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19 Temmuz 2023, 01:20
I advise readers to start with part 1 of this series, so that you know what "the list" is all about. Nonetheless, each part can be enjoyed as a stand-alone.
# # #
Excitement gripped me. I just had to find out about why these women desired me, but what is my next best move? I had the list in front of me again now, and even though there were women on that list whom I knew or had known pretty well - and some about whom I'd had an inkling about all sorts of mutual attraction, sure... but others not - whatever... right now I felt like diving right in, deeply into the unknown.
The list of women who desired me which I'd found on this totally and bizarrely unfathomable website called "Les Désirs des Femmes" had 44 names on it, all desiring me, and now I scanned it again looking for the truly mysterious. I wanted a name which said absolutely nothing to me, not that of an old friend, no school-mates, no exes or babysitters, friends of my parents (and joyfully there were a few of those on my list; maybe I'll get to them another time,) or lonely-hearts from the neighborhood...
No. I wanted a surprise. I want to walk into a room to see a woman I think I've never met or even seen before, half knowing, or hoping to see, hoping to find out, how strong her desires for me might be. And where that all came from. And where it was going.
And there is a slight danger here... desires and memories do not last forever. Maybe some of these women had had a passing crush on me, a brief fantasy or desire, for an hour, a day, a week? But then life took them elsewhere and the memories faded. Well, whatever. I have two choices with that; either I turn my back on these amazing and exciting possibilities, or I go check them out.
Reader, I am the kind to go check such things out, and I invite you to come with me.
So, scanning down the list, I can see plenty of names I do not recognize. And so my mind started taking over, seeking out a first name that I like more than the others, maybe starting with a letter that I like more than the other letters... let's see, I like D and J and there are 2 names each there, but I'm not feeling it, so, moving on there is M, yes, good, a lovely feminine name, but not quite mischievous enough, that name seems kind of reserved, I don't know why, so onwards to R... uh-huh, tempting, both of them, exotic even, but there was no resisting jumping down two more lines, to T. Wonderful T. It has always been my favourite, strong, decisive, impressive. A leader amongst letters, not a follower.
Just one name there.
Tamara Hochstatter
What the...? I almost laughed out loud at the oddness of the smooth, feminine christian name alongside the pretty harsh-looking Hochstatter. And no, I have no idea who Tamara is. But there was a certainty in this moment for me. I am going to find you Tamara, and I want to hear what the story is with you and me.
# # #
But how the hell can I find Ms. Hochstatter? Do I search online in the usual places? This could be a wild goose-chase, even if that name doesn't seem too common, at least to my eye.
I sat wondering what to do next, when this glorious web-page, the wonderful, wonderful "Les Désirs des Femmes", offered me up its second miracle of the month, the physical traces of which I had not noticed before.
Almost invisibly small, beside every name on the list was an asterisk in an odd purple colour, so not easy to see against the black of the full page, and when I dragged the cursor over to the line of asterisks and coasted down them, each one lit up slightly, suggesting clickability Manavgat Escort (https://manavgat.t2bro.net/) and maybe access to some further info or link or something.
I clicked on the asterisk next to Tamara's name and a small message-box appeared to the right. In it was the following line: "workplace: 28, King's Road, London. UK"
Holy Guacamole, Batman! This website is the gift that keeps on giving. It's almost feeding me access to exactly what I want.
I clicked on three or four other asterisks, just to see what kind of information they would reveal, and deliciously, they all offered up decent ways of either contacting or finding the women in question. There were phone numbers, all kinds of addresses, and one or two more cryptic clues... but I will get back to them later. Now I was locked into the idea of finding Tamara, so I scootched my cursor back down to her asterisk. It was time to consider what to do about a mystery woman who may or may not be found at 28, King's Road, London. And who may or may not... want me.
The 21st century has found many ways of offering plenty across the digital landscape, and barely a half minute later I was at a web page for "Thigh-High-Island" a pretty top-end shoes and boots shop for women, in Chelsea, just along from Sloane Square. The kind of place where nothing has a price-tag in the shop, and where their carpet probably cost more than my car, and where you need to look the part as you enter.
