The brief glimpse I got into the bedroom I was walking into allowed me to get the lay of the land so to speak, because it wasn't my bedroom I was walking into. It was Paul's. Who was Paul? A reader who I began chatting with and found interesting.
He must have been really interesting in order for me to come visit him like this because this wasn't like me, arranging this clandestine meeting in order to give me an excuse to kick up my heels a little. Whether this evening would bring about a complete change in me from a prim and proper professional to a woman who could act like the fantasy person she had created in print was doubtful, but anything was better than sulking at home and feeling sorry for myself.
After I closed the door the room became completely dark once again, save the digital clock beside the bed which told me it was 9:32. It was so dark that I had to take baby steps to inch closer to the bed, and as I made my way I wished I had gotten a longer look inside the room than that brief peek I got when the light from the hall lit it up a bit.
Could he hear me breathing? The way I was panting I wouldn't have been surprised, and my heart was pounding so hard my chest was shaking. I was excited and scared, mostly because there was always the chance that the man in the bed would turn on the light. I wasn't ready for that and I had made it clear that darkness had to be part of the deal, at least for now.
I was wearing a trench coat that I let slide off of my shoulders and down onto the carpet, and then I was naked. As naked as I had been when I came into the world about 60 years ago, and this wasn't easy for me even in the dark. I had considerable problems with my self-image regarding my body, this despite having been told by my doctor just a week ago that I was much too hard on myself.
"Marie, you're in better shape that most women ten years younger than you," she had told me. "You haven't got an ounce of fat on you. You should try and eat more but outside of that you're fine. You're still quite attractive, you know."
No, I didn't know. If I was attractive I sure didn't feel it. I felt tired and unwanted. My future ex-husband didn't want me, or at least not just me alone, and had found pleasure in the arms of another woman. A woman half my age whose store bought breasts made me feel even more inadequate than usual.
In the dark now, I felt more confident. The man laying on the bed wouldn't be able to see me, at least not this time. The darkness would also give me the liberty to do things that I would never be able to do with a virtual stranger. Things that I had only done with my husband.
I was at the foot of the bed, and as my eyes started to adjust somewhat to the light I could make out the image of the man who was on his stomach with a sheet over the lower half of his body.
His body. He had said he was a big man and the pictures he had sent me certainly bore that out, but who knows what pictures I was getting? There was no way of knowing who was in those pictures. Was it Paul?
Many times I was asked - even hounded for pictures of myself from readers, but I didn't want to have anybody see me as I am. The fear that I might be sharing my secret hobby with someone who actually knew me frightened me. You write at Literotica? You send pictures to strangers? That would crush me. Would I be embarrassed? Absolutely.
I suppose it would have been easy enough to find some picture of an anonymous woman to satisfy their interest. Someone younger, prettier and with a better body. That certainly wouldn't be so hard to find but I resisted. I loved my anonymity and knew that my reader's mental image would be better than the real thing and maybe better than any picture I could dig up.
Paul wanted to see what I looked like, and there was the slimmest of chances that some day he would but not tonight. Tonight was my night to try and let go of my past. Tomorrow was another day, I asserted to myself as I tossed the bottle of coconut oil I had brought to the left side of the man resting in the middle of the king-size bed.
As I looked at the hulking figure who was breathing much more quietly than I was, my hands had gone to my breasts and I had been kneading the soft flesh without really realizing it. I had done that a lot lately, finding my hands between my legs and massaging my breasts without really knowing I was playing with myself.
My hand left my tit and reached down and groped for the sheet, and when I found it I felt the cotton. The sheet was incredibly soft to the touch, probably Egyptian cotton and maybe 1000 thread count, and I let my fingers rub the fabric a minute while giving the man credit for knowing quality bedding before I slowly pulled the sheet down towards the foot of the bed.
Was that Paul taking a deep intake of breath as he felt the sheet come down off of his buttocks and down his thighs and calves? My hand grazed his ankle as I moved the sheet off the end of the bed, and the slight contact made me jump.
He's a man, I kept telling myself. You've touched men before, I recalled, although for the vast majority of my adult life the touching had been reserved for my husband. Him and only him until he decided I either wasn't good enough or simply tired of me.
Just flesh and blood, I told myself as my hand lingered on Paul's right ankle, although the flesh was much darker than mine. In the dark though, we were just a man and a woman, and that was what I kept reminding myself as my other hand went to Paul's left ankle.
His skin was soft, surprisingly soft for a man who was my age, so as I let my hands slide up his calves I took a deep breath in an effort to stop what was getting close to me hyperventilating. Only a little coarse hair broke the smoothness as my hand went up the backs what felt like very muscular calves.
I lifted my foot a couple of times, placing it back down right away like a horse trying to communicate. I had gone through what I was going to do countless times, even practicing this on my barren bed, but now I was having trouble getting on this stranger's.
There. My right knee finally got up onto the sheets and after that my left knee followed and I found myself straddling Paul's ankles while holding onto the backs of his thighs. Thighs? They felt more like tree trunks and this was another reminder of how very big this man was.
A gentle giant, he had called himself and as my knees inched me forward and my hands glided up the furry backs of Paul's thighs I wondered if it was possible that I was leaving a trail of moisture as I moved upward because I was wet. Is it possible I was dripping?
Now my hands were on Paul's back and my legs had to spread wide to be able to straddle the giant's hips. I groped in the dark for the bottle of oil and after finding it fumbled with the top before finally getting it open and squirting way too much in my palm.
I heard Paul react to feeling the excess oil dribble onto his buttocks, and as I rubbed my hands together the realization hit me. I was about to give an amateur massage to a virtual stranger, and I'm naked. He has to feel my pussy hair against his backside and I'm probably leaking all over him too.
Nice. The feel of his broad back under my oiled palms made my heart skip a beat, and as I worked my little hands over this massive back I heard Paul clear his throat.
"Marie?" Paul said, and it was the first time I had ever heard his voice.
