Insert Fantasy Man Here

Posted: August 2003
Title: Insert Fantasy Man Here
Author: Miranda Bell
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Type: RPHet without specifics ;)
Characters: OFC/the LoTR babe of *your* choice :)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Just for kicks, not for money
Beta: do
Author's Note: this fic grew out of a plot bunny given to me by do. - I'll leave it to her to tell you how ;)- so if you like it, you totally have her to thank ;)

Summary: If you want him, he will come...

*****

I woke up with warm arms around me, warm breath at my shoulder. Nice. I snuggled a bit then opened my eyes.

Moment of panic, where the hell am I?

My brain adjusted. Oh yeah, hotel room. Romantic weekend cheapie special we'd seen advertised. Candlelit dinner in the five star restaurant downstairs. Off to a friend's birthday party. A wild friend. Everything laid on. Both of us so drunk, so high. Shit, no wonder I'd been disorientated there for a second.

We'd clearly fallen asleep with the lights on. Dawn was just beginning to peep through the half-open blinds. Mmn, some lazy morning sex might be in order. I turned in my husband's arms.

Only it wasn't my husband.

Eyes that weren't his eyes in a face that definitely wasn't his face looked at me, a smile crinkling their corners.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Deep voice like honey rolling over boulders.

My own eyes must have been the size of saucers.

"Oh my god..."

The smile stretched to his mouth - *that* mouth, so wide and full - revealing perfect white teeth.

"Aren't you pleased to see me?"

"Oh my god..."

He was positively grinning now.

"I was kind of hoping I'd make you say that later on rather than right this second."

"Oh my g-... oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..."

A slight frown passed over his perfect features.

"Look, have I done the wrong thing? I'm pretty sure you wanted me to come."

I could - at a stretch - remember a few things that happened once we got to my friend's house, but meeting *him* definitely wasn't one of them.

"Were you..." I began faintly, "were you at the party?"

"Party? No, hon. I'm here because you wanted me to be here. You've been asking for ages, I'm so sorry. We were trying to wrap by last month, but we had to do some re-shoots. Weather was a bitch, yada yada yada. There's always something. The main thing is I'm here now, if you still want me."

"If I still..." No words would come.

My brain was playing some kind of bizarre joke on me, and quite frankly it wasn't very amusing. In fact it was a downright nasty mean trick. I suddenly sprang upright, out of his encircling arms, sure that when I saw my own sweet husband sleeping on his side of the huge hotel bed this disturbing vision would simply melt away. And not before time. Because this was really freaking me out.

The bed was empty, except for me. And the vision. I looked wildly around bedroom. Nothing. Bathroom, he had to be in the bathroom. My legs were swinging out to take me there when I was stilled by a wide, warm hand on the small of my back.

"He's not in the bathroom. He's not here. That's how it works. If I'm here, he's not."

I froze. That honey and boulders voice sounded low in my ear.

"But check if you want."

I bolted out of bed as if someone had taken a cattle-prod to me. Burst through the bathroom door. No one there. I pulled it shut and leant against it, looking at *that* man in *my* bed.

"Where's my husband?"

"Don't worry, he's quite safe."

"What have you done with him?" I squeaked.

"Nothing. I mean, I don't know quite how it happens and I don't actually know how I know this, but I'm positive he's OK. He'll be back when I'm gone. It's just how it works."

"Oh my god..."

I took a good long look at him. He wasn't the way I'd fantasized about him so many times, with the long hair and eye colour of the movie. He was himself, his own eye colour, his own beautiful hair falling in a thick wave to his shoulders. Like he is in that photo-shoot looking drop-dead gorgeous in a sharp suit. Don't think I haven't fantasized about him like that too, just maybe not quite so much.

He seemed to guess what I was thinking and grinned again.

"Yeah, it's just me. You didn't think I'd be in all my Lord of the Rings gear did you? Man that stuff's a bitch to wear. The wig drives me ape-shit crazy. I hope I'll do."

Wide shoulders, deep chest, a dusting of hair curling over a hard flat belly. The sheet draped over the rest of him stopped me from having total cardiac failure.

"You'll do," I breathed. "Sweet Jesus, you'll do..."

He looked me gently up and down and his delectable mouth twitched appreciatively.

"You're doing pretty well yourself over there."

I remembered I was as naked as the day I was born.

"Oh my god..."

"Religious type of gal, aren't you?"

"Please, this can't really be happening..."

"Sure it's happening. But it only happens for a limited period of time, and it seems to me you're wasting it - if you still feel the way you did when you called for me, that is."

