Living in Fantasy Land

For fifteen years, I had been your fantasy.

Not your wife. Not the woman waiting for you at home.

I was the woman at the other end of the phone.

Your Missy.

Your queen.

Your secret.

And perhaps that was part of what made it so powerful.

You couldn't see me.

You had my voice, my words, my imagination--but the rest was yours to create.

I called myself Missy, and there was something about that name that caught your attention.

Then there was my voice.

Soft.

A little husky.

Teasing when I wanted it to be.

Sometimes flirtatious.

Sometimes I'd let my sentences trail away, leaving just enough unsaid to make you wonder what I was going to say next.

You love that. Drives you wild

Before long, you had my direct number.

And then came those little messages.

"Are you about?"

Such ordinary words.

But somehow they became our little ritual.

If you were asking, I knew what you wanted.

And if I answered, you knew I was there.

And that was how our story began.

With nothing more than a voice.

⸻

Chapter Two -- The Man I Couldn't See

For fifteen years, you remained a mystery to me.

I knew your laugh.

Your humour.

Your mannerisms.

That gorgeous Irish accent.

I knew the things that made you excited, the things that made you laugh and the things you found difficult to say to other people.

You worked away from home, and gradually you began telling me things that lived inside your head.

Desires.

Fantasies.

Thoughts you couldn't always share elsewhere.

With me, you could.

There was no judgement.

No embarrassment.

Just us.

And it wasn't only you who got something from it.

I did too.

When everyday life became too ordinary, complicated or simply exhausting, I could disappear into our little world.

I could become someone different.

Someone confident.

Playful.

A woman who could say what she wanted.

And somewhere along the way, something unexpected happened.

We became friends.

Real friends.

You remembered things I'd told you.

You made me laugh.

You knew when to tease me and when to leave a little silence between us.

You made me feel wanted without making me feel pressured.

And that mattered.

Because slowly, without either of us really noticing, trust began to grow.

⸻

Chapter Three -- Green Eyes

For fifteen years, I knew you through your voice.

Your words.

Your imagination.

But I didn't know your face.

You never sent me photographs.

So I had to imagine you.

And believe me, I did.

Then one day you told me something.

You had green eyes.

Green eyes.

Well, that was another little gift for my imagination, wasn't it?

I could picture them immediately.

And I probably imagined them far more often than I should admit.

By then, I had learned something about you.

You liked anticipation.

You liked being made to wait.

And I discovered that I liked making you wait.

There was something about knowing that a pause, a look or a few carefully chosen words could get inside your head.

It wasn't nasty control.

It was softer than that.

A game.

Our game.

A little push.

A little pull.

Giving you just enough to keep you wanting more.

And the more we talked, the more our minds became the place where everything happened.

Clothes almost became irrelevant.

It was the words that mattered.

The imagination.

The things we could say to each other.

The things we didn't say.

And somewhere in all of that, you became more than just a voice on the phone.

You became someone I cared about.

⸻

Chapter Four -- Pandora's Box

Then Pandora's box opened.

Your fantasies became bigger.

More complicated.

And, if I'm honest, so did mine.

You had weekends with your partner, and I became part of the fantasy you carried with you.

I'd give you ideas.

Little suggestions.

Things to think about.

And then there was PayPal.

Yes, even money became part of our strange little world.

You would send me money, and gradually I realised that you enjoyed knowing you were helping me choose things.

Perfume.

Lipstick.

Clothes.

Lingerie.

You liked imagining me getting ready.

You liked knowing that something I'd chosen had your influence behind it.

And I liked knowing that, somewhere, you were thinking about me.

It wasn't really about the clothes.

Not entirely.

It was about anticipation.

Imagination.

The feeling that, even when we were miles apart, there was still a private little world that belonged to us.

You liked the idea of me going out looking gorgeous.

And I liked knowing that you were imagining exactly what I looked like.

But then your fantasies began to change.

They became deeper.

More daring.

And eventually, I began to understand exactly where your imagination wanted to take you.

And that was when things became very interesting.

