Lonesome No More

I'm a teacher. I teach several classes and have many students. For the most part my students are smart, inquisitive alert, attentive, respectful and quick to respond. When I'm teaching, I'm alone. I'm the source and the resource for my students. Like any leader, I'm expected to know what I'm doing and where we're headed. As the leader, I'm alone. I'm expected to present material, guide in the learning experience, and occasionally be a father confessor. But, I am alone.

I live alone and not by choice. I drive alone, eat alone, and come home alone. I wash my own dishes and clothing and I clean when I want. I do my own shopping and buy what I want. I eat and wear what I want. I generate and pay my own bills. I intentionally bother no one, and I'm usually bothered by no one. I seldom have visitors and I seldom visit.

As a teacher I have a computer. I use it for sketching and drawing, organizing and planning, grading and record keeping. I generate worksheets and handouts on it. I generate homework and I write quizzes and tests on it. It is a source and resource of information for me. Sometimes I need outside referencing and written contact and so I have a contract with an Internet Service Provider (an ISP) and use a telephone line for access. The computer is a tool for me, but it is also my communication center with the outside world. When I'm on the Web, I'm effectively cut off from my local world. I cannot receive telephone calls because I'm using the line. The computer has become my personal friend, and a provider of information, tutoring, purchasing, bill paying, music and radio, mail and entertainment. I use my computer and email for business, for contact between friends, and for communication with my students.

Because I'm alone, I can be slovenly or kempt, puritanical or salacious, clothed or naked. Who would know or care? I enjoy writing, perhaps because I do so much of it as a teacher. I dream of being a professional writer. Perhaps because of that, and the Web, I can read or write what I want. I can enjoy anonymity if my material is bad, or bask in comfort with any praise of it. I'm a sexual animal, but I'm not a predator. Because I'm alone possibly, I enjoy reading and viewing sexually explicit material, but I strongly dislike hard porn, extreme fetish, bondage or gay material. For me the sex act is an item of beauty between two loving people and is frequently the culmination of a mutual heterosexual relationship.

I have found a site or two on the web that is in general harmony with my thoughts. I can enjoy the appearance of a beautiful woman in all of her natural erotic beauty. I can read her own erotic words and sense her response in erotic situations. I can also read stories, personal and imaginary, of others' erotic relationships and see the yearning and desire of anonymous people. I can sense the predators and the lovers. I can find the lonely and unfulfilled. I can read about the fulfillment of a dream relationship. I can be a voyeur or a participant. All of this I can do while I'm alone. It still isn't more than superficially filling. I'd like a real relationship -- but I'm afraid -- and alone.

Now my story begins. It is the story of reading and enjoying an erotically filling story written by a lady, a woman, a pleasing member of opposite gender. After I noticed one of her stories and read it, I found myself aroused. She wrote beautifully and erotically. Some words were obviously placed to appeal to the reader's prurient involvement, but these were well chosen and well placed in the story. After reading, I was fascinated enough to check her biography. Her picture was there and she is a beautiful woman and she had written several other stories as well. I read them all and could sense that she, too, was sexually alive.

I used the site and sent her email, with my return address, telling her how much I enjoyed her work. I had no idea where she was located, or if she'd respond, and I didn't know her real name. However, I eagerly watched my mail in sincere hope that I might find more about her. I may be funny that way, but I enjoy knowing as much about a person as they'll allow. I like to know the personal detail of likes and dislikes and I like to know talents and abilities with any limitations. I'm also funny in that I do enjoy limited voyeurism -- watching from a distance and enjoying what I watch.

It seemed amazing to me when she answered back. It was a short note but it asked a question or two giving me the option of actually replying. I told you that I'm a writer -- frequently too loquacious -- I wrote back in response to her questions and then added a few of my own. Again she responded. Her words and answers to my questions were honest and open. She didn't mind talking about sex and her personal attitude toward it. She even answered a few prurient questions that I've always had about women in general.

