After Leo leaves, the regrets set in. Not regrets over what we did, but what we didn’t do.
We’re two consenting adults, and I wanted to fuck him too. My body did, anyway, very much so, and my mind could get on board at some point.
What’s the point of me agreeing to this fantasy thing, if I’m not going to enjoy it to its fullest? It’s like a genie popped out of a bottle and granted me four wishes, and I just wasted the first one. Not that tonight was a waste. Not at all. But it could have been more. I’m haunted for the rest of the night by all that could have happened.
It’s not as if I’m spending time with these men to build a relationship. It’s all about sex, pure and simple, so why did I hold back?
When Brittany calls me the next day, I decide to confess what’s been going on. I think I’m looking for feedback, and my sister is always happy to provide it.
I expect her to tease me, or maybe even disapprove, but she surprises me.
“So the four guys from the club, the ones who are tending to your lawn every week, also want to tend to your lady garden?”
“Lady garden!?”
“I thought I tied that in pretty well,” Brittany says, sounding proud.
“They’ve offered to act out fantasies with me.”
“We all know what that means. They want to get in your pants,” she says.
“Am I ridiculous for agreeing to their idea?” I ask. I decide not to mention what’s already happened with Leo.
Finally, she laughs. A single bark of incredulity. “It would be ridiculous not to.”
An odd sense of relief washes over me. I didn’t realize I was looking for someone else’s approval, but it feels good to have it.
“It’s just sex, right?” Brittany asks. When I confirm that it is, she says, “You’re probably long overdue for some quality orgasms. Life’s too short to pass up opportunities like this.”
When I get off the call, I resolve that I’ll have sex on my next fantasy night, if it’s on offer.
Fantasy 2
16
Lorraine
Even though Leo put me at ease, I’m nervous all over again when my date with Troy arrives. Just like Leo, Troy texted me a couple of times beforehand, and we got into a few lengthy conversations, as text messages go, but I still don’t know what to expect from him.
I didn’t realize when I entered into this arrangement that one of the hardest parts would be actually sharing my fantasies with the men. Yes, I do have fantasies, buried deep though they may be, but telling my desires to another person makes me feel very vulnerable.
It almost makes it easier that I don’t know these men very well. I don’t have to worry about being judged, but it’s still difficult.
What I shared with Troy via text, in a very roundabout way, is that I’ve always had a fantasy about having sex on the beach. I didn’t directly mention sex, but I got the beach part across, and the other part was implied.
In my work and in probably every other aspect of my life, I’m a direct communicator, but telling these men what I want is hard for reasons I can’t quite pinpoint. I guess I’m not used to asking for sex, and that’s what it feels like I’m doing.
I meet Troy at a beach parking lot in the afternoon. There are several public access beaches all around the island, but I wasn’t familiar with this particular spot. He’s leaning against the trunk of his car when I pull in, looking casually gorgeous in a loose-fitting white linen shirt, dark shorts, and leather sandals. His dark blonde hair is blowing in the ocean breeze and I instantly have the urge to brush it out of his eyes, if only as an excuse to touch him.
As I park, he walks over to me, a grin on his face that reminds me of his younger brother. “Hi, how are you?” he asks, as I step out of my car.
Leo had said his older brother wasn’t shy, but I suddenly am, standing so close to him. He’s taller than I realized, and even better looking than I remembered, if that’s possible. His cheekbones appear to be carved from granite, and they lead my eyes down to his mouth, which is very … distracting.
“Hi. I’m good. How are you doing?”
Our conversation isn’t off to the quickest start, but I’m sure it will improve.
“Anything I can carry for you?” he asks.
“I just have one bag.” From my backseat, I retrieve my beach bag, which has a towel, sunscreen, and a bottle of wine.
Troy takes it from me and leads me over to his car, where he produces a canvas bag of his own, along with a bag from the gourmet grocery in Whitman, a town just off the island. He refuses to let me carry anything, and shoulders it all with ease.