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Fantasy vs. Reality.
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Fantasy vs. Reality. This is a story about what really goes on when you call a woman--well, THIS woman, at least-- and say you'll be right there, an hour before you'd said you'd be in your last e-mail. It was me very recently, when a guy from this site was nice enough to say he'd bring over a mower to cut my overgrown lawn. I'm currently low on funds, due to being downsized out of my corporate sales job, and had offered to be "very grateful" in return. He'd given me a time that he'd be over, but was close-by when he gave me notice that he was on his way. I had 15 minutes to be ready. The fantasy versus the reality: Mens' fantasy about this submissive slut~~ I have huge, perfect tits and a smokin' hot body. I am, of course, always horny, and constantly fingering myself when you're chatting with me or I'm home alone. My day is not complete until I can watch you jerking off on your web cam, and it makes me desperately crave it inside of any of my 3 holes. I'm wearing down my dildos and desperately craving your cock. My hair is styled, and my make-up is always perfect. I am always dressed in thigh-highs, garter and sexy lingerie, while I click-click-clack around the house in my stripper-shoe platform stilletos, vacuuming, dusting or doing laundry. My house is always immaculate. The thin silky material of my thong brushes against my baby-smooth pussy and reminds me that I'm primed for cock at all times. Please hurry up and get here, Sir! My reality, when I get the "I'm- on-my-way call" from a man, an hour before I expected his arrival. 15 minutes prep time.~~ I'm busy working on a website to start my own business, and had been chatting in between for longer than I should have been. I haven't had to go out in a few days and realize I'm wearing the same "not-for-human-viewing" comfy home-alone clothes since yesterday. Thinking I'd had about an hour-and-a-half before his arrival, I've not yet showered, my hair is twisted up on top of my head, held there by a hair-claw, and I haven't a speck of make-up on. There are a couple of dishes in the sink, a frying pan from last night still on the stove, and I regret not earlier attending to the wispy tumbleweeds of fuzz that my now-exploding Siberian husky has poofed all over the place. I usually wait to pick them up until they gather into a cohesive group. My bed is partially stripped, strewn with pillows, with only the fitted, pink leopard sheet covering the mattress, because I don't like to sleep under the sheets, and prefer just a plain, unobstructed fucking platform. The comforter is folded on top of a laundry basket in the garage, to protect it from inevitable love-squirts, along with the top sheet. "Um...ohhh..... you said you'd be here at 4:30 and were only going to call at 3 for the directions. You're where now? Oh, that close, huh? Um, I thought I had more time (as I'm ruefully looking down at a hole in my t-shirt) and I'm not quite prepared yet." He's nice about it, and says that he'll get started outside when he gets here. T minus 15 and counting. I pray for long, red traffic lights, and possibly the turn-over of a semi full of tomatoes on U.S. 19 North. I call my best friend, Tabby, and give her an update on my current nightmare, speaking an entire paragraph with no punctuation. 1. Hustle to the bathroom to turn on the shower. 2. Mutter "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckkkkkkk". 3. Strip off the comfy clothes. 4. Pick up the discarded laundry from the floor in front of my nightstand, stuff it into a drawer, grab napkins and papers off of the top of the dresser, throw the pillows into some kind of order based on pillowcase pattern, and try to make it look like hippos hadn't been sleeping there. 5. Rush to the garage to grab the top sheet for the bed, and try to find something slinky. In a Martha Stewart-jag, I'd organized lingerie and clothes out there in plastic stacking drawers, due to lack of dresser space in the bedroom. Rifle through the drawer and find black lace trimmed in pink edging. Hope it fits ok and hate that I'd lost weight last year and some of it had crept back on during "I-lost-my-job-and-now-my-life-is-hopeless depression, in bed" for too long. 6. Jump into the shower/bath. Had plugged the tub to let water fill from the shower. 7. In minutes, hear the telltale sound of a lawnmower. Cling to the slim hope that it's a neighbor. 8. Get hair wet, and sit down in the manatee tank. Massage in shampoo and rinse in one minute's time. Apply Pantene conditioner to smell like I have money. 7. Squirt bath gel into the water and do some rollover flips like Shamu doing a show at Sea World. 8. Lay on back with one leg in the air. Feel pussy bristles coming in. Grab razor from the edge of the tub and scrape labia faster than Jeff Gordon at Daytona. Visually do a "Sasquatch-potential" check on legs. Thank God they're passable. 9. Turn off water, rub body with sudsy loofah and pause to see if mower sounds were real. 10. They were, and getting closer to the front door. 11. Fuckkkkkk, Fuckkkkkk, Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk. Shit! 12. More Shamu flips followed by immersing head in water to rinse out Pantene. 