Email Provocateuse

Of course, I read his emails! Wouldn't you? Tell me you wouldn't! Ha! (or should I say "LOL")

Months of doubts, belabored tales of fatigue,lengthier absences despite the ardent declarations of continued love. Don't let me forget: the tears, protestations of my lack of understanding. Finally, a long overdue visit where he never touched me sexually. Tell me,wouldn't you? If you had the chance, what wouldn't you do to find the whole truth??

I know, I know; some things I did ARE unforgivable, but so irresistable once I discovered the truth and realized the power I had in my hitherto unwanted, unloved, unappreciated, unneeded fingertips. Perhaps you might not have taken your revenge quite as far as I did, but would you really know that for sure unless you have felt the betrayal I did? You will have to read my story and tell me what you think.

He held my heart and body in his hands from the beginning; my marriage was falling apart and he swept onto my screen like a white knight - no, a wild Moor on a prancing steed, all gossamer linens aflutter in the air, exotic, untamed,arousing me the instant I saw him appear online.

I recall the first time he made love to me from the shadows of an email: a fantasy of a nubile slave boy (aren't they all, though?) laving his royal mistress as part of his daily tasks, and annointing her floor with his watering desire. MY lips dried, my pulse beat all through my body, from my chest down through me: a tattoo of heat from my cheeks to my vulva. I rushed to my workplace lavatory to cool the warmth of my face and release the tension from my loins. I experienced my first ejaculation at that moment, pouring out of me, down my legs onto the lav floor, shocking me and I rushed to my computer to write him about it.

Oh the wonderful things he showed me! However could my poor boring and bored hubby compete with this sexual "deus ex machina", so sympathetic, so thrilling, so lushly attentive.

After weeks of letters, he led me to Instant Messenger and the ecstatic madness of "real time sex". It was not cyber sex, we insisted; we were "real", after all. I never considered how he had gained his facility of timing and pacing in arousing through this medium; I knew only that his sensuousness reached me as viscerally as his flesh touching mine would have.I was lost,hopelessly smitten, seduced, captive.

The phone was next, his voice thickening as he described leaning me back and stroking my thighs, my hips, opening me as I had never been unlocked, then pushing aside my dangling inhibitions and plundering me, his lips on my lower lips, wrenching pleasures out of me that I did not know existed. I heard a man orgasm with screams, as I then mouthed him in ways I did not think I knew, ways that must have slithered down the primordial DNA column from our mother Lilith.

And it was not just ecstacy,not just pleasure.I felt swathed in the loving throes of a soul quest; I was mated, it seemed, with my missing part after an eternity of lonliness.

In mere months, we met, blind with joy and thrilled to be with him in the flesh, I excused the self-ness of his loving. Three days passed before he led me to a begrudging orgasm, and always a reason: tired, nervous, burdened with work responsibilities, but such a good and charming companion, always showering me with loving attention, leading me about his city. Never though,did I feel the wildness of the passion he displayed online, in the shadows of the anonymous, where -in time,I learned - he made his abode.

Subsequent visits led to other disappointments, claims of illness and sexual dysfunction, tears at MY misunderstanding, MY selfishness, less and less sex, less and less pleasure and after the visits ended, back to the online fantasies, although they too, suffered from the dearth of reality. He denied me affection; After two years,in desperation, I began to take other online lovers. Inevitably, pleasure must seep out of us toward the object of love, or it courses underground and pools up in unexpected springs.

We planned what I felt would be our final visit, there having had been no online intimacy in several months. I, who had felt previously total dedication and commitment, found myself in the savoury position of having 3 maybe 4 wonderful lovers, one who waited for this visit to be over so that he could make what he described would be a spectacularly full-frontal attack on my teetering resolve and tattered loyalty.

I went off to see my love; I went to "nothing"; a man who protested deep abiding love for me, yet spent a week in tearful denial. He could not make love to me; he had lost all physical desire;there was nothing he could do! He also could not bear to offer me a pleasure that he could not share; it was too heart-breaking.

In the middle of this week, I experienced my only sexual pleasure of the entire trip.

I touched my love upon our awaking and asked could I try to please him. Could I take my pleasure in pleasing him? He invited me to try.I looked on him with the last mist of my love and sympathy for him, stroked his stomach,lowered my warm mouth to his limp penis, let saliva drip from my lips, and slowly sucked him inside my mouth with my tongue caressing him in gentleness; suddenly, he tore from the bed in tears, crying to me that he was sorry, that it did not work, that he felt "nothing",leaving me in tears,wrenching pain,hopeless aching, not just of my swollen and bursting vulval area, but of my heart and soul.

In that moment I knew hopelessness and I allowed my mind to stray to the last email of this other man who had declared a growing love for me. I touched myself, with HIS fingers, HIS words ("my lips on your blossoming bud and two, not three, fingers thrusting inside you,") And pleasure poured out of me with the last dregs of lost love and hope.

With a sense of hopeless resignation, I lived the last 2 days of this visit, knowing it would end, and just wishing to "make the best" of a lost dream. My online lovers surrounded me with support and caring and one was particularly ardent and hopeful and we decided to "see".

Only one night left and we decided to go out, dine and drink, which we did to excess, which of course is how one drowns the breath out of an unwanted life, like a kitten or pup. Our last night sharing a bed, forever, I knew,and I could not sleep despite being inebriated. After packing and retrieving my personal things from his house, I sat to write final emails to friends and families and lovers too of course.

I clicked on the email icon on the desktop,and before my eyes, a nightmare unfolded!

Where does honor intricate itself in the course of revelation? Consider, dear reader, if you had to make ONE decision of dishonor that would explain to you every mystery you queried? Probably YOU would avert your eyes("No way!", you say.."not gonna read someone else's email!")

You are undoubtedly the woman or man I could never be. I read, and read, and read, in petrifying horror as every question was answered and my pitiable life fell into place.

Months and months of deception marked there; side by side with his tearful letters to me bemoaning his waning interest in sex were others to a number of other women describing their passion, his stone-like erections, his eruptive comings at the sounds of their voices, accolades to their shared visits, descriptions of her awaking to his tongue penetrating her anus, his penchant for bodily fluids ("piss on me!", he said to one); so many similarities to the sex we talked about, but that he had lived with others, while he cruelly still led me to trust in a life together.

But it got worse: darker, sadder, more sinister.

In another folder (since all my honor was corrupted now) I found yet another woman.THIS one was resident in his city and I read letter after letter, written even while I was visiting him, describing how they had met for sex while I visited a friend of his, how he had no feelings for me, how I had pushed my way into his life.and indeed, how he was pretending to have no sexual function while I was there,how he was forced to hide his erections, and how he longed for the times they could sneak away and for me to leave. He redeemed his honor by feeling guilt at mistreating me. Again, I read so many common stories, so many of the same fantasies he shared with me, yet all new with a new victim.

I considered smothering him for a moment; how easy it would have been. Reason reared its head. After all, I did not know how to drive a standard Jeep.

So I let him live; his demise would not be so simple. While I pondered his ultimate destination, I wandered his house, picking up some of the silly sentimental and surely unappreciated gifts I had given him over the months, purging as many reminders of my existence as I could from this mad world he inhabited and cossetting them back to my own. My last ceremony was to slip from my key chain the key to his "home and heart" that he had once given me and place it out of sight. (I wonder if he has found it yet??)

When I came back, I made a copy of all the emails and addresses of his "women" all over the world, a little trinket, a gem to nestle in the sore and vacant space in my chest where my heart used to reside. I did not know what I would do, but it certainly seemed that I could have some delicious moments over the next months pondering his plunder. And you won't believe where I started.

(to be continued)