I paused silently and smoothed the lavender drapes of my dress. Anticipation clouded my senses, but luckily we'd discussed this moment for over a year. I was just to show up. In this elegant hotel, I would finally meet my intangible lover. I'd envisioned thousands of endings, but there was only one way to find out. I opened the door, slowly, hand shaking.
I stepped into the room, dark as planned. Instinctively, my hand rose to a light and you caught it. I flinched. You were beside me; I was expecting an advancing silhouette. But your contact was strong, as I knew it would be.
Following your graceful lead, I stepped into your embrace. It was formal and polished. Like those ballroom competitions I secretly love on T.V. I delighted in the pressure of your hand at my hip.
When you said my name, "Laura," slow and sultry, as erotica itself, I clung to you, a disintegration of our choreographed pose. I pressed every inch of my body into your confident frame. I looked up, oh so curious. I loved looking up, but in the darkness, no clues were revealed. I didn't care.
"Tony" I choked slightly, unable to trust my vocal cords, much less my quivering knees and accelerating pulse. My tears began to fall. I was finally in your arms: finally held by the man who knew all my serious goals, petty disappointments, and lusty ambitions.
"Baby, don't cry," you said. Your grasp never faltered. I felt the sweetest kiss ever, planted at my hairline. An air of calm settled. I chastised myself for the immediate drama, and suppressed my desire to plead, "Don't ever let me go."
But my lips could not be restrained. After one sloppy miscalculation, I found your mouth, eager and honest. Anxiously, I kissed, and my body screamed for everything at once. I wanted you bad, in all the worst ways: your tongue in my mouth, your grip on my flesh, and your cock in my cunt. Good God, you had driven me from sentimental to vulgar in just thirty seconds.
But your kiss steadied mine; oh, your control. Again I was overwhelmed by your reaction, like a diligent father grasping the wrist of a wide-eyed child in the midst of hurling her awkward body across a busy street. My insecurity censured again. No father analogies. Our age difference was just one of the realities hopefully obscured by the darkness.
It was a silly plan, this meeting in the dark. It was born of anxiety that we might not be visually attracted, but I was unsurprised by my arousal. Our intense contact was merely a confirmation of everything we had already shared.
"Come here, Cyber-lover," was your light-hearted invitation, and yet I heard a wrinkle in your voice. I was silently pleased to know this was affecting you as well. We stuttered toward the bed, blind and determined to remain entangled. I could feel your smile. I extracted an arm, wiped under my eye. As we toppled together your warm hand brushed back my hair and returned to my neck. Like water melts sugar, I felt my skin dissolved at your touch.
"I can't believe it's you," I gasped.
"It's me," you said, punctuated with both a kiss and a waking pinch.
"Say something else," I demanded. "I want to hear your voice."
You laughed, and I blushed warm inside. I wanted nothing more than to make you happy. Throughout months of email we'd unnecessarily deprived ourselves of even one call, not a single real-time chat, or even an attached photo (although I both begged and teased on that one.)
"Why did we wait so long?" You articulated my thoughts.
"So, it would be this good," I said and snuggled closer into you, if that was at all possible.
"Relax," you instructed, gently placing my arms at my side. "I want to explore you."
My frustrated whimper protested, but if I had ever trusted someone, it was you. Your tiny inquisitive kisses canvassed my face, delicately avoiding my parted lips. I felt every nerve on alert as your feather-light touch traced across my collar-bone, shoulders, and arms.
Contact to my palms was too much. I giggled and grabbed you. "Didn't I ever tell you how sensitive I am right there?" I massaged your shoulders with open hands. "Right here," and I directed your fingers to my palm, then wiggled, enraptured. "And the bottoms of my feet, too. It's the silliest thing." You flicked the tip of your tongue across the newly discovered spot. "Ooooo," I had to pull away, yet loved every lick.
"I want to know all your little spots," you replied and returned to the tactile investigation. But I couldn't lay still, not with your hot breath at my chest and gentle hands outlining my curves. Even though my skin was obscured through layers of clothing, I was frantic. I grabbed your biceps and squeezed. Urgency was eating me up inside.
"You're driving me crazy," I pleaded. My entire body tingled and ached. That particular lower region raged with a need to be filled.
But you caught me mid-cry. "We have all the time in the world. Just enjoy."