"Called for you?"

"Desire's got a voice all its own, hon."

"I can't deal with this."

He looked genuinely concerned.

"OK. Look, we'll take it slow, and see if we can't deal with it together." He sat up and moved the sheet so that he was still decorously covered, but had made a welcoming space for me. "Why don't you come back over here and give it a try. You might like it. I know you've thought you might like it a lot. Nothing will happen that you don't want to happen."

He left it at that. The rest was up to me. There he was in my big ol' hotel room bed, the god of my endless and increasingly frequent fantasies offering me whatever I wanted. I had clearly lost my mind. Maybe I should just give in and enjoy myself before the people in white coats came to take me away.

I took a few tentative steps across the room.

"Hey, not so hard huh?" he smiled, half teasing, half encouraging.

I made it all the way over to the bed and kind of fell into a sitting position.

"Very good. Now how about a little closer, so we can touch."

He stretched hand out to me and I took it unthinkingly. Wide and warm. I found my other hand reaching out to stroke his forearm. The short hairs were so soft.

Using his arm as a kind of lifeline I inched gently over the bed to him until we were face to face. God he smelt so good, and it was just him, no aftershave bullshit. And what is sir wearing this morning? Why, just a double shot of raw male sex appeal, since you ask.

I reached out a hand to touch his face, stroked impossibly wide cheekbones and just avoided falling right into those beautiful eyes and drowning by taking a fistful of his soft thick hair in one hand and steadying myself on his broad chest with the other.

"I can't breathe," I whispered.

"Close your eyes," he whispered back. I did. "OK, now breathe."

It was a lot easier when I wasn't looking at him. I concentrated on air traveling gently in and out of me and allowed myself to enjoy the warmth of his body next to mine. He took my hand again. That was fine. Still breathing.

I felt the softest touch on my lips. Stopped breathing. There was a gentle laugh against my ear.

"Come on now, I know you've got it in you. A gold medal in simultaneous breathing and being kissed.
Don't let the team down now."

In spite of myself I giggled softly.

"OK, coach, I'll try."

"Good." His voice wasn't in my ear, it was right next to my mouth and then his lips were brushing mine again. Butterfly wings. Wait no, uh-oh, that definitely felt like a proper kiss, still soft though. Keep breathing. His hands were sliding onto my lower back. Whoa, there was no mistaking the next one for anything but the genuine article, nudging my lips open as his hands kept traveling up my spine. One hand twined into my hair and the split second he gently pulled me close was when he claimed my mouth completely. Our tongues met. My own hands came up without conscious thought and slid over the muscles of his back. I heard a vague whimpering and realised it was me. Oh god, have some dignity woman. The kiss deepened, passion deepened. Lord, I love a man who treats kissing not as a prelude to other acts, but as a sweet, sweet treasure to be savoured all of itself. When he said my name I thought my heart was going to melt right through my rib-cage. Especially as there was no way he could have known it, except by some kind of magic. I didn't dare say his then. I think I thought it might break whatever crazy spell was going on.

I stuck with that sinfully gorgeous mouth for what felt like about ten years, but it was actually me who finally broke away, when the nearness of his neck and shoulders and ears invited exploration. Oh yeah, I was Columbus discovering America there for awhile. At last I fastened upon the tiny pebbles of his nipples and sucked gently.

"Well now, there's a thought," he laughed softly, and I felt his hands slide smoothly up from my hips, tracing over my waist and my abdomen until he cupped my breasts. He gently flicked over my own hardening nipples with his thumbs as he kissed me again. Then he dipped his head and nuzzled that warm full mouth against the soft flesh cradled in his wide palms. I felt so sensitized that each little gradation of movement - gently rubbing his lips and his cheeks across my skin, slowly starting to kiss, then to lick, then to suck my nipples into his mouth – seem to ratchet me up another notch towards total fever.

He looked up at me.

"Do you mind if I bite a little?"

"I'll kill you if you don't."

He laughed again, then gently started to make tiny nips all around the outer flesh of my breasts. As he circled closer to centre once more I felt a hand drift down across my belly into the nest of soft curls between my legs, gentle pressure easing my legs apart to grant him fuller access. The first proper grazing of a nipple was matched by two fingers gently tracing across my labia. I was so wet with arousal already quite frankly I was surprised we hadn't both glided off the bed and right out the door by now so it was easy, as the pressure of his teeth became more insistent, for those fingers to slide inside me, making me moan. And as he really started a slow, delicate, but relentless assault upon my breasts, swapping between them, taking them hard between his teeth and suckling them, pleasure see-sawing deliciously just shy of pain, those fingers were equally relentless as they moved within me. The walls of my pussy clutched eagerly around them, and I shuddered every time his thumb skated across my clitoris.

