Flash Fiction Friday 5-18-12: "Damn the Consequences"

(Image source: "On the Stairs" by Samantha Wolov)

She was writhing, moaning, underneath me. Her skin was superheated, the lace on her bra cups rough and scratchy against my chest. Her lips were hungry, her restless hands everywhere on my body. She yanked at my jeans; I tore her underwear aside, fumbling, desperate. My fingers sank deep into her with one exploratory push, immediately soaked. She gasped and cooed against my neck, wrapping her hand around me, squeezing, tugging me closer.

I slid deep with one effortless thrust and she wrapped her legs around me. The red haze descended and I started pounding away at her, her shrieks and yelps already rising up the scale.

“Take me upstairs,” she'd said. We hadn't even made it halfway.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 68-122 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...rough and scratchy..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

Some of the best sex I've ever had in my life has been when my partner and I just couldn't wait to have each other. Standing against the wall, bent over a couch, just inside the front door or (as in one particularly memorable occasion) halfway up the stairs. Not a fantasy, this one, but drawn from life. It was fucking incredible (or perhaps I should say incredible fucking).

If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. 

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 2-18-11: "...And When She Falleth"

(Image source unknown, but it just begs to be called "Precipice". Photo this week provided by Lexi.)

She stood on the edge, looking down into emptiness. The wind sliced her to the bone, carved her up in shivering chunks and left her spread over the landscape.

Such a long way to fall. She tightened her hold on identity, grasping for the shreds of sanity that he'd left her. She tilted her head, staring down still, poised on the precipice of her own making....

….and fell.

Fell screaming, calling out his name, body dissolving in a rush and whirl of light and sound and heat. Plummeted, still calling his name as she sundered and burst from within.

Afterward, she lay clasped in his embrace, listening to thunder within. Silent tears trickled forth unfelt.

“I've never seen you let go like that,” he whispered. “I feel humbled.”

She rolled into him, clutching him tighter. “Hold me,” was her only answer.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 115-148 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...poised on the precipice..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

This pic was dark and turbulent but it was nevertheless arresting enough to practically leap off the screen at me when Lexi sent it my way. There was really no other possible choice for this particular week.

I made a conscious effort to take the darkness shown here and spin it another way. One of my ex-lovers used to keep very tight control over herself when we were making love; she would enjoy it, but would never really let go enough to fully experience the pleasure we were creating. Then one day she really did let go, and damn near cracked a window with her shriek of ecstasy when I sent her over the edge with mouth, fingers and tongue. The aftermath transpired a bit like this story -- me, astonished and humbled by the power of her release, and she almost crying with the relief of tension and deliberate release of control. There were many more orgasms after that one, but none that quite matched that one exquisite moment. Even now, I remember it (and her) fondly.

Please note that this week, as with the last couple weeks, I am trying something different with the participants list. If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. We'll see how this works out.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. Thanks to Lexi for providing this week's (plus a few others which I may use later on).

-- PB

Congratulations, California

I'm really a bit surprised this morning that the sex blogging world isn't more excited about this. If you don't know already, yesterday California district court Judge Vaughn Walker overturned the ridiculous and discriminatory California Proposition 8, on the basis that it was....well, ridiculous and discriminatory.

Okay, okay, so maybe he didn't say "ridiculous". But he did say discriminatory -- here, why don't I just let the Judge speak for himself. Here's what he wrote in his opinion:

"Proposition 8 fails to advance any rational basis in singling out gay men and lesbians for denial of a marriage license. Indeed, the evidence shows Proposition 8 does nothing more than enshrine in the California Constitution the notion that opposite-sex couples are superior to same-sex couples."

I remember watching the November 2008 elections avidly, talking with friends via instant message and phone, watching the balance of the election tip slowly in the direction of hope and change, feeling proud that our country was taking a step to reclaiming the freedoms we'd had so curtailed during the years of the Bush administration. I remember thinking it was a good time to be an American, and that maybe things were going to work out pretty well after all.

And then California went and disappointed the hell out of me by passing Proposition 8, maybe not by a landslide, but by a comfortable margin.

I was utterly shocked. If there was any state in the 50 that embraced diversity, that stood as a shining example of the "melting pot" mentality, that didn't bat an eyelash at weirdness and the unconventional, California had to be it. Wasn't that right? They couldn't really be serious, could they? There was a lost sack of "get rid of this miserable excuse for a law" ballots somewhere and it just hadn't been brought in yet, right?

Apparently not. I have rarely been so dismayed and upset as I was when the Californians stood up as a state for discrimination and fear. I might have expected something like that from Bible Belt states like Alabama or Mississippi or Texas, but California? C'mon, people, you should know better.

Now under the terms of full disclosure I should remark that I've been as straight as an arrow most of my life (swinging a bit more towards the "bi" area in recent years...but I digress). The law doesn't affect me one whit, but I don't give a damn about that. I am a firm believer that the more we single people out as being different -- for their religion, for their skin color, for their sexual practices, for their personal proclivities of ANY kind -- the farther away we get from true unity.

We are well into the twenty-first century here. It's long past time that we got rid of antiquated notions, such as that of marriage being "only between a man and a woman". There was once a notion that cigarettes were good for pregnant women, too -- remember the slogan "Reach for a Lucky instead of a sweet"? -- but that shit went by the wayside pretty quickly when the lung cancer rates started shooting up, didn't it?

Astonishingly, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger appears to be mellowing out a bit; even though he was one of the defendants named in the lawsuit, he released a statement that he "respects" the decision and "would not support an amendment to the constitution that would overturn" it. He also remarked that "[f]or the hundreds of thousands of Californians in gay and lesbian households who are managing their day-to-day lives, this decision affirms the full legal protections and safeguards I believe everyone deserves." Bravo, Ah-nuld! Even if you have previously vetoed two bills in favor of gay marriage, this is at least a step in the right direction. 

There's an endless cycle of appeals and counter-appeals and legal briefs and rulings ahead for Proposition 8. It's no doubt going to wind up at the Supreme Court, and given the Court's generally conservative nature, it may be re-overturned there....but at least for today, I can dream for a bit about true equality.

But it's only a small step. Same-sex couples are only legally able to marry in six lousy states: Massachusetts, Iowa, Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire and Washington DC. Why don't you get with the program, the rest of you, eh?

True love doesn't know from boundaries. It's color blind. It disregards orientation. It breaks through religious and cultural and political barriers. It finds a way....and while the gay and lesbian couples in California have been "finding a way" while Prop 8 was on the books, finding alternatives in civil union ceremonies or clandestine marriages that are nevertheless unrecognized by the state, I'm delighted to see a blow struck on the side of right this time. If you're an adult and making your own decisions, you should have the right to have sex with -- and marry -- whoever you damned well please. That is my firm belief.

-- PB

Panserhistory, part 6: Michelle

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 6: Michelle

I was doing some theater work about three times a week when I met Michelle. One of the other players had brought her by one evening because she had been interested in seeing what we did. I noticed her right away -- tiny, cute, blonde mop of hair, bubbly personality, very friendly and approachable. She was the very definition of the word "spunky" in many ways. I spent a while talking to her and decided I was more than passably interested. We all went out for dinner later that evening and I sat near her again for more fun conversation, where she again demonstrated the same likable qualities. She was a lot of fun to be around -- relentlessly cheerful, upbeat, good sense of humor, laughed a lot. I couldn't help noticing that she was also more than a little ditzy and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, not as intelligent as I tend to prefer in the women I'm dating. But she was cute and fun and had a nice, tight little body, which she kept in a constant state of animation. And I kept wondering if that energy would translate into the bedroom. I could tell she wasn't serious relationship material, but I'd tried the serious relationship thing several times already and it hadn't worked so well. Maybe it was time for something casual and fun.

So, even though Michelle was very little like me -- different backgrounds, different interests, almost nothing in common -- I asked her out. She said yes, and I arranged to come by her place and pick her up since she had no car. I had a moment's discomfiture when she said she lived in a trailer park with a pair of friends -- thinking, Do I really want to be seeing a trailer park girl? Have I sunk that low? -- but what the hell, I could roll with the unexpected, right?

Well, maybe. When I picked her up, I was a bit shocked by the condition of the place. The park itself pretty much fit every stereotype of trailer parks: dirty, disorganized, trash lying around, cars up on blocks, stray animals running loose, etc. The trailer she lived in was no better than the others outside, although when she invited me in I found it was a bit neater inside. Only in the general area, though. When she showed me her room, she apologized for it being so messy, but "messy" wasn't the word. It was a wreck. Clothes everywhere, CDs and other possessions flung all over the place, bras hanging on the blinds -- yeah, it was pretty high-class, all right.

I tactfully suggested that we head elsewhere, and we went out for a pretty standard dinner-and-a-movie. And had a lot of fun, actually, although I kept wondering at times what I was really doing. But then I'd look at the way her breasts bounced under her tight shirt, or she would touch me on the arm while making a point, or I'd ogle her ass in the tight jeans she favored, or she'd laugh a go-to-hell laugh that was so endearing. And then I'd reassure myself that I was having fun, so what if she was a lot different from me?

We had several more dates over the next couple of weeks. It got physical pretty quickly. On our third date, she turned 21 and I took her out for drinks, and she practically attacked me in my car on the way back to her place. Only incredible self-control kept me from letting her hop on my cock right there in the parking lot -- she made it pretty clear she wanted just that, but I didn't really like the idea of getting arrested. A few times we made out on her couch, but then we'd have to stop because her roommates would walk in and the guy apparently objected to her having male companions over. God only knows why.

