"My husband is out of town all week. Would you like to come over tomorrow?" I read her words on the screen over and over again. The time of night had to be affecting my vision.

We had known one another for a short time. We met, innocently enough, in an Internet chat room. Well, that isn't quite true: there was very little innocent about it. My first introduction to her was by way of a photograph she had taken of herself while in the midst of a romantic encounter. She was stunning in the photo. I couldn't see all of her body, but what I saw... Oh, my. Her skin was an exquisite: a warm, exotic shade of olive, and flawlessly smooth. Shapely rounded hips... A firm stomach, which gently dipped to her small navel.... And her breasts! I have never seen such a pair in my life. Two perfectly formed mounds of soft, sweet flesh. Her nipples were small and dark: they stood proud and erect, like black cherries on a caramel sundae. She was splendid! My hands shook as I typed my first message to her in that chat room. I didn't expect her to say anything to me. Women like that rarely talk to men: they don't need to. A few seconds later, though, much to my surprise, I received a reply. By then, my pulse was racing.

It continued to do so as we talked, far too late into that first night. She was initially a bit shy, almost hesitant, but we had a connection. It wasn't long before she admitted to me that she secretly enjoyed being with men other than her husband. She called it her "wild life." She described how she had seduced a couple of other men while her husband was away. I could sense that she was blushing, but she continued for several hours, as I gently probed her with my questions. She possessed a warmth and an excitement which, coupled with her shyness, made her as marvelous to talk to as she was to see.

Tonight, though, I was in a fog, hardly able to think straight. I just barely managed to write back. Yes, of course, I could meet her: I'll pick up a bottle of champagne to share over brunch, and would meet her by mid-morning. Oh, and could she please let me know her address? I wasn't even quite sure which city she lived in...

The night did not pass quickly. I had to write a list of things that I needed to do, to make sure no detail was overlooked. Select my favorite shirt. Polish my boots. Feed the dog. Find a map of Wyoming. Remember the champagne. Call in sick to work in the morning...

The drive to her place the next day was no better. My mind was still spinning, and I'm not sure that I was in the proper condition to be behind the wheel. I was motivated, though: nothing would stop me from seeing her, especially an accident, so I drove as safely as I could. Her image filled my imagination, just as it had filled every dream since we first spoke. I tried to distract myself by listening to the radio, but it was hopeless. The image from that first photograph... Her back slightly arched, her arms outstretched, her body completely open to her lover... I missed the exit from the interstate, and had to double back.

After seeing a bit more of Wyoming than I had intended to, I finally arrived. Ten thirty. Mid-morning, just as I had said. At least this much was going well. After nearly locking my keys in the car, I found my way, champagne bottle in hand, to her step. One more deep breath, and then the knock…

The door opened slowly, and there she was. She wore a thin, silky robe, tied at the waist. The robe, wrapped modestly around her, formed a "V" at her throat that just barely hinted at what lay beneath. The loose sleeves covered her arms to her wrists, but for the first time, I saw her hands and fingers in person. Even her fingers were lovely! I was instantly at ease. The nervousness I had felt for the last 18 hours vanished when she smiled meekly at me, standing in her doorway. The sudden sensation of calm and peace was almost, but not quite, enough to startle me all over again.

As I stepped in, she shut the door, taking care to lock it. She turned, smiled more broadly, and took me by the hand as I followed her. From behind, I was able to catch a few brief glimpses of her calves, uncovered by the robe, and bare feet. As my gaze worked its way slowly upward, I could discern the shape of her rear end, wrapped in silk: a package waiting to be opened.

Brunch proved to be exotic and a bit mysterious, not unlike my hostess. She had laid out an assortment of ripe fruits, pastries, and some other items (which I presumed to be Asian in origin) that I didn't recognize on a small table in front of her couch. I was able, after the rush of calm, to loosen my death grip on the champagne bottle, and poured two glasses as we took our seats next to one another.

Over the next hour or so, we ate and drank, talked and laughed, exchanged furtive glances and flirtatious comments. She identified the unusual items for me, and held up a small bite of each for me to taste. Whether by instinct or conscious decision, we were gradually leaning in closer to one another all throughout. We "accidentally" brushed up against one another several times. Each brief contact caused me to be simultaneously more relaxed and more excited. She emptied her champagne glass, and set it on the coffee table. As I leaned in to refill it, she slid in close to me and placed her hand on my thigh. I nearly spilled champagne on her carpet.

