Male Fantasies

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Who says men don’t have sexual fantasies? And, if they don’t, then why are they always accused of undressing a girl in their minds? This is a four part story. Each time it states what actually happened, and continues with the fantasy.

The setting:

We had been married for less than five years and moved into a two bedroom duplex that was one of seven in a straight line. They were arranged in pairs progressing back from the street, except the last one stood by itself. Each of a pair was separated by adjoining garages. A long driveway ran the full length in front of each duplex. The driveway, across from the duplexes was lined with a twelve inch high concrete ‘step’ in front of a seven foot tall cinder block fence. The step was just wide enough for a person to step out of the way of incoming cars, or to sit down with your feet in the driveway. Each duplex had a three by three foot front porch, six inches high, and covered by a small awning against rain. On each side of the porch was a small lawn extending from the house to the edge of the driveway. The manager of this complex lived in a home directly at the end of the long driveway.

In the summer, southern California gets very warm and sometimes remains above ninety degrees Fahrenheit for several consecutive days, even at night. Our duplexes were not air conditioned.

Each of the adjoining garages had a separate garage door. The garages themselves were not separated within the garage space. It was possible to walk from the left side garage to the right side garage without leaving the garage. Each garage had a small door at the rear that allowed access to a rear porch and a door into the kitchen of the adjacent duplex. The two rear porches were separated by a small fence. The rear porch was usually used for a washing machine and it was possible to see, and talk with, your neighbor across the fence. Inside the garage, next to the door, I had installed a new gas dryer.

When we moved in, our neighbors were a married couple about three years younger than we were. None of us had children at the time. The husband drove a bob-tailed delivery truck for a large meat company. The company had been in business for many years and mostly served clubs and restaurants. When he was driving, usually five days a week, he was gone from about six in the morning until just after nine at night. He loved to tell his wife about ladies in cars ‘flashing’ him as they went by on the freeway. He said they would open, raise, or lower their tops, blouses, and sweaters or would raise their dress or skirt sans panties as they drove next to him.

It was a little hard for me to accept these stories, because he was overweight and not especially handsome or physically well built.

He and his wife had been school sweethearts and married right out of high school. He’d been driving for the same meat company ever since.

She wasn’t a ravishing beauty either, but had an intriguing personality, a small bust, narrow waist, ample hips, and good legs. She was not homely, just not a beauty.

On warm nights, as soon as the sun went down, we would open the windows and front door, leaving the screen door closed. Then we’d turn on our porch light and sit on the driveway step, opposite the duplex, until it cooled down inside. Usually, about nine in the evening, a breeze would come up, blow through the duplex and make it more livable. Our neighbor lady started doing the same and we’d all sit and talk until her husband got home.

The lady smoked and had a nervous habit. She nearly always wore the same style and color dress. It was kind of a housedress, green, with red basting. The dress had a straight bodice, over the shoulder straps with no sleeves and a full skirt that ended about six inches below her knees. The dress went all the way to the neck and had small white buttons straight down the front. The skirt had about a one inch hem. It was always clean and pressed, which seemed to indicate that she had several identical dresses.

While sitting on the step, she would sit with her legs apart, spread the skirt tightly across her knees, and then unconsciously fold the hem one fold at a time. She would repeatedly fold it up until it got just above the knees, and then fold it back down. One day she decided, successfully, to give up smoking. This only increased the frequency and the determination in that folding habit. Occasionally, she would be engrossed talking, or thinking, and forget how high she’d folded it.

She and my wife would sit about two feet apart and I would sit at the end next to my wife. One day, I mentioned that the cinder block fence was still hot from the sun, but the driveway was cool. My wife suggested that I sit on the driveway. So, I began sitting on the driveway facing them.

One night I was late getting home, and when I came outside, my wife suggested that I sit on the driveway between them. My wife is a beautiful, well endowed lady and I love her very much.

