The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (66 page)

Three years later it all seemed so far away. I had a girlfriend, had got engaged and was thinking about settling down when one day, out of the blue, a parcel arrived at the small flat where I
was living. I didn’t recognize the handwriting on it but it was clearly from a female. Not my mother’s handwriting, or my fiancee’s Denise or even my aunt Doreen who was convinced
I couldn’t possibly survive living on my own and usually sent some tins of ham over via my mother. But never a parcel.

I tore it open and was astonished to find a set of women’s black underwear. As the items tumbled out I realized that they were one and the same that Mrs Greening had been wearing that
afternoon when I had come so close to sex. At least, what I imagined was close to sex with the woman.

There was a bra – a heavy, long-line bra with wide shoulder straps and sort of pointed cups – and a black girdle with a satin front panel and metal suspenders. Plus there was a pair
of stockings in black. There was also a note in with them.

“Dearest Tony,” it began. “Please do not be alarmed at this: I obtained your address from your mother when I called her the other day and as I haven’t forgotten our
little time together in my kitchen, I thought you might like a little reminder of that day. Sorry to say that circumstances prevented what might have been a very special moment for you, but please
accept these as a token. I hope you are well and can make good use of them. I believe you have a girlfriend now and are planning to marry: I am sure Denise (that is her name, I understand) will
make you very happy. I am also quite sure this underwear will not fit her. But perhaps you can make use of it somehow. Every best wish for your future, Liz Greening.”

I was shaking when I finished reading the note. Then I held the underwear up and examined it, knowing that it wouldn’t fit Denise at all but understanding just what I was going to do with
it.

I married Denise a year later and we moved into our first house together, but she never did discover where I’d hidden Mrs Greening’s black bra and girdle, and for many years whenever
my wife was away on business I got a chance to wear them. But then, I’d hardly been out of them when I was alone at my flat, remembering Mrs Greening and masturbating over what I planned to
do to her when she’d worn them just for me that day in the summer of ’69.

Bob, Llandudno

Maybe this is more of a boast than a confession, but it’s not quite as much of a boast as the title suggests. I can’t have any woman I want, that would be
impossible, but there was a time when it seemed as if I could come close.

I spent so many years married to a woman who, to use that ubiquitous cliche, simply didn’t understand me. She was very strait-laced and anything sexual was confined to her beliefs that the
word “sex” had to have the word “normal” appended to it. And she didn’t think my desires were normal. That injured me at first, but I gradually realized that
“normal” equates to “boring” or “dull” and became quite happy to be considered anything but normal.

So what were these tastes that were too outlandish for Anita? They fell into a few categories and her response was varied. My liking for sexy lingerie, black stockings (preferably with seams)
and suspenders was tolerated rather than enjoyed. She’d wear such things and, aside from annoying comments like “bloody suspenders” and complaints about draughts, she’d
indulge me on special occasions. High heels are an obvious accessory to the above, but were far too uncomfortable for her bunioned feet. Oral sex – well, I guess all men like that, or
probably all men like receiving it, though not all that many seem to want to reciprocate, and those who do don’t do it well. More of that later. Anita would do that for me, but I always got
the impression that was the only reason she did it, there was no enjoyment whatsoever on her side. That takes the edge off, in some ways. More of that later, too.

And then there’s bondage. I like it. No, I love it. I can’t really explain why or where my liking originated, but it’s been there ever since I was a small child. It has so many
facets that explaining them to someone who can’t, or won’t, understand can be difficult. There’s the visual appeal of a woman in ropes. There’s the fact she cannot move,
that she’s put in positions not of her choice. That leads on to the whole power exchange thing, her helplessness increases along with my power over her. But she has to be willing, she has to
submit. I’m no rapist, not without prior consent anyway. There are issues of trust – if she is helpless she has to be able to trust you not to go beyond agreed limits. Anita
couldn’t understand it. So she wasn’t willing, she was scared. It just didn’t work. We did try a few times and I got something out of it, but nothing to satisfy the craving.