⸻

Chapter Five -- The Woman Behind the Fantasy

I knew something about myself too.

I had always wanted more from life.

More freedom.

More adventure.

More opportunities to discover who I really was beneath all the everyday responsibilities.

Life, of course, had other plans.

There were nappies.

Bills.

Work.

Ordinary days.

Chicken-shop shifts.

Responsibilities.

The things that make up real life.

And perhaps that's why fantasy became so important.

It gave me somewhere to go.

Somewhere I could be Missy.

Somewhere I could be confident, glamorous, playful and completely free.

I even imagined another life.

A beautiful B&B somewhere in the south of France.

Or perhaps a château.

Themed rooms.

A pool.

A Jacuzzi.

A sauna.

Beautiful gardens.

Hidden corners.

And perhaps, at the end of one corridor, a room that nobody talked about too loudly.

A little mystery.

Because that's the thing about fantasy.

You don't need to explain everything.

Sometimes the mystery is the most exciting part.

I imagined myself behind the bar, watching people arrive.

Watching the little glances.

The things people didn't say.

Knowing that every person who walked through the door had a story of their own.

And perhaps, somewhere in that fantasy, there was a man who would finally understand me.

A man who would see the woman behind Missy.

⸻

Chapter Six -- What I Really Wanted

For years, I thought I wanted control.

And perhaps I did.

But the older I became, the more I realised what I really wanted wasn't harshness.

It was soft control.

I wanted a man who would worship me without making me feel trapped.

A man who opened doors.

Brought flowers.

Took the rubbish out.

Not because I demanded it, but because he wanted to make me happy.

Someone who could look at me and make me feel like I was the only woman in the world.

Not just physically.

Mentally too.

I wanted to be seen.

Really seen.

And perhaps that's what made Declan different.

Because somehow, you understood the buttons to press.

You knew how to make me laugh.

You knew how to make me think.

And I knew how to get inside your head too.

We had built our own language over the years.

A look.

A pause.

A suggestion.

A little tease.

And then, eventually, those fantasies began to feel less like distant ideas and more like something we might actually experience.

Until one day, we decided to meet.

After fifteen years...

we were finally going to see what was real.

⸻

Chapter Seven -- The Meeting

A hotel.

Neutral ground.

Somewhere neither of us belonged.

Somewhere we could finally discover whether fifteen years of words could survive the moment we were standing in the same room.

I remember getting ready.

I was a middle-aged grandmother, five foot six, voluptuous and curvy, with chocolate-brown eyes, dramatic lashes and my vivid siren-red pixie cut.

I wanted to look like the woman you had imagined.

But perhaps I also wanted to surprise you.

I chose a burgundy velvet dress.

Double-breasted.

Large buttons.

A neckline that revealed just enough.

And underneath it, something I'd chosen with you in mind.

I looked at myself in the mirror before leaving.

For a moment, I wondered who I was actually dressing for.

You?

Me?

Or the mysterious man I'd spent fifteen years imagining?

The hotel was busy that day because of a work function.

People everywhere.

Laughter.

Conversation.

People coming and going.

And there I was, standing near the entrance, looking for a man I had known for fifteen years but had never actually seen.

You had chosen the place carefully.

You knew where you could sit and see the entrance.

But I didn't know where you were.

And then...

I saw you.

⸻

Chapter Eight -- Those Eyes

I didn't know your face.

But somehow, I recognised you.

Something about the way you moved.

The way you carried yourself.

Something familiar.

I looked twice.

Then the man turned.

And there they were.

Those green eyes.

Those bloody green eyes I'd spent years imagining.

Suddenly, the mystery had a face.

And somehow, you were even more real than the man I'd created in my head.

I remember thinking...

Wow.

My dream man was actually standing in front of me.

You were wearing the white shirt I'd imagined, the first few buttons undone, dark-blue Armani jeans and your black leather biker jacket.

And then there was your fragrance.

Neon Amber.

Woody and light, with that hint of Japanese citrus and something warm underneath.

I leaned closer.

"You smell delicious."

