Diary of Seducing my MusebyHeyNonnyNonny©
June 10 2008
This relationship isn't purely a fantasy any more. We are, in our way, pretty good friends. We don't have a lot in common, but we seem to think the same way about things, and we make each other laugh. She knows I fancy her, but I'm not sure she realises how much. I try not to stare too much, though I keep up a pretty tedious line in one-dimensional innuendo.
Last night, at a work do, she was a little bit drunk and she was flirting more than she ever has before. She wanted to know if she was on my "freebies" list (that episode of Friends must have done more damage to relationships than any other show in history). Of course she is! She could have guessed that, of course, but I'm a very good place for her to fish for compliments. If only I had more confidence, I might have made a move. Probably a good thing that I didn't.
July 7 2008
It's her birthday next week. This evening, on the way home from work, I actually spent some time in Selfridge's, looking through the lingerie selection. I picked out a chemise that would have suited her perfectly. A light, very bright blue, with a gentle lace trim, the cut just low enough to be revealing, just high enough to be modest. A slit ran along the side of the short skirt. I could picture it hugging her tiny body, accentuating her curves, contrasting perfectly with her jet-black hair and caramel skin. I put it back on the shelf, of course, and walked away.
I suppose she's my muse. My unattainable goal. I guess married men all have one.
August 5 2008
So I met her new guy. He's been around since just after the work do when she kinda-sorta came onto me. He's really nice, easy-going and a good laugh. The friend part of my brain is delighted for her. The obsessive, lustful part of my brain is not impressed. I've been battling thoughts of jealousy and possessiveness by reminding myself that I'm happily married and that I genuinely want her to be happy. By the time I met him I was relatively at peace, and able to behave like an adult. I've got no right to feel this way, but I can't help feeling a little bit betrayed. What an utter pillock!
August 13 2008
I dreamt about her yet again last night. I was really fired with adrenaline when I woke up; it felt just like that moment before a first kiss. The room was hot, and the night bus was making a din outside the window as I fought to get back to sleep.
In my mind, we've done the deed a thousand times. When I'm pulling myself of, or daydreaming through boring meetings. When I'm fucking my wife or waiting for a tube. So why is it that, when I dream about her, my dreams are pretty tame, and stop around the moment of the first kiss? It's probably because the thrill of acceptance is what most excites me. The giddy pleasure of doing something illicit, making a pact and then finding a way to be together.
There's a bit of my brain that wants this to stop. It isn't fair on her, or my wife. Or even the boyfriend. It also feels incredibly immature. But for all that, it is so… thrilling. It makes me happy, and I guess that's why I keep having the dreams.
December 18 2008
I'm taking the new job. It's absolutely the right thing to do, for lots of reasons. She was the first person at work I told, needless to say. She responded like a good friend. It was a nice moment. I wonder if she guessed that she was a factor in my decision? I mean, she wasn't the most important thing, but I did consider her. Although I didn't really want to move on, this wasn't healthy. I couldn't keep everything straight in my head. One person, who is simultaneously a friend, a colleague, and my muse? Far too complicated for me.
July 3 2009
I suppose she's been with him for over a year now. I'm glad that I didn't remember that on the day; perhaps I'm outgrowing the 13 year old boy's sexual advances that I was relying on (when married, no less).
I've seen a lot less of her recently, and I've tried to stop dwelling on her. It doesn't seem healthy, somehow, or fair on the women in my life (that is, the woman in my life, or the women in my mind's life). I still think about her a lot, though, and, in my undemonstrative way, I really enjoy spending time with her. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I don't believe that. Absence makes the heart take a back seat, and the brain takes over. In my case, it tells me to forget it.
Whenever I do see her, though, I'm struck again by her beauty. I mean, she really is simply stunning. I fancy most Indian girls I meet, but there's something about her that seems special. She's so short, for one thing, and I love the way she stares up at me. She's got perfect skin, and amazing eyes that… oh, I don't know. The truth is, it feels a bit like love. I mean, I don't love her. I never have. I don't know her well enough, and she probably isn't important enough to me. It's just that it's more like love than like lust. I think I find her so beautiful mostly because I can see her personality in her eyes, in her expressive face. And I like her as much as I fancy her. Whatever it is, I notice her whenever I'm in the room with her. And if I haven't seen her for a while, some ill-defined emotion hits me like a thunderbolt.