As for pain and punishment, don’t even go there. She didn’t want to know and wouldn’t even talk about it.

We were both members of an amateur theatre group. A few years ago we staged a play where a woman was kidnapped and held hostage in an old barn. I knew the woman – Jayne – well but
had never fancied her, and – as far as I am aware – she’d never fancied me. But I was cast as the kidnapper and she was cast as the victim, with Anita cast as the female villain.
The stage was a split set – by that I mean that half of it was an apartment and the other half was the barn. We had to bluff our way into the apartment, chloroform the wife that Jayne was
playing, then, when she’d collapsed in my arms, carry her out and take her to the barn. Once there I had to dump her unconscious body on a straw bale, straddle her and tie her hands behind
her back. During rehearsals we didn’t actually tie her, of course, but as time went on she wanted to practise as she would be in the play, so I used my tie to tie her wrists. I can still
remember having to bluff my way out of the fact I’d got quickly and powerfully erect while I was doing it, and Jayne magically appeared in my masturbation fantasies from then on.

It was only when we were doing the final rehearsals that I realized she actually liked it, and for sure it was the best performance she had ever given. We never took it any further, since we
were both in committed marriages, but we would share glances now and again that betrayed we’d actually shared something neither of us fully understood.

That was what started me writing about it. I’ve written books before, under my own name, but now I started turning my attentions to erotic books, chiefly about bondage, punishments and so
on. The very first was based on the play and Jayne, but beyond those first ideas was a work of pure fiction. I sent it to a niche publisher and they accepted it, which did my ego no harm at
all.

Anita read the book and it did nothing to alleviate her reservations about my preferences. But by that time, for totally unrelated reasons, our marriage was starting to disintegrate anyway, and
I found more pleasure with my own right hand and a fertile imagination than she’d provided for many years. Flushed with the success of my first BDSM book, I went on to write another, then
another and so on, each triggered by something I’d witnessed in real life, rather than some ridiculous fantasy world of cruel prison guards mistreating gorgeous simpering women. My stance was
that, in the reader’s mind, all this could be happening just down the street, and that those taking part were just ordinary everyday people.

I never made any secret of the fact I’d written these books, and anyone who asked me was welcome to read them, be they man or woman. By the time I’d got to double figures I was being
looked at by friends and acquaintances with varying views. Some were shocked; some found it distasteful. Others’ reactions varied from interested to fascinated and, without doing anything to
foster the view, some saw me as a kind of expert on the topic. My stories were all based on my opinion that if I could make them as realistic and everyday as possible, people would be able to
identify with them and wonder if, just maybe, their neighbours could be getting up to all kinds of things belied by their outwardly respectable personae.

As people viewed me as a guru, my confidence and ego grew, so I unconsciously developed a kind of swagger that appeared to send messages to any woman who was tuned in. Sadly, that isn’t
all women, but it is a surprising number and quite enough to keep this pervert busy. Also sad is the fact I can’t turn it on and off. It just happens, so maybe there’s some sort of
subliminal communication between people of complementary types that we don’t understand and can’t control.

But I do know when it happens because I feel different. The first time I noticed it was at a party given by a friend of mine who is obscenely wealthy. He is boss of a cosmetic surgery company
and as such is always surrounded by lots of very good-looking women. Most of these women danced to the music as if they were one with it. I, meanwhile, was watching on the sidelines of the dance
floor, since I am not good at dancing and prefer to watch. This time I was being watched back. A rather attractive thirty-something, whose name turned out to be Elaine, kept looking my way as she
danced sinuously with a girlfriend. If I looked at her she’d lower her eyes and carry on dancing. Her movements were ever more sinuous and provocative from knowing I was watching. The guy
next to me, Chris, was watching the dancers too, but that didn’t matter -there was some communication going on between this girl and me without any need for anyone else.