Each time I was out with her, I had fun, but I kept having misgivings -- about her carefree attitude to everything, about her let's-just-have-fun way of dealing with things, about her vastly different background, about her overall wild-child feel. A few times she accused me of being a stick-in-the-mud; I'd never felt like one before, but compared to her, I was. Still, I kept seeing her, and the theater troupe eventually started asking what was going on with me and Michelle. We weren't hiding it, exactly, but the truth was that I felt a bit embarrassed about being out with her sometimes because she really was lower-class than me. That's a shitty thing to say, but we really were radically different.

Still, I was still mostly enjoying it, at least for now, and I was still very curious about whether that body lived up to its promise. So one night I convinced her to come over to my place for the evening. We watched a movie and she eventually snuggled up on my chest and fell asleep there. I woke her up and gently suggested that we move to the bedroom, and she didn't seem to mind that idea at all.

There was no blushing or uncertainty about her. She was totally matter-of-fact about the whole thing, pulling off her top and skimming out of her tight jeans like it was absolutely nothing. There was no mystery to it, no teasing -- one minute she was dressed and the next her clothes were lying on the floor in a heap. Her breasts were small and pert and had bright pink nipples, already hard and pointing at me. Her pussy wasn't shaved, but was trimmed very very short. She waggled her ass at me and lay down on my bed, and said, "Well?" I was a bit nonplused about her carefree, detached attitude, but got my own clothes off as well, and started in with the kisses and licks and caresses that had served me so well with the other women I'd been with.

And that's where the problems started. See, it turned out that she was absolutely hypersensitive to being touched. I couldn't caress her breasts, or kiss them, or suck on her nipples, without her screeching and writhing away from me in giggles. Same went for her thighs, her back, her neck, her ears -- all the zones I loved to attack, and had been weak points in the women I'd been with. Each time I tried it, anywhere I tried it, hands or lips or tongue, she would shriek and twitch and start giggling, which (after being repeated several times) is a hell of a mood killer.

Oh, she was eager enough. I could smell her arousal from almost the second she got her jeans off. She didn't mind fondling and caressing me, and she played with my cock like an expert. She liked being kissed, and hard. Her tongue was in my mouth from almost the first kiss. She liked to be bitten on the throat, or on the shoulders, and hard. But any light touches -- and I love light touching and lots of caresses and foreplay -- were right out. And she let me go down on her but it was obviously not her thing. I kept asking how she liked it but she wouldn't give me any feedback, only more giggles. After about five or ten minutes of near dead silence from her while I tried every trick I knew with mouth and tongue and fingers, she finally giggled and said "Look, why don't you just get a condom and fuck me already?"

More than a little off-putting, right? It got worse. I dutifully put on a condom and slid into her, starting off slow and grinding. But she was almost totally silent. She wrapped her arms around me and her legs too, and would make a few soft gasps, but I absolutely could not tell whether or not she was enjoying it at all. I kept asking her if that felt good, or if she wanted it harder or deeper, or faster, or slower....or anything. Each time she'd just giggle at me (I was starting to hate that giggle), or reply in just one or two words, or not answer at all. Finally I figured out that she liked it when I pounded her really really hard -- that finally got her gasping and moaning, digging at my back, calling out. Both of us started making more noise and it looked like the night was going to be kind of fun after all. The headboard started thumping against the wall and the bed began moving slowly across the hardwood floors of my apartment as we got more enthusiastic.

And right then the people in the apartment below me started banging on the ceiling and shouting to hurry it up and finish already, it was past midnight.

That was pretty much the last straw. Michelle and I looked at each other, frozen, and then we both started laughing helplessly. My cock wilted a bit, but with a bit of encouragement I managed to get hard enough again to at least finish up. I still don't know whether Michelle came from our fucking or not, and she wouldn't let me finger her or give her any oral, so that was out too. Soon she was asleep, sprawling across most of the bed and taking most of the covers. I got up and padded to the bathroom, wondering what the hell had just happened, and what the fuck I was doing with this girl. I shook my head, then went back to bed and curled up next to Michelle. Sleep was a long time coming.

Next morning Michelle showed absolutely no discomfort or awkwardness at being nude in my bed on The Day After. Ruefully, I decided she'd probably done this sort of thing lots of times before. No discomfort or awkwardness, no, but neither did she seem to have any interest in another round. She woke up after I did and immediately started getting dressed. It was only later that I realized she had maybe decided the previous night was a mistake too.

I took her out to breakfast -- it's only polite after a one-night stand, I had heard -- and then ran her home. I kissed her goodnight and she told me to call her, but I think we both knew I wasn't going to do anything of the sort. She went on into the trailer without a backward glance, her ass still swinging quite nicely in those tight jeans.

I shook my head and got out of there. I did see Michelle a few more times, but only at the theater, and usually in the company of some guy. A different one each time, I noted. About two months later she stopped hanging out at the theater with us; about a month later, somebody told me that she was pregnant. A year after that, I heard she was pregnant for the second time, by another father, still unmarried, and dating an honest-to-God monster-truck driver. You dodged a bullet there, old son, I thought to myself, not very charitably, when I heard how she had ended up.

I didn't get much out of my brief time with Michelle other than my first one-night stand. I did get one belief turned on its head, though. Used to be that I thought that even bad sex was better than no sex at all. Wrongo. I realized even halfway through that night that I wasn't having any fun, and by the next morning I was full-on into good LORD that was a bad fucking idea territory. So bad sex is not better than no sex at all. This also kind of turned me off the whole "casual sex" thing for a while, although seeing how well it works for so many of you, I'm readjusting my beliefs back in the other direction now. As long as it's with a decent partner!

Anyhow, thanks for a wild couple of weeks, Michelle. It was......interesting.

-- PB

Panserhistory, part 5: Laurie

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

All of the women I've mentioned up till now have been wonderful. Laurie, on the other hand, was the first really trying relationship I'd had. Danger, there are shoals ahead.

Part 5: Laurie

I met Laurie several years after college. At the time, I was fairly active on the mailing list of one of my favorite prog-metal bands, and on nights when I was bored I could occasionally be found in an IRC chat room that was ostensibly dedicated to the band as well, but was more often just a "hang out and gab with friends" thing. One night Laurie popped in and (after getting the usual welcome from the regulars) she and I started talking. I don't even recall whether it was me who first private-messaged her, or vice versa, but I do recall my ears pricked up when I discovered that she actually lived in my area. About 99.9% of the friends I'd made through this mailing list (or IRC channel) lived scattered all over the world, so it was pretty unusual to find one who actually lived nearby.

Then I discovered that she was single (she was, as I recall, bitching about her lack of a love life) and my ears pricked up even further. Having already found that she lived in the area, I began idly wondering if she and I had anything else in common besides our love of the band. We started privately chatting and it turned out we did have a few other things in common. The biggest one, though, was that we were both very annoyed at being dateless losers on a Friday night, and so I think it was boredom more than anything else that led her to accept my offer to meet for coffee sometime. She sent me a pic and I sent one back to her so we'd know what the other looked like, and then we met to go see a movie.

To my astonishment she looked almost exactly like the pic she'd sent me. I'd met loads of people via the Internets by then, and it'd been my experience that (shock!) several of them misrepresented themselves via the image they portrayed online, or sent pictures that were way out of date or way different from the way they typically looked. But Laurie, surprisingly, looked very much like the pics she'd sent -- a tall, slim girl with straight, reddish-brown hair, a studious expression, wireframe glasses, and a shy smile. She had a "librarian chic" thing about her -- shy, retiring, a bit mousy, drab clothing, but very beautiful in her own way.

When she smiled at all, that is. I quickly discovered that Laurie was very, very quiet, and very shy, and that I did most of the talking when we were together. She was obviously very intelligent but she was so reticent about expressing herself that I had a lot of trouble drawing her out. I got to know her slowly over the weeks that followed, and other dates, but there were a lot of conversations when there were long stretches of silence -- and not always the comfortable kind. We mostly talked about music, the biggest thing we had in common, and one of the things she did when we were out one afternoon was to turn me on to a new musician I wasn't familiar with. I've since become a massive fan, bought all eight of his albums, and been to see him play three times -- one of the few good things that came out of this relationship.

I also found to my dismay that she had severe intimacy issues. When I went to give her a hug after our first real date, she stiffened up so much that it was like hugging a tree. I bent over for a kiss goodnight and she looked terrified, like a deer trapped in headlights. Now, you will never, ever catch me forcing anyone, so I just turned the kiss into a quick peck, but I left that night wondering why a little intimacy scared her so much.

It didn't improve much over the weeks to come, either. I could hold her hand when we went someplace, or stroke her hair if we sat together on the couch, but anything beyond that seemed to panic her or just turn her off like a light switch. Our hugs goodnight were always the same, and never ended with more than a kiss -- I would reach out to her, she would stiffen up, and sometimes I wouldn't even put my arms around her, just putting them lightly on her waist. A quick peck, and then I'd be off again.

I talked with her for hours, about everything under the sun, trying to make her feel comfortable. I never pushed her, never asked for more than she was willing to give, never got visibly angry or upset when she rejected my advances. In fact I rarely even made any advances, once I saw how uncomfortable she got with any kind of physical intimacy. But privately I grew more and more frustrated with the situation, and with her continuing reticence to share....well, pretty much anything with me.

