Author's Comment;
This is my first submission to Literotica; A story I wrote several years before. All characters and situations depicted are purely fictional.
I never realised how quiet a hotel room could be. Sure, there's the occasional muted thump, or perhaps the flush of a nearby toilet, but in the main, it's very quiet; the sort of quiet where you can hear your thoughts clearly in your head, maybe a little too clearly. Perhaps it's just the atmosphere of a hotel room. Warm and impersonal, causing you to think a little deeper, become more introspective than you would in a more familiar surrounding. There's no welcome distractions, no way to escape yourself. The television is merely an annoyance, the mini-bar too expensive. Maybe it's just because I'm alone with nothing but my thoughts and the red glow of the alarm clock for company.
It had started as a game, conceived several months earlier, a way for us to brighten our flagging libidos and renew our passion for one another; dipping a toe into the waters of fantasy whilst remaining firmly behind the black line of fidelity. The game was simple enough, and innocent in its naivety; we merely played make believe.
We placed an advertisement on a contact site, and every week, we'd spend a couple of evenings reading aloud to each other the replies from prospective suitors, turning ourselves on whilst pretending to seriously consider which to invite to our bed.
Sorting the wheat from the chaff was remarkably easy. Many of the replies reeked with desperation, and some were so enamoured with their genitalia that they simply replied with a photograph without any accompanying message. Some, the message was graphic, others merely colourful.
It was in the second week of our game that John's message arrived. Literate, polite, charming, in stark contrast to many of the others we received. It was an instant winner. We each read through his words several times, and that night, we had the best sex we'd had in years.
We began to compile a top ten list, made all the more exciting because these people, like ourselves, were all real; close enough to touch, each only an email away.
John of course was at the top of the list. His message became the yardstick by which we measured the others. The more we discussed him, the more real he became, and the worse we both felt for not sending a reply.
Over the next couple of days, we formulated our response, spending long hours trying to work out what to say. In the end, we decided to be honest, explaining that when we placed the ad, we never had any intention of meeting anyone. That the whole thing was just for kicks. We thanked him for his reply, and hoped that he'd not think too harshly of us.
As the days passed without a reply, our enthusiasm for checking the email diminished. I thought that was the end of that, that our reply had disappointed our admirer, that he had cut his losses and moved on to try his luck elsewhere.
Over a week had passed since I'd hit the send button. I'd been unlucky enough to be handed the late shift at work; early afternoon till ten at night, with little to occupy me but my thoughts during the long hours of darkness, collapsing into bed within half an hour of returning home, filled with the fatigue that only idleness can bring.
It was somewhere in the middle of the week that I remember being awoken, the bedroom light, bright behind my eyelids, the gentle but insistent shaking. My eyes opened. Sue's face was, inches from my own; her eyes alight with excitement.
"David, we've got an email."
I closed my eyes again and the shaking renewed.
"It's John, he replied."
I climbed out of the bed; the night air was cold against my skin. Sue was already at the bedroom door as I reached for some clothes, clumsily pulling them over my exposed limbs as she waited.
She led me down the stairs and into the living room, leaping onto her chair and spinning to face the bright monitor.
"Look."
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, letters swam across my vision, slowly falling into their proper place as I read the message one word at a time. When I'd finished, I scrolled back up and started again, the words flowing better this time.
Beneath the eloquence of his words, the message was simple; he'd thanked us for our honesty, and offered to join the game, to swap stories and advice over email, exploring our boundaries through fiction.
"Well?" Sue perched on the edge of her chair, her hand hovering over the mouse.
"Sounds good to me." I grinned.
Her fingers moved over the keyboard in a staccato of strokes, hurriedly typing a reply. I scanned through her words, and nodded as she hit send. Within five minutes, I was back in the warmth of the bed, not complaining as I was gently awoken a short time later by a warm pair of lips around my growing erection.
I suppose as couples go, we're pretty average; we don't bicker or fight, but we don't really talk that much either. Our conversations stay firmly in the green zone of safe topics, such as kids, politics, books, films and other such things, only venturing into the more intimate topics when enough alcoholic lubrication is consumed.
Our new arrangement didn't really change this; our spoken conversations were still safe, but a new avenue for expression was now open. Email was now the medium of choice for intimate discussion.
John's first story arrived within a couple of days; written in his usual eloquent style, it was apparent from the first paragraph that his writing talent eclipsed my own. Together we sat, sipping occasionally at a glass of wine whilst scrolling through his words in silence, our hands sometimes meeting as we read, side by side at the same monitor, mesmerised by his words.
The story itself was quite tame, testing waters between us as it described our fictional first meet at an anonymous hotel; his description of the inevitable hotel room scene was emotional rather than graphic or clinical, and yet so detailed that you could picture everything clearly within your mind. We reached the end of the story; Sue shut down the computer and wordlessly we climbed the stairs. No sooner than we were through the bedroom door, we were tearing at each other's bodies. The sex we had that night was incredible.
That weekend, we looked over our own story for the last time, performing our final edit before hitting the send button. At that point, our online ménage a trios began in earnest.
By the time three months had passed, there were twenty such stories in our intimate archive. John's descriptions of us were becoming more accurate with every tale, lifting our personalities from our own words, lending our fictional alter egos the realism that blurs the line between reality and make believe.
The stories continued along the same theme; that of a first meet, but there the similarities ended. Each seemed to push the boundaries of the others. As the three of us became more confident in expressing our desires, our inhibitions lessened. John's fictional character always seemed to mould itself seamlessly to the story, in one; he would be the gentle teacher, guiding us together through act of sharing ourselves. In another, he would be the dominant male, taking Sue before my eyes, as I'd watch helplessly from across the room. Each scenario was different; it could be plain, kinky, or something else, but each time, it never failed to turn us on. We hoped that our stories were having the same effect on him.
When the time came to exchange photographs, Sue, normally reticent about such things, didn't bat an eyelid. I can still remember the way my hands shook as I held the camera, taking picture after picture as she performed a slow striptease before me; the thought that within the hour, a man I'd never met could be masturbating to these very images was insanely arousing.
The next day John's picture arrived. We were both in equal measures, apprehensive and curious to see what he looked like; my worst nightmare would be some butch, muscular, sweaty alpha bull of a male with tattoos and a skinhead, along with all the stereotypes that that entailed.
Sue's finger hovered above the button, hesitating. This was the real life image of the man that we'd been fantasising about for months, we'd pictured him in our bed countless times already, shared our most intimate thoughts with him.
She clicked the button, and the image filled the monitor. Sue gave a whoop of joy.
