Preface
This is a story I never expected to write. I finally helped write it at
the urging of the person known as Jill Lane in the story. It's true, but
changes have been made. Of course, names have been changed. Also, certain
locations, time frames, and details have been purposely obscured or changed to
protect reality. There is no way I will ever confirm or deny guesses at her
identity. Not publicly. Not privately. Don't even bother to ask or bribe me.
Here's why: If you have any touch with modern culture, you know her. She
suffers the benefits and the trouble of enormous fame. She is a performer, a
movie star, a sex symbol. She's been on the covers of magazines. Tabloids try
to make her personal life known to you. She is one of those touched by fame,
one of those who live in the hot focus of the eye of the public. It annoys her.
It is the reason we got together. I will not contribute to the annoyance.
Jill helped write this story. I will point out where she writes and where
I write. Interspersed in the story that follows will be comments or
observations offered by Jill or me that are sort of outside the actual story.
(Jill says: Like this.)
I met Jill a number of years ago and an unlikely friendship developed.
That will be covered in the story. Most of our communication is by email and
the comments from her in the story are those she emailed to me. She helped
write it and she reviewed it obsessively to assure that her identity is
sufficiently obscure. Surprisingly, she had me remove certain obfuscations I'd
originally included.
In fact, here's a titillating detail that I wasn't going to mention, but I
will at her suggestion. Jill logs on to storiesonline.net and to ASSTR.org.
Just think, writers, your story may be one to which a famous movie star has
masturbated. (Jill: Oh, God! I didn't say add that last part.) (Maq: I know
you loved it.)
Anyway, in 2003, I received an email from Jill. (By the way, I use my
maquido e-mail address in this story and don't put one in for her. We actually
use another address and our real names. I've edited those out, but the text
will be the original except as edited for privacy) That email from Jill was, as
follows:
************************
To: maquido@hotmail.com
From: Jill
Subject: Re: Things done and things to do
Maq,
It sounds like you had fun on your trip. Again, it must be nice.
[More personal stuff deleted]
So, take a break. Write an erotic story. Write the story of you and me.
I think it would be fun to read. Yes, it would be fun to think about other
people reading it. I want you to write it. I trust you'll be careful if you
decide to put it on the internet.
As always,
Jill
*********************
So, because she asked for this story, I've titled it Jill's Story. She
ended up being a co-author. In fact, I'll let her start the story.
Chapter One.
Jill says:
When I first saw Maq I actually started to stand up and leave. I'd wanted
nothing but privacy. I wanted to be away from any person who would say one more
thing to me or tell me one more thing that had to be done. I did not want
anybody telling me how they are a big fan or how much I meant to them or
anything. I wanted silence. I would not trade my fame and what I have for
anything and I really do try to smile and be charming and friendly when someone
imposes on my privacy. I actually mean it. I know that the only reason I am
where I am is because of my fans. I know that each of them deserve a part of me
because they have made me what I am, but a person must have private moments.
Making a movie is a stupidly complicated undertaking. The logistics can
be hard enough, but, on top of that, too many of the people involved are above
average narcissistic and egotistical. Players all want a piece of the process
and they all work to direct the flow of fortune or fame their way. It makes me
weary.
When you become a big star, you can take some control and make it work
more in your favor, but that just makes you a part of the process and, in
addition to the lack of privacy from the public inherent in this business, you
have to start giving more of your time and being to the process. It can create
explosive frustration. Especially when stupid things happen.
I am one of the fortunate ones, I can quit and never work again and I can
pretty much set the conditions I want when I do work, but the bullshit does not
stop. As successful as I am, I have actually been propositioned by self-
important assholes just like I was some struggling actor desperate for a part.
Their egos can be amazing.
Anyway, a few years ago we were in the preliminary stages of getting a
movie made. As a part of that process I was at a resort and, unexpectedly,
because of senseless delays, I had several days to wind down. The man in my
life at the time was elsewhere. My assistant had been sent somewhere to do some
things. I'd declined every invitation to dinner and to parties. I was in a
really relaxing location and in my superstar, egotistical manner; I made the
production company agree to pay my bills for the week.
People at resorts like that one are generally pretty good about leaving
you alone. For the most part, they don't gush. They'll eventually get around
to asking for an autograph or to have a picture made, but they are sophisticated
and genteel about it. Nevertheless, even the least bit of attention irritated
me. I did not, however, want to sit in my room and watch television. I found a
secluded patio, a little corner, architecturally orphaned by some remodeling.
(Maq: Damn, you're wordy.) (Jill: Shut up. Remember, you're the one that
taught me to write dirty stories. Besides, I'm shy. I'm working into the good
parts slowly.)
So, having finally found a place where waiters could serve me drinks
discreetly while I enjoyed the sunset, this guy finds my corner and bumps in
with a camera hung around his neck. My first thought was "how did the fucking
paparazzi find me." (Maq says: I love it when you talk dirty.) (Jill says: I
know you do.)
Maq says:
I recognized her, of course, even if she was dressed down, wearing baggy
khakis and a baggier top. She had on the ubiquitous Hollywood ball cap that now
draws attention rather than provide anonymity. I am old and cynical and can
hide it well if I am the least bit star struck. Even before I met her, I
sympathized with the humanity of celebrities and would not cast myself as a part
of the overbearingly adoring public. I was there to take pictures, but not of
her.
Her description of the little space of deck on which we found ourselves as
being architecturally orphaned is superb. (Jill: Thank you, dear.) I'd been at
the resort for three days in the hopes of selling something to someone. He'd
suggested we meet there. I didn't know it when we set up the meeting, but he
was tangently related to the project Jill was working on and hoped to impress me
by being blas‚ about his involvement. Anyway, when her production had to take a
break, he'd left me there.
I'd discovered the little forgotten space the night before and found it
the perfect place to bring a drink and watch the sunset. The night we met,
there was a terrific lightening storm off in the distance. I knew the view had
the potential for a dramatic photograph; thus, the camera.
I noticed the look she gave me when I arrived, the "fucking paparazzi"
look and I quickly said, "Don't worry, I'm not going to take your picture, I'm
here for the sunset."
I stood for a moment to see what she would say. I knew that in the scheme
of things she outranked me and I would leave and find another spot to take my
photograph if she objected.
Jill says:
I realized immediately that he'd noticed my look of worry. (Maq edits:
look of disgust) I felt bad about that, and said, "No problem. It is a good
view."
He smiled, set his drink on a table, put his camera on a tripod and
proceeded to ignore me. I smiled to myself when I realized that I felt the
typical celebrity conflict-I hadn't wanted him to bother me and it bothered me
when he ignored me. (Maq says: Not to worry. By this point I was already
relishing the fact that I would, in the near future, be able to casually mention
to acquaintances the fact that I'd had drinks with Jill overlooking that which
we were overlooking.)
So, he sat down. A member of the staff scurried in to run him off. I
noticed. Maq noticed. Feeling bad about the look I'd first gave Maq, I waived
the waiter away. Maq smiled this irritating (and cute) smile he does when he
makes a wry and accurate observation and said, "Thanks. I really won't bother
you."
"No problem." (Maq says: And she smiled. It is true what they say about
people like her. There's something special about them. I felt that smile in my
gut. It made me question my cynicism.)
The waiter appeared. I ordered another drink. Almost as a second thought
the guy asked Maq, "And you sir?"
He smiled that smile and said, "Jack. On the rocks. Thanks."
He turned to me and said, "Really. Am I intruding?"
"No, really. It's okay."
And we each turned to watch the sunset over the rail.
To make a long story short--we sat in companionable silence. Often, the
much sought after aloneness comes at the price of isolation. Upon reflection, I
realize that being alone in the company of another person is better than being
alone in isolation. It has a different quality, a continuing touch of humanity
that elevates the pleasure of just being myself. (Jill: Does that make sense?)
(Maq: Doesn't have to. Besides, you're making more sense than you did the
night you tried to explain after too much wine.) (Jill: Screw you.)
He had his camera set up and took a photo from time to time. And then
came the moment. (Maq: Sounds like you should capitalize that.) (Jill: Okay.)
And then came The Moment. He took The Photograph. I have a copy of it in front
of me as I write this and I will try to describe the sense of what he captured.
Anyone who comes into my house sees the real thing.
Imagine a desert vista with mountains rising in the distance. The sun has
dropped down below a layer of dark clouds and the light has entered what
photographers and cinematographers describe as the "magic moment." When filming
we often prepare and sit for hours to capture a brief moment, usually much less
than an hour, at either the start or end of the day when the light is low,
allowing shadows to define the world but while there's still enough light to
provide full illumination. On the best days the light does have a magical
quality. Pay attention in films and when you see one where they cared more
about style than reality, you may see a shot that is supposed to be in the
afternoon, but the quality of the light and the long shadows reveal that it was
actually done early in the morning or very late in the evening.
We were facing the sun, but the haze and clouds and mists of the world
filtered it so that it was way below blinding. The edges of the dark clouds
overhead were lit by the twilight colors of the sun. The narrow band of sky at
the horizon must have contained every warm, living color God created. The earth
was golds and purples. To the south was the thunderhead. A group of twenty or
thirty horses were being herded in front of us, the dust they raised glowing
from the sun. Maq was clicking away. Suddenly, from the thunderhead,
lightening streaked. It forked across the top of clouds and to the ground. It
was breathtaking.
I looked over at Maq to share what we'd just seen. He was staring at his
camera.
"Did you get that?" I asked.
He turned slowly my way. I could actually see goose bumps on his arms.
He looked at me with a look of awe, his eyes wide and said, "I think I did.
Wow."
"You have got to sell me a copy of that."
"Man, I hope I got that." He broke into a big smile. "If I did, I'll
send you one."
Maq says:
It was serendipity. Existence is always rolling along in its magic.
Occasionally, a random moment is sparked, and, if you are lucky enough to catch
it and if you have any passion in your soul at all, it is spiritual. Rarely can
someone catch it in a photograph without the help of Photoshop. I am not that
good a photographer. The chances of me pressing the shutter at exactly the
right moment must have been astronomical. But, I did. And I was using an RB-67
with a wonderfully large negative area. I'd slowed the shutter speed to catch
the movement of the horses and to further enhance the diffusive effects of the
dust they raised. There was even some reflection from the mountain behind us
that added light to the scene. I do not expect to ever have another such
perfect photographic moment. (Jill says: I think it was God's way of making
sure you eventually got into my panties.) (Maq says: Thank you, God.)
The photograph is amazing. She described the moment well. Everything is
there including the streak of lightening. The shutter speed assured that I
caught the colors. The most amazing thing is that the lightening acted like a
photoflash and etched the silhouettes of the horses, the blur of their movement
obscured into darkness. (Jill says: R_______, a director, saw the photo in my
house some time later. He did a double take, examined it, and said, "Goddamn,
that's real. Great shot." Trust me, from that man, that is as good a
compliment as you can get.) (Maq says: You never told me that.) (Jill says:
Oh, good. I still have a few secrets from you.)
Jill gave me a business card for JPL Production Company with her
assistant's name, phone number, and email, telling me, "Let me know if you got
it. I really would like to buy a print."
I left the next day and did not see her again on that trip.
The picture was terrific. The second best picture I've ever taken. (Jill
says: What's the first?) (Maq says: Guess.) (Jill says: Oh, my. I'm
blushing.) (Maq says: You guessed it.)
