Crushes.  Serious business, they are.  Especially for someone like me, who's already got a bit of an obsessive personality.  Case in point.  Can I buy something tasty and leave it in the icebox and not think about it sitting there... how it's just the flavour I'm craving...  the texture of it on my tongue... that feeling of delicious satisfaction as it slides down my throat...

Well, as you've all seen my arse, I'm sure you can figure that one out for yourself.

So.... what makes this so damn hard is that men are a thousand times more addictive than food.  Chocolate is orgasmic- but it can't haul you off over its shoulder cave-man style, throw you on the bed and shag the bloody stuffing out of you.  It can't take out the rubbish.  And it certainly can't fill that void in my heart the way it can in my stomach. 

But it's about so very much more than hot sex and household chores.  It's about having that thing- that spark- that makes it all meaningful.  A dialogue for two.  A catalogue of private jokes only the two of you will ever get.  A body to hold in the night.  A person to laugh with when things are good and cry with when things are bad.  A kindred spirit with whom you can share trust and passion and even those little things about ourselves that we don't like.

I just can't keep from wondering if the man I fancy is that man.  I call him The One in my head, but is he really?  Part of me dreams that he is.  The other part is afraid to find out.  To take a chance that he won't wind up being The guy, you know?

Round and round it goes in my head.  A mental image of a fat little hamster squeaking for its life as it spins on the wheel of death had me laughing as I made my way into the pub, stamping the cold from me as I tossed my heavy coat on the rack and unwound my scarf, draping it over the brass hook.  Truth be told, I felt a bit like that stupid hamster.  Running on a wheel, I mean.  God knows I'm not going to attract anyone the way I look now.  It's working.  The bit about working out.... not that bit about attracting a man, unfortunately. 

My pants are getting looser at any rate.  Odd how I feel a bit lost in them.  Can you miss your fat self?  You think I wouldn't.... or maybe it's just I'm not used to being the incredible shrinking woman?  Bit unnerving, really.  Maybe that's why I keep changing my hair colour?  I might say I've lost the real me... but I don't reckon I ever really knew her to begin with.  So, in lieu of the real me, I'm taking a stab at finding every other me.  Blond.  Black.  Brunette.  Streaked.  Highlighted.  Layers.... 

I do know one thing though, I'm so bloody sick of being hungry.  Of course, I ran an extra two miles today just for this one glorious moment.... 

I ordered a pint and damn near cried at the taste of the first sip.  Ambrosia.  Calories!  To say nothing of the buzz I knew I'd get off it, what with so little food in me.  Joyous day!  I could so use a little liquid happiness today.  Fall weather does that to me.  All that cold blustery dampness can be a bit of a downer when you haven't got anyone at home to curl round and get all warm and toasty with when the cold drafts seep under the doors and around the windows. 

None other than the Shadow himself interrupted my short, sweet love affair with my Guinness.  He touched my hair.  My newly red hair....  Gosh!  I hadn't even thought until just now....

He whistled softly.  "This, I like...."  And then he chuckled.  "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this!"  His mouth twitched.  "I hear once you go Red, you never go back...."  He twirled a curl around his finger and then before I realised what he was up to, he grabbed me up and twirled me round as well.  He gave Heather, who was pulling pints behind the bar, a cheeky grin and then he kissed me with a flourish before depositing me back on my stool.  "Yeah..... see?  Now your skin matches your hair."  He grinned and slipped behind to bar to get at the good scotch I know Uma keeps tucked away somewhere back there.  He gave Heather's bum a saucy pinch and poured himself a glass, grinning at both of us.  "Don't you think she looks good?" 

I already knew she liked it.  I ran into her this morning when I was taking out the rubbish.  She just nodded snickered at him.  "Hey, it's always a look I like on you, Burrito."  His ears turned red and he chased her from behind the bar with a growl, leaving me to my beloved pint.  Come here, baby....  Just the thing I needed to drown that little spark of jealous longing at the intimacy I'd just witnessed.       

I nursed my drink and smiled as the warmth of it really kicked in, giving me a nice little buzz in addition to the one Dino had left.  That man can kiss!  I savoured my drink slowly, falling back into that old habit of mine... watching. 

