Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 04

I have an idea for a grand "climax" for Joan. But even though this series is only a fantasy it's hard to imagine that she would only have one response to her advert, or only meet up with Dave as a result!

This chapter is another slow build-up to the "real" action of the next chapter, so bear this in mind when deciding whether to read this one. But like Joan, the reader needs to get to know a bit about the next person whom she meets up with in response to her advert. And, like Joan a bit of delay for the resolution may be exciting for the reader, too.

So I hope you like this one and if you don't, you'll have to be patient for a short while until I can write the next chapter -- I only have limited free time!

As ever, many thanks for the positive feedback so far

ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONAL AND OVER 18

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Joan felt strange and rather sad to be hugging and kissing David goodbye, though in effect they had already said their farewells. In all they had enjoyed sex three times, the third with David pretending to be asleep and her gently "arousing" him. As they parted, each had sought to assure the other that a further meeting would be delightful (without wishing to appear desperate), and each added that this was of course dependent on the other's wishes (to avoid appearing pushy). She had already decided against accompanying him back to the reception area.

"No strings" needed to be precisely that -- at least as far as possible given that she had just had sex three times with her former neighbour who was half her age. And, after he had gone, she just managed to refrain from watching him leave from the bedroom window. She caressed the piece of paper on which he had written his telephone number, though. And although he had encouraged her to call him Dave, she still found herself thinking of him by the more formal name she had used for years.

No strings. It was more complicated than it sounded!

Joan felt guilty and ashamed as well. She had never behaved like this before, indulging in sex purely for sex's sake. And to do it three times! In close succession!. With a lad half her age, too. She could not decide which was worse -- intending to do it with a total stranger or actually doing it with her young, former next door neighbour. An accusing voice in her head berated her.

But she felt happy, too. A warm glow and even a sweet, slight inner ache made her feel good, and the thought that -- even though secretly - she had somehow struck back at her ex-husband for his cheating on her filled her with a sense of satisfaction.

She made herself a coffee from the courtesy tray and lit a cigarette. She had reduced her smoking over the last few months but could not resist having one right now.

Nervousness and excitement crept upon her, too. She wondered whether there would be any more respondents to her advert. There had been several so far. Some had been simply obscene messages left for kicks. Others she had not liked the sound of, although she had made a note of a couple of telephone numbers as possible candidates to meet -- she had been unable to get through to them so far. One call had been most unpleasant, a sneering voice offering to be her "bit on the side", taunting her for her loveless or sexless marriage, and bragging about being the answer to all her problems. Joan tried to be philosophical, but it angered and upset her.

There was another problem, too. Having been the victim of cheating herself she was reluctant to meet married men and be responsible for the feelings of hurt, betrayal, anger and low self esteem that she knew only too well.

She would go home soon to check. If there were any likely candidates she might even be able to meet one this very evening and -- her heart skipped a beat and she felt a little wave of arousal at the very thought -- if she really felt it safe, maybe she would even have sex with him. Who knows, she thought, she might even do it in this very room where she had already had sex three times in the last few hours! After all, she had booked the room for the night. She blushed at the thought -- however unlikely -- of having sex with two different men on the same day and on a total of four or five occasions. She felt a surge of arousal -- and a blush of shame.

She realised, though, how lucky she had been that David, her former neighbour, had been her first contact. She knew that meeting for a blind date, especially when advertising for "no strings adult fun" was very risky. She was not so desperate that she would put herself in any danger. Violence or infection were not on her agenda. She had in fact intended to use a condom with David but the shock discovery that she knew him half drove it form her mind. It seemed pointless and embarrassing to mention it after the first time.

She looked around as she drew on her cigarette. As her eyes alighted on the maid uniform that she had worn just a short time ago, she smirked to herself again at the role play in which she had engaged with David. She was glad that she had splashed out on a nice hotel, especially for her first time. The quality of the decor helped to mask some of the seediness of what she had done. She would have hated doing it in some dingy cheap room somewhere. On the other hand she knew that she could not afford such relative luxury every time she wanted to get laid.

