Vanessa's Blog goes live - first contact

[Foxy Lady]

This is a new kind of blog for me. In the earlier ones, I told you about one of my encounters after it had happened. This time, I am going live. Telling you how it developed stage by stage. If it developes at all, that is. Who knows. Enjoy.





'Do you know what I think, Michael?'

We had bumped into each other in the village and fell into step as we strolled along.

'No,' he said, sounding a little puzzled, 'no, I don't. Are you going to tell me?'

'Well,' I said, looking straight ahead and speaking as if we were discussing the weather or the village fête, 'I think I could take you if I wanted to.'

'Take me where?' As soon as he had spoken, he realised his mistake. 'Oh, I see what you mean.'

I turned and smiled, but said nothing.

'So why do you think that? I'm married after all.'

'I'm married too,' but he knew that.

'You haven't answered my question.'

No, I hadn't and I wasn't going to. That would give away too much.

'You will have noticed, I'm sure, that my statement was conditional. I said I could take you "if I wanted to".'

'So you're saying you don't want to, is that it?'

I hadn't said that and told him so, repeating exactly what I had said.

That was how it began.

 

[Foxy Lady]

I left him thinking, that was the trick. Whether he had ever noticed me before, noticed me in a sexual way, does not matter. He probably hadn't, because I am, to be honest, not an obviously sexual person. Plain in fact. Dowdy someone called me once, after she had discovered I had been shagging her husband for the best part of a year. The sort of woman whose clothes disguise her body and who people imagine – if they think about it at all – as wearing plain, cotton, sensible underwear, possibly fading to grey.

You are wondering why I was making a play for him, because that is what I was doing. Two reasons. First, because I am a horny bitch who is always on the look out for a suitable male. Second, because he was available. How did I know? Because his wife told me. Well, not actually told me, not in so many words. And she wasn't talking to me but to one of her friends. I was in the background, which is a very good place to be if you have your eyes on a neighbour's husband.

She was sitting close to her friend and they were obviously exchanging confidences, in whispers. Now whispers carry. So I heard. What she was saying was that she and her husband had settled into a relaxed friendship, which (so she assured her friend) was the secret to a lasting marriage. What she was really saying, as anyone who knows men will have spotted right away, is that she had lost interest in sex and managed to persuade her husband that he had as well. Which meant that he was suppressing his natural desires, and maybe some unnatural ones as well. Which meant that he was ripe for the picking. Once someone put the idea into his head that is.

Mustn't rush this one. Some guys I can just take – you may have read some of my earlier blogs. This one, though, is going to need playing, like a salmon. Sometimes, the chase is the best part of the fun. Well almost.



First stage: done and dusted. Contact made, seed planted in his head.



Second stage: make myself visible. Just make sure I am around at village events, or when he is likely to be going to the shops or the pub. Let him see me, but don't make any advances to him. Seeing me will jog his memory, if it needs jogging. And he'll get used to seeing me and thinking about me.



Third stage: let him see my looking at him. Not a long stare, just longer than would be normal, enough to unsettle him. This is an important stage. He's not thinking about me in his head any longer. His thinking has moved down below his waist. His cock will be twitching now when he sees me or his balls may be tightening.



The next time I see him he is ahead of me. I draw alongside and speak casually. Just normal "good to see you again, it's been ages since we had a chat" stuff. And we just carry on. Then he blurts it out.



'I've been thinking,' he says.



I say nothing. He has to do this on his own. I will NOT give him the excuse of blaming me later, either when he explains what happened to his wife or even just in his own head.



'Maybe we could have a coffee sometime.' I don't help him. Like I said, it's up to him. 'Somewhere quiet.' Good, he's getting the idea. 'Where we won't be disturbed.' There, he's said it. Well almost. He is still resorting to euphemisms.



Finally, I pounce.



'Why don't I come round to your house? I hear you wife is visiting her mother for a few days.'


Ball firmly lobbed back into his court.