Lachlan was in the back playing darts with Alex and watching Cass' bum.  Terry was polishing off a drink while he watched his lady-friend hie herself off to the loo.  Hando and Jeff looked to be embroiled in a furious game of pool.  Jeff kept staring at Hando's arse when he bent to take his shot just to put him off.  Naughty boy!  You get 'em Jeff!  Cort was nursing a long neck with some of the other blokes back by the telly, and making a passable attempt at paying attention to the game.  He looked distracted.  Bud was looking on smugly while Scarlet and Clarity ogled Marie's gorgeous ring....

I suddenly wished my glass was a whole lot bigger.  Just when I thought my day couldn't get any bloody better, Mr. Handy himself slumped down next to me and lit up.  Bastard.  He knows I'm trying to quit.  I gave him the fisheye. 

"What's up with you?"  Is his face always so sour?

"Bugger off, Terry.  I'm trying to kick the habit...."  That came out a little sharper than I had intended.... but there's hardly any love lost between us.  With the power of my nicotine craving at the moment, I'm surprised I didn't just reach over, grab his fag and finish it off in one good drag.  I could almost taste it....

He grinned and blew smoke in my face.

"Thanks.  I needed that."  He chuckled.  "Too bad you can't blow an orgasm over as well...."

He made a face.  "Was that an offer?"  

Gee, thanks.  I pulled my tongue at him.  I was in a crap mood between my desire for a smoke and a bloody decent meal.  Raising an eyebrow, I took a healthy swallow of my drink.  "Lucky for you I haven't got PMS, mate, or you'd have been dead already."

"Yes, lucky me...."  His voice was bone dry.

Bastard.  I just eyed him up and shook my head in wonder.

"What's that look for?"   

"I'm still trying to work out how you do it."  Maybe they'd not gotten the joy of his tongue when he wasn't oozing charm or wit.  He has them all snowed.

"Well, don't think too hard... I wouldn't like you to get a headache from the effort or anything, mate." 

Cretan.  Only the truly evil would torment a girl in her suffering.  "I think the real you just slipped out... how could you let that happen?"  I snorted at him.  "You don't like it, do you, when your little act doesn't work on one of us... can't figure that one out, can you?" 

He merely shrugged and took another damned drag.  Did he have to keep doing that?  "No.  I just thank my lucky stars in this case."  

God forbid fat ol' Esme should take an interest, hey?  I saw the kind of girls he went for... so petite and gorgeous.  I felt the sharp prick of tears and swallowed them down along with the last of my drink, feeling pretty ruddy awful.  Which is probably why I rose to his bait.

"So, that 'I've got a smooth rich boyfriend' thing's really working for you, hey?  They really buy that crap?"  He looked over.  "More to the point- do you?"

He didn't say anything.  He just made a face.  Typical.  And then he sauntered off as his date came out of the loo.  I could just imagine what he said to her as he bent to whisper in her ear.  'Come on, love... let's find somewhere a bit more private....'

But then he looked back at me as he left, licked his forefinger and chalked one up for me with a grin.  Damn that guy.  He really gets under a girl's skin, doesn't he?

And that night, as I stood naked in front of my mirror whilst I examined myself with a critical eye, I hoped I'd gotten under his skin too.  As a matter of fact, as I crawled into my bed feeling fat and hungry, I hoped he bloody thought of me every damn time he used his credit card tonight.

Two weeks later, I'd given up the red for plasmatic blond.  Funny.  I'd only been blond for three days and I was already thinking of what colour I'd change it to.  Brunette I think.  You always go back to what you know, hey?  I saw a box down at the chemist.... Cacao Bean.  Is that my colour or what?  Giving my blond 'do one last primp, I grabbed my bag and headed out to meet Cass.  We were having dinner downtown and then we were going to meet up with Jeff and Paul.  There's a concert tonight.  Metallica.  During the PJ party I found out Cass fancies them.  I'm a metalhead from way back.  Pathetic but true.  I headbanged my way through my last years of school, dividing my free time between drinking beer we'd nicked from my Mum and getting stoned at concerts. 

