My Missing Pen Pal

Once I had a pen pal. He seemed like such a really nice man. I found him right here on Literotica. I had been looking for a story to read, perhaps something that was more romantic than graphic. Then for the first time I happened to scroll down the page below the stories and noticed the bulletin board. I clicked on there and saw lots of young studs looking for phone sex. However, hidden between all these ads was one from a middle-aged man, about my own age, who wrote a long and detailed bio about himself.

His description read as follows:

Romantic and caring and intelligent man looking for interaction with a romantic, caring, and intelligent woman. “

He said

“I love sunsets, warm moonlight nights, flowers, and opera.”

Oh good, I thought, “A romantic man, not just only erotic chat.” I read further and learned that he had a Ph.D. and had traveled over much of the world. He said he enjoyed interesting people from all over the world. He went on to say,

“I am looking for a middle-aged woman who is enchanting, interesting, and caring. Sweet would be a big plus. All I want to do right now ... all I can do right now … is exchange e-mails and perhaps pictures. But in the future???? Don’t know.”

He continued by saying,

“If you are a woman who wants to make contact with a caring man and you look forward to conversation that is a bit deeper than normal … and you can put up with a man who only lives in cyber space (at least in the beginning) then give me a try Give it a shot. What do you have to lose?"

Without another thought I clicked the reply button and sent him a couple of lines about myself.

I read the biography again. Ah, he stated he was a published author and had written a great deal of poetry. One of his stories was listed under the Romance section of this site. Quickly I searched it out. It was quite hot and steamy, but very well written. I wrote him another couple of lines to tell him I had enjoyed his story, and that I too enjoyed writing but had never thought I was good enough to submit anything for publication.

My heart rate quickened when next I turned on my computer and found a lengthy reply from him. It seemed he liked what I had what I had written about myself, which was just a brief physical description, and what I did for a living and where I lived. He wrote,

One thing I can really do is help you find the courage to write. If you want just write whatever you feel, about whatever you would like, as erotic or non-erotic as you feel like, and I would love to read it.” In the same e-mail he continued, “So, send me a description of your favorite fantasy. Be free. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Nobody is watching. You are free to be and feel whatever you want, to be whomever you want. Take off and let yourself fly. Or write me anything else you want. Anything you want is okay. Just let yourself flow with it.

He told me that he liked opera more than anything else and had always wished he had learned to play the violin. And he signed by saying, “By the way, my name is Shane.”

I could hardly wait to respond. Never having done this before I wasn’t sure where to begin. So I started at the beginning, by telling him the lengthy tale of how I came to be reading stories in Literotica to begin with. I didn’t want him to think I was some kind of cyber-slut who wrote to every person placing a personal ad. I don’t especially like opera so mentioned some of my favorite musicians, but I did ask if Evita counted, because I had really enjoyed both the stage production and Madonna’s movie.

His next reply warmed my heart when he said, “Yes, Evita counts!” He expressed such compassion and sympathy for the story of rejection I spilled out to him. It felt so good to be able to write to an unknown person who seemed to care, despite the fact that he had no clue who I was.

After I expressed difficulty in finding private computer time in my house he made the following suggestion:

We both need to recognize that we might not be able to get to a computer for whatever length of time. As a result either of us might see a break in time without a response from the other. Also, either of us may decide at some point, for whatever reason, that we have to stop writing. Sooo … I suggest an exchanged commitment. I won’t stop writing to you without telling you (unless I get hit by a bus). So if I haven’t written in a while don’t worry about. It only means that I am traveling (which I do a lot) or can’t get to a system. I would ask you for the same commitment.

Hey, no problem from my end, I never go anywhere anyway, which is probably why my life is incredibly boring most of the time.

Soon we were corresponding almost on a daily basis. Sometimes he would respond to my letters throughout the day in sections. He always had good comments to make and interesting things to say. I learned a little about his daily routine and shared some of mine. I heard about his family and was fascinated with the eloquent story he told of growing up on a ranch in rural Arizona. He was away most weekends sailing on his 47’ sloop, so I mentally made notes about questions I would like to ask him, and things I wanted to tell him: a particularly beautiful sunset I had watched, a brilliant rainbow, how blue the Pacific ocean was that day.