Just before I wrote this sentence, I deleted about ten pages of text that
went into considerable detail about our eventual meeting. I've saved it and I
will relish it like I do the memories of all the moments leading up to all the
first kisses I've ever enjoyed, but I know you guys are going to get restless if
we don't get to the good stuff. So, out it goes and it is replaced with the
edited and truncated version. It might still be too long.
I sent her, in care of her assistant, a matted copy of the photo. Along
with a note telling her I'd be glad to send her a print of any size she might
enjoy. My address, phone number, and email were appropriately displayed on the
back of the photograph.
And, heard nothing.
Jill says:
My assistant saw fit to protect me from fan correspondence. That's part
of her job, but I failed to appreciate how well she did her job. She thought
the note and the photo were advertising trying to sneak its way to me and did
not forward it or even respond to it.
She did, of course, keep that incredible photograph.
Weeks later (Maq: months later) my assistant's cat got sick. (Maq says:
Just God's way of making sure I got into your panties.) (Jill says: Thank you
God.) She got a call from her cat sitter while with me. I think perhaps I pay
her too much if she hires a cat sitter. Of course, I urged her to rush home and
I went with her. There on her kitchen counter was Maq's picture.
We figured out what had happened. She apologized and pointed out his
information on the back of the photo. We checked our fan database to see if
he'd ever sent any other correspondence, but he hadn't. (Sadly, one reason all
my correspondence is tracked is to keep track of possible psychos. It's part of
a security service for which I pay.) I called him from my cell phone.
Maq says:
If you ever get a caller ID that says "JML Prod Co" answer it immediately.
You'll be glad you did. I was at dinner with friends and almost didn't answer.
They never believed me when I told them who had just interrupted our dinner.
Jill said, "Mr. Maq, this is Jill Lane. Remember when we had drinks at
the resort and you took that photo?"
"Hold on, let me see if I can remember ever having drinks with you. Oh,
yeah, wait, you're that actor that was in _____________. Right? Yeah, I kind of
remember." (Maq says: I had had some wine. And, I was covering up shock with
smartassedness.) (Jill says: You almost blew it. I didn't appreciate your
humor at that point.)
After a bad start, she realized I am a nice guy and she explained what
happened and gushed a little and told me what size of photo she'd like and asked
how much it would be and said she'd give me an address to where I could send it.
"I don't have anything to write on. Hold on."
"Is maquido@hotmail.com still your email?"
"Yep, that's me."
"I'll email you an address tonight."
Damn, I had Jill's phone number and was about to get her email. How
special was that. Too bad I wasn't a reporter for The Enquirer.
Jill says:
I was comfortable. He'd been very nice on that little veranda at the
resort. He'd done what he'd said and sent me a copy. He'd never followed up or
tried to bug me. I was a little pissed off at my assistant and at a lifestyle
that requires such shelter. I took the photo with me and let my assistant know
I'd return it when I got my copy.
Anyway, to speed along to the good stuff.
I got my photo. I kept up an email correspondence with Maq. We became
good friends over the internet over the course of many months. The longer he
went without trying to impose on me, the more comfortable and closer we became.
(Maq says: The longer we went without her being all Hollywood, the more she
became a real person that allowed closeness.)
Our correspondence evolved. We're going to put in some excerpts from many
emails as if it is a conversation. You have to understand that what follows are
excerpts from over two years worth of email. In all that time, we never met
personally. Giving you only smidgens of our email removes the organic, multi-
dimensional aspect of how our relationship grew, but it gets us to the "good
stuff" that we really want to write. (Maq says: smidgens?) (Jill says: smidgens
is a perfectly good word) (Maq says: Yeah, but in the same sentence as the
phrase "organic, multi-dimensional") (Jill says: Shut up.)
Excerpts from email-
"I received the photograph and it is gorgeous. Thank you so much. I'm
sorry for all the confusion. How much do I owe you?"
"You don't owe me anything. My pleasure. And, I understand about the
confusion. I can only imagine the craziness of your lifestyle."
"It is crazy. Maddeningly so. You must let me pay you something."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Everybody deserves to be paid."
"Goddammit, it's a gift. Shut up."
(Jill says: We're leaving out some friendly stuff. The argument over
paying went on for a couple of months.)
"Okay. Okay. Thank you very much. It has been admired by many."
"Good."
"Do you want to make some money? Several people have asked where they can
buy a copy of the photograph."
"Nah. Frankly, I kind of like it just being in your hands. After all, if
you'd paid me for it, we'd never have carried on in email this long. And, I'm
kind of enjoying that."
"Okay. I'll just tell everybody that it is a one of kind by an eccentric
artist that does not make duplicates. You know, I'm enjoying corresponding with
you, too. It is not often that I have the chance to make a 'normal' friend."
There came a time when another famous male celebrity was reported to have
pissed off his gorgeous girlfriend by going to a strip club.
Jill said in an email: "MEN! Geesh, why do they do that? He's sleeping
with who he's sleeping with and does what he did."
"Well, what can I say about men? Amongst my crowd, strip clubs remove a
lot of the problems and complications and the sheer impossibilities of getting a
pretty girl to take her clothes off. I'm past the point where I enjoy the
stripping without the follow through, and I'm not stupid enough to think that a
stripper is going to fall for me. But then, that's probably a difference right
there. He can probably get the strippers to follow through."
"But why? I'm sure his girlfriend was following through."
"Well, perhaps it's like what's his name said, 'you don't pay prostitutes
for the sex, you pay them so they'll go away when it's over.' Or something like
that."
"You're probably right. Then that's another thing that sucks. The men in
this business can get away with that kind of stuff much easier than the women."
"Ah, poor baby. Life in the spotlight is tough, isn't it?"
"Parts of it are. And sad. You can't even trust your boyfriends in this
business or you'll read about it in the tabloids complete with pictures and a
video for sale on the internet."
"Yeah, I understand. I'm glad I'm not famous. I can practice kinky sex
without fear of publicity."
"Ha. Ha. But you know what, it's true. I have photographers parked on
the road outside my house. I worry about my cell phone being intercepted. I
know someone who bought a computer and when she picked it up, the geek salesman
had loaded something on it that was sending him copies of her email. Now,
aren't you sad? Even if I wanted to, I can't talk dirty to you in our email."
"Our email? You want to talk dirty to me? Cool."
"That's funny. You know what I mean. Over the last year I've found
myself being more honest with you about stuff than anybody, because I trust you.
I really can't trust anybody in my world. Too many people watching. I might
not want to talk dirty to you. But I've written other stuff to you and deleted
it because I'm afraid someone can intercept my email. You don't keep copies of
these do you?"
"I keep encrypted copies that are safe even from the government. If you
really have a need, there are ways to have safe communication. Let me know if
you're really interested."
"I am really interested."
And so followed some technical correspondence about scrambled cell phones
(she has one), public key encryption, anonymous remailers and the like. To
which she responded:
"Too much trouble. Besides I don't have anything to say to anybody."
"Now, that doesn't sound good. I fear perhaps you've shut yourself off
too long. You run the risk of stifling intimacy with that attitude."
"I thought a lot about what you said. I've been in this business so long
that I've never enjoyed the freedom to be me."
"Okay, then, that's my job. I'll be your intimate sounding board. I've
actually kind of relished having you as a secret friend and now I am resolved to
keep it that way. Jill Lane, I promise I will never reveal a secret about you,
or repeat anything you say. I've never told anybody we correspond and now, I
promise I never will."
Jill says:
I don't think Maq realized how special our friendship was to me. At the
time we were discussing the absolute lack of privacy in a celebrity's life, I
was going though some angst. I read his promise to me late one night after some
wine and I actually cried.
You know, it is not really a lack of privacy. I can buy privacy. But, I
really can't risk doing stupid things, even in private, especially when anybody,
however trustworthy, is around. At the time Maq made his promise, I only had
one other person to whom I could say anything, and in front of whom I could act
anyway I wanted. That's my cousin Lacey, the only cousin who never asked me for
money or for a part in a movie. I don't get around her near enough. When we
were young we did crazy things together.
It is not even safe to talk to a therapist. They, too, can't keep
secrets. I know.
Anyway, his statement struck a very sensitive chord with me. By this
time, I'd known him by email for a couple of years. Like I said, we'd talked
about a lot of stuff not shared here. People, treasure the intimacies of your
friendships. And, I said to him:
"I'd take you up on that if I could. Why don't you move out here. Be my
friend. Then we could really talk."
Maq says:
There was a note of despair in her emails that struck a chord with me, and
I said to her:
"Okay. You want to be able to say anything you want to me? I can make it
safe if you're serious."
"I'm serious."
And I explained what I could do. She sent me a money order. I bought a
laptop and installed a piece of customized software that I once wrote for
another person concerned with discretion in email. I sent the laptop back to
her. I even sealed it with a wax seal, partly as a joke, but also to seriously
assure her that there had been no tampering by Federal Express. By separate
cover, I sent her thirty data CD's and instructions. The CD's comprise an
enormous set of what amount to encryption tables, comparable to one time use
encoding tablets. (Maq: Please no emails to educate me on encryption
technology. I don't wanna know.) The software uses the CD's to encode a text
message. The message is encrypted on the laptop, put on a floppy, transferred
to the internet connected machine, and sent as a file the other person. They
are decoded using identical tables. The laptops we use to code and decode are
never attached to the internet. They overwrite their erased disks to the
highest possible standards. As long as we keep the CD's secure, the code is
unbreakable.
Overkill? I sensed a need in her emails.
(Jill says: You did good. It was just what we needed.)
Emails continue with the first I received from her after she got the
laptop:
"Well, that was easy. I'm impressed. Send me something back, so I can
see how it works."
"Here you go."
"Cool."
"Let me know if you want another set of CDs for anybody."
"No. This is between you and me, my secret friend."
"So, say something dirty."
"Ha. Ha. FUCK the paparazzi. FUCK the reporters. FUCK all the fuckers
that want to fuck with me."
"Fucking A. Feel better?"
"Fuck yes."
Chapter Two
Correspondence continued. And, there was another indiscretion by a
celebrity.
And, Jill said:
"See, I told you. It is nobody's business what she did and it is all
over. What if I want to get drunk in public? What if I want to go to see some
male strippers? What if I want to buy a vibrator? I can't risk it."
"Now, there's a good question. How do you celebrities purchase
vibrators?"
"By mail. And I don't even trust that."
"No wonder you're so frustrated. Do you need me to send you a vibrator?
I will you know."
"I know you would you dear friend. And that's my point. You can go
somewhere and buy a vibrator and never worry about somebody finding out about
it. I can't do that. By the way, have you ever actually bought a vibrator?"
"More than one. I had this friend who enjoyed them and I enjoyed her
enjoying them and, well, we ended up with quiet a collection."
"A collection? I have this vision of a display cabinet. Are there enough
differences out there to have a collection?"
"Oh, please, don't play with me. You're a woman of the world. You have
access to the internet. You know what's out there."
"You forget. I don't trust the internet. Besides I want to hear about
your collection. By the way, I'm jealous of this other lady."
"Our collection eh? Well, let's see, she had a couple of your standard,
run of the mill vibrators. You know, hard, flesh colored plastic with a rounded
tip and noisy little motors. I bought her a water-proof one for the shower.
