded note from her hand. "Thank you." I looked quickly at her name-badge on her polo shirt. "Melissa," I added. She smiled briefly, turning her attention back to whatever she'd been doing previously, allowing me a brief moment of privacy in which to read the small slip of paper I'd just been given. My name was on the outside of it. 'Jack Davis', it read. I unfolded the short note. ** "You're looking good! Keep it up!" ** I smiled, glancing up as though expecting someone to be standing there watching me read the message. No one was. Even so, I blushed still smiling, refolding the paper, and tucking it away inside my pants pocket. I arrived home dumping my spare change onto the dresser along with the small note that I'd already forgotten about having. Reading it once again made me smile, so I took it into the bathroom, taping it on the mirror above the sink. As I stood looking at it, I surmised that it must have come from one of the trainers. Hand printed, there was no way of telling if it had come from a male or female either. "Pretty shrewd!" I thought to myself. I wondered briefly if there wasn't a stack of 'notes' sitting around someplace, all hand-printed with the words, "You're looking good! Keep it up!" printed on them. It wouldn't surprise me. If the health spa was actually doing that, then I had to silently congratulate them for coming up with such a simple, yet novel idea. The note really had made me smile, feeling better about myself already. Perhaps it was part of their program to ensure that their clients kept returning by feeling better about themselves. "Well, if it is...it worked!" I said still staring at the note. I was already looking forward to my next workout. Something I hadn't been quite as enthusiastic about until now. Two days later I was once again headed home after a very thorough workout this time, passing by the receptionist, who again stopped me before I could leave. "Mr. Davis? I have a message for you," she said. It wasn't Melissa who was sitting at the desk either. Though this woman I knew as she'd been there the day I'd come in to sign up for my membership. "Thanks Chrissy," I told her accepting the same sized note I'd received the time before. I almost laughed. If this was indeed one of the Spa's programs, they'd better review their procedures as two notes in nearly as many days was a bit of an overkill, and could have just the reverse results of what had originally been intended. Still, I turned away from Chrissy slightly unfolding the note, expecting to read the same six words I'd read previously. To my surprise, they weren't. ** "I'm surprised I'm even telling you this. But I've watched you ever since you started coming here, and I was serious when I said you're looking good. Because you are. I've found myself thinking about you, perhaps in inappropriate ways, but felt I had to say something to you, just to let you know." ** Once again the note was hand printed with no name attached to it. I nearly turned back towards Chrissy to ask if she knew who'd left me the message, but she was currently on the phone. Suddenly the thought of actually asking her about it seemed silly. It was after all just a simple letter from someone that for whatever reason had taken a liking to me. Once again I smiled, tucking the paper inside my pants pocket where it soon joined the second one on my bathroom mirror. I'd pretty much discarded that it was some 'feel-good' program that the health spa was condoning, though the idea of it being one of the female trainers still persisted. I might have gone along with it being a 'feel-good' follow up even, if that last line of the letter hadn't been included. "I've found myself thinking about you, perhaps in inappropriate ways..." To be honest, I wasn't exactly sure what that meant. What was after all, inappropriate? Was the writer merely telling me that writing the note was inappropriate to begin with? That she was perhaps a married woman who'd felt it necessary, almost compelling just to give me a few words of encouragement? Or..." I dared not wonder. It had been too fucking long since I'd been with anyone other than my own hand. It had gotten to the point where I'd begun buying expensive hand-lotion, as though giving my hand a gift. Had I reached the point where I was gift-wrapping it too, or including a card, I'd have been seeing a therapist instead of a trainer at the spa. On my next scheduled day, I found myself looking at every person I came across. I must have looked like a blithering idiot as I grinned at every single person who even appeared to remotely be looking in my direction. Most smiled back before looking away, some few others however, shot me concerned looks as though I was there with no intent of working out, just there to try picking them up as I'd learned a few clients had actually attempted to do. Regardless, by the time I had showered and dressed, I was feeling more than a little moody, and a whole lot ashamed at myself for allowing my curiosity to get the better of me. This time when I passed the front desk, I actually caught Melissa's attention first. I waved, said something stupid like, "See you day after tomorrow," and headed towards the door. Melissa, sweet girl that she was, waved back picking up the ringing phone. I made it as far as the door, actually pushing it open when I heard her calling out to me. "Mr. Davis? I almost forgot, there's a message here for you!" she yelled out towards me, one hand over the receiver of the phone, the other waving a very familiar looking piece of folded paper at me. This time, I stood at the counter holding the unread message waiting for Melissa to finish her call. "Yes?" she asked after hanging up. "Excuse me, but do you know who gave you this message?" I asked. "No, I'm sorry. We have a message box located here at the front desk just for our customers who might get phone calls while they're off showering or getting dressed. Maybe one of the trainers took a call for you and placed it here," she said honestly. "I don't think it's from one of the trainers," I said confusing her further. "Would anyone else have access to this message box?" I questioned further. Melissa leaned sideways across the desk pointing towards a small wooden tray sitting on the corner of the counter. It read: "Messages". "Oh, I guess so," I said feeling a little dumb. But I had to ask one more question, even though I knew it would sound stupid. "Would you mind keeping an eye out for anyone who might be leaving messages with my name on them in the box?" Melissa tossed me a guarded look. "Sorry no, for starters, I'm too busy to do that. And for another, if someone is anonymously leaving you messages, then I don't think it's my place to be spying on them for you. Unless you're concerned that it's some sort of a threat or something, in which case I'd invite you to speak with the manager." "Ah no...no threat," I assured her feeling a bit sheepish. This time I drove all the way home without opening the letter. I'd changed out of my clothing; my eyes frequently turning to where I had thrown the small simple piece of paper on the night stand earlier. I was almost afraid to open it for one thing. And for another, I was trying to put myself into a better mood before I did. When I finally got around to picking it up, I noticed for the first time that it had been carefully taped, an indication that whoever had sent it to me, didn't want anyone other than the reader, which was me...to