I have admittedly been spending a good portion of time fondly recalling images of Mona’s body. Can you blame me? As I wrote when she first approached me: yes, I’ve had several women write in asking for sexual dares, and the results have often been fantastic, but actually knowing the woman has changed the game dramatically (of course I know my wife, but this blog was specifically founded on the idea of inserting more adventure into our lives). There are advantages to this, to put it mildly: I get to see Mona standing naked on a balcony, for instance. Yes, the possibilities are overwhelming, but I’ve also come to realize that if this is going to be anything but a disaster, I’m probably going to have to stay as completely anonymous (and distant) with Mona as I have with my wife. What does that mean? Likely no more balcony scenes anytime soon. I’ll be a good dirty Mr. X and propose adventures from behind a computer screen. I’ll discover my own adventures away from that connection.
So what to do with Mona? She seems eager to do absolutely anything, so I figured I’d start her off with a sex fantasy, as I did one of the first readers who wrote in: Lisa. To my mind that experiment was a big success, not only because of Lisa’s daring, but because it allowed me to see into her fantasy mind and understand what made her tick. And if Mona and I are going to become anonymous friends, that’s a secret understanding I could use. So I wrote her a letter not unlike the one I once wrote Lisa:
Look out your window. You see that point of orange light out there? That’s me. Did you see me last night? The night before? How about several days ago, when I stood there for hours waiting for a glimpse of your superb curves. Even once your lights turned out, I kept hoping. I’m flirting with serious lung cancer, and I don’t care. You’re a woman who will fearlessly drop her robe to stand gloriously naked before the night, and that’s a woman worth some devotion.
I’m also imagining your dildo, and how you look splayed on the floor. How do you touch yourself? Does a hand slip up to your breast? And have you heard about the new physical condition? It’s called Perpetual Hard-on, and it’s brought on by a bad case of you.
So you want more dares? Your friend told you I was the place to come (and yes, that is a double entendre). Well if we’re going to do this, I have one ground rule: forget you ever met me. Do not discuss our relationship with your friend, and she will not discuss hers either. The point of this game is fun, after all, and I do not want it to start being played from too many angles. I’m like a sexual consultant, for lack of a better term, and I don’t discuss clients with other clients, so I don’t expect them to discuss me either. Deal? Good.
Now: this all started with sex fantasies, so I’d like to know something about yours. Write down your most urgent sex fantasy in detail. I want to know the idiosyncrasies of your desire, I want to be there in the room seeing and feeling everything (especially your body), and I want you to drive me mad with lust. Hold back nothing, Mona. I want to know what it’s like in the mind of a wild woman.
Then, once you’ve written your sex fantasy, I want you to print it out. I want you to fold it up, or slip it into an envelope, and then carry it out with you in your purse like a delicious little secret. Then, when you’re in a public place that you frequent – bar, restaurant, cafe, gym, or nightclub (knowing you) – I want you to leave the sex fantasy behind. Be discreet about this if you don’t want the sex fantasy to be traced back to you. Maybe you leave it in a bathroom, or a dressing room – a place you won’t be seen. But someone will find it eventually, and even if they can’t guess who the author is, over the coming weeks, whenever you visit that place, there will always be the possibility that your sex fantasy is still in the atmosphere, and that someone you see there is holding onto it, dreaming about you, longing for you, watching you. Though after seeing you naked, I’m quite sure they’re always watching you anyway.
So that’s your challenge, Mona. And keep looking for my cigarette. I’ll be out there somewhere.
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2 thoughts on “Mona’s Sex Fantasy Experiment”
I’ll never look at a stray letter (or cigarette butt, for that matter) in quite the same way, Mr. X…
I know. This is how you become a crazy person, rifling through trash cans out on the freezing boulevards in search of fantasies.