I shudder to think of myself then.... acid washed denim, dark skintight tops... heavy black eyeliner....  Of course, I looked the part tonight.  Right down to the black eyeliner.  But it was a fun change from the more frumpy girl I'd seemed to morph into as I got older.  I needed to do something drastic.  Another few years and I'd be my Mum.  Bloody hell.  Talk about motivation. 

Cass shrieked when she saw me.  Exclaiming over my denim miniskirt and boots and the little back top I was wearing that I knew was just a touch too tight.  Mental note.  More time being the hamster on the wheel of death-- Less time drinking pints down the pub.  Cass looked fantastic, naturally.  The cow.  Her curvy figure was shown to its best advantage in this chic little black dress that she'd paired with a leather motorcycle jacket.  I bet Lachlan tripped over his dick when he saw her.  I couldn't help but compare us and find myself lacking.  She's thinner than I am.  But I have better skin.  Well, she had a blemish..... at least, I think it's a blemish.  Cos if it's a fading love bite, I might as well go lay down in front of a bus right now....

Dinner was a scream.  We decided to slum it rather than go somewhere nice.  Made two complete tits of ourselves in this little fish and chips place and had a fabulous time doing it.  Just two tarted up, liquored up, Poms who were winding themselves up for a night on the town.  Cass whipped out her little phone and in what seemed like two ticks, Jeff and Paul had joined us. 

Paul already looked to be lit from within, if you get my meaning.  He is so bloody much fun.  Jeff wasn't far behind once we convinced him he didn't need to spend his night looking out for us.  We were big girls....  Actually, I think Cass told him to quit being a little old lady.  That if she'd wanted her granddad along, she'd have brought Lachlan.

Cass affected Lach's voice and cocky bearing.  "I'm not listening to that racket..."  She dissolved into giggles.  "Going out with Lach is like is like going out with a sexy version of my granddad."  Jeff snorted into his beer.  And then she added, "Bet you've never had sex to Glen Miller's In the Mood...."

The words were out before I could stop them.  "I think that's a safe bet..... but then again, that requires actually having sex in the first place..." 

Jeff rolled his eyes at me.  "Esme, luv... nobody's that desperate."  Oh yeah?  It's been more than a year now since I've had real actual sex.  With a man.  Not that I'm counting or anything....  "And who the hell's Glen Miller?  Did he sing about a rhinestone cowboy?"

Paul snickered.  "You are completely hopeless, mate."

We shared a cab and a joint on the ride over to the concert.  It was an absolute scream.  We all knew each other fairly well, and what little apprehension there might have been had disappeared with the liberal addition of alcohol.  It was like one big date.  We switched off partners... dancing and chatting with each other all through the opening band.  It was intimate without being sexual, despite the way we hung on each other.  I danced with Jeff.  And Paul.  And Cass.  Can someone please explain to me why the sight of two women dancing together can affect two GAY men?  I will never understand men... not that I want to.  I rather like the mystery.

The crowd screamed as the band took the stage.  It was dark and warm.  Bodies pressed in close all around, moving together as one, like a flock of birds.  Smoke billowed out around the stage.  The screaming got louder.  Strobing lights flashed and spotlights made luminous beams through the fog.  Cass whistled rudely.... never you mind what I said.  What girls our age didn't have fantasies about the band back in the day?  And what is it about men with long hair and worn jeans?  Bloody hell.  I think I had an orgasm right then and there.   

The first strains of guitar electrified the crowd.  Talk about a fun night.  Between the buzz and the company and the music.... well, I was heartily enjoying myself.  A prime environment for a voyeur like me, as well.....  What can I say?  Rock and roll is just damned sexy and it seems to infuse everything with this wild sweaty rhythm that just makes your fanny throb.... people rubbing up against each other in a crowd... kissing their boyfriend and girlfriends... shouting into each other's ears over the din.... to say nothing of the wilder stuff happening in the moshpit down front.  Talk about a bit of rough!  It was mostly young men, writhing and moving in a way that was less like dancing and more like some violent celebration of testosterone, adrenaline and aggression.  

It's funny what you see when you really open your eyes and look, you know?  I even saw an intimate, sexually loving moment between Jeff and Paul.  Jeff was behind him and they were both moving ecstatically to the music.  I saw Jeff lean and put his mouth against Paul's ear.  He said something.  Paul closed his eyes and shivered in his arms.  And then I saw that Jeff's hand had crept round and he was slowly rubbing his thumb over a spot just under Paul's belt buckle.  Jeff dropped his head and bit Paul's shoulder.  Hard.  He turned and their eyes met. 