I was born and raised in an all male family -- except for Mom. Through all of my life I've had no close female relationships that included communication at all levels of the mind -- no one but men to ask, until now. I was so enchanted by my thoughts of her and the limited photo she had shown in her bio that I wanted to know a lot more. I asked questions, a lot of questions. She had been married, and was close to my age, and a minor miracle because she too was a teacher. She was a very beautiful teacher.

I asked if she had any additional photos and was astounded to receive several in various stages of undress. Some were immediately erotic to me. Her nude body was as beautiful as her face. Her breasts, hips, flat tummy, long beautiful legs, her back, her ass were at least as beautiful and she had long chestnut colored hair. I could look at a montage of her pictures and still talk with her. No one can imagine how awakening and fulfilling that experience was. I'm supposed to be confident, commanding, intelligent and in control as a teacher, but I was shy, subservient, struck dumb and in need of direction.

Whenever she was available -- I tried to be on Instant Messenger and we talked for hours about everything. When she wasn't available, I sent email. I emailed her my stories for review and she responded with assistance and praise. What's a comma splice? Anyway, I tried to encourage her to write more, and she did, but she was a busy lady and had less available time. I was privileged to assist in reviewing one of her stories -- and as I've said she can write. Her love scenes are involving and tender with passion and want. I only wished I could be involved with her in those scenes.

I also found that she preferred certain words: 'pussy' over 'cunt' and 'breasts' over 'tits' for example. She didn't mind usage of the terms 'masturbate,' 'fuck,' 'cock' or 'cum', while writing or in our conversation. She openly and fully answered my questions and threw in a few of her own. She was open about her life and her sexual experiences and interests. This wasn't cyber-sex, or anything like it. I know because I made the mistake of heading our conversation in that direction and she let me know instantly -- in no uncertain terms. She enjoyed sex and friends, but no sex except with personal involvement.

As we continued to talk, and I continued to drool, I learned more about her. She was mature in every respect, had been married for several years to an older man who ended up cheating on her -- she couldn't forgive him, and neither could I. What kind of a man could cheat on this woman? Her personality with her face and body were what every man dreams of.

She is five foot four, and perfectly proportioned by any man's standards, and many women's. She has full, firm, perky enticing breasts that are tipped with mouth watering areolas and firm beautiful nipples. They fit her body. I want to fondle, cup, taste and tease them. I want to close my mouth around them and use my tongue to stroke them. I want to place my cock between them and feel them around it. Her hips are more than just nicely curved. A man wants to hold them, stroke them, and feel them against him. He wants to undress her and slide her dress off over them. Her ass is so well shaped and firm when tensed and walking, that men walk into doors around her.

When I see her I want to raise her skirt and peer beneath it at her. I want to explore her from the back as much as I want to explore her from the front. Her waist is narrow and hugs a smooth, muscled set of abs that form a pool between them and from her navel to her lower abdomen. Her legs are long, alluring and shapely and blend ideally with the smoothness of her ass, her back and her tummy. Her feet are beautiful and enhanced by one slightly crooked toe from an accident earlier in life. A foot fetishist would marvel and climax fondling them.

I am a breast man, and an ass man, and a leg man, mostly I'm a man that adores this finest of natures creatures. Her legs and thighs are drawn and blend to her body as a great artist might have imagined if lacking the greatest model. Where her legs join, I can see in the photos, the Valley of the Kings, and fit only for a king. She is smooth shaven and the colors of her pussy are blended to outline that focus of every man's attention. The lips are closed forming a clean line at this entrance to man's treasure. This line shows how fit her body is, how well and truly favored any man would be to enter her.

Her face is smiling, full of laughter and promise, and she wears happy eyes. Her eyes are huge and a man wants to look into them mesmerized forever. Her nose is only on the edge of perfection, and her lips are -- I'm speechless to describe them. I'll try, but I'll exhaust my vocabulary before beginning to adequately approach the task. Her mouth and lips are full and her upper lip forms a valentine shaped smile. I want to kiss them, to kiss her, taste her tongue, and blend with her smile. Her mouth is exquisite, soft and delicate, full and lush with an invitation. I want to touch her lips, have her lips touch me and explore wherever they are and wherever they go.