Her mind drifted back over the events of the afternoon, and she felt twinges of pleasure and shame as she revisited them, alternating between grins of naughty delight and furrowed brows of guilt.

She looked at her watch. It was time, she decided, to head for home and check for responses to her advert. She would have had time for a quick shower before leaving, but decided to wait until she got home. Although imperceptible she felt she wanted to drive home feeling slightly tainted from her earlier encounter. She would freshen up at home instead.

She picked up the maid uniform, and as she hung it up in the wardrobe she again chuckled softly at the intensity of David's arousal, and of hers, in its use just an hour or so earlier.

She headed off along the corridor and down the stairs to reception to hand in her room key. The young lad who had ogled her as she checked in was on duty again. To her annoyance he did the same again, leering shamelessly at her breasts as she waited for him to complete his telephone conversation. As she handed in her room key she noticed his gaze rest on her finger.

He had noticed that she had put on her wedding ring again. Even though she was divorced, she usually wore it to discourage unwanted attentions. Earlier on the lad had noticed the ring-shaped indentation left on her finger that showed so clearly that she had removed it temporarily. For the duration of the afternoon when she had met a lad of similar age to him, in fact. It was a small detail, but the lecherous young man -- his name badge said "Richard" -- had noticed it, and its apparent significance. To him, she was evidently a married woman out for the day to have a bit on the side. To be truthful, his assumption was not far wrong.

When he had finished speaking on the telephone Richard looked at her breasts and ring finger more than her face as he took the key from her. He had an unpleasant smirk on his face. Joan felt like slapping him or reporting him, but she did neither. And, despite his sheer cheek and lewdness, at least it confirmed her appeal to him, even to younger men. It made her feel sexy, feminine, and even a bit powerful.

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It seemed very sordid to be driving home to check for other responses to her "no strings adult fun" advert so soon after having sex with one respondent. But she felt liberated, too, a free agent at last, pleasing herself after divorcing her unfaithful husband.

As previously there were a number of obscene messages. There was also one from a couple asking if she was interested in meeting them. Joan was shocked by this -- she knew she was probably naive but she hadn't expected it. She moved on to the others.

Three definitely made her feel uneasy. One was from a bloke who freely admitted to being interested in rough sex and it was clear that he wanted to be the one meting out the roughness. There was no way she would meet him.

There were another two that made her feel uncomfortable, though for different reasons, and despite their apparent politeness in their recorded messages. One was a bloke in his thirties who said he was looking for a mistress who would be available regularly but at short notice. Joan shook her head as she listened. "No strings" to him clearly meant no strings to tie him down but a very thick string attached to her.

There was something intangible about the tone and manner of the other one that disquieted her. She had once seen a documentary about prostitutes who plied their trade in flats or apartments rather than on the streets. One in particular had claimed that she had developed a sixth sense when screening potential candidates on the telephone, and if she felt intuitively uneasy she declined offering them an appointment, even if business was slow that day. She had claimed, too that it had worked, and that she had never yet been assaulted in several years of working in the sex industry.

Joan prided herself with being a good judge of character and had determined from the outset to trust her own intuition and to err on the side of caution. Similarly she would only initially meet in public like a pub or hotel bar, and even if she decided to go all the way with anyone she met, it would be in a hotel room. There was no way that she would get in a car with a relative stranger, far less go to their home or take them to hers.

So, having ruled out these callers (with the possible exception of the couple, about which she would have to give some serious thought) she was left with Laurence.

She wasn't sure whether that was his real name. Not that it mattered to Joan -- she had placed her ad under the false name Brenda.

Laurence was polite and had a quiet and distinguished voice, yet without seeming snobbish. He sounded quietly self-assured without being full of himself. His quiet confidence appealed to Joan and even, strangely, reassured her. Maybe it made her feel that respectable professional people did what she was doing and that it was not such a perverted thing after all.