As the first month progressed I spent more and more time thinking about my mystery friend. I so looked forward to seeing the flag go up on the AOL mailbox telling me that there was a new letter waiting to be read. We started to plan out a story we would write together. We laid out the scenes, worked on the characters and the setting. It was a complex story of a romantic nature set in the eighteenth century. We knew the ending because it was my own story from a past life, which had been told to me by a psychic healer. We just needed to set out the beginning and the middle, and build up to the beautiful love scenes. I knew in the end that the lover dumped me big time, and left behind a brokenhearted woman.

One day I awoke early in the morning and a brand new story, one which had never occurred to me before, leapt out of me and into my computer. I wrote it for my pen pal. It had some references to his favorite opera in it, as well as a day of sailing because I knew that was one of his passions. He greeted the story with pleasure and enthusiasm and encouraged me to write more. Then he wrote a special story for me. It was long and descriptive and included a compelling love scene. I printed up a hard copy and kept it hidden in the bathroom cupboard, exactly what was needed to spice up a dull sex life. Oh, this was all so much fun – someone writing a story that was just for you. It was so exciting.

The minutiae of our daily lives continued along with our regular e-mail exchanges. I told him my most intimate secrets. I bared my soul to him. We decided to exchange photographs. Suddenly we were real people, not just print on a silver screen. He was a good looking guy, standing on a boat with a Tahitian scene for a backdrop. I am fairly striking, and looked pretty good in my picture, after just coming back from a work out at the gym. A stronger attraction started to form between us. (At least it did from my point of view!)

He taught me how to have private chat sessions, I am such a novice at all this high tech stuff. The second time we chatted I aroused him by fantasizing that I had landed behind his computer chair and couldn’t wait to feel the soft denim of his blue jeans. I ran my hands up and down the soft fabric until I could no longer resist and had to feel the bulge hidden beneath the thick seams at the crotch.

After that I did not hear from him for five days. He didn’t even acknowledge the chat session we had enjoyed. Immediately I imagined the worst: he had indeed been hit by a bus; he had drowned sailing; he had been in a plane wreck. I wrote twice hoping he was just in an extremely long meeting or his computer had crashed. When he did reply, it was to say that it was foolish of me to worry, hadn’t he in fact said he might not always be able to stay in contact? So true, silly of me to worry like that, especially about someone I really didn’t know. But, somehow it did seem as if we knew each other by now. He had even asked me one time, “Do you think perhaps we corresponded together in another life time?”

I realized I had been making too much of this non-relationship. I decided not to be so emotional. “Just keep the chatting neutral from then on” I told myself. “Detach myself more, don’t be so intense and look forward so much to hearing from him.” However the very next day he wrote the following piece:

I had a dream about you over the weekend. I started writing it down and maybe by next week it will appear … for now I will just it involved a night with moonlight moving about on the water like liquid silver. And whales … and walking up behind you while you were looking out to sea. And feeling my arms slip around your waist. And drawing your body up to mine … and feeling you settle back against me.. and feeling the skin of your cheek sliding back against mine. And feeling my lips gently touch the hollow at the back of your neck. And feeling our bodies swaying together in the warm breeze … moving together as one.

As listening to the sound of the waves as they lapped gently on the shore. And then seeing your face glowing in the moonlight as you finally turned to me. And feeling my hands as they cupped your face. And feeling your body melting into mine. The feel of your naked stomach sliding upon my warm skin, and then the rich taste as for the first time I leaned forward and pressed my lips to yours. And the way that I felt your lips. Hungry. Wanting. Seeking. And the way I felt your hands sliding down my naked back … and the way I felt the desire growing inside me. Ad the way I felt my manhood growing. And as my lips explored the sweetness of your mouth and your hands pressed me forward into you. I remember how it felt … the first time that my hard penis slid up and down your treasure box.

And as I kissed you harder and harder and the warmth of the night and the silver of the moon blended together into mystery and magic … and my hands slid down your naked back … and slid under your hips … and drew your magic closer and closer … and I could feel your breasts pushing up against my chest. And I could feel your heart pounding in your chest … and I felt wanting as I never have before. I felt myself wanting you. Needing you. As you moved your hips gently up and down, in rhythm with the breaking waves … and I kissed your lips so deeply as you moved your body up and down, sliding your lips along the tip of my aching member. And I remember the feeling of your tongue sliding gently into my mouth, tentative, probing, seeking pleasure … just as for the first time the tip of my member slid slowly into …You will have to imagine the rest. Until it is finally written down.