I managed to recover with minimal mess, and turned to hand the glass to her. She demurred, and placed it back on the table. As we sat facing one another on her sofa, she started to massage my shoulders. I watched her face as we continued to talk, but she wasn't watching mine. Her eyes were lower. She moved them slowly across my chest, down my torso, and then back upward, until she fixated on the third button of my shirt, the highest that was fastened.

"Here, lean back a bit," she offered, as her fingers slid down from my shoulders. I took a deep breath, expanding my chest, and complied. As I reclined, she seated herself beside me, her fingertips moving in slow, small circles on my chest. I could feel the warmth of her hands as she slid them toward the button. Two of her fingers slid inside my shirt as she unhooked the 3rd button. Then the fourth. Then the fifth.

My chest was now exposed to her. I delighted in her soft, warm hands against my skin. As she massaged my shoulders again, this time without the intervening fabric of my clothing, i noticed that the "V" of her robe had worked its way lower. The view of the cusp of one delicate breast must be akin to a sailor's first glimpse of land on the horizon after months at sea.

Sixth button. I had momentarily lost track of her hands. They must have moved lower as I was enjoying the scenery. Seventh button: the last one. I watched as a tiny smile formed on her face as she pulled my shirt loose, uncovering my navel. "That's much more comfortable, isn't it?" I had to agree: it was. She lifted her eyes and smiled at me again. Her hands, though, were still preoccupied. Having mastered all of the shirt buttons, they now unhooked my jeans. Her fingers were placed mischeviously near my formerly fastened belt and her eyes sparkled as she asked "shall we go to the other room?"

(More to come)

__________________
What the critics are saying

• "I have a very good feeling about this..." - L.S.
• "You and your 'Delete' key need to get a divorce." - F.C.M.
• "Arrogant.... condescending... skirt chaser.... I love you!" - G.W.

Part II has been a long time coming... Sorry for the delay. I'm looking forward to y'all's comments....

P.

------------------------------

She led me back to a large, luxurious bedroom. A circular fireplace
stood in one corner across from the bed. In between I saw a large,
overstuffed chair with a thick lambskin rug a few feet in front. I
completed my survey of the new surroundings pretty quickly: I didn't
want to keep my eyes off her for too long.

I followed her to the center of the room near the chair,
where she stopped. I silently stepped in just behind her,
slipping my arm around her waist. Gently, tenderly, I
brushed the hair off her shoulder and pressed my lips to
her skin. In a moment of unprecedented
courage, I whispered "Anything you want.... I'll do it
for you...."

She turned around to face me, and we kissed again,
her lips brushing mine like a feather. I ran my fingertips
through her hair at the temples. Our eyes met, and we
shared a slow, deep kiss.


She stood, facing me, with a look of longing on her
delicate face as she asked - gently pleaded - me to
undress her. With rapt anticipation, I slipped her
robe slowly off. My fingertips slid against the bare
skin of her exposed shoulders and upper arms. She
took a deep breath as the fabric began to fall from
her breasts. In life, her body was even more
magnificent than in photos. Her breasts were works of
art which rivaled the finest sculptures. I could
hear her gasp as my thumbs grazed her firm, dark
nipples. Her robe, still tied, slid as far as her
elbows and waist as she stood before me.

The room was warm, but I the brush of the air against
her naked skin caused her to shiver.... or maybe it
was my steady gaze at the wonders in front of me. I
leaned down to kiss her chest. Again, she took a
deep breath as my lips touched her skin. the
sensation of her quickening heartbeat drove me to take
her breasts into my hands, stroking them, and taking
them each in turn into my mouth. My hands slid slowly
down her sides, and I pushed the robe from her hips.
It fell gently to the floor.

I stood back for a moment, to take her all in: I could
see every inch of her. My fingers had already
explored her thick, dark hair. Her eyes were shy and
submissive: they didn't betray the wild, raw
sensuality that I knew she possessed. I had already
touched with my lips her neck, and shoulders, and
breasts. Now for the first time, as I cast my eyes
quickly down, I experienced the rest of her. I could
see her smooth, firm legs. Her feet were beautifully
pedicured with polished toenails. Slim muscular
calves rose from her shapely ankles. I almost felt
the warmth emanating from her thighs. And between
them... I had wanted to be between her thighs almost
since the moment of our first words to one another.
Each conversation, each photograph, each time we
talked made me want it so much more. I just stood and
looked at her - a statue come to life - for several
long moments. She was clearly aware of my growing
discomfort: she said "I think we should take those
jeans off: they look too tight."