read it. Now very curious, I quickly peeled off the tape though careful to keep from destroying the note. ** "I'm almost embarrassed to tell you this," the writer said. "But when I saw you today, you appeared more animated, more talkative than you've ever been before. You seemed to be looking everywhere at once, speaking to anyone that even came close to wherever you were working out. Once, our eyes even met, but you soon turned away as that large chested blonde came over to see if you needed any fresh towels. Admittedly, when you looked at me, I felt almost giddy. Later, alone in the shower, I had to relieve the pressure that had been building. I hope that doesn't embarrass, or even anger you. I doubt you'll ever know who I am anyway, so it probably doesn't matter. But that's something I haven't done to myself in months, let alone in a public place. You've brought out the naughty woman in me. Sincerely, S.A." ** "S.A.?" I wondered aloud, finally a clue perhaps to her identity. I tried thinking backwards. Tried to remember all the women who I had locked eyes with, even briefly. Especially just before the blonde she had mentioned had asked me about the towel. But even that I couldn't place exactly. I did recall one brunet who was pressing more weight than even I could. She had enormous, obviously fake boobs and was one of the few who looked at me with disdain when I smiled at her. I had visions of her placing my head in a leg-lock, and not for fun either. I shook off that image, once again trying to remember those women who had even remotely smiled back at me. Unfortunately, none came to mind. There was only one thing I could think of doing. Sitting down at my computer, I began to type out a letter to her. One in which I hoped she'd discover the next time she decided to leave me a note of her own. "Dear S.A.," And there I sat for nearly an hour trying to decide what I should say, and how I should say it. I finally decided boldness was the best bet, and began composing my letter. ** "Dear S.A., I have enjoyed receiving, and reading your letters. I am in hopes that this letter reaches you. I would very much like to meet you. Perhaps we can go out for a drink somewhere after working out one evening, if you're willing. I can assure you, I'm not a pervert, or some kind of sexual deviant. But your letters have been provocative to say the least. I too have had to relieve a little pressure as you say, especially wondering who you are, and if perhaps we might indeed eventually spend an evening together. If you're interested, please respond and let me know when and if you would be available. Sincerely yours, Jack." ** I knew I had to find a way of reaching her of course. I couldn't simply leave a letter as she'd been doing for me, not knowing who she was. Thus I addressed an envelope, carefully folding and tucking the typewritten letter inside. I addressed it: From Jack Davis, To S.A. Personal and Confidential, purposely making the letters large and bold enough that she couldn't miss it. When I entered the health club on my next visit, I placed the sealed letter purposefully inside the message box standing up so whoever came to drop off any messages couldn't fail to see it. Even Chrissy smiled at me, though turning her head away moments after I'd deposited the envelope. "I don't suppose you'll tell me whoever it is that picks this up would you?" Chrissy laughed. "Nope! Sorry...if she wants you to know, she'll tell you herself," she added still laughing. "And besides, I think its kinda sweet," she said. I grinned back at her, and walked back towards the dressing room in order to change and begin my workout. Once again my eyes were everywhere, but I didn't see anyone that struck me as at all interested in who I was. I'd even returned to the front desk mid-way through my workout to discover that the letter was still sitting in the message box. Which told me that she either wasn't there yet, or that she hadn't left me a note, thus not yet discovering that I had left one for her. When my workout was over, I swung by the desk, noticed that my letter had indeed been picked up. Melissa was now working the desk, so I stopped by to ask. "Anything for me?" "No, sorry," she said simply. Since it was Melissa, and not Chrissy, I decided to ask another question. "I left a letter in the message box earlier. By chance, did you see who it was that picked it up?" "Chrissy said you might ask me that. But no, I didn't see whoever it was that did. And if I had, I wouldn't tell you who she was either," she said grinning just as wickedly as Chrissy had done earlier. "Ok, thanks," I said dejectedly, yet happy that whoever S.A. was, she'd at least taken, and was hopefully reading my letter. My next workout night was miserable. I received no message by way of response back from my letter and began to think I had crossed over some imaginary line. Two days later however, there was a letter waiting for me sitting inside the message box when I arrived. And even more interesting, this one was enclosed inside an envelope, addressed to me also marked 'Personal and Confidential'. Like a schoolboy with a crush on the redheaded girl with pigtails, I headed into the locker room to change, entered one of the bathroom stalls and tore open the envelope. ** "Dear Jack: I'm sorry I haven't responded back until now, but I wanted to take some time to think about what you asked me. I am afraid that for the moment I must decline your offer to meet for drinks. I am sure that by now you have imagined me to be some glamorous attractive looking woman. I'm not. And I would hate to shatter whatever fantasy you may (or may not) have of me by actually meeting me in person. Also, I have recently come out of a very messy divorce and am not sure I am even ready to begin seeing anyone on a serious level. I also think it might have been a mistake for me to have written to you in the first place, as it wasn't my intent to coerce you into meeting, nor into having a relationship. The fact that I find you attractive, and (obviously) have found myself fantasizing about you was something I thought exciting to be sure, and had hoped that perhaps you would enjoy the same through knowing that. I have already probably been too forward, and too bold with admitting those things to you. If you're interested in simply continuing this type of communication, and perhaps sharing whatever intimate thoughts or desires you might have. I'd enjoy that. But for the time being at least, I would prefer to remain anonymous beyond our actual meeting one another. If you feel you'd rather not, I will certainly understand and won't bother you again. Sincerely, S.A." ** I reread the letter again, feeling somewhat discouraged, disappointed on the one hand. But on the other, also excited as well as curious as to what she had meant by sharing intimate thoughts and desires. I immediately responded back to her that same night, letting her know that I was indeed interested in doing that, and respected her wishes for the time being, to remain anonymous. I assured her I wouldn't make any attempt to discover who she was, provided she was willing to be as open with her 'intimate' thoughts as I promised I would be for her. Once again making my way up to the counter, I smiled at Melissa and dropped the note I had written into the message box, returning to finish my workout. I was pleased to see a much larger letter waiting for me when I arrived two days later. ** "Darling