So Kathy was 18.
We had met a while back; months ago, actually. I donât exactly remember who introduced themselves to whom, but one way or another we met, VIA Instant Messages of all things.
Kathy was a freshman in college. She still lived with her parents, attending BU to save money rather than going to an out of state college. She had described herself as tall, fair and thin, about 5â8, 120 lbs. She was a brunette, and very slim. Just my style, I said.
âWhat is it about white guys and skinny women?â she responded.
I had no idea, really, and still donât understand to this day the reason thin ones just do it for me. And I knew she was just as she described. Oddly enough, I trusted that she was who she said she was, that her name was Kathy, that she looked how she described herself, and that she was not some overweight old man in Boise.
In fact, she lived in Boston, and I was in Georgia, so we were sufficiently far away from each other to pretty much spill our guts to the other. And we did.
We talked about men and women and music and film and sexâŠlots of sex. She was a lot younger than I, so we had a lot to talk about. She pumped me for information, as a representative of the dumber sex, and I enjoyed her insights into what itâs like to be a young woman just starting out in her sexual life.
Kathy was remarkably open about such things. Her underwear preferences? Thongs only. Perfect, in my book. Her breasts? Sensitive, perky, could be bigger for her taste. Perfect for mine, however. Shaved? Everyday, clean as a whistle, smooth as a babyâs bottom. Bottom? Smooth, too, from daily lotioning. And her experiences? Not much, actually, other than giving loyal head to her then-boyfriend. She gave it pretty much whenever he wanted it, and she enjoyed it as well. But she got off too, either by her man or on her own. Her orgasms were her business, and a very serious one.
In fact, she masturbated frequently, and with zest. She confided in me her first time to have an orgasm, her best way of achieving them, and what made her so horny as to want to have them.
All of this, of course, was incredible information for me, a person who collects things about other peopleâs sexuality like a boy does baseball cards or comic books. I loved hearing what she had to say, and let her know it. In turn, she knew how much she turned me on, whether she meant to initially or not, so she began to actually try to make me more interested. When she asked if I had bee pleasuring myself to our conversation, I told her the truth immediately, and she seemed pleased. She said she would, too.
I was amazed. I half expected her to freak out and tell me to fuck off. But she didnât. She seemed to enjoy how much she interested me. And apparently I interested her as well.
So we started sharing in each otherâs pleasure, and frequently. It was almost a regular thing, meeting online, talking about the day, describing what each of us was wearing, then having mind-blowing orgasms.
After a while she finally got hold of her own digital camera, and sent me some photos. Sure enough, Kathy was very, very attractive. She had quite fair skin, which was fine with me. Her smile was bright and open, her eyes twinkling. And there were more than just photos of her face. Mixed in were photos of her in a bikini. Her body was thin but still developing, rounding, obviously still very firm. She wore little makeup. She didnât really need it.
Still later she sent more risqué photos. They were of body parts: the flatness of her tummy, the undersides of her breasts, those same breasts in a push up bra. Best of all, there were some of her ass, her perfect, tight ass, framed spectacularly in an assortment of very cute and very tiny thongs---my favorite. I cam a lot from them, and she came---or so she said---from being turned on by my excitement for her.
We never got farther than the fantasy, however, as we were both seeing other people. She was totally faithful to her young man, other than her regular fantasies with me, and I was deeply involved with a girl I had started seeing over a year before.
Well, that all changed. The relationship I had been having was either leading to marriage or split-up, and is it turned out, marriage wasnât to be. So we split. It was very hard for both of us. When I signed on the night my girl and I had called it quits, Kathy was sympathetic. We talked for hours, pretty much until my eyes hurt both from verging on tears as well as from staring at the damned computer screen for so long.
After a while, I was tired and distraught and ready to wrap the conversation up.
âSorryâŠâ she said. âI know it sucks. I wish I could helpâŠ.â
âIn a way, you canâŠâ I said, hinting at the brief relief a very strong orgasm would bring to the turmoil I was going through.
âIâd be happy to. But I wish there were some other wayâŠâ
âYou mean, you want me to call you?â I asked, astounded.
âNoâŠI mean, we could meet,â she said.
I was amazed. Meet? But she had her manâŠand I was so much olderâŠandâŠ
âRelax. My guy and I are taking some time off. You need some good news. I am that good newsâ.
I was flabbergasted. But she was exactly right. I needed someone, and more specifically I needed Kathy.
So all the plans were made. In two weekâs time, we were to meet halfway in Washington D.C. for a little Capital Holiday and---hopefully---some comfort. The weeks dragged on mercilessly. I saw my Ex every now and then. It was agonizing. Every time I did I looked forward to seeing Kathy.
In the meantime, I began to get ready. I worked out twice as much. I got tested immediately, as the results usually take a few weeks to get back, and she did the same, although her liaisons had been considerably fewer. As it turned out, we were both as clean as can be, and she was on the pill regardless. It would be very intimate.
I asked Kathy for her sizes and she told them to me, and I found her some very sexy lingerie I desperately hoped she would like, as lingerie shopping is a fervent passion of mine in any romantic relationship. I would arrange to have flowers sent to the hotel we were staying at, we would sight see. It would be a hell of a weekend, hopefully for us both.
Finally the time came. It took all my willpower not to speed all the way through North Carolina and Virginia. When I got to the hotel to check in, the front desk told me she had beat me there by half an hour. All I had to do was catch the elevator to our room, 1116. I was electrified.
