The Ghost of Fucks That Never Were

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I open my eyes. My cell-phone’s alarm is crowing me good morning with a cockerel sound-effect it’s never emitted before. 9am on a Saturday. Normal wake-up time. Room’s normal too – so’s the light, the temperature… But something – I can’t identify what – isn’t. Something about today is other.It might be the girl perched on my bed’s end – the pretty bikini girl in denim cut-offs, with the cherry-lipstick smile, who wasn’t there last night. She flicks her tumbledown brunette locks aside to look at me. I should be alarmed at this intruder, but I’m weirdly calm, like some psychic morphine has the best of my emotions. My cock alone is responding to her unexpected presence, rapidly so.‘I know you,’ I say, checking how her breasts fill out her top, then returning to her hazel eyes.‘You think you do,’ she replies simply.‘No, I do.’ I struggle up, bedclothes slipping off my naked chest. ‘Boston, 2004-ish. I was holidaying in the US. You were serving bar and I…’‘Spent the evening mustering courage to hit on me while not staring at my tits.’‘You remember – YES.’ Embarrassment strikes. ‘Look, I wasn’t long out of my Christian phase. Hadn’t got my chat-up act together.’‘Which is why you returned to your motel and jacked yourself silly in the shower thinking of me tonguing my lips and thrusting my boobs for your benefit, while not actually looking at you.’‘Like you’re doing now. Wait – how did you know?’‘That you jacked off?’‘No. Jacking off was always going to happen. I mean the shower.’‘Because I’m not her.’I stare, hand tracing my cock through the sheet. In the unfolding madness, it’s this revelation which surprises.‘She was the one featuring most recently in your wank-dreams,’ the stranger explains. ‘So she’s the form I took.’‘The form you… Wait – ‘the one’ of what?’She squirms around, accentuating her cleavage, and plucks the sheet off my now solid erection. ‘Girls you might have fucked but didn’t. Remember this one?’ She shimmies, transforming bodily into a slender girl with a gamine hairstyle, wearing a sequined dress.Belfast bar – latter 1990s – I’d danced with her, but my born-again sensibilities prevented more.Sequins shrugs herself and morphs head-to-toe into a tousle-haired ripped-jean blonde.Eastern European gal, Kentish high-street weeks ago. Gave me a hey-you smile to die for, but I let it slide, since my relationship hadn’t quite trundled to its final halt.Ripped Jeans transforms effortlessly back into Boston Bikini.‘Damn,’ bahis siteleri I say. ‘Neat trick. So – who the fuck actually are you?’‘I’m multi-named,’ she says, lightly stroking my cock. ‘But to you – I’m The Ghost of Fucks That Never Were.’‘Makes sense,’ I croak, stiffening rigid under her touch. ‘And you’re here…’‘To save you.’‘Good. Nice. From…?’‘All your bogus reasons for not having sex.’‘Hey, I’ve had my share…’‘You’ve had half your share at best. Too polite, too moral, too PC. And this…’ She indicates her assumed shape. ‘…Is what you missed.’‘Wait – I don’t know that you – she – would have fucked me.’‘You don’t know she wouldn’t, but you never found out. Over and over. Not just in your religious days. These past two years…’‘In a relationship.’‘How did that work for you?’Not well. Ultimately shit. Striving to be a good partner – responsible, supportive, avoiding chat sites, despite diminishing sexual returns.‘Exactly. All that sacrifice and not even getting laid.’‘Wait – what? I only thought that.’‘I know all your thoughts.’ Her slender hand tugs rhythmically. ‘Those promises you’re clinging to even now you’re single. Foregoing fantasy, being this better version of yourself… I’m here to provide some perspective.’ She spits on her hand, renews her grip and wanks me insistently.‘Christ,’ I groan. ‘Thanks.’‘Not this.’ She lets go my cock, so that it languishes unattended. ‘I’m here to grant a wish.’‘Damn. Seriously?’‘Yup. One that gets fulfilled the other side of that door.’ She points to the entrance in question. It’s cerulean blue – the colour of endless summer promise. Last night a full-length wall mirror was there.‘Any wish?’ I ask.‘Not any. Nothing lame. One that captures your deepest desires. Otherwise that door stays shut.’‘But a wish is a wish. What kind of genie…’‘I’m no fucking genie. I don’t waste time on bullshit wishes. Own up to what you want. Feel it in your balls.’ She grabs my sac and squeezes. ‘Go deep. Find your wish. Access to that room runs out this time tomorrow.’‘God…’ I’m poker-stiff once again. ‘Give me a hint.’