You smiled.

And that smile told me you knew exactly what you were doing to me.

Or perhaps you were just as nervous as I was.

For once, I couldn't tell.

And I liked that.

You looked at my dress.

I looked at you.

Then you held out your hand.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Fifteen years.

Fifteen years of talking.

Fifteen years of imagining.

Fifteen years of wondering.

And now your hand was right there in front of me.

I took it.

After fifteen years, I finally had you in front of me.

⸻

Chapter Nine -- The Lift

You gently led me towards the lift.

"Shall we go to the room?" you asked. "We can order room service if we need it."

The words sounded innocent enough.

But suddenly they didn't feel innocent at all.

We stepped into the lift.

The doors closed.

And for the first time in fifteen years, there was nowhere for either of us to hide behind a telephone.

The mirrors reflected us back at ourselves.

You beside me.

Me beside you.

Our hands still joined.

Neither of us said much.

Perhaps there was nothing left to say.

Or perhaps there was too much.

I remember looking at you and wondering what was going through your mind.

Was this the moment you'd imagined?

Was I what you expected?

Were you looking at me and thinking about all those years?

Or were you wondering what was going to happen once those lift doors opened?

I didn't ask.

Some things are better left unanswered.

Because mystery is part of the magic.

The lift began to rise.

And neither of us let go of the other's hand.

Then the doors opened.

⸻

Chapter Ten -- Behind the Door

We stepped out.

The corridor was quieter than the lobby below.

No laughter.

No crowds.

Just the sound of our footsteps.

You beside me.

Me beside you.

And somewhere ahead was the room.

For fifteen years, I'd imagined so many versions of this moment.

But none of them could have prepared me for the reality of walking beside you.

I looked at you.

You looked at me.

And for a moment, neither of us moved.

There was something almost surreal about it.

The man I'd known for fifteen years was no longer a voice coming through a telephone.

He was standing right there.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to look into those green eyes I'd imagined for so long.

The dress was real.

The scent was real.

The woman behind the voice was real.

And so were you.

My gorgeous Irishman.

You reached for the door.

And I remember thinking that, whatever happened next, there would be no going back to the way things had been before.

The key turned.

The door opened.

And for the first time in fifteen years...

we were about to discover what happened when the fantasy met reality.

THE FIRST LOOK

For fifteen years, I had known your voice.

I knew your moods.

I knew your humour.

I knew the things that made you tick.

I knew your fantasies, your desires, your little ways of teasing me, and all the things you would never have said to just anyone.

But I had never seen your face.

Not once.

So when I imagined finally meeting you, my imagination went into overdrive.

I imagined myself standing there at the hotel entrance, waiting for you.

I'm 5'6", a middle-aged grandmother, voluptuous, with chocolate-brown eyes and dramatic lashes. My hair is a vivid siren-red pixie cut -- because, obviously, if I'm going to make an entrance after fifteen years, I might as well make sure you remember it.

And I'd be wearing my burgundy power suit.

No blouse.

Just the black bra you bought me.

Because why make things easy for you?

The whole look had that Ann Summers glamour about it -- sexy, confident and just a little bit wicked.

And then there was you.

My dream man.

Crisp white shirt, the first three buttons undone.

Dark-blue Armani jeans.

Oxblood Dr Martens.

Black leather biker jacket.

Exactly the sort of man my imagination had been creating for all those years.

But then I saw your eyes.

Green.

Those bloody green eyes.

After fifteen years of imagining you, that was the first thing that really stopped me.

And then came your smile.

That smile I had never seen but somehow already felt I knew.

And your scent.

Neon Amber.

Woody, warm and light, with that Japanese citrus note running through it.

Something fresh, but with warmth underneath.

You smelled delicious.

And suddenly, there you were.

Not a voice.

Not a name on my phone.

Not a fantasy.

You.

Standing right in front of me.

After fifteen years of mystery, I finally got to look at the man I had spent so long imagining.

And I wondered if you were looking at me and thinking the same thing.

Is this really Missy?

Is this the woman behind the voice?

