He'd made love to her a hundred times.
He'd held her, opened the delicate seam of her lips with his tongue; delved into the mysteries of the sweet fire in her mouth as no other man had ever done. He'd had her on the stairs; the kitchen counter, in the gazebo during a hard summer rain.
They'd taken long, luxurious baths together, laughing in the bubbles until she'd straddled him in the big tub, sinking down onto his hard shaft and turning his laughter into thick moans of pleasure.
And she'd cum for him, all silk and fire and liquid heat for his hands and mouth and cock.
But tonight, for the very first time, he was going to see her.
Walking along an alley that her directions said would lead him to a 7-foot high privacy fence, Jack smiled at the thought. She had asked him in her erotic email invitation to take this route, parking three streets away from and behind the home she was caring for while a friend was on vacation, and taking the simple twists of several connected alleyways to find her.
Finding her, he thought, had been nothing less than a miracle. Meeting in 12-point New Times Roman type on a cold computer screen in a chatroom where thousands of people no doubt wandered in and out, what were the odds that he could have found someone so...perfect?
He'd been online for six months when she'd come along, fairly savvy about most things in modern cyberworlds, and surprisingly fairly jaded...wondering if all he would ever find would be hot, fast, nameless orgasms on the other end of the line. Sure, that was fine enough...he'd done it himself and enjoyed it immensely...there had even been a few women (except the one who'd turned out to be a man, of course...god, was he ever glad the guy had told him BEFORE anything had gone on between them sexually) he considered friends; they were sweet and demure or hot and lusty, and just damn nice people.
But her...well, she was both. Teasing, playful...smart, had a heart as wide as the Internet and a wit to match. She could be sweet as dark chocolate in his mouth, or cool as fresh butter...or hot as hell. Being with her was nothing short of incredible each and every time he saw her online...each new roleplay like a roller coaster ride...making his stomach drop every time her username showed up on the Active Users list.
He'd said hi initially just because he couldn't resist a woman whose profile said, "Educated, successful writer; happily married; looking for smart men who love to play" and then used "LuvsNymphomercials" as a user name. Their acquaintance began when he'd sent her a little chuckle and told her he loved a woman with a sense of humor...and then he'd learned to love all sorts of things about her.
After their second chat, which ended in the most spectacular sexual roleplay he'd ever had the luck to be a part of and an orgasm which was so intense he'd nearly woken his wife two rooms away, she'd given him her real name. Nicole.
Since then, they'd talked about their lives, held hands, she'd listened to his pain and he to hers; and most importantly they agreed that neither was willing to destroy their marriages and families by having an affair, and that their relationship would forever be a fantasy on the screen.
A month before, he'd asked her nervously if she would consider speaking with him on the phone...he was in heaven when she'd said yes, and then realized that true heaven was the sound of her voice, which was as infinitely varied from sweet to siren, as she was. He'd never heard a voice like that.
Then, two weeks later, she'd sent him a rather steamy--and mysterious--email, telling him that she would be in town to do some house sitting for a friend, and would he like to come over; she had something very special for him.
He hadn't been able to do more than email her with the reply that he would be there at any time and place she asked. In the last two weeks, she'd been conspicuously absent from their regular chatroom and would only respond, "patience, darlin," when he emailed, asking where she was; why she wouldn't speak to him online.
So now here he was, his hands sweating, feeling as high as a sixteen year old kid again, cock so hard he was afraid he'd split his fly open--he felt like a piece of steel forged into flesh. He didn't know if he'd ever been so aroused...so happy and excited and terrified all in one glorious rush. He liked the feeling...but then, she didn't inspire many feelings in him that he didn't like.
It had been perfectly dark an hour ago and now he wandered purposely through this darkened crosshatch alleys of suburban paradise. Backyards, some demurely shielding their beauty behind garments of fences, lined the alleys. Here and there the yawning mouths of garages were open, swallowing minivans and lawnmowers and the dark night air. Bicycles and skateboards; a baseball mitt, sandbox toys and swingsets were abandoned and empty, awaiting another gorgeous summer day and the children who would enjoy them.
Rounding a corner onto what she had listed as the last alley, Jack brushed by the heavily laden arms of a stocky lilac bush. The scent was thick and sweet, and he found himself pausing for a moment, taking the luxury of the aroma into his lungs and closing his eyes for a moment.
"Close your eyes....take a deep breath..."
Every time she typed those words to him, his heart tried to crawl up into his throat and his body tensed, cock pulsing with feverish energy--her toy, waiting to be petted; knowing the pleasure of her stroking...
