She choked in froth, her lips a blood laced origami as words spread in red threads, bubbling as she breathed a poetry so pure, so true it flowed: "Robin, robin, oh God...." It was almost a rhyme, his rhythm of hate, of fists and teeth carving her mouth, as she whispered, "Help me, help me, God help me."
Bent and dizzy she began to slump, then she sat, almost falling onto the curb. Beneath her, rainbows exploded as she bled into the oily gutter and the world spun. Looking up, the buildings spun as people gathered in a jagged circle.
Squinting her eyes, she tried to remember... a man; yes they had met online and then later arranged to meet in a bar. When he came in, she recognized him from his picture. He was a nice looking gentleman in his late forties, maybe early fifties. His dark hair had a twinge of grey at the temples giving him a distinguished look.
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Online they had talked of a lot of things, their lives, their dreams and soon it lead to them sharing their fantasies. Oddly she felt connected to this man and in the time they talked she came to know him, not just superficially, but on a deep, profound level. He told her things he said he never told anyone, not even his wife. Similarly, she shared things with him she had never spoken of before.
Their online conversations led to some sexual play: cybering, her friends had called it. Both shared in a fantasy meeting, typing and masturbating together. The heated exchanges then led to phone calls where they listened to each other as they brought themselves to climax.
Even though they were separated by thousands of miles, she felt they shared an intimacy they had never experienced before. When she touched her clit, she felt his hands caressing her, when she pushed the dildo into herself, it was him, hard, excited, as he gently fucked her.