I began sitting on the driveway, below and between them. I’d atakent escort watch the skirt folding, and occasionally get a glance of an inner thigh. It was difficult pretending not to watch while trying not to miss anything.

My wife’s mother would always telephone about 8:15 at night and my wife would go in to answer the phone. A conversation usually lasted more than thirty minutes, and then after hanging up she would fix our dinner. Just after nine the neighbor’s husband would drive in.

He always drove the same way. He would drive forward into the driveway, past the garage and in front of his duplex, and then slowly back and turn into the garage. When she came out in the evening, the neighbor lady always opened the garage door to have it ready for her husband when he got home.

I didn’t change positions when my wife left, and unless a car came in the driveway, I would sit in that same spot just below her knee. The neighbor lady and I would talk during the interval before her husband got home.

I had been working overtime for several weeks when the company I worked for had an emergency and required twelve and sixteen hours days and seven day weeks.

One night when I came home, as we were cleaning the kitchen, my wife informed me that the neighbor lady had suggested that I was being unfaithful. She’d said no one worked that many hours. Fortunately, my wife called me often enough and at sufficiently random times that she knew I wasn’t cheating. Somehow, they’d also talked about what men liked. When my wife indicated that I enjoyed large breasts, the neighbor lady said that she had small breasts and that her husband always told her that anything more that a mouthful was a waste.

What do ladies talk about? Isn’t anything private?

Part 1 – – the situation and fact

Another night, after my wife had gone to the telephone, I mentioned to the lady that I do not cheat and that I would appreciate it if she did not suggest to my wife that I do. She half apologized and became even more nervous. She began folding that hem again, but this time it was well above the knee before I smiled and suggested that she should continue. Blushing when she realized how high it had gotten, she began unfolding it. I would have sworn that she wasn’t wearing anything under that dress.

Part 1 – – the fantasy

She asked what I was looking at, and I said that if she continued I would tell her. She made two more folds and said she’d show me more if I showed her more. She was looking at the bulge in my Levis’.

It was only 8:30 and I looked both ways before scooting a bit closer to her. She leaned forward reached down and touched me. Instantly my pants were way too tight. She whispered telling me to open them and take it out. I asked what happened if a car came in, my wife came out, or her husband came home. She giggled and said if I wanted to see more, I’d have to show more.

Slowly, I left the upper button and unbuttoned the remainder. My pants were really tight and it took me a moment to get it out. It really felt good to pop it out like that. She reached over and stroked it, wrapped her fingers around it told me to stand up. When I was standing she was still holding it and slowly pulled me across the driveway and into the garage.

Just as we reached the center of her side of the garage, she dropped to her knees and ran her tongue along it before taking it slowly into her mouth. When it reached the back of her throat she did something strange with her tongue and the muscles at the side of her throat. It was fantastic and only took me a moment to respond. I’d always prided myself on my ability to control myself to give my mate the most in satisfaction. However, this feeling was so great that I went off like a shotgun. She moaned slightly, swallowed long and hard, and then used her tongue to completely clean me. She continued for a moment, and I couldn’t believe that I’d responded back so quickly. Normally, I would have been completely out of commission for at least ten minutes.

This time, still holding me, she said she had dreamed that I was circumcised and was elated that I really was. She said her husband was not. Then she pulled me back to our clothes dryer and pushed me up against it. She raised her left foot and placed her leg on top of the dryer. She slowly moved me into a position that allowed her to use me to tease between that warm, moist set of lips between her thighs. When she was fully aroused, she slowly inserted me and then wrapped her arms around my neck and raised the other leg to the top of the dryer. After crossing the ankles, she pushed us away from the dryer and impaled herself on me. My hands came up under her buttocks and she began to use her leverage to slide up and down on me. I helped as much as I could. Again, she started moaning softly. I whispered for her to be very quiet, my wife was probably in the kitchen about ten feet away. She locked her lips on mine and pulled my tongue into ataköy escort her mouth. I’d never felt such suction. She whispered that the reason she’d caused me to climax, earlier, was that she knew it would last longer the second time. She was right, and she really had strength and endurance herself. She really was special. I couldn’t believe it when we both reached a climax together. She was out of breath and slowly uncrossed her legs and put her feet on the floor just as we heard a car.