I'm surprised the look that passed between them just then didn't burn down the whole place.  And for a moment, just a brief flicker, there was something soft and warm there... and then they both seemed to have the same idea at once and dragged each other toward the throng of wild young men down front, using their combined bulk to easily push their way through the packed sea of people.  How I envy the ease with which young men so carelessly use their strength.  I could only imagine what it felt like to be a man just then.  To possesses the raw power and physicality to indulge in that kind of violent catharsis and to know you can hold your own while it happens around you.

I hung back with Cass.  Hard up as I was, I had no desire to get groped by some pathetic loser in a moshpit.  And to be honest, what was being unleashed down there intimidated me.  I guess I brought a bit of frump Esme along with me after all.  I closed my eyes and swayed to the music.  Beside me, Cass was chatting up a couple of guys in that free and easy way she has that I so admire.  And envy.  I reckon it's a bit like people who feel the music but just can't give themselves over to it.  In that moment it seemed such a marked contrast to my more reserved nature. 

Turning a bit because I felt a stupid insecure flash of annoyance for being reminded of what I'm not, I returned to watching the crowd as the guitars wailed and the music throbbed louder and louder.  Tuck you in... warm within... keep you free from sin... till the sandman he comes....  The crowed surged and flowed in that odd mercurial way it has.  Something's wrong... shut the light... heavy thoughts tonight...  And then the sea of people parted just for a moment.  I was gobsmacked when I saw him standing there. 

My crush.

What the hell was he doing here?  My mind spun as I let my eyes drift down from his longish hair that was sweaty and slicked back to the way the black of his leather waistcoat contrasted with his white T-shirt.  He was wearing jeans and scuffed boots.  A cross lay nestled in the hollow of his throat.  He wore it easily.  Almost defiantly.  Even weirder, he didn't seem out of place here.  Dreams of war.... dreams of liars... dreams of dragon's fire... and of things that will bite... 

As if the people around sensed his latent power, they seemed to maintain this space around him.  Not a wide swath, more like the aura of danger that clung to him kept them from crowding him.  There was a harder edge about him tonight.  So different from the more humble front he affected down the pub.  I wondered which was the more accurate measure of the man.  Sleep with one eye open.... gripping your pillow tight... 

I felt this crackle of electricity.  Excitement.  Nervousness?  Arousal?  Not really sure.  Just this spark of primal energy.  He blinked and looked over, turning just his head, not his body.  I swear time stood still.  The sound of the music faded to a murmur and it seemed as if the people around me were moving in slow motion.  Exit light... enter night... take my hand... off to never never land... 

He looked me up and down.  I felt supremely stupid.  The first time in weeks that he sees me wearing something other than the bulky stuff I usually hide myself in..... and here I am trussed up like a sausage in vampy clothes I poured myself into for a night of silly fun. 

Have I mentioned lately that I hate my life?

When his eyes finally made it above my breasts, they widened as he recognised me and then narrowed again as he got a really good look.  They don't work.  Deals with the devil, I mean.  Otherwise, the floor would have opened up and swallowed me right then and there.  Pity about that.  But in the space of a single strobe flash, he held my eyes and I could have sworn I saw a flare of something burn bright and hot.  Just for a moment.  And I felt it all the way to my toes.  Hush little baby, don't say a word... and never mind that noise you heard... it's just the beast under your bed... in your closet... in your head.... 

A second later, the crowd shifted and swallowed him back up just as Jeff and Paul banged into me, sweaty and laughing, riding the endorphin rush they'd found down in the pit.  Jeff snapped his fingers in front of my face.  "Hello?  Earth to Esme?  What's with you, luv?"  He made a face.  "Somebody slip something in your drink?  I told you not to-"

"Nothing like that..." I shook my head.  "I just thought I saw someone I knew."

Now isn't that the truth?

Friday night.  The world is out having fun... and where am I?  You guessed it.  At home.  Didn't really feel up to facing the pub tonight.  Not after that little incident at the concert.  So sue me.  I'm a bit of a coward.  Unfortunately, I was also a coward with an emergency of the plumbing variety.