She guessed that he was married as he said that he was available to meet on some weeknights if given a little advance notice, but not at weekends.

Joan liked the sound of his voice as she listened to his brief message on her voicemail. Three things bothered her, though.

Firstly, he was in his fifties. She had leanings towards men her own age or younger. Secondly, she suspected that he was married, and the last thing she wanted was to bring the kind of misery on another woman that she herself had experienced through a husband's philandering.

Thirdly -- and his honesty and matter-of-fact manner on the voicemail took her aback -- he said in his message that he "liked to be dominated a little."

Joan's hand felt clammy. She put the telephone down and sat in stunned silence. She listened to it several more times.

However, the more she listened, the more intrigued she became. Both the kinkiness and the genuineness of the voice, the honesty and the ordinary, everyday way that it was stated both shocked her and appealed to her.

Several times she began to dial the number, but lost her nerve and hung up before completing. She had a cigarette. The fourth time she rang the number, and as soon as she had done so felt she had reached the point of no return. She could not hang up, or at least if she did, she knew that she would feel unable to ring again. Besides, she told herself, this was only a telephone call, and she had made a point of withholding her number before dialling. There was nothing to lose -- and maybe -- just maybe -- a lot to gain!

The phone rang a number of times without being answered (though probably not as many as she thought), and she was about to hang up when the rich, refined voice she had heard already said "Hello?". It sounded formal yet friendly. Joan took a deep breath, reminded herself to call herself Brenda, and made herself speak slowly so that she didn't gabble and sound nervous or stupid.

"Oh, hello, er, Laurence. It's Brenda. Thanks for your message."

She blushed guiltily at using her deceptive pseudonym, especially given his candour.

"Ah, Brenda. How nice to hear your voice. I hope I didn't alarm you by what I said. But I felt it was important to be honest from the start. Brenda is a nice name, by the way..."

Joan felt a fluttering in her stomach. She hated herself for it, but found her excitement and her nervousness flustered her. She stammered and faltered a little. Laurence, however, took it all in his stride and somehow made her feel at ease.

She could not remember afterwards the order in which things were said, nor who had suggested what and how the arrangement came to be made, as it all seemed to happen so quickly in her excited frame of mind.

Early on in the conversation Laurence explained that he was married, and apologised if this offended her. But he explained that his wife was disabled and, much as he loved her and looked after her, he had needs that through no fault of her own she was unable to satisfy.

Joan found herself frowning at this point. Again, though, Laurence's honesty disarmed her completely.

"I really don't know what she would do if she found out, the poor dear," Laurence said. His voice dropped and he spoke more ponderously and with a tinge of guilt. "Probably divorce me and sue me for every penny. Serve me right, too, of course. It would hurt far more than my bank balance, too, though. I would, ah, find it so hard to live with the knowledge that I had betrayed her and hurt her. Doesn't deserve that."

Joan was torn between feeling sorry for Laurence and despising him for his cheating. But his openness and admission of guilt rather than attempts to justify his actions impressed her enough not to interrupt.

"But," he continued, "it's hard not being able to have sex at all. And... ah, I'm sorry if this sounds crude, my dear, but one thing I will say about my activities. I never can bring myself to... ah... to go quite all the way. You know what I mean. I like sex, I need it from time to time but I never can bring myself to... ah... to have, forgive me, penetration. Very arbitrary dividing line, I know, what? Ridiculously so. But anyway -- that's the nearest thing to an excuse I can manage. Not much of one, I know. But it's honest, and I... ah... admit I choose to do what I do, even though I hate myself for it afterwards. I'm not saying that anyone -- or even that my own hormones -- make me. Anyway..."