I tried drawing her out. Tried asking her about her past. I asked her once if she had had a bad experience with an abusive or controlling boyfriend. She shook her head no and said it wasn't that. I tried telling her that I didn't want to make her uncomfortable and would she rather that I just stopped seeing her. I tried asking if she just didn't find me attractive. Every time she assured me that no, she didn't want me to go, and that she loved being with me, and that she did find me attractive. She just....danced around the problem every time I brought it up with her. And so I kept trying, although it was becoming apparent that in addition to emotional intimacy issues, she also had other emotional problems. Problems with depression. Problems with her family. And a self-image that was so low it barely even registered at all. I began to feel like I was going nuts with duct tape trying to fix the cracks in her personality, and nothing I ever said or did seemed to make any impression on her at all.

Still, she was beautiful, and I have a stubborn streak a mile wide, so I kept trying. And trying. Soon I was also discovering an unpleasant thoughtlessness about her. She would frequently do things that inconvenienced me or caused issues without seeming to care -- she was always, always late for everything, for example, and we missed two dinner reservations, one movie, and were thirty minutes late for one concert because she could never be ready when I came to get her. And she never argued, only went with passive-aggressive behavior when upset -- she would tell me one thing, but then act in a completely different manner that belied her words. I couldn't even count the number of times I had this conversation with her: "What's wrong?" (Long pause, deep sigh from her.) "Oh..........nothing." I don't like playing games, so I would take her at her word, but it began to grate on my nerves.

One night, for example, I took her to a large Christmas party being thrown by my boss. All of my coworkers would be there with their girlfriends or wives and I'd told her I would be very happy if she'd come with me, but that I didn't want her to come along if she wouldn't be comfortable in a large group of people, or okay with meeting my coworkers. She assured me that she'd love to go and that she'd really enjoy the night out. And then spent the entire evening sitting in a corner, talking to no one but me, sipping at a drink, and closing up like a clam any time anyone came near her or even said hello. I asked her repeatedly if she wanted to go home and she kept saying no, but when the fifth person in twenty minutes had asked me if she was okay, because she looked absolutely miserable, I had had enough and took her home. Over and over I asked her why she had agreed to go if she wasn't going to enjoy herself, and over and over she assured me that she had been having a good time, everyone had just misinterpreted her quietude. I was so upset that evening that I didn't even bother to try for a goodnight kiss, just dropped her off and told her I'd call later.

Things came to a head one weekend, after we'd been dating for about four or five months. A guitarist I particularly admired (we'll call him Johnny Rich just for brevity) was doing two solo shows in a neighboring state, one of them five hours from where I lived, the other one six hours away. I asked Laurie if she would like to come see either show with me; I'd planned on going to both and was going to grab a hotel room in between them so I didn't have to drive another ten hours back home and then to the next show. She was not free the first night, but said she definitely wanted to go the second night and was looking forward to it. That meant I'd have to drive back home, five hours, after the first show, pick her up the next day, and then drive six hours up to the second show. Annoying, but doable, and she seemed worth it; also, I really wanted her to see Johnny play.

So I drove up the first night, had a great time, and talked with Johnny after the show. Now, I'd traveled a couple of times, long distances, to see him play previously, and he remembered me, so he made a surprising offer: since I'd come so far, would I like to follow along to the next show and see that one too, free of charge? I could hang out with them on the tour bus, crash in a spare bunk if I wanted, watch from backstage, hang out with the band, whatever I wanted. I had to tell him that I wished I could, but I'd promised my girlfriend that I would come back and bring her up for the second show, so I couldn't take him up on the offer. I drove the five hours back home, got in early in the morning, and went to bed.

When I woke up, I called Laurie to make arrangements to pick her up that night so we could drive up to see the second show. Unfortunately, it seemed that she was no longer interested in going, even though she'd promised me several times that she did want to go. It was okay if I went, of course, but she "just didn't feel like it".

For the first time I genuinely lost my temper with her. I do have a temper sometimes, though I keep it under tight control. I felt I'd been very accomodating of her issues, but this wasn't the first time I had missed out on something or given something up for her. I'm afraid I exploded at her, railing about her thoughtlessness and how I was tired of bending over backward for her. I told her I was tired of her using me as a doormat and continuously taking advantage of me. I also brought up the issue of physical intimacy and wanted to know why, after four months, she still turned into a stone statue every time I tried to hold or kiss her. I wanted to know what, exactly, the problem was with our relationship, why nothing I did ever seemed to make any difference to her. There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and that only enraged me further: "There's nothing wrong? Or you just aren't going to tell me?" Another long silence, but not a word did she say. I let it stretch, and stretch, and stretch. "Hello?" I said, and she said "I'm here," but not a single word more.

I had had enough. I told her it was fairly obvious she just didn't want to communicate with me, and I was tired of being in a relationship where all of the talk was one-way. I told her that I knew there were problems, but that I couldn't fix anything if I never knew what the problem was. I told her that I had done everything I could to help her, tried to be patient and understanding, but that it never seemed to do any good at all. I told her quite a bit more, some of it very hurtful, lashing out in frustration and rage. And finally I told her that I hoped she would find somebody who was better suited for her than I was, but that I was cutting loose before I wasted any more of my time. I waited, but there was only silence on the other end of the line. She didn't even seem to care enough to castigate me for my harsh words, it seemed. I said goodbye and hung up with a bang, and that was the last I heard of Laurie.

In retrospect I know that I handled that extraordinarily badly. Yes, I'd put up with a lot from her. Yes, I'd bent over backward for her countless times. Yes, she probably did have emotional and mental issues that were interfering with our relationship. Maybe she had had some kind of trauma in her past. Maybe all of this. Maybe none of it. I don't know, because she would never tell me, would never talk with me. But I could have been more kind about it when breaking things off. I didn't have to be so hurtful and didn't have to be so pointed. There's enough hurt in the world already without me adding to it.

I also learned a few more things about dating, and a few things about myself -- not all of them good. I learned that some people are just incompatible with you, and no amount of effort will change it. I learned that some people have problems that go too deep to be healed easily, and that being with someone like that requires a kind of patience that I do not possess. I learned that, for me, intimacy is important -- friendly connections are nice, but if you aren't able to develop any emotional or physical intimacy, you'll never have more than just a friendship. I learned that although I talk about how patient and attentive I can be, if driven beyond my limits I can be extremely cruel and hurtful. I learned that if I don't keep a tight rein on my temper I can say things that I will regret for a long time. I learned that for me, life is too short to continue swinging futilely at a target that you will never, ever reach, not if you try for a thousand years. And I learned to stand up for myself and say something when there are things about a relationship that are bothering me, rather than just internalizing everything until I explode.

I saw Laurie a few more times in the years since, always at concerts or music festivals. Most of the time she didn't see me, although one of those times, her gaze did meet mine. She looked very uncomfortable and slipped through the crowd in the opposite direction, obviously not at all interested in saying hello.

I'm sorry, Laurie. You drove me nuts for months, but I shouldn't have been so cruel when I broke it off with you. I hope you did find somebody who could help complete you and salve the hurts in what was obviously a hurting soul. But it wasn't me.

-- PB

Panserhistory, part 4: Faith

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 4: Faith

Faith is somebody I've known now for almost twenty years. I "met" her in my first or second year of college. At the time I was reading some USENET newsgroups fairly regularly (this was long before they were all taken over by spammers) and she had made some particularly insightful comments in a newsgroup about one of my favorite authors. I replied to it via email, getting her first and last names transposed in the process because the message header had reversed them for some reason -- not a good start! Fortunately, she didn't seem upset and just corrected me, and that started what has turned out to be one of the longest friendships I've ever had.

Faith and I developed our friendship almost exclusively online for several years, sending emails back and forth. We made one or two phone calls but it was mostly via email. We talked about everything under the sun -- geeky stuff we both enjoyed, politics, TV shows, music, what we wanted out of life, and tons more. We even talked about the people we were dating at the time -- if either of us was dating. She, like I, was pretty selective, and like me she was slow to give her heart away.

Initially, I just saw her as a friend, but a very good one. From almost the very first, I felt that I could trust her with just about anything I said to her. I realized that she would never judge me unfairly, that she would always measure anything I said carefully against her own opinions and experiences, that she would keep any secrets I shared in confidence. She was and is one of the smartest people I've ever met, with an enormous drive to succeed and the willpower to go after whatever she wanted -- and get it. She was well-informed on politics and current events. And, like me, she was very very passionate about everything she did and said, and wouldn't hesitate to get into a lively discussion about anything on which we happened to disagree.

I think it was about two years after we first said hi to each other that we decided we should really meet face to face. If I remember right, it was during summer break and she was living with her parents then. So I drove up to meet her (and her parents, and her sister), and spent a couple of days hanging out with her.

When I met her in person I thought she was just lovely. Dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful curves (an ass to die for, fantastic cleavage hinting at great breasts too, great muscular legs) and one of the most dazzling smiles I had ever seen. I'd felt an attraction to her for some time, but since I was still fairly inexperienced at the time I never really did anything about it. I had a wonderful time just being with her, but there was little privacy since we were at her parents' place and her sister was usually around when her parents were not.