Her favorite, of course, was 'the beaver.' I paid a lot of money for a remote
control vibrator. That was fun. And there were a couple of others that, well,
I don't want to embarrass you . . .
"And, you have nothing to be jealous about. She has moved on to better
things."
"Oh my God! Remote control? Tell me about that. And what the dickens is
'the beaver'? You make me sad. I thought we were friends that could tell each
other anything. I want hear about the ones you think would embarrass me. Do
you miss her?"
"Yeah, I miss her. I know she's happier and better off where she is. And
yeah, I really miss the great sex, but so it goes.
"Okay, the remote control is just what it sounds like, six inches of
vibrating plastic that she could . . . hmm . . . insert. It could be turned on
and off by a little wireless remote that looked like a remote entry for a car.
We'd go out and I'd get to carry the switch. I just had to make sure she wasn't
sitting in a wooden chair close to other people or you'd hear it.
"The beaver. You've really never heard of the beaver? She loved the
beaver. The ... hmm ... insertable part was a little bigger than her others and
full of beads. It would rotate in a corkscrew motion. At the base was a little
beaver with a flexible tongue that was, evidently, well positioned to vibrate in
a really nice spot. The beaver's tail curved and dropped down to stimulate . .
. hmmm . . . er . . . well, other parts of the anatomy."
"Oh God! Now, the remote sounds dangerous. I'd have to trust the person
with the switch. The beaver sounds amazing. You might not even need a man with
that one. What's with all the hmms and ers? Are you getting shy on me? I want
details. And what about the ones you said would embarrass me?"
"I guess I am getting shy. Besides, maybe it's not you that would be
embarrassed, but me."
"Oh, please. Remember we are secret and special friends. And, these
emails take too long to go back and forth. Tell me about the others. Tell me!
Tell me! Tell me!"
"Okay. Damn. It's not that big of a deal. Let's see, we had some
vibrating eggs. She had a double sided vibrator. We had these neat little soft
thingies, about the size of a finger with a cup at the back where the vibrating
eggs fit, well, you know, stimulate things. We had some beads."
"Okay, I've seen a vibrating egg, but what soft little finger thingies.
That's new. Double sided? Did you ...? Beads? Are those what I think they
are? You're still being shy."
"Me shy? I'm telling you all about my kinky love affair. What about your
kinkiness? Yeah, the beads are probably what you think, they go the same place
those soft little rubber finger thingies go. And NO, I did not put the double
sided vibrator there. Too big for me."
"Ha. Ha. I was wondering about that double sided one. So, how did you
enjoy it? My kinkiness? You forget I cannot risk kinkiness. Wish I could. By
the way, I casually mentioned at a party the other night that someone could
benefit from the beaver. I guess I'm the one out of touch. The person I was
talking to knew what I was talking about immediately. She broke up laughing and
agreed whole heartedly."
"The beaver is famous. Attached is a picture. I did get to watch the
double sided one put to good use. And I thought the whole point of our secret
communication computer was so you get tell me about your kinkiness. Maybe you
can't indulge, but you can tell me what you're thinking. You said you wish you
could indulge. What is it you would want to indulge in? Tell me. It's only
fair."
"Wow. The beaver looks scary. I want to hear about that double sided
thing. I don't know what I would want to indulge in. The frustrating point is
that I couldn't even if I wanted. The tabloids could write an expose on how
inexperienced I am in reality. You want to hear something sad? I worry about
giving a boyfriend a blow-job. If it's not pretty much straight, missionary,
sex, I worry about getting talked and written about."
"That is sad."
"And these damn emails drive me nuts. You get me excited and I have to
wait a day to hear more."
"We could set up a secure chat on the computer if you want."
"How?"
(Maq says: I did what was necessary to get us a chat channel that is
encrypted and secure and sent her instructions. We made a date for a chat.
What follows is our first chat. Again, for readability, I'm going to just set
it up like a conversation.)
"Jill to Maq, Jill to Maq. Come in."
"Hi."
"Now, this is nice. How are you doing?"
"Fine, and you?"
(Maq says: Question: Why didn't we just talk on the phone? We did
eventually. I sensed that she was enjoying the feeling of anonymity of computer
correspondence. Our talk had become more and more risqu‚. Being the male slug
I am, I was interested in how risqu‚ it might become. I expected that the
computer would allow the most freedom. It has for others.)
(Jill says: He's right.)
So, we chatted and eventually Jill said, "So, about you enjoying that
double sided toy . . ."
"Ah, yes. We set up this chat so you could get titillated by hearing
about my sex life."
"I'm glad you remember, so, titillate me."
"Not much to say. Yes, I got to watch her use the double sided with her
best friend. Everyone had a good time."
"I bet. See, can you imagine the tabloids if I did that and somebody
talked?"
"Well, I guess you and your best friend would just have to keep quiet
about it."
"Ha. Ha. I have no friends that close. They would have to be really close
friends, wouldn't they?"
"Yep. In fact I liked it best when they were so close they intertwined."
"Oh my. I'm visualizing that now."
"... and I'm visualizing you with... hm somebody."
"Ha. Who?"
"You tell me. What young starlet do you want to share a double sided
vibrator with?"
"You're terrible."
"Hey, this getting excited can work both ways."
"You might be surprised. You tell me, who would you like to see me with?"
"Oh, is that something you're actually interested in? I was wondering when
you'd start sharing your kinky fantasies."
"You never know. I so rarely (never) get to let go, that I might do
anything if I had the chance."
"So. Who would it be with?"
"I'm blushing. Let's see. . . Chloe Spence. She's hot."
(Maq says: Originally, when we put this together, we just put a line to
indicate a famous person's name that we were editing out, but later we decided
to use a fake name. That's what we'll do from now on and we'll try to give some
idea of the person behind the pseudonym. For instance Chloe is a stand in for a
very hot, young, upcoming actor.)
"Yes she is. Suddenly that visual just got better."
"Getting you excited?"
"My jeans are getting tighter. And you?"
"Yes, okay, I'll say what you want to hear. My panties are getting wet."
"Oh, my. Thinking about doing it with her is making you wet, eh?"
"Thinking about doing anything. Just thinking about uninhibited
opportunities is getting me excited. Okay? And, talking to you about it."
"Okay by me. Although it is interesting to know that Jill Lane might be a
little bi-curious."
"Jill Lane is sex-curious. And you're making me more so."
"My gift to the studs of Hollywood."
"Can't happen."
"Hey, I hear Carol Hepburn was pretty spontaneous and not restricted to
Spencer Tracey--or males, for that matter."
"Exactly, you've 'heard' that. The press didn't kill her with it like
they would me, the jackals."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. But, have you ever enjoyed a girl?"
There was a long pause. (Maq says: I thought I'd gone to far.) (Jill
says: I just had to make a decision about us. I trusted Maq. I was afraid I
would ruin what we had.)
Jill said, "Okay, in the interest of this friendship and the trust we
share and the fact that you told me you enjoyed those beads: Yes. Let's just
say I have always been extremely sexual, which is why I'm now extremely
frustrated, and I have played with a girl, back when I wasn't so paranoid. Back
when I was really young. Nobody famous. Nobody you know."
"hmmm.... I guess I'm speechless."
"Speechless?"
"Enjoying the visualization even if I don't recognize her."
"I guess I could send you her picture. Help you out and all."
"Yes. Yes. You still see her?"
Long pause. (Jill says: I was really worried about this one.)
Jill said, "Okay, here's how much I trust you. I still see her. We don't
get together like that. It's my cousin."
"Sproing!"
"Sproing? What's that mean?"
"It means my jeans just got a lot tighter, thinking about you with a real
live person. And, sure, it's kind of kinky that it's your cousin."
"Oh, good, I'm turning you on."
"You know you are."
"It's only fair."
"Oh, you're getting turned on?"
"I told you my panties were getting wet."
"I know, I just like to hear you say it. I'm resisting the urge to be a
horny net geek and ask you what you're wearing."
"Just a silk robe and the panties. They're white. Lacey. Wet."
"Oh god."
"Ha. Ha. God, this is fun. You realize I never get to talk to somebody
like this. Never."
"Not even your cousin?"
"No, not like this."
"Oh, surely, you've told some guy at some time or another that he was
making you wet."
"Yes, of course, but, I don't know, this is different. It's a different
context. Or something."
"Because I'm a stranger."
"You are not a stranger. Sure, the strangeness of our relationship has
something to do with it, but the sexual impact is different somehow."
"Dirtier? As in sex is dirty if you're doing it right."
"Yes, that's it. This is kind of naughty. And, there's no game playing.
No worry about you selling me out. It's just for fun."
"Sex is best when it's just for fun."
"Without worrying about The Enquirer."
"Yes. Glad I can be of service."
There was a pause.
And Maq said: "Uh oh, we're getting quiet. Did we overstep some
boundary?"
"Of course we did. But I'm glad. Even if I can't indulge in wild, dirty
sex, I enjoy talking about it."
(Maq says: Thus the inspiration for my story Good Times.)
"It'll just frustrate you if you don't get to act on it."
"Oh, I'll act on it all right. I'll just be alone."
"hmmmm . . . and what do you plan to do?"
"You know. You just really like to hear about it, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Are you really hard?"
"Yes."
"Do you intend to do something about it?"
"Maybe I am doing something about it."
"Right now?!"
"Maybe."
"Well, I intend to do the same thing."
"uh, don't think you can exactly."
"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN."
"I'm laughing. Yeah, you know how weird this is."
"It is, but thank you. You know I've gossiped with you, I've bitched
about things, I've told you things I'd never tell anybody. This is good. I'm
enjoying it."
"I'm not worried about it."
"Good. . . . so, what are you doing?"
"Laugh. Nothing. I'll do that later."
"uh huh, (is that how you'd spell that?) And, what will you be thinking
about?"
"Well so far, the only thing I have to imagine is you and your cousin."
"I'm laughing. Well, just keep in mind. I'll be thinking about you and
your two women and you and those beads and maybe the beaver all by itself. . . .
and, I'll be fingering myself."
"Oh my."
"Now, I'm smiling. And perhaps that will give you something else to think
about."
"Yes. I'll think of you fingering yourself while I stroke my cock."
"My turn to say: oh, my. You know I've heard that word and I've said that
word and I've read that word, but for some reason when I read what you just
wrote. . . . well, sproing."
"Laugh. Sproing? Maybe: gush."
"So, I have to go. It's late out here."
"Yes. I know. Later out here. We'll do it again. And you can tell me
what runs through your mind later tonight."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"I promise I will share with you what goes through my mind tonight while I
finger my pussy."
And, she disconnected.
Chapter 3
Maq:
The next morning I groaned out of bed, turned on the coffee and checked
out the computer. I had an email from Jill. Here it is, in its entirety:
To: maquido@hotmail.com
From: Jill
Subject: Last Night
-------------------
Maq:
I want to thank you, again, for being such a special friend. I confess,
I've wondered how people enjoy "cyber sex" or phone sex, but now, I've indulged
just a little bit and I enjoyed. There is a freedom that is exhilarating to
someone like me (especially someone like me who is psycho about the privacy
thing). I told you last night that I've always been extremely sexual. At times
I've wondered if there was something wrong with me. That was part of what came
up in therapy. The therapist ended up hitting on me. Then, I found out later,
he'd not kept my confidence. I sicced the lawyers on everybody.
