An E-Mail and a Fantasy
2004-08-09 @ 6:43 a.m.

"I walk in to find you curled up on the couch reading a book. I slip my shoes off and pad softly through the kitchen to stand in the doorway and admire you. You are twirling a strand of hair as you stare raptly at the pages. I allow my eyes to take in your sensuous form. Your legs are tucked under you..."

This shows appreciation of me as a person. I'm reading, something I love to do, and I'm lost in the book.

"You grab it with your right hand and begin stroking while you keep reading. When you turn the page, I yank the book from your grasp and toss it over my shoulder to land in the chair behind me. Your eyes are smiling as you look up at me in mock anger. I can't help but smile my impish grin down at you as your left hand drifts up to slowly massage my balls.Now that you have me fully hard, I start thrusting into your hand a bit. You ask if there is something I need."

Now, I'm being pursued. He desires me and isn't afraid to act upon that impulse, but he doesn't act like he owns me. A real man takes what he wants when given the green light. A man pursues, but doesn't stalk.

"Finally, I can hold back no longer. You wrap your hand tight around the base of my shaft and begin sucking furiously. I start to orgasm, but your hand stops me from cumming. As I continue to ride the orgasm, you let go and allow the torrent of cum to gush into your mouth. It causes you to gag briefly, allowing my cock to slip from your lips. I continue to cum, catching you in the face with the next spurt. You pump my cock and try to aim it so my jizm coats your lovely face."

Then, when I'm warmed up, he takes me and treats me the way I want to be treated.

Note, it begins slowly and then builds. It's like a good kiss. As you begin, I don't want your tongue halfway down my throat. Maybe towards the end, but not from the start. It was a wonderful e-mail and I thank the writer for making me feel desired.

In contrast, here's a little exchange I had on IM and a perfect example of why I don't do much IMing. It is not a Diarylander. I have not had a bad experience with any Diarylander, ever.

Him: So, do you like vegetables?

Me: I love salads

Him: What?

Me: I love vegetables in my salad. I try to eat right.

Him: What about in your pussy and up your ass?

Me: Have you seen the price of produce?

Him: What do you mean?

Me: I have to go, my cat's on fire.

Him: Lets talk soon.

He wasn't good at the wooing. Really, he wasn't.

I often wonder if men good at the wooing on the internet, are good at it in real life. Are they very experienced in dealing with women? My guess is yes. I'm positive my e-mailer has plenty of experience with the opposite sex.

Then, I wonder if men who start off asking really personal questions have virtually no experience with women. For example, I'm betting my IM guy, who wants to shove vegetables in my ass thirty seconds into a conversation, has little experience with women. Just a hunch.

Now for a fantasy. This one suddenly popped into my head and I can't believe I haven't thought of it before now.

I'm thirty-eight or forty years old and married to a wonderful, generous man. We live in a big house with 2.5 children. I want to stay in shape for him, to show my appreciation for the wonderful life he has provided. I retain a personal trainer who comes to the house twice a week while my husband is at work and the children are in school.

The trainer is twenty-five years old, over six foot tall with long dark hair. His hair is in a ponytail. His body is 100% muscle. I don't tend to like men with ponytails, but from time to time it's a major turn on. He trains me for an hour each visit.

After each session, I take a nice hot shower. When I emerge from the bathroom, he will be on my bed, naked, with his eight inch cock hard and ready. I burn off a few more calories with the trainer, getting to play the older woman. I teach him everything I know about making love. My sessions training him last for about two hours. He leaves around four o'clock, just before the kids get home from school.

My husband gets home around six o'clock on these 'training' days. I bring him a drink and he kisses me, asking how my day went. Then, he wants to know if we can make love that night, or am I too tired from fucking the personal trainer. I'm never too tired. Maybe he'll even come home early one day.