HER:
It's funny, we seemed to have learned so much about each other in the time we'd been emailing. We'd learned about each other's likes and dislikes, our interests, the day to day victories and annoyances. We'd fantasized and imagined, but were never sure that we would manage to connect in the real world.
That made the time leading up to my trip more nerve-racking than it usually was. Normally, I would only be concerned with packing; arranging for bills to be paid; finding someone to watch the house and the dog and water the plants; hoping I would make my connections and would be able to "unfold" myself after sitting in those cramped conditions known as "economy."
This time, though, I also was second guessing my decision to come to Sydney. I'd been burned once by meeting up with someone who assured me that his marriage was in name only, that he really had no commitments, that the divorce papers had been signed. Turns out he lied. Long story, but when his wife caught him sneaking into the hotel when he was supposed to be at the office, it wasn't a pleasant scene. Would that happen again? Had you lied to me? Would you have feelings of guilt because your wife was waiting at home? Would you like the "real" me? Would I like the "real" you? In short, would our meeting live up to the online fantasies?
The flight to Australia is always long. The airport connections are always tedious. The food is always (let's be blunt here) the equivalent of "prison swill," and the seats are always too small. This trip was no different. I arrived in Sydney tired from lack of sleep, stiff from being confined to the airline equivalent of a straight-jacket, and in need of a stiff drink. I refuse to drink on flights. The one time I did so, we hit turbulence and my gin and tonic ended up all over the front of my suit. I was on my way to a business meeting, and, when I arrived and introduced myself, the faces of the executives around the table seemed to suggest that I should have attended an AA meeting rather than made a sales call. I didn't make the sale, and I've stuck with drinking only water on flights since then.
After a quick drink at the bar, I checked into my room and took a brief nap followed by a long hot shower. The water cascading over my breasts and down my body was soothing and relaxing, working on my tired and stressed muscles and joints and bringing me much needed relief. Thinking about our rendezvous later that evening made me want to seek a different kind of relief, and my hands spread the lather of soap over my nipples and slowly down my stomach to that sensitive place nestled between my thighs. As my mind worked on all the possibilities that awaited, my fingers stroked and probed, bringing me closer and closer to climax. My fingers gently massaged my clit, while my other hand spread my lips apart and I dipped one and then two inside me. I imagined that, instead of my fingers on my clit, they were yours. Instead of my other fingers probing my depths, it was your cock thrusting in and out. The rivulets of water blended with my juices and I brought myself over the brink, my inner muscles clenching my fingers and my pussy gushing.
I leaned back against the shower wall, my legs slightly weak and my body quivering as I felt the spasms continue, albeit more slowly. Eventually, they subsided and I was left with that wonderful sense of warmth and well-being that comes after an intense orgasm. Only three hours before we were to meet. I turned off the water and wrapped myself in one of the big, fluffy white towels. Going into the bedroom, I lay down on the bed and perused the room service menu. The hotel was in the Rocks area of Sydney, and my room had a wonderful view over the harbor. It didn't take long for the salad I'd ordered to arrive and, as I sat there in my towel, I ate slowly, enjoying the view of the water and pondering for the hundredth time just what the evening would bring.
You had booked the hotel, so you knew just where to find me, but we had agreed to meet at a local bar and restaurant called Pony. Their small-plate menu sounded like a perfect way to start the evening, especially since I was still nervous and seriously doubted that I would be able to eat much. Time passed quickly as I watched the activities on the harbor. The water reflected the deep blue of the sky and contained the watercraft of the myriad souls whose lives did not require them to be in an office from 9-5. Eventually, I rose, fixed my hair and makeup and considered what to wear. After careful consideration, I picked a short dress, black with ruffles and a low-cut neckline, not so low that it was indecent, but certainly low enough to advertise a generous amount of breast. A lacy, slightly sheer black bra and thigh-high stockings went on first. I debated whether or not to wear the matching lace panties. They were lovely and set off my assets well, on the other hand, I thought that perhaps you would be intrigued if I didn't include them in my choice of clothing for the evening. I slipped my dress over my head, checked my hair and make-up again, and left the room.
At seven o'clock sharp, I arrived at the restaurant. You must have been as anxious as I. As soon as I entered I saw you sitting at the table. Your picture didn't do you justice and I felt my heart rate increase slightly as I considered the evening ahead of us. The maitre d' escorted me to the table and the smile on your face mirrored mine as you stood up to kiss me. It was a deep kiss, our tongues entwining and your arm encircling my waist. I would have been happy to leave and head back to the hotel room at that minute, but the maitre d' cleared his throat and I saw that he was holding the chair and waiting for me to be seated.