That place is under two hours of travel for me, so when shall I go?
Again, I did not feel it was right to overthink all this, I just travelled up there on the next Saturday morning (hoping that shoe shops were open on Saturdays - they should be, that's got to be the best day for sales, right?) and I did not want to call ahead, even though I now had the shop's phone number. I just want the magic of walking into a room, finding Tamara, and seeing what happened next.
And that is just what I did. I did not even attempt to dress up for this snazzy salon on the King's Road. I'm going to take what comes. Either Tamara wants me or she doesn't. The risk of failure actually excited me as much as the chance of success.
Just as with Emma's unforgettable bookshop from a few weeks back, this door jingle at Thigh-High was also distinctive, even harsh, as I stepped in from the street.
A young man with a sleeveless waist-coat and hair shaved to almost nothing on one side, looked up from a display he was attending to and, despite feeling a little giddy and mildly prejudiced - instantly expecting some kind of dismissiveness or superiority from him - he greeted me warmly and smiled a genuine smile.
"Welcome to Thigh-High," he said in a voice that made me feel properly welcome. "Take your time looking, and if I can be of any assistance, I'll be right here."
I took a glance around the room taking in the impressive sights and the lushious aroma of new leather and wood-polish. Heavenly, two of my favourites. But boots were not on my shopping list, of course, so I approached him and got straight to it:
"Hi, I'm looking for Tamara Hochstatter."
Instead of the usual 'what is this about?' or 'who exactly are you?' rigmarole, the guy amazed me again by being purely uncomplicated, but also in a way that got my heart skipping a beat. He stepped back towards the staircase and called up two unforgettable syllables - "Mother!"
This is too crazy, I thought to myself; but I have my own self-confidence and sense of destiny, so I stayed put and waited.
"A young gentleman to see you," he went on.
At first there was Manavgat Escort bayan (https://manavgat.t2bro.net/) a shuffling, then footsteps coming downstairs, then a fine pair of black boots, then good legs in dark tights and the rest I could not focus on because I was now looking so intently into the face of my known but totally unknown... Tamara.
At first she gave no sign of recognition.
"Hello, I'm Tamara. How can I..." but then her words stopped abruptly. A look, skipping between shock and amusement, took over her face, and then I was treated to a smile as generous and genuine as her son's had been a minute before.
Reacting quicker than both of us men in the room, she said to her son: "Darling, I have a few things to discuss with Mr. Adams. Please close up the shop for lunch at one - goodness that's in ten minutes, how time flies. Mr. Adams, please come up to the office."
Being given the name "Mr. Adams" put a silly grin on my face, but I kept my composure and followed Tamara back up the stairs.
# # #
"Mr. Adams, indeed?" I asked with a look in my eye as she closed the door and ushered me to one of the two high-backed armchairs.
She took the other one and sat looking across at me for what seemed like a while, her beautiful cascading shoulder-length hair complementing her ear-rings and cashmere top perfectly. She must have been in her early fifties, but her bright eyes, immaculately light make up, her poise and intelligent face made her look so warm and close, almost known, and I had to ask her...
"Tamara, where did we meet before? How well do you know me?"
She paused a while, then surprised me again by speaking in what I now noted more clearly as a foreign, softly Germanic accent.
"Where to begin?" she said. "I don't know how you found me, but I guess I am glad that you did. And no, I do not think that you know me. But I remember you. I most certainly do. Sorry, about that 'Mr. Adams' thing. I love Werner, my son, downstairs, and he knows almost all there is to know about me, but I just knew when I saw you that I did not need to be doing the full intoductions down there."
She relaxed back into her seat a little.