I tried to ignore the nagging reality that our time together was far from infinite. Your marriage, however unconventional, placed a premium on every second of this orchestrated rendezvous. And yet, I knew I must put those thoughts aside if I wanted to experience its ultimate potential.
I tittered to myself. Enjoyment was certainly not going to be a chore. I felt my seductress side emerging.
"Oh, you think it's so easy?" I retaliated in response to your insistence on passivity. "You ought to try it." With a burst of boldness, I pushed you back and straddled your thighs. "Just relax," I said, mocking, as I licked a trail to your neck. "Lay still, don't you move." I nibbled your earlobe, inhaling your scent and caressing your cheek with my own.
I felt your fingers playfully brush my dress up above my knees. Oh, God, I trembled, yearning so badly to grind my crotch into yours. I needed to confirm my suspicion of mutual need. And yet I wanted to inflict on you equivalently delicious torture. "Nope." I swatted your hands. "Not yet. Be still or I'll be forced to take more drastic measures." This was so fun.
I allowed you a little responsiveness to a mouth-to-mouth kiss but then pulled away righteously, my cheeks straining from my smile. I left a peck on your nose, between your brows, and then brought my hands to your hair. I tousled and inhaled, adding sensory details to your previous description of blond, slightly gray. Relishing your breath at my bust, satisfying knowledge that you were smothered in cleavage was perhaps a priority motivation.
"Are you pleased with your investigations so far?" You asked as I sat up to clear my head.
"Emphatically," I replied, overjoyed with my ability to answer honestly. "Am I what you expected?"
"Even better," you said. My heart ricocheted. I made no protest as you took hold of both my breasts firmly. I pressed into you. Sharp thrilling pain flashed from my sensitively engorged nipples pinched in the crease between your fingers. "You are beautiful, Laura."
Oh, the sweet sincerity in your voice! I was liquefied. What better way to know your body than to mold around it. I slid my legs down the outside of yours. Yes, tall and fit as you described. But the warmth and the dynamic humanity of your hard thighs was not something easily translated into words.
My God, there you were. Through several layers I felt the perfect outline of your rock-solid cock. Vaginal muscles quivered and my hot little pussy gasped for your girth. "Ohhh," sounded my exasperated sigh as I gripped you with my horse-riding thighs.
"Ummmm," your response. Our previously literary relationship had degenerated into syllables. Then our mouths mashed violently, eliminating even that potential for primitive communication. But, I had no doubt to your intentions. Your hips led me to roll over. The splendid pleasure of your weight was a direct result of forces more significant than gravity.
Like mortar and pestle, our bodies stressed clothing. We ground together with a furious adult priority, too greedy to waste time stripping. Separation at that moment was not an option. Eons of electronic frustration demanded liberation with their first opportunity for genuine fulfillment.
In addition to the dramatic friction, I loved your hands on at my jaw. I savored your tongue's penetration, compensating for elsewhere-restricted desire. Your possessive lips throbbed. Obviously, the regular blood donations had resulted in excellent marrow. I wiggled my hands between us, at your hips, knowing how that particular congregation of additional blood cells must be straining you.
I sensed your hesitation at our rapid acceleration. You had written volumes to the tune of "it's the trip and not the destination that matters."
"There's always round two, love," I reminded. "And three and four." My upcoming vacant schedule perversely flashed through my mind. We had joked of a "one week stand" in the case that events manifested favorably. That was beyond doubt now, but I lacked mental capacity for much future consideration.
My consciousness was dominated by your immediate proximity. As I shoved slacks over your hips, a tiny "aaah," escaped from my lips. Although rushing, I noted every contour of your body. Touch could in no way compensate for the room's lack of light. However, I had the distinct suspicion that an addition of sight might result in some previously unknown explosion from sensory overload.
The sexy lace panties I had painstakingly chosen while imagining extended foreplay now pinched in excessive inconvenience. Thank god for thigh high stockings. I giggled as my toes slid out of my shoes and weaseled over to your already bare feet. You, too, had shunned extraneous apparel. Mr. Patience was caught in vulnerable anticipation.
"We'll do it slow next time," you whispered. Respective undergarments were peeled down, but shirt buttons, dress zippers, and bra clasps remained ignorable.