November 27 2009
Went out for drinks with her last night. A sort of pre-Christmas drink, hurried on by the realisation that we hadn't seen each other since the beginning of August. It was the first time that I can remember where she invited me, picked the time and the place, and I just turned up. After I made plans a couple of times that fell through, I decided she might have decided life is simpler without me. Of course, in a dark corner of my mind I suspected she simply hadn't given me any thought, but most of the time it is pretty easy for me to fool myself about this.
Anyway, I was thrilled when she emailed me, and it was, as ever, great to see her. She was looking really wonderful; it's cold weather and she suits hats. Being a Friday, and nearly Christmas, we were both very relaxed and we had a few drinks. She's far too small to hold her liquor very well, and I find it is always a good idea to ply her with drinks. Anyway, the conversation sort of switched back and forth between very respectable gossip about my old company, and some fairly brazen flirting. I was enjoying it, of course, but I had no idea it was going anywhere. I did notice that she was, if anything, flirting more than me, which I enjoyed.
Anyway, after a while she asked me if I remembered saying that she was at the top of my freebie list. I told her that I did, of course, and she said that I on her list, too! I needed a big gulp of beer before I could even consider playing that one coolly.
"Yeah?" I asked her, trying not to grin too hard. "Long list, is it? He can't be impressed."
"Oh, I'm not telling him. He's not at all suspicious, and I don't want that to change. If he knew the people on the list, he'd be able to stop me ticking them off." She laughed as she said it, but something in her tone suggested to me that she was watching my responses very carefully indeed.
"I don't know. I mean, these lists never really get completed, do they? People have their daydreams, but it's so hard to pluck up the courage to act on them."
"Well, maybe. I think that's a guy thing. If a girl knows that she wants someone, and he wants her, it isn't that hard to push him into making it happen." Well, I'm not a master psychologist, but the emphasis she put on the work him was impossible to ignore. My heart was racing, but I was thinking even faster. I didn't want to miss this chance, if it really was a chance, by saying the wrong thing. For the first time since I met my wife, I was trying to reel a woman in. I just hoped to God I could remember how.
"Sure, it's easy to let a guy know you want him. You can hint that what he's thinking about, what he's always thinking about, is a realistic possibility. But there are practical steps. How can you go from talking about it to actually making it happen? I mean, we're not talking about a fumble in the alley behind the pub, are we?"
"No, of course not. But I don't need Romeo and Juliet, either. I get all the romance I need at home. So if I ever did convince a guy to make a play for me, all he'd need to do would be to book a hotel room, some afternoon when we both had the time to really let ourselves go."
Well, that seemed to me about as clear an invitation as any man has ever received. But I was very conscious to not seem over keen. I eased the conversation back onto holiday plans, etc, and we were as good as gold while we finished our drinks, and had one more for the road. As we were leaving, I asked if she was taking any time off for Christmas shopping.
"Sure. My sister and I are going together on the 14th. But I've got the 15th off too. Haven't got any plans yet."
Game, set and match. I really can't believe this has happened, but short of a written contract, I couldn't be surer that I'm finally going to get what I've wanted all these years.
12th December 2009
Selfridge's was heaving, but of course it would be, two Saturdays before Christmas. Still, I knew what I was looking for and I was mercifully anonymous in the crowds. I hate the way that clothes that you like disappear from the shops, so I was amazed to find that the chemise was still available, same design, same colour. I took a guess that she's XS, and made my way to the checkout. My hands were shaking. I guess I was right that it is the anticipation that is the most exciting thing of all.
Later that afternoon, I booked the hotel I've decided on. It's central London, and expensive enough to be discreet and romantic. We're able to check in any time from 12. She asked me what name I was booking under. Why, Mr and Mrs Smith, of course!
14th December 2009
Okay, I was wrong. The anticipation isn't the best bit, because today was far, far more intense and pleasurable than I could ever have imagined. I sent her a text yesterday, telling her to arrive at the hotel at about one, announce herself as Mrs Smith, and then go up to the room, and I'd meet her there.
