It’s a weekday morning. A routine plays itself out. Moisturising cream is applied prior to a flimsy pair of panties being slipped on – my favourite is the transparent black G-string. A lacy bra is next. Black stockings are stretched up long legs and, with a slight squat and a wiggle of the bum, a pinstriped pencil skirt is pulled over hips. Then, in quick succession, it’s make-up, a formal blouse, jewellery and finally high- heeled shoes.
The overall effect is confident- sexy. It’s “wow.” Standing in front of me is the epitome of mature elegance. I say, “You look hot, Babe.” She thanks me. Sometimes I tease her. “You’re what’s known – by the young and the restless – as a MILF, Babe, and I must say that you’re looking extremely MILFy today. If you were a school teacher, you would feature prominently in hundreds of teenage fantasies this very night.” She asks me what a MILF is and I tell her. She rolls her eyes, pulls up the side of her mouth, and shakes her head. I tell her that I have a fantasy of my own. She looks suspicious but asks me what it is. “That we spend the night together, in the same bed, alone, without the midnight limpets,” I reply.
She laughs and says, “Yes, that would make a pleasant change.”I’ve never had the opportunity to indulge in sexual role-playing, or to play out a fantasy, but my current life’s situation is giving my fantasies a recurring theme. I don’t want to be nice. I would like to be a complete bastard. Just for once I want to be the all-conquering alpha male. I want to be the one who creates empires or, on a whim – if I’m in a bad mood – break them. Because it’s my fantasy I can be whomever I want. On one of my empire- building days I chance upon a tall, confident- sexy woman wearing black stockings and high heels. I’m not particularly good looking, nor do I have a young firm body. That’s the whole point to my fantasy. I am a bad- mannered, uncaring brute, but I possess, in abundance, that thing I lack most in real life, that ultimate of aphrodisiacs – power.
The woman I have chanced upon does not stand a chance. My seduction technique is to unleash my authority. Before long I have a transparent black G-string in my teeth. Did I mention those were my favourite? My wife tells me that it’s best if it just remains a fantasy because in real life, real women, will always prefer “nice” to “powerful.” I say, “But I want power, Babe. Lots and lots of it.” She gives me a hug and kiss. She says, “But you do, Babe. Your children think their father is the greatest man in the world – and I agree. How much more power do you want?” In a few moments she will leave for work. She will enter the lair of the alpha male at the epicentre of movers-and-shakers. She is an investment banker and I am a stay-at-home dad. In banker- speak she works in Front Office while I work in the Cost Centre. She earns the money and I spend it. Before she leaves, we discuss the day ahead. Due to several crises, she has meetings all day and will not be able to phone me. I must remember to fix the vacuum cleaner and that our daughter has pottery. She kisses me goodbye and leaves. I have no time to appreciate her sexy walk because I have crises of my own. I have the school trips to make but, before that, I have ballet shoes and a karate suit to find.
I have to get children in the car without letting the dog in, or, I have to get the dog out of the car without letting the children out. While the children are at school I have plenty of time to think. My wife is at work but I’m not. Why is this so hard to accept? Why do I feel so strong on some days, and yet, so emotionally weak on others? I dwell on life. If I love something I should set it free. If it comes back to me it will be mine forever, if it doesn’t it never was. This message was conveyed to me by a bumper sticker many years ago. From my, then, bulletproof and immature teen perspective, the message was trite tripe. It still is; but as I’ve got older, I’ve refined it to something believable. There is only so much I can change. There is very little about my present I can alter and exactly nothing about my past. I need to have faith, I need to trust, and I need to appreciate my worth. I know precisely whom I need to set free. It’s me.
By Bruce Clark
Published in Playboy South Africa September 2012