B is for Bethany

Having had a quiet time since my first encounter about a minute and a half later, when I might just have got a brief smile of recognition, suddenly several things were happening almost at once. Just as I saw the man get out of the car I began to worry. This didn't seem a good situation, two boys and one girl - not young men and women, only about fifteen or sixteen - appeared out of an alley between two buildings in front of me. And a woman, probably about twenty-five years old, got out of the same car after the man. For a moment I'd had what I suppose is something of a standard TV fear, that this was a guy who'd either spotted me as a TV or had seen me as just a little more than what I wanted to be, as a woman making herself available.

I'd just reached the stretch of the High Street by the dark charity shop, where the previous night I'd been so elated to see myself as a smartly-dressed woman. As I looked once more to my right I saw a refection again. The short tight skirt and long legs and very high heels did give a very different impression this time. I could indeed be seen like that. As a prostitute. When I'd spotted the solo man emerging from the car I'd thought the worst.

But when his companion joined him and they walked off in the other direction towards the bridge together I breathed a sigh of relief. And when the two young boys and the girl walked straight past me, and I heard their loud-ish chatter from behind me I was elated that they'd not spotted me. She was probably about fifteen, as I said, though quite heavily made-up, clearly trying to look older. 'Lamb dressed as mutton' in a way. I couldn't make out exactly what they said, all I heard was 'something something legs!' I allowed myself a smile, of satisfaction as well as relief.

Once more my time in the spotlight was coming to a close. Just for a few yards I allowed myself to enjoy the experience. I really wanted to turn round and go back, to look at my reflection in the darkened shop window again, even to pose a bit there, but I didn't. It would have been a bit silly to do that, not that me doing this entire walking-about thing wasn't silly. But at the corner, just before turning to go down the less-well-lit narrow street, I did pause.

I was going to get myself another cigarette. I'd just lifted my bag and opened it to reach in when I heard dull footsteps. Another man had come out of the same alley that the boys and the girl had come out from, this time behind me. And, almost automatically I turned to look in that direction.

"Hello love," he said.

We were standing just at the end of the narrow street back to the car park, just about two yards apart. He'd stopped to talk to me. Here I was, still in the well-lit High Street though only just, and not just being passed or briefly looked at by another person but actually being addressed by someone else. The phrase 'I nearly shit myself' comes to mind now thinking about it, but at the time I just didn't have time to think.

"Hello," was all I said, quietly.

I'd known all along I just might have to speak to someone, going out and showing myself like that. But I'd reasoned that if I didn't say much, just 'Hi' or 'Hello' or 'Thank you' or something like that and if I kept my voice quiet, a mutter rather than a whisper, I might get away with it. The man in front of me clearly didn't 'read' my voice, he turned a little and looked me straight in the eyes. And as he did so I got a clear view of his face in the light from the street lamp about five yards behind me.

And this is where, dear reader, I just might stretch your credulity a bit. You'll have noticed I've been careful not to identify people or places too precisely. What I've written so far has been the truth, but not the whole truth. I've missed bits. There can be nothing incredible in it because it happened. Like I said at the beginning it's an account, not a story this time. But it was when I saw this man clearly that co-incidence, the basic requirement for many TV fantasies, mine included, raised its head. I knew him.

Or at least I recognised him. We'd met about a year ago in a pub, me and Carol and Mike and his wife. And yes, his name is Michael, known as Mike. That fact I am not omitting. Because he has a common name and a common surname as well, I think it's OK to actually name him. It is very unlikely that he is reading this. Not that I know him at all well but I really don't think he has any TV or transgender interests at all and I don't think he's a man who accesses this sort of site. And if I'm wrong - Hi Mike, and thanks!

Even if he does read it I think I'm safe. Though the facts in this account are true there is one major 'lie' in this and in many of my own fantasy stories. My wife's name isn't Carol or anything like it. Some years ago when I started writing TV fantasies I needed a wife-name and picked that one totally out of the air and I've stuck to it. So even if you are reading this account, Mike, I'm confident you won't recognise 'Bethany' as someone you know, however vaguely. And I hope you don't mind me giving your real name, it's just because you do play such a significant part in this account of the end of my life as 'Bethany'.