One moment in time does stand out, even years later. We had the room to ourselves for a rare couple of minutes, and I summoned up the courage to reach out and touch her. I gave her a soft caress on the back of her neck. I couldn't help myself -- her skin just looked so soft and I just really wanted to touch her and express some of the attraction I was feeling very strongly right then. It never went beyond that, but she gave me a look that seemed to say "what was that?" and so I backed off immediately.

A few years later, she told me that that one touch was like a jolt of electricity to her. It had affected her almost as strongly as it did me. But (like me) she didn't do anything about it either. More fools we, eh?

In any case, I left after a couple of days and headed back home. And our friendship kept going, strong as ever. She told me about the guy she was seeing, and I told her about what had happened (or was happening) with me and Charlotte, with Rachel, with Melissa. And the years passed, and we drifted apart a bit, but always kept in touch via email and the occasional phone call.

Then, about six years after I'd first said hi to her, we started talking, in a roundabout way, about the attraction we'd felt to each other on that first visit, and the attraction that we, y'know, still kind of felt for each other. Neither of us was seeing anybody at the time (me having just broken things off with Melissa for what was probably the first or second time, and she having recently gotten out of a relationship where the guy treated her like crap). This was also when Faith told me how powerfully she'd been affected by that one touch on the last night of our first visit. From there it was a short step to start talking about sex and how much both of us loved it, and from there (of course) it was just a short jump to how much we'd love to do naughty things to each other.

The attraction grew and grew. The sexy discussions flew back and forth. We talked about fantasies, about things that we'd done, about things that we wanted to do. We quizzed each other. We wrote fantasies. We talked about games we'd like to play. At one point I even wrote her a novel-length erotic fantasy story featuring two characters that were very obviously based on us. And soon we began discussing an extended visit. At the time she was happy with her job and where she lived (in the northeast US), but I was not happy with my own situation. So I began contemplating a relocation, but first I wanted to make sure that the attraction still existed when we saw each other in person. We eventually arranged for me to come see her for a week, so we could determine whether or not it was a good idea for me to move up there.

The time came and I was more nervous than I'd ever been. Yes, we'd been sending messages back and forth about how nervous we both were, and yes, she kept talking repeatedly about how we were likely to jump each other in the car before we even got back to her place. In fact, I'd even gone so far as to get tested for STDs so I could show her the (clean) results; neither one of us liked condoms and we wanted pure skin-on-skin. She was on the pill, so the protection thing was taken care of. But some part of me kept wondering where the catch was. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be any catch. I got up there, and we embraced, and within seconds I knew: this was going to be a very good visit.

And it was. She told me later that she knew I wanted her very badly because I was having trouble making eye contact, and she was right. Although it was me who made the first move, leaning in for a kiss just after we got into the car to head back to her place. She kind of giggled when it was done, but assured me she wasn't laughing at me. And when we got back to her place, she proved it -- it wasn't long before we were both naked and entwined on her bed. She was as enthusiastic, as playful, as fun-loving as I'd hoped, and she smelled and tasted so good. Her body was as exquisite when unclothed as those hints I'd seen years before had suggested -- beautiful breasts, soft smooth skin, voluptuous curves, muscular legs that she loved to wrap around me.

That was a very good week. We went out on the town and she showed me around. We visited Niagara Falls (she lived just a couple hours away from there) and wandered around the Canadian side, holding hands and delighting in each others' company. We went out to eat. We watched movies and listened to music. She even showed me off to a few of her friends when she threw a party one night.

And over and over, we made love. And we had sex. And we fucked. She and I both agreed that there are differences between each of those, and there's a time and place for all of 'em. We screwed on the floor of her living room, giving each other carpet burns. I slurped her pussy for what felt like hours sometimes -- I couldn't get enough of the way she tasted. I gave her a long, long full-body massage and it turned into something rather more like a naked oil wrestling match. I gave her the dirty talk she wanted (she said that she really liked the idea but her partners thus far had been too timid to really try it; I was happy to oblige her during one very extended session and we eventually made enough noise that the people in the apartment below hers started banging on the ceiling as a not-so-subtle hint). We had soapy slippery shower fun. I loved her body, and she seemed equally excited by mine. As with Melissa, she was just as likely to attack me as I was to pounce on her, and so for a week we reveled in each others' bodies, and each others' company.

We did discover, though, that discussion of a relocation might have been a bit premature. We got along fine in person, don't get me wrong, and the physical attraction was every bit as intense as we'd expected, but because we are both extraordinarily strong-willed and intense people with some fundamental differences on our outlook on life, our personalities did clash more than once. In fact I think we had a small fight before the first night was even over, and there were a couple more small ones before I left, though it never grew to a serious confrontation or ruined the time we had with each other.

We parted at the airport, both of us agreeing that it had been an awesome week. But for some reason we never really spoke of my relocating again. I think it was fairly obvious to us both that we worked really well as friends, and really well as lovers, but that we might be a bit too different fundamentally, too stubborn and hard-headed and strong-willed, to work out well in a serious relationship. We'd probably wind up fighting too much, and that's no basis for a relationship.

But over the years we've stayed friends, and kept in touch. Faith is one of the best friends I've ever had. I've never wavered in my convictions that I can trust her with absolutely anything, and that she will always be there for me. And I like to think she knows the same about me. I wouldn't lose her friendship for the world.

One last note. A year or two ago Faith told me that she was seeing someone again, so I of course started interrogating her for more information. She eventually told me that he was actually still married, and I was completely shocked by that. I told her that I supported her in her choices, but that I wasn't really sure I approved. And, in truth, I didn't -- at the time I was still pretty judgmental of anyone who'd cheat on their spouse. Over time my stance on the matter changed -- at least, with respect to her and her beau -- but at first I was not at all happy to hear what she had to say.

In recent months, of course, since reading all the stories from you folks who are in unhappy marriages due to distant, unavailable, or downright abusive husbands or wives, I have rather changed my opinion on the whole thing. If a man's wife outright refuses to have sex with him, or a husband tells his wife that she just doesn't turn him on any more, or there are medical issues preventing one party from participating, or one of the partners is being emotionally or physically abusive -- then the whole "adultery" situation is no longer so cut-and-dried. Faith is no more a homewrecker than the other frustrated people I see stories from every day -- she's just somebody who wants a loving relationship. She just happens to be in love with someone who's already married. And given what she's told me of the situation, the guy has done everything short of a divorce to try and remedy things with his wife. Apparently that woman just doesn't have any interest at all in working out their problems.

In any case, Faith is one of my dearest friends and I still talk to her every couple of days. I wish her nothing but the best and I hope that eventually she'll find a way to be with her lover openly, so that they don't have to hide their relationship from the world at large.

And Faith -- I still love you, too. (Yes, she does know about this journal, and yes, I got her approval before writing about her. Told you she was cool).

-- PB

Panserhistory, part 3: Melissa

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 3: Melissa

I've written a bit about Melissa before (see this entry for details) but here's the full story.

I met Melissa at a Fourth of July party hosted by my friend Jonathan. She was a friend of Jonathan's sister. I liked her looks, liked her long curly black hair, liked her intelligence and ready wit, liked her geeky chic look, liked her geeky interests. We spent a lot of time talking that night but I left without getting her number. So, feeling like I was in grade school and sending a note to someone asking "Do you like me? Please check yes or no", I called up Jonathan's sister and, after hemming and hawing a bit, finally got around to asking if Melissa was seeing anyone. I could actually HEAR the smile in her voice as she said no, Melissa wasn't dating anybody, and by the way, would I like her number?

Good god, women can see right through us, can't they?

It was three more days before I got up the nerve to call Melissa, but she seemed delighted to hear from me and we made a date for that weekend. I drove down to see her (she lived about an hour away from me) and we had a perfectly lovely evening. Dinner out, a trip by a bookstore we both loved, winding up with a walk outside on a lovely summer night. We ended up on a wooden swing in her apartment complex, just talking. The night was warm, the stars were kind. I put an arm around her. We talked less and less, letting the silences build. And finally there was a moment when we both turned to each other, and the silence stretched, and slowly, slowly, I bent my face to hers.

If there is such a thing as a perfect first kiss, that was it. It seemed like we both wanted exactly the same thing, and were perfectly in tune with each other; I could see the anticipation on her face and it must have mirrored my own. Her eyes closed a bare moment before her lips met mine and I swear I heard her sigh softly. Her lips were warm and soft, a little damp; I tasted a hint of sweat on her upper lip from our walk.

We kissed, and kissed again. There were no words, only a growing urgency as our mouths merged. Warm lips, and growing warmer; they opened under mine and her tongue slid into my mouth. She moaned and I sighed in response. Our kisses built and built. Her arms went round my neck. We kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Eventually I broke from her and mentioned something about not wanting to get arrested (we were, after all, still in a public place, albeit somewhat secluded on this little backyard swing). So we went into her apartment, where we made it all of five feet from the door before I backed her against the wall and we resumed our oral duel. More kisses, hungry now, full of fire. We must have stood there, just kissing and hands gently exploring, for a good fifteen minutes.

In what may have been one of the all-time bonehead moves, I fianlly broke from her again and said that I'd better head home now, or pretty soon I wasn't going to be able to. There was a hint of disappointment on her face but she agreed that it was probably best to cut things off there for now. I asked if she'd like to come visit me next weekend and she looked delighted. She immediately went to her desk, pulled out a pad of paper, and asked for directions; seeing her bent over the desk like that, I just couldn't resist. I slipped up behind her and put both arms around her, hands going to her breasts, fondling them and squeezing gently.

