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The Untouchable
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The Untouchable Sometimes, it's the guy you can't have that consumes you. For me, it was a coworker. The moment I saw him, it was wow, that's the guy that interviewed me! So hot, I could hardly stand it. So hard to control myself, to not stare, to try and act normal. And I got to work with him, closely. I wanted him so bad! And he's so sweet, such a nice guy, and so private. I couldn't even tell if he was gay or not. One day, I asked him if he's gay, and he said no. He asked me why, and I quickly replied, "No reason." And then I asked, "Do you have a girlfriend?" and he said "yes." Oh, I wish that was me, but I'm married! I can't be all his, so why do I want him all to myself? Why am I jealous of this mystery woman, who may not even exist? He's probably about 20 years younger than me. I've always loved younger men. Actually, 17 years old is the ideal age to me - so horny, so hot, so ready for sex! Instantly hard, enthusiastic, and hard again after coming. But still, only few men hit me this hard. He's one in a million, taking my breath away, making me want him so BAD! I never told him, but if he had had long hair, it would have been the end of me. I'm not sure if I could have kept myself under control. It was so hard already! Sometimes, I'd come over to talk with him, and then watch his hands - long, sexy fingers, imagining what they could do to me, not listening to one word! One day, I could tell I was blushing, like I did in 6th grade when I had a crush on this boy. One look, and I'd forget what I was talking about, stop mid-sentence. At one point, we went separate ways on our projects, but still sat near each other. We had coffee together a few times. It was easy to talk about work-related things, but nothing much personal. Why do I continue to give of myself, even with so little in return? It's in my nature as a cougar, I give and then wait to see if I get something in return. I open up, but he's from Korea, very reserved, probably shy. On my last day of work, I wrote him a letter. Confessed that I am so attracted to him. I made him an offer that if he wants me, I'll come to him. But sadly, it's not his way, his culture, to take advantage. In an e-mail, he said thank you, and that's all he can say. We can freely discuss work, but so little of him personally. And all I can think about, is who is his girlfriend? She must be some hot little Korean lady. What is he like in bed? Is he giving? Is he controlling? How I want to taste him, his lips, suck on him, give him so much pleasure... His pleasure is mine. I want to give and give... but he cannot, will not, take me. I respect that, but still, I think of him, first thing in the morning, how much I want him, how much I want to touch him, kiss him, wrap my lips around his cock and taste his cum. I want to hear him moan, feel his whole body stiffen as he's about to come. It doesn't matter if his cock is big or small, I can squeeze it, enjoy it. Oh, so close, yet so far away... How does a man I've never been with possess my mind, my thoughts, my fantasies? How does it make it hard to think, to listen, to concentrate, when he's around? Why do I want to give him all of myself, even when I get so little back? This is not like me! Why do I not dream of him? Wouldn't it be nice to live out my fantasies? To touch, feel, taste, smell him? To hear him moan as he entered my body and then comes? But no, the best my subconscious does for me is imagine that I come near him, from behind, and whisper in his ear, "I want you so bad!" So close, I could kiss, touch, lick, smell. I dream about many, many things that are so real, life-like, but in this, I still keep control, something still says no. As time goes on, perhaps I'll think of him less and less. It feels like love, but I know it's not. You can't love someone you don't really know. And I know him well enough that we probably wouldn't make a very good couple, although we were the best coworkers. But one night together... what difference would it make? |
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No difference at all. A night of passion and desire quells the soul.
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