"I don't know your real name, and let's keep it like that for now. I have my reasons,"
"We kind of met at the airport in Salzburg, it must have been the summer before last. I was coming back to London after visiting my mother. She's getting on in years, and I need to see her and she insists on seeing me as often as she can. I am Austrian, as you can maybe guess, and I set up this shop with an old flame from London over ten years ago, and here we are. But at Salzburg airport that day. Oh, Jesus Christ, I had a... well, a shock, a rush of blood and... about you. You were sitting in that Departures, a few seats to my left. And I just felt..."
Then she stopped.
Her face was emotional but calm, and she looked over at me.
"I have a life here now ,that just needs... a little serenity, I don't need dramas or adventures. I am not the one for that."
And at that moment we heard the jingling of the door below, as her son exited without a word. Lunch break.
"Good, so it is just the two of us here now," said Tamara. "For weeks after the airport, I can't explain, but I was besotted. A hunger ran through me. Too much. I hope you don't get embarrassed by me, but I believe in being truthful, so I tell you - I needed you, my body needed you then."
"But I had missed my chance to communicate anything to you there in Departures, and you were with two friends, I think, so there happened Escort Manavgat (https://manavgat.t2bro.net/) nothing, and no way to find you in future. When I got to my home in London that evening I was elated at the hungers I had felt, arriving from nothing, inside me that day, but so, so empty and pretty sad that I had lost you."
She crossed one leg over the other and now looked at me properly for the first time that day.
"I won't ask how you found me, but... why did you come here? You don't know me."
I met her gaze and took in her elegance, her goodness and her utterly beautiful femininity.
I stood up slowly and took two paces towards her.
"Tamara. I understand completely how you need no dramas and all that, and it was good to hear how you first noticed me, and I am sorry I did not notice you at that time; I think I would have done something about that if I had noticed... so about today, I assure you that I will leave this shop soon enough, and you will never see me again."
Her hands were pressed to the arms of her archair, intent on hearing my next words. And maybe I saw some sadness in her eye.
"But you are a perfect picture, and your words, your smart, graceful words have persuaded me that you and I need... a kiss. Something."
I tried to make it just one kiss, I really did. But how often does one good, passionate kiss suggest nothing more to those doing the kissing?
We both moved at the same time. She was strong, gripping my whole upper body close as we kissed again and again, breathlessly. Maybe we collapsed back onto her wide armchair then, maybe later, I cannot say. I kissed her lips, face, neck, my hands everywhere, I could not control them, and she had one hand wrenching at my hair and the other scratching madly at my back.
Then I knew I wanted what I sometimes truly love, to give a woman pleasure, just to GIVE - me pleasuring her, so I made sure she was comfortable on the seat and managed to get those amazing boots off her more easily than I could have expected.
I got the leggings down somehow and I could feel and hear her delight, her approving hands eased my head downwards.
I love to explore a gorgeous woman, feeling her labia almost beg for my tongue, and Tamara was begging me, and I was begging her to let me, and to feel it all, Oh, let me feel it all! And let her love this and be lost in it, and take every ounce of pleasure.
"Ja, mach's! A' Wahn...sinn..." she could hardly articulate.
Her eyes were shut as I gave her myself again, her hands lightly guiding my face down and between, as though I might need such guiding.
She was murmuring half words in German again, gutteral and lost, wanting, needing and rising.
I increased my rhythm and urgency, tasting and forcing and teasing and circling, our four hands were now almost painfully entwined and she dragged one of my hands to her breasts, thrusting them out to meet my attentions.
I loved her for those minutes, as I gave more, working hard not to be too forceful, with me almost shouting through my own passion, and licking and caressing at the same time, working her upwards, utterly turned on myself, but purely wanting her joy, her journey, her climax. And she arched up, and back, tense, gripping and wailing, hot, twitching, elemental.
Soon I let her come down from the clouds, and she was lounging almost horizontally, searching for breath, proudly naked, and trying to focus her eyes on me again.
# # #
Next day I deleted Tamara from the Désir des Femmes list, but not without the satisfaction of knowing that we had so very much found the right end to our personal story, a perfect one involving me worshipping her body, a very sexy Austrian accent, and the magical aroma of all those new leather boots - but best of all, her utter pleasure, winning me for one time, after thinking she had lost me. We never met again.