I ramble. I'm sorry.
The point is I am frustratingly sexual and really do feel it is impossible
to act upon. I know some of my peers do not seem shy about acting on their
desires, but if you notice, very few can transcend the stigma that attaches.
Not if their artistic goals are similar to mine. Anyway, you, my dear friend,
have allowed me to enjoy a little of what I cannot enjoy. Sex is best when
shared, don't you agree. That's what it is all about.
I promised you I would tell you about my private response to our sexy
conversation. I'm not sure how to do that. I find myself shy. I do not want
you to think bad of me, but somehow, I don't think you will. Just please know
I'm giving you more trust than I've ever given anybody. So, if you'll excuse my
inexperience, I will try to put into words what I did after we signed off our
chat.
I lay in bed for the longest, on top of the sheets, just thinking about
all the things out there I am denied. I can't go into a sex-shop and buy those
toys. I can't get wild in public. I can't have wild, mindless sex. And I
really, really enjoy the idea of wild sex.
I really was in a robe and panties while we chatted. I lay in bed in just
the panties. I imagined being able to surrender to urges without fear and
decided that in the context of where I was-in my own bed, about to masturbate,
thinking of you and things you said--I would surrender. I took off my panties.
I masturbate a lot. I lie under the sheets, usually curled up on my side
and slip my hand between my legs and please myself.
Not last night.
Last night, the first thing I did was grab each breast in a hand and push
them together (do you prefer the word tits?). My nipples were erect, and, I
might add, had been since our chat. I licked one and then the other. (You
know, don't you, that my breasts are all my own? I mean you've seen me on the
screen, have you ever thought I'd been enhanced?) I'd left a small light on and
it was extremely hot that I could see my nipples glistening.
Okay, I've finished this email and as I re-read I realized I am being shy
and not fair to you. So, I'm adding the following. I started pretending that
my nipples were wet from the tongue of a lover. Maq, I hope you realize how
much I trust you when I say: I imagined that they were wet from a man's sperm
and then I imagined that they were wet from where I'd pressed them into the
pussy of Chloe Spencer. I don't even know if such a thing could be done in real
life, but it could in my head.
Speaking of pussy. Mine was tingling. I was pressing my legs together,
stimulating myself with the pressure.
Then, keeping with the theme of being wild, I spread my legs. I could
feel that I was wet. I was leaking. I could feel my wetness.
Maq, I keep running into this civil shyness, but I've decided to go all
out with you. I'm going to use words I'd never use with someone in person and
tell you in sexy, graphic, nasty terms what I was feeling. I hope that's okay.
I am blushing and just realized I was kind of hunched over the computer as I
typed this, as if someone could read over my shoulder. I am home alone and
there's nobody here. To reinforce my commitment to exploring all the details of
this stuff with you, I just stripped and now, as I type this, I am not hunched
over. I am on the edge of my chair with my legs spread a little and my breasts
(tits?) proudly naked. So, on with what I really felt.
Last night, after I spread my legs, I could feel my wetness leaking and
making me wet in the crack of my ass. That, my friend, is really wet.
I raised my knees. I tried to conjure up exactly what you look like
(remind me--send me a picture). I imagined you on the end of my bed, on your
knees, between my spread legs with your cock in your hand. As I thought of you
getting closer and closer, I put my hand between my legs and rubbed myself. Two
of my fingers were your cock as you pressed into me.
Maq, I came as soon as my fingers pressed inside my pussy. What have you
done to me?
Your sticky fingered friend,
Jill
PS I'll leave you with this thought, as I sit here, naked with my legs
spread, I can smell that I am aroused again. I'm about to finger myself, again.
PPS Attached is a picture of my cousin and me at her place last year.
To: Jill
From: Maq
Subject: re Last Night
------------------
Jill:
Wow. I am humbly aroused that I got a role in your fantasy.
First, to answer the questions you asked. I use the word breasts. I find
tits to usually be vulgar and demeaning when used by men. Having said that, I
find it terribly exciting and sexy when a lady uses the word and invites me to
use the word with her in mind. Strange, no? It is an invitation to sexual
abandonment and intimacy. Just like the mother of all words: cunt. Sadly, that
word is often considered the worst of all possible words. Sadly, because it is
the strongest, most powerful sounding word to refer to a lady's sexual organ.
Comparable to "cock." There is a book written by a lady titled "Cunt." She
addresses it as an empowering word. So, the connection to our topic? I would
never use the word cunt or tits in the throes of sex. At least not until I knew
she liked it or she said, "fuck my cunt" or "fuck my tits." Her inviting use of
the word I consider to be trust and intimacy. She trusted me to appreciate the
raw, mindless sexuality of the word without any connotation that she was "a
cunt" as used badly by idiots.
Now, back to your breasts. Funny you should ask if I thought they were
enhanced. Here, I've tried to present myself as high-minded and above the
commoners who dwell on actor's breasts, but when you ask-I must admit that yes,
I have considered your breasts on the screen and always thought they were real.
Great nipples from what I could tell.
Speaking of nipples, I can attest to the fact that it is possible to press
a nipple into a pussy and get it wet enough that the flavor can be enjoyed. My
friend, her friend, me, a wild night. You know.
Thinking of you last night and again this morning pleasuring yourself has
me hard again. I confess. I almost wrote several paragraphs about me stroking
my hard rod of seething man-flesh into submission after we got off the computer
last night just to return the favor. Truth is-in the interest of maintaining
honesty--I fell asleep and did not abuse myself. And, dammit, I have no time to
do so now. I will later though. And I will imagine you and your cousin. She
is pretty hot herself by the way.
Attached is a picture of me. I don't include a picture of my hard cock
for your imagination, but will upon request.
Jill, I have to go. We crossed a major boundary in our electronic
communication last night. If, upon sober reflection, you are bothered by that,
please let me know.
Your turgid friend,
Maq
Later that day:
To: Maq
From: Jill
Subject: Re: Re: Last Night
----------------------
Maq:
I will address your concern (my, aren't we formal?): Yes, we did pass a
boundary and I did so with excitement and pleasure. Remember? I get so horny I
thought I had a psychological problem. You've helped confirm that what I feel
is real and valid. That's what I was supposed to figure out in therapy. My
sexuality is not the problem. My job is the problem. I have to balance the
demands of the fame with what is natural in me. You and your friends and the
things you've done make it clear that my desire for a wilder, freer sex life can
be natural. I just choose not to indulge because of what I do for a living.
So, we will keep this up if you want. It will be my indulgence. It helps
me to express in words and deeds, even if solo, what excites me sexually. We
will not lose the other, the friendship and we will continue to gossip and bitch
and talk of mundane things, but I want to continue to talk dirty with you if
that's all right.
You'll be glad to know that in my short, mind blowing fantasy last night,
I pictured you very well. The picture you sent confirms that I remembered you
well. A picture of your hard penis (do you invite me to say cock? Just
kidding)? A picture of your hard cock? Yeah, that idea excites me. I know
girls aren't supposed to get turned on by pictures, but I always have. If you
do that, think somehow of me to get hard, send it, and tell me what you were
thinking.
I'm glad that you have enjoyed my nipples on the big screen. Having said
that, I wonder if you just created a problem. Appearing braless is something
often expected. I never have thought about somebody actually focusing on the
fact that my nipples are apparent. I mean, I know it's going to happen, but
it's never been something I've actually had in mind. You know what's going to
happen now. I'll be acting some part braless, and I'm going to think about you
watching and seeing me and it is going to make my nipples hard. You better, by
God, enjoy.
I think I understand what you meant about the words tits and cunt. When
used right those words are somehow more intimate, aren't they? I mean, I've had
sex with guys who have used the word pussy and it doesn't bother me. Perhaps it
even excited me. I've had sex with a couple that used the word cunt and I did
not appreciate it, but, you're right, I didn't appreciate it because they were
not a close enough friend to use the word. I didn't mind them fucking my pussy,
but they had no right to fuck my cunt. Interesting. I might have to find that
book you mentioned. Damn. Another thing I can't be seen buying. Well, there
are ways.
Damn, again. All this talk of cocks and cunts is getting me excited. I'm
already two up on you. I'm sorry you didn't have time to jack-off and think of
me. Please do so soon. I really do love the freedom of talking to you, don't
I? But, you owe me. I want to hear in detail about some time when you got
together with two women. Deal?
So, if you send me a picture of your cock, do you want me to send you a
picture of my pussy? I have a digital camera you know. I will, if you swear .
. . well, you know.
And, let's schedule a chat. Earlier in the day this time. I have a
couple of weeks alone here at the house. You name the time.
Your really close friend,
Jill
Chapter 4
To: Jill
From: Maq
Subject: re Last Night
------------------
Do you realize how exciting this is? I often read erotica on the net to
get off. I have had sex chats on the internet with friends and with strangers.
I have met a couple of women in person after first meeting them on the net. I
trust you will not relegate me to the hoard of horny net geeks salivating over
you when I say that talking dirty with you on email or in our chats is in the
top ten of my turn on experiences. Speaking of chats, I will check every day at
2 my time and noon your time to see if are available to chat.
I hope you haven't opened the attachment or scrolled to the bottom of this
email to look at the picture I have attached. It is my cock. Hard. I will
tell you what I thought about to get it that way in a moment.
I am no longer a teenager, or even a young adult. I usually indulge in
some kind of stimulation if I have the urge to masturbate. I usually read dirty
stories. Some times I will watch dirty videos. Any more, I don't usually just
sit back and beat off to things in my mind without getting a jump start with
something else. I guess you were my something else just a few minutes ago. I
knew I owed you one. Besides, reading your email had me hard.
So, I dropped my pants there at the computer. I pulled up the picture of
you and your cousin Lacey. My cock was already semi-erect and stroking it made
it grow harder.
Jill, there is a long pause here. I still find myself worried about
offending you. I will trust that you will accept that fantasies are fantasies
and having one does not necessarily mean that a person would want to make it
come true. People rarely share fantasies except in the most general of terms.
We've been friends a while now and I know you are being very free with me. I
may be the one being the most shy. But, I will tell you exactly how I fantasize
unless I sense that it was a mistake.
So, okay. I looked at your picture and I tried to visualize in detail
what you look like naked. I imagined your toned, smooth skin. Your breasts,
topped by nipples erect in tight nubs. Your cousin is lighter skinned than you
and it looks like her breasts are smaller. I imagined her naked as well. I
imagined each of you, side by side. For a moment.
In my mind, the hair between your legs was trimmed and I could see the
slit of your pussy. I was getting harder and started to feel the effects of my
hand on my cock. I imagined the two of you kissing, your breasts pressing each
other, your nipples rubbing back and forth.
You said you wanted to hear about my lady friend, her friend, and me. In
my mind this morning I was flashing between my fantasy of you and my memory of
her. My friend is named Marie and her friend's name is Lori. For your
visualizing detail, Marie has dark hair that is usually cut short. She is not
tall and her breasts are medium sized. Her complexion is dark and she tans
well. Lori is light complexioned. Her breasts are smaller and not as full.
Lori's nipples are a pale pink and Marie's are dark. Lori's hair is usually
kept blond, or reddish blond or red.
The first time we ever kind of played around together as a threesome was
like this:
We'd spent the day at the beach and ended up at Lori's house watching a
movie on television. We'd had some wine. Okay, we'd had a lot of wine. There
had been the usual smattering of sexual innuendo and double entrendes all
afternoon.
