The Ideal Home Show
I arrived back home after 18 months away. Life was hard. I was very unsettled and had wanderlust. The excitement of new experiences every day, a nirvana lifestyle and an outdoor tropical existence had changed my outlook. Being back in the UK didn’t seem attractive from any angle. I had no job, no money and my sun tan was fading fast. I was miserable. I dreamed of flying 12,000 miles back to where I’d just come back from every day for 6 months. I had it bad. Really bad.
I gave myself until September to get a job that would excite me enough to compensate for what I’d left behind. I was living back in the family home and, hard as everyone tried to help me settle back into my previous life, I had grown up and changed. I really struggled to find myself. I felt like a lost soul.
As is often the case, though, fate had a plan. But it felt the need to put me through an excruciating period of self-analysis and doubt before relinquishing its vice-like grip. It was like I was being tested to prove my resilience and it only deigned to let go when I finally shrugged off my crippling self-pity and became a man again. In its own playful way it decided that my suffering should be prolonged and only resolved the situation on the very last day before my intended re-migration. I was within 24 hours of buying a ticket back to what I still perceived as paradise. But there were other plans afoot for me. By what seemed like a complete fluke I found my dream job and started within a week. No time to look over my shoulder. My life turned from north to south and I never looked in the rear-view mirror.
While this period of angst-ridden self-analysis was besetting me, one thing remained constant. My sexuality, that had virtually closed down in the tropics apart from winning the Chinese lottery, suddenly reappeared with a vengeance. I suddenly needed sex. Not just any old sex but the dirtiest, naughtiest, most illicit, most forbidden and most immoral possible. However, it wasn’t like ordering a book from Amazon. Prime time delivery was not available. Clearly, it wasn’t just going to drop on my doormat, I had to be patient.
It took a while to settle into the rhythm of work life again. Several months went by during which time I moved into a small studio apartment in a smart part of town. I was on my own and relished having my independence back. I also started answering ads again in the hope of finding something exciting. I needed an adventure to reassure me about my masculinity. The lure of the unknown was also exciting and erotic. Secret sex seemed to offer an adrenalin rush that continued to be alluring.
Nothing happened for months but then, out of the blue, a reply. Annabel liked my letter and wondered if I might consider meeting her….soon. She said she was in her 30’s, pretty and ‘frustrated’ and that I seemed like someone that could help. I wrote back and assured her I could. She replied saying next Saturday night would be ideal as she would be ‘on her own’.
Annabel’s flat was in a modern block in another part of town, easily accessible, so I took the tube. I arrived exactly on time, very excited but not sure what to expect. No photos had been provided and one never knows what is real and what is fantasy. Annabel turned out to be very real and much more attractive than I had a right to even dream about. Her home was modern and comfortable but it seemed to be a home that was ‘shared’. There was evidence of male occupation not that the subject cropped up. This was an extremely gorgeous lady, a giggly brunette with a glint in her eye. The glint said she was naughty and she seemed to like me. Though she was dressed in what seemed to be quite normal clothes, nothing vaguely suggestive or coquettish. Her loveliness overcame any disappointment I might have felt about the lack of sexual provocation.
She excused herself and said she’d be back in a minute. The minute became ten during which I observed definite signs of this being the house of a couple, not that I was being judgmental, merely curious. It was nice to have some context. Immediately upon her return there was plenty of context. She had changed into an outfit that made her intentions very clear. She was wearing a micro PVC skirt, with seamed stockings, held in place by a suspender belt, high heels, a low cut bra and her hair up. She had freshened up her make-up and looked a million dollars. This transformation completely took my breath away and it was impossible to hide my exuberant excitement. Well my trousers failed. She was a gorgeous temptress and asked if I liked what I saw. I nodded suddenly feeling shy, self-conscious and totally in awe. She looked at my provocative trousers and said ‘it seems you do’. With that she confidently unzipped me, released my straining erection and masturbated me; she kept eye contact while muttering, in a voice slightly more hoarse than normal, ‘this looks perfect’……
Before I knew it her throat had engulfed my length and her tongue was pleasuring me to distraction……I was being eaten alive by a divine creature who’s body language told only of her extreme arousal and how turned on she was by the situation. My memory of what happened next lives with me to this day. Some encounters are hazy and lost in time but the vision of Annabel voraciously encouraging me to seduce her, tame her and incessantly pleasure her remains as clear today as it was then.
The sheer sexual intensity of this rapturous meeting of inter-locked bodies and ravenously connected minds was exacerbated by her insatiable desire to be ravished in as many areas of the flat, and across as many items of furniture, as possible. We moved in harmony from the sofa, to the kitchen table, in front of the long mirror in the hall, to a fluffy rug on the landing, propped against the basin in the bathroom and finally and exultantly on the silk sheets of a bed in what I perceived to be the spare room. It was like having a guided tour of the show house at the Ideal Home Show. Her insistence on being taken from as many angles and domestic settings as possible was as if she wanted to have a memory attached to every room in the house so she could reminisce when she was next doing the cleaning. For me it was incredibly arousing and almost bewilderingly erotic. Annabel’s hunger and excitement propelled me into a sexual ferment that supercharged my stamina and gave me a whirlwind tour of the main weight-bearing surfaces of her flat, not to mention of her taut and supple body.
The room that remained out of bounds was the master bedroom. I knew I was the jack of all trades but the master of none. The master would return to claim his kingdom but I was never to know if he was ever told just how vigorously his furnishings had been stress-tested on that magical night.