"OhPlease OhPlease OhPlease pick up...."  I rang Jeff, eyeing the bathroom sink that was full to brimming.  I couldn't afford the going rate for a plumber's after hours call.  Thank god he answered.  He showed up less than an hour later, looking quite tasty as he breezed in dressed in a pair of sexy jeans and a smart shirt, smelling of expensive cologne.

He eyed my ratty bunny slippers and my cotton PJ's with their little yellow chickies and gave a snort of distain followed by a sigh as he shook his head.  "You know, most people have dates on Friday, luv...."  He was already stripping off his shirt as he gave the drain a look.  I gave him a look.  Like I wouldn't?  He's bloody gorgeous.   

"Stop bragging!"  I threw a towel at him.  I'd have said worse, but I was too grateful he'd come to bail me out to really let him have it.  

He sniffed and gave me the eye as he fished around in the sink.  "You been smoking again?"  

I rummaged under the cushion where I hide my packet and lit up in defiance.  "I was hungry!"

He chuckled, grabbed it from me with his clean hand, took a drag and then passed it back, blowing smoke out as he gave me wide grin.  "Not too late for you to come with, you know.... Paul won't mind." 

Throwing myself down on the loo lid, I rolled my eyes at him.  "I don't need your charity."  He looked at my PJ's again and snickered.  Bastard.  He rummaged round under the sink looking at god knows what under there and I couldn't help but have a little fun at his expense.  I mean, we've all heard those jokes about a plumber's crack.... I told him I wished my plumber had one.  Seeing his bum would have been the thrill of my Friday night.

He just laughed.  Jeff and I, we're easy with each other.  He comes round, occasionally with Paul... I feed them up... we hang out and have a laugh or go out... occasionally we go running together.  Not my preferred way to get sweaty with a man, but I'll take what I can get. 

Meanwhile, he was pulling a face.  "Bloody hell, Es... what'd you put down here?"  I just shrugged.  He worked on.  I sat there on the loo, watching.  My weakness, as you know.  "So, you told him yet?"

He didn't even look up from the job.  "You mental?  Course I haven't."  Jeff knew who I fancied.  He heard me telling Cass about it at the PJ party and asked me about it later when he slept over that night. 

"Come on, girl...."  He just shook his head and pulled a lump of multicoloured hair from the drain.  It looked like a dead rat.  It didn't even slow him down.  "Look, luv.... what's he gonna say?  He's a pretty shy bloke.  Maybe he's been lusting after your curves."

I looked down.  Was he joking?  "My curves?"  I was still feeling a bit raw over that comment Terry made.  Men don't want great soft girls.  They want tiny slender girls.  I tried not to think of the girls I'd seen my crush with lately.   

"Well..... he might be thinking 'I better come get some before they disappear'."  He gave me a pointed look and then launched into one of his flights of fancy.  "I'll bet the Preacher is on his knees at night while trying to get the image of your naked thighs from tempting him to sin...."  He bent to look under the sink again.  "Pass me that pipe..."

I giggled.  "Sounds like an image that's more tempting to you, ya poof."  I brandished the pipe rudely.  "A man on his knees.... If it was my fantasy it'd be the other way round..."  So I've an oral fixation.  What's it to you?

"Jesus, girl!  He laughed and grabbed the pipe with a grin, holding it up in front of him and acting out the scene.  Cort saying his prayers sporting a giant hardon.  I smacked his arm and got up.  I play with Jeff because he's my friend.  But the truth of the matter is that he and Cort look a lot alike and the image he was affecting was just a bit too..... much.  And it was getting to me.

"I'll just go put the kettle on..."

He wiped his hands on a cloth and reached for another tool.  "Don't tell lies, love... you're going for a quick buzz with a girl's best friend."

I shrieked and pounded him.  "Hey!  I was going to wait till you left!" I teased.

Jeff snickered.  "Want me to hold it for you?  I'm good at plumbing holes..."

"Jeff!  You dirty bugger!"  

"Well... yeah!  I am a pervert!"  He smiled pleasantly.  "Nothing new there."  He stood, ran the water from the taps and it swirled round and gurgled as it disappeared down the drain.  Success!

