No Going Back Ch 29

I didn't know whether I'd ever see Katie again. I found a place by myself in another city and tried to begin a new life. I was miserable, yet I felt somehow that there was still hope. I knew that Katie and I had shared something neither of us had ever known before. Maybe, if I was patient, she would someday give me another chance. I knew, though, that would take some time.

That's why I ended up meeting Vibelady (I'll call her Jenn). I missed Katie so much, yet I knew better than to go out looking for someone else. I had to keep myself "clean," in the hope that I'd get another chance. I figured then that anything I did "on my own" would be fine. I went back to watching a lot of porn videos and relieving myself the best I could. I also figured it would be OK if I started looking at the adult websites on the Internet. What harm could that be?

I found Jenn on adultfriendfinder. It was a great website for somebody in my situation. There were hundreds and hundreds of listings of women who were looking for men. Since it was an "adult" site, most of the women posted pictures of themselves . . . and most of the pictures were nude. In some cases, they were downright raunchy. Those were great fun to find, but presented little interest other than the voyeuristic pleasure.

I rarely ever contacted anyone whose profile I liked, and when I did, it was usually just to express appreciation for their willingness to "show" themselves so completely. Because I always made it clear in my messages that I was not looking to meet someone, I didn't even get responses to most of the notes I sent.

One day I was sorting through the IDs of women who had recently logged on to the website and saw an ID that intrigued me. The woman called herself Vibelady. Based on the nature of the website, I didn't have much trouble imagining what "vibes" she meant. I was right.

Her profile was interesting. She explained that while she preferred "the real thing," her boyfriend was not interested often enough, and she had to resort to her collection of toys to keep her satisfied. She sounded like a pretty together woman. She said she was tired of playing alone and could use the aid and inspiration of a creative man. With all that I'd experienced in the past few months, there was no doubt that I had memories enough to be creative. That certainly sparked my further interest.

What blew me away though were the pictures she had posted. The first one I opened showed a beautiful woman lying on her back, her long lovely legs spread wide, with a cock-shaped vibrator slid halfway into her tightly stretched pussy. Within seconds, I felt myself responding to the incredibly erotic picture. This was unbelievable.

There were more pictures. She had the perfect body. Her hips were narrow and her tummy was flat. Even though she'd been careful to crop the pictures so her face wasn't visible, it just was possible to see her breasts. They were lovely. As she was lying on her back, I couldn't tell their true size, but they looked delicious. Her nipples were large for the size of her breasts and were the most beautiful pink. They weren't erect in the pictures, and that immediately made me imagine kneeling beside her and pulling them into my mouth, sucking and nibbling gently until they were hard against my tongue.

I couldn't believe it. Here I was sitting in front of the computer, two minutes ago bored and sleepy, and now my cock was straining against my pants. I turned back to look at her pictures again. I pried my eyes away from her most private parts and found I was amazed at her beautiful, clear skin. Her inner thighs were like a vision of paradise. I could easily imagine sliding my face across them, feeling the coolness near her knees gradually give way to the damp heat of the softer skin higher above.

Still avoiding the most exciting part of the picture, I looked higher. Her bushy pubic hair was thin, like it had been trimmed to frame the most perfect view of what it covered. It was a light brown, and there seemed to be maybe even a hint of red. I imagined running my fingers lightly through it, tickling, teasing, promising a touch that made her gasp in anticipation.

In the picture, she was bending a bit at the waist to hold the vibrator at the best angle. That made the tight flesh of her stomach ripple in waves. I so wanted to trace those indentions with my hard pointed tongue. Again my gaze found her breasts. They were right at the edge of the pictures, so difficult to see, and the frustration of wanting to see them better heightened my excitement even more.

Ready to allow myself to look once again at what I really wanted to see, my eyes slid eagerly back to place where the vibrator disappeared from view. I realized that this darling woman had thought carefully about what she was allowing me to see. I found she had shaved all her pubic hair below a spot just above her clitoris, and the vibrator's target was displayed in all its bright flaming glory.

Her vaginal lips reminded me of a burning sunset. The inner lips were stretched so tightly around the plunging implement that they shone a fiery, bright red. I could almost feel how hot they must be to the touch. The outer lips were a deep, deep magenta, so inflamed were they from her obvious excitement. And her fingers! Oh God, her fingers!

In the final crowning effect, her gorgeous long fingers were reaching to complete the erotic tableau. One hand held the vibrator, her fingers wrapped around it like it was a hard, but sensitive cock. I was sure she would have had a real cock ready to cum before it ever touched her. Her other hand was a straight out of a Renaissance painting.

The wrist was bent in a relaxed position that allowed the fingers to dangle over her open crevice. The fingers were spread slightly, the index finger extended. The three fingers together gently held herself open, so all was visible to her admirers. And then, the forefinger . . . it dipped, it pointed, it delicately . . . so delicately . . . moved to touch the exquisitely shining bud of passion that waited so eagerly for its ultimate pleasure.

Her body displayed the most perfect tension. The legs were spread almost perpendicular to her body. Her arms reached to slide the vibrator smoothly into her innermost hiding place. Her fingers waited, teasing, tantalizing, driving her to the highest peak. I could almost hear her breathing, growing heavier and deeper. I imagined a small moan growing in her throat, a cry waiting to be released at the exact right moment.