"Here we go..."
And then she'd start spinning another fantasy for him--always something new, some little surprise waiting...he'd want fast and hot and somehow taking clues from their conversation before the games began, she'd sense it and make him crazy with slow, teasing and sweet. Or he would come to her half asleep or with his body aching or his mind muddled with the complex problems of his life and she'd tell him a joke or tease him, verbally sparring with him until he'd awakened or come out of his self-imposed shell to really talk to her; tell her what was wrong. Then she'd be his friend, giving advice...asking the right questions...making him feel...perfectly right again.
Taking a deep breath, he made his way around the lilac and the fence was there...fifty feet ahead...7 feet of tall, blonde wood freshly built. The scent of newly cut lumber mixed with lilac, and Jack thought he might stop breathing. He hadn't known a fence could make a man so hot.
Nicole would love that, he thought, wiping his hands down the outsides of his thighs. He would have to remember to tell her about that...
If he could speak when he finally saw her.
She knew things about him even his wife didn't know. He and Nicole had agreed not to make their emotional attachment stronger by trying to have some kind of cyber love affair...they both wanted pleasure and took and gave it...the rest was a deep, loving friendship, but it was so much safer to tell her that he had always been a closet voyeur (not that he'd hung out in many closets...he just had never had the nerve to try to live out that particular desire in his life) and that he hated his sister in law's dog (the nasty little mongrel thought his bedroom was Central Park), and that he'd had an insane crush on some neighbor woman five years ago whose name still escaped him (she'd made that forgotten crush into one hell of a fantasy last week). She knew his favorite color, the brand of underwear he bought, and what he thought of the PBS version of "Jane Eyre"...and she knew he was crazy about her. If the two of them hadn't been married, he would have tracked her down, tied her to some bed, and given her one devastating orgasm after another until she agreed to be his wife. But such were the intricacies of life.
The fence loomed ahead of him, gleaming dull yellow like an autumn moon under cloud-banked skies, a beacon. The gate was locked, as she said it would be, with a chain and combination lock...he could hardly see the tiny numbers and the chain, thank god, bumped around but didn't rattle in its protective neon-plastic blue sheath. His hands were shaking. When the lock slid open, the ends of the chain parting to admit him to paradise, he had to stop again...take another breath.
He didn't know what to expect. She might be just on the other side of the fence, in the pool she'd mentioned (laughingly telling him that he would probably be so engrossed with lust that he might fall in if he weren't careful) or waiting in the house. Her directions had ended at the combination for the lock. So slowly that he wanted to scream, he moved the gate open.
Disappointment slipped over him. The backyard was large, with the requisite pool and changing room, patio, grill, beds of roses blooming yellow and red in air that was beginning to become mist. A table had been placed in the center of the patio, whatever was atop it covered with a dark blue cloth. And the house, an interesting mix of flagstone, natural log, and smooth wood plank painted a warm rose, looked out at him through big windows gleaming like black ice in the night.
The house faced away from him. To his left, beyond the patio, its double sets of elaborate French doors were closed; unshaded, bracketed by potted miniature fruit trees laboring to birth tiny lemons and oranges and scenting the air with a citrus tang. The pool to the right was a deep, pure aqua blue lit by small underwater lights; otherwise the yard was dark. The fence surrounding the property and the trees which nearly lined the whole interior perimeter provided an incredible privacy that made him feel as alone and secure as if he were indoors.
He thought for a moment to leave but nearly as quickly as he'd decided it he turned, secured the gate with its lock now inside, and walked silently into the yard. Nicole's invitation stated plainly that he was to arrive no earlier than ten-forty-five p.m. and no later than eleven-fifteen. Looking at his wristwatch in the pale moon and mist glow, he assured himself that he was, indeed, on time: eleven-oh-six. He would wait the requisite nine minutes, to see if she had given him the time frame because she hadn=t been sure of the precise time of her own arrival.
Moving silently to the cleverly inlaid stone patio, Jack could see only dim gray shadows behind the glass. Turning away from the house, he realized that only one chair had been placed beside the table at the center of the patio. Even more odd, he realized, was that the chair was not the usual sort of pressed plastic or wrought iron, but a piece of furniture completely inappropriate for the out of doors. It was an obviously expensive lounge chair upholstered in nubby, toffee-colored fabric and, aside from the table, the only piece of furniture. Smiling, Jack was fairly sure that she'd put the chair here for a good reason and he wasn't about to question anything she did. He decided instead to settle in and wait.
