Escape from Reality

It's amazing when you are retired how many people you "know". Not "know" in a conventional sense, but be aware of. Let me explain: when I was at work I interfaced with tens of people every day, face to face, phone, e-mail. As a Retiree I can now sit at home and not speak to a soul for days, and yet there is a whole host of people who have become familiar to me. They are the people who go past my house every day. Now don't get me wrong, I don't sit there all day, my nose glued to the window, but if someone walks past my house six times a day, and believe me one lady dog walker does, then you "get to know them".

One young woman used to walk her dog a couple of times a day and we'd nod, or smile if I was out and about. Then she disappeared for a while only to reappear with a clearly bald head under a hat. She had obviously been receiving Chemotherapy and was hopefully recovering. We didn't speak about it but you couldn't help wish her well.

Then there are the joggers, the walkers and the school Mums. This last group are the most recognisable because they go back and forth twice a day at exactly the same time every weekday. Once harried, rushing the kids, then leisurely back, chatting with friends, then rushing for pick up, then finally in big groups with kids milling about everywhere shouting noisily. And by and large they are the most attractive!

It works both ways too. Passers-by get to recognise (= know in my context) the householders. Seen in windows, driving cars, pottering in gardens. There is a whole, mostly undeclared community out there. On one occasion my late wife and I were in a shop looking at carpet, and being attended to by a very pleasant young woman. Half way through the conversation she said, "You live in Longmeadow, don't you." We answered in the affirmative and she told us she knew because she walked her dog there, and we would say hello to her. We couldn't place her then, but now I see her all the time.

Thus one morning I was in the front garden just after nine, when there was a muffled cry and I heard a clatter. Looking up I saw a young woman sprawled across the pavement, face down, her phone skittering down the path. I got up and ran over to her.

"Are you OK? That looks to be a rather nasty tumble you've taken." Her face was scratched and her hands, which had taken the brunt of the fall, had very nasty gravel rash.

Stunned she sat up, blinking in surprise and said, "I don't really know." She looked at her hands and blinking back a few tears, tried to get up. As soon as she put weight on her ankle she screamed in pain and fell back. "I seem to have hurt my ankle badly," she said.

"Here let me help you up." I pulled her gently to her feet, rather foot, and as soon as she tried to walk, her leg gave way and I had to support her.

"I'll be alright in a minute, please don't trouble yourself."

"Nonsense, the least I can do is clean you up a bit then give you a lift home, you're never going to walk to your house in that state."

"How do you know where I live?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well you walk past my house four times a day and then disappear down Birch Road, so you must live at least half a mile away."

"Oh I see, sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you were some sort of stalker."

"No offense taken young lady, now let's get your phone and get you sorted."

She put her arm round my shoulder and I encircled her waist with mine, and together we hobbled down my drive and into my front door. I have a large vestibule with a chaise longue in it, and I sat her down and went to get some antiseptic wipes so she could clean up her hands and face. I brought her out a mirror to tend to her face and could see that she felt a bit better.

"Right now let's see about that ankle". Now I've no medical training, but I could see that it wasn't obviously badly broken, but it was probably sprained. I knelt down in front of her and gently touched it, moving it slightly as she winced in pain. It was only really then that I realised that she wore a pair of fairly short, loose legged shorts, and I could see right up to her panties, white with little pink hearts on them. I'm not a perv, but there is only so much a man can take without getting an erection and mine was starting.

Quickly looking away and standing up, I said, "I'll go and get you something cold to put on that. Don't move."

"As if I could?" she laughed, her white teeth showing in her smile. I went to the freezer and rummaged around until I found the pack of frozen peas that I knew were there. Scrunching them up to break up the blocks, I went back to her and again knelt down. The view hadn't improved, or rather it had, and I could now see the gusset of her knickers. Focussing on the job in hand, I put the peas on her ankle and hit on the idea of using my belt to hold the bag in place. "That feels better already," she sighed with some relief.

"Look you're obviously shaken up and that needs some time for the swelling to go down, so why don't you come right in and I'll make us a cup of tea or coffee. How about that?"

