My fantasy is about the bloke who runs the garage where I get my car serviced, and it goes something like this:

I am at home on my own for the weekend. I’ve done all the housework and laundry. It’s time for my favourite Anna Span porn film, a glass of vodka and lemonade and some fun with my vibrator. I put the DVD in, hit the play button and sit on the settee. Then there is a knock on the door. No! I think. Not now! But I turn off the DVD player and get up to answer the door. I look through the peephole and cannot believe my eyes. It’s him! At my door!
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My boyfriend and I are mad about each other and can’t seem to get enough sex. I love teasing him to a state where he’s so crazed with lust for me that he just wants to get me home (or wherever’s conven-ient) and fuck my brains out.
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My wife has said on several occasions that one of her fantasies was to have steamy sex in the back of a car. With both of us in our early forties and the parents of small children, it seemed out of the question until a recent holiday. We had gone for a fortnight to an all-inclusive resort in Florida, but we had rented a little Jeep because we liked the idea of being able to leave the grounds on our own. With the vehicle at our disposal, we decided to set aside one night for just the two of us to have a quiet dinner together. After arranging for the on-site babysitter to look after the children and booking a table at a nice restaurant, an idea dawned on me that might make the night a little more memorable.
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I celebrated my fiftieth birthday last month. I’m happily married and am usually faithful to my wife of 25 years. Our sex lifevhas always been tremendous. However, when I am away on prolonged business trips I have been known to play the field from time to time.
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A few years ago, after my wife and I divorced, I moved to a house out in the country. I usually wandered around the house and garden naked, but since my property was fronted by big trees, nobody could see me unless they came right up my drive — which is exactly how I met Came.
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Being a film stuntman is not a glamorous job, whatever you might think. I do all the dangerous stunts which the big stars are afraid or can’t get insured to do, and I get paid a hell of a lot less than them. But that’s not the worst part of the job. A lot of big stars are temperamental, and they make it hard to get anything completed on schedule. I find this is especially true of female stars. Well, I’m the unknown stunt man who has put some of the film indus¬try’s most beautiful women in their place, because I know how to bring those snooty, pampered superstars down to earth. You see, I’ve found that most of these rich, famous goddess types secretly want to be treated like a real person, not a superstar.
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I’m currently working as a strippogram sex girl, and I’ve done some strange things dur¬ing my time with the agency, like the odd spot of mudwrestling, but the more bizarre event I ever took part in was a ‘gungea-thon’ at the local rugby club. You know what rugby players are like; any excuse to see a girl with very little on, and when the boss at the agency said they wanted a few girls who were prepared to get covered in gunge and lose most of their clothes in the process, I said I’d give it a go. All money raised on the evening was going to the local hospice, so it wasn’t as though I was making a fool of myself for nothing.
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I live in a university town and on my journey to work and back there are lots of sexy students travelling to and from the campus. How many times had I sat on the bus looking at the fit backsides of so many beautiful women? How many times had I imagined myself with one? Loads! But there’s one trip I definitely won’t forget.
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My friend Brian’s parents had a big house in the country, and in the summer he would ask me and a couple of friends to stop with him for two or three weeks. We were there last year when his older sister and her best friend, Georgia, came to stay with us. They had just graduated from university and were about to start job hunting, but first they wanted a holiday.
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I am a professor of anatomy at a university in the North-west of England. You may think that being a professor is a nice, easy job, but it isn’t You are always under a lot of pressure to publish your findings. I hadn’t published anything for quite a while, and I knew I had to get something out before long.
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