Mike looked at me and smiled a little. And to be honest at that moment I just didn't know what to do. I just looked at him for maybe five seconds. I was trying to recall what I could about him. I was sure 'Mike' was right, we'd only spoken the once in that pub. Mainly we'd both been listening while Carol and his wife discussed another couple, apparently they'd both known them when they used to work together and they'd just split up and so on and so on.

"Are you OK?" asked the guy in front of me, Mike.

"Yes sure," I replied, quickly, then I realised something I'd not spotted.

OK so he wasn't totally drunk, not falling-down pissed by a long way but he wasn't totally sober either. I tried to think what was down the little alley where he'd come out from, where I'd seen the other three youngsters a minute or two earlier. Maybe a pub though they would probably have closed an hour or so earlier. Maybe a restaurant, but had he been there alone? Or was his wife about to follow him?

"You on your own?" he asked me.

This conversation and some silences from me had been going on for nearly two minutes as we both stood there. I had to make a move.

"Yes," was all I said, and turned to begin my walk down the last narrow road to the end of the car park.

"I'll come with you," said Mike.

As I walked he was there, running just a bit to catch up with me. I didn't panic, I was only about eighty yards or so from my car. I looked across towards him, he grinned quite widely, and in a rather silly way, he really wasn't fully sober. I smiled back just a little.

"I'm Mike," he said.

I just had to reply.

"I'm Bethany," I said, trying to keep my voice quiet and gentle, the way I've always described doing so in my stories, except that in them it always worked, totally, 100%.

If Mike had been really aware I think he might have 'got' the tone of my voice but he gave no indication at all of doing so. And as well as that, behind us, I could hear a vehicle. Just for a moment I was puzzled, I didn't think this particular road led anywhere. At the end the path to the car park was bollarded over, to keep out cars and vans. But then I realised there were a couple of small turn-offs from the road, onto parking areas and garages belonging to the flats above the shops on the main street behind us. I had to move across right to the side - the vehicle was a 'white van', quite big, it only just fitted across the narrow street.

Mike was right behind me. And as I leaned against a high wall on my right, he leaned against me. I felt his arm reach round my waist, basically in some sort of way holding me protectively in against the wall and away from the van. The van went past actually without a great deal of difficulty though I could just about see that part of its offside wheels was over the edge of the path. But then it swung left into one of the even smaller streets off that one. The rear lights disappeared from view and a few seconds later I heard the engine stop.

And Mike still had his arm round me. I took his hand and moved it away. If that van hadn't come along and if Mike hadn't acted with some sort of semi-drunken bravado in putting his arm across my body, I'd not have had any reason at all to be there holding his hand. Which I was. I was about forty yards away from 'safety', from my car in the car park ahead. I could have just let go and walked on and been sat in my car in the space of maybe half a minute. But I didn't. I was actually enjoying being there, 'with' a man, holding his hand in semi-darkness - there wasn't a street lamp within thirty yards maybe so I knew he couldn't see me all that clearly.

As my last act as Bethany, before driving home to my final gin-and-tonic, I pulled him gently along with me, another five yards or so to a place where the path narrowed just a little and into the doorway of a building on our right, plenty of space for the two of us to stand. I daren't spend another two minutes in conversation and I didn't want to have to explain in any way just why I hadn't let go of his hand.

I pulled him just a little closer, I'd just worked out exactly what to say, and I knew again I had to mutter it quietly, not speak it out loud. With my own face less than twelve inches from him I made the longest statement of my entire escapade. Eight words in all, no, I didn't count them then but I have since.

"I've never kissed a man with a beard."

OK so I haven't mentioned it before. In writing this now, after the event I've been concentrating on getting it right, on not over-stating what happened, not falsifying everything. It's a bit difficult. I do realise this reads like a TV fantasy story, but that is really the only way I can write it. And in describing our meeting on the High Street it just didn't occur to me to describe Mike carefully. But the beard is significant. It gave me a feeble excuse for taking to him. And, I admit, it increases the possibility of someone reading this and identifying him. But I think it's OK. Mike with a beard from the West Midlands. There must be lots of them.