I quickly sat down. After we ordered and were sipping our drinks, the tension that I had been feeling all day melted away, to be replaced by a tension that was far more centered. My mind drifted back to the shower and I thought how glad I was that there would be room in the shower later for both of us. Your hand had wandered under the table and was resting gently on my knee. I moved it slightly up my leg, giving you what I hoped was tacit encouragement to continue your exploration as I began my own. You looked momentarily startled when you felt my hand stroking your cock through your pants, but I could tell by the smile on your face, and the hardening I could feel under my hand that my attentions were welcome. Your hand climbed higher, finally reaching the lace at the top of my stockings. I felt your hesitation as you stroked the smooth skin of my inner thigh, but my smile and my increased pressure on your cock caused you to continue, stopping only when you felt the wetness of my pussy under your fingers.......
HIM:
It had been a long drive ; four hours before I finally pulled into the carpark of the Holiday Inn, top of The Rocks. It's a beautiful spot, nestled next to the Harbour Bridge and across Circular Quay to the opera house. It's a lovely old world building typical of the historic feeling that is The Rocks, but with all the creature comforts of today.
I was drained, and after throwing my bag on the bed, I collapsed, wanting to drift off but knowing it was "T minus 3 hours" before I met with you for the first time. The online conversations had been great, no, more than great. The way we knew where the other was taking a conversation, an actual meeting was inevitable; we had to take it to the next step. Guilt wasn't on my mind. You had made me so comfortable about 'us' and, as my marriage was a friendship, more like a brother and sister living together than husband and wife, I did not have any hesitation about this meeting. The adage of "staying together for the kids" made sense. A play and film that starred Jack Thompson and Russel Crowe couldn't have said it better - "The Sum of Us." Our children are no more, no less, than "the sum of us." So, why no guilt? The comfortable way we were. You had made it clear that you weren't trying to "steal me away" nor I was looking to "run away," and, after all, there had to be perfect affairs. You always hear about the ones that get caught, BECAUSE THEY GOT CAUGHT! The perfect affair doesn't get broadcast as it stays that way. Was it wrong? Well, sure there is a song, "If this is wrong, I want it to be right."
Enough lying on the bed philosophizing; time to shower, wake up a little, and get ready. Running the shower, and standing there in front of the mirror naked, the questions of self doubt raised themselves in my head. Should I really have had that McDonalds quarter-pounder in the car coming here? Look at that gut! A bit of sunshine on that pale lily-white body wouldn't hurt any. Glad I got the shaver out two days ago and trimmed a little, the hills-hoist clothes line always looks bigger when the grass is trimmed around it. Stepping into the shower and feeling the water run over me, I washed all the kilometers away. Falling over me and down to my toes, the warmth of the water, the steam, was so good. Oh, if only you were in here with me now. My hands glided over my shoulders with the soap cupped in my hand, and down to my chest, lathering as I watched the suds fall down my body, across my stomach and to the top of my pubes, trimmed, but not gone. Lathering left to right and closing my eyes, imagining, feeling your hand across my loins, and around to my bum, coming back to my stomach, and exploring down, chasing the suds, and feeling my dick start to grow at the thought of your touch around the base, circling, rubbing around and cupping my balls, massaging each ball and then running up the ever-hardening shaft of my cock. The soap suds acted as a great lubricant as I imagined your hand gliding, stroking my cock to its full erection, circling the red knob, tickling the rim and then gliding down to the base to massage each ball again. Gripping my cock around the base, I start stroking more firmly, faster, harder, as I brought my cock closer to my belly and saw the pink member covered in white suds and my hand gliding swiftly up and down it. All the time, I was imagining your soft body next to mine in this steamy den and your hand bringing me to the climax I was about to achieve. I stood, legs slightly apart, one hand outstretched leaning on the glass pane wall to steady myself. With no more than 3 strokes, as my hand came to the tip of the rim, my cock jumped and spurted out a load of cum that hit the glass pane and trickled down. I dropped to my knees and knelt in the shower, spent and satisfied and anticipating what might happen tonight.
As I dressed, I justified my shower relief by telling myself that "getting one off" would ensure I was not "over anxious" should the same scene be played out later. Nice dress jeans, casual white shirt and a quick brush of the hair, and I was done.
I arrived at the restaurant about 10 minutes early, and the maître d' escorted me to a table in a secluded corner, next to a window overlooking the street, with a glimpse down the alleyway to the harbour. A bourbon to settle the nerves. Hell, I thought, I feel like a high school kid again, (but where do you find one at this time of night? No, it isn't the time for jokes to soften the nerves). Why be nervous I asked myself, but it is human nature I guess. All nerves evaporated when the maître d escorted you over. You were gorgeous, lovely dark long hair cascading over a low cut black dress with elegant ruffles on it; short, but not too short. The embrace showed you were as eager as I. The maître d' interrupted our welcoming kiss, well, more like a foreplay to foreplay, with a clearing of his throat. I hoped he wasn't bringing our meals to the table, I thought, with a cough like that! But I resisted the temptation to say anything. God knows what would have happened to the meal then! You sat on the chair that the maître d ' had pulled out for you, but as we were in the corner, there was a bench, sort of a booth-style seat, and I invited you around to sit next to me, really close. From there, we had a nice view out the window, and it enabled you to sit right next to me, something I preferred. It saved having to strain across the table to talk if the room got noisier.
