Most weekdays I get up at five thirty. I start the day with a cup of tea, a cigarette, and watch German breakfast television as I take my medication, eat breakfast and do my make-up. But every other week I get up half an hour earlier, a sacrifice I make because I have a crush on a presenter who is only on every other week and who normally only presents the first hour of the breakfast programme. Attraction is irrational and I still struggle to explain what I see in her, but a crush this definitely is.
I don’t spend the half hour fantasising, but rather watching and adoring. This is a lovely feeling and one I haven’t known since I fell in love with a school teacher over forty years ago. I look forward to this half hour in the stillness of the early morning. On the days I oversleep and miss her I can be in a foul mood all day. When I have worshipped I leave the house in the winter darkness with a spring in my step. The tiredness I suffer later on in the day is very much a price worth paying. Sometimes I take out my notebook on the train and write her a short love letter, one of the “letters I’ve written never meaning to send.” And I live in hope that she will one day follow me on Twitter.
So I, as a fifty five year old woman, find myself in love with an unattainable woman young enough to be my daughter. I will never meet her in real life, my love and devotion will never be returned. I know this and don’t care. I am sharing with you a part of my inner life, something that makes me happy.
This is something too that gives me emotional release and which helps in my depression and anxiety. Even though I don’t actively fantasise about her, and have never masturbated to her, she fuels my erotic imagination. A few days ago, it was a Saturday, my body clock woke me up at five. I rolled over in the darkness and searched for the alarm clock. Two more hours in bed I thought before I need to get up to go running. I dozed off into the light sleep where dreams unfold.
She came to me, stood before me. No words were said. I knelt before her, kissed her boots, gently and with devotion. I reached up, unbuttoned her jeans, pulled them down a little. I moved her panties to the side, gazed in awe at her magnificent cunt. I moved forward, wetted my tongue, then buried my face in the coarse, luxuriant hair and began to worship……
I woke up wet and with a deep feeling of contentment. I grabbed the notebook I keep on the bedside table and began to write. Some of my dream might end up in a story. Some of it will be transferred to real life. Then my lovers will feel for themselves the beauty of the crush, the magic that can be wrought by unrequited love.