"Ok, thanks, you're being so kind. I'm Megan by the way."

"Ben."

I helped her into the lounge and sat her down in an armchair and took the first really good look at her. She was probably in her thirties, with blonde hair currently tied back in a ponytail. She was slim and attractive with medium sized boobs, B or C cup, and a pert little bum. I made the coffee and brought it back with a biscuit. "Is your wife out?" she enquired.

Moisture came to my eyes as I told Megan that my wife had died a couple of years earlier. Megan was mortified and immediately apologised for upsetting me, and I recovered my composure and started telling her about my wife. Her love of gardening, the kids and Grandkids and all the friends she had. I realised that Megan was the first person I had ever opened up to about my wife's death.

She enquired how long I'd been retired and how I filled my day. "A couple of years, and I get by mostly pottering, trying to get to grips with the garden, reading and playing golf three times a week."

"Any good at it?"

"Gardening definitely not, golf, I can hold my own."

"What do you read?"

"Mostly free books from Kindle," I replied, "they fill the time nicely and if I don't like them, then I just delete them."

"I've always fancied writing a book," Megan began, "but I don't really know where I'd start, or how I'd express what I wanted to say properly."

I admitted to her that I had begun to dabble in writing, and had found myself getting so involved in it that I began to live the life of my characters, even to the extent that when I stepped away from the computer I felt a sense of real loss.

"What have you written," she enquired, "is it a novel? Perhaps I've read it?"

"I very much doubt that," I replied, "just some short stories that I've published on a website, free for anyone to read."

"What are they about?"

I was getting into deep water here, and I blushed slightly as I admitted they were erotic stories. "Really?" Megan said, "Where do you publish them?" I explained that they were on Literotica.com, which hosted thousands and thousands of stories of all sorts. Some of the "Wham, Bang, Thank you Ma'am" variety and some longer slow burn stories.

"A bit like the difference between porn films and raunchy cinema films?" Megan offered. I must admit I hadn't thought of it in those terms before, but I agreed with her.

"Yes I suppose so, it would depend on whether you were looking for quick gratification or a longer term enjoyment." I added, suddenly realising that we were discussing masturbation materials!

"How do you start?" she enquired, "What sets you off on an idea and how do you develop it?" I told her that most stories for me started with an innocuous event that triggered a train of thought. "I actually write best at night," I said, "not literally, but I lie in bed and work through plots and scenarios, then get up and note them down, or even set to writing straight away."

"Give me an example of one," she said.

"Well take today. I sat you down in my hallway and the plot idea that I could see up the leg of your shorts sprang into my mind. In my imagination I could see that you had no panties on and I could see.... Sorry I think I'd better stop there but you can see how the germ of an idea starts."

Somewhat coyly, she looked at me and said "How do you know I'm not actually panty less under these? I might be commando today."

"No, white with pretty pink hearts suits you!" I blushed. "Sorry, it's just that I couldn't help but see and, after all you did make my day!"

"So, basically you're really just a dirty old man at heart?" she laughed.

"Aren't we all?"

"Can I read some of your stories? And perhaps star in one some day?"

"Sure, just go on the site and lookup my Username, and I gave her the details. Look at some of the other stories as well and let me know the sort you prefer. We can compare notes."

With that I thought it best to take her home, and getting my car out, I helped her into it and drove the short distance to her house. I helped her inside and taking my leave asked her how her child would be getting home from school. "I'll ask Claire to pick him up when she collects hers."

"Which one is Claire?"

"The dark haired one I walk with in the morning."

"Ah, Scooter Lady!"

"Why? Ah, I see why she's called that, her kids all had scooters a while back and they insisted on taking them to school. Did you have a name for me as well?"

I blushed and admitted, "Pretty Ponytail."

A week went by, when there was a knock on the door. There stood Megan, dressed in the same shorts and tee shirt as last week. She held in her hands a bag of frozen peas and a box containing a cake. "A peas offering! And a cake in payment." she smiled. Laughing I invited her in.