Sweet Mary, that was some hand/mouth co-ordination he had going there. If he was Jimi Hendrix and I was a guitar he couldn't played me any better, and the music of my pleasure was humming and moaning from my mouth, my fierce climax at last wringing a final operatic high note from me before I slumped back into the pillows.

He didn't withdraw his fingers while he smiled down at me, still moving them - lazily now - against my moist spent flesh.

"Good, hon?"

"Words fail me."

"To please is pleasure itself."

"What about being pleased?"

His smile turned wolfish. "I'm all in favour."

He stroked my belly and gently pulled those killer fingers out of me. He lifted them to his heavenly mouth and wickedly licked one clean before offering the other to me. I wrapped my tongue around it without hesitation, tasting myself as I looked into his eyes (don't drown, don't drown), and the honey ran over the boulders again in a low 'ohhhh' of appreciation.

I slid up to sitting and kissed him. Then I kissed him again since he didn't appear to be going anywhere. Hot damn, this was an accommodating psychotic episode. Feigning casualness I pulled the sheet away from his thighs. And gaped. Make that the perfect
psychotic episode. Whatever's the ultimate cock for you, picture that, because like Goldilocks and the oatmeal, as far as I was concerned this one was juuuust right. Just right and hard as a rock. I stretched out a wondering hand towards its silky smoothness.

The expression on my face must have amused him.

"Baby's got a new toy?"

"Oh-h-h..." My hand wavered and stopped on a beautiful thigh. I couldn't help thinking of my old toy and the husband it was attached to.

He pulled that mind-reading mojo again. "You've got to trust me hon, where he is he's fine. More than fine probably. And then he'll be back and none of this is going to be a problem. Promise. And shit, I'm dying for you to put that mouth around me."

"Well if you're dying..."

He grinned. "Terminal hard-on."

Well now, what do you do when someone puts the perfect meal in front of you? You take it easy to start with, don't you. You don't want to rush the experience. You sample every last bit of it gently, little by little, savouring the textures and the tastes on your tongue, swirling them further back into your mouth. But it's all so damn good that eventually you just can't help yourself, you're trying to hold back but you're starting to get greedy and everything's starting to speed up and your body heat's rising and then you just abandon the food metaphor and realize you have this beautiful cock in your mouth, belonging to… no, don't think about who it belongs to or you might have a heart attack, just think about his cock…well OK, you can think about his balls too because you've nuzzled them and licked them and suckled them and now you're holding them in one hand, and the weight feels nice and you're stroking along the back of them and up and down that tiny bridge of muscle behind them and teasing the tight little ring of his arsehole and sure there are possibilities there but your senses are drawn back to that cock in your mouth it's so good SO GOOD let your tongue tell him just how good while you relax your throat to take him all the way in and he's got those big beautiful hands all tangled up in your hair and pretty soon you won't be setting the rhythm yourself you'll be matching each other because he's starting to thrust now he can't stop himself wow he's making more noise than you did when he had you in absolute ecstasy hey girl you can still take on a total stranger and blow his tiny mind speaking of blowing whoa that's his balls starting to tighten and he's lunging boy he's just about lifted clean off the bed but you've got it covered you go with up with him and land with him and oh my it's hot shuddering spurts of come in your mouth god there's nothing quite like the feeling of a job well done is there grinning to yourself and he's breathing hard and gasping in the aftermath and stroking the back of your neck and what's that he's saying thank you holy shit woman thank you and you reach a hand up over his belly and he holds it but you don't get up yet you just stay nuzzled against his thigh with his currently-limp cock curled beside you and semen in your hair and a bit on your cheek and everything's warm and smells of man and sex down here and that's just fine with you can't think of a nicer place to rest right now…

"Hey," he said after awhile.

"Hey yourself."

"Will you come up here so I can thank you properly?"

"No, you've tired me out, I can't be bothered moving."

"I've tired *you* out?" I could hear the grin I couldn't see. "Oh well, there's more than one way of thanking a lady properly I guess. Stay there then."