Jack, You have no idea how thrilled I was to hear that you were still interested in continuing this communication, even though I am still hesitant for you to ever meet me in person, or discover who I am. As much as I would love to describe myself to you, doing that would no doubt refuel the fires of your curiosity. And too much information would obviously narrow things down sufficiently for you to eventually figure out who I am. But I will at least do this much. I will describe that which you cannot see, let it stimulate your imagination and desires perhaps. And, I will even take that one step further by describing for you in detail a fantasy I enjoyed while thinking of you last night." ** I'd begun undressing, sitting down on the edge of the bed while reading her letter. Feeling my erection swell, I hurriedly stripped off the rest of my clothes, fluffing up my pillow sitting against it while slowly beginning to stroke my cock with one hand, holding her letter with the other. ** "I don't consider myself as necessarily having large breasts, but they are still round and full though gravity unfortunately has had its way with them, so they're not nearly as perky as they perhaps once were. My nipples are also large, rose colored I guess you would say, and very, very sensitive. I have often played with them, nearly reaching orgasm on several occasions, but still needing that most intimate of all touches to finally put myself over the edge. As far as my pussy goes, I have begun shaving it altogether. I'd discovered quite by accident one day while trimming it in the tub, that the experience of doing so was fairly erotic. Placing myself beneath the faucet in order to wash away both the shaving cream as well as the loose hair I'd taken off, I discovered the joy of feeling the water splashing against my mound. And it is this, which I again did last night while thinking of you. I imagined your hard beautiful cock inside my mouth. I imagined licking, and sucking it, feeling it throb and pulsate while I did. By this time of course, the full force of the water was teasing and caressing my pussy driving me towards the inevitable. I continued on...as my clit began to become more and more sensitive, I imagined your tongue licking and teasing it while I continued mouthing your beautiful prick. When I came, you came with me, bathing my mouth, face, and breasts in torrents of your hot wonderful cream. Needless to say, I will be curiously interested in hearing what you have to say about this. PLEASE tell me if my openness has offended, or gone too far. I will be most anxious to hear from you if it has. Though if I don't hear from you, I will thus know that it certainly has, and again, will not bother you further. As I write this, I am most wet, and very, very horny. Yours truly, S.A." ** I read her letter again, stroking my prick far more vigorously now until spewing a gusher of jisim that landed well up on my chest, as well as pouring down to coat nearly my entire hand. After cleaning up, I headed over to my computer and immediately composed a letter back to her. ** "Dear S.A., for the moment, I will continue to respect your wishes of anonymity. Do not be surprised though if I periodically express my wishes and desires to still meet you. I also wanted you to know how much I truly enjoyed reading your letter. As you have been candid with me, so shall I be with you. After arriving home this evening, I removed my clothing, lay back on the bed, and proceeded to read your erotic 'naughty' letter all the while stroking my cock, enjoying your words. Like you, I will not make any attempt to exaggerate anything about myself, for if we ever do meet, and I still hope one day that we will, I too would not want you to find yourself disappointed. Though I have never actually measured myself, never finding a reason forever doing so, I would go so far as to say that I am perhaps slightly above average. My cock isn't exceptionally long, but I do feel it is certainly most adequate, as I've never had any complaints. (Ha Ha). A Secret Admirer Calves burning, back sweating, pelvic bones cursing its owner profusely. This is the state of my body as I am dragging it up the stairs of my two-story loft, after a gruelling Saturday morning cycle. As I catch a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror, an old venetian relic of my room-mate's Italian proclaimed ancestry, I make a poignant observation: I am all alone for the weekend. Franco, my room-mate, has eloped again for the weekend to his lover's nest. I say 'lover' as it hasn't been clear from our minimal discussion about his 'absences' the gender of his human release. I reckon his trying his utmost to hide something. For which I am humorous enough to allow him to do. I've been staring at myself for quite a while by now. Watching, no, admiring as the glistening sweat droplets caress my now bare torso. Perhaps it's my narcissistic personality trait, but at that moment I think the reversed image staring back at me is strikingly handsome. Virile even. Tight black cycling shorts, the kind that instantly draws attention to the crotch, is complimented only by the now pulsating muscles of bare torso, and what's exposed of my thighs and legs. The old venetian mirror has always been a self-confidence enhancing tool. It's long enough to expose my entire body and it has a charming antique look, as if it was made by Instagram. The morning sun, now streaming in freely through our massive double-human sized windows, warms my bare feet on our dark wood floor. Reluctantly, I release my gaze and proceed back to reality. I meander towards the shower, but decide instead to get a smell of the fresh spring air in the patio garden. Frangipanis. They must have just bloomed. I encircle the quaint patio nonchalantly, when an oddly familiar glare demands my attention. I know that glare. It's the kind of glare that can only be generated from a 35mm plus camera lens - a fact fortuitously discovered in a photography practical in second year. Have I got an admirer? Maybe. Perhaps its just my now over-inflated ego whispering sweet nothings. I continue my revolution of the patio, and it hits me again. The glare is following me. This voyeurer is clearly an amateur. Voyeurism 101: target should be none the wiser. Nevertheless, I indulge my audience of I assume one. I turn around, slowly stretching out my muscles. Arms on hips, legs open a bit wider, I stretch down to the ground. In this precarious position, I steal a glance at where my admirer is positioned - 3rd floor across the street, an apartment block similar to mine, flowing auburn hair encapsulated in a beautiful Nikon lens. She doesn't flinch. But then again, why would she? I am sure her attention is elsewhere on my anatomy - the tight black spandex is making sure of that. Nikola. That's her name. My auburn amateur admirer. She is the 23 year old daughter of the architect that designed these quadruplet of magnificent apartment buildings, situated adjacent to the pier. I wonder if she appreciates her mother's works. Probably. She's currently residing in the penthouse suite. I re-gather my stance and stride gently to our outdoor shower - a misfit really in this conservative abode. Fully cognisant of her attention on me, I slowly drop my tights - the only covering I have had thus far. I can almost hear her gasp. I imagine her heart racing, palms sweating, not believing her luck. With my back still towards