October 24, 1998
Sir,
You asked me about the man who occupies my time on Monday and Thursday nights.
I met him almost a year ago--when I was with someone else. My lover at the time performed with a jazz band and was appearing at a local club. On the night in question, my then lover came to my home just as I stepped out of the shower. Still dripping wet, he carried me to my bed and made love to me, bringing me up to the point of orgasm, but not allowing me to climax. Then, with my nipples hardened almost to the point of pain, pearls of moisture clinging to my pussy, my clit throbbing rhythmically, he told me to finish getting ready to go out.
While I put on my makeup and dried and styled my hair, he chose my attire for the evening: a short cobalt blue wrap-around dress of heavy silk, cut on the bias so that it clung to my body. Under it, I was to wear only a garter belt and black nylons. He chose black high-heeled shoes with straps that wrapped around my ankles.
When I finished my hair and makeup, he slowly massaged my still trembling body with perfumed skin cream, paying special attention to my breasts, my pussy, my ass and my inner thighs. He also spent a great deal of time caressing my lower back--he knew that I can climax just by being lightly stroked and tickled there. He then dressed me: pulling the nylons over my calves, up my thighs and attaching the stockings to the garter belt. He slipped the high heels on my feet, wrapping and buckling the straps around my ankles. Finally, he helped me put my dress on, stroking me as he wrapped the silken fabric around my body. He caressed my breasts through the dress, smiling in satisfaction as my nipples pressed through the material, plainly visible. He asked me to stroll back and forth across the room several times, smiling at the way that my breasts bounced and the way that the silk cupped my ass as I walked.
It was in this condition that he took me to the club where he was performing, seated me at a table with friends and took the stage.
It was a pleasant enough evening, and I was able to talk and laugh with our friends, but most of the time I listened to the music, feeling the bass reverberate through my body and thinking about my hungry pussy--and what I would do to my lover when I got him home that night.
About an hour into the evening, I excused myself to use the ladies' room. When I exited, I saw a man in the corridor, dressed in a black silk shirt, black leather jeans and black boots. His back was to me--he turned at the sound of my heels echoing on the tiled floor and slowly looked me up and down as I approached, a sensual, lazy smile--actually a leer--spreading across his face and he deliberately blocked my path.
I asked him to excuse me, and he asked what I would give him in order to pass. I laughed and told him that I would give him nothing.