He gently eased out from under me and sat on the side of the bed. He started to run warm, slow hands over my back, and my arse and my thighs. Did I purr like a kitten? Probably. I certainly made some kind of appreciative noises. It wasn't possible not to.
Perhaps he'd been a masseur before he'd hit the big time. By the way, I reminded myself, none of this is happening, because there's no way a gorgeous movie star, whether previously a masseur or not, is in my hotel room deciding he would rather drop some soft
kisses on my curvy behind than stroke it some more right at this moment. But you know, since no one else is actually here telling me I'm suddenly a few trawberries short of a fruit salad, hell why not just uiver deliciously in appreciation.

"Ouch." What the - ?

"The gentle buttock-nip signals that this part of the roceedings is over."

"Hmn, OK. What signals the beginning of the next art?"

"This." He was suddenly flipping me very nergetically onto my back, lifting my legs up and ressing them apart. Wide, wide apart. Of course I hought he was going to dive right on in there but he bruptly dropped a few gears and just ran the pads of is fingers softly up and down my inner thighs for awhile.

He gave a little sigh.

I said his name. A little questioningly.

Whoa, I just said his name. Damn well said it before I'd even thought about it. And he's still here, I'm certifiable, and it's clear from my tone of voice I'm wondering why he's stopped in his tracks.

"I just… I guess this will sound weird… seeing a woman's pussy, all wet and ripe and wanting… I don't know, it makes my heart skip a beat or something…"

"Because it's for you, because she likes being with you, is that what you mean?"

"Yeah… yeah…"

"That's beautiful. Now for chrissake will you just eat me already."

"Ohhh - you're so gonna pay now…"

He made me pay first up by making me wait some more. I could feel his breath getting closer and warmer until I knew that fantastic full mouth could only be millimetres away from my flesh. He started to blow gently on my swollen lips and I was longing, aching, for contact. When it came it was on my thigh: lips, then tongue, then the tiniest nip. Move a touch. Repeat. Move a touch. Repeat. I wriggled around on the mattress, trying to get my any part of my cunt against his mouth, but he had his elbows firmly planted, holding me in place, and it was a pointless exercise.

"Oh no you don't, hon. All I wanted to do was worship your beautiful pussy and you shit-bagged me. So just take your punishment."

"Please… please… I want your mouth on me…"

"Ooh, breathless wheedling, not bad, keep it coming."

"Bastard."

"Abuse. Good, I'll be hard in no time. But my tongue will still be nowhere near your clit."

But suddenly it was. Warm, wet, teasing and then it was gone before the soft squeal had even left my mouth.

"Liar!"

"And thief." Just as quickly he ran his tongue along my folds, lapping my juices.

"You don't have to steal it, damn you, I'm giving it away."

He took pity on me after that. Well, as much pity as one can take whilst giving completely merciless head. If I thought his mouth was talented on my breasts it was nothing to what it could do down south. Wondrous things. Possibly illegal things. And the fingers that had been inside me before were just wandering around doing whatever they hell they felt like. Sometimes they squeezed my butt like it was some delicious soft fruit, sometimes they teased along my thighs. Sometimes they brushed or flicked at my clit, making me buck, sometimes they gently pressed against my taut arsehole. And every so often his tongue took a holiday to trace tantalisingly across all of those places but mainly it stuck to its job of performing acts of corkscrewing madness as it plunged in and out of me. I squirmed and writhed disgracefully, lost in pleasure. Somewhere inside my body a volcano was building building building, and when it finally blew it pretty much took the top of my head off and made my skin explode but then there was some kind of waterfall involved as well, breaking its banks and drenching my thighs. Oh yeah, it was Mother Nature running wild on that hotel bed alright. And not particularly quietly
either.

He grabbed a bit of sheet and wiped a very wet chin when he was done with me, then scooped what appeared to be my now-boneless body into his arms and held me tenderly. I hope I managed to croak out a thank-you there somewhere, it would have been impolite not to.
It seemed like hours before either of us moved. At some stage I considered I might have regained the power of normal speech, and thought I'd give it a whirl.

"So - " I said his name, just because I could.

"Uh-huh."

"Let's suppose just for the sheer hell of it that I'm not dreaming and I'm not crazy. How does all this work?"

I didn't know quite why I was asking him this when I could just shut up and fuck him senseless instead. Maybe I wasn't ready for the final infidelity that act would signal, even in a dream-world.

"God," he sighed, "I've got no idea really. Maybe the planets have to align. Maybe somewhere some voodoo mama forgets to put the chicken blood in one of her love-potions and this is a side effect. All I know is, for about the last two years now every so often I get this weird niggling feeling in the back of my mind - and even kind of in my body, really - that there's something I'm meant to be doing or somewhere I'm meant
to be."

