“You look like a secretary”, I’ve been told a couple of times now. That works for me. “A sexy secretary?” I ask hopefully to my friend, the second one who made the comment. She just laughed at me. That’s okay. I’ll take it. Actually, I wouldn’t mind being a secretary, preferable for a cute boss who calls me into the office and…
Well, never mind. I’ve let you in this far. I think I want to keep a little of my fantasies to myself, at least for now. I love the idea of living up to that fantasy, though to live it, I must dress it. I need more clothes! Anyone willing to help a girl out?
Maybe I shouldn’t ask. What if no one wants to help? What if some does, for a favor in return? I love the fantasy, I’ll confess to you right here. It’s all about the fantasy, of being the woman eager to please her man. Who wouldn’t love it, to get on one’s knees, to pull out his huge dick, to kiss and to lick, to suck until that one exquisite moment of release. Is that a fantasy I want to realize?
I suppose, maybe I do, but at the same time, I don’t. I need it, but I fear it. I yearn for it, but I desire some illusion of normalcy that I think we can all admit isn’t meant for me. I’m straight, preferring women to men, but wouldn’t I like to try it, at least once? Would that turn me into some slut? Would I care if it did?
Fantasies are fun, but at what point do I cross the point of no return? Am I near it or have I crossed it completely? Maybe I don’t care. Maybe all I want is someone gentle to guide me. Push me and I’ll run away. I don’t like to be pushed when I don’t want to be pushed. But guided and prodded? Well, I think I’ll leave that for now, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if reality and fantasy were one and the same?