Wicked Man
October 3, 2007 | Category: Confessions, Erotica, Sexblogs
I am a sick man. I am a wicked man. An unattractive man…
11am
Ruins lie all around me. Sun-bleached and wind-worn, the dust of their decay is everywhere. The once magnificent palace is now nothing more than a rocky carcass. Eye-candy for overweight, sunburnt tourists.
And I stand right at the heart of it, at the heart of them.
God help me.
A woman walks by. Early twenties; dark, flowing hair down to her shoulders. She’s gorgeous. Her pink-with-white-polka-dots halter neck squeezes her tanned breasts together to form the most delightful demonstration of cleavage. My gaze follows her instinctively, lecherously, admiring her lithe form, her slender legs.
In her wake follows a male of similar age. Swarthy, muscled. Good-looking in that nondescript Mediterranean way. Italian or Greek? He notices my attention upon her and scowls. I smile back, still watching her. He quickens his pace, catches up to her and tries to hurry her along. She shrugs off his hand, enrapt in a part of the palace reputed to be where the concubines were housed. Swarthy jealous type discovers another half-inch of play in his eyebrows and shoots me an even more furrowed look.
I try to imagine our conversation.
“Why you staring at-a my girl?”
“Because she’s beautiful. Because she’s desirable. Because I want her.”
“You want-a to fuck her?”
“Of course. Again and again.”
“Stop staring at her. She’s-a mine.”
“Maybe. But if she didn’t want anyone to pay homage to her beauty, surely she’d wear something more demure?”
“She can wear what the fuck she like. Anyway, why you want-a to look at my girl when you are with-a your wife?”
“What the hell difference does that make?”
3pm
The swimming pool is a brilliant turquoise oasis in the centre of the terracotta tiled surround. I’m spoiled for choice here. There are semi-naked women all around me, draped in wet Lycra, stretched across their mesh-covered sun loungers. All ages, all languages, all shapes and sizes.
I’ve become the proverbial dog with two dicks. I don’t seem to know where to look next. Not that I allow my scrutiny to be detected, even by the more seasoned spotters. A glance is all I need.
I find myself on the cusp of a two-way tie. There’s a Dutch blonde, who has the distinction of being the only woman to have gone topless so far, much to the chagrin of many of the wives and girlfriends present. Her nipples are a lovely soft brown, almost the exact shade as her fulsome breasts. I want to tease them with my fingertips and my tongue, stiffen them, make them hard and dark. I want her to sigh, to describe her pleasure in that wonderfully guttural tongue.
“Oh ja! Oh ja!”
There’s another competing for my attention though. A sultry nymphet, no more than five feet tall. Her olive skin and black hair are either Spaniard or Greek – I’m too far away from where she lies with her family to overhear their chatter clearly enough. I watch her enviously as she strides to the pool and steps into the blood-warm shallows. Her pert breasts are sheathed in a black bikini, and I know instinctively that her nipples are small and tight, the colour of mocha. The phrase ‘yummy mummy’ surfaces in my mind as I watch her splashing with her giggling child. Come play with me, I think. I know games that will make you smile even more, that will leave you even wetter.
7pm
Walking along the narrow pavement of the harbour town’s main thoroughfare. The sky is a darkening blue now, September sun no more than an hour away from disappearing beneath the horizon.
The road is a hotchpotch kaleidoscope of mopeds and hire cars and grey Mercedes taxis. Order is implied by the constraints of the tarmac road surface, by the faded white lines that divide the opposing carriageways and delineate the infrequent pedestrian crossings. Yet there is no order. The riders and drivers speed and swerve and brake according to their own needs. Consensus, the common good, has no place here.
Walking towards me are two women. As they close, I see that their ages – eighteen, nineteen? – barely qualify them for that description. Their tans are so light, they can’t have been on the island for more than a couple of days. They’ve dressed to match each other: white vests over string bikinis, and denim skirts an inch or two longer than indecent. Their skin is smooth and taut, glowing with youthful verve.
They make me feel old, my reckless lust perverse.
Yet my lust – perverse or otherwise – perseveres.
“May I buy you ladies a drink?”
Twin giggles at being accosted in the street like this. “You’re not meant to call us ladies.” Their accents are most definitely English. “It’s inappropriate and outdated. We learnt so in social awareness class.”
“Of course you did. My apologies. I’m showing my age.”
A doubtful look passes between them. “Why, how old are you?”
“Nearly forty.”
“But not forty yet?” Evidently, it’s as much a barrier to their minds as it is to my own.
“No, not yet.”