"Is that what you meant about me calling you? With… um… my desire."

He nodded. "I'm pretty sure that must be what starts it off. The feeling can last a few days or a few weeks, I think depending on how busy my life is at that moment." He grinned. "This last time it lasted about a month and I was starting to think I might need to see a doctor, that I must be going bananas with stress or something - "

"But don't you remember from the time before?"

"Hang on, you haven't heard the whole story. What happens is, I go to sleep one night and I wake up somewhere I've never been, with a woman I've never met - "

"But one who's freeze-framed your best work on DVD a few too many hundred times?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Well yeah, something like that. And I know her name, hell, I even know what movies she's liked me best in, and I know exactly why I'm there." (The accompanying smile was devastating.) "And if she's got a partner I know he's out of the
picture until I'm gone and won't have any idea - "

"That his woman's getting her freak on with the man of all her raunchiest dreams - "

He pinched me. "Would you stop interrupting? And embarrassing me? Anyway, yes. So we make a bunch of sweet beautiful love, we fall asleep, and when I wake up - and here's the thing - I have absolutely no memory of what's happened. Until I find myself in the next experience. That's why I don't know what those niggling feelings mean in my real life."

I blinked. "So, to recap - some universal power is making you turn up in women's bedrooms to fulfill their wildest starfucking fantasies, and then it whisks you back to your usual life not remembering a thing. Kind of like some sort of… cosmic gigolo. With amnesia."

He laughed. "It does sound like the premise of a particularly bad porn movie doesn't it? That is, if you think porn can ever be entirely bad."

My mind was ticking over vaguely trying to work through the implications.

"So… if you can't remember what happens, you've got no way of knowing if the women do."

"None."

"And if they did - if I do, and I tried to track you down and tell you -"

"I guess I would think you were a delectable screwball, urge you to seek some professional help, hope you won't turn into a stalker, and tell myself that's showbiz."

"Shit."

"Shit, I guess. But there are parts of it that are definitely not shit."

He squeezed me and kissed my neck softly. Ohhh, he was so utterly beautiful I forgive myself that the next thing I said was completely lame.

"So… you don't think there's any kind of soul connection going on?"

He drew back and looked at me seriously. "Hon, I already have a soul connection, and so do you."

"Ouch," I complained. "That was below the belt."

He stroked a strand of hair away from my face.

"Listen. I hope that I'm giving you pleasure while I'm here, since some wigged-out deity somewhere has brought us together for what seems to be expressly that purpose. I sure know I'm getting a hell of a lot of pleasure in return. And hey, for all I know maybe you're right - maybe I'm turning up in the bedrooms of all the lovers of my future lives, why not? But I just don't think I could handle it if I could remember you all in my real life, it's happened six times already."

I didn't really know what to say to any of that. I just said the first bit of crap that came into my head.

"So I'm number seven?"

"Yeah… my favourite number."

"Hey, mine too."

We grinned like total goofs at each other, for some reason both inordinately pleased by this.

Another thought struck me.

"So what happens if you wake up with a woman you're not attracted to? Do you just have to smile, think sexy thoughts, and take one for the team?"

The man had clearly been around a female insecurity complex or two in his time. He pulled me in really tight against that gorgeous body, stroking my back and my neck softly.

"Let me tell you something, number seven. You and lovely ladies one through six have all been different sizes, different shapes, different looks, different ages, and you have all been one hundred percent certifiably gorgeous to me."

And as though to prove his point he began kissing me like there was no tomorrow. Which I guess there wasn't as far as the two of us were concerned. Hoo boy, either he meant what he'd said or he was really going to deserve that Academy Award when they finally gave him one.

I sighed and slid my hand down his hard, warm body to find a cock equally warm and hard. I felt an answering rush of wetness between my legs.

I thought perhaps it was possible to rustle up one hard-on for politeness' sake, but I decided to take a second one as proof positive that he was telling the truth. And I wasn't about to let it go to waste either.