Now I didn't know it yet, but Melissa's total weak point was her breasts. Just a touch there was enough to get her hot and bothered, and so when I began fondling her tits that night after our heated kissing interlude, she told me later that she felt a spike of desire go through her so sharply that she wanted to turn around and jump me right then and there. As it was, she moaned loudly and pressed back against me, rubbing her ass against my crotch, confirming for herself that I was just as turned on as she was.

Somehow, I don't know how, I managed to stop after a minute or two, and in a ragged voice I finished giving her directions to my place. I drove off feeling a giddy excitement that she evidently shared.

********************

A week later, and Melissa and I were parked on my couch, watching TV. My roommate, showing an understanding beyond belief, had absented himself for the evening (in fact, he crashed at someone else's pad that night, giving me -- us -- plenty of privacy). It had been another fine evening, full of more good conversation and laughter, with plenty of double entendres and innuendos. Sitting there on my couch soon gave way to more kissing and exploration; soon she was lying back and moaning while my lips brushed against her neck and my hands slipped underneath the shirt she wore to find warm flesh beneath.

After a few more minutes of delicious torture, I found the balls to bring up protection. In all-time bonehead move #2, I hadn't bothered to pick up any condoms ahead of time, somehow thinking that I'd be jinxing things if I did. She agreed, with a sultry smile, that we should go and get some. Like, right now. Like, how fast can we get there and back?

I set a new record for a trip to the grocery store, and pretty soon we were back in my apartment, and then in my bedroom. I undressed her slowly, so slowly, marveling at her body -- she had a fantastic figure, womanly, full of curves. It wasn't a model's frame, but I didn't care -- the curve of her hips, the globes of her ass, the magnificent swells of her breasts -- oh god, she had fantastic tits. Soft, full, hanging heavy under their own weight, large hard nipples, begging to be sucked. And I sucked them, and she moaned, and soon we were on my bed, and I had my head buried between her legs, and I was slurping her pussy until she was crying out my name with joy.

It was here that I made yet another tactical error. I had been hard from pretty much the get-go, and the smart thing would have been to give her an oral orgasm and then give her what both of us were obviously wanting very badly -- a good, proper fucking. But she tasted so good and she was enjoying my attentions so much that I just kept right on going. She came again. And again. And again. And my aching cock was still aching. And pretty soon my balls were aching too, from frustration. But I ignored them and kept slurping away at her. Again she came. Again. And my balls were REALLY aching now, to the point where I made a soft sound of pain when I shifted position. After about an hour and a half of oral delight for her, she was begging me to take her. I fumbled a condom open, got my jeans and underwear off and tried to slip it on, but discovered to my horror that the steady dull pain from my balls -- now quite intense! -- had made me go soft. I massaged myself a bit to see if I could get hard again, and my balls sent a fresh bolt of pain through me. I tried a few more times, and Melissa even had a go herself, wrapping her fingers around me and then taking my cock in her mouth -- but it was no go.

Eventually we halted for the night, me still bright red from shame, she waving it off as nothing serious. "It happens sometimes, don't worry about it," she said. "We'll try again another time. And there WILL be another time, believe me." She fell asleep in my arms, and I lay there reflecting that sometimes too much foreplay really IS too much. Yet another lesson learned.

*******************

A week later, and Melissa had sent me a letter informing me that she didn't really like condoms much anyway, and so she'd been to see the doctor to get on the pill. She went on in much more intimate detail, telling me exactly how beautiful and sexual she felt when she was with me, and telling me how much she looked forward to seeing me again and continuing where we'd left off.

And we did. Oh, god, did we ever.

Again my roommate had absented himself for the evening (man, did I owe him big-time) and this time we skipped all the preliminaries like dinner and conversation. She showed up at my door and we went directly to bed -- do not pass Go, do not collect $200, go directly to hot makeouts. This time she undressed me, and then I undressed her, and we stood there, nude, caressing and kissing for ten or fifteen minutes, hands exploring heated flesh. I slipped two fingers inside her; she was wet, so wet, and her knees buckled when I penetrated her. She retaliated by wrapping her hand around my shaft and pumping me oh so slowly. I bore her backward onto the bed and she spread her legs wide, breathing "Now, now, do it now,". I slid about a bit, trying to find the right spot, and suddenly I found the right spot and there was no longer any doubt as I sank into her.

God, what a feeling, to be inside a woman for the first time, unencumbered by a condom. Rachel and I had made love many times but had used a condom for each. This was the first time I'd had sex without one and oh dear GOD it felt good. I think I just lay there on top of her, grinning, cock pulsing inside her, for a good two or three minutes, before I even started to move. But eventually I did, and she began moving with me, and before the night was over we had fucked four times.

********************

That was the beginning of a beautiful relationship -- at least, in the bedroom. Rachel had initiated me into sex but had never been tremendously enthusiastic; I'd gotten the impression that she was mostly indulging me as a gift. Melissa, on the other hand, was just as voracious and insatiable as I was -- she loved sex and she wanted it often, and wasn't shy about showing it. Whenever we were together it was usually a tossup as to which one of us would jump the other one first.

Oh, what a playground we made of each others' bodies. We fucked in every room of our apartments. We made love for hours, entwined on her bed with raindrop shadows sliding down our bodies. We did it standing up leaning against her bookshelf. I bent her over the desk in her bedroom, enacting what I'd wanted to do so badly that first night. I took her in her kitchen with the kitchen blinds wide open, providing a free show to anyone who'd happened to walk by outside. We screwed on the couch, in chairs, on the floor, on the stairs, on a table. I'd stay inside her after coming until I went soft, then she'd start squeezing my cock with her pussy and pretty soon I'd be hard again, and we'd get right back into it without me ever having pulled out. We loved to do it in the shower, frequently staying in there and fucking for so long that we were more sweaty and messy when we got out than we had been when we got in. We played with toys, with lube, with food; I painted her with honey and licked it all off; she made me her own personal ice-cream sundae and licked THAT all off. I turned her into a Slip-and-Slide with a bottle of massage oil; what a mess THAT made, but we were past caring after we'd fucked each other into a slippery messy coma. We role-played: "teacher and student", "master and slave", "doctor and patient". She dressed up in naughty lingerie and delighted in the reaction it got from me. We read erotica together, making love in interludes or whenever we got too hot; we watched porn together, both laughing at it and getting turned on by the hotter scenes. She was always up for exploration, for trying new things, for new scenarios, dirty talk, new positions, phone sex, mutual masturbation, experimentation -- anything went, anytime.

She loved to be held down. She loved it when I pressed my full weight on her, when I pressed her hard against a wall or pinioned her by her wrists. She came so hard she almost exploded when I tied her up and had my way with her. She loved having her breasts fondled, her nipples sucked, and sucked hard; she could come just from me playing with and sucking on her nipples. She loved fucking for hours, sliding from position to position over and over and eating dinner in bed because we STILL couldn't keep our hands off each other. I still remember how we just lost control when we were together, tossing inhibitions out the window. I recall one time in particular when we had made so much noise that the cops came to my door, saying they'd been called because neighbors had thought someone was being murdered in here. I had to produce Melissa, dressed in just a bathrobe, before they got the idea. (I'd never seen a cop blush before.) We were always ready, always open; just a few seconds of caresses -- from either of us! and we'd be breathing hard and trying to restrain ourselves. Countless times we'd plan to go out for the evening and never make it out the door because we just couldn't keep our hands off each other. We spent a lot of time at my place or hers just walking around nude, because it saved time disrobing; after all, we never knew when the urge might strike next. I loved that she was completely unselfconscious about her body and loved to show it to me; she told me later that I was the first guy she'd felt that way around, and I felt a smug self-satisfaction.

********************

Unfortunately, although Melissa and I were utterly perfect in bed (and out of bed, and anywhere else), we were not tremendously well-suited as romantic partners. We had a lot of things in common, but we had many other things that turned out to be personality conflicts, and eventually we split up. Oh, we kept giving it a try for several more years, on and off; one of us would call the other to say hi, and drop by for a visit, and usually they'd wind up spending the night because the smoldering physical attraction between us was always ready to burst into flame again. Sometimes we'd even agree to make another go of the relationship, but within a few months the old problems would crop up once more. And neither of us was the sort for completely casual sex, quite aside from the fact that we had so much emotionally invested in each other already that it could never really be casual again. We finally had our last fling about eight or nine years after I first met her -- she'd come to my place for a visit and, just like old times, had started fondling each other while watching a movie, and soon I was banging her from behind while she screamed for me to do it harder. I remember that she told me as she was leaving the next morning that this might be our last time for a while because she was going on a date next week. And oddly enough, I felt delighted for her.

Melissa is married now, to that same guy. He treats her like a queen and they are very much in love. I met him once and he seems like a really great guy. You get the impression that they are just perfect for each other -- interlocking puzzle pieces that fit just so, and can't be pulled apart without tremendous effort. They have the kind of marriage where they positively glow when they look at each other.

I wonder sometimes if we had that same glow when she was with me.

Thanks, Melissa. You taught to me that women can and do enjoy the hell out of sex, and helped me to be just as uninhibited about it as you. You are still one of the best lovers I've ever had.