They both giggle again, a grating sound with, I suspect, the potential to become even more annoying. “That’s all right then. Otherwise, you’d be too old to handle the pair of us.”
I laugh and smile, thinking: I’m not too old now, nor will I be in a year, or two years, or ten. I’m looking at them with polite intrigue, wondering where I ought to begin my feast. I can already see myself pulling Chantelle’s vest over her head while her friend Charlie stands behind me, rubbing her face against my back as she fiddles with my belt and the fastenings of my shorts. I can see the three of us sprawled naked across the brilliant whiteness of my bed sheets, the hardcore version of Wild Things, with me lost in the heaven of being Dillon. I’m kissing Charlie while I’m easing Chantelle’s mouth towards my aching cock, her exuberance making up for her lack of artfulness. They’re lowering themselves onto me in unison, one tight, greedy cunt descending along the length of my cock as the other settles itself over my dancing tongue. I’m guiding Charlie’s face towards Chantelle’s wet and waiting sex (”Never? Haven’t you ever fantasised? Then indulge yourself…”) while I slowly thrust into her from behind. Finally, they’re face to face, Chantelle atop of Charlie, kissing with languid passion as I kneel between their open thighs, alternating my cock between their tight wet pussies.
Of course, the entire conversation, the scenarios that followed, have taken place solely within the confines of my mind. The two girls – their names and nationalities a mystery to me – pass by without a solitary glance back, as I’m lead into yet another shop filled with cheap curios.
10pm
The roof top terrace of a seemingly authentically named taverna. Below us in the distance, the gently curving row of sodium lights marks the location of the harbour wall. The surrounding sea is unseen and unheard. The breeze is just fresh enough to take the edge off the night’s humidity.
At the table beside ours, a pretty blonde in her late twenties holds court for the benefit of the attentive waiters. Her polished Home Counties tone is incredibly incongruous amidst the softly accented English of our hosts. She’s annoyingly desirable. Opposite her sits her boyfriend. Or fiancé. I don’t see any rings on his left hand, so assume that she’s still waiting for her chance to take him down the aisle before a congregation of one hundred and fifty family members, friends and well-heeled and influential acquaintances. The boyfriend cradles his face in his hands as his belle performs, as though the weight is too much even for his thickset neck. He looks like a lunk, even though he likely earns ten times my salary.
My main course is placed on the white tablecloth before me, but what I’m hungry for is defilement. Hers and his. I want to brutally seduce her, give her no opportunity to resist, turn her senses against all she holds dear, make her betray everything for a few brief moments of physical pleasure. And I want him to know everything. Everything. That she’s chosen my cock over his. That she’s taken it inside her, willingly, greedily, desperately, even at the expense of so much else. I don’t want to huff and puff on their house of cards. I want to obliterate it, just so I can satisfy this sub-Neanderthal urge, and then walk away from the ruins of their lives without a solitary glance back.
Now
Everywhere I look, I see women that I want. I don’t want to possess them permanently. What I desire is fleeting, transient. I want only to pleasure them, to be pleasured by them. I want to know them as wanton creatures, as sexual beings.
What holes within me am I so driven to fill? Is it a perceived lack of experience I wish to correct? Do I seek confirmation that I am a good lover, a desirable male? Do I crave intimate connections with other vehemently passionate human beings? Or is mere variety my vapid goal?
I have no certain answers to these questions.
There’s one question that I can answer. I fear now that, no matter what, one will never be a consoling number for me. I’m doomed to forever look to the next horizon, to the next lover.
It’s a conclusion that both terrifies and thrills.
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We Were Wolf
It’s a terrifyingly exciting conclusion you’ve reached. And I have to say it’s the same one I reached some time ago. One is never going to be enough. And I’m also nearing forty and that’s precisely why I can say that with conviction: one is in no way ever going to be enough. Lust is all around us… and why ignore it, I say.
Thanks for another great one EA
You’re welcome, Aurea. I’m glad the piece struck a chord with you…
~EA
I have to say that whole post just made me grin!
I love the way you look at people.. the thoughts that run through your head are marvelous.
Doomed? Indeed we are all doomed in some way.
Be thrilled by the choices.. not terrified!
I’ll take it under advisement, Lea…
~EA
Why not store the sights and sounds and fantastically naughty thoughts for your lover? Use them to enhance what you already have, mon ami. You obviously have the imagination for it.
There needs to be a desire to have such thoughts revealed on *both* sides, SP…
~EA
a exciting and true conclusion you come to, as we get older we need to know we are still attractive to others additional to our partners and lust for others satisfies this need, how far we take the lust is our choice….