I'm a six foot tall man, over two hundred pounds, and what the news mavens would call a WASP in their stories. I am Anglo and Caucasian, but I am not protestant and I've never protested against a religion, ever. Because of my size, my cock may be slightly larger than average, but I'm definitely not hung as some women want, some women shy from, or many women have seen or heard of. My balls are located in the usual place and only large when I've been aroused and not fulfilled for a period of time. When I'm aroused, my cock swells and stiffens like every other man's. I get a thrill when they are handled by a pretty girl. I love the feel of a ladies hand, the feel of her lips, the feel of her tongue and throat, and any combination of them on my cock and balls. When I feel arousal, it seems to start low in my abdomen and spreads to my cock. Soon I want to tighten my thighs and my ass and my abdomen as I continue to feel an attraction toward a beautiful woman.

She is a beautiful woman, and I'm aroused, but this time the arousal seems deeper and more intense and I can feel my balls wanting a release. I yearn to be with her and to do those things that lovers so much enjoy.

When I ask about her personal life, she tells me she is not seeing anyone right now, but also isn't interested in looking right now. My heart sinks and I want to shout my complaint against nature. I ask more about what she does in her spare time. She likes the beach and her condominium and lives in a gated community in southern California. I live in California, too. I asked her where. She tells me the approximate location and she is within two hours of where I live.

Over the next few months we talk on the Net and become closer. One day she mentions that she is going to the beach for the day. She tells me that she loves to lie on the sand and to sit in a beach chair overlooking the ocean. The ocean has always been an attraction for me, but it now becomes even more important. Casually, I ask where she goes -- and rejoice when she tells me. I then try to nonchalantly inquire if she'd like my company -- and again my heart is flying, leaping, and my breathing is restricted. She says yes, and my prayers are answered.

I explain that I'll need at least two hours to get there, and ask if she can find something to do for awhile and leave a little later to arrive about the same time I do. She agrees. This dream of mine has at last agreed to meet me in person. I feel confused and anxious getting ready and getting to my car for the trip. I call work and explain that I have an emergency and will not be in today -- it's not a problem because I haven't missed a days' work in over five years. I begin to worry. What if she doesn't like me? Am I as homely and ugly as I feel?

I don't know how I got there, I barely remember getting on the freeway, but soon I find myself searching for beach side parking. I park the car and hurriedly grab my stuff and almost run to the area where she said she'd be. As I get to the spot near the pier, the beach is empty except for three surfers and two older ladies. Is she okay? Has she been in an accident? She'd planned to be here at least thirty minutes ago. I look, and I ask the surfers, no one has seen her. I'm broken hearted and don't even have a number where I can call her or an address where I can visit her. What can I do? I spread a towel on the sand and sit down. I really feel bad at missing her. I wait nearly an hour and there is still no sign.

As I get up to walk back to the car, I hear my name and turn. I can see no one. I look. Am I hearing things? As I give up and start toward the car again, the voice returns. I stare under the pier, in the semi-darkness, and I can barely make out an outline on the sand. I run under the pier and there she is. Her pictures are imperfect, they don't do her justice, and it's a cruel world. She is fantastic, and she's wearing a bikini, a tiny bikini that hides nearly nothing. She holds out her hand and as I take it she draws me down onto her blanket. Without thinking I bend and kiss her, and she kisses me back. Her kiss is even more that I'd imagined.

She tries to tell me what happened, but I'm not hearing her. My heart is beating loudly in my ears. Finally, she gives up trying to talk and draws me down to lie on the blanket next to her. As I lay there, she turns and pulls her small frame up closer to my face by using her hands on my shoulders. When she is closer, she rolls and faces me, and then she really kisses me. Her taste, and scent, is nearly the most intoxicating thing I've known. We held that kiss with our tongues caressing each other like the bodies of two lovers.

Finally, she pulled her head back and studied me. I am still out of breath. The sea breeze has turned chilly, she shivers and pulls another blanket from her bag and spreads it over us. We kiss again, and then I feel her moving. Soon she is back on me, and she has managed to remove her bikini. I can feel her warm flesh, willing to melt into my own. My hands come up and enclose her breasts. As I touch them, her body shakes and then she settles against me. Her bared loins are pressing against me, and she begins to rock slowly on my enlarged cock. I move one hand down and cup one cheek of her ass and pull her hard against me. She continues to rock on me. More time passes and then her hand traces my stomach down, under my trunks, and she is exploring for and then holding my cock.