Before many minutes had passed she danced her way over to me, took my hand and suggested I join her on the dance floor. I declined, but smiled as I did. She pouted, an image of a spoiled child.
As she held my hand I twisted it from her grasp, round so I was holding hers, and when she moved her other hand in to play fight, I grasped that as well, holding both her wrists in front of her
using my much larger hand. She could probably have twisted out of my grip if she had tried hard enough, but she didn’t, accepting her position as submissive to my dominance. The feeling of
power was very strong as I held her there, right in front of Chris who was all too happy to have this girl in our tiny gathering. She, meanwhile, just remained where she was, held fast as Chris and
I continued to talk. It was as if she didn’t really matter and remained there purely because I was keeping her there. We watched the dancers as the volume of music increased, and she backed
into me, her body sliding seductively inside her silky dress, until I could growl into her ear, “I’m going to have you.”

The words seemed to melt her. It was a farcical situation. She was several years younger than I, thousands of times more attractive, almost certainly wealthier and could probably have had any
man in the room that she wanted. But she stayed with me and breathed hard as my words hit home.

“Where?” was her only response.

“Outside,” I told her. “Be at the back of the pool in five minutes.”

Maybe it was foolish to let her go, and maybe it was foolish to risk everything in such a public situation, but if her excitement at being told what to do was anywhere close to my own excitement
for telling her, she’d be there. Chris had overheard and didn’t quite believe it all, thinking this was some kind of set-up to wind him up. But I excused myself and left the room. I
walked towards the toilets in case anyone was overly curious, but stepped out the back and made my way to the building that housed the swimming pool. Elaine was moments behind me, sliding her arms
round my neck to be kissed. She smelled of the best perfume, yet fresh and perfect. With some women you want to breathe in the scent of them and never exhale, and Elaine was just such a woman.

“Tell me what to do,” she asked.

“Take off your clothes,” I responded, curious to know how daring she could be.

Answer: totally. She unzipped the dress and dropped it, showing all she had on beneath was a white thing, which soon followed her dress to the ground. I pushed her to a wooden bench and prised
her legs apart, kissing up the insides of her thighs as she whimpered and moaned and she didn’t know whether to pull my head in or push me away. She told me afterwards that I was very good at
giving oral sex, which may have been flattery, but I enjoy it and do it when I can, and I’ve never had any complaints, so I guess I’m quite proficient. She tasted briefly sour, then
sweet and liquid. And she didn’t take very long, moaning out sufficiently loud that I had to put my hand across her mouth to quieten her. I unzipped and pushed inside her, meeting wet warmth
and greedy suction. She was nearly there again before, at a whim, I pulled out and stood, holding her head while I erupted over her face.

I only ever had her once again after that night, oddly enough in that swimming pool. She called me and said our friend was away and she had use of the house, and asked if I’d like a
replay. Of course I said yes, and she asked what I wanted. I told her I wanted her in the pool, dressed in underwear, black stockings and suspenders. When I turned up later she was nowhere to be
seen, but eventually I found her in the pool, swimming slowly up and down in lilac suspenders, bra and thong, her stockings soaked. She was even wearing high heels to complete the picture. Our
rapid fuck, with me standing in the pool and her balanced on the edge at just the right height, was fantastic, ending in me filling her with my emission. She ducked down under the water afterwards
and sucked me clean and, after a suitable recovery time, sucked me all the way again until I filled her mouth.

But Elaine wasn’t the only one. I just wish I could control it. There have been so many times I’ve tried, when some woman has taken my fancy and I’ve willed that I could
exercise this strange power, yet nothing happens. At other times it’s just there, and she and I both know it.

I started saying this wasn’t a confession as much as a boast, but that’s not strictly true. To some people out there, I confess: I’ve had your wife, your girlfriend, your
sister, your mother . . . Ordinary women with whom there’s a telepathic connection, so powerful there’s nothing either of us can do about it. I’ve explored every inch of them.
I’ve penetrated their every orifice. I’ve tied them up, whipped and spanked them, coated them inside and out – mouths, vaginas, back passages, bodies, faces, legs, hands, feet and
hair – with my seed. And I intend to go on having them.