Before he could answer I acted. I shuffled a little closer until our bodies were actually in contact and in one move I moved a hand round his neck and pulled him closer to me and put my lips onto his. It hadn't occurred to me at all, but the beard also lessened the chances of him feeling any affects of the non-total smoothness of my own face. I pressed my lips to him for a short time, then pulled away a little.

I didn't speak. I didn't mutter or whisper anything. But one of his hands had, automatically I suppose, snaked round my waist and was at that moment resting on the top of my bum. The first kiss was a good idea in the circumstances, there wasn't a violent reaction, no outburst at the sexual harassment or anything, no sound at all. I kissed him again and put my own other hand round his neck. And after a second or two I moved my lips against has and eased my tongue into his mouth. I'd gone from nothing to French kissing within thirty seconds! And now he did react!

I hadn't really judged Mike, from my brief encounter with him and his wife, as the sort of man when might go for this, for a snog with a strange woman in the dark late at night. But I know men, obviously. I like to think that, in the right situation and specially with a little alcohol inside him, nearly any man would respond positively if you see what I mean. I think I might, the male me anyway. In that situation that is.

And Mike did respond. As I continued the kiss I felt his hands roaming. I knew I had to be careful, obviously. Maybe in a fantasy I'd have been wearing seamlessly hidden breast-forms which felt just right and a flesh-coloured latex gaff with a pussy-hole, and I'd have been desperate for him to fondle my tits and slide his fingers round my 'vagina'. But he really couldn't get anywhere near them. As I felt one hand slide down my bum and onto my stockings I knew I had to react.

And again, here, I need to apologise. Some of the following may not be entirely accurate. I was obviously nervous as hell when Mike's groping started, desperate not to get found out. As his hands moved and our kisses broke and continued, I didn't say much. I had to stick to monosyllables. And Mike didn't say much more either but I'm not totally sure about the sequences of his mutterings and moanings. So, sorry if some of this isn't entirely right, but it is close.

As his hand met my stockings he moaned while we were kissing. I broke off briefly and just hissed 'Yes' in his ear, and lifted my leg up to stroke his own leg, so that he could fondle the exposed thigh and not get too far towards my panties. He muttered something like 'Oh yes' and continued, the French kissing was becoming rather passionate by then. He was alternating in his attentions between fondling my 'boobs', yes, my water-filled balloons strapped tight to my chest by the bra-cups of my bra, and feeling my thighs. And, needless to say, I was loving it!

In all honesty I'd really hoped to 'pass' in a twenty-second conversation in the street. Hopefully with a man, I'd really hoped to be smiled at and admired as a woman though I'd not been at all sure how to go about accomplishing that. But I'd never dreamed I'd end up French-kissing a man and being groped by him. The night was ending up going so, so far beyond what I'd had any right to expect. I was groping Mike, sliding my hands up and down inside his jacket, kissing as passionately as I really dare, and he was likewise fondling me, enjoying himself grabbing my boobs and caressing my thighs. And then his hand did slide up my thigh, almost as far as my panties.

I broke the kiss once more, torn between going on and finishing it there and then. Mike was looking me straight in the eyes again. I was totally elated, he was seeing a woman! And a desirable one at that, I could feel his arousal pressed against my thigh.

He looked at me with a version of that rather silly smile again.

"Do you wanna fuck?"

Of course I did. I was desperate, my own penis was squeezed tight between my legs by my thong. I really couldn't reply, I just pressed my lips again to his for a while. Then I realised just what might be possible.

"Not here," I whispered in his ear. "Come on."

I grabbed his hand and led him towards the car park. Basically, yes, I'd have loved him to fuck me. Loved him to shove his cock into my arse and shoot a load of hot sticky cum deep into me. But I knew that wasn't going to happen. I know I've used the idea in another of my stories, basically seducing a husband by persuading him I wanted anal sex so that he wouldn't investigate round the front and discover I had a cock instead of a cunt. But that was in a fantasy. This was in real life, IRL as they say, and as a secret TV with Mike I had to be realistic. During the last kiss I'd been thinking, if I could get him into my car ......

