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image for Then and Now, Now and Then Then and Now, Now and Then
by Todd Hills

I am a person of fantasy. I live in parallel worlds where reality is my outward appearance but fantasy my inner core. Maybe my development as an only child moulded my reaction to others; the lack of contact with girls through attending a boys only school; basically I was a loner through necessity. As a young boy I spent many hours on my own seeking diversions that were free and available and that I suppose is where sex came in.

We had a small garden with four green painted metal poles for attaching a washing line to. These formed a rectangle enclosing the drying green, an area of sparse grass and many weeds. To a boy of ten the poles represented a challenge. They were at least twice my height and at their top had four metal projections to which the clothes rope could be attached. Can I conquer the pole and reach the top to sit proudly on the four rope attachments? I was an athletic child and possessed the strength to haul myself up the pole with hands and arms rapped round the cold metal like a spider trapping it's prey. The sensation grew in my groin as I rubbed myself on the pole on my way up. I had never before experienced such intense feeling in my cock; the more I rubbed, the more vigorous my climbing, the more pleasure surged through my genitals. I don't think I even had an erection and I certainly didn't ejaculate. My body, I now understand, wasn't physically ready at that point to react to the external pleasure I was exposing it too. But god did it feel good! Again and again I would slide my way deliberately up that pole to experience I knew not what. My senses were like water rushing to meet the wall of a dam but always being rebuffed at the last as the dam refused to give way.

Sex was almost a complete mystery to me and wasn't something talked about openly even in all boy gatherings. We sniggered, we pretended to understand but in the end we lied compulsively so as not to lose face among our peers. Basically I didn't have a clue. I suppose that was around the time the wet dreams started.

The warm sticky wetness when it issued from my cock as a nocturnal emission was initially a frightening occurrence. It posed so many questions in my head that I was totally confused. Gradually over a period of months the pleasure gained outweighed the fear as the sweet sensation of climax, swept over me and realization dawned that visual awareness of almost anything involving women was becoming entwined in my self-conscious leading to sexual dreams and almost inevitably the physical release my body was now capable of.

To ejaculate in private was acceptable but I managed a public display of my burgeoning sexuality, which was both incredible in its sensation and devastating in its execution. It seems that climbing was to continue to play a part in my development but this time it was a rope and not a pole. The back garden was exchanged for the school gym where clad in the prescribed uniform of only white shorts, we were taught the skills required to climb a rope. There was an increasingly close proximity between my cock and the thick rope as I headed upwards. This unexpected friction was inflaming my groin through the thin cotton of my shorts (no underwear was allowed) and over half way up I was overcome by my headlong rush towards an orgasm I couldn't hope to control. My seed spewed from my rapidly enlarging cock and soaked my shorts but fortunately in such a way that I was able to hide the sticky dampness in the folds of the material as I descended the rope rather gingerly despite the dual handicaps of friction burns on my hands and semen on my burning cock. That I managed to escape the gym quickly on the half-truth that I needed the toilet was extremely convenient allowing cleaning of both cock and shorts before a return to the scene of the 'accident' could be avoided no longer. I remember little of the rest of the lesson and surprisingly no one commented on my sudden departure. So fantasy becomes reality as the developing adolescent discovers the joys of single sex accompanied as it is with a guilt ridden conscious born of ignorance. Wanking became a regular occurrence often with the aid of some suggestive photograph totally lacking in frankness by today's more available permissive standards. Very slowly and shyly I did come to meet girls and enjoy their friendship and on lucky but infrequent occasions their bodies. The fumbling, groping uncertainty of teenage coupling was often a mess and seldom as satisfying as my own handiwork. Maturity does bring it own rewards and with it stable relationships, which grow into love and provide a platform for sexual adventure and physical fulfillment.

I am many years away from the callow youth of my earlier tale but I am still consumed by fantasy of the unattainable which many nights provides a satisfying pre-dream escape into sleep. Over the years there have been a number of women who have aided my slumber by unwittingly entering into the sexual escapades of my mind. I have been constant with some of them for years before circumstances move us on and no longer make us a part of each others working lives. It is never love nor is it infatuation. It is pure unfulfilled lust, which I wouldn't know how to cope with if it was ever reciprocated. I don't care; the fun is in the mind. This is a mental challenge based on my perception of attractiveness and potential availability.