With a certain reluctance that I was leaving those full lips behind I sat up and - well let's say I clambered on top of him, telling myself that if this *was* all in my own mind surely I'd manage to be a bit more graceful, and slowly lowered myself down over that hard, inviting length. Ohhhh… a moan and an involuntary smile from him, a moan and an involuntary smile from me. (I guess there's a reason no-one ever gets sick of sex, because it just feels *so damn good*.) Starting to move, slowly, slowly, take it slow girl, look at that vision of beauty beneath you, hair spread out on the pillow, outrageously handsome face looking sweetly up at you, full lips gently parted, enjoyment at what you're doing to him radiating out of every pore. Murmuring your name, reaching up to stroke your breasts, falling into your rhythm, groaning as you squeeze yourself around him… I thought of all the times I had fantasized about this. If this was just another fantasy too then my imagination had outdone itself and possibly gone into dangerous overload, because it had never *ever* felt like this when I'd thought about it before. If I was making all this up then I deserved some kind of Nobel friggin' prize for sizzling sex dreams.

I kept everything smooth and slow, taking my time to raise and lower myself upon him, grinding my hips in little circles each time he was fully sheathed inside me. Oh my god, his hips raising up beneath me, his soft groans and murmurs of encouragement, the friction, the fullness of him inside me, the sheer bliss of it all. I don't know about you but I usually come quicker when I'm on top anyway. Not always, but mostly. And not necessarily better, but it's usually pretty damn fine - I guess maybe a few extra nerve endings get stroked when you're sinking down from above, maybe there's an added kick from being the one in charge. And with the indescribable bonus of my sweet ride being *him*… ohhh, I wanted to last and last but I couldn't help myself, I had shuddered and melted into some pretty mind-numbing pleasure around his still hot and hard cock before he seemed anywhere near done.

He leaned up me so he could feast on my breasts for a little while - man, I'd forgotten how good he was at that - as I leant like a little rag doll against him, then he pulled me down to him and kissed me with the fervor of passion not yet sated. Maybe I only stuck with the kissing for about five years this time, there was still a mission to be accomplished after all.

"Let me up," I muttered, struggling weakly against him. "I want to get you off, I have to feel you come inside me, please, please..."

He laughed at my babble.

"Hon, you'll just tire yourself out if you stay up there when you've come already."

"But…"

"Let's swap, huh?" He nibbled my earlobe, his breath hot and sexy as he whispered against me. "I really… really… want to take you. Take you hard. Will you let me?"

My stomach flipped. "That question only has one answer."

"Tell me anyway."

"Yes… yes, take me hard… fuck me any way you want…"

"Thank you, hon," that honey and boulders voice rumbled low in my ear. Maybe I had another orgasm just listening to it, who can say?

In one smooth motion he rolled me over - dammit, how come *he* got to be graceful? - and impaled me on that perfect cock. He started to move, and yes he was moving hard from the start as he'd threatened. Beautifully slow, but sooo achingly good and hard. Man, he must have that butt in the gym every day to be able to work it like that. Well, that's what I thought later. At the time I wasn't capable of thinking much more than 'oh my gooood'...

As he started to pick up pace I was murmuring his name, not so much because I could now but more because I couldn't stop until, equally involuntarily, as he seemed to hit some pleasure-spot deep inside me and my legs locked around him to hold him there, my vocabulary branched out and I started calling him pretty much every filthy name under the sun. Possibly I even made up a few new ones. It only seem to spur him on though, he was muttering some pretty obscene things back to me in between grunting with the effort he was putting in. And it's funny about male grunting, isn't it? Because when it's in front of the football with a beer in their hand and you're trying to tell them something important it can drive you spare. But when it's while they're screwing the freaking life out of you it can be a pretty damn arousing sound. Maybe because you're kind of its raison d'etre at that point. Throw in a few guttural growls and a hot mouth travelling over my neck and nipping at my shoulders and heat and sensation flowering and growing between my legs under the relentless thrusting of that mighty cock, and quite frankly nirvana had to be running a poor second to this… and ohhhh he'd hit this insane rhythm now, he was fucking me like a god, like a machine, a machine built solely to pound my body into a place where only ecstasy existed… oh shit, oh god, oh fuck… fuck… fuck
me… fuck me… fuck me…

That face, that heavenly face, was right up against mine as he gathered me to him for the last brutal, beautiful moments, sweet hot breath panting against my cheek, still driving unstoppably into me as though made of steel. The tension between my thighs was building to the point of no return and I was helplessly thinking oh no not *again* he just turns me on too much, but just as I was starting to make strange keening sounds I'm not sure I've ever made before and I knew I was about to lose it I could feel his whole body wildly tensing and the grunts and growls slid into breathless 'oh baby's interspersed with my name. The look in his eyes was enough to melt me right through the bed when he bent his head to capture my mouth in his own. As our tongues met and melded the whole world narrowed to one searing lightning bolt of shared pleasure tearing through our bodies, its punctuating thunder our last desperate cries and his hot come jetting slickly against my shuddering walls. I think maybe I blacked out for a few seconds because the next thing I was aware of was his beautiful heavy weight collapsed on top of me and both of us breathing hard and sheened in sweat and utterly utterly unable to speak or move…

I gradually spun back to this galaxy, this planet, this hotel bed, and lay there in post-coital stupor, stroking tendrils of his damp hair through my fingers. Seconds fled gently away, easy languorous seconds where everything was right with the world, even this strange alternate upside-down world I'd found myself in. Then I looked at him properly and I could see his eyes were closed. Suddenly I was filled with ridiculous fear.