-- PB

Panserhistory, part 2: Rachel

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 2: Rachel

My sophomore year at college, I had gotten hooked (along with much of the rest of my dorm) on a precursor to today's MMORPGs. This one was text-based, and played over a telnet connection to a server hosted by another university. The acronym for it at the time was MUD -- Multiple User Domain (or Dungeon), and it was a sort of Dungeons and Dragons world, but programmed by regular people, college students mostly. This particular one was really cool not just for the extremely imaginative worlds that had been created by those who ran it, but also by the social aspect of things. As I discovered rather quickly, you can get to know some very interesting people by talking to them over the Internets. Except it wasn't called "the Internet" yet -- most people were still using 300 baud modems for home connections to BBSs. Much easier, as we did, to use a university's T1 lines for higher bandwidth. I kept my university email address and access to their telnet system for almost a decade after I graduated, upon which they finally retired that system....but I digress.

Anyway, I got hooked on playing this MUD, as I said, and most evenings could find me in the dorm's computer lab, typing away. I had already been a speedy typist but all the interactions and conversations I was having in this medium ramped it way up until I was over the 100 wpm mark. It's stuck with me to this day, which is very handy for instant message conversations or emails. Or trying to get one of these musings written quickly when I have limited time....but again I digress.

Back to the game. I had made lots of friends via this medium, if you could call someone a friend when you had never met them face to face. And sometimes more than friends -- several relationships blossomed between friends of mine and people they had met in the game world. I had one myself, actually, and even had some fun times experimenting with cybersex with "her" -- until I found out from a mutual friend that that person was actually a guy. Embarrassing! Dropped that one in a hurry when I found out, you can be sure. :) On the other hand, some of the relationships got quite serious -- in fact a friend of mine actually started dating one of the other players, who it turned out was just playing from a nearby dorm. They may still be together, for all I know.

Anyway, one of these relationships got serious enough for the girl to fly out and visit the guy in my dorm who was chasing her. I didn't know him well, but I'd talked with her plenty in-game, and considered her to be a pretty good friend. He'd invited everybody in our local "group" to come hang out when she showed up. I dropped by and saw most of the people in our local group hanging out and talking with him. Where was she, though? I craned my neck and looked around a bit for a strange face -- and there she was, sitting on the couch and looking a bit abandoned. So I wandered over and said hi, and she introduced herself as Rachel.

It turned out that the attraction he'd claimed he had for her had pretty much dissolved when he first saw her because she didn't meet his standards of physical beauty. This puzzled me then and puzzles me to this day -- she wasn't conventionally beautiful, perhaps, but she had a withdrawn, mousy librarian chic thing going that I personally found very attractive. And she had lovely soft lips and truly beautiful eyes, and sweet-smelling long hair.

Oops. I'm getting ahead of myself. At the time, I just hung out and talked with her, because after all she wasn't there to visit me. The guy she was there to visit wound up mostly ignoring her, but I saw her a few times over the next few days, and then she went back home. After that, we got to be a lot closer, both online and off. Over the next few months we would spend lots of time talking via the MUD, sending emails when neither of us was there, or sending real, actual letters when neither of us had online access. Things grew, and developed, and we got to be closer and closer, several times talking about the attraction we felt and a few times even fooling around with cybersex, all the while talking about how we wished it were the real thing.....and by spring break of that year we had decided it was time for me to come visit her. So I flew out to see her, planning to spend a week with her, expecting nothing more than friendship but hoping for more.

And holy hell, did I get it.

When she met me at the gate, we embraced like long lost lovers (which I suppose we were, in a manner of speaking). We went back to her place and talked while I unpacked my stuff, then she had to go to work. I went with her (she worked in a mall, so I had plenty to keep me occupied for a few hours), then we had some dinner after she got off work, and then we got back to her place....and then we moved to her bedroom, where we began kissing. Gently at first, then more forcefully. We kissed, and kissed, and hands began exploring, and clothes began coming off slowly, and then I began giving her a backrub, massaging her, and eventually, by the glow of warm candles spaced around her bedroom, we made love, for the first of what would prove to be a great many times over the next week.

How to describe having sex for the first time? Even more difficult, how to describe making love, really making love, with somebody that you feel a huge emotional connection with? More difficult still, how to describe the warmth and caring and patience she showed me? Inexperienced and virgin as I was, I was nonetheless possessed of a hugely active imagination, and I'd done plenty of reading and seen lots of porn, so I knew the basic mechanics, but putting everything into place isn't always as easy, I discovered, as "tab A into slot B". But Rachel was a fantastic lover -- patient, helpful with me, guiding me, telling me what worked for her, how she liked to be touched and tasted and mmm, yesss, like that.

I couldn't believe how exciting it was to be lying in bed, stark naked, erection pointing at the ceiling, caressing an also-nude woman who said (and demonstrated quite ably!) that she wanted me. How soft her breasts were. How sweet her hair smelled. How her lips tasted, so hungry, so fresh. How soaking wet her pussy was, and how sharp its aroma, so piercing, such evidence of arousal.

I made love to her with hands, lips, teeth, tongue, caressing and licking every inch of her body, and spending a good 30 minutes worshiping her orally (she told me later that she came three times) before I even considered entering her. If I was going to do this, I thought, I was going to do it right. Finally I sheathed my aching cock in a condom and crawled on top of her. I asked her if she was sure she wanted this (apparently still in shock), and she responded with a grin, reaching down between us and guiding me home into her warm, wet pussy.

I groaned as I slid in. Oh, gods, this was so much better than I'd ever dreamed. We started a slow rhythm; I braced myself on hands above her, our bodies wet with sweat, sliding back and forth in delicious friction. I gazed into her eyes as we made love, holding each other close, breathing in tandem. It was all soft sighs and gentle murmurs and quiet endearments, and when I stiffened a few minutes later and flooded the condom, it was one of the most exquisite sensations I'd ever felt.

We made love over and over for the next week, whenever we had spare time and she was not working. She rarely initiated things, but she was always receptive to my advances -- or if she wasn't in the mood, she never showed it and would indulge me anyway. When she was too sore too fuck, we would lie there nude, caressing and touching each other, snuggling close, kissing and fondling. We did it mostly in missionary position, but played some with doggy-style and once with her on top. We played with mutual masturbation. I was a kid let loose in a playground and she, it seemed, was equally willing, even if not quite as enthusiastic. And it was so good, so very good, to hear that despite my inexperience I was apparently "fucking fantastic" in bed. There was enough self-confidence from that to carry me through some very bad years, and it gave a huge boost to my self-image.

And when we weren't making love, we were snuggling, holding each other close, talking about anything and everything. She told me things she'd never told anyone else, and I shared secrets with her that I haven't told anyone since. We spoke of our childhoods, our fears, hopes and dreams, the things that hurt us, the things that made us cry in the dead of night. We were balm for each others' troubled souls.

And when we weren't making love, or snuggling, or emotionally bonding, we were out exploring her town. Wandering across campus. Seeing cult films at the campus theater. Eating at the great local restaurants. Hanging out with local friends of hers (some of whom were also regulars on the MUD we frequented, and ALL of those gave us very, very knowing looks when they saw us holding hands). And generally making the most of the time we had together.

When we parted, we both knew, I think, that we were far too different (and much, much too far apart) to ever make things work on a permanent basis. But, as she said as she kissed me goodbye with a tear in her eye, "we'll always have Paris, eh?" And I smiled sadly, and agreed, and gave her a long slow kiss and a long tight hug, and waved goodbye until I couldn't see her anymore, and returned home, feeling emotionally and physically wrung out.

I did keep in touch with Rachel. We still saw each other in-game, and emailed frequently, and sent letters when (inevitably) we drifted away from the MUD, which really had gotten to take over too much of our lives. At least we never got obsessed to the point where it affected our grades, as had happened with some of our colleagues! Still, we kept writing each other, and eventually she met a local guy who treated her fantastically well, and she wrote less after that, with good reason. I heard from her a year or two after that; she said that they were getting married and she was moving to Canada with him. I sent back a delighted reply, and that, sadly, was the last I've heard of her.

I've tried to find her a few times over the past few years. But she has a very common name, and when she took her husband's last name it was even more common. Google searches and Facebook searches don't help much when they turn up hundreds of thousands of results. So I think about her at odd times, and wish her well, and hope she's as happy as she deserves to be.

Because for a spring break week in 1992, she made me happier than I'd ever been.

Thank you, Rachel. I never said it enough when we were "together", so I'll say it now. I loved you, and part of me always will love you.

-- PB

Panserhistory, Part 1: Charlotte

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed. 

Part 1: Charlotte

We'll get the difficult stuff out of the way first. I didn't date at all through middle school and high school, didn't go to my junior or senior prom, never even kissed a girl. It wasn't for lack of interest, but being painfully shy, depressive, and geeky with a low self-image was enough to keep me from even asking anyone out. When I got to college, I at least attempted to grow and venture out a bit, but the first ten girls I asked out in my freshman year all said no or were dating someone already. Repeated rejections on top of an already low self-image was more than I was ready to handle at the time and I was pretty deeply depressed for much of my first year.

So when I finally got my initiation the way I did, it was one hell of a shock.