Very true, Kimmie. Very true…
~EA
So, I’m not the only one whose mind it overwhelmed by those fantasizing yet rich ideas and bursts of male desires to seduce in a never ending story… Crossed my fourties not so long ago.
No, you’re not alone in that, AM. And I suspect you’re a long way from ever being along…
~EA
A walk in reality.
Where all answers reside.
Indeed…
~EA
I wonder if it shows in your eyes each time
I try not to make it obvious, EV, but I don’t know whether I’m entirely successful. I don’t practice my predatory poker face in front of the mirror. All I can say for sure is this: if seeing the desire in my eyes were to make the person uncomfortable, then I sincerely hope that it doesn’t show. On the other hand…
~EA
I find this interesting because I too have crossed the threshold of 40, having for the most part forfeited a great deal of my sexuality and my identity during those precious years of my thirties. When I turned forty, I realized that I still possessed immense desire and that I could still be desirable. It was a delightful awakening and I am determined to live and to never forget again the sexual being that I am.
Thank you E.A. for your assistance in that endeavour.
Elyse
You’re very welcome, Elyse. I’m delighted to have been of some help…
~EA
I love you EA!!! omg!! where have you been all my life!! come here!! NOW!!!
I’ve been right here, Claire. The question is: where’s there?
~EA
Hello Magic Easily Aroused Man and one of The Best Erotic Writers…
Million of *warmest* thanks for the visit, and the thoughtful expression.
This is my favorite idea from your response: “… if I were to learn that my wife were having an affair with another woman, I would feel no differently than if I learned that her lover was a man. It would be an emotional betrayal”
Love your style. Intriguing, and easily arousing.
N
Thank you for your lovely comment, Nellioness - and I’m pleased you found some value in my own response…
~EA
EA –
Very good post that makes me feel like I’m reading my own thoughts on the screen. Great insight into the mechanics of lust. I used to fight it (due to religious scruples), but am now free to enjoy it. Now regret that I spent my youthful (and more handsome) 20’s and 30’s trying to please a Puritan god than exploring giving expression to these desires.
At least, as so many have commented, I can now enjoy these forays with these beauties in my mind (and hand).
Bubba Swami — B.S.
Here’s to you making the very most of your new direction, BS…
~EA
you don’t practice that expression in front of the mirror? haha
do you practice anything in front of the mirror? can the look of “undressing eyes” - i think it is a very diplomatic way to describe that look - be achieved by practice? gee, I hope not. I was always under general impression that men, as opposed to women, don’t (don’t have to?) pretend/act/FAKE anything sex related. There is a possibility that i am naive 
nervermind, this is off topic. It’s just that I so crave that look in man’s eyes. Oh, and I don’t think 40 is any barrier (I am not 40)
What I was trying to convey was that I didn’t practice disguising the lust in my eyes. But I’m sensitive enough to realise that not all women appreciate seeing a man mentally undressing her, and so I don’t go out of my way to let it show to a passing woman that I’m thinking of her in a downright indecent fashion. But I’m glad that I won’t have to be so coy with you, EV - and that you don’t consider 40 any sort of barrier…
~EA
Hmmm… I’m certainly familiar with that notion of wanting more and different, uncertain what it is that would make me stop. It doesn’t terrify me so much as cause me guilt for other people, those along my path… as I move from 11am to 10pm.
And being a romantic by nature - it’s difficult to imagine finding a happy balance for myself, as well.
Anyway, lovely writing, as always. I’ve reflected a lot on this post of yours. Thank you.
You’re welcome, Bailey - and thank you…
~EA
Mmm, I think this could be one of my favourites. It certainly has been a serious tease! Somehow it’s more ‘always aroused’ than ‘easily aroused’ when I come across your blog
And you know how much I like to tease, Tara…
~EA
Your name’s Easily Aroused, but your words have the ability to arouse other people (ahem, moi) easily.
Then I hope to be able to continue the trend, Giti…
~EA
“There needs to be a desire to have such thoughts revealed on *both* sides…”
Therein lies the truest of all relationship problems, mon ami. Unequal sexual expectations. It is unfortunate. But I understand. Now that I am dating again, it is something I find I must bring up early on. You have *no* idea how many men get scared when you tell them that you are rather needy in the bedroom. That you want sex, in all its adventurous forms, in a frequent manner.
Hug.
the Sexpot
And I would offer the very same advice to anyone embarking upon any sort of committed relationship…
~EA
A very well written post - you have captured the essence of what it is to be male, how we think, how we pass through our days.
A wonderful exposition on the transitory lusts that fleet through our primal minds.
Thank you, Richard…
~EA