At one point Marie came back into the living room and sat down on the
floor, kind of leaning against my legs, with her arm on top of my thigh.
Lori said, "Whew, for a moment there I thought you were going to give him
a blowjob."
Marie raised her eyebrows and said, "You'd like that wouldn't you,
watching me give him a blow job." While she said that she actually reached up
and fondled me.
I could only say, "Ladies, ladies."
Marie said, "You know you love it."
I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. In bed we'd fantasized about Lori
joining us. I admit I was kind of wondering how far Marie was going to take
this. Hey, I'm a guy. I was willing.
Lori, sitting next to me said, "I'm sure he enjoys having you on your
knees."
I just smiled and shrugged again.
"I know he does," Marie said.
I could just smile, shrug, and nod my head.
Marie turned around and bobbed her head in my lap, not really touching.
"Like that, honey?" she asked, looking up at me sweetly.
Another smile and nod.
"Like watching?" she asked Lori.
"Looks hot to me."
Lori said, "Must be kind of ego satisfying to have a girl on her knees in
front of you, huh?"
They were teasing me, trying, perhaps, to embarrass me. I decided to play
their game.
I gave Lori a look and said, "Want to see what it feels like?"
I felt Marie's hand tighten on my thigh, in a good way.
"Come here," I said, patting my lap.
Lori met my challenge and moved to sit in my lap. I scooted toward the
edge of the couch and pulled her high. I spread my legs and pulled her legs to
the outside of mine. She locked her ankles around the back of my legs.
To Marie, I said, "Now, pretend to give me a blow job. Let her see what
it looks like."
Marie smiled and moved, kneeling between our legs. She started to bob her
head in my lap. Everybody was laughing.
At first, I had my hands on Marie's head, like I would if she was really
giving me head. I took Lori's hands in mine and intertwined them into Marie's
hair, saying, "Feels powerful, doesn't it?"
"Yes."
Under cover of her bobbing head, Marie started caressing my cock, making
me kind of squirm.
Lori kind of squirmed back.
Marie looked up and said, "You can't really get the full effect like
this."
She looked at me carefully and moved her hand to grasp my zipper, waiting
for me to stop her. I didn't. I smiled and gave her an if-you-want-to look.
She started pulling it down slowly, watching for Lori's reaction. I couldn't
see the expression on Lori's face, but Marie almost laughed and pulled my zipper
down. Lori's hands were back on the sofa on either side of me while she
watched. I'm sure she was wondering just how far Marie would take this.
"Oh, God," she said.
I jumped as Marie's cool hand pushed through the leg hole of my briefs to
grasp my cock.
She pulled it out and Lori enjoyed her first look at me. She turned her
head to look at me. Her eyes glistened and I could feel her breathing. She was
obviously enjoying and getting turned on. I smiled and did another of those
what the hell shrugs.
"Oh, God," she said again. She turned back to watch.
The zipper caught me and I said, "Ouch."
"Sorry," Marie said.
Marie kissed just the tip of my cock and started tugging on my pants
trying to pull them down.
I raised up, lifting Lori with me. She unhooked her legs and spread them
away from mine so Marie could pull my pants down. That caused her to lean back
against me. I enjoyed feeling her back press against me.
My pants were tossed aside and I was naked from the waist down. Lori was
in my lap, the crotch of her shorts not quiet touching my erection. Marie was
on her knees between our spread legs and her gorgeous dark eyes looked up as she
slowly lowered her mouth over me.
Lori was quiet. I could feel her breath shorten as she watched. I
intertwined her fingers in Marie's hair. She held Marie's head lightly as
Marie's mouth slid down over my cock and began to move rhythmically up and down.
Marie's hands were on the top of my thighs. It was very, very erotic.
"Can you see?" I whispered into Lori's ear.
She nodded.
"Is it hot?"
She nodded.
Marie's hands moved up and gripped Lori's hips. I put my hands over
Marie's. Marie pushed my hands up toward Lori's breasts.
"Okay?" I asked, lightly kissing Lori's neck.
Lori nodded.
I caressed her breasts through her blouse. I took Marie's hand and
pressed it over Lori's breast. I could feel her caressing her friend.
Marie continued to suck my cock. At one point she looked at me and, even
with her mouth full of me, I could see her smile.
Marie's hands went back to Lori's hips and pulled her down so that her
crotch was right against my cock. She took me from her mouth and pushed my cock
against Lori. Lori squirmed.
"You like?" Marie asked.
"Oh, yes."
Looking at me, Marie asked, "You okay?"
I smiled and nodded.
Looking back to Lori, she said, "This is what it looks like to be getting
a blow job. What do you think?"
"I think it is very hot. You're right," she said to me, "it feels
powerful."
I said, "You think this feels powerful. Try this. Marie, get naked."
Marie stood. She took Lori's hand and wrapped it around my cock. As Lori
started stroking me, I said, "And, that's what it's like to jack-off." She
laughed. My hands caressed her breasts.
Marie pulled her shirt over her head and removed her bra. She slipped her
shorts and panties off and, naked, smiling shyly, got back on her knees. Marie
wrapped her hand around Lori's around my cock and the two of them stroked me
while Marie's mouth surrounded the tip of my cock and her tongue twirled against
me.
"It's better when she is naked. Isn't it?"
"Yes."
I pulled Lori's shirt from where it was tucked into her pants and slid my
hands up under her bra for my first feel of her bare breasts.
Lori leaned forward and pulled her shirt off. I unhooked her bra and
tossed it aside. She leaned back against me. I nuzzled and kissed her neck
while fondling her breasts, pulling lightly on her nipples, moving my hips in
rhythm with Marie's attention to my cock.
Marie said, "Ya'll get naked." Lori climbed off my lap and slid off her
shorts and panties while I took off my shirt. Lori blushes very prettily.
Lori got back in position in my lap, spreading her legs and locking her
ankles behind my legs. Marie leaned forward again and started sucking me.
Lori's bare ass against my belly felt exquisite. Lori's hands went back to
Marie's head. I could feel Marie's hand around me and I pressed Lori forward so
that, as Marie stroked my cock, her hand would be rubbing against Lori.
Lori inhaled sharply, leaned her head back and made a delightfully sexual
groan. Her hips began to rock.
It is difficult for me to come from a blow-job, but this one was working.
Marie's mouth on me, Lori's bare ass and back against me, seeing and fondling
her breasts for the first time, the scent, the sounds . . . everything was
working in favor of an orgasm.
"I'm going to come, sweetie."
Marie stroked faster and used her mouth on me. Marie is a woman that
truly loves to give a blow-job. She has been known to orgasm without touching
herself while giving head.
Lori was leaning forward to watch. I had my head back and my eyes closed
most of the time, but I've seen it myself and can imagine that Marie was looking
up at Lori and Lori could see those eyes and my cock, glistening as Marie's
mouth slid up and down.
I started to come, lifting Lori as my hips flexed upward.
Marie took the first spurt into her mouth and then pressed my cock upward,
holding it toward Lori's stomach as she stroked me and licked the underside of
my cock. Her other hand caressed my balls. My come hit Lori's stomach and Lori
smeared it around with her hand.
It was a very fine moment in time.
We didn't really do anything else that afternoon. What we'd done was kind
of an introduction to possibilities. I wanted the chance to talk about it to
Marie, to determine her desires, to discuss boundaries and possibilities. Lori
and Marie needed a chance to talk together. Maybe it wouldn't happen again, but
meanwhile I had a good, erotic memory of seeing them both naked together,
feeling Marie's mouth on me while Lori was naked beneath my hands, enjoying the
combined scent or them both, and having a pretty good orgasm. I expected more
would happen later, and as I'm sure you and I will discuss, it did.
Meanwhile, while I worry about your reaction to my wanton behavior (not
real worried, just a little) I'll continue with what eventually made me come
last night.
Memories of that past experienced intermingled with fantasies about you
and about you and your cousin. I pictured you in bed with your legs spread
while you fingered yourself. I pictured you and your cousin naked side by side,
legs spread, your hands between each other's legs, showing me, letting me watch.
I slowed the movement of my hand on my cock, closed my eyes and tried to
picture in detail the way your pussy might look, the way your breasts move when
you lay on your back fingering yourself. I imagined you slipping two fingers
inside yourself while thinking of me. I imagined your scent, the warmth of your
breasts, the sounds that you might make...
Eventually, as I got closer to orgasm, and pausing only once to get the
attached picture, I began to imagine you... and what it would be like to be
kissing and sucking your nipples, feeling your back arched in pleasure as one
hand held the heat between your legs, feeling your thighs under my lips as I
kissed my way up to taste your pussy. I imagined you leaning over to take me in
your mouth, I imagined my hands on your ass pulling you to my face as we enjoyed
sixty-nine. I imagined the warm slick softness of you beneath my tongue and
imagined the taste of you. I remembered how you said earlier that your wetness
was in the crack of your ass and I imagined licking that wetness from you, my
tongue dipping into the wet warmth of your pussy and then following the trail of
your excitement to lick that wetness from between the cheeks of your ass.
And I came. Perhaps a minute after the attached picture was made.
Sincerely,
Maq
Chapter 5
To: Maq
From: Jill
Subject: Oh My!
Oh, Maq. Oh, God. Oh, Jesus. Oh, yes.
I have never become so wet so fast or been so horny over just reading
something as just happened when I read your email. You have stirred the beast
in me and I thank you.
I've just come in from running errands. I set my stuff down on a counter,
logged in immediately in hopes that you'd be there, saved the email, pulled it
up on what I call my Maq, and read the letter from you. Oh my God.
As I read I became short of breath. The seam on my jeans stimulated me as
I squirmed. That email was so hot. I could see it happening. I could wish
that I was there. I wanted to be Lori sitting naked in your lap with your hands
on my breasts. I wanted to be Marie kneeling naked and taking you in my mouth.
I wanted to be both of them at the same time. I wanted to feel your sperm
against my skin.
Okay, being shy again. I'm coming back to add the following--I wanted to
feel you come in my mouth.
Okay, Maq, I'm editing again and adding some more. I wanted to be
kneeling naked sucking you and stroking you while Lori's pussy pressed against
my hand. I wanted to be feeling her wetness. I'm terrible. No, I'm not, I'm
just terribly turned on.
While reading your email, I could not help it. I stripped. I tossed my
blouse and bra to the side. I almost killed myself getting out of those jeans.
I read and I fingered myself.
When I read what you wrote about your tongue licking my wetness from
between the cheeks of my ass, I came. Big time. You and Lori and Marie and the
things you've done and the things you've imagined--that's the kind of wild sex I
want. And, it is exactly the kind of sex I will not let myself have. Too
dangerous. Nobody I trust. But you. If you were in California this afternoon
you might just get lucky.
(Maq says: I'd never considered it might really happen until the moment I
read that. After all, she was Jill Lane. The real Jill Lane. Impossible.)
(Jill says: If he'd been there, I'd of done him.)
(Maq edit: On with the email)
Maq, reading your letter I get the feeling that you are still a little
uncomfortable with writing this stuff to me. What more do I have to do? I just
told you that the thought of your tongue licking between the cheeks of my ass
made me come. Will it make you feel more free if I tell you this: As I was
masturbating and thinking of that, while one hand was busy on my clit, I took a
finger on the other hand and got it wet in my pussy. I raised my butt up off
the chair and moved that wet finger underneath me. I rubbed it between the
cheeks of my ass and thought about it being your tongue. That's the kind of
wild, nasty sex I'm interested in. Complete freedom, abandonment, and the
search for pure sensual pleasure. Something I could never ask somebody to do.