It was about four months till the end of the school year. In my slack time I was working for the university, a thankless administrative position that mostly had me sitting at a desk and looking up information for people who asked. One day, on my day off, one of my coworkers rang me up and told me to come by when I had some time, somebody -- a GIRL! -- had left a note for me at the desk. Curious, I walked halfway across campus to my work building and stopped by the front desk. My coworker handed me a sealed envelope with my name on it and said "Open it! Maybe it's a proposition for luuuuuuuuuuuuv." I punched him on the shoulder and said "Yeah, as if," but at his urging I did go ahead and open it up anyway.

And read: 

[my name] --

"If there were dreams to sell
Merry and sad to tell
And the crier rang his bell
What would you buy?"
-- S.S. Beddoes

I have wanted to ask you this for some time now. You intrigue me -- something not a lot of people do.

As always, 
Charlotte Richmond

I will remember that moment for the rest of my life. The world swam, literally, in front of my eyes -- everything went all wavery and swimmy. I staggered and almost fell, and had to clap a hand on the counter to steady myself. My coworker wanted to know what the hell was wrong but I could not find a single word to reassure him. I walked out without even thanking him for calling me. My mind was whirling and twirling willy-nilly and I was in a daze all the way back to my dorm.

I ran a quick directory search on her name and discovered that she lived in my own dorm, two floors above me. Emboldened by the note and by the phone number, I was nevertheless terrified, and for hours I tried to pick up the phone and call. Eventually, though, I did, and a warm friendly voice answered. I asked for Charlotte and she said "Speaking". I told her who I was and there was a long silence, which I finally broke. "Hello?"

"Well?" she wanted to know. "Tell me, then -- what would you buy?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, how about I stop by and we talk about it?"

She was smiling, I could tell she was smiling! I'd said the right thing! "That sounds good to me," she said. "I'm in room 617. Stop by anytime."

*****

She was an enchanting vision to me, a small, very beautiful curvy girl with a shy smile, melting brown eyes, and a cloud of straight, light brown hair framing her face. I still remember how stunned I was when she first opened her door and I saw her for the first time. Hell, I remember how stunned my friends were when they saw her holding my arm. Surely, I thought, a girl like her would never really approach ME? But she had. She had a ready wit, a quiet humor that bubbled over only occasionally, but when it did it was like the sun breaking through clouds. We never officially became boyfriend and girlfriend, but from that day we were together at every spare moment we could manage. I was woefully inexperienced, but I did my best to fumble my way through the intricacies of a relationship. I treated her like a princess, which she really was, to me. We wrote poetry to each other. We would lay outside on the grass and watch the clouds. We would go to movies, or restaurants, or concerts -- all the usual stuff for college students. We would go walking across the campus, holding hands, silently communing. We would study together in her room and I would just watch her for long minutes, dust motes drifting in the sunlight between us during those endless spring days. We would talk on the phone when we weren't together -- well, I would talk and she would listen, usually.

Unfortunately, Charlotte was not the best partner for somebody who was as uncertain and inexperienced as me. She was equally reticent, equally inexperienced (from what little I gathered of her over the months we were together) and equally shy -- it was a miracle she'd even reached out to me in the first place. We had some short kissing sessions -- she was the first girl I kissed, and the first girl I ever kissed with tongue -- but never anything more than that, even after a few months of dating. Her roommate was almost always in the room and I was too afraid to invite her back to my room for any privacy. In addition, she had a number of personality quirks I tried to accomodate at first, but became serious issues over time. She was a strict vegetarian while I'm an unabashed meatasaurus; every time we ate somewhere she would express disapproval over my choices. She was very very quiet, and I spent almost all my time with her trying to get her to talk to me and tell me what she was thinking or feeling. In fact, I poured my soul out to her more than once, only to have her simply smile and say that I hadn't told her anything she didn't already know -- but she never, never reciprocated. She rarely told me why she was with me, or complimented me, or gave me any indication at all why she was with me, period. It's hard when things are that one-sided. She liked to keep me off balance by saying things I'd never expect -- once, while we were at my parents' place, visiting, she grabbed my butt and said "You have a nice rear," then smiled at me and went outside before I could say or do anything. She was a true child of chaos -- taking every day as it came and rarely having a plan, which was at odds with my more methodical nature.

But the biggest stumbling block was that she liked to argue with me just for the sake of the argument, just to see how I would express myself and what points I would raise. She admitted freely that she would just start arguments by saying things that she knew I'd disagree with or that she didn't really mean, and then see how I reacted. This grew old very quickly. In fact, it was the cause of our final split.

We had been dating for about seven months (three of those included summer break, during which she went back home and I only talked to her via phone and letters). We had returned to college and were seeing each other again, and the old problems kept coming up. Still, I tried and tried to make it work, but one night things came to a head. One of the many arguments she'd started with me that night grew, and grew, and grew. She kept provoking me, deliberately saying wilder and wilder things that I knew for a fact were completely against her normal beliefs, until I was in a towering rage. I finally told her I had had enough for the night and slammed out the door.

It was three days before I called her again, and when I did I was informed by her roommate that she didn't want to talk to me any more. I was probably expected to fight for the relationship, but the fact is that I had so little spine at the time that I simply took it without a whimper. I did see her two weeks later after a few attempts to contact her, and we had an enormously awkward dinner at a local restaurant during which little was said and absolutely nothing was resolved. She told me that she would call me in two weeks to let me know what she thought and what she felt. And then I never saw her again.

I did hear from her one more time -- that Christmas, she sent me a card, in which she apologized for her behavior and said that no matter what she had said previously, I was a wonderful person -- a little shy and depressive maybe but a true romantic. She told me that she'd be around her apartment during the holidays if I needed a friend, but I never did call her, figuring it was better to leave things be......and that was the end. 

I'll always be grateful to her, though. She may have been withdrawn, enigmatic, quiet, and chaotic, with personality quirks aplenty. She may have driven me absolutely crazy and kept me off balance from start to finish. And things with her ended very poorly. But she was also stunningly beautiful and intelligent, intoxicating, and enormously good for my ego -- not only was she the first girl I'd ever been with, but she approached me, showing me that yes, I could be desirable and interesting to women. She showed me things I'd never had before, and I'll always remember how her body felt against mine. When she was in my arms, it was like a piece of heaven. No one since then has ever felt quite the same.

Thank you, Charlotte, wherever you are today. Almost two decades later, I still have that note you first sent me.

-- PB

(Note: Those of you who're here just for the hot stuff, there will be more sex in other History entries....but Charlotte deserved special mention even if we never did have sex.)

Interlude: Anatomy of a Wank Session

Men are privy to a feeling that women can never quite feel -- the insanely frustrating but oh-so-delicious sensation of a cock that's hardening, trapped in the constriction of boxer shorts or briefs, held captive by jeans or slacks, throbbing and pulsing with each beat of our hearts, each beat and pulse increasing the friction and frustration. The slight pain as it tries to lift its head upward, but is denied by logistics; the little darts of pleasure that fly through us as we shift uncomfortably, trying to find a new position that works; the flush of embarrassment as we try to hide the growing bulge from others, if we're unlucky enough to be in public when it happens (as it does, all too often).

How much better, then, to be at home and private when the urge strikes (brought on by reading her latest entry; ye gods, the fantasies that woman creates -- how they burn in the mind), to be able (as now) to sigh with relief, undoing the constricting jeans, sliding the zipper down, opening the folds, sliding the jeans down. Prolonging the torment a bit by running a hand along the bulge, feeling the rippling fabric as it slips and catches along heated flesh. The exquisite friction ramps up a bit more, the pulse becomes more insistent, more urgent. A bright spear of pleasure strikes home as I slide the boxers down as well; the object of my attentions standing free now, pointing skyward, a mini-tower constructed for pleasure's purpose.

I start by running my hands along my thighs, cupping my balls, fondling them a bit. My cock dips and plunges as I pull on my sack, bobbing and weaving. Lazily, I encircle the base of the shaft with thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. The head throbs harder still in response. I squeeze again, and stroke upwards as I squeeze, more blood rushing through in response, the great vein standing out, every texture sculpted in pink marble. More precious stones appear -- glistening pearls of precum now oozing from my slit. I squeeze harder still, now using thumb and two fingers, and more precum drools out. God, she's gotten me more worked up than I thought. I remove hand from cock temporarily to move mouse and keyboard, accessing her archives and bringing up one of the hottest fantasies I've seen there, and my brain goes into overdrive, imagining myself as the guy she's working over with such delight and enthusiasm.

I take myself in hand fully now, rubbing, stroking. The head is slick and shiny with precum; I take a moment and use thumb and palm to rub the precum all over it. Glistening and purple with arousal, it begs for more attention. I grasp myself in loosely curled fist and begin stroking very very lightly. Slickness of precum provides plenty of lubrication; it's still dripping out with every stroke, and is now running in slow strands down the side of my shaft, making things nice and slippery. I rotate my hand in slow corkscrews, twisting around, spreading the me-lube, covering myself in my arousal.

I begin a nice slow rhythm, stroking up.....and down. Up.....and down. I sigh and close my eyes, my attention now fully on the sensations at my groin. In my head it's her hand that's stroking me, her lips caressing me, her cunt clutching me. It's her body that's pressed against mine, it's her fingertips that brush my head, it's her gentle suction that has me tingling from head to toe.

Up.....and down. Up.......and down. With each downstroke I squeeze my little finger gently around the base of my cock; with each upstroke I squeeze thumb and forefinger just below the head. The net result of that is that my heart is beating harder and harder. Hell, my cock is harder and harder, throbbing almost angrily, harder than I've been in a long time, feeling like a goddamn railspike. I'm so horny that I could fuck a rock right now, and I want to tear right through to the other side, but something keeps me using that same slow, deliberate pace. Stroking....stroking....stroking.