her, I kick away my tights and step inside the shower, pausing just for a second to give stretch of my gluts. "My ass must look so appealing from the vantage point she has." I hear the narcissism in my head tell me. Hot steam rises out the top of the shower just as shut the semi-transparent door. I decide to go all out in this' cleansing' process. I glide soap around my muscles. Neck, shoulders, down both flanks. The hot water feels so good on my bare skin that my once slow growing cock is now entering the 'raging erection zone'. Once again I imagine the view of Nikola. Nikola with the long lensed Nikon. Defined back, steam, tight ass, dam steam can't see him, defined legs, when is he going to turn around? But I don't just yet. I tease her. I wash my hair with sweet smelling vanilla shampoo, exaggerating the up-strokes. Off goes the water. My erection is somewhat more manageable now, bit more presentable for the observing lass. I dry myself with a hot towel, cupping my recently shaved scrotum ever so gently. The door is opened now and just before I emerge from the shower, I cover myself with the towel. But not at a conventional, functional level. I cover myself just enough, so that my manicured nether-region's hair is faintly visible. In a way that allows the towel to follows the angle of your inguinal canal, down to your crotch. Gasping. I'm sure I heard that again. Maybe not, but I am convinced she is doing that, if not more to herself, by now. I stand there with the warm spring sunlight caressing my torso, bulge clearly defined in a skimpy towel. I give a big stretch of my back and a simultaneous slow thrust of my cock directly in her direction. And then, without warning, I turn around and make for the door. "Wait, don't go!" I hear yelp in our telepathic conversation. But I stride on, seemingly oblivious. She must be pretty distraught right about now. Lustful, sweating, nervous, and now distraught. A barricade of heightened emotions she feels this morning. But again, without warning or a word, I turn to her. Look directly at her lens, and drop my towel. I see those beautiful big brown emerge for the first behind the lens. I imagine from here her pupils dilating, as I keep her gaze, blow her a kiss, give a ceremonious bow and take my leave. This morning I was the show. It enthralled me. My uncooperative erection cannot wait until the roles are reversed - I know Nikola does yoga on Sundays. A Secret Admirer "When did this get here?" Nicholas Beauchene asked those around him, holding up an interoffice mail envelope. In the "Tombs," as the rest of the Beverwyck Insurance Company calls the main office's information technology department, interoffice mail never arrives before noon and Beauchene had just arrived at his desk. "It was here when I got here," fellow programmer Natalie Harrison answered. She shook her head. "I don't know. Someone must have deemed it important I guess." He shrugged his shoulders and opened the envelope. Inside was a plain white letter-size envelope addressed to him. He opened it and pulled out the letter. He sat after reading the first sentence, finishing it quickly. He slowly looked up and stared blankly. "What's wrong?" Harrison asked. She walked to his desk and took the letter from his hand. She skimmed quickly the words, coming to the end and understanding the reason for his expressionless face. The letter was from a secret admirer, a woman that has a crush on him. She's invited him to lunch on Saturday, the following day. She will be distinguished from the other women at the Passion Café by wearing red. "What are you going to do?" She placed the letter on his desk and stood over him like a big sister. He slowly turned his head to her. "I don't know." He inhaled and closed his eyes. He did a quick inventory of those women at the company that could have sent him such a letter, those single and divorced women who could have such feelings for him. The list wasn't long, a few secretaries on the executive level and a few more file clerks throughout the building came to mind, even some of the divorced mature women in claims. He dismissed them all; not believing any of them could write such a letter to him. "I think you should go," she said. She giggled and added, "Hey, you never know. You might get lucky." He gave her a sarcastic laugh and put the letter in his desk. He went to answer, give a good funny quip, but left it within his mind. "Yeah, I guess so." She laughed at her desk. "You do need it." "You think so?" "I know so. It's been far too long since the bitch left you and the divorce is official." "I went for an annulment." "So your future bride, if any, could have a Catholic church wedding?" He nodded. "I think that was the best thing, since she basically abandoned me for that prick when he flashed his cash in her face." "You're better off without her," another woman added. Jennifer Matthews was another programmer, an older woman who was there for him when his marriage crumbled. Nicholas spun his chair towards her direction. "How times have I told you that you were right?" She sat on her chair and smiled broadly. "Not enough times." He rolled his eyes and turned to his monitor. "I guess that means he doesn't want to play anymore," Harrison said. "Yes it does," Matthews added as she turned her computer on. ***** It was difficult for him to concentrate on work: his mind wandered too often on who could have authored the letter, who was his secret admirer. He didn't speculate aloud. He knew no one get any work done and the two women would ask him personal questions, ones that he was not ready to answer. He came up with a list of five possible women. The first that came to mind was the 18-year-old in claims. Carla Warrington began working last June and immediately took a shine to him, followed him around during the summer picnic and danced with him twice at the Christmas party. He admitted to himself that being with her wouldn't be such a bad thing, but there could be drawbacks: clinginess and marriage on her mind were two. The second most logical woman was Belinda Jackson. Belinda worked in claims as a representative. At 29, she was older than Nicholas was. She was also divorced. She had no children and from their conversations, she was happy with it. Nicholas wasn't sure if she had the feelings for him professed in the letter, but he really didn't know her feelings for him beyond being a good friend. Next on his list was Marie Hightower. A redhead and very outgoing, Marie would spend much of her free time around his desk, trying to get him to get out of IT and into her department: Production. She was his age and had the same level of education. He felt, though, if she had romantic feelings for him, she would tell him to his face. Fourth name to come to him was Charlotte Nance. A blond-haired beauty hired a month earlier; she worked with the executive assistants as a general office person. She was curvy, a female feature that all too often made him drool without him realizing. He knew she was single: she was one of his dance partners during the Christmas party. Finally, Phyllis Simmons came to his mind. An older woman -- 47 and divorced -- she was the Claims Department manager, making any relationship tricky. He knew she had some feelings for him: She tried to kiss him at the summer picnic. He didn't believe, though, she would write a secret admirer letter. She was the type that would tell him to his face her feelings for him. He