tagFetishVanessa’s Legs

Vanessa’s Legs


I write to arouse my readers, of course, and also to arouse their interest in unfamiliar sex-styles, so that they can approach experiences alien to them with sympathy and fascination. My aims are literary as well as pornographic. My characters are fictional. Any resemblance to anybody actual is arbitrary.

Chapter 1

Looking at a photo of his longtime crush Vanessa, Dave can sense a stir in his heart, a bit like the stir in his dick; faint at first and then commanding.

Vanessa's on a beach in the picture and holds a beverage between her immaculate legs, which are sturdy and an earthy shade of brown.

Does she look like an angel adrift in a world that isn't and can't be her home, or is it Dave's imagination, projecting upon her his own alienation?

He sees her sandals in the sand and wants to touch them. He wants to take them in hand and smell them. He'd sniff the light-tan towel she's on in the photo just to smell the spot her denim-covered ass had been.

All of this, he recognizes, makes him a bit of a loser. He's been a bit of a loser for a long time and it's a fact he finds erotic.

His pride, over-analyzed out of existence, left him with the jealous fragments of an aching ego.

These he's been crushing, one by one, dream by dream, beneath the feet of each imaginary femme fatale, who leaves him with nothing but the bare-assed fact of his embarrassing existence.

Wondering which men make Vanessa wet against her will, for instance, Dave can't imagine he's among them. None of the men he imagines are her type are the kind of creep who'd stare Facebook photos of her for hours.

He assumes a lady as lovely as her has been through a fair share of suitors. None of them, he hopes, have been wonderful enough to win her heart.

Chapter 2

He's been to the diner a hundred times and each time is reminded of the first: the November night his family decided to try something new and ate there; the night he became a masochist.

This is the story Dave tells himself when he wonders why he craves humiliation as much as he does. The seed was planted that night at the diner, in the ladies' room he thought was the men's.

A woman had been in the restroom with him; a woman who did nothing to hide how amused she was by his embarrassment as he came out of a stall and realized where he was. He can still see her face.

He had tried to just leave but was unable: she was blocking the door.

"Aren't you gonna wash your hands?" she asked, and without a word he began to do so, noticing the redness of his face in the mirror.

"You'll never be a man," she added; words the cruelty of which now startle him. She must've been thirty or so. What kind of woman tells somebody many years her junior that? A born humiliatrix.

That night, after his family was asleep, he rummaged through a pile of laundry and found and put on a pair of his older sister's stockings.

He laid belly-down on his bedroom floor (as if "planking") and dry-humped his hands to the memory of the woman's upsetting words.

The fact that Vanessa's now a waitress at the diner is an awkward pill for Dave to swallow. He's even imagined her walking in on him, in the ladies' room, as the woman, now in her forties, says, "I knew you'd be a loser forever, you ugly wimp."

Vanessa, in these fantasies, would tell the sadistic bitch to leave, her kindness the kindness of a mother. But Vanessa would be wet as well, against her will, from the sight of him being torn to shreds.

He thinks a part of every woman must love to see weaklings made ashamed, since we're all brought up to think weakness is shameful.

Chapter 3

Vanessa's shadowy legs are expressive of what century after century of men have longed for. Hers is the lap upon which wishes swim.

It's a beauty from within her, exhibiting itself in her flesh, cell by cell: euphoric thoughts, exquisite reveries, dream after sexy dream.

Set her legs for a moment beside those of a white Greek goddess's and see how troubled such women would be by her unique allure.

She is younger than the coffee cups in the diner where she works but her grandeur is older than the city, the country, the continent.

Her knees sweep together a thousand occurrences. Vanessa: the embodiment of all that's flawless.

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