She whispered for me to get down on the opposite side of my own car, and not to get dressed or leave.

She slipped to the far corner, rear of her own garage, smoothed her dress, and waited for her husband to back the car in. When he saw her, he opened the door and greeted her. He asked what she was doing in the corner as dark as it was. She laughed and said she heard him pull up in front and came out the back door. She’d shut the door so that he wouldn’t back into it. She gave him a quick hug and dragged him out of the garage, closed the door, and walked him into the duplex through their front door.

A few moments later her back door opened and she slipped back into the garage. When I stood, she climbed up on the dryer and asked me to come over too. She raised her skirt and commented that what was good for me was also good for her. She put her hands behind my neck and pulled my head down to that sweet spot between her thighs. As she placed her knees over my shoulders, I expressed my concern that her hubby would come out and catch us. She said that he always washed down and then took a shower before coming out of the bathroom. She said it would be more than ten minutes.

She was delicious and when she started trembling and shaking, I couldn’t help but add a little extra spice to the occasion. She moaned for at least five minutes, and was totally at my mercy.

When I finally relented, she lowered her legs, still trembling. Took a deep breath and said that it had been the greatest experience of her life.

She was unsteady as she walked slowly over to her door. She smiled and threw me a kiss as she shut the door and returned to the kitchen.

I went out through my own garage door and sat on the step in front. I had just managed to cool down slightly when my wife called me for dinner. As I went into the house, she asked if I’d heard anything strange. She said that she thought that she’d heard someone moaning a few minutes, earlier. I went in and washed down.

Part 2 – – the situation and fact

As I stated in part 1, my former ‘not pretty’ neighbor has been the sustained focus of many of my male fantasies. Perhaps the lack of a beautiful, but pleasingly ordinary face, combined with an intriguing personality helped develop these fantasies.

I’m certain that some of you will prefer to believe the fantasy over the fact, and if this makes it more interesting it’s your choice. Remember, the fantasy parts of this story are not true. I’m telling it the way it was.

It’s been said, and studied, that many women living in proximity seem to experience a phenomenon where their monthly cycles occur simultaneously. I don’t know the basis or reason for this, but I know that my family and the neighbor’s had no children for several years. However, after living there about two years, my wife and the neighbor lady became pregnant and delivered a male child within days of each other. Five years later it repeated itself. The only offspring of each family were two male children.

After several years passed, the first two boys started kindergarten. About two o’clock one midweek afternoon, after my wife had gone for a visit to her parents place, I went into the garage to work on my car. She’d taken my son with her because she’d kept him home from school after a severe asthma attack the night before. I had the day off from work and the car always seemed to draw much of my attention. My in-laws were nice people, but I didn’t crave as much of their attention as my wife did.

Anyway, I was in the garage, a place where two of my fantasies seem to have started, when the neighbor lady stepped out of her kitchen and opened the back door into the garage. She saw me and asked if electrical power was still available in our house. I said that I thought so, and asked why she was interested.

She said that she had been finishing the washing of morning dishes, and stopped and stepped to the light switch to turn on the overhead light. When she turned on the switch she saw a bright flash from the ceiling fixture and then the lamp went off.

I said that it was probably the light bulb. She then told me that she’d changed it and it still didn’t work. Curious, I asked how she got up to the ceiling to change it. She said that she had a stepstool in the kitchen and used it for the task.

Perhaps this is where this fantasy really started, as I formed a mental picture of her climbing that stool as I looked on. Anyway, I suggested atalar escort that she should be very careful when climbing the stool, because there are no handrails on those things. Also, I said that I could look at the problem and asked if she’d checked the circuit breaker. She had.