The woman who had been in your head for all those years?

Because I knew exactly who I was looking at.

My Declan.

My gorgeous Irishman.

And for the first time, those green eyes weren't something I had imagined.

They were looking straight back at me.

Declan -- Part Five

For fifteen years, I had been your fantasy.

Not your wife.

Not the woman waiting for you at home.

I was the woman at the end of the phone.

Missy.

Your queen.

Your secret.

The woman who existed in that private space we had created together.

We built that world out of words, laughter, longing and trust.

You were married, and as far as I knew, you had never crossed that line in the way people usually mean when they talk about betrayal.

What we had was different.

It existed in its own little world.

And eventually, we decided that if we were ever going to meet, a hotel was the obvious choice.

Neutral ground.

Somewhere neither of us belonged.

Somewhere we could simply meet as two people who had known each other for fifteen years without ever actually standing face-to-face.

I had no idea what you would look like.

I didn't know how tall you were.

I didn't know your build.

I didn't know how you carried yourself.

All I had were the little details you had given me over the years.

Green eyes.

Your voice.

Your mannerisms.

And my imagination.

So, naturally, I had to decide what I was going to wear.

I chose a burgundy velvet dress.

Double-breasted, with big buttons and a very low neckline.

Underneath it, I wore the sheer black lingerie you had given me as a reward.

Because, after all those years, I wasn't going to turn up looking like I'd popped out for a Sunday lunch.

The hotel was busy that evening.

There was a work function going on, so people were dressed up, laughing, drinking and moving around everywhere.

And somewhere amongst all those people was you.

You already knew what I looked like.

You knew exactly who you were looking for.

You'd chosen a place where you could see the entrance.

And then...

I saw you.

I didn't recognise your face, because I'd never seen it before.

But I recognised something.

The way you moved.

The way you carried yourself.

Something about you simply felt familiar.

And then you turned.

Those green eyes caught mine.

And suddenly, I knew.

It was you.

My Declan.

After fifteen years of hearing your voice, I was finally looking into your eyes.

And then I noticed your fragrance.

Neon Amber.

Woody and light, with that Japanese citrus and warmth underneath.

I smiled.

"You smell delicious."

You smiled back.

Then you held out your hand.

And I took it.

Just like that.

Fifteen years of talking.

Fifteen years of imagining.

And suddenly we were standing there, holding hands.

You looked at me.

I looked at you.

And neither of us really needed to say much.

Then you said:

"Shall we go to the room? We can order room service if we need it."

And that was it.

You took my hand, and we walked towards the lift together.

Hand in hand.

The lift doors opened.

We stepped inside.

And there we were.

Surrounded by mirrors.

Two people who had spent fifteen years creating a world between them, now standing side by side in the same small space.

For once, there was no phone between us.

No screen.

No distance.

Just you.

And me.

And fifteen years of everything we'd imagined.

Part Seven

Seeing you standing there in that hotel was surreal.

For fifteen years, you had existed in my imagination.

I had pictured you in so many different ways that I'd almost convinced myself I already knew what it would feel like to see you.

But imagination is one thing.

Reality is another.

And then I saw those eyes.

Green.

Not just green either.

Emerald.

They stopped me in my tracks.

And there was your fragrance again.

Neon Amber.

That warm, woody scent with the lightness of Japanese citrus.

It suited you.

Everything about you somehow seemed to fit the man I had created in my head.

And yet you were still completely your own person.

That was the strange thing.

I had spent so many years imagining you, but now there was a real man standing in front of me.

Still married.

Still living the life you had chosen.

And I hadn't come there to replace your wife.

I wasn't there to become someone else.

I was Missy.

Your secret.

Your fantasy.

The woman who had existed in that private world we had created together.

You held out your hand.

And I let you lead me.

That surprised me.

I had never been someone who simply followed.

Usually, I was the one taking the lead.

The one in control.

The one deciding where things went.

But with you, surrender felt right.

Not because I had lost control.

Because I trusted you enough to let go of it.

We walked towards the lift.