‘No hint. Find your wish – your real wish – and I’ll come back.’I blink and she’s gone, the pressure on my balls still easing.Fuck.I lie naked a moment, then I rise, cock swaying, and test the still existent door. Utterly resistant. Not even a handle. ‘Damn. Where’d you go, Boston?’No answer’s forthcoming, so I put on a robe and go make coffee, trying tentative wishes en route. I wish I could canlı bahis siteleri fuck… you know, this singer, that actress. Nothing. Shouldn’t opt for small stuff anyway, in case I’m not hallucinating. Post-caffeine I shave and shower – give the vivid-dream sensation time to fade. Then I check the bedroom. The cerulean portal is still there, unyielding like before. Damn. No calls on my time, so let’s test this madness properly. Sitting on my bed I grasp for a wish – come up with twenty half-baked fantasies, none remotely worthy of my ersatz Boston babe. None capable of conjuring that capriciously sexy sprite.Maybe if I distract myself, inspiration will dawn.I scroll Netflix, watching nothing – mind fixed on sex, trying to focus on the women I’ve fucked, not the ones I haven’t. But those non-conquests are mocking me… or perhaps it’s self-mockery, me and my fine reasons. As minutes accumulate into hours, a few – women and reasons – take centre-stage.The blonde Athenian waitress in the low-cut tee, who laid her hand on mine one balmy August night. (And me too fresh from church, too timidly polite. Christ, Boston wasn’t kidding.) That trainee teacher where I worked – the coy one, bosomy in tight turtle-necks, so sweet on her fiancée. Until drink three one staff night out. (And me too principled to test how far she’d stray.) The student in emerald green to match her eyes, whose gaze lingered that post-graduation dance. (And me too much the teaching pro to seize that shimmering, simmering moment.) My ex’s sultry actress friend, one tall curvaceous come-on in her scarlet party dress. Never mind her arty boyfriend or my other half. She had form in cheating too, my ex informed me. (But me, too loyal to a failing fucking cause to take a shot.)Too fucking bloody thoughtful. Too much the good-guy.‘Goddamn! Fuck it.’I go make lunch, dismissing my bizarre encounter. Trying to. Odd chores need doing and I attend to them, periodically checking the blue door. It’s lingering like the fragment of a dream.‘Bollocks.’ I’m scouring oven surfaces early evening – still in my robe – when renewed frustration hits. The girls I never shagged are taunting me, that quartet of untapped hotness causing me especial grief.‘Amazing ass,’ a surf instructor told me of Greek Vixen (like he knew) – and to think I might have grasped said ass… Loved-Up Trainee Teacher’s sweet face and soft boobs demanded defilement. Straight-A Student wanted another canlı bahis kind of education and as for Scarlet Diva – our off-stage chemistry might have been awards-worthy.‘You’re too nice for your own good,’ a friend once told me. Blue door or otherwise, I feel the emptiness of opportunity squandered. Those times add up to one egregious fact – I’ve been a well-meaning, self-sabotaging fool. I thump the kitchen shelf.‘Shit, I wish I hadn’t been so fucking nice!’She taps my shoulder while the words still echo. ‘Now that,’ Boston Bikini says with relish, ‘I can work with.’Hope surges at her busty re-apparition. Elation elevates me to unprecedented heights, as she leads me to the bedroom. At the door (the new one, throbbing with the colour of potential) she unknots my belt, brushing the robe clean from my shoulders.‘You won’t be needing clothes.’ She smirks, bikinied tits a-quiver. ‘Or conscience. In here the only priority is your cock.’ At her touch the mystic portal clicks ajar, my priority pulsing in response. I follow her through the doorway, naked and toweringly erect, into dazzling white light.By the time my vision adjusts, the doorway has vanished. It’s just me and fake-Boston in azure vastness – the same eternal summer promised by the entrance. It’s heat-shimmer hazy, my body embraced by sensual warmth and… something else. As we stroll the sky-mirror floor, my skin acquires a fine sheen, like I’ve been coated in silky lubricant. My vital signs go wild.‘Where the hell is this?’‘Your personalised heaven. Look.’ My bikini-guide points to a dark blur resolving out of the haze – a queen-size bed quilted in black satin. Its surface is loaded with unfeasible erotic delight in the form of the Quartet. Fuck. They’re all here, each one plucked from the place and time I met her and deposited on an ebony duvet. Naked, glistening with lube and… interacting.Greek Vixen, wearing only gold wristlets slung with charms, kneels with her fingers – four of them – rammed up Straight-A Student’s proffered cunt. Straight-A is on her back, thighs splayed, a plaid skirt banded around her waist, as those thrusting digits fuck her. Scarlet Diva is squatting on her face, tits-and-ass bare but for red high-heels; she’s grinding her sopping snatch on Straight-A’s mouth, while tongue-kissing a bent-over Loved-Up Trainee Teacher. Loved-Up is a right-angle, legs straddling Straight-A’s thighs, back flat, head up to lock her mouth with Scarlet’s, hands reaching back to prise apart her ass-cheeks. The only item she’s wearing glints diamond-bright on her finger. Greek’s mouth is planted on Loved-Up’s exposed hole, tongue-fucking that ass, while she fingers Straight-A knuckles-deep.

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