had the list thought of and for the most part dismissed before leaving for the day. He didn't tell either of his female co-workers he had a list of possibilities but did tell them both he would go and meet this secret admirer and have a report for them on Monday morning. ***** "What the Hell am I doing?" Nicholas asked himself in the mirror. He stood in front of it while he brushed his hair. "Do I really need to meet her, know who she is?" He shook his head and placed the brush on the shelf. He was dressed, deciding to wear a colored t-shirt under one of his dress shirts and a pair of black jeans. He left the top shirt untucked. He debated on whether to wear a pair of hiking boots or sneakers. He decided the boots would be best: winter weather is always unpredictable. He looked at himself once more, to make sure he looked presentable, before leaving the house. The drive downtown took less than five minutes, but the search for a parking spot took twice as long. Once he found a spot and parked, Nicholas exhaled deeply and readied himself, giving another thought of who it could be. He didn't have a clue as to who was his secret admirer. He smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and headed out. "Welcome to Passion Café," a young raven-haired teen told him as he entered. Her light blue eyes had a twinkle when he returned the smile. "Are you taking out or dining in?" she continued. "I'm supposed to meet someone, so I guess I'm eating in." She smiled and walked to the host station. Picking up a small piece of paper, she asked, "Are you Nicholas?" He smiled. "Not going to attempt to say Beauchene?" She shook her head and pointed towards the booths in the back. "The woman is in one of the back booths. She said you know what to look for." "Thank you," Nicholas said. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes in an effort to calm his nerves. He was ready for this, he told himself. There's nothing to fear. He exhaled and walked to the back. She was sitting with her back to him, to the door. She was wearing a red sweater. He noticed that she had long brown hair, done up in a bun. He knew that hairstyle and it shock him that she was his secret admirer. "Hello," he whispered. She jumped slightly, frightened by his silent walk. She turned and faced him. Her dark brown eyes lit up when she smiled. She stood and held out her hand. "Nicholas you came," Sylvia Heywood said, barely above a whisper. "I didn't think you would come." Sylvia was an executive assistant to one of the vice presidents, Nicholas was unsure of which one. He knew that she had been with the company a few years before he was hired. He didn't know her age, but was sure that she was older, in her mid-30s. She didn't look it: to him, she could have not yet turned 30. Being honest to himself, he had a crush on her since the first time he saw her, during his introductory tour through all the departments. He noticed her curves, noticed that that her breasts strained her blouse's material. He knew that nothing would amount to this feeling, however, since he was married to a similarly built woman. Taking her hand and gently squeezing it, he tried to calm her fears. "Why would you think that?" He sat in the bench across from her. He noticed that she had a cup of coffee and a croissant while waiting for him. She exhaled and looked down at the crumbs on the table. "I've seen you around the women in the office. You seem to be surrounded by women that are younger and skinnier than me." He reached across and picked her chin up. He looked into her eyes and smiled. "Have you heard of me dating them?" She shook her head. "And you won't." A wicked smirked came to his face as he continued, "My taste in women, in spite of what my former wife did, runs towards the curvaceous, the wide hipped, the ample-bodied." Her eyes widened and a small grin began to appear. "Then why do you spend time with the skinny chicks?" "It's not me that does the hanging, but the reverse is true. They come to me." He swallowed hard, knowing that he was about to share some personal information. "It's like since my wife left me those are the women that want to know me better, like they want to help me get over her." She reached out and touched his hands. "I didn't know that. I am so sorry. If I may ask, when did she leave you?" He chuckled and grinned. "You can ask. I'm over it. She left me about a year ago, left me for someone she worked with, someone with money." "I know that you have an annulment. That was spread through the company." She held his hands a beat longer before taking hers away. For the first time since he sat, Nicholas noticed that he was very comfortable with her. He didn't feel nervous any longer. He felt that he could be open and honest with her. He had a question to ask her, but it stayed unasked. A server showed up at their booth. The young blonde smiled. "Would you care to order something now, or do you need a menu?" Nicholas smiled and answered, "A large Dr Pepper, please." "Nothing to eat?" both women asked. All three laughed. He shook his head. "I'm too thirsty at the moment to think of food." "A large Pepper," she said. She turned and walked to the service station. Alone with Sylvia, Nicholas asked, "Did you know I had a crush on you the first time I saw you?" She blushed; her cheeks turned a bright red. He could tell that he embarrassed her and rose to an apology as his soft drink arrived. "I didn't know that," she admitted. She swallowed hard and smiled devilishly. "If I had known that, I might have teased you." "More than you have?" he quipped. She slowly nodded. "You have no idea of what I would have done to you." He looked into her eyes, debating on how honest he could be with her. He wanted to tell her that her outfit - a red blouse with a plunging neckline and bra that allowed him to look down onto the tops of her large breasts -- excited him. He wanted to confess that he see them, see the color of her areolae; see her large nipples free of her bra. Sylvia must of have sensed he was looking down her blouse: she leaned over and smiled. Nicholas felt her foot rub against a leg. "Do you want to get out of her and go someplace else?" she asked. He was shocked at her candor. He didn't expect it from his "Secret Admirer," a woman that had to write me a letter to invite him to lunch. Nicholas nodded and asked, "Where should we go?" Sylvia looked at him and lowered her head. She opened her mouth, ready to tell him, but stopped. The waitress returned. "Is everything okay?" "Yes, fantastic," Sylvia said. "Can I get either of you anything else?" Nicholas smiled and answered. "Please, just the check." The server smiled and pulled out both checks. Nicholas grabbed Sylvia's before she could look at it. "You can pay the cashier," the young blonde said before leaving. Without missing a beat, Sylvia spoke. "I think we should go back to my place." He grinned. "I like the sound of that." She reached into her purse and removed a small notebook. She quickly wrote something and ripped the page out. Handing it to him she whispered, "Give me an hour, please." She replaced the notebook, pulled out a $5 bill, and placed it on the table. "For the waitress," she said before leaving. Nicholas watched her as she walked away, his eyes squarely on her wide hips and large bottom. He was lost in her sway, his mind wandering off on how it would look, was going to look, naked. He watched as she walked out of the café. "Nice, isn't