"Confidence John"

The girl was delicious. He honestly could have eaten her. The fine translucent hairs that covered her bronzed behind stood on end. They caught the perfect amount of simulated moonlight from the boxed in room's generator. She took her fingers and ran them playfully between her legs. She pressed them against his lips so that he'd know the scent and slip of her own. It was her way of teasing him - no, not hers. It was the way he'd written it down on paper. His ultimate fantasy in motion only a few inches out of his reach; a beautiful girl gyrating methodically, a silent ruckus to rouse his voyeuristic nature.

They were all his "ultimate fantasy". Each of them had been given the title for one reason or another. He remembered smiling on a few occasions early on, a child on a shopping spree in one of Portland's specialty toy shops.

Fun as it was, it wore thin - quickly. Yet John, he was addicted. To think that the magazine had been free. All of its pages damned him equally when he flipped over them. There were so many numbers to dial and pictures to see; so many opportunities to imagine and then realize that they could all be his. For a price, and temporarily. But for a moment long enough to last his memory a lifetime, they'd be John's.

(To Be Continued. . .)