Something I could never trust somebody to do. And here I am telling you about
it. How did that happen?
(Jill says: That was really hard for me to write, but I wanted Maq to quit
being careful with me. He was the only person I'd ever been able to open up to
about the kind of wild sex I fantasized. I wanted him to be wild with me. The
way he wrote things to me, turned me on. I wanted it all. Back to my letter to
him:)
If you still feel the need to be shy with me, try this for a confession:
I rubbed my finger over my anus. I rubbed myself there thinking of you licking
me there. Nobody has ever done that for me. I bet it feels deliciously nasty
and terrific. I've been asked to do it, but I declined. In my mind just now, I
did not decline you. In my mind I sucked your cock. I licked your balls. I
lifted them and licked beneath them. I pushed my tongue between the cheeks of
your ass and licked you. (I'm going to have to go masturbate again.) So, let's
see if you have any reason to be shy now.
It's a little while before you said you would be on to chat. I'm going to
go look at the picture of your cock and masturbate again. I'm going to imagine
all of the above again. I'm going to finger my pussy and rub my ass. I'm going
to imagine you doing that while I'm sucking your cock.
After I've come, I'm going to take a picture of my wet pussy and email it
to you.
So, I've stopped being shy.
You stop being shy.
Your horny, sexy, naked, wet, pussy-fingering friend,
Jill
Chapter 6
Jill says:
Corresponding with Maq was causing me to think of things I'd never
expressed out loud before. I was starting to plan a time when we would finally
meet.
So, edited for readability, here's our chat that occurred that afternoon:
He said, "Hi. I'm here."
I said, "Hi Maq."
"Wow."
"Yes. Wow. I can't believe the things I told you. I'm blushing."
"No need to be embarrassed. You did cure me of my shyness."
"Good. Am I terrible or what?"
"If that's terrible, I'm terrible. In fact, as long as I'm no longer
being shy, I'll tell you. Remember how I told you I masturbated to the thought
of you and your cousin spreading your legs and showing me yourselves?"
"Yes. It made me hot."
"I didn't tell you that I also imagined you both on your knees, reaching
back and spreading your ass for me. I told you some time ago I'm an ass man. I
really, really am."
"Hmmm. That makes me hot right now. Thinking of doing that for you. I am
an actor, after all. It's my job to be seen."
"This moment of silence caused by the vision in my head."
"Oh, you're thinking of that are you?"
"Of course."
"Okay. Embarrassing question time. Have you done that? Licked a lady
there?"
"Yes."
"Tell me about it."
"<blushing>"
"No more blushing. Remember? Tell me about the first time you ever did
that. Unless you really don't want to."
"No. I don't mind. I hereby will no longer worry about being too kinky
to be your friend."
"Good. And I will be the same."
"Okay. The first time was to reciprocate. What I mean is that I was with
a lady who was really into ass play and her freedom allowed me the opportunity
to explore as well."
"Good go on. Don't be distracted by the fact that I'm playing with
myself."
"Really?"
"Yes. I'm naked and you're turning me on. So I'm playing with myself
just a little. So, tell me about this lady into you playing with her ass. Was
it Marie?"
"No. Not Marie. Although she also enjoys it. Plus, I was with her for
quiet a while, so we had more opportunity. But, the first was an acquaintance,
Carol."
"Okay. Tell me a little about Carol."
"She was a friend. A social acquaintance. I have tendency to
occasionally say too much in social situations and one night at a party I said
something about I love the taste of a good wine from a lady's body. Everybody
listening laughed politely, but she made a sound of appreciation that the others
did not.
"She made a sound like she'd caught the scent of something delicious.
And, I noticed her looking at me intently. Have you noticed there's not much
eye contact in the world today?"
"Yes. In fact in an acting class, we once spent thirty minutes doing
nothing but making eye contact."
"Well, her eye contact was intense and I got the impression there was
something intriguing behind it.
"I called her the next day. She was surprised to get my phone call, but
I'd been attracted to her for a while and thought I'd test the water."
(Maq says: Dear readers, to avoid the awkwardness of using single quotes
to indicate my conversation with Carol within the double quotes context of my
conversation with Jill, I will begin here to use quotes to indicate the
conversation with Carol. Things said by and to Jill in our chat will appear in
parenthesis until further notice.)
"Carol. Hi, it's Maq."
"Maq. Hi. I enjoyed the party last night." She sounded a little
nervous. A little inquisitive. I would find out later, she was hoping we'd
find a way to talk privately. She was hoping the phone call was it.
"Yeah, me too." There was a pause. I took a deep breath and made the
leap. "It sounded like you enjoyed the idea of wine being tasted from your
body, too."
There was another long silence here. I started to envision myself
ostracized, or shot.
"Yes." She said in a small, quiet voice. "I can't believe you called and
said that."
"I'm sorry. Should I hang up?"
"No. I'm just surprised. Just like it surprised me to hear you say that
last night. It gave me goose bumps."
"Ah, good goose bumps or bad goose bumps?"
"Good. I'm a little jealous. Nobody ever offered to lick wine from my
body."
(In our chat--Jill said: "Another interesting thing I'd like to try some
day."
"Actually, you asked me if my first time to enjoy someone's bottom was
with Marie. It wasn't, but the first time I did run my tongue there with Marie,
it was to chase a sparkling stream of champagne flowing down her back."
"More on that later, please, but now, back to Carol. Go on. I'm still
playing with myself, by the way."
"Groan."
Okay, back to the conversation with Carol....)
"It's the best way to enjoy fine wine."
Anyway, to get to the stuff you want to hear about. We had some sexy
chats, Carol and I. Eventually, she had to make a trip out of town and asked me
to join her. I did. She picked me up after work. I was in a suit.
"You look nice but uncomfortable. Would you like to stop so you can
change?"
"You're driving. It won't be difficult for me to change. If it won't
bother you."
"ummm It might distract me, but it won't bother me. Before you do, can I
do something, I've been dieing to do?"
"Sure. What's that?"
"This." And, she reached over and, for the first time she touched me.
She stroked and rubbed my cock through my suit pants. It had been semi-hard and
that pushed it to full inflation.
I leaned back and let her rub me. We were in a parking garage. I leaned
over to kiss her. My hand went to her leg, high up on her thigh. She was
wearing blue jeans. Her legs spread and I moved my hand between her legs to
feel her there for the first time. I love to feel the heat between the legs of
a woman in jeans. She moaned and pressed against me.
"I should have worn a dress," she said.
Anyway, after some very nice kissing, we hit the highway.
Once we were out of the city, I pulled some comfortable pants out of my
bag, making sure I had a pair that afforded easy access.
I slipped out of my dress pants. My shorts were tented by my erection.
She told me to wait a minute and while she drove she reached over to caress me
through my underwear. I turned toward her slightly and spread my legs to let
her enjoy whatever she wanted. She made sounds of appreciation.
I reached over and caressed her breasts. She moved her arm to make it
easier for me to touch.
She said, "If we keep this up, we might not make it to where we're going."
"We'll just take our time getting there."
"Okay, but before you put on your pants . . ." She reached into the leg
hole of my shorts and grasped me, her hand cool on my erection. That is such an
erotic feeling, a cool hand on my cock, especially the first time with a lady.
We fooled around while driving. My first blow-job from Carol was in a
rest area at which we spent a while. She is the all time best blow-job giver
I've ever enjoyed.
We spent the night in a hotel and did the usual sexy things that healthy,
horny adults do. Several times. Finally, I was relaxing on my stomach. She
started to rub my back. It was my turn to make some appreciative noises.
She rubbed my shoulders.
"Would you like me to use some massage oil? I have some that's not too
oily."
"Sure."
She got a bottle of sesame seed oil out of her bag and worked on my back.
Her hands moved lower, taking exquisite time with each part of my back. She
shifted on the bed and started to rub my ass. She squirted oil on me and rubbed
it into my skin. I started to get erect again.
I got the impression that she was squeezing and rubbing in a way to
separate my cheeks. I thought she might be trying to get a look at me there.
That was a turn on to me, that she might have such a kinky little desire. I
raised my ass off the bed for two reasons. One was to allow me to adjust my
growing cock. The other was to see if I was right that she was really extra
interested in my ass.
"Ummm," she said. And she rubbed me harder as I held my ass up off the
bed. "I like that."
"It feels good." I moved my ass under her hand, encouraging her to take
greater liberties if she wanted.
"Do you like this," she asked.
"Oh, yeah. Feels nice."
She squirted some oil right in the crack of my ass and started to rub me
there. "How about this?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah. Feels real good."
She reached under me, between my legs, and started to stroke my cock, her
hand slick from the massage oil.
I spread my legs, and rose up a little higher. I wasn't quiet on all
fours.
She leaned down and with the fingers of one hand rubbing over my anus, she
dipped her head down and took the tip of my cock in her mouth.
I was making no pretense. I was on all fours, raising my ass up for her
to pleasure, giving her room to suck my cock. The eroticism of a new position,
the tension of her pulling my cock back between my legs for access, and the
slick stimulation of my ass all combined to make it the best blow job I'd ever
enjoyed up to that moment.
She was kneeling on all fours, her head between my legs. I stretched to
reach her and she twisted as much as she could. I stroked her pussy. She
spread her legs. I ran my finger up the crack of her ass. She moaned.
Taking her mouth off of me for a moment, she said, "You like this don't
you?"
"Yes."
"Then we're a lot alike." My finger pressed against her anus. "Ummm," she
said, "That's exactly what I mean. I like that."
After enjoying me touching her for a few minutes, she went back to work
with her mouth on my cock. She had to move away from me and I lost contact with
her ass. I just enjoyed her enthusiastic attention to my ass and cock.
"Stay in that position," she said, "I want to do something. If you don't
mind."
I confess. I had a moment of fear that she was going to pull out a dildo
and try to use it on me. I wasn't ready for that. But, what she did was shift
so that she was behind me. I was still on my hands and knees and now she was
kneeling behind me between my legs.
She pulled my cock back so she could suck the tip. She licked up the
underside of it. Her finger was now just resting against my ass, not really
moving, just sitting there, stimulating those sensitive nerves.
Her tongue moved up to my balls and she licked me there. She sucked my
balls into her mouth one at a time, swirling her tongue around each.
Then, her tongue moved on up my ass. She pressed it between my cheeks.
She moved her finger from where it pressed against me. Using both hands, she
spread me and her tongue began to lick me there. It was exquisite. Something
I'd wanted to feel for some time. Pressing against me she used one hand to
stroke my cock while she licked up and down my ass.
It was very intense. Very erotic. Very stimulating. I was close to
coming when I finally pulled away from her. Carol is tiny. It was no problem
for me to bodily flip her over.
"My turn," I said.
Using the massage oil I began to rub her back. I straddled her so that my
cock lay along the length of her ass. My cock, still slick from the oil, moved
against her as I leaned forward to rub her shoulders. I rocked as I massaged
her back so that my cock would slide against her. She made delightful noises
and moved her ass underneath me, adding to the stimulation.