"At least let me make us some coffee to go with it." She came in and I closed the door behind her. She sat on the chaise to remove her trainers, I motioned her not to, but she indicated that it was wet and messy outside and she didn't want to cause me any further disruption.

"Bugger! It's gone into a knot." She struggled with the laces and I could see that they had indeed tightened on themselves. "I'm going to have to cut it off, Have you got a knife?" I retreated to the kitchen and got a small knife from the rack and returned to her. "Can you do it, I'm bound to cut a finger off if I try?"

Reminiscent of the previous week I knelt in front of her and wriggled the knife under the recalcitrant lace. It cut through and I looked up at her, straight up the leg of her shorts, to a blonde, furry pussy. It would be an understatement to say my breath caught in my throat, or my heart stopped, but truly they did. I could only stare. As I recovered my eyes met hers, seeing the smile and the humour in them.

"I thought I'd repay you properly and, if I'm to star in a book, I think it only proper that it all does actually take place." With that she stood and walked on into the lounge, leaving me on my knees in the hall. Recovering at least some composure, I made the coffee, and cutting a couple of pieces of cake made it back to the lounge where Megan was sitting demurely, knees together as her mother had surely taught her.

"I read some of those stories, and all of yours. They are soooo hot. I found myself touching myself intimately, then more and more until, well let's say parts of my underwear were a little damp. Then my husband got home and, frozen pea bag notwithstanding, basically, I jumped him. He didn't know what hit him and we had probably one of the best nights of our life."

I sat there open-mouthed at this, I had only met the woman a week ago for a short while, and now she was telling me the secrets of her sex life. Truly the pen is mightier than the sword. "He is now addicted to Literotica and wants me to write some stories as well, so I've come to you for help and research. Your reaction to my pussy flash is the first notable piece of research. There maybe more."

I sat there open-mouthed and watched as she took a fork loaded with cake into her mouth, and then withdrew it suggestively.

"No seriously Ben, I would like to write a piece like yours, and would appreciate any help you can offer. I know what you said last week about situations triggering ideas, but I just can't see it. Your story about the young house sitter next door, is any of it true?"

"Absolutely none what so ever, except she does exist, a bit older but she's real. She smiled at me one day and off went a light bulb in my head."

"That's it? I flash my pussy at you and she wins with a smile?"

"Look you have to decide on your style first. Are you a "Wham, Bang, Thank you Ma'am" person or a slow burner?"

"Definitely the latter. I don't like the language in some of the shorter more intense stories, it doesn't seem real somehow, especially the "c word""

"I know it can be offensive but I try only to use it to show passion. Ordinarily I would use softer words at first then only at the end make the language more coarse. Remember you can drive the narrative, it is like the difference between cinema films and porn films, one doesn't have enough graphic detail the other too much. With a story you can build the action and the scene, then switch back, it's all in the imagination."

"Ben, I must go but thanks, perhaps I'll show you one of my stories one day." She stood and her pussy winked at me one more time."

"Megan you can show me anything of yours any day!"

Another week passed and I was home one day at school drop off time. It was a sultry summer day, the air heavy and humid. There was a sudden flash and crash of thunder, and the rain started like a tap being turned on. The downpour was torrential and everywhere people were scurrying for shelter. I peered out of the window to watch the storm and saw two bedraggled figures trying to shelter under the maple tree in the front garden. One looked familiar, Megan! I opened the front door and called, "Come in, come in you'll drown out there." They turned to me and looking at each other briefly, dived into my front door.

As they clattered through the doorway I recognised the other Mum from the daily procession past my door. "Ben, thanks, you're a saviour, this is my friend Zoe." I looked at Zoe and my eyes were dragged down to her chest, where her blouse had become transparent, showing her bra and through her bra were two magnificent dark brown nipples. My jaw dropped, figuratively and probably actually as well. "God, Zoe, your tits are showing through!" exclaimed Megan, then looking down saw she had the same problem. Both women crossed their arms over their breasts and looked desperately for a solution.

Gallantly I said, "Go into the lounge and I'll get you some towels." I went up to the airing cupboard and retrieved two towels and brought them back down. "Put these around you."