I thought it was the most beautiful scene I had ever read. I was completely enamored all over again, I was smitten, I was filled with desire. I wanted him. At the same time I wondered, “How could he be angry with me one moment and then write something so compelling the next?”

However, after a few days I couldn’t resist writing the following introductory piece back to him:

It had been a sunny day with just the hint of a breeze to cool things off. The sun had dropped behind the horizon and the full moon was already casting a silver shoon across the rippling waves. I stood at the water's edge and gazed across the vast Pacific. When the beach had emptied of the few folks who had been basking in the sun during the day, it was all mine. I had walked along the shore and was certain there was nobody else around. I peeled off my black bikini and walked slowly into the ocean feeling it cool against my warm skin. It was a long time since I had gone skinny-dipping, but it felt delicious to be so free, unencumbered by straps. I just wished I could have bathed naked in the sun during the day and rid myself of those white stripes. Now I was relaxed and enjoying the feeling of the salty water drying slowly on my skin. My little triangle of curls was fluffed up from the water and still dripping. I was thinking, "It's so long since I've heard from Shane. He must be out there somewhere on the other side of the Pacific in his boat. Perhaps he's sitting naked writing a story that I'll get to read some day. It would be just so perfect if he was actually here to enjoy this beautiful evening.

I heard a slight noise behind me, but felt so tranquil that I didn't bother to turn around. Suddenly I felt hands gently slip around my waist and up under my bare breasts. I felt my heart quicken and my breathing grow deeper, but it wasn't from fear. Oh no, not fear at all, but excitement. A voice whispered into my ear, "Yes, I'm here." And I leant back against his firm chest feeling the coarse hair brushing my back. His lips pressed against the nape of my neck and I felt my breathing becoming deeper still. He ran his hands down my hips and thighs and waves of pleasure surged up inside me. He moved his hands back up and cupped each breast and gently squeezed my erect nipples, until I could bear it no longer and had to spin around and thrust my head against his chest and dig my fingers deep into the hollows of his lower back.

After that we exchanged more photographs with each other. He sent me pictures he had taken of a sunrise, I sent a sunset. He sent me the mountains near his home, I sent him a beautiful beach. Each picture, each letter seemed to connect us closer together in my mind.

I started to write another story and asked if he would like to pick it up and write the part for the man. I kept the first scene very general so that he could take it and go whichever way he chose. A couple of weeks later he sent the second part back to me. It had taken a completely different direction to the one I would have expected. It made it even more fun. Suddenly I knew how the whole story would play out and had no trouble tapping out the third episode.

While I waited for him to work on the next portion he wrote me this next piece, which I now thought of as “The Moonlight Sonata.”

Your skin feels so lovely as it feels silky smooth against mine. I can feel the delicious warmth of your body as you press it against me. I can feel the electricity begin to spark as you gently lift your face to mine. And my lips reach down and gently kiss yours. You hold our bodies together as one as I move my hands up and gently cup your face. I hesitate for a moment. Stopping. Filled with wonder at how beautiful you really are. My eyes are lost in yours as I watch the light dancing in your eyes. I move my hands gently up and down. Feeling the fine texture of your skin. Ever so lightly, like a feather drifting in a warm afternoon breeze, my fingers slide up and down your cheeks. Amazed by how incredible you feel. My lips return to your neck. As I kiss you gently at the nape of your neck I feel your hands drawing us even closer together.

My lips move back to yours and again I kiss you. I can hear a gentle moan, forming deep in your soul. And it escapes and mixes with the intoxicating sound of the moonlight waves gently lapping on the shore.

For us there is no time. There is no place. There are no sorrows. No worries. Only each other. Drifting together in a dimension beyond normal existence. My lips move gently on yours as I feel yours soft and full beneath mine.

