It had been one of those nights, steeped in the scent of patchouli and charged with thoughts of her dream lover, that prompted her to actually go through with it. She had been sitting by the fire, wrapped naked in the quilt when she decided to put her fantasy into words on paper. The act of writing it down was a thrill in itself, somehow making it more real, more attainable. The more she wrote, the more she knew just how much she wanted this man. The evening hours passed into early morning as her pen advanced furiously across the page and her passions found expression through the ink.
A number of times she paused and thought of how much fun it would be to actually let him read it. But that was crazy! She had already boldly propositioned this man and with no result. She had to back off. She thought of how he would react, though, the expression on his face as he realized the content of the anonymous letter. And then she decided that that was just what it should be. An anonymous letter. She would send it to him in the morning. He would know it was her, he had to. She fell asleep just before dawn with her story finished and her body aching for its fulfillment.
The morning light brought with it clarity and a large dose of apprehension. The children needed breakfast, the dogs begged also, there were deadlines to be met and groceries to be bought. The everyday chores snapped her lust quickly into the background. In the afternoon though, she sat alone and quiet and reread for the first time her past evenings foray into erotica. Even by the harsh afternoon light she found herself really turned on. She put the paper down and sat back, closing her eyes. She imagined he was there with her, his hands touching her, his arms thick and strong.
Her breathing was becoming shallow as she opened her eyes and stood up. Crossing the room, she folded the paper neatly, put it in an envelope and addressed it. Without allowing time for a clear thought that might dissuade her, she put her coat on, got in the car and drove to the post office. She realized she was shaking as she approached the mail slot and dropped the letter in. The act of letting it go was highly charged, sexual somehow. And then, it was done.
Sitting at the table, writing, the next morning, the phone rang. She answered and it was him, his voice husky on the other end, "Can I come over?......I need to see you."
Her mind raced! He couldn't have received it already. It just wasn't possible. The coincidence was ironic she realized. Here all along she thought that he wasn't interested and now he was just calling out of the blue. She cringed when she thought of what he would find at the post the next day. "Of course," she stammered, "yes."
Her heart raced as she checked her image in the bathroom mirror. She felt flushed with excitement like a teenager when she heard his car turn into the driveway. She let him in, smiling coolly and making small talk. "How are you?" -- " Good, you?"
"Oh, yeah I'm great......real good. Come on in..." They sat facing each other across the table where she had first put forth her suggestion. She was aware that she sat on the very sofa she had written about in her story. The story that described taking his cock in her mouth and how good he would feel. She burned with the thought of his reading it in the near future. Wow! What had she done? Not wanting him to see her embarrassment she bolted up and offered, tea.... "Yes.... Let's have ... tea. "
In the kitchen she felt more composed, in control. She was grateful that her hands and mind
were busy with the task of filling the teapot and lighting the stove. He said nothing, watching. She stood facing the stove unable to think of what to do next, what to say. And then she seemed to sense him behind her. Slowly, his arms wrapped around her waist and his chin nuzzled against her neck. His breath was warm upon her skin, "I got your letter" he said, his voice deep. She felt him push his body up closer to her back as his hands moved under her shirt.
