Double edged wait
Amy [italics]
Michael
It all happened almost by accident. I say 'almost' because it was an accident at first, but one of which I, we took advantage. A typo, that was the accident. A typo in an internet search, which I didn't notice until I started scrolling the search results and noticed that none of them had anything to do with what I was looking for.
A typo during a rare evening in which I found myself alone, and with too much time on my hands, simply because my other plans were cancelled at the last minute. A typo that brought up a site that caught my curiosity. A typo that happened at a time in my life when I didn't care about dating, but I still cared about sex. I very much care about sex, and I like thinking about sex almost as much as doing it.
My fantasies, the images and scenarios that evolve from them are my greatest source of arousal. I have learned with time that sharing my fantasies with the right person, building new ones through his own, could bring us both beyond arousal, and deep into lust. I needed someone who would cater to my senses, entice me with the unknown taste of his own desires and blend them with mine. I wanted a man, of course.
Only, I didn't want a man, not now at least. I wanted a source of excitement, someone I could tease and toy with, not a lover. I wanted to be desired, to feel his eyes on me, pleading for my touch, for my attention. I wanted to make him want me more and more. I wanted my words, my voice and the mental image of me to fill his thoughts every moment of the day.
That's when I found Michael, when I wanted him most; a rare, perhaps unique combination of flesh, bones and mind behind the nickname of a dodgy and otherwise disappointing online chat room.
---
It had become some kind of routine for me, passing the twenty minutes bus ride from home to work by casually browsing the profiles. Most of them were so obviously fake that I felt embarrassed even reading through them, though I often found myself chuckling at some of them. Occasionally, I would try and contact some of the most sober ones, and very rarely had any response.
I suppose that's how it all started, with Amy's very rare response. So much has happened since then that I can hardly recall the words I typed on my phone that day, nor the ones that I read from her. I do remember that we kept chatting way beyond the duration of the bus drive, and that by the time our daytime life got in the way of online chatting, we had already exchanged our phone numbers.
At first there were only hints, subtle references to what we liked. Our messages became more and more vivid, more detailed as we started understanding each other's fantasies, more arousing as the boundaries of these fantasies were pushed further. It took only a few days for our roles to delineate more clearly.
The environment of our fantasy would change, and she often would be the one creating the scene. Even when I chose the setting for our imaginary encounter, she would find a way to take control of it. It could have been something simple, a subtle detail which would channel the story in a direction I didn't imagine before. A bottle of scotch, appearing from her bag in the hotel room where I imagined we would meet. I didn't notice it at first, but by opening that bottle, she affirmed her presence, her influence on the room and on my imagination. She asserted her power to twist the situation according to her desire, whenever she wished to do so. I liked that.
---
We started exchanging messages more and more frequently, during the day or late at night. I would read them before going to bed, craving the arousal our fantasies brought me. I could almost perceive his own arousal, I had never seen him, yet I found myself picturing him in his bed, naked, holding his breath while reading my messages and yearning for something physical. I imagined his hand probing the stiffness of his arousal, just as my fingers slid along my swollen labia.
The thought of him unable to hold back and pleasuring himself because of me was intoxicating. Simple messages did not suffice anymore, we both knew that. I could hardly sit still the night we agreed to talk over the phone. It was a mixture of curiosity and terror. Terror that all the words I had imagined pronounced by him, all the eroticism they carried, would crumble into pieces once I heard his real voice. Terror that my own voice turned plain and flat over the phone, stripping of its sensuality every image I had carved in his mind.
The shivers that shook my spine the moment I heard his 'hello' blew away any insecurity. I instinctively got up from the chair, my legs still trembling, and held a hand on the table to aid my posture as the smooth, deep sound caressed my ears. An accent, a hint of novelty and diversity, yet subtle enough that his words kept flowing freely.
I don't even recall our first few words, but I remember them drawing me unconsciously to my bed, where I used to lay to read through our messages. I do not recall our first words, but I still quiver at the memory of him saying "I would have never thought that just the sound of your voice could make me feel like this".
---
"Tell me, how do I make you feel?" The embarrassment we both felt when the phone line first opened, vanished within the first few sentences. Her words came to me slowly, measured and calm, her voice was deeper than most women I had known, musical, inviting. Once again, I felt that she had taken control of the conversation, I was mesmerized, her voice vibrated through my ear, echoed down my spine and resounded in my chest, in my loins, in my sex.
- "You... give me shivers, each like a small burst of..."
- "Of what?"
- "...of excitement, I don't think I can describe it in any other way."
I wanted her to know. I wanted every word I said to paint a picture of me, of how she made me feel, of how she could turn any minute of my day in a sudden blow of desire and arousal.
- "I am... excited too."
- "I have never met anyone whose imagination melts with mine so well, you make every image come to life."
- "Thank you... I like fantasizing, I find it immensely arousing... particularly with someone as imaginative as you."
The pauses between her words seemed to grow longer, her voice became deeper as our discussion slowly took the path we were both longing to follow. Naked in my bed, I knew it would have been too difficult to hold back much longer.
I could imagine the words in our messages enunciated with her deep, warm voice. They filled my mind like a fog, confused images of our bodies tangled with each other, of her turgid nipple grazing my lips while her hips raised over mine letting our sexes play with one another. I barely even realized that my fingertips were already sliding along the soft skin of my glans.
- "I do like it too, and I do like the details, the fine description of how we would touch, how we would kiss, of what we feel when we do so... I do like how you tease me, taking me to edge over and over."
- "I noticed that you like that, you always play along when I tease you... It's been one of the things I most enjoyed between us, I like to feel desired that way, seeing how much you want me."
I feared I would lose control at any point, say something that would break the subtle sexual tension that we both enjoyed so much. I forced myself not to reach for my erection, to retain my composure. We both paused, for a few seconds I could only hear her breathing, and twice I parted my lips to say something, without knowing which words I really wanted to speak.
- "What are you doing now?" I finally broke the silence, displeased with myself for not being able to keep up with her in this conversation.
- "I'm just laying in bed, talking to you." She almost chuckled. "What about you?"
- "I'm laying in bed talking to you." My response did not quite sound like a chuckle, she knew how I felt, she knew that I was fighting against my urges, against my cravings for her words, for her touch, even if just in my mind. She knew I would have followed her, played along with her to pleasure us both, if she wanted to.
- "Are you naked?" A simple, perhaps obvious question made me jolt, my stomach unnaturally
contract, holding back my answer for much longer that I wanted it to.
- "Yes, I am." My answer was slow, too slow, I had no means nor intention to hide my excitement
now. "Are you?"