Long minutes pass. There are no sounds but my own breathing and the soft slap of flesh on flesh as I work myself steadily. Up....and down. Up....and down. My thighs are trembling. My breath is coming faster. I imagine her above me, rising and falling. Imagine her pussy engulfing me, splashing all over my thighs as she takes me to the hilt in one stroke. I can hear her sighs -- or are those my own? I'm moaning now, helpless to stop, unable to hold back the tide of sensations.

Almost without volition my hand begins speeding up. I'm gripping a bit more firmly, stroking harder. Up....and down. Up.....and down. Now my hips are rising with each downstroke, thrusting upwards, plunging into her softness, my hand providing a poor substitute for what I want so badly from her. I throw my head back and lean back in the chair, my free hand gripping the armrest hard enough to make it creak. My cock is twitching, throbbing spasmodically. My balls have drawn tight and are hard stones; I can feel them churning, roiling, building up a wave.

For ten seconds I stop utterly, gripping myself hard, but making not a sound or movement, trying to let the excitement die so I can prolong this wonderful torture. When I resume stroking in ten, it's clear that hasn't helped at all. I feel like I've stuck my cock into a light socket; every touch now sends electricity through my entire body. Moaning urgently, I grip a bit more tightly and begin to stroke in earnest now. Up and down, up and down, harder and harder, my cock so covered in precum it looks like it's been lacquered, hips bucking hard upward, driving into her. I can smell her scent, can see her grinning at me, can hear her voice in my head. And she's saying what I want most now: "Cum for me, babe. C'mon, shoot off. Give me a nice big creamy load."

And with a roar, I do, tensing so hard that my muscles will be sore for a day afterward, fountaining urgently, a hot white jet shooting out so fast and far that it lands on my shoulder. Groaning, grunting, I keep stroking, each motion I make producing another blast. Pearlescent white pools are forming on my chest and stomach, their heat so much more than that of my own body. Orgasm cresting, my cockhead is sensitive now, but I can't stop myself, I'm still flogging it hard, and the jets are still spurting, though smaller and more pitiful now.

Finally, gasping, I let go of my cock -- it flops down now, exhausted, splashing into a pool of cum -- and fall back into the chair. I feel utterly satiated, drifting on a cloud of pleasure, warmth spreading through me from scalp to toe. In a few minutes I'll grope for a towel or something to clean up the mess I've made, but for right now it's enough just to sit here, drifting, fantasizing about her, and hoping she gets half as much enjoyment from reading this as I did in writing it....and enacting it.

-- PB

Fun at Work

Christina: picture this
Christina: i'm wearing a blue satin silk top
Christina: and ass hugging jeans
Panserbjorne: I like the picture already.
Christina: the top is low cut and is a nice contrast w/ my white breasts
Christina: now picture me stroking your chest
Christina: and asking to wrap my legs around your waist
Christina: that's where i'm at right now
Christina: at least inside my head
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Panserbjorne: I see that it's one of THOSE nights for you. :)
Christina: stroking my shaved pussy
Christina: so i can feel you get hard beneath me
Christina: i was thinking about you all the way home from the party i was at.
Panserbjorne: Oh, wow. :)
Panserbjorne: What happened at the party to get you worked up?
Christina: i just feel sexy tonight.
Christina: and a lot of guys staring at my tits
* Panserbjorne grins.
Christina: you're the one i want to bring home though.
* Panserbjorne blushes.
Christina: my C cups runneth over
* Panserbjorne grins.
Christina: nice and full
Christina: they desperately need to be fondled.
Panserbjorne: I would delight in doing so.
Christina: damn i want to fuck you.
Christina: i want to suck you nice and hard
Christina: and then slide right onto you
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Christina: swivel my hips
Christina: and thrust up and down
Christina: while you kiss my breasts
Christina: your hands everywhere
Panserbjorne: *kiss kiss kiss*
Christina: fuck me, PB
Christina: seriously, you were all i could think about on the ride home
Christina: i'd have touched myself but it was pouring, and i needed both hands to drive.
Panserbjorne: man, I just can't say how nice that makes me feel :)
Christina: i bet i could make you feel nicer.
Christina: c'mon
Christina: i want to see if you're as good as you write. ;)
Panserbjorne: well
Christina: i want your cock.
* Panserbjorne shudders deliciously.
Christina: i'll make you shudder inside of me.
Christina: i want to ride you
Christina: nice and hard
Christina: grinding my pussy into you
Christina: i want your hands on my waist
Christina: helping to move me back and forth
Christina: until we both cum
Christina: i need your hands on my tits and my ass
Christina: your fingers buried in my cunt
Christina: i want my lips on your chest
Christina: my hands in your hair
Christina: my moans in your ears
Christina: satisfy me
Panserbjorne: You have no idea what that's doing to me, do you? :)
Christina: nope
Christina: you're not being very vocal...;)
Christina: fuck me
Panserbjorne: I SO wish I could.
Christina: i need you in me
Panserbjorne: I would rather be anywhere else than here right now.
Panserbjorne: in your bed, sliding in and out of you, feeling your skin slippery with sweat against mine, would be a perfect escape.
Christina: would you pound me?
Panserbjorne: That depends.
Panserbjorne: I would start slow and grinding
Christina: i need rough sex tonight, not lovemaking
Panserbjorne: until you were panting for more.
Christina: i need you to make me cum, PB.
Panserbjorne: oh, wait, that's different.
Panserbjorne: If you want it rough and hard, then I would give it to you rough and hard.
Christina: i'm hot
Panserbjorne: yank your jeans down
Panserbjorne: bend you over a chair
Christina: my pussy is dripping for you.
Panserbjorne: yank your top up (or down) so I could maul your tits
Christina: mm
Christina: but i'm only in my underwear now..
Panserbjorne: then I'd yank THAT down. :)
Christina: and my fingers are stroking my clit
Christina: while i think about you having your way w/ me
Christina: fuck me good and hard
Christina: i feel naughty tonight
Panserbjorne: oh, my, yes.
Panserbjorne: banging you against the wall
Panserbjorne: your hands spread to brace you
Christina: yes please
Panserbjorne: perhaps yanking on your hair or your shoulders to pull you against me
Christina: yes
Panserbjorne: fucking you so hard that your ass is sore the next day from my flesh slapping against yours
Christina: but not so sore that i wouldn't want you again
Panserbjorne: Oh, of course not. :)
Christina: it's raining out
Christina: i'd love to bang you and listen to the rain.
Christina: or we could fuck in the rain
Panserbjorne: or perhaps bang me out in the rain?
Panserbjorne: :)
Panserbjorne: twisted minds think alike. :)
Christina: you could bend me over my fire escape and nail me.
Christina: i need you to nail me, PB.
Christina: i want you so badly.
Panserbjorne: over your fire escape, hmm?
Christina: mm hmm
Panserbjorne: out on the fire escape, rain pouring down, you shrieking so loud your neighbors think it's a firebell and call the fire department. :)
Christina: or they start to fuck too.
Christina: i'm going to go think of you and masturbate.
Panserbjorne: oh, that would be nice, too. to be the catalyst.
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmmmmm
Christina: promise you'll try to come soon?
Panserbjorne: as soon as I can humanly manage. :)
Christina: good
Christina: i can't wait to cum on your cock.
Panserbjorne: (probably in the next half hour, since I'll have to run to the restroom to take the edge off here).
Christina: i meant come here, dirty boy
Panserbjorne: and yes, I know that's not exactly what you meant. :)
Christina: then i'll make you cum over and over.
Panserbjorne: and the response is the same. Heh.
Christina: hell's bells
Christina: i'd do you in the parking lot
Christina: skirt
Christina: no underwear
Christina: riding you in the passenger's seat
* Panserbjorne shivers deliciously again.
Christina: i want to hear about you masturbating later, ok?
Panserbjorne: Same goes for you.
Panserbjorne: I want to know what you did to yourself after signing off. :)
Christina: will do, lover
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmm
Christina: think of me fingering myself to orgasm while you finger the keyboard

She signed off and I stretched nonchalantly. "Back in a minute, got to use the restroom," I called to a coworker; he looked up briefly and nodded.

I was glad to find the bathroom empty. Talking with Christina had really gotten me worked up and there was an uncomfortable tent in my pants. I headed at an almost dead run into the stall, locked it behind me, and dropped my pants and underwear, taking myself in hand. It didn't take very long before I was panting hard, trying to listen for the bathroom door while stroking myself furiously. I was already so turned on that it was only about a minute before I was grunting and spewing come everywhere. White jets splattered all over the toilet, some on the floor, and one even hit the wall above the toilet. I spent several minutes cleaning up the mess (and myself), tucked myself back in, and returned to work.

Of course, when I got home I sent Christina a nice description of what it had been like when I came, and that started yet another interesting conversation, but that's a story for another time.....

[[A recent post from the enchanting Luna Mauvaise inspired this; she said that I should share a few of my own naughty-fun-at-work stories. This took place a few years ago when I was working the graveyard shift at a company and had little to do except monitor a bank of computer systems for failures. That led to some interesting IM conversations with this young lady, who I regrettably still have not met. The names have been changed and some of the convo has been cut, but otherwise this is word for word.]]