# # #
Excitement gripped me. I just had to find out about why these women desired me, but what is my next best move? I had the list in front of me again now, and even though there were women on that list whom I knew or had known pretty well - and some about whom I'd had an inkling about all sorts of mutual attraction, sure... but others not - whatever... right now I felt like diving right in, deeply into the unknown.
The list of women who desired me which I'd found on this totally and bizarrely unfathomable website called "Les Désirs des Femmes" had 44 names on it, all desiring me, and now I scanned it again looking for the truly mysterious. I wanted a name which said absolutely nothing to me, not that of an old friend, no school-mates, no exes or babysitters, friends of my parents (and joyfully there were a few of those on my list; maybe I'll get to them another time,) or lonely-hearts from the neighborhood...
No. I wanted a surprise. I want to walk into a room to see a woman I think I've never met or even seen before, half knowing, or hoping to see, hoping to find out, how strong her desires for me might be. And where that all came from. And where it was going.
And there is a slight danger here... desires and memories do not last forever. Maybe some of these women had had a passing crush on me, a brief fantasy or desire, for an hour, a day, a week? But then life took them elsewhere and the memories faded. Well, whatever. I have two choices with that; either I turn my back on these amazing and exciting possibilities, or I go check them out.
Reader, I am the kind to go check such things out, and I invite you to come with me.
So, scanning down the list, I can see plenty of names I do not recognize. And so my mind started taking over, seeking out a first name that I like more than the others, maybe starting with a letter that I like more than the other letters... let's see, I like D and J and there are 2 names each there, but I'm not feeling it, so, moving on there is M, yes, good, a lovely feminine name, but not quite mischievous enough, that name seems kind of reserved, I don't know why, so onwards to R... uh-huh, tempting, both of them, exotic even, but there was no resisting jumping down two more lines, to T. Wonderful T. It has always been my favourite, strong, decisive, impressive. A leader amongst letters, not a follower.
Just one name there.
Tamara Hochstatter
What the...? I almost laughed out loud at the oddness of the smooth, feminine christian name alongside the pretty harsh-looking Hochstatter. And no, I have no idea who Tamara is. But there was a certainty in this moment for me. I am going to find you Tamara, and I want to hear what the story is with you and me.
# # #
But how the hell can I find Ms. Hochstatter? Do I search online in the usual places? This could be a wild goose-chase, even if that name doesn't seem too common, at least to my eye.
I sat wondering what to do next, when this glorious web-page, the wonderful, wonderful "Les Désirs des Femmes", offered me up its second miracle of the month, the physical traces of which I had not noticed before.
Almost invisibly small, beside every name on the list was an asterisk in an odd purple colour, so not easy to see against the black of the full page, and when I dragged the cursor over to the line of asterisks and coasted down them, each one lit up slightly, suggesting clickability Manavgat Escort (https://manavgat.t2bro.net/) and maybe access to some further info or link or something.
I clicked on the asterisk next to Tamara's name and a small message-box appeared to the right. In it was the following line: "workplace: 28, King's Road, London. UK"
Holy Guacamole, Batman! This website is the gift that keeps on giving. It's almost feeding me access to exactly what I want.
I clicked on three or four other asterisks, just to see what kind of information they would reveal, and deliciously, they all offered up decent ways of either contacting or finding the women in question. There were phone numbers, all kinds of addresses, and one or two more cryptic clues... but I will get back to them later. Now I was locked into the idea of finding Tamara, so I scootched my cursor back down to her asterisk. It was time to consider what to do about a mystery woman who may or may not be found at 28, King's Road, London. And who may or may not... want me.
The 21st century has found many ways of offering plenty across the digital landscape, and barely a half minute later I was at a web page for "Thigh-High-Island" a pretty top-end shoes and boots shop for women, in Chelsea, just along from Sloane Square. The kind of place where nothing has a price-tag in the shop, and where their carpet probably cost more than my car, and where you need to look the part as you enter.
