FEMALE FANTASIES

CHAPTER THREE ~The Heart's desires ~

The day ended on a good note, I thought to myself as I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind wandering to my small world of imaginations.

I couldn't shake off the feeling of excitement and nervousness that lingered long after my meeting with Mr. Andrew.

I slowly drifted away as my mind began to wander, conjuring up all sorts of scenarios, each one more tantalising than the last.

I imagined Mr. Andrew standing right before me, his eyes burning with intensity as he reached out to brush a strand of hair out of my face.

A shiver ran down my spine as I pictured his fingers tracing the curve of my jaw, his touch sending sparks flying through my entire body.

I envisioned us strolling through the campus hand in hand as he told me stories of art and history, his voice weaving a spell around me. We'd laugh and joke, our eyes locking in a way that made my heart skip a beat.

I pictured us in his office, the door locked, the world outside melting away. He'd pinned me to the wall, his body just inches away. His warmth and strength felt so real that my body started heating up.

In my imagination, his arms wrapped tightly around me, his lips brushing against mine, while his tongue grazed the depth of my mouth; his hands start to explore my body, carefully tracing the curves of my skin. He grips my ass hard before moving his hand up between my slightly parting thighs. I feel a stirring in my loins at the thought as my fantasy deepened......"Am wet!"

I thought about being tied up, about being helpless and at his mercy, breathless from the pleasure, him teasing me, his passion and desire overwhelming me.

These swirling fantasies eventually tempted me to touch and caress my body to my satisfaction; this is exactly how I want him to feel about me. I want to be the reason he touches himself late in the night.

For a moment there, I couldn't help but wonder if reality would ever live up to my wild imaginations. I mean, this man is the epitome of masculinity, the kind who'd make me feel like a woman. He is confident yet vulnerable, strong yet gentle. He'd definitely know how to touch me, how to make me feel alive.

As I drifted off to sleep, a hint of sadness tacked at my heart as I wondered whether or not I would ever find that man of my dreams; for all I know, Mr.Andrew could be married.

I felt a tear run down my cheek shortly before I blacked out completely......I am definitely falling, and it's scary..............

🎶I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you.

I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you.

I've been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night.

And now I see daylight,

I only see daylight🎶.......

Taylor Swift's 'Daylight ' played in my mind as I strolled along the beach, still thinking about last night.

Now you might think I am the only one, but no!.....all women have fantasies,things we dare not speak aloud.

The ones we hide behind closed doors, behind masks of innocence and propriety.

We're told to be good girls, to be polite and demure, but the truth is our minds are raging with desires, with cravings that threaten to consume us.

We're afraid to speak them aloud, afraid of being shamed.

Every woman has a secret life, a life of fantasies and burning desires.

Some of us fantasise about being swept off our feet, about being rescued by a strong, handsome hero who will save us from the mundane routines of our daily lives.

We dream of being taken, of being possessed, wanted, and loved with a passion that borders obsession.

We crave attention, satisfaction, and appreciation.

Others of us fantasise about being in control, being the dominant one, the one who calls the shots.

We dream of tying him up, of teasing him, of bringing him to his knees without touch.

Some also fantasise about being naughty, being the bad girls who break the rules.

We dream of being spanked, of being slowly seduced, exploring different desires and sensations, whisked away to a romantic destination.

We dream of being punished, being taught a lesson by a firm yet gentle hand, savouring the anticipation and build-up. That "50 shades of grey " kind of love.

We want a man who will hit the right spot every time they try. Be it the "D," the tongue, or those fingers, it should make a statement.

That slow, raw missionary, deep kisses, moaning into each other, sweat, and no pull out hits differently.

Brother curl them fingers, grind and wine; moaning has no gender,we actually like it.

Maintain your hygiene, smell good, it costs you nothing. Treat her like the queen she is, like you would want to be treated; it's a two-way traffic.

Lastly, walk the talk, be consistent, no woman wants to cheat, if she's cheating, then investigate your actions, because that right there is a sign that you're lacking somewhere.

Now you're probably wondering why women never open up about these feelings;

Fear of judgement, fear of rejection, fear of being seen as " too forward "or "too aggressive ."

We're afraid of being vulnerable, of being open to the possibilities of hurt,and of being seen as fragile; but guess what!

I've come to the realisation that vulnerability ain't weakness-it's strength.

It takes courage to be open and honest, to share your true desires with someone else.

This whole "motivation speaking " made me realise something as I sat there in silence after my beautiful day at the beach. I made myself a promise to be brave, to be vulnerable, and to share my fantasies with someone I trust some day. I just hope it's Mr. Andrew.......am obsessed.....................

As the semester wore on, I found myself growing more and more entranced with Mr. Andrew.

I couldn't concentrate in class, my mind wandering to fantasies of him. I'd imagine him standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders, guiding me through the nuances of art history.

I'd from time to time catch myself staring at him, my eyes tracing the lines of his face and the curve of his lips. Swallowing hard at the sight before me, I felt like I was losing myself in him, like I was drowning in the depth of his eyes.

One day, as I was working on our special project in the library, Mr. Andrew appeared beside me.

" How's your research going?" he'd asked, his voice low and husky.

I felt a flutter in my chest as I turned to face him...." It's going well." I'd replied, trying to sound as calm as I possibly could.

He'd nodded, his eyes scanning the books and notes spread out before me.

"You're doing some excellent work, " he'd said......."I think you have a real talent for this."

All the while, all i could see was the way he was looking at me, the way his eyes seemed to bore into my soul.His voice seemed to echo in a distance as I focused my attention on his lips accentuated by his well kept beard.

To be quite honest, I for so long thought what I felt for Mr. Andrew was merely a crush, but I am starting to believe that it's something more.

Days went by, Mr.Andrew and I continued to dance around each other, our tension palpable. we'd often meet in his office to discuss the progress of my research and the project as a whole.

One cold afternoon, as we discussed a particularly complex art movement, he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper.

" I think you're getting close to something here," he said, his breath tickling my ear.

A shiver ran down my spine as I turned to him, our faces inches apart. For a moment, we just stared at each other, the world around us melting away.

Then, without another word, he pulled back, his face flushing with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, clearing his throat.

" I didn't mean to get so close. "

I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs...." It's okay!" I stammered.

He looked at me, his eyes searching for something, then without another word turned and walked out of the office, leaving me feeling stunned and confused.

As i sat there, trying to process what had just happened, I heard a faint noise coming from outside the office. It sounded like footsteps, heavy and deliberate.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Mr. Andrew's assistant, Mrs. Nonso walked in.

" Mr. Andrew asked me to give you this, " she said, handing me a small piece of paper.

I took the paper, feeling a sense of trepidation. What was this? A note? A message?.......

My heart skipped a beat, pounding hard in my chest as I unfolded the paper.

Scrawled on the page, in Mr. Andrew's familiar handwriting was a single sentence;

"Meet me in the museum at midnight. "

My heart stopped.