"Don't fall asleep yet, don't go before I can say goodbye!"

"Whaa- ow, stop shaking me," he mumbled, lifting his head.

"Sorry, I thought you were gone."

He grinned. "If I was gone, I'd be gone."

"Yeah - stupid - sorry..."

"I hate to think I'd be gone before I got to say thank you for sharing that outrageously horny experience with me."

"Ohhh, the pleasure was all mine, believe me…"

He kissed me tenderly. "It won't be too long now though…"

"Nooo…"

He levered himself off me - ooh, cool air on my damp belly - and sat up. And gently, for a long sweet time, he looked at me, sprawled and melted amongst the sheets, as though I were a living work of art. I didn't feel self-conscious. I was too busy drinking in every detail of his tousled perfection.

"You're beautiful," he said softly at last.

"Oh, I'm the Queen of Sheba baby."

"Don't be flip. You are."

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

He shrugged. "I spend half my life in front of mirrors. I try not to look too much."

I took his hand. "Let's mutually agree to be beautiful."

He looked down at our linked hands for awhile then up at me.

"Am I a total shit, do you think?"

I wrinkled my nose.

"Because you turn up in the company of women who desperately desire you and don't - I don't know, watch the weather channel with them or something?"

His beautiful eyes were clouded.

"I love my partner. I've never been unfaithful in - well, what I call real life."

"I love mine, and neither have I. What the fuck are you bringing this up now for? You *totally* led me into temptation you lowdown sex-beast."

"You're right, I am a shit."

I sighed. "Listen, if you've never cheated in real life, isn't that the main thing? It's not like you wouldn't have a million opportunities. Maybe just consider these experiences a romp through your id or something. Monogamy's not a natural state, you know, I'm surprised more of us aren't raving lunatics. Anyway, what the fuck am *I* counselling *you* for, I'm the newbie here…"

I found myself giving a huge yawn. When I realized what done I'd bolted upright and stared at him accusingly.

"It's started hasn't it?"

He nodded. He reached a hand into my hair and kissed my stunned face.

"But… but…" I wasn't ready. I so wasn't ready.

"I know, this should be the bit where we get to have a cigarette, order some room service and get to know each other, but - "

"It's just the way it bloody well works, right?"

He nodded slowly and lay back down, his other hand still in mine.

"Come lie down with me and say goodbye, hon."

I shook my head fiercely.

"I don't want to fall asleep and wake up without you. What if I mainline No-Doze or keep stabbing myself with a compass or something so I don't close my eyes?"

He smiled at my childishness.

"You can't fight it. I tried with lady number four, just to see. It doesn't work. Anyway, you might not remember a thing."

"I don't want to not remember," I wailed.

"But you won't know you're not remembering…" he pointed out reasonably.

"Stop it!"

He pulled me down beside him.

"For what it's worth, even though it's kind of not fair, I hope you do remember. And promise you, I'll remember for both of us if this ever happens to me again. In fact I'll make a point of talking about you. Six women who were embarrassingly amazed and grateful to have had this experience when it ended. And one woman who was totally grumpy and greedy and wanted me to stay. And that's why she's the most special one so far."

Most of me kind of turned to jelly but somehow my mouth still rebelled. "You big fat lying… *actor*."

"I don't need to lie. I won't be here in five minutes and chances are we'll never meet in real life. Actors get a bum rap you know. Some lie, some don't, same as any walk of life. The work itself is meant to be about truth."

"Well thanks for the tip, De Niro."

But I think it was his wounded professional dignity that finally calmed me down. I curled myself against his warmth and stroked - oh well, just about every bit of him I could reach. For the last time, damn it, damn it, damn it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "Goodbyes have never been my strong point."

"It's OK, hon." His big beautiful hands were in my hair, and his eyes were soft. "It's really OK. This part is the hardest, that's for sure."

