One of my earliest fantasies, the one most pervasive and entrenched in my adult psyche, is that of being watched.

It started innocently enough, as poster after poster of Duran Duran were pinned to my walls. Eventually, there were a million eyes everywhere, and one day it occurred to me that maybe someone was actually watching. With so many eyes, there was nowhere to turn without some part being seen. Imagine, being watched at your most intimate, your most mundane, your most vulgar moments.

When a new man enters my life, I imagine him watching me, constantly. A secret audience to my every waking moment. Nothing I do escapes his notice, and yet he falls deeper and deeper in love with me despite this.

On Monday, I awoke with thoughts of J. on my mind as I got ready for work. I imagined him watching me stumble from bed to take a piss. I imagined him standing in a corner, watching me have cereal for breakfast. I fancied he had installed high-tech sourveilance in the lights of my bathroom to watch me shower. Would it be live feed, or recorded to watch later at his convenience? Was he aroused by my nakedness? Or disappointed that I did not touch myself for pleasure?

As I drove to work, I imagined him following me at a casual distance, trying not to be seen, but hoping for it as well. I imagined him popping out of my backseat as I pulled into the parking lot at work, then again sitting at my desk upon my approach.

Another piss, and would he be waiting in a stall to seduce me? Every time the door opened in the office, had he finally arrived to usher me away to some illicit afternoon rendevouz?

I ached for him constantly, remembering his cock and his nipples and the way his skin smelled and his hair felt.

I told myself I was silly, he would not be waiting for me at my car when I got off of work. Instead, I imagined what his day had been like. Had he touched himself while he showered, thinking of me? Had he found himself frozen, task forgotten, waking up from some frighteningly vivid recollection of my mouth on his body? Did he find my smell maddeningly coating his tongue two days after I'd gone? Did he concoct a reason to take an extra-long lunch break to relieve the tension of his swollen prick against his pants? Did he climb into his car at the end of the day, relieved it was finally over, but miserable that I was not there to caress him? Did he moan to himself as he drove, unable to forget the way my eyes met his, or the way I had sighed into his mouth?

All day, there was this presence. The memories swamped me, and when I shed them to get to work, there was still this feeling of being watched, appreciated, adored.

My favorite fantasy was the one dashed as I got to my car, but that I nonetheless allowed myself to spin farther on the drive to work.

He leaned against my car, everything covered in dew in the crisp, October morning. Except his breath steamed, and his eyes seared through me. He didn't say a word. I went into his arms, and they sealed behind me like iron shackles. Steel enclosed me, pushed me into him, and yet I was free to explode as I explored his mouth with my tongue. On the verge of collapsing into him, he instead directed me into the car.

He drove. How especially domineering of him. He didn't speak, so how did he know the way? And where were we going anyway? As we arrived at the park, I imagined him spending the early pre-dawn hours scoping out my neighborhood for a secluded spot. How else could he have so perfectly brought us straight here, when he had never been to this neighborhood but once before.

He got out of the car and I followed, wondering where we were going. As I stepped onto the curb, he came up to me, opened the back door, and shoved me into the backseat. He followed, ripping off his jacket as his mouth claimed mine. He bruised me a little, our teeth slamming into lips at his urgency.

My jacket not even bothered with, my shirt was pulled up and my bra torn down to reveal my breasts. He bit and sucked hard at a nipple while he fumbled with his belt. A moment later his hands were down my pants, and I moaned against his ear as his fingers sunk into me. Instantly his fingers found my g-spot as if he were born to this, and I melted into him. All possible shame at being caught in the daylight at a public park fell away as he kissed me again.

In no time at all his pants were down, his prick was out, and he was yanking my pants off of me. He looked up at me, pausing, and his eyes were wild. I was stunned and breathing hard, in a state of shock and extreme arousal at how fast things were going. Time stood still as we stared at each other, and I had the feeling he was trying furiously to decipher the look on my face the way I was trying to decipher his.

He leaned his head against mine and sighed heavily. He started to say something, and I covered his mouth with my hand. We layed there together, half naked, half clothed, panting.

He slid off of me to sit a bit away. He removed his shoes and his pants, his eyes never leaving mine, then sat back again and waited.

I only hesitated for a moment, and then I was peeling away my pants and ripping the shirt off my head. I settled onto his lap, but he held me over him and just looked into my eyes.

Still, neither of us said anything. Still, we both seemed to wonder what the other way thinking, behind the obvious layer of lust. Then his hands and his hips guided me into place and he slid inside of me.

We groaned together, but he was still not in all the way, as I discovered a moment later as he withdrew and then plunged further. He made me gasp, and when he saw that his eyes went even darker. His mouth captured mine and he began to work his cock in a rather enticing circle, grinding himself against my clit.

I whimpered and clutched at him, demanding more with my hips. He laughed, a throaty, glorious sound, and began to pump into me.

His rhythm was alien, but became entirely familiar after only a few thrusts. His hands were fierce on my waste, keeping me tight against him until I thought I might bruise or break or cry.

He shoved and bit and sucked and groaned. I trembled as I came in his arms, unable to do more than gasp I was so out of breath. His smile undid me, prolonging my orgasm, the small tingles developing quickly into enormous waves that blocked out all thought but for the feeling of his cock inside of me and his hands on my hips.

Finally, he made his own groan and released inside of me, his fingers finally bruising my shoulder and waste where his hands had drifted to anchor himself for the last movement. He shoved himself deeper than before, and I whimpered and teared up, the feelings finally too intense.

He settled and pulled me close, wiping at my tears, then stroking my hair. We sat like that for a few moments, until my knees began to scream and he sighed as I wiggled away. He clutched me harder for a brief moment, then let me slide away.

We got dressed and left, never having said a word to each other.