Before she got there, I sneaked into the room, left the lingerie (gift-wrapped) on the bed, together with a bottle of champagne, which I opened and poured her a glass of. I then sneaked downstairs to get myself a glass of something stronger from the obliging man behind the bar. Hidden behind a column, I heard her before I saw her, and peeked out as she took her key and made for the old-fashioned lift. I forced myself to give her some time. Yes, I wanted her to put the chemise on, but I also wanted her to have a drink and relax. There was a little bit of me that still dreaded that she'd leave at this point.
I had a second drink, chatting to the barman and trying not to look at my watch. I'm sure that nothing I said made any sense, but he was polite enough to humour me. After I judged enough time had passed (didn't want her getting cold feet) I walked up stairs, feeling my knees slightly weak below me, a delicious squirming in my stomach. I wasn't sure if it was nerves, or lust. Both, probably. I reached the door, knocked softly, and, when I was told to come in, slipped through the door, locking it behind me.
I swear, if I live to 100 I'll never know another moment like that. She was standing in front of me, wearing the chemise, her hair, unusually, flowing loose around her shoulders, her feet bare. The blue silk clung to her, exposing every curve and appearing almost like she was entirely naked. Oh, she was a picture. But I hardly noticed her body. It was the look on her face that captured my attention. That beautiful face gazed up at me, more expressive than I've ever seen it. Her eyes blazed with lust. I couldn't believe someone who looked like that could want me.
For moments, though it felt like hours, neither of us moved. I just stood there, drinking her in, her eyes on my face, mine meeting hers, then exploring her body, returning to her eyes. I think I'd be there still if she hadn't moved. Slowly, she raised her right foot onto her toes, pushing her weight onto her left foot and pushing her hips towards me provocatively. I took a step forward, and reached out my hand, hoping it wouldn't shake too obviously. I placed it on her shoulder, soft and smooth to my touch, surprisingly hot, and ran it slowly down the length of her arm, reached around to the small of her back and pulled her towards me. She was so small and delicate, she felt almost fragile now that she was at last in my arms. I could smell her hair, the hint of her familiar perfume.
I pulled her close to me, her lithe little body clinging to mine. I could feel her chin pressing against my chest, bending slightly, I kissed her for the first time. There was a magic in that moment. I can't describe it. I think it was because this somehow meant something to both of us that we couldn't express, something caught in the no-man's-land that is neither love nor lust. I'm sure she could feel my heart pounding against her, as I wrapped other arm around her and pulled her even closer to me, kissing her deeply and tenderly. It was another moment that I don't think I would have been able to end.
She stopped kissing me, and leaned back in my arms with a smile of pleasure at our intimacy. She had her hands on my chest, I realised, and had unbuttoned my jacket. Her clever fingers were working at my tie as I stared hungrily down her low-cut top, the soft arc of her breasts visible below the silk. My hands slipped past the small of her back, and I cupped her buttocks in my hands. She let out a soft sigh as I began to knead them slowly, the smooth silk running between my fingers, her flesh firm het pliant to my touch. My tie was loose now, and I felt her unbuttoning my shirt. I realised how strange it was that she was virtually naked while I still wore the uniform of the businessman. I kicked off my shoes, and wriggled from my jacket, not letting go of her even for a second.
I said that her shoulders were hot. Well, her fingers felt hotter. I still don't know what was happening, whether she really was hot, or I just imagined the heat. Something about her touch felt almost like it was burning my skin. I just loved the way she touched me, pushing my shirt off my chest, her hands running over my bare skin. I didn't really notice that I'd picked her up, was carrying her back across the room to the bed. She was so light, and it felt so natural to have her in my arms. I did notice when she wrapped her thighs around me, almost climbing up my body. She locked her hands together behind my head and kissed me deeply. My hands explored her bare thighs. So hot to the touch. So smooth.
