For a long time, i think my missus thought i had suffered an imaginectomy. For awhile, i worried that it might be true. But i’ve since realised, that she just didn’t have the key to unlock the gate. The saddest part is i never got one cut for her. So it could only have been my choice.. my wish.. to remain outside intimacy with this most beautiful, impressionable, relatively clean pallet of a woman, who wanted nothing more than for me to love her, so intensely, that it worked the other way. And i shut up shop. And in the process inflicted irreparable damage upon her world.. and ours. Accepting that has been the most challenging and consuming aspect to my life for the last 2 years. And while i'm not entirely out of the woods yet.. I see dappled light. And one thing is for sure.. the imagination never left me. It just went underground. To fester and grow mould. Occasionally bubbling out with some shocking but highly pleasurable results. Imagination kept me alive beyond the excesses and abstinations of my youth. Through my teens i spent hours locked in my room conjuring filthy stories that involved my blossoming childhood playmate, her elder sister and single seductress mother who enjoyed the teasing of a young man. The fantasies, along with plenty of enthusiastic manual manipulation left my penis swollen. But imagination breathes life. And it wouldn’t be long until the next flickers of thought sparked a repeat offence. I’d steal glimpses of my neighbour.. of similar age, from my window and through the trees, after she showered i could be found, lights out.. crushed into the corner of my room which afforded the best view... and marvel at the stiffness that a 10 second snapshot of her bare butt could produce in me. I could only imagine what she looked like from the front. And that was enough to do the job. Outside of the house at school, i wasn’t the only boy who positioned himself infront of Ms.Fraser (our art teacher) as she leaned over to sketch still life with (whatever).. And while she didn’t possess a large bossom.. they were near perfect, with large nipples.. and any breast without bra was worth looking at.. salivating over. Ofcourse she knew.. she knew exactly what she was doing.. and inside her own imagination she was probably fucking the lot of us. Who knows where she went in her own private thoughts. She just had great tits. I’m sure all women know the power they possess in the ability to affect a man on the outside. You cant hide a swollen prick. Its alright for you girls, wet spots and nipple fats don’t stand out like a hard dick. Although i’ve spied many a moment of arousal.. just from more subtle angles... but they’re there. Aren’t they? As for me.. I’m reasonably lucky. My cock is sizeable. At least i think it is. It's big enough to distract a like minded girl.. someone looking for the signs. A girl with an imagination. I like that.
Later on in my teens, i explored exhibitionism to a degree.. a mild degree. While riding home from school with my friend, i’d stop halfway and change into some bike shorts.. you know.. the tight lycra type.. the ones that leave little to the imagination. Upon arrival at his mums house.. i’d put down my bike and adjust myself to one side.. to show off my wares.. Mrs.C wasn’t necessarily the hottest woman on earth.. but she was youngish, divorced, incredibly sexy and available. Atleast unattached. We played games. Visual ones. When i walked in, most afternoons she couldn’t take her eyes off the outline of my thick dick. It was that obvious to me that i used to think about math to keep from stirring.. but i would inevitably start sharing in her fantasy.. tapping into her imagination. Often she would move to behind a bench in the kitchen.. as we spoke she would lean over. When she chose to, she wouldn’t wear a bra. We’d talk about stuff.. and she would show me her boobs.. purposefully.. both of them in clear view through the open neck in her t-shirt.. at the same time she would watch closely as my cock started to twitch and then grow sideways.. rapidly.. she knew exactly what she was doing.. she loved it.. i loved it.. eventually i would have to retreat.. to the bathroom. I would fall asleep with images of her sitting on the side of my bed, stroking my cock until spillage. Had i the balls i would have visited her.. but the opportunity never arrived. The imagination lives on however. And i think of her from time. She still has an effortless ability to bring my tool to rock.. I need only imagine.
END PART I