I kissed him. Not for the last time. No way, I was definitely going to have me a bit more of that sweet stuff before he disappeared on me.

"Tell number eight hi from me. Tell her I said to say she's in for one hell of a ride."

Oh shit, was I crying? Damn it, I was, because he was kissing the teardrops at the corners of my eyes.

"You're the only one who's cried too."

I hiccupped. "Numbers one through six must be some pretty hard-arse chicks then."

I kissed him once more then, long and slow and deep and hard. He kissed me right back. And I have to say, as far as last kisses go, it was pretty darn impressive. I felt like was drinking in the whole of his being through my mouth. His entire body felt imprinted on mine. The earth kind of tilted on its axis there for awhile. I have no complaints.

"Goodbye," I said when we broke apart. I said his name softly.

"Goodbye." He said my name too, and pressed his forehead to mine for a brief moment.

Then I laid my head against his wide warm chest and closed my eyes.

*****

I woke with a start, my eyes opening on late-morning sun streaming in through the half-open blinds.

Did I remember everything? Of course I did. I'm writing this, aren't I?

But for a few moments I was blank. Then everything came back to me in a rush and I made some kind of inarticulate 'oh noooo' kind of sound.

I was being held from behind. I looked down at the arms around me. They were definitely my beloved husband's, not my fantasy lover's.

Shit. Did it really happen?

I tried to stay calm and take in my circumstances. There was dampness beneath our bodies. I didn't really need to reach down and touch myself to know I'd had sex in the not too distant past, but I did anyway. Yes, Dr Watson, there's a tell-tale stickiness present, just as I predicted. And I felt the languor and pleasant ache that goes with the aftermath of a damned good hard shagging. And to cap it all off the whole bed reeked of sex.

But just who was it I'd had sex with? And was I stark raving nutsville?

I turned around so I could look at my husband and found him already looking at me.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

I just about jumped out of my skin.

"H- have you said that already this morning?"

"Huh? I just woke up a little while ago. I guess."

There was a funny kind of tone in his voice. I felt awash with guilt. Even if I'd just dreamt the whole damned thing. God, had I said his name out loud or something?

"What do you mean, you guess?" I probed, carefully.

"Well… clearly some quality sex has been going on here this morning. Man, I don't know about you but I'm aching in places I didn't know I had."

I felt my stomach drop, even though that meant I was a horribly unfaithful-in-thought-if-not-in-deed wife. So it had been my husband and I making love then, not me and…*him*.

"Uh-huh." My voice was small.

"So you remember then?" He sounded, I don't know, a bit desperate or something.

I felt awful. My god, I'd been calling out that name over and over, hadn't I? "I don't know," I stalled, "it's kind of hazy…"

He seemed to seize on that as something hopeful. "You too, huh? God, it must have been 'cos we both got so wasted then, that - "

He stopped abruptly.

"That what?"

"Well, you know, that we can't quite remember how it all went."

I suddenly noticed he was hardly meeting my eyes at all. He was never very good with secrets. They made him uncomfortable.

Maybe, just maybe it was worth a shot. After all, he must have been somewhere, doing something, if it was all true.

"Baby, were you feeling something… um… a little strange?"

He looked at me properly now.

"Actually, yes. It was like I was dreaming or something. In fact it was like I wasn't in this room at all... or with you."

"Not with me?"

"Look, I'm only telling you this because I reckon it was the shit we smoked last night. So don't take it the wrong way, OK?"

"OK."

He took a nervous breath.

"I dreamt - but I'm telling you it didn't feel like a dream, it felt so bloody real it's frightening... I dreamt that I woke up in a bed somewhere with Catherine Zeta Jones. And she seemed pretty firmly convinced that my purpose for being there was to bang
her from here to kingdom come. So I did."

My mouth stretched into a disbelieving 'oh'.

"But it was really you and me, right?" he added hastily. "I mean, it must have been."

Maybe if I'd really thought about it I might have seen it coming. Perhaps my beautiful visitor had even known exactly what he was talking about when he'd told me he was sure my husband was fine. Wait a minute. 'More than fine probably.' Those had been his exact words.

It wasn't like I was the only one with secret desires. And after all, isn't the whole universe striving for harmony and balance? So why not in this? And was it part of the universe's cunning plan that we'd coned on so much the night before we might never be sure of anything anyway?

My husband's pleading face was priceless. "You're not going to get mad are you? You know I think she's really hot."

I started to laugh.

And couldn't stop.

But I did stop feeling guilty.

*****

THE END

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