"My hero!"

"Nothing to it."  But the he frowned and pulled a face as he looked down at himself.  "Esme... mind if I jump in your shower?  Paul will freak if I turn up all mucky again.... he'll be complaining where my hands have been...."

"You plumbers and your holes!  Sheesh, Jeff!"

He swaggered a bit and posed.  "Yeah... but I'm cute as well as mucky.... they can't resist me."  He stripped off without waiting for an answer, tossing his clothes at me so they wouldn't touch the floor where the hairball had dripped dirty water.  I had a lovely perve of his equally lovely backside as he leaned in to turn on the taps and then he turned around with a grin, bearing it all as he tossed out "And bring me a fresh towel, hey?"  Ahh.... the cockiness of young men.  I love that.

I brought him the towel and left him to it, wandering round my flat as I wrestled with (and lost!) the desire to light up.  Too bad it was the only fag I'd be smoking tonight.... no offense, Jeff....

He came out a few minutes later.  Naked.  Toweling his hair roughly.  Just so friendly and natural as we chatted.  But of course I looked.  You know I did.  I thought of raisins.  The damp heat and the steam had certainly plumped him up.  His beautiful thick cock hung over his heavy wrinkled balls.  His wet hair flopped down over his eyes and I couldn't help but think how much he looked like.....

Jeff caught me having a wee perve of his impressive genitals and grinned.  "Probably bigger, love.... he's a tough guy."  

How did he know what I was thinking?  I blushed and buried my face in my hands.  He just laughed.  He's a good bloke.  And a better friend.  He refused payment for the sink but made me promise to cook bangers and mash with onion gravy for him and Paul next week.  And then cos he's a cheeky bugger, he kissed me full on, tongue and everything and told me if I wouldn't let him take me out, the least he could do was warm me up for what he knew was coming after he left.

I shrieked and threw his wet towel at the door... but he's too fast for me.  He was already banging down the stairs, happy as Larry.... and why wouldn't he be?  Not only was he on a promise, but he fancied the bloke too.  Lucky bastards, the both of them.

My stomach growled.  I lit up another and then crushed it out two second later.  A wave of guilt hit and before I could think, I opened the window and tossed the packet out.  Then, of course, I wanted one again.  I think the only thing that kept me from going out after it was the fact that it was freezing out there.  And for some strange reason, it only made me feel hotter inside.

The glass of the window was cool on my forehead.  I watched the pub doors for a while but that just depressed me, watching the steady flow of people in and out.  Regulars and strangers alike.  I shifted restlessly.  I couldn't get Jeff's naked image out of my head.  Only it wasn't Jeff. 

No, the man in my head was older.  His hair was longer and there was more of it.  His face wasn't as smooth and it wasn't so much that I thought of him as heavier as he just seemed... darker.  Somehow softer and yet more dangerous.  This compelling blend of rough and tender.  I can't really explain it.  He attracted me.  Sexually.  Emotionally.  Spiritually.  He was noble and humble and quiet.  He was also arrogant and cocky and so sure of his physical self, even when he lamented over his emotional self.  He was polite and yet I got the feeling he didn't hold with any rules but his own.

I saw him, you know.  That night I finally worked up enough courage to go over to the pub... only that was the night all the girls were gone and all the boys had stayed in and had a little party of their own.  Complete with a whole different kind of girl.  Guess you can get it all delivered these days.  Like fast food for your dick.

He was with a girl.  They'd stopped at the top of the stairs.  Well, I saw part of him anyway... from about the waist down.  A girl was kneeling in front of him, rubbing her cheek over the front of his pants.  Strange how for all the erotic moments I've been a party to lately, that was one I could have gone a lifetime without.  Stranger still, it wasn't that prurient image that was burned into my brain.  It was that he was rubbing a curl of her hair between his fingers.  So sensual.  And it seemed so much more a true appreciation of a woman than some cheap shag with a stranger.   

I drew away from the window when I realised I had a curl of my own hair between my fingers.  

The feeling of restlessness grew more pronounced.  I had a strange desire for the catharsis of the moshpit, a violent spending of all that is pent up - jammed up - inside you... while you're pressed up against someone else doing exactly the same thing. 