That place is under two hours of travel for me, so when shall I go?
Again, I did not feel it was right to overthink all this, I just travelled up there on the next Saturday morning (hoping that shoe shops were open on Saturdays - they should be, that's got to be the best day for sales, right?) and I did not want to call ahead, even though I now had the shop's phone number. I just want the magic of walking into a room, finding Tamara, and seeing what happened next.
And that is just what I did. I did not even attempt to dress up for this snazzy salon on the King's Road. I'm going to take what comes. Either Tamara wants me or she doesn't. The risk of failure actually excited me as much as the chance of success.
Just as with Emma's unforgettable bookshop from a few weeks back, this door jingle at Thigh-High was also distinctive, even harsh, as I stepped in from the street.
A young man with a sleeveless waist-coat and hair shaved to almost nothing on one side, looked up from a display he was attending to and, despite feeling a little giddy and mildly prejudiced - instantly expecting some kind of dismissiveness or superiority from him - he greeted me warmly and smiled a genuine smile.
"Welcome to Thigh-High," he said in a voice that made me feel properly welcome. "Take your time looking, and if I can be of any assistance, I'll be right here."
I took a glance around the room taking in the impressive sights and the lushious aroma of new leather and wood-polish. Heavenly, two of my favourites. But boots were not on my shopping list, of course, so I approached him and got straight to it:
"Hi, I'm looking for Tamara Hochstatter."
Instead of the usual 'what is this about?' or 'who exactly are you?' rigmarole, the guy amazed me again by being purely uncomplicated, but also in a way that got my heart skipping a beat. He stepped back towards the staircase and called up two unforgettable syllables - "Mother!"
This is too crazy, I thought to myself; but I have my own self-confidence and sense of destiny, so I stayed put and waited.
"A young gentleman to see you," he went on.
At first there was Manavgat Escort bayan (https://manavgat.t2bro.net/) a shuffling, then footsteps coming downstairs, then a fine pair of black boots, then good legs in dark tights and the rest I could not focus on because I was now looking so intently into the face of my known but totally unknown... Tamara.
At first she gave no sign of recognition.
"Hello, I'm Tamara. How can I..." but then her words stopped abruptly. A look, skipping between shock and amusement, took over her face, and then I was treated to a smile as generous and genuine as her son's had been a minute before.
Reacting quicker than both of us men in the room, she said to her son: "Darling, I have a few things to discuss with Mr. Adams. Please close up the shop for lunch at one - goodness that's in ten minutes, how time flies. Mr. Adams, please come up to the office."
Being given the name "Mr. Adams" put a silly grin on my face, but I kept my composure and followed Tamara back up the stairs.
# # #
"Mr. Adams, indeed?" I asked with a look in my eye as she closed the door and ushered me to one of the two high-backed armchairs.
She took the other one and sat looking across at me for what seemed like a while, her beautiful cascading shoulder-length hair complementing her ear-rings and cashmere top perfectly. She must have been in her early fifties, but her bright eyes, immaculately light make up, her poise and intelligent face made her look so warm and close, almost known, and I had to ask her...
"Tamara, where did we meet before? How well do you know me?"
She paused a while, then surprised me again by speaking in what I now noted more clearly as a foreign, softly Germanic accent.
"Where to begin?" she said. "I don't know how you found me, but I guess I am glad that you did. And no, I do not think that you know me. But I remember you. I most certainly do. Sorry, about that 'Mr. Adams' thing. I love Werner, my son, downstairs, and he knows almost all there is to know about me, but I just knew when I saw you that I did not need to be doing the full intoductions down there."
She relaxed back into her seat a little.
"I don't know your real name, and let's keep it like that for now. I have my reasons,"
"We kind of met at the airport in Salzburg, it must have been the summer before last. I was coming back to London after visiting my mother. She's getting on in years, and I need to see her and she insists on seeing me as often as she can. I am Austrian, as you can maybe guess, and I set up this shop with an old flame from London over ten years ago, and here we are. But at Salzburg airport that day. Oh, Jesus Christ, I had a... well, a shock, a rush of blood and... about you. You were sitting in that Departures, a few seats to my left. And I just felt..."