It was then that I realized what her pictures were doing there on the Internet. I realized that this very instant, as she slid that thrusting, vibrating cock deep into her sucking pussy, she knew I was here watching her. She felt my eyes staring at her, drinking her in. Whether her eyes were closed at that instant, or not, she knew I could see her. I was standing over her, staring down at her, hungering for her.

It was my stare that finally drove her over the edge. It was my desire for her that gave her the spark to detonate the explosion that the vibrator had set in motion. As I watched her release her body to the overwhelming convulsions of her orgasm, I understood we had just exchanged gifts with each other. I had helped her find the satisfaction that her husband was not there to provide, and she had given me a vision that would soon allow me the same release.

What an amazing encounter we had just shared. Without even a first contact, we had given each other a sexual experience of the purest pleasure. And then the next realization hit me. Contact. Did I dare? Should I write to her and try to tell her about the gift she had offered, and how it had been received?

She's only in her mid 20's, I thought. Why would she care what a 50 year old man thought of her pictures? But still, I realized, at opposite ends of the worldwide web, she and I were pretty much equals. She had the youth and the beauty and the willingness to share herself. I had the experience and the imagination and the ability to appreciate her for the wonder that she is. What better basis for sharing could there be?

So, it made sense to write to her. In spite of all I should have learned from my past "innocent" experimentations, it still made sense to me to write to her. If I had known then . . . if I had known how it was all going to turn out . . . would I still have written to her? It might have been wiser to turn off the computer and not save her ID.

But then, I never would have met her. I never would have met my sweet, sweet Jenn.

Yes, I wrote to her. Knowing how delicate it would be, contacting a woman so much younger than I was, I was low key, polite and completely non-threatening. I simply complimented her on her wonderful profile and told her how much I was impressed by her willingness to present such intimate parts of herself. To my great surprise, she actually answered me.

The first few contacts were simple. We shared a few fantasies and slowly, almost without intent, grew to expect notes from each other on a fairly regular basis. It all seemed quite innocent, because while I looked forward to hearing from her, I wasn't disappointed when I didn't. Her e-mails were just a nice surprise when they appeared.

The shift occurred one day when on the spur of the moment, I put her ID in a search engine to see what would come up. I really had no idea she was using her actual name in her Internet ID. In little more than a half hour, I found an incredible amount of real data about her. Most fascinating was a personal webpage she had created for herself several years ago while she was in college. I don't know if she even realized it was still online, but it was an unexpected glimpse into the life of a person who I now had to see as a real, live young woman.

My reactions were mixed. There was a first rush of great excitement. I had discovered who she was and she didn't know that I knew! What a sense of power. I realized I had the ability to find her if I wanted. The website had pictures of her. I saw her face! I really could go and find her!

That reaction didn't last long. Within minutes I realized the power I held was unfair and inappropriate. It was a terrible imposition to have found out so much about her when she knew nothing about me. I immediately pledged to myself never to use such knowledge in any way, and I began to wonder . . . should I tell her that I knew? If I never told her I knew, and I never acted on the knowledge I had, she would never be affected by the knowledge. It didn't hurt her that I knew who she was. I wasn't doing anything "wrong."

The realization that made my decision clear was that if I had found her so easily, then anyone else could do the very same thing. While I was "safe," and would never harm her, there was no guarantee at all that someone else wouldn't find the wicked opportunity too great to ignore. I had to tell her what I knew, and I had to risk that she would end our correspondence in anger. I didn't want that to happen, but I truly had no choice.

I wrote to Jenn, told her what I had done, and identified myself enough that she could check me out if she wished. I hoped she would see that my intentions were honest and that she had nothing to fear from me. Jenn was indeed a bit irritated that I had attempted to find her, but she took it well. Our notes were a bit cooler for a short while, but before long we were sharing our views on life (and on sex) at a surprisingly intimate level.

I told her about Katie. In fact, I told her some of the experiences Katie and I had shared. I don't know why I shared such sensitive information with Jenn, but I found the more I shared, the more she wanted to hear. Within several weeks, she probably knew me as well as most women I had known in my life. In the same way, Jenn told me more of the intimate details of her young life, and the more I learned, the more deeply I felt myself becoming connected with her.

It was a confusing realization. At first, I had obviously been attracted by her luscious, lovely young body. Her pictures had been a wonderful source of fantasy during my lonely evenings. But now, as I came to know her better, I began to sense a concern for her that was a mixture of feelings. I was still attracted to her as that sexy young woman, but I now also thought of her almost like a daughter. I compared what I felt for my stepdaughter Chastity to what I felt for Jenn, and I found the comparison was surprisingly similar.

I love Chase, and I felt terrible about the horror I drawn her into, but it was impossible not to remember the feel of her skin, the beauty of her body, the sensations of that one unforgettable night when there . . . in front of all those other men . . . I stood behind her holding her hips and . . .

The memories of what came next obliterated the pleasure I knew I had experienced in spite of myself. Now, here I was again, feeling protective of another young lady, who I also wanted to pull into my arms and climb inside of so deeply that I would fill her entire soul.