I kiss you stronger, and feel your kiss as it returns. My hands move down to your shoulders. Moving gently over the white stripes on your shoulders. Gently kneading the soft and creamy skin. I feel the desire building in your kisses. Your body is moving slowly up and down against mine.

I kiss you harder. My breath is coming faster. I wonder if you can feel my heart beginning to beat within my chest. I can feel your taught nipples sliding up and down in the coarse hair of my chest, the feel of your breasts on my chest drive my onward. I kiss you fully. Deeply. My lips move against yours. I want you so badly.

I open my mouth so slightly. Wanting to feel your tongue. Wanting to feel you enter me. Then my hands move down and I hold them against the sides of your breasts. Pushing gently against them as you slide them up and down.

I feel your tongue enter my mouth. Tentatively. Slowly. And I gently suck it into my mouth. My hands move against your breasts. They feel so soft and so wonderful. I can feel my manliness growing as the patch of hair outside your woman's treasure moves up and down against it.

My desire grows as I feel your naked skin on mine. I plunge my tongue into your mouth and move it all around. My hands find your breasts. I am moving all around them. My member is hard. And wanting. My breath is hard and rapid. I can feel yours warm and wet in my ear.

Suddenly my need is enormous. I want to feel you. I want to experience every inch of you. My hands are making circles around your breasts. The circles tighten. I kiss you faster and faster. Deeper and deeper. Then the tight circles find your breasts.

I draw my fingers around them. Pulling each. Stretching them. You kiss me frantically and my lips are so hungry for yours, as my fingers find your erect nipples. They drive me wild as my fingers play with them. I roll them. Squeezing gently. Pulling. Rolling.

I work to hold them as your body is moving faster and faster up and down mine. My penis is hard and throbbing. I can feel it curving up. I pull harder on your nipples. and crush your breasts with my hands as I hear your deep throat moans. As your body moves up and down I can feel your body against my hardened shaft. The head slips inside you for just a second. Then slides up and through your honey patch. Then it slides against your silky stomach.

You move up and down. Faster and faster. You hold us together harder and harder. Each time I feel your honey lips slide around my penis ... for just a moment and then gone .. my heart beats even faster.

Oh, but his writing was so romantic, such a turn-on to read. I tingled and felt wet as I read this piece. He had such a way with words. To me he was truly a talented writer. I eagerly awaited the next episode of the joint story. I was sure his portion would include a wonderful hot and steamy love scene. The first story we had planned had fallen by the wayside, but he said he still wanted to write this one as well, when he had more time.

Finally part four arrived and since I already knew my ending I wasted no time in setting it in motion. He had a birthday that week too, and since my only gift could be one of words, I wrote a special story for him. I sent his birthday present early because I was so impatient to get his reaction. He said he truly loved it, and would say more about it in another e-mail.

Soon I had completed the last part of the joint story and sent it off to him the day before his birthday. I eagerly awaited his reply, so that we could discuss the way the story had turned out, the development of the characters, the various scenes, and a myriad other little details about the story. Back came his reply, “I liked it. I was surprised by the ending though. I’ll write more by Monday.”

I never did hear from my pen pal again. By then we had been corresponding for exactly three months. Remembering how he had been irritated earlier when I worried about his lack of correspondence, I did nothing for one week. Then I sent a short note simply saying, “Are you all right?” No answer. I waited another week, and then wrote saying, “I’m seriously worried now.” Still no response. Another week slid by, and the flag on my mailbox was never raised, at least not from him.

I saw an announcement in the local newspaper that a psychic who specialized in talking to people who had died, would be giving a lecture. I attended the lecture. She stopped next to me and said, “Has anyone here lost a friend in a boating accident?” Nobody said anything. She repeated it and looked at me. So I heard myself saying, “Well I have a friend who I haven’t heard from in a while, and he usually goes sailing every weekend.” She looked hard at me, and then said, “I’m sorry.” I was filled with dismay and grief. Was this why I had not heard from my pen pal in so long? Had he really died in a boating accident? At the end of evening she called me over, and I asked her how I could find out if my friend really had died. She suggested checking with his family, but that wasn’t possible, I didn’t know his family and knew only his first name. We had been playing a game where he wanted me to guess his last name, but I wasn’t being too bright and never did figure it out. Now I wished I had been smarter.