Megan said, "We need to get out of this wet gear, Ben, turn around." I complied and shortly after heard, "Ok we're decent." The two were now wrapped in my towels, holding soaking wet blouses and bras in their hands.

"I'll put these in the tumble while you dry off." and I disappeared briefly.

When I returned Zoe said, "You're that bloke that writes dirty stories aren't you?"

"Shush," interjected Megan, "they're erotic, not dirty."

"Same thing, people having sex everywhere. I read some and while they turned me on a bit, they're not real are they. I mean things don't really happen like that do they."

Megan rolled her eyes and said to me, "Well now we're here no doubt you're already writing us into the next story?"

"I can make a start if you want, Zoe, would you like a part as well?" Quietly she nodded.

"Well, let's see. Normally what wold happen is that we'd chat about this and that, but one of you would lean forward and a breast would fall out of the towel and I would react and..."

"Sod this!" said Megan, "I'm skipping forward a few pages," and with that dropped the towel from around her breasts. My estimate was right, C cups, perfectly formed with slightly up turned nipples, a beautiful coral colour.

"Megan!" exclaimed Zoe, "What are you doing?"

"Listen Zoe, if you don't want to do this then go, otherwise get your tits out!"

Somewhat reluctantly Zoe let fall her towel. She had much smaller breasts, but her nipples were disproportionately larger, although puckered by the cold. "At this point," continued Megan, "our hero, Ben, realises he has a huge erection that he cannot control." She looked at my crotch and once again my body had betrayed me. Clearly outlined in my shorts was my cock. "He cannot resist the sight in front of him and takes his cock out and begins to rub it." I looked stunned at Megan for a moment then saw her game. She had taken total control of the narrative of the story.

Silently I complied, looking at those delectable tits. "Megan and Zoe," She nudged her companion, "are turned on by this and pull up their loose flowing skirts to reveal their panties. They begin to rub over their cotton covered pussies, all the time watching Ben's silent masturbation." Almost by mind control both women obeyed the command and Ben saw their arousal rise.

"They fondled their breasts and slipped their hands down the front of their knickers touching their most intimate parts. Their hands begin to move faster and Ben can imagine fingers slipping in to their pussies. He can see nothing though and although turned on massively by this remains frustrated. Their passion increases and Megan pushes her gusset into her pussy and he can see the wetness seeping out. A clear camel toe is revealed, her outer labia visible around the edges of the gusset, but still Ben cannot see her pussy. A finger slides underneath the material and into her vagina, he can sense and imagine the warmth, the wetness, the velvet feel, and he begins to stroke his cock with increased vigour and knows that he will not last long.

Zoe meanwhile copies Megan and pushes aside her own panties revealing the edges of her dark coloured hairy muff and forces three fingers into herself, moaning and rolling her nipples between her thumb and forefinger.

Ben looks greedily into their eyes and knows that their orgasms are approaching, he stands and moves towards them, then screwing up his face at the intensity of the pleasure, cums violently over them, leaving his pure white cum splattered on their panties, their stomachs and tits. This triggers the women's orgasms and they buck their hips as it washes over them, and they fall back exhausted."

I came to and for a moment couldn't take in my surroundings. Had it happened or was it a dream? Before me lay two beautiful women, knickers dishevelled, hands inside, cum over their bodies and I knew that somehow life had imitated art. Gently I kissed both women on their panty covered vulva and tucked my cock back into my trousers.

Megan and Zoe recovered their senses, and somewhat embarrassed straightened and covered up their panties, rewrapping their towels, much to my disappointment. "Megan, your narrative was so well described that it could have been real." I said. "You're learning."

"Thanks Ben, from you that is a compliment. As the song goes, "Is this the real world, is this just fantasy?""

Somewhat unsteadily I retrieved their clothes from the tumble and they modestly put them back on. The rain had stopped and they asked to use the loo before they left. I directed Zoe to the downstairs cloakroom and Megan to the main bathroom upstairs. They left thanking me for the shelter.

That night when I went to bed I pulled back the covers and found a pair of cum encrusted white panties with pink hearts, only then did I truly know it wasn't fantasy.