it?" a female voice said, breaking his lustful daydream. Nicholas looked at the woman who commented: it was the server. He knitted his brow in confusion. She leaned in and whispered, "I like girls, too. You're a lucky, lucky man." She touched his elbow and smiled naughtily before leaving him. Nicholas shook his head and chuckled at his fortune. He picked up the piece of paper and looked at the address. He knew the area had high-priced and large apartments. He removed his wallet and headed to the cashier to pay the checks. ***** Nicholas Beauchene arrived at her apartment building and walked onto the front porch. He saw a note, addressed to him, "Walk in but lock the door after you." He put the note into his front pocket, walked in and locked the door. He softly ascended the stairs to her second floor apartment. She taped another note to the door, "Welcome and have a glass of wine." He opened the door and saw several bottles of wine and glasses placed on a coffee table. He closed the door, removed his boots, and walked to the wine. He picked up a bottle of red and poured himself a small amount. He looked around for a place to sit. He saw a note on a chair. "Please, make yourself comfortable. Enjoy the wine and relax. You'll know when it's time to come to me." Nicholas gave a chuckle and sat in the oversized chair. He took a sip and placed the glass on a coaster she placed on an end table. He looked around, absorbing her taste in furniture and books. Sylvia modestly furnished her apartment: the living area had a television, another coffee table, and a couch bookended by end tables. He turned around and saw she turned the dining room into a sitting room. She had two soft chairs and a matching love seat, plus a coffee table that held the wine and glasses. In addition, she had an old writing desk and a tall bookcase, filled completely with an eclectic assortment of novels and anthologies. He made note to ask her if she was a writer or just an avid reader. "Welcome to my home, Nicholas," he heard. He stood and was ready to call out to her, to ask where she was, but saw a door open. He knew it was her bedroom. The nerves returned. It had been far too long since he had sex, longer than he cared to remember. He didn't fear that he wouldn't remember how to do it. His fear was in whether or not he could control his orgasm. With each step, his heart beat faster. He tried to calm his nerves, breathing deeply and holding it for a five count before exhaling. In the past, it worked to control his anxiety, before tests, being on stage, or on the playing fields. It worked to some extent this time, but not totally. He was sweating in anticipation to what was to come. A few more steps and he was the threshold. Nicholas stood and looked inside. His mouth was ajar. Never did he think she would be like this, like this in the dim candle light, not so soon after admitting to being his admirer. He was spellbound. His nose could detect the hint of musk and vanilla, two smells he loved. Romantic soft jazz serenaded his ears were serenaded that sent his mind to sensual thoughts. Most of all, it was her, what his eyes saw. Barely dressed in red lace and satin, her legs exposed, red lingerie, his weakness. It covered not much, but hid quite a lot. With each heavy breath, her large breasts strained against the delicate fabric. He wanted to leap quickly and pounce on her with animalistic fervor, but those thoughts flitted away. He caught himself starting to drool. Calmly and quickly, he wiped the left corner of his mouth, hoping she did not catch it. A mischievous smile came to her face; she did. "I see I make your mouth water," she cooed. With a twinkle in her eye, she turned ever so slightly, her hard, dark pink nipples pushing hard against the red lace. He felt an electric shock race through his body as a hint of areola showed in the mesh that moved. "Oh, I guess you want to see more of these?" she toyed, cupping her large breasts and pushing them together. He was motionless, paralyzed by both her actions and sexuality. "Want to see more?" A slight nod was all he could muster as sweat poured from his forehead. He began to ache, his pants strained by a growing demonstration of affection. "Oh my," she whispered. "Looks like you do want to see more. Well then, come here and show me." She wiggled over and patted the bed. "Come here lover." He needed not another invite. He slowly moved, ripping off his shirts. A few more steps, and his pants and shorts were also on the floor. "Oh my," was all she could whisper as his arms wrapped around her, his lips meeting hers. His lips were hot, his embrace hotter. She moaned as she moved her body to reach his, to meet his. "Oh God, take me," she whispered as his lips traveled to her neck, her weak spot. His hands answered her request; he removed the straps from her shoulders. Silently, he lifted himself off and pulled down her lace, exposing her chest. He lunged forward, taking as much a breast into his mouth as he could. No words came to his mind that could adequately describe how well she had hidden her chest's true size from him. "Oh, sweet," she cooed. His hot lips cupped her nipple, his tongue flicked over it. "Oh God, I can almost cum. God damn it." Her breathing labored more with each brush of her hard nipple. Her hips began to buck, her head rolled back. She pulled him down firmly, moaning for him to suck and suck hard. Barely audibly, she cooed, "God baby, oh my God, baby!" She inhaled sharply relaxing her lungs. "You are making me cum," she panted, a stop between each syllable. "Oh, yes!" She stopped bucking, her heart pounding hard against her chest; he could feel it wanting to come out. He paused for a moment to look into her eyes. A wonderful smile of contentment showed on both their faces. Nicholas moved closer to her mouth. Looking longingly into her eyes, he kissed her lips. She moaned slightly, her hands placed lovingly on his back. Their lips met, an electric shock traveled through her body. "God, you make me feel so good," she cooed, his lips moving to her neck. She arched her back as he touched her 'spot', the place that causes her to lose her inhibitions. "Take me, take me now," she moaned when his lips reached her breasts. His heart raced when his mouth found her hardened nipple. "God," was all she could utter as he worked on her body. Nicholas' mouth and tongue sucked and licked her bosom, his fingers massaging her thigh. She reached for his hand and moved it upwards, faster. He took the hint and found her wetness. "Fuck me," she whispered, her hand now working on his hardness. Stroking gently, firmly, leading him in between her legs. "Fuck me, now!" "Yes, yes Sweetie," he answered. Slowly, gently, he moved himself between her spread thighs, his cock sliding in perfectly. "God, yes," she cried as her body reacted to this splendid, sweet invasion. She arched her back, rolled her hips forward, taking in him deeper. "Oh yes," she added as he bottomed. He was speechless, he had nothing come to his mind. He never thought he would have another woman, not after what had happened to him, the deception and betrayal. Now, he was with her, and it was glorious. A Secret Admirer Faster, stronger, deeper he moved. Against his actions, she pushed, meeting his thrusts. His natural scent, one that drove her to distraction, mixed with hers, filling the room with sex. There was no conversation, just grunts and moans. Wetness and sweat fell onto