With that, she gracefully knelt to the front of me,
and finished the job she had started earlier. Her
fingers almost tickled as she lowered my zipper. She
gently guided my legs out of my pants and tossed them
aside. Then, gingerly and gently, she drew my shorts
down. My swollen length emerged just inches from her
face. "It's beautiful," she whispered: "May I?"

I didn't know exactly what she had in mind, but I
quickly nodded my assent. Just moments ago, I had
whispered to her that I would do anything for her. I
meant that, and that included allowing her to do
whatever she wished with me. Whatever she wished to
do, then, I had no objection. As she knelt on the
floor before me, she lifted her hands. I closed my
eyes as she touched me, her hands cupping me and
encompassing my length. I was throbbing, and her
touch was sweet torture. I felt her warm lips on me,
and then her soft, moist tongue. I couldn't help but
groan in pleasure. After a short tender kiss, I felt
her withdraw. I opened my eyes and looked down to see
her smiling up at me, my member still cupped in her
soft hands. "I'm going to turn on the camera now."

I knew that she had taped herself while making love.
She had shared clips of her videos with me. The sense
of complete arousal I experienced when watching her
with other men is too intense for words. I imagined
myself first in the camera's place, in the room with
her, as she and her lover pleased one another. I then
imagined myself in her lover's place, satisfying her
every wish, fulfilling her every need, while others
looked on in amazement and awe. As she stood and
crossed the room, my mind was flooded with the images
I had seen of her, and the peerless desire for her
that they had caused in me. I replayed, in my
imagination as I stood there, the scenes of her
wrapping her legs around her lover, in the throes of
oral passion. I saw her body convulse, rising and
falling with each flick of his tongue. I watched her
breasts heaving and thrashing with each thrust of his
penis inside her. We had spoken of our dreams, as
well: the secret dreams that neither of us had ever
shared. And now.... Now it was my turn. Today I
would begin to make some of her dreams come true.

She returned to me, after starting the camera, and we
embraced completely, our bodies exposed completely to
one another. As our mouths, our lips, and our tongues
met, I ran my fingers through her hair and down her
back as far as I could reach. We pressed tightly
against one another for a few moments, lost in the
intensity of our lust for each other. When we finally
had to separate to breathe, I guided her as she turned
around. She pressed her back against my chest, and
wrapped one hand around my neck. I placed my hands
around her and caressed her as I kissed her neck and
shoulders. My hands moved to cover every inch of
her.... Cupping her breasts... Teasing her nipples...
Sliding down her smooth stomach... Parting her
thighs... Massaging the warm, damp, places on her
body: the places that I had longed to touch, and
which, today, were no longer forbidden. She was an
instrument in my hands: a harp, sounding her gentle,
pleasurable notes for the enjoyment of the musician
and of the appreciative audience of the camera.

Under my touch, her raw energy began to emerge. She
was no longer demure and shy: she was sensual, and
insatiable. Her body flowed with unharnessed
sexuality: I could tell as I touched her, and as she
turned her head to lock my mouth in another long
passionate kiss. My fingertips explored her body.
Her willingness to be explored was unlimited. She
fell almost limp in my arms, but I caught and steadied
her. "Maybe it would be better," I said, "if we sat
down for a bit."

I guided her to one of the large, soft chairs near the
fireplace. As I sat, she clambered on top of me,
straddling me. She held my face with her hands and we
began to kiss again. I ran my fingers through her
hair with one hand while I continued to explore her
warm wetness with the other. She started to grind
against my fingers, and leaned back, lifting and
exposing her breasts to my mouth. I eagerly took one
in, and rolled my tongue around her hard nipple inside
my mouth. She ground herself more firmly, and moaned
in pleasure: I think she was enjoying it.

__________________
What the critics are saying

• "I have a very good feeling about this..." - L.S.
• "You and your 'Delete' key need to get a divorce." - F.C.M.
• "Arrogant.... condescending... skirt chaser.... I love you!" - G.W.