I was not as patient as her. I moved pretty quickly to rub her bottom.
She moved her hips sensuously, moving her ass beneath my hands. She was making
sexy noises of appreciation.
I spread her cheeks.
"Yes," she said, raising up to her knees.
I looked at her, enjoying the view of her pussy from behind, it's moisture
readily apparent, and her asshole. I licked her there, starting as far down the
slit of her pussy as I could reach and tasting her wetness, feeling her warmth
as I moved my tongue up her. My tongue pressed a little ways inside her as I
passed her opening. I continued on up, my tongue making its way between her
cheeks and over that secret part of her.
When it touched her there, her hands gripped the sheets in fists and she
moaned, saying, "Oh, yes. That feels so good."
I continued to lick her there and, while I did, I pushed my thumb into her
pussy and used my fingers to stroke her clit. She came like that.
A few minutes later we were laying spooned together on the bed. Her
bottom pressing against my erection, my hands caressing her nipples.
"Did you like that?" she asked.
"Oh, yes."
"Is that your first time to do that?"
"Yes."
There was a moment of silence. She reached behind her back and took my
cock in her hand. She stroked it against her, pressing its tip between her
cheeks.
"Have you ever had anal sex?" she asked quietly.
"No." I hoped she would say what she said next.
"I want you to do that. I want to give you something nobody else ever
has. I really enjoy it and it's been a long time. Will you fuck my ass?"
"Yes."
And so-she got up on her knees. I used a generous portion of our massage
oil and, for the first time in my life, I enjoyed feel of my cock spreading and
sliding into the heated tightness of a lady's ass.
(Maq: Okay, back to the chat between Jill and me-)
She said, "That is so hot."
There was a long pause, and finally she said, "Maq, are you still there?"
"I'm sorry. Of course. I was just hmmm day dreaming, I guess."
"About what?"
"I think you know."
There was a short pause, and Jill said, "Were you thinking about what it
would be like to fuck my ass?"
"Yes."
"Are you stroking yourself while you think about that?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, I am."
"Good, because I'm rubbing myself, too."
"While you think of being fucked in the ass?"
"Yes. By you."
"Oh, my."
"I'm laughing. Yes. Oh, my."
"So, that's another thing you are curious about? Anal sex?"
"Yes. Another thing I could ever do with anybody I've ever had a
relationship with. You know me."
"You've given up a lot of freedom. I know."
"Thanks for giving some back."
"My pleasure. You're welcome."
"Okay, that was nice and polite. Now, back to you thinking about my ass,
please."
"Laughing. It is exquisite in my mind."
"Good. I work-out a lot to keep it exquisite."
"So, are you still rubbing yourself?"
"Yes. That's why all the pauses between typing."
"If you're thinking of that, are you going to touch yourself there?"
"Yes. I will. I'll do it now."
There was a pause and then she continued.
"I scooted forward on my chair and slid my finger down between the cheeks
of my ass and touched myself there."
"Have you ever fingered your ass while masturbating?"
"Yes. I have. Not often, but I have."
"Tell me about one time. What were you thinking about."
"Before you?"
"Yes. As unbelievable and exciting as I find it that I'm getting a role
in your fantasy, tell me about a time before our chats. What got you there, so
to speak."
"The first time ever I was reading the book Presumed Innocent. You know
the one?"
"Yes. Movie. Harrison Ford and Greta Scacchi."
"Yes, that one. Have you read the book?"
"Yes."
"Then I suspect you remember the part in the book where the character
played by Greta has the guy take her in the ass."
"Yes. I was so disappointed when they left that out of the movie."
"Me, too. When I read that, it turned me on. You know, as a forbidden
sex thing I could not enjoy. I fantasized about doing that and played with
myself. That is the first time, using some convenient lotion on my nightstand,
that I pushed a finger into my ass."
"Okay, now you're about to make me come."
(There were longer and longer paused between typing. We were both busy.)
"Good. Me too. Getting close."
After some mutual silence:
"Hold on, I have to clean up," I said.
"Was it good for you, dear?"
"Laughing. Oh, yeah."
"Me too. I just came. Maq, I'm sending you a picture. Okay? It is my
pussy. I took it after I got all wet playing with myself just before we started
chatting. Would you like to see?"
"Hell yes."
"Thought you might. Hold on. Enjoy, and give me a moment. I want to do
something."
The chat program advised that Jill was sending a file and I accepted. It
took a few minutes to download. I opened it.
It was Jill, on her bed. I have it here in front of me now as I write
this. She is on her back. Her face is securely out of view. Her knees are
raised and her legs are spread. The lighting is natural and nicely illuminates
her pussy. She has a small, trimmed patch of hair. The skin around her pussy
is smooth, glistening with her moisture. Her labia are parted slightly. The
crack of her ass disappears into the sheets beneath her.
After a moment of savoring the photo, I typed, "Very nice."
There was no response for a while.
"Hold on Maq. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"No problem."
After a short time, she came back on-line.
"Maq, still there?"
"Like I'd leave."
"I want to send you three more pictures. I just took them."
"Okay, I'm ready."
The first of the three pictures is one of her on her bed on her knees and
elbows, her hands clasped behind her head. She is naked, her legs together and
tucked beneath her in a way that raises her bottom up. You cannot see anything
other than the smooth, toned expanse of her back. It widens at her hips to
flare into the sexy, tight, roundness of her bottom. Her bottom is well
rounded, each cheek symmetrical, separated by the cleft between them.
In the second picture, she has spread her legs and more of her is visible.
The crack of her ass widens between her legs to where her sex is slightly
parted, her labia smooth and the color of coral. There are two small points of
reflection that makes it obvious she is wet. Her other opening remains recessed
and hidden, its presence suggested by a slight difference in the color and
texture of her skin.
In the third photograph, she has reached behind with both hands and spread
herself, showing me her ass. You can see the crinkled texture of her anus. It,
too, glistens where she has rubbed it with the wetness from between her legs.
In the decades I have spent perusing photographs of naked women, those
photographs are the sexiest I have ever seen. If I just think of them I get
hard.
I continued the chat: "Those are without a doubt the sexiest, most erotic
pictures I've ever in my life enjoyed. And, I'm sure you know, other than
knowing that I'm looking at one very well built lady, your identity is safe. I
will use those later."
"I hope so. It turned me on terribly to take them." There was a short
pause before she continued. "Maq, I wish I could send you one with my face,
but, well, you know."
"Yes. I know. The pictures would turn on a dead man as they are. Yes,
it triples the effect for me knowing they are of you. And triples again knowing
who you are. And quadruples knowing that you took them just now, for me."
"Use them well while you think nasty thoughts of me."
Our chat continued for a while in post coital friendliness until we had to
disconnect, leaving each of us with our thoughts.
Maq says: I left thinking of how incredible it was that I'd just shared
what I'd shared with whom I'd shared. The idea that she'd said several things
that led me to think we might actually get together some day was overwhelming.
Jill says: I left thinking how lucky it was to have stumbled across Maq,
a guy who seemed capable of allowing me the freedom to interact about such taboo
subjects. I was planning on seeing him. As soon as possible. I know that real
life does not compare to fantasy, but I also know that nothing is really better
than real life.
Chapter 7
Late that night:
To: Jill Lane
From: Maq
Subject: The Use of Your Photographs
I thought I was past the age of jacking off to photographs of naked women.
Evidently not. I looked at you and, because you asked me too, I thought nasty
thoughts of you as I stroked myself.
As I came, I imagined that I was kneeling behind you in that last
photograph, the tip of my cock barely touching you as my sperm squirted against
your asshole.
Attached is a picture.
There. How is that for losing shyness.
Jill says: The photograph is a close up of his cock, wet and shiny from
his sperm. My email to him follows:
To: Maq
From: Jill Lane
Subject: re: The Use of Your Photographs
Maq,
You have opened avenues in my mind in ways that continue to shock and
pleasure me.
I got your email last night after I got home late. I read it quickly
before I took a shower. I thought about it all through the shower and as I got
ready for bed. I did a perverted thing. I micro-waved a tube of aloe vera gel
to make it warm. I put it next to my bed in a glass of hot water to keep it
warm. I got on my hands and knees on my bed. I spread my cheeks and imagined
the touch of you there.
Holding my self wide with one hand I used the other to reach back between
my legs to stroke my pussy. It took only a short time until I was on the verge
of an orgasm. I got as close as possible with out tipping over the edge and
then I quickly grabbed the tube of warm gel and squirted it against my asshole,
pretending it was you. It ran down over my pussy. I had one hand rubbing the
gel on my asshole. The other hand was working feverishly against my clit. My
fingers became slick, not only with my secretions but with what I was pretending
was yours, and I had what may have been the most intense orgasm of my life.
Maq, I pushed my finger into my ass as I came. Have a nice day,
Jill
PS: How's that for losing shyness?
To: Jill Lane
From: Maq
Subject: Guess what
Jill
I've come again looking at your pictures. Here is how perverted I am:
I put your photos into Photoshop and created a slide show I could watch while I
jacked-off. The last series of pictures, used as I got closer and closer to
orgasm, are cropped from that last photo you sent, the one where you are
spreading your ass for me. I made each one a close up of your asshole,
enlarging it a little each time. I imagined having you on you knees in front of
me. I imagined stroking and licking and feeling you. I imagined what it would
be like to push my cock into the tightness of your ass. As I came an
enlargement of your incredible ass was on my screen.
Thank you.
Maq.
To: Maq
From: Jill
Subject: Re: Guess what
Maq,
Once again oh, my God.
How do you know how to strike these chords in me?
I will be wet all day after reading how you looked at
me. How closely you looked. How I must have looked to you. How nasty we are.
How exciting it is.
Jill
Jill says: Here is our next chat:
"Maq, I don't know if it is because I am so deprived or because you are
psychic, but you seem to know just how to say things to trigger my lustful
imagination."
"I think we are doing that for each other."
"Good. It excited me so much to think about you looking at me the way you
said you did."
"I think perhaps you are a bit of a frustrated exhibitionist. Well, doing
what you do, you're probably not really frustrated, but perhaps lacking
opportunity in this particular area. Being something of an exhibitionist
probably helps you in your career."
"Yes. I think you're right."
"In fact, I suspect if you think a moment, you could share with me an
exhibitionist fantasy you have had in the past."
"You're right. I have had fantasies about showing myself. In one I am
dancing naked, like in a strip bar. The men watching are kind of course and
rough. I am embarrassed, but for some reason I have to dance. I have to strip.
I have to let them see me naked. I have to spread my legs for them. I have to
spread my pussy for them. They can see that I am wet."
"Sproing."
"Laughing. Would you make me do that if we got together? Make me show
myself to you?"
"Yes."
"Good. In another, I'm called into a room where a man sits. Again, I
don't want to be there, but I have to. Sometimes I actually think that I'm
trying to get a part. Sometimes I'm being blackmailed. Sometimes I just
fantasize that he has undefined power over me. He sits quietly and I do what I
know I must. I strip. I spread my legs for him. I bend over and show him my
ass. He never says a word but I continue to try to show him every part of me.
Sometimes I end up on my knees sucking him. Sometimes he watches me masturbate.
I cannot believe I'm telling you this."
"I enjoy. It dovetails nicely with some of my kinkier enjoyments."
"Oh? Like BDSM?"