the sheets. Her legs wrapped around his body; they became one. Faster, stronger, deeper he moved. Excitement, passion became heightened. She was close, closer to something not felt in quite some time. Explosive, she knew, was coming. She bit her lip. She would wait; wait for him, wanting to be as one in their crescendo. Waiting, waiting externally, she thought, for him. Close, so close he was to showing her his passion. He was eager, but withheld, not wanting to be too eager. He needed release, and soon. Pent up emotions began to flood in his mind: forgotten love, unrequited lust, passion lost. He moved his eyes slightly, looking at her face. She had a smile, one he never saw before. He knew the time was right. A deep thrust, a slam with her hips, and crescendo, passion release. "Oh my God," they both yelled. ***** "Now what do we do?" Sylvia Heywood asked Nicholas Beauchene as they both lay on her bed, the candles out. "Now what do we do, now that we've done this?" He stared up at the ceiling and thought. They worked in the same company, one filled with gossips. He knew he could trust both Natalie and Jennifer with knowledge of this tryst, but could he trust others? Could she trust anyone? Nicholas thought, going over permutations as to what they had done and would could happen if word got to the executives at Beverwyck. Though no policy against employee dating existed, managers and supervisor discouraged often. Both of them knew this. A thought came to her with a chuckle. "Let's not think about it now," she cooed, placing a hand on his hardening cock. A Secret Admirer I do believe it is perhaps a little thicker, wider around than most, though again, I haven't exactly gone about comparing myself to other men. Most of what I have seen or compared myself to has been through a small sampling of X-rated movies that I have from time to time enjoyed viewing. Having just said that, I hope that my confession of doing such from time to time doesn't change or harm your opinion of me. As I sat, reading your letter, I imagined how you must of looked lying inside the tub. In my mind, I could see you caressing your breasts, fingering and toying with those incredible nipples that you so wonderfully described for me. I just wish that I could have been there to watch you. Though I would again be the first to admit, it would have been difficult for me to refrain from touching you, playing with those breasts while seeing you pleasure yourself beneath the faucet. I have never seen a woman masturbate before, and again confess it to be one of my secret desires and fantasies to do so. The thought of the water splashing against your pussy, caressing your clit was most sensual and very erotic to me. I sat stroking myself, reading your letter feeling my cock throbbing with desire to actually be there with you to witness the scene that you described. As the pre-cum leaked from my shaft, I used it to continually supply a nice masturbating lotion for my hand, slicking the head of my prick, teasing it and allowing the pleasure to build until I could no longer stand it. Only then did I finish jerking off, my cum splattering all over my chest, running down between my fingers, saturating my balls (as well as the sheets 'grinning' which I assure you I changed afterwards). I too hope this letter has not surprised or offended you, and anxiously await your next reply. Truly yours, Jack." ** Our time between letters was like extended foreplay. I began thinking about her constantly, even during work. Oft-times finding myself having an erection even during our weekly staff meetings when they grew too boring to sit listening too. I had even begun to find myself becoming aroused the moment I stepped from my car heading into the health spa, checking first the message box hoping that a letter from 'S.A.' would be there waiting for me. ** "Dear Jack, I won't do this again, so don't waste your time looking about for me. But last time at the spa, I had parked my car adjacent to yours. I was a little surprised at myself for doing what I did, as I assure you...it is not something I would normally dare do, or have ever done before. But shortly before you left, I returned to my car climbing into the back seat, ensuring I had blanket with me so as to hide beneath it when you came out of the building before driving home. As I sat there waiting for you to finish your workout, I had purposely refrained from putting my panties back on, still wearing the skirt I had worn at the office, along with a lose fitting sweater that I could easily pull up above my bra-less breasts. As I sat, I imagined sitting next to you there in your car, feeling much like a young teenage girl all over again. I imagined unzipping your fly, my hand worming its way into your pants until withdrawing that magnificent stiff prick of yours. While people all around us came and went in and out of the spa, I continued to imagine playing with you, feeling your cock expand, your pre-cum leaking from the tip of your prick. I sat, fingering my pussy, running the tip of one finger over my clit as I spread myself obscenely with my other hand. The excitement of doing this, knowing that any moment you might emerge from the building became a naughty contest of sorts. I wanted to reach the point of climax the moment I saw you, experiencing orgasm even as you crossed the parking lot heading towards your car, mere feet away from where it was that I was hiding. As though on cue, you did. And I did. As I watched you approaching, I twirled my sensitive clit-nub rapidly with my finger, feeling the sweet ecstasy of my orgasm washing over me even as you reached your car climbing in. Surprisingly, I didn't pull the blanket over me to hide, though admittedly sinking further down into the backseat, the chances of you spotting me remote, but nevertheless very real. Even as you drove away, I lingered momentarily basking in the afterglow of my orgasm, thinking of you. Affectionately, S.A." ** "Dearest S.A., words fail me as to how excited I found myself after reading your last. I too drove home this evening after my workout, deciding as I did to remove my prick, imagining you sitting next to me playing with it as I drove along. I continued to carefully monitor the traffic about me, just as I would if you were really doing it for me. By the time I pulled into my garage, I was too worked up to even head inside the house. I fantasized about you leaning over, sucking my cock into your mouth even as the garage door closed, privately shutting us in. It was an interesting sensation to fully remove my pants, shorts, shoes and socks there inside the car. I continued on with the fantasy, playing with my prick, forming an oval with my fingers as though it were your mouth sliding over the blood engorged head of my prick. I then saw you pulling up the sweater you were wearing over your breasts. I saw myself leaning over to lick and suck them, feeling your nipples grow hard even as my tongue flicked back and forth, alternating between them. When neither of us could stand it any more, you stepped out of the car, your skirt falling down around your ankles where I then spun you about, your hands resting to balance yourself on the hood of the car. From behind, I teased the opening of your pussy with my cock, my hands caressing your sides, kneading the soft pliant flesh of your breasts. Only when you couldn't stand it any more, did I finally ease my hard stiff prick deep into the moist