I followed her into the kitchen and could tell immediately, as I worked the switch, that the switch had failed. Failed electrical lighting switches, as used in most rooms, frequently feel strange when you actuate them. That feel is distinctive and the switch mechanism is either difficult to move or feels ‘gritty’ or filled with sand.

She was wearing her trademark, a starched green dress. Anyway, I told her that I could verify the bad switch and replace it if necessary. She hesitated and told me that she could probably have her husband fix it when he got home that evening.

I told her that it would only take a few minutes and that I always kept extra switches and wall duplex outlets in the house. She thanked me, and so I returned home, gathered my smaller toolbox, grabbed a switch and returned to her place.

She wasn’t in the kitchen when I returned. I’d left the rear door open, and entered noisily to let her know I was back.

I removed the cover plate from the switch, then removed the retaining screws and pulled the switch out of the wall box. Then I took a small bladed screwdriver and used it to short between the wires at the side of the switch. The light came on, confirming my diagnosis. I hollered through the house that it was indeed a bad wall switch and began the work to replace it. The house was quiet the entire time.

Ten minutes later I’d installed, tested the new switch, and replaced it and the cover plate. I hollered that it was fixed and working if she wanted to try it. No response.

I called her name and received no answer. I thought it strange and while still calling her name, I slowly walked into the living room. The front door was open but the screen door was latched. I looked down the hallway toward the bedrooms and could see much of each room. There was a breeze blowing through an open window in each room. The rooms were clean and the beds made. I called her name again and still received no response.

I asked myself where she might have gone. The bathroom door was closed, but I remembered an outside clothesline along the side of their duplex. They occasionally used it. I assumed she might have gone there. So, I unlatched the screen door thinking the mechanism might have been latched as she was leaving and had still allowed the door to close and lock after she’d stepped out.

I walked to the side of the house and looked back. No clothes on the line and she was nowhere around. I returned to the house, opened and relatched the screen door and became concerned that she may have fallen in the bathroom.

I walked to the door and knocked softly. No response. I softly called out her name and knocked again. Finally, I asked if she was okay and said that if she answered me I’d head on home. Still, there was no sound. I announced that if she didn’t answer that I was coming in to insure she wasn’t hurt. I waited, put my ear to the door and listened.

I was about to open the door when her son returned from school. He was knocking on the screen door, after walking home from school.

I opened the door and he came in while watching me with a real interest. He was probably wondering why I was there, so I told him about the switch and then told him I was afraid his Mom was in the bathroom and may have been hurt. I asked him if he would check.

Slowly, he walked to the bathroom door, placed his hand on the knob and turned it. He opened the door only wide enough to squeeze into the room and then quickly closed the door from inside. I still didn’t hear anything, but after a few minutes, the door slowly opened and he returned the same way he went in. After he closed the door, I asked if she was okay. He shook his head — yes. I asked if he was sure that she wasn’t hurt. He shook his head again and softly replied that she was taking a bath.

So I locked the kitchen door as I left and returned to my car.

Part 2 – – the fantasy

Her son didn’t return and so I turned the handle and entered the bathroom. She was asleep and reclined in the bath. She was taking a bubble bath, but many of the bubbles had died or moved aside. I could see the soft brown patch between her thighs and it matched her hair color. I could even see the start of a pair of delicate pink lips between them. Her arms were along her sides, her head turned slightly sideways, and two small but perfect breasts were rising from the water.

I backed slowly toward the door, planning to leave as quietly as I’d entered. But something caused her to stir and her eyes opened slightly. She turned her head and her eyes opened wide in fright. Her hands went to cover her breasts. I told her that I wasn’t just looking at her breast. One hand went to cover her mound, but managed to expose a breast. I smiled and said “Too late”. I was afraid she’d scream, but slowly here eyes softened and her lips formed a small smile. Then she whispered that at last the dream had returned. When I asked what dream she was referring to, she said in a manner that told me I should already know, and that she’d been trying to get back into it for several months.

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