We walked towards the car park and round the corner. At that end of the car park there were just two cars now, mine and the estate I'd seen earlier. I was holding tight onto Mike's hand, trying to think what he was thinking, imagining being in his situation, trying to come up with a scenario which would let me go just that little bit further. I'd stretched things several times already, by going out that night and not finishing after my previous walk, by actually kissing him when I saw an opening, when I'd used the 'beard' excuse. Now here I was walking hand-in-hand with Mike and anticipating a sexual encounter. As we strolled towards the cars I saw Mike put his hand, his other hand, into his pocket. The other car in front of us beeped. It was his.

I just walked past mine, still holding on tight. I've never had sex in a Fiesta, I'd spent a minute or so anticipating some sort of cramped and congested groping as well as wondering exactly how to get out of things if they went wrong. Or if they finished. But in an estate car, if the back seat went down - yes it did! Mike released my hand and opened one of the rear doors, leaning in and reaching over obviously to release the restraining clips which held that rear seat in place, and pushing it down. It went backwards, which surprised me, I don't recall seeing one which did that. But I could see clearly past him a wide-ish expanse of flat cushioned surface. Not a bed, but a substitute.

I grabbed his arse cheek and pushed. He tumbled in, I bent down my head and followed, basically launching my entire body on top of his and starting off the necking and petting once more. He had to wriggle to get more comfortable. I did the same and lay down partly beside him, partly on top of him, and slid my right leg right up his body. He grabbed it and moved his hand right down my thigh and my calf to my shoes, then back up again.

Needless to say, I was in paradise. This was a TV dream except it wasn't, it was happening. We wriggled and groped a bit more, I managed to get a hand under his shirt and pushed it up to be able to see, not very well in that light, his bare torso.

"Ohhh baby!"

Yes, that's right, those are the very words he used, he just moaned and grappled as we became more passionate. I've always liked the idea of kissing as a TV as you will know if you have read any of my stories, but I've not had any experience of it IRL at all. That night I really made up for lost time. Yet again I was thinking, determined to keep up my charade, moving and wriggling to try to keep Mike from discovering my secret which amazingly was still 'tucked' tight between my legs in my thong.

When his hand eventually made its way up my thigh and grasped my arse cheek I knew I had to get this done, I had to 'finish him off' somehow. I sat up a little, facing him, smiling, and undid the waistband of his trousers. I slid them, and his pants, down in one go. I wanted him naked but I realised that wasn't going to be possible. The kissing was over, the groping too to an extent. I grabbed his balls and slid my hand up and down his large erect prick. He'd stopped fondling though one of his hands was still sliding a bit up and down my stocking-clad thigh.

My own cock was safe, my knees and thighs were together as I knelt there, it was trapped but it was beginning to become just a little uncomfortable. I fondled his cock and his balls. I was wanking him. Mike was just moaning, he was in heaven too, I know, being aroused and played with by a leggy, tarty, somewhat attractive older woman. I leaned over to kiss him briefly, then transferred my lips all the way down to his swollen cock. This really did have to be it. Anal sex was out of the question though I expect he was still anticipating a fuck. But I just couldn't let it happen. I teased and fondled his cock with my lips, then slid my mouth down onto it. And continued fondling his balls, and sliding my glossy red lips up and down his shaft for half a minute -- maybe more.

His moaning increased. I was going to do this!

"Oh Christ!" was the full extent of his comment as he climaxed in my mouth, as his sperm did erupt and shoot out into my throat.

I swallowed a little, I couldn't help it. As he spasmed my mouth began to fill up. I was still massaging his balls, still encouraging his gorgeous ejaculation, and becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second between my own legs. And he subsided. I'd done it. With a combination of masturbation and sucking and tongue-teasing I'd got Mike to cum in my mouth, to spurt semen down my throat. And I was in severe danger of revealing myself. My tight skirt was shoved up to an extent, I could just see my thong between my legs when I looked down, and I could feel my own cock becoming aroused.