He went on to explain that he worked in the legal profession and needed to spend about half the week in an apartment "in town" to avoid a lengthy daily return commute. He had bought a cottage in the countryside just over an hour's drive away with fine views for his wife to enjoy. And although it meant that he was away from home for several days at a time, it also allowed him to spend four whole days at home to look after his wife and spend quality time with her. And, of course, he added, again with a slight note of sadness and guilt, the arrangement also enabled him to, "ah... satisfy my needs from time to time with maximum discretion -- for ah... HER benefit, the discretion I mean, you understand?"

Joan said she did -- which was largely true.

If she were more cynical Joan would have wondered whether his guilt and shame was just pretence. She didn't think so, though. She felt that he was indeed being honest about his feelings. The way he had switched to clipped, incomplete sentences seemed to indicate it. And he spoke with conviction, yet still in a down-to-earth way and without wishing to elicit sympathy.

Besides, Joan was by now no stranger to experiencing a cocktail of emotions, or to feelings of turmoil and battles with conscience herself.

She struggled to remember all the details of the conversation later, as her mind was right now in such a spin. She did remember, though, that she had checked that he liked receiving "a little" domination rather than administering it, to which he emphatically answered "yes." She wanted to know more but was too shy to ask.

Whatever the dynamics of the conversation, she found that they had somehow agreed to meet at eight that evening in the big town about forty minutes' drive from where she lived. He suggested a particular pub on the outskirts, and although she vaguely knew it, she scribbled down the directions anyway.

Despite her high excitement she also later remembered stressing that she had no experience of what he had in mind and that in any case this was simply a meeting of the two of them with no outcome guaranteed.

To her delight Laurence sounded genuinely appreciative.

"You know, Brenda, my dear, I am so glad you said that. I like to take my time and form opinions of people, too, and to be honest if you had said otherwise I would have had reservations about meeting you. Is eight acceptable to you? Please be assured that I will be there a good fifteen to twenty minutes earlier than that. I would hate you to have to enter a pub alone and to have to wait for me. Ah... Most uncomfortable for a lady, what?"

Despite her reservations, Joan felt herself warming to him. He had a public school, almost military air, yet combined with vulnerability. The way he said "ah" instead of "er" was an indication of his affluent background. It sounded unaffected, though, and not put on. Most of all she felt sure that, apart from his straying from the marital bed, he was on the whole a decent, respectable bloke. She thanked him and said that she was genuinely looking forward to meeting him. He reciprocated, then spoke in his slightly more clipped way again.

"Oh, and... ah... one more thing, Brenda, my dear. I'm afraid you will be meeting a pretty plain-looking chap with only a small amount of hair, and I, ah, carry a few more pounds in weight than I should. You're... ah... not going to be meeting some muscle-bound chap or one who women would swoon over, I fear. Probabbly wouldn't look at twice in fact. Just don't want you to build up an unrealistic image and be disappointed, what?"

He tried to sound jovial and almost succeeded.

Joan's mind was racing as she thought quickly of what clothes to wear. He assured her that he would be near the doorway and would introduce himself as soon after she entered as possible and in a way that would not attract attention. He confirmed the details and travelling instructions once more, then wished her "au revoir" in his rich but soft voice.

Joan had to stifle a giggle as she said goodbye; the French term reminded her of her naughty role-play just a few hours earlier that afternoon with David.

David. She felt a twinge of guilt. He had been sweet, he had declared the intensity of his suppressed desire over many years to her, and they had enjoyed thoroughly enjoyable role-played sex. For a long time she had fantasised about that very thing -- not just dressing a certain way, but playing a part, fantasy sex. After the shock of discovering that her blind "no strings" date was none other than her former and much younger neighbour, the surprise of finding that he too shared her penchant had been almost as great.

Yet here she was, just a couple of hours or so after having sex with him (three times, at that!), arranging to meet someone else with whom she may end up doing the same. Maybe next week, maybe this week -- "maybe, even -- who knows?" she thought -- that very evening.

The increasingly familiar mix of guilt, shame, self-recrimination -- and liberation, excitement and naughty delight -- flooded her mind. She felt a little tingle in her crotch, too.