As she first touches me, I hear her moan and she shivers again. She teasingly asked if my firmness was for her. It was for her alone. I have a comprehension problem, realizing the she is naked on top of me, holding me, and kissing me. My world is moving too fast, but I don't want to stop, I will not stop until she asks me to. I lower my hands to my sides, and then raise myself using my feet and shoulders. I pick her up on top of me, and use my hands to lower my trunks and then my feet to finish removing them. All this time we are kissing, she is still holding my cock. As I settle back onto the blanket, her other hand goes down between us and she is cupping my balls.

I start to move my own hand toward her and she softly says no. She slides down between my thighs and begins kissing me under the blanket. She has both hands around my cock and her mouth on it, and she begins the slow torture of love. After these many months, and a continuous low-grade hard-on, I am enjoying the most exquisite torture devised in a woman's mind. It is a torture so thrilling and demanding, and perfect. As she senses me about to cum, she takes me deep, while continuing the stroking and massaging of my member. Like the finale at a great fireworks show, I explode into her throat and mouth. I can hear her moaning under the blanket as I reach painful relief.

She continues to kiss, lick, fondle, and suck on me until I slowly regain my composure. I pull her up from between my legs and give her a deep and passionate kiss. I can taste myself on her lips and tongue. I roll over and place her back on the blanket, and now it is my turn to slide down between her thighs to my place that is nearly heaven on earth. I lift her legs under the knees and place her feet over my back. She knows where I'm going, giggles, and asks me what I expect to find.

Our lips meet and match as perfectly as our mouths did a few moments ago. I kiss her lips, and use my tongue to caress and moisten them. Slowly I move my tongue to trace that perfect line between her legs. My tongue parts them and my lips force them further open. She tastes so sweet to me, and I feel stiffening that drives itself into the sand beneath me.

I move my tongue to the bottom end of her pussy and spread it wide. Slowly, I draw it forward to the limit and back again. I repeat my lave again and again. Finally I move forward again and use my tongue to raise the slight hood over her clit and I circle it with my tongue. I drop my face further and wrap my lips around it, and continue flicking and caressing it with my tongue. I draw a vacuum and suck it in, and squeeze it lightly while I'm tickling it. One arm goes up and I use it to spread her thighs further, and then I bring my other hand up and begin seriously ministering to her pussy with my fingers.

I haven't been counting, and she's had multiple orgasms already, but now I seal the clincher as I find her G-spot right where the book said it would be. She arches her back and pumps her hips back and forth into my face. She has a major orgasm from her clit and another from her vagina at the same time and she bites her hand to keep from screaming. Her sweetest juices fill my mouth and I drink them down. Her hips are shaking and thrusting wildly as I remove my hands, not my mouth, and grasp both hips and roll over. Now she is on top of me and free to move any manner she chooses. She pulls her feet back and sits upright on my face. She begins to slide back and forth, grinding my chin firmly against her pelvic bone. One of my hands massages her clit again and the other reaches up to roll a nipple between my thumb and finger while gently pushing and sliding my hand to massage the delicate tissue of a firm warm breast.

I've lost track of time, but I'm not giving up while I can still satisfy her. Even in the coolness of the beach, and half uncovered in the deep shade of the pier, we are each wet and dripping with perspiration. Love and love making has never been so captivating and delicious. Finally, she slows, exhausted but satiated for a moment, and settles to lie beside me, her head resting on my arm. She raises her head slightly, puts her arms around my neck, and pulls me over in a lover's long kiss. She thanks me.

"You're welcome." I replied, "but I'm not through."

She's caught her breath now and asks what I have in mind. I roll over onto her in the missionary position, and she reaches down to locate me and start me inside. As I enter her, I can feel the firmness and tightness of long unused muscles. I can feel her tighten her inner muscles around me and grab me tightly.