Your hand in mine.

The doors opened.

We stepped inside.

Again, those mirrors surrounded us.

And suddenly, after fifteen years of voices and imagination, there we were.

Together.

Close enough to see every little expression.

Close enough to feel the reality of the moment.

I looked at you.

You looked at me.

And for a moment, neither of us spoke.

The lift seemed to move far too slowly.

Or perhaps it was me who wanted time to slow down.

Because once those doors opened, the fantasy would have to become something else.

The doors finally opened.

You looked at me.

I looked at you.

And together, we stepped out towards the room.

Part Nine

This didn't happen overnight.

It had been building for years.

Slowly.

Quietly.

Conversation by conversation.

Over time, you became more demanding.

Not nasty.

Not unpleasant.

Just increasingly hungry for that next little rush.

It was an addiction.

It still is.

You need your fix.

There were times when our calls became intense, especially when you were listening through the loudspeaker.

You'd drift into that dreamy, suspended state where everything around you seemed to disappear.

And I knew exactly where your mind was going.

Then there were the PayPal purchases.

Sexy clothes.

Lipstick.

Lingerie.

Little things that became part of our game.

Part of the fantasy.

Part of the anticipation.

Your fantasies evolved too.

At first, it was about the idea of your wife receiving attention from another man.

Then something changed.

The fantasy became more about the feelings behind it.

The jealousy.

The excitement.

The uncertainty.

The thought of someone else noticing what was yours.

I could see it happening.

And I took control slowly.

Very slowly.

I let you believe you were choosing each step.

And perhaps, in a way, you were.

I simply knew which buttons to press.

I knew when to encourage you.

When to tease you.

And when to leave you wondering what might happen next.

Sometimes I'd send you photographs from nights out.

You'd imagine what I was wearing.

Who might notice me.

What might happen.

And I loved knowing that your imagination could take something completely innocent and turn it into something much more exciting.

That was always one of the things I loved about us.

The reality could be ordinary.

But inside your head?

Anything was possible.

Part Ten

Eventually, it got to the point where your wife wasn't getting much attention.

And I understood that.

She was beautiful.

She was your home.

She was the life you had chosen.

I never wanted to diminish that.

What I knew was that what we had could give you a completely different kind of intensity.

Something separate.

Something secret.

Something that belonged only to us.

I knew what your ultimate fantasy was.

And eventually, I surrendered to it.

Not because I was being forced.

Because I wanted to.

That's the thing about a soulmate, isn't it?

It isn't necessarily the person you build a conventional life with.

Sometimes it's the person who makes you feel seen.

Wanted.

Understood.

Safe enough to explore the parts of yourself you usually keep hidden.

In our secret world, you were mine.

And I was Angela.

Your queen.

Your temptation.

The woman who knew how to awaken a part of you that no one else seemed able to reach.

And perhaps that was why our connection became so powerful.

It wasn't simply about sex.

It was about being understood.

About knowing that there was another person out there who could see the hidden parts of you and not judge them.

Someone who could take those secret thoughts and turn them into something you could actually explore.

And I loved being that woman for you.

Part Eleven

Sometimes I wonder what my life might have been like if I hadn't had a child.

I wanted freedom.

Exploration.

Sexuality.

Discovery.

I wanted to experience life without always having to worry about what was expected of me.

The Chatlines gave me somewhere to explore that side of myself.

A place where I could become whoever I wanted to be.

And, of course, my imagination went completely wild.

I imagined owning a B&B.

Or perhaps a Château in the south of France.

Something beautiful and slightly mysterious.

Themed rooms.

A pool.

A Jacuzzi.

A sauna.

And, naturally, one mysterious room that nobody quite talked about.

The sort of place where adults could come and explore their fantasies in a safe environment, with everyone knowing their boundaries and respecting them.

The women working there would be independent, consenting adults, each with their own limits and their own reasons for being there.

And behind the bar would be Madame.

Watching.

Listening.

Observing the guests.

Noticing the little looks.

The tiny glances.

The things people didn't say out loud.