"I'm shocked. The innocent inexperienced Jill Lane knows about BDSM."
"Funny. I do hang out in LA after all. I do read. I imagine interesting
things even if I don't get to do them. Well, up to recently anyway. You have
been very interesting."
"Oh? I'm blushing."
"Somehow I can't imagine you blushing. Well, maybe I can. You make me
blush from time to time but it is good blushing. So, have you enjoyed BDSM?
Does that mean you want to tie me up and spank me?"
"Yes, I have enjoyed and whether I would enjoy you depends. Would you
enjoy that?"
There was a long pause here. (Maq says: I was not really worried if I'd
offended her. But, I was getting very interested in her answer.) (Jill says:
I was kind of in a daze. With Maq I was articulating things from deep within my
psyche. The pause was not intentional, just kind of a daze.)
Finally, Jill responded: "Yes. I think I would."
Another long pause, until Jill said, "Now, who's speechless."
"It's just that all the blood left my brain for other parts of me."
"We are both just full of secrets, aren't we?"
"Yes. Jill, thank you for sharing so much of yourself with me."
"My pleasure. REALLY my pleasure."
"I know you know this, but your secrets really are safe with me."
"I know. Thank you. And . . ."
"And what?"
"And now I know what you can write to tell me about next."
"Oh? What that might be?"
"I assume that you've enjoyed BDSM with Marie?"
"And others."
"You naughty boy."
"Guilty."
"I want you to make me do things when we get together."
(Maq says: Yes I noticed that she said "when" we got together.)
"Oh? What kind of things?"
"I want you to make me strip. I want you to make me show myself to you."
"All of you?"
"Yes."
"You want me to tell you to spread your legs?"
"Yes."
"You want me to make you spread wide so I can see your pussy?"
"Oh, yes. This is turning me on."
"You know after our recent messages, I'd have you turn around so I could
see your ass."
"Yes. I would do that for you. I'd turn around so you could see me."
"I'd tell you to bend over."
"Yes. What else?"
"I'd say Jill spread your ass for me. Show me your asshole."
"Oh, God. Yes. I would have to bend over and use both hands to spread
for you. It excites me to think of you looking at me there."
"I'd make you stand still and I'd get close, so I see you in detail."
"Maq, you are making me so wet."
"What's making you wet? Tell me."
"The thought of me spreading my ass so you can see my pussy from behind
and so you can see my asshole."
"I'd tell you to get a finger wet in your pussy and rub it on your
asshole."
"Yes. And, I would do it for you."
"Do you want to know another thing I would want to do?"
"Yes. Tell me."
"Stand with your side to me, your legs spread and your eyes looking down.
I want to be able to put fingers from one hand in your pussy and fingers from
the other hand in your asshole."
"Yes. I am so horny right now."
"Eventually I would take your hair in my hands and pull you to your
knees."
"I would get on my knees for you."
"I want to fuck your mouth."
"Yes."
"I want to fuck your mouth until I come."
"Yes. I will swallow it for you."
"And Jill?"
"I would make you tongue my ass."
"Yes. Yes. Oh, God. I'm going to come right now, Maq."
"Good. Come for me. I wish I could taste you. I wish I could have my
tongue in you while you come. I wish I was fingering your ass and your pussy
while you come."
After a moment, Jill said, "Wow. That one was intense."
"Good."
"I really got off on thinking about you making me do things."
"It has me turned on."
"Would you do that for me someday?"
(Maq says: I don't know how to convey what it felt like to read that. I
guess all I can do is ask you to imagine the sexiest celebrity you can imagine,
one you fantasize about and imagine if that celebrity was to say something like
that for real to you.)
"Yes. I would enjoy doing that. But first I would want to get to know
you inch by inch, by sight, by touch, by taste, by your scent, and by the sounds
you make. I'd want to take about two hours doing that."
"Yes. Me, too. I would want to stroke you lightly with my finger tips.
I would want to see that hard cock in person. Up close. I would want to run my
tongue over your nipples (does that turn you on or off?)"
"On. Nipples are good."
"Good. Allow me to continue. Looking at the picture you sent of your
cock, I had a thought, a fantasy."
"Yes. Tell me."
"I imagined having my hand wrapped around it. In this fantasy you are
standing and I am kneeling in front of you. Your cock juts out, hard in my
hand. I make little kisses on your stomach and your thighs, but I hold off on
kissing your cock. The tip of my tongue teases you as my hand strokes you. I
press your cock against the side of my face and feel you against my cheek. Maq,
looking at the photo of you, I imagined pressing my face against you, burrowing
my tongue through the hair at the juncture of your leg. I imagine that you
would smell warm and musky. In my fantasy I sink lower on my knees and you
press over me until I am leaning back and you straddle my face. Maq, I am
getting so turned on by this."
"Yes. Me, too. Very much."
"You know, I have given some blowjobs, but it would probably surprise you
how few. Part of my hang-up, I guess. I find myself hungering to give a blow-
job and taking the time to do it the way I want. The way it turns me on to
think about."
"Tell me."
"First, you tell me something. Earlier, when you were talking about
Carol, you said she gave you the best blow-jobs ever. Tell me about that. What
makes them the best?"
"Well first is her enthusiasm. I can tell that she really enjoys the act.
She focuses. She can focus to the point of being almost oblivious to anything
else going on. In fact, when she gets to a point, she doesn't want the
distraction of being touched. She wants to enjoy giving the blow-job without
any distraction.
"She makes my cock very slick and wet with saliva, and keeps it that way.
The touch of her hand is constant, but light. Her mouth is silken and she has a
way of using her tongue even as her mouth slides down over me... I can't even
describe how nice it is."
"Keep going."
"Her best blow-jobs are intended to be an act complete unto itself. In
other words, there may have been foreplay, but the blow-job is not foreplay. It
becomes the main event. She doesn't want the distraction of being fondled
herself, but she likes to have a mirror so that I can look at her if I want. If
on a bed, she will get on her knees and spread them so that I can look at her in
the mirror."
"Yes. More."
"She licks every square centimeter of my cock and balls. She takes my
balls on the flat of her tongue while her hand strokes me. As I get closer to
coming, she takes more of me into her mouth. She lets me know by movement and
by sound that she wants me in her mouth. She likes to hear me say that I'm
going to come."
"Do you tell her you want to come in her mouth?"
"I tell her I'm going to come in her mouth. She moves her hand faster and
somehow makes me even slicker. As soon as she feels the first spasm and the
first spurt of come, she takes me deep. And then, she pulls back and tries to
catch some on the flat of her tongue."
"She swallows doesn't she?"
"Oh, yes. She swallows. She tells me she loves the taste of me. She
takes all of my come in her mouth and swallows. Any that escapes she licks up.
And then she sucks me, almost trying to suck more come out of me. She finishes
by slowly licking me all over, as if to clean my cock."
"God, that is so hot. You have me so wet again."
"Wet is good."
There was long pause here and then Maq said:
"I wish that I could feel you wet. I wish I could enjoy your scent. I
wish that I could taste you."
"I smell real sexy right now."
"I love that smell."
"It turns me on."
"Do you ever taste yourself off of a finger?"
There was a pause and Maq continued, "Oops, was that too much?"
"No. When you asked me that I had several sensations. All of them good.
And, yes. I do taste myself. I like it. It makes me horny."
"Do you taste different than your cousin?"
"Maq!! You are terrible. I wish I could remember. I know that one of the
things I noticed when I first started messing around with her was that we did
smell a little different."
"I'd love to do a tasting."
"Laugh. I bet you would, you pervert."
"Pervert? Moi? You know, you could taste yourself off my cock and then
taste her pussy off my cock. Do your own taste test."
"Maq!! You wonderful pervert. That would be terrifically nasty. I'd
love that."
We each paused, savoring our own thoughts.
Maq types. "Would..."
And then nothing.
Jill typed: "What?"
"I can't believe what I almost asked you."
"What? I can't believe you stopped. You know you can ask me anything."
"Perhaps not that. It was over the line."
Jill says: I had an idea. I hoped I knew what he almost typed. What I
hoped turned me on. So, I asked: "Maq, were you about to ask me if I would
mail you a pair of my panties? Panties that got wet when I wore them?"
Long pause. "Yes. Now who's being psychic?"
"I will, you know."
"I'm speechless."
"It turns me on to think about doing that for you. And, knowing that you
would enjoy the smell of my pussy. Tell me something."
"What?"
"Do you think you would try to taste me from my panties?"
"Oh, god. I hadn't thought about it, but now that you mention it, I know
I would."
"I guess I should put them in a zip-lock, huh?"
"Laughing. Yeah, that might be a good idea."
"I'm going to do it. I will put on a brand new pair. Get really wet and
make sure that they are soaked before I package them up and send them to you."
"Oh, god."
"Laughing. Oh god is right. If I was wearing any right now they'd be
soaked. I'll send you a picture of me earing them before I send them to you."
"Oh, god."
"You keep saying that."
"Yes."
"Tell me something else."
"Yes."
"Do you think you'll jack-off while you smell me?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Jill says: I asked for and he gave me his address. I told him I wanted
to overnight them and he agreed to stay home the next Saturday to receive them.
Chapter 8
To: Maq
From: Jill Lane
Date: Friday
Subject: You have a gift on the way
*********************************
Maq:
Here's what I did this morning. I got out of bed and lay a brand new pair
of panties out. I thought about which ones to use. Silky is sexy, but I think
cotton will retain my moisture and scent a little longer. So, that's what
you'll get. You can check them out in the attached picture.
I showered and put on the panties. I lay back on my bed and conjured up
thoughts of you and me and sex. I thought about what you said about taking your
time, the first time you get to enjoy my body. I trailed my fingers lightly
over my breasts. I raised my knees and spread my legs and lightly touched the
insides of my thighs.
I pulled up the picture of your cock on my lap-top. I imagined lying on a
bed with you straddling my body, pumping your cock as I watch. I imagined you
moving closer to me so that, finally, the tip of your cock just reached my lips
as you stroked yourself.
I was getting wet. I knew it because I felt it with a finger. I didn't
leave a hand in my panties because I wanted the first picture to be real. To be
a picture of the panties, naturally wet. Like they'll get some day when I see
you in person.
I kept thinking of you and the things we've said to each other. I
imagined you between my thighs, the tip of your cock just inside my pussy while
you stroke it. I imagined my cousin Lacey naked in bed with us. I imagined her
straddling my face and slowly lowering her pussy to my mouth. I imagined how it
would feel against me as she leaned forward to kiss you.
She and I never did this kind of thing in real life, but now that you and
I have talked, I imagined her leaning forward and my hands spreading her ass so
I could touch her there.
I moved a little in bed and could feel that my panties were sticking to
me. I pulled them tight and then looked in the mirror at them. I could see the
wet spot and I took the first picture.
(Maq says: I looked at the first picture she sent. It is her on her back,
legs spread, face tactfully hidden. She is holding her ankles and her legs are
raised high, her knees pulled back toward her breasts. Her panties are sexy
bikini style cut high at the hips. The panel stretches across her mound and
there is a dark wet spot about the size of a silver dollar.)
I kept imagining the three of us together. I tasted myself off my finger
to see what you will be tasting tomorrow. I imagined what it would smell like
for you and me and Lacey to be horny together. I masturbated through my panties
until I came. See the second picture.
(Maq says: In the second picture, Jill