William's Epiphany

The self assuredness of this man in front of me is mind blowing. I actually think he's even convinced himself it isn't all a charade to cover up whatever lurks beneath. Thing is, I don't totally know what lurks beneath. Of course not. This is the first time I've set eyes on him. But I know there's something. We've been talking for months now. He gives very little away and demands much in return. This man is a taker. He assumes I'm of that mold. A silly female, here to fall head over heels onto his cock like it's the holy grail..

Am I?

I don't know.

Is it the holy grail?

Doubtful.

I've seen plenty. None of them particularly inspiring.

I'm rarely that woman. If I fall onto a cock it's because I intend to, not because some easy talker wheedled me into it.

'Can I get you a coffee?' he says, hand in pocket, fresh after updating me on his amazingly high profile super important week.

I look at him; I'm on edge but not so much so I can't see his boyish charm or the fact that he's milking that for all it's worth. Yep. This guy is a Mummy's boy. I can see it loud and clear.

His eyes flit back and forth as he speaks, uncertain if he wants to settle on mine. He does for a second and his handsome lips quirk in amusement. He enjoys the hunt this one.

'Sure. I'll have a latte thank you.'

He turns and addresses the girl at the coffee kiosk. I watch how they interact. Learning. Dissecting. He knows I'm watching. He's that smart. I like smart.

'Shall we maybe drink this in the car? It's freezing,' he says.

I may seem nervous but my brain never stops. I know he wants me cornered.

And I'm right. The second we get inside my car, he eyeballs me. There's that infinitely soft smirk again, the one that says, 'I'm a man and I desire you and you're going to surrender.'

I blow on my coffee. We make the opposite of small talk. Is that termed big talk? I don't know. Either way there is verbal sparring, a sexual tension. The car is full of it. He's trying his best to turn me into something I am not -- a mindless bimbo, ready to do his bidding. I like the struggle though. The struggle unsaid.

'You look flushed,' he says, running the back of his fingers down my cheek.

I play the game.

'Do I?' I murmur.

I turn my lips towards his hand and brush them against him. His eyes flare. Somehow I'm in his arms. He kisses well. I feel a little drugged by them.

We return to our coffee and talk some more. There is a greater degree of flirtation this time and he grabs me again before long. This time it's lengthy. We've kissed so intensely the windows have steamed up and there's a bulge in his jeans and a wetness in mine.

'Do you know anywhere?' he says. 'Somewhere more private?'

I chuckle inside. I wonder how many he's got like me?

'It is very busy here today. Shall we drive and see if we can find somewhere quieter?'

'Sure,' he says, stroking the back of my neck.

I'm certain he has no idea I'm letting him do that because I choose to. I've not fallen for the charms he casts out so careless across the water like bread to mindless ducks. I find him interesting. A prime example of common man to all intents and purposes -- yes. But I have a strong suspicion there is a very uncommon vein that runs straight through him, buried deep, forged by the legacy of men long gone.

We find a country walk, untrodden by the masses. Surprisingly he takes my hand in his. I'm not fooled. But I accept. I can pretend too.

We find a sweet little brook traversing a meadow; a few fields away a farmer is tending his land in his Burmese blue tractor. We kiss again and then we defile the sweetness of that little brook, that idyllic country scene.

I shove my hands into his trousers and finally touch the warmth of him. His shaft is sturdy and of a decent size. More importantly, I feel his enthusiasm gliding on his tip. I fist it for a while until his hands find my treasures. His eyes light up and now his full badness is on display. No surprise to me. I knew this is what he wanted all along.

'Fuck me,' I whisper into his ear.

He needs little encouragement. I'm spun around, hands gripping the barbed wire fence, trousers shucked and pussy breached.

I cry out loudly. The outdoors soaks up my sounds as he pounds his maleness into me, cows watching as they chew the cud on the other side of the stream. What are they thinking I wonder? And why am I wondering about that at all?

In that moment I think it dawns on him that I'm not his kind of woman after all is said and done.

Trousers zipped and shirt tucked in, he accompanies me back to the car.

Neither of us is disappointed.

It was going to happen.

That he would discover what I knew all along.

That I'm not, his kind.