Because sometimes the unspoken things are the most interesting.

Perhaps there would be a little cuckold who had earned his place there through trust.

Through the private language he shared with his queen.

Through those little glances that said far more than words ever could.

And that was the magic of it.

The mystery.

The possibility.

The feeling that something could happen without knowing exactly what it would be.

Because that's what fantasy does.

It leaves the door slightly open.

And lets your imagination decide what's waiting on the other side.

Part Twelve

But instead of a Château in France, there were nappies.

Chicken-shop shifts.

Bills.

Responsibilities.

Real life.

The dreams became fantasies.

And the fantasies became somewhere I could escape to whenever I needed to.

Sometimes I'd imagine writing a book.

Making a fortune.

Buying that hotel or Château in France.

Creating my own little adult paradise.

Themed rooms.

A beautiful garden.

Hidden corners.

Places where people could disappear into their own fantasies for a while.

And, of course, that mysterious room.

Because mystery is the best part of fantasy.

You don't need to know exactly what is behind the door.

Sometimes it's much more exciting simply wondering.

After the Chatline, I started a dressing service.

I had requests from sissies who wanted to serve their queen.

French maids who wanted to dust, polish and mop floors.

People came to me with their dreams, and I genuinely enjoyed helping them fulfil them.

But there was something I couldn't ignore.

I was helping everyone else explore their fantasies while I was still hurting inside.

Because I couldn't seem to find my own Knight in shining armour.

Although, knowing me, it would probably have been a Knight in shining chain.

And I do like nice leather.

Soft.

Good quality.

The sort of leather you actually want to touch.

What I wanted wasn't harsh control.

It was soft control.

I wanted a man who worshipped me.

A man who opened doors.

Brought me flowers.

Took the rubbish out without being asked.

Cleaned up after himself.

A man who looked at me as though I was the only woman in the world.

Not just physically.

Mentally too.

Someone who could make me feel like a queen without needing me to demand it.

And perhaps that's why Declan fitted so naturally into that part of my imagination.

I knew which buttons to press.

I knew what would make you want that perfume.

That dress.

That particular fantasy.

I knew how to tempt you into buying things that would become part of the world we were creating.

The online cuckold fantasies.

The clothes.

The nights out.

The drinks.

And honestly, why should I pay for the drinks if men are going to be looking at my cleavage?

I'd much rather let you enjoy imagining it.

And that was always the fun.

Taking something ordinary and turning it into something that belonged to us.

Until eventually, all those fantasies brought us back to that hotel.

It was busy.

There was a work do going on.

People were dressed up, laughing, drinking and enjoying themselves.

And then I saw you.

You were heading towards the bar.

And, naturally, the first thing I noticed was your backside.

Well...

I'd waited fifteen years.

I was allowed a look.

And then it hit me.

Wow.

My dream man was actually standing in front of me.

After fifteen years of being your online lover.

Your queen.

Your secret.

The woman at the end of the phone.

There you were.

Real.

You had never cheated on your wife.

You had never crossed that line in the way people usually think of it.

And yet somehow, after all those years, we had ended up standing in the same hotel.

Surrounded by people who had absolutely no idea what history was standing right in front of them.

You looked at me.

Then you held out your hand.

And I took it.

I followed you.

And that was probably the strangest part of all.

I had never been someone who followed.

Usually, I took the lead.

Usually, I was the one in control.

But with you?

Surrender felt right.

Not frightening.

Not forced.

Just right.

You held my hand as we walked towards the lift.

And I let you lead me.

The doors opened.

We stepped inside.

Hand in hand.

And there we were again, surrounded by mirrors.

Fifteen years of voices.

Fifteen years of fantasy.

Fifteen years of wondering what this moment might feel like.

And now it was happening.

You looked at me.

I looked at you.

Then you said:

"Shall we go to the room? We can order room service if we need it."

And we walked out of the lift together.

Towards the room.

Towards whatever came next.

Because after fifteen years of imagining you...

I finally had my gorgeous Irishman standing beside me.

And everything had.