I chose a different catharsis.  Some nights it's more like treating myself.  Soft music.  Wine.  Candles.  A long bath.  Erotic literature or just my own imagination.... and then I slip into bed with my favourite little toy....

Tonight was different.  I craved touch.  I didn't want to relax in a hot bath.  I didn't want to feel plastic or silicone or glass inside me.  I wanted the touch of skin on skin.  And the honest truth is, for as much as I joke about vibrators, I really don't like them much.  The buzzing puts me off even as it gets me off.  There's simply no substitute for the real thing.

I'm not looking for an orgasm.  I can give that to myself.  I'm looking for a partner, a lover, a friend.  And sometimes the want of that, the yearning for another, is so sharp it aches.  Tonight it was twined with sexual hunger, which sharpened the edge to the point of pain.

I didn't linger.  I simply turned out the lights and kicked off my clothes as I fell into my lonely bed.  It was cold.  I felt goose bumps rise but knew it wouldn't be long before a different heat drove them away.  I didn't reach for a toy.  I wanted to feel skin.  I used my hand and reached for a fantasy instead.

It wasn't hard.  Jeff's little playacting had put into my mind the image of Cort on his knees.  Naked.  Hard.  Fighting the urge to stroke his thick cock.... waiting....enduring the yearning ache until he just couldn't stand it a moment longer.  In my mind's eye, I saw him shamelessly wrap his hand around his cock and start stroking as his head fell back in languid pleasure.  In reality, I had one hand between my own legs and the other on my breast.

It's never the same though.  We just don't touch our bodies like men do.  When they do it, there's mastery and awe.  Urgency.  Need.  A rough tenderness that's missing in our own touch.  I wonder if it's like that for them too?  Does the otherness of our touch send those same frissons of excitement curling heavy in the pit of their groin?

That piercing ache of longing grew sharper as the images in my head shifted.  Funny things, fantasies; a blend of imagination and little snippets of reality woven in such a way that they give us our heart's desire, even if it makes no appreciable sense.  A foolish heart's flight of fancy.  And what did my foolish heart fancy?  Simple.  I wanted to be desired.  Who doesn't want to be wanted?  The scene played out in my head, a strange mishmash of both real and imagined.

The pub.  People all around.  Drinking.  Laughing.  Flirting.

Cort is Cort.  

I am myself.  And Ellen.  And the hooker I saw him with that night.  

We're on the stairs.  And then the landing.  Needy.  Urgent.  I see myself touch him as Jeff touched Paul that night at the concert.  Rubbing a thumb over the tip of his erection.  I can feel it, spongy-hard under the worn denim.  He looks at me.  I think of the look that passed between Jeff and Paul.  A blend of love and passion.  I rub again and then he's kissing me.  Forcing me back against the wall to hold me in place while he frots against me.  I know some of the patrons must have seen us.  It makes me feel desirable.

For half a moment, I entertain continuing the fantasy there.  Making love in full view of the others.  The idea of being watched is erotic and thrilling.  They can see him wanting me.  He can't hide it.  His body betrays him, a man in full rut, engorged and excited.  It is primal and earthy and suddenly, like a hand angrily sweeping dishes from a tabletop, I don't want anyone else to see us like that. 

The scene shifts.  It is a priest's cell.  Simple.  Humble.  Dark.  Walls of chipping white adobe, on which a single iron cross is mounted.  A worn Bible is open on the small wooden desk.  He uses a woman's satin hair ribbon for a marker.  It's the colour of blood.  A pious hedonist?  I hear the faint sound of a guitar.  He smells of leather and man when his lips brush so softly against me, and when his tongue licks mine, I taste rich red wine.

He hauls me against him roughly.  My legs part so my groin can touch his.  In my mind's eye, I see his big hands on Ellen's bum, digging into her soft flesh as he plants his feet and pulls her up to rub against his erection.  And then, when he has her there at his mercy, he grabs her and grinds her into him harder still.  She is wild.  He is the rock the storm of her passion breaks against.