heated recess of your cunt. Sliding into you ever so slowly, I eventually buried my prick completely inside you, where we both stood unmoving, merely feeling and enjoying the sensation of finally coming together. For a good long time, I stood behind you this way, kissing your neck, biting your flesh, hands and fingers running up and down your back as well as playfully kneading the soft tender flesh of your ass. Eventually we began to move, my prick sliding in and out of that velveteen cunt until you began thrusting yourself back against me, your pussy now clenching at my prick, sucking it like a thousand hungry mouths until we at last came together. I could feel my spunk filling your quim, felt your juice pouring out of your pussy, running down between your legs, carrying with it the overflow of my own juices as our simultaneous orgasm continued to play itself out in the privacy of my garage. I didn't even bother cleaning up the mess I had made, enjoying the naughty, somewhat dirty sensation of heading inside the house, my prick still reasonably hard with cum dribbling from it even as I walked upstairs towards my bedroom. I am in hopes that this letter arouses you as much as the fantasy, as well as the writing of it now has done for me. I am off to once again stroke myself off, thinking of you. Amorously yours, Jack." ** For weeks our correspondence continued, each letter becoming even more heated, more arousing than the last. I'd all but given up ever meeting this mystery woman, content now to simply enjoy the words and letters I had begun to cherish and look forward to reading over and over again. I quit making mention of actually meeting her, for in some ways, she had been correct. I had now created inside my own mind a model of what she looked like, very much aware that the likeness in fantasy was no doubt very different from that in reality. I had created perhaps the most detailed, arousing letter I had ever written to her, spending nearly two solid hours writing it. Anxious to see what the response her next letter back to me would say, I was somewhat surprised, certainly disappointed to discover a small simply folded note waiting for me in the message box. ** "Dear Jack, I felt it appropriate to inform you that I will no longer be returning back to the spa. I have done all that I can for myself; some things never change, though I am pleased for the most part with those that have. Additionally, it is only fair that I also tell you; I have fallen in love with someone. Someone I have cared about for a very long time, and it is now time for me to pursue that, given the changes I have made in my life. Forgive me for telling all this to you in this way, but as I have lacked self-esteem for most of my adult life, I dared not approach you directly for fear of both rejection as well as anger on your part. I have enjoyed our time and correspondence together, and regardless of what happens now, shall remember it fondly always. Sincerely yours, S.A." ** Stunned, I drove home dejected feeling more at a loss than I had since the end of my marriage. Angry, I had wadded up the note tossing it from the window of the car, feeling betrayed on the one hand, foolish and stupid on the other. I pulled into the garage, already intending to get nice and soused the moment I could dust off the scotch bottle I had sitting on my rarely used bar. Stepping out of the car heading towards the garage entry into the kitchen, I heard the garage door suddenly begin to close. I stopped in my tracks, turned, and saw a woman standing just inside the slowly closing door. She had her finger on the keypad. "Who the hell are you?" I shot glancing towards her. She winced at my question, still managing to force a smile. "You don't remember me do you?" she asked back. I looked at her again, more closely this time. She was certainly an attractive looking woman. Her shoulder length hair was dark brown with streaks of blonde running through it as highlights. Her hazel blue eyes were accentuated by a slim oval shaped face with lips as full and as inviting as any I had ever seen. And had I ever seen this woman before, I would have remembered her. She was one that would have certainly stuck out in my mind. And yet, there was something vaguely familiar about her voice, along with those eyes, even though I couldn't quite place my finger on it. "No, I'm sorry, I don't," I said apologetically, my own tone of voice suddenly softening, now curious. She smiled. "Well, it has been nearly thirty years. So I'm not too surprised. I had a crush on you during my senior year of high school, though you never knew that of course. And we only had one class together; spoke very few times, so there really isn't any reason why you would remember me. And besides, back then I had mousy brown hair, was fairly chubby with hardly any tits to speak of. A situation that only got worse over the years, until after my divorce when I decided to do something about the way I looked. After seeing you the first time, I decided there and then that I was going to do whatever it took to make me feel good about myself first, and then hopefully you afterwards! And I don't mind telling you Jack, you've made some noticeable improvements in yourself as well!" I continued to stare at her, the garage door finally closing. "Ah, Sharon...no wait! It's Susan isn't it? Susan...Anderson!" I exclaimed, realization suddenly dawning on me. But I'm still confused here. If it really IS you, I know without a doubt I'd have remembered seeing you around the Spa. But to be honest with you...I don't!" Susan laughed; beginning to unzip the skirt she was wearing. "Well that's because I recognized you shortly after you joined, and once we started passing notes back and forth, I started going on the nights opposite those that you did. Except for Fridays, which is when I made sure to stay away from wherever it was that you were, usually taking a massage. Melissa and Chrissy were kind enough to put my letters out to you on the nights you were there. That, and removing those you had left for me until I came in the following evening. That way you were never aware of the fact I wasn't there, except as I mentioned on Fridays." I watched as her skirt fell to the floor, Susan stepping out of it. "Remind me to thank those two personally," I said grinning at her, feeling my erection growing. Once again she laughed. "Oh, and the Name isn't Anderson anymore either. It's Palmer. Susan Palmer. I never retook my maiden name." Susan had peeled the sweater she was wearing up and over her head, revealing those near perfect breasts with their rose colored nipples, just as large, just as inviting as I'd always imagined them to be. "Well then...what does S.A. stand for then?" I asked confusedly. Susan finally approached me, placing her hand on my zipper and began sliding it ever so slowly down. She was giggling still. "Why, Secret Admirer silly, I thought you knew that!" She soon knelt taking my hard throbbing prick inside her mouth. "After this, you gonna fuck me against the car just the way you described doing it to me?" she asked with a mouth full of my cock. "Not only that 'S.A.'," I said calling her affectionately. "But everything else we've shared and discussed too. Which reminds me...how do you feel about masturbating in front of a man?" "I already am baby...I already am," she answered softly. # As always, thank you so much for your votes and feedback on this story! The Sandman