Carrie came into my life only recently and filled a void that had developed due to promotions and staff transfers. She is young and sexy with a body to die for. She has short dark hair which frames a face that is pretty without being striking. I am not attracted and even less so when she opens her mouth and speaks. I am attentive as a dutiful colleague should be. However from the neck down she is sensational. The firm curves of her tits demand attention, acting like magnets to all straying male eyes. There is a desire to seek out the lines of her bra as it cossets her tits and reinforces her firmness. On good days Carrie wears a low cut top and bending forward can reveal the creamy mounds of the tops of her tits and a cleavage that beckons beyond. Unfortunately her nipples are well hidden and only on the rarest of occasions do their imprint reach the taught surface of her clothing. There is nothing to mar her body between breast and groin. She is smooth and flat and sleek. The gentle swell of her hips provides a guiding line into her sexual core and beyond to the perfect roundness of an arse that is slim yet very feminine. To watch Carrie walk away from you is to believe the phrase," poetry in motion". To catch a fleeting glimpse of her bending over, the material of her trousers drawn tight across her arse, can often be the highlight of a dreary working day. For her there is no detracting panty line, nothing to draw the starving eyes away from her bum crack and the ability to trace that line beyond. So speculation, the avid bedfellow of lust, runs riot. No underwear is a possibility, but the voyeur is much happier to imagine the smooth satin of a thong pressed tightly over her soft pussy lips to re-emerge from between warm thighs and barely cover a tight arse hole before joining an embroidered waistband. Her legs are near perfect and sitting crossed legged in the short black skirt she sometimes favours, allows a gaze up sculptured thighs and dreams of the heaven that lies beyond.
The dreams of fantasy require an elaborate and believable scenario, which can often take many nights to perfect before any secretive coupling can take place and presumes brief mutual lust.

Because of the nature of our building, there is an old toilet in an out of the way corner still occasionally used by those who know of its existence. It is by common consent unisex, the toilet bowl and wash hand basin hidden behind a stout and lockable door in what is basically a large cupboard. Carrie agrees to meet me there as the working day ends and the office empties leaving a small squad of cleaners to take over from the machines of business.

A furtive look ensures no prying eyes witness our escape from reality to the edge of make believe. We lock the door. I had positioned myself so that I could watch her approach, the gentle bounce of breasts I would soon caress; the sway of hips and tops of thighs I hoped to part. This vision stoked my imagination, fuelling my anticipation of lust to the point that my cock was engorged and almost ready to spill it's seed involuntarily. I was the callow youth and walking towards me was my wet dream. She started to undress me, pulling my tie off and working down the buttons of my shirt. I caressed her hair and ran my hands over her clothed tits bringing a sigh of want from deep in her throat. All in one well practiced move she had removed my trousers and freed my throbbing cock from its cotton enclave. Fingers touched me as if seeking reassurance of my size and texture and readiness for coupling. I was gently pushed back till my naked arse was covering the cold plastic of the toilet seat. In one graceful pirouette she turned around, slipping trousers and panties to her knees as she bent over presented her damp pussy lips for my close inspection. I had no time to dwell on this amazing sight as she pulled her arse cheeks apart the easier to take my cock inside her. I was lighted headed as the warm liquid interior of her cunt enveloped me and I was like a single long finger easing into a snugly fitting glove. She rode me. Gently at first as she grew comfortable with my cock and balls slapping against her innermost lips. Reaching behind her back she unfastened her bra and encouraged me to reach round and caress her liberated tits before returning to the urgent business of satisfying the growing fire between her legs that was starting deep in her cunt and yearning for release. Both nipples went rigid at my none too gentle prompting as the basic urges of this animal fuck overcame tenderness. I was being ridden hard now, her head being thrown back as she arched and bucked when my cock buried itself within her wet hole. Suddenly she had dismounted.

And spinning round to face me, knelt between my legs, taking my shiny erection, slick with her juices deep between her lips. Tongue met exposed cock head and flicked across my end sending waves of sensations along my throbbing member and deep into my balls. My hands flew to her head as my hips bucked and I needed a solid platform to thrust against. I fucked her mouth as she sucked on my sensitive glans. I could feel my balls tighten and her eyes told me that she knew and was ready to drink my seed. Hands stroked and pulled at my groin as my cock reached far into her tender mouth and exploded in a shuddering climax that fired my hot sticky seed to all parts of her mouth and throat. She gagged a little but did not relent in her frantic mouth work as she sucked every last drop of cum from now aching balls. I was completely sated, my body buzzed from the intense sexual sensation I had just experienced. I was covered in a film of sweat that betrayed my wanton lust. My cock was limp but had grown in stature from that oral fuck.

She stood quickly awkwardly trying to re-arrange her clothing in this limited space. Leaning over the small wash hand basin she turned on the cold water and took a mouthful straight from the tap.

Deliberately she made a show of slowly swallowing the cool liquid. "Next time you can satisfy me." The cold air hit my relaxed cock like a gentle slap as a she opened the door a crack, then slipped out into the darkening corridor and was gone. I still sat near naked on the toilet seat unwilling to believe that my fantasy was over. Until the next time…

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