A Flame in the Night Ch. 03

WHO'S TEASING WHOM?

After hearing my blowjob fantasy, you (female) marvel somewhat at what I had to say. But you also have some doubts about the necessity of having what I described, and so you internalize about it asking yourself, "Can sucking it like that be truly--THAT good for him? Hmm..." It's not that you don't believe all I told you, but it's more that in your way of reasoning, what's the point of making such a big deal about anything so simple?

Analyzing more, you wonder why I made such a fuss about wanting such excessive attention given to my penis. What purpose or function does that actually serve? It's merely human nature or at most human desire. That seems to make better sense to you. After all, guys want sex, and so you convince yourself that for the most part I'm basically the same as other males. Therefore, following your thinking, my fantasy is likely not all that meaningful or maybe not as important as I described it. Surely, you figure, there is more to what I like or want.

But still, you like the story and you want to be respectful of the fact I have shared the details about something I like, so you don't want to be completely dismissive about my idea. Fondly then, you decide to file away those special fantasy details of mine--somewhere deep in the recesses of your mind--just in case ... you think later it's important to remember.

While for me, I'm on a high. What a relief it is to get it out in the open and to express this fantasy, my passion and hope. And with the same enthusiasm, I prepare to hear a story from you, a story about your deepest desire or hidden fantasy. I sit up with excitement, preparing myself to listen to your version. Excitedly I ask, "Ok, so how about you? Give me a secret. Tell me YOUR sex fantasy!"

"Well ... Uh ... I can't tell it to you--just like that!" you say while blushing.

Then in an instant, the cheerful mood begins to sink. In nervous silence, we smile trying to shake off the discomforting awkwardness which is brewing, but unfortunately we are both a little unsure about what to say or how to recover from the inconvenience of our social mishap. I try to hide my dismay, but my emotions are stunted. I don't want to overtly advertise my ill feelings with the refusal, but--in like manner feeling as if while standing at the front door ready to buy tickets to the last show of the night, a show I really wanted to see, I'm then told "it just sold out" and like that--I feel defected!

In summary, the mute fantasy is an obvious disappointment, and I feel cheated and deprived of getting the chance to glimpse into your inner personality. Furthermore, I'm frustrated about what to do next. I know I can't make you talk, that would certainly be a blunder to demand it. And though I'm discouraged by lowered expectations, nonetheless, I'm still hopeful you will do more to reveal something about your sexual yearnings.

Consequently, granted what's happened, I guess we can continue discussing the weather, or I can tell you more about my running hobby. Then again, we can order more coffee and tea, or even get dessert. However, after feeling so comfortable barely moments ago, going back to babbling about the weather or refilling our beverage doesn't seem quite as appealing anymore. After all, I'd prefer provoking you with playful questions like, "What color underwear are you wearing?" Or impulsively, I could canvas your opinion: "What if I suddenly walk in on you and accidentally happen to see you in bed as you're playing with yourself--figuratively speaking--should I leave quietly, to let you finish? Or should I stay, to help out? What should I do?"

Polling you with questions like the later ones would be a lot more fun, except, currently as things stand, it would seem untimely. I'd feel rather uncomfortable prodding you now with too much personal stuff. Thus, after weighing the alternatives, I'm even more inclined to determine a way to restore the intimate atmosphere we were previously enjoying. So I press my brain to contrive a remedy, an agreeable solution to fix this dilemma. Next thing I know, out of nowhere, this brilliant thought came to me--an approach that can literally save the evening!

Coyly I ask, "What if you try to--write--your fantasy. Can you do that?"

Without waiting for an answer, I quickly gather up the necessary supplies. Some students are studying not too far away, so I go borrow from them a pen and a sheet of yellow memo size paper torn from a notebook. Without delay, I place them both before you. In silence, you cautiously take your time and begin seriously giving consideration to the request. I refrain from moving as I watch you; I'm just so curious to find out if my ploy will work. You sit for a moment, contemplating further, but with no clear intentions about what you plan to do. I see no useful activity going on with the pen, and then finally I hear your decision.

"Well, all right," you mutter. And you begin to write!

Intently, I watch as you write. It seems apparent you may have always had something you wanted to express, but perhaps you were initially reluctant to share. Maybe like me you have an itch, or a craving, or some little fetish matter you'd like to have exposed. So now, with a supposed sense of eagerness, I can see you are jotting down your thoughts.

But, is it a sexual fantasy? Is it a secret desire? Or a simple pleasure you've wanted to experience? Or maybe it's an urge so kinky or wicked and perverted you could never say for fearing shame and ridicule. Sexual needs can be so unpredictable, so my curiosity is racing. I try to control my opinions from swaying away too much, but all I can do is watch and make educated guesses as to what fantasy or desire you're writing.

Patiently I observe and now identify that you have finished. You have completed writing your secret wish, but I stare in utter surprise at what happens next! As soon as you had finished, and without hesitation, you proceed to fold the paper over and over--and again, over several times more. Then in a devious manner, you place the folded letter in my pocket, and with a stern and serious voice you say, "DO NOT read this!"

My jaw drops. I hardly know what to say to this unexpected condition. I am stunned and surprise, but certainly not upset. In fact, I'm a bit tickled at this new game you're playing. And while still working through my confusion about this, I tentatively nod my head in approval.

"Trust me," I reassure you. "I will not look, and I will not show this to anyone."

And feeling pleased with my response, you begin to relax at the situation. In one way or another, you have done your part in opening up, taking risks, and sharing things, which we normally keep discreet. Thus between us, we now have better balance disclosing and exchanging a few of our closely guarded ideas. And even though your thoughts are folded up and nicely concealed in my garment, you have some misgivings about giving away your private secrets so easily. However, you're more excited by my guarantee not to peek at the paper contents, so those apprehensive feelings mostly slip away. Besides, you figure this is a good opportunity to explore my credibility and maybe test to see if I can keep my word. So, letting fate take its course, you decide you will entrust me with your confidential information and see if anything good develops.

From my perspective, right now, with the folded letter lay resting in my pocket, I feel a terribly heavy burden. I have a new responsibility to guard the safety of your secret. Not only must I avoid telling anyone else, but I must also protect your secret from myself. Nevertheless, the mystery of what's inside eats at me and torments my conscience. I'm naturally inquisitive and need to know answers. So, I begin to question if I can really keep my pledge, but there is a trust I want to earn. And so I vow not to peek.

Yet, although I've committed myself to keeping that promise, the unknown data in that folded paper is a brainteaser, and that teasing of what it might be lingers in my head. In other words, it remains difficult to stop thinking about that note in my pocket with all the possibilities it represents; however, in spite of all that, I manage to remain centered well enough to continue chatting with you. And with the topic of fantasy and desires adequately covered, we move on to discuss other interesting things. The subject: turn-ons and fetishes. You know the small things that turn our brain into mashed bananas, and things that pull at our groin.

And once again, I have the eagerness to share more. So in a near begging demeanor, I prompt you this query, "You know, I once wrote a story about a night that drove me silly with some fetish kind of stuff. Do you want to hear about it?"

And you agree to listen while I proceed to tell you my fetish tale.

To be continued...

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