I drown in her desperate desire to feel naked flesh pressed to naked flesh and I whimper when it happens.  He is so hot and hard and male.  And yet, while it satisfies one urge, it spawns another.  I want to feast on each other.  To drive my face into the warm yeasty pit of his groin and inhale his male scent.  I want to skin him back and taste his most intimate flavour.  I want to hear him groan as I take him between my lips and suck down.

His hands are in my hair.  It's brown, as it always is in my thoughts where I cannot escape my true self.  I have a hand on his back.  I can feel the heavy cording of muscles bunch and flex as he thrusts into my mouth.  I feel power.  His and mine.  And beneath that, I feel something more primal still.  I need to feel him fill me.  Stretch me.  And I need to feel his weight on me when he does, pressing me down, possessing me.

I feel a coarse blanket under my back.  His fingers are inside me, pressing deep.  Not gentle.  And it's not enough.  I need more.  Thicker.  Longer.  Suddenly his fingers are gone.  God....  I cry out; open my eyes and see the heavy cross on the wall above. 

And then I see him.  His eyes are wild.  Hungry.  Animal.  He licks his lips and I think he's going to bury his face between my legs and kiss me there.  I flinch when he spits instead.... and then I shiver as I feel his warm saliva trickle down to where the rough pad of his thumb is holding me open. He is wild but the touch is so soft. 

He is watching the slow downward path intently and jerking on his thick cock with his other hand.  It is weeping; a steady trickle now.  The drops fall on my open wet cunt.  It makes me think of those religious relics; statues that weep holy tears.  Heal me, Father.

A push.  A grunt.  An answering whimper.  He's inside me.  Thick.  Throbbing.  He falls against me and I hear him whisper only two words, so soft they're barely audible.

Oh god....

He's rough--but there is a reverence in how he touches me with his hands and mouth and cock.  It is the way a man worships a woman's body with his own.  My thighs ache where they're spread wide around his surging hips. 

He's a big man and he's in so deep.  Near to the point of pain.  I almost wish he would hurt me.  Not because I like pain but because with that act comes a certain indescribable satiation.  The two places that create life meet and join in a bruising kiss that leaves in its wake the deep satisfaction a woman only ever feels with a man who is not afraid to give her all of himself.

He holds me hard as he comes; one hand fisted tight in my hair, the other on my hip as he pushes himself deep and finally stops resisting the urge driving his body to completion.  He shudders violently and gives up to me the same two words as before.

Oh..... god!

This time his inflection is different.  A guttural sound, low and rough.  His fingers dig into my buttock and he lifts me into his final downstroke to receive the creamy spray of his semen and to prolong our pleasure.  He grunts every time my walls squeeze him. 

In reality, I thrashed sweaty and aching as my solitary orgasm left me feeling hollow and lonely.  Curling around my pillow, I held it tightly and blinked away the tears.  It isn't sex I miss as much as floating back to earth under a man's weight.  Holding each other afterwards and savouring how the intimacies we shared could leave such appreciable marks.  Not just how it makes me feel inside, but also the physical changes.... the pleasant ache in my womb.  The wild racing of my heart.  The way it made my skin prickle and my toes curl.  I even like that sensation as I lay there so still and soft... feeling the gentle tickle as his warm semen seeps out.  Another of my quirks, I reckon.  I like sleeping in the wet spot.

I shivered as my fantasy faded away leaving only stark reality in its wake.  A sweaty girl alone in her empty bed, fruitlessly hugging a pillow to her breast and wishing it was a man.  I had half a mind to call Jeff and ask if I could stay over.  It wouldn't be the first time I'd slept with them-platonically, mind.  But I didn't want to spoil their evening.  They are young and in love and they deserve their fun.

I wound up at my window instead, wrapped up in longing and hidden by the darkness.  It was quiet below.  I only saw one man exit the pub.  He stopped on the stoop and glanced up at my window.  Despite the fact I was hidden, I stepped back, having no desire to be seen by anyone.

Especially him.

Like I had at the concert, I thought I saw a flare of.... something....in his eyes.  Just for a moment.  But it was probably nothing more than a foolish girl's crush playing tricks on her lonely heart.  He stared up a few moments longer and then turned away, pulling up his heavy collar against the cold before disappearing into the shadows.

I returned to my bed and my own shadows.  And in my head the same song played over and over.  Sleep with one eye open.... gripping your pillow tight...