13. Jump out of the tank and wring hair with a towel. Notice lipstick on the vanity and apply quickly. Bend over at the waist to blow-dry hair. 14. Turn on blow dryer and aim at hair, holding it in right hand. 15. While blow drying, grab can of air freshener and spray with left hand. 16. Hair half-dry. Pour cheapo, lavender-scented Fabuloso into toilet and swish around until sudsy. Regret not peeing beforehand. 17. Take a quick look in Mirror, Mirror on the Wall. "Bitch, you're getting OLLLLD", it says. Resolve to buy new mirror. Quickly brush teeth because I'm such a classy that I brush my teeth BEFORE the blowjob. 18. Wrapped in a towel, still hearing lawn mower outside, carefully unlock door and turn doorknob quietly to sneak it open to get a peek at the guy and see if he looks like Fabio. Relieved to see he's an average dude, and has his back to me. Sneak door closed silently. 19. Back in the bathroom, apply body makeup to trouble-spots. 20. Head into bedroom to dress. Pass mirror on the dresser. Swear that I'll never eat a carb again from this day forward. Inwardly cry over sandwiches. Toss flat sheet over top of fitted sheet to look civilized. 21. Pull thigh-highs out of drawer and shimmy up half-damp legs. 22. Grab never-worn pink garter belt out of drawer and squeeze down body, barely making it past the boobs. 23. Hook front strap of garter belt to stocking. Grab rear one and pull too hard, and fastener rips right off. Take 3 seconds to absorb that it's not reparable. Mentally begin composing scorching product review to Hips and Curves.com. 24. Scrounge around in dresser drawer and find a black garter belt instead. Look up, and say "fuck you" to the mirror. Decide I have a future as a model at Pillsbury. 25. Hear the mower turn off and a knock on the door. 26. Continue saying "Fuck", followed by "Shit, shit, shittttt." 27. Answer door naked except for stockings, wrapped in the towel. Regret that towel is purple, and feel like Barney. Greet guest without opening storm door. Avoid direct eye contact to prevent his noticing that without make-up I rival the Sea Hag. Exchange greetings, then ask if he'd gotten to the back yard, knowing it wasn't likely because the gate is falling apart and is very difficult to open. Tell him that yes, it is necessary if he's going to get my goodies in return. Instruct warning about difficulty of opening gate and the importance of making absolutely sure it's closed when he's done, to avoid escape by husky. Briefly imagine a life free of fuzz. Allow him to come through the house to get outside to the back yard and open the gate from the inside. Make hand gestures at my body and ask him if I'm too planetary-sized. Seems it's still a "go". Explain that I brush the husky on the porch, to justify the pile of fur out there that in itself could be another dog. 28. Hearing lawn mower in back yard, apply foundation, mascara and eye shadow at same pace as labial shaving. 29. Spray pussy with FDS to smell like the morning dew in Finland, apply antiperspirant to underarms, curse the bingo-flab waving above (imagine old lady-arm when she's waving a bingo card in the air), and spray on Calvin Klein knock-off perfume. 30. Notice that lawn mower sound has stopped. Panic when he re-enters through the front door. Frantically say "Please, no, I'm naked and need a second here". Express inner gratitude that the fuzzy husky is now charming and distracting him. Feel remorse for imagining her running away. 31. Slip on lacy lil' thing and sigh, remembering when it fit better. Then notice that although clean, being stored in the garage has made it smell musty. SHIT. Grab Febreeze from closet and spray garment while I'm wearing it. Look in the mirror again and decide to act like Jews sitting shiva in the near future. 32. Keep bedroom curtains drawn and lighting low. Pose on bed a few times to find position that least mimics pizza dough in the sun. Cover lap with Barney towel. Breathe deeply. Tell him I'm done now. He enters the bedroom and says I look beautiful. Suckerrrrr! Nahhh. Not really. I'm touched. And flattered. But..... whewwwwwwww! --------------------------------- Word to future dates, if I ever get one after posting this, "If you're going to visit The Princess , you'd better call the day BEFORE." |
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Sooooo funny. Ty for the laugh.
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LMFAO.......Wendy, that is great. l never realized what women had to go through just to get ready for a date......if you need a whole day to get ready , then let us know. Most men have no idea. By the way, l am hardy ever early, LOL. Oh, and are you a Jeff Gordon fan????? Just curious. Hope you are having a better day....Al
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wow I love it!! Friend me and let's chat!!
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LOL Wendy I was laughing my ass off reading that and it wont happen again! Glad you have a good sense of humor I'm the early GUY! ;(
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