Then she stopped.
Her face was emotional but calm, and she looked over at me.
"I have a life here now ,that just needs... a little serenity, I don't need dramas or adventures. I am not the one for that."
And at that moment we heard the jingling of the door below, as her son exited without a word. Lunch break.
"Good, so it is just the two of us here now," said Tamara. "For weeks after the airport, I can't explain, but I was besotted. A hunger ran through me. Too much. I hope you don't get embarrassed by me, but I believe in being truthful, so I tell you - I needed you, my body needed you then."
"But I had missed my chance to communicate anything to you there in Departures, and you were with two friends, I think, so there happened Escort Manavgat (https://manavgat.t2bro.net/) nothing, and no way to find you in future. When I got to my home in London that evening I was elated at the hungers I had felt, arriving from nothing, inside me that day, but so, so empty and pretty sad that I had lost you."
She crossed one leg over the other and now looked at me properly for the first time that day.
"I won't ask how you found me, but... why did you come here? You don't know me."
I met her gaze and took in her elegance, her goodness and her utterly beautiful femininity.
I stood up slowly and took two paces towards her.
"Tamara. I understand completely how you need no dramas and all that, and it was good to hear how you first noticed me, and I am sorry I did not notice you at that time; I think I would have done something about that if I had noticed... so about today, I assure you that I will leave this shop soon enough, and you will never see me again."
Her hands were pressed to the arms of her archair, intent on hearing my next words. And maybe I saw some sadness in her eye.
"But you are a perfect picture, and your words, your smart, graceful words have persuaded me that you and I need... a kiss. Something."
I tried to make it just one kiss, I really did. But how often does one good, passionate kiss suggest nothing more to those doing the kissing?
We both moved at the same time. She was strong, gripping my whole upper body close as we kissed again and again, breathlessly. Maybe we collapsed back onto her wide armchair then, maybe later, I cannot say. I kissed her lips, face, neck, my hands everywhere, I could not control them, and she had one hand wrenching at my hair and the other scratching madly at my back.
Then I knew I wanted what I sometimes truly love, to give a woman pleasure, just to GIVE - me pleasuring her, so I made sure she was comfortable on the seat and managed to get those amazing boots off her more easily than I could have expected.
I got the leggings down somehow and I could feel and hear her delight, her approving hands eased my head downwards.
I love to explore a gorgeous woman, feeling her labia almost beg for my tongue, and Tamara was begging me, and I was begging her to let me, and to feel it all, Oh, let me feel it all! And let her love this and be lost in it, and take every ounce of pleasure.
"Ja, mach's! A' Wahn...sinn..." she could hardly articulate.
Her eyes were shut as I gave her myself again, her hands lightly guiding my face down and between, as though I might need such guiding.
She was murmuring half words in German again, gutteral and lost, wanting, needing and rising.
I increased my rhythm and urgency, tasting and forcing and teasing and circling, our four hands were now almost painfully entwined and she dragged one of my hands to her breasts, thrusting them out to meet my attentions.
I loved her for those minutes, as I gave more, working hard not to be too forceful, with me almost shouting through my own passion, and licking and caressing at the same time, working her upwards, utterly turned on myself, but purely wanting her joy, her journey, her climax. And she arched up, and back, tense, gripping and wailing, hot, twitching, elemental.
Soon I let her come down from the clouds, and she was lounging almost horizontally, searching for breath, proudly naked, and trying to focus her eyes on me again.
# # #
Next day I deleted Tamara from the Désir des Femmes list, but not without the satisfaction of knowing that we had so very much found the right end to our personal story, a perfect one involving me worshipping her body, a very sexy Austrian accent, and the magical aroma of all those new leather boots - but best of all, her utter pleasure, winning me for one time, after thinking she had lost me. We never met again.