As I reached the bed she lowered herself onto it, climbing out of my embrace. Nothing I'd seen in her before today would have made me think that she would be this confident in the bedroom. She wasn't shy, exactly, but she was normally demure. Today, though, she was far more in control than I was. She knelt on the edge of the bed now, her wide eyes staring up at me as she played for a moment at my belt, the button of my fly. I stepped out of my wool trousers as they plummeted towards the floor, pulling my socks off with my toes as I went. I swear, she actually licked her upper lip as my cock sprung towards her, granite-hard underneath my boxers. Her face was inches away from it, but she reached upwards and kissed me just above the navel, and then kissed and licked her way up my body, until she was standing on tip toes, her weight resting deliciously against me as she kissed my neck and ran her tongue along the length of my jaw.
Her hands, meanwhile, trailed a different path, and were pressed between us, one pulling gently at my chest hair while the other softly tickled and cupped my balls through the thin material of my boxers. My cock strained ever harder towards her, and I let out a low moan as it brushed against her wrist. I have never needed anyone like I needed her in that moment. I grabbed her, squeezing her bum and pulling the expensive silk aside, placing my hands on the bare flesh beneath. The silk fell back over my hands as I squeezed and caressed her, lifting her into my arms again.
I turned around, my back to the bed, and let myself fall backwards, and she, locked in my embrace fell on top of me. She let out a tiny squeal of surprise and a delicious giggle, as our lips sought each other. Still kissing her, I rolled her onto her back, pinned her to the bed with my leg, the skin to skin contact again feeling incredibly hot, almost electrical. I raised myself up onto an elbow, allowing me to look down on this vision underneath me; her dark features slightly flushed, her eyes wide, watching to see what I'd do next. Now I had her where I wanted her, I forced myself to slow my advances and relish the moment.
Kissing her softly on the forehead, I ran my finger along the line of the material across her chest, from one spaghetti strap to the other, slowly and gently exploring the smooth curves of her breasts, the tiny hollows above her collar bones. As I reached her shoulder, I pulled the strap down, slightly over her shoulder, and again traced a long pattern along the line of the material, this time pushing it down slightly, exposing slightly more of her body. Again, as my fingers reached the point of her shoulder I pulled the strap to her upper arm, and traced for a third time my lazy, inquisitive path. Her small breasts were almost exposed now, and she lay smiling up at me, and I'm sure she relished the hunger she could see in my eyes.
Her nipples were clearly visible now, two hard points in the soft lace, half-hidden from view. I brushed my fingertips across them and was rewarded with a low moan, before I returned to her shoulder, and again traced my hand along the line of silk that ran across her breasts. This time, I exposed them fully, and she lay half naked in front of me. I leaned down and kissed her full on the lips, her breast held in my hand as I ran my index finger around her swollen nipple.
Reluctantly, I broke our kiss and reached down, running my tongue over her breast, exploring every curve. She began to writhe below me, and I was thrilled to sense her moving beyond excitement and towards real arousal. I ran my tongue over the tiny bumps surrounding her nipple, pulling it into my mouth, flicking it with my tongue, sucking gently. I reached my hand down her body and caressed her knee, the plane of her thigh. Her fingers were in my hair, holding me against her chest as my hand danced its way up her thigh, the silk hem tickling at my wrist.
She was pushing herself towards my hand, that's what I remember the most clearly. I loved how much she wanted me. After all the doubts that this was some crazy fantasy of mine, I needed to know that she wanted me. I knew it when I saw her eyes as the door opened, and I knew it in this moment. As my hand continued up her thigh, she stopped writhing, and lay very still, almost rigid. My fingertips brushed through her short wiry hair, and touched her for the first time. She let out a shuddering cry and her entire body relaxed at that first touch. I thought for a moment that she'd already come, but I realised that she had simply been waiting, pent up, for the release of the contact.
As my fingers gently explored her folds, she began to writhe once again, pushing her heels into the bedding and forcing herself up into my hand, her wetness virtually pouring out of her. I placed my index and ring fingers inside her, enjoying the wet heat and the passion of her response as I slid them up and down, softly squeezing her clit as I did so. My thumb rested at the mouth of her pussy as I lowered my middle finger onto her clit, held out in place. She was gasping now, her mouth agape, her face and chest flushed dark with blood. I pushed my two fingers together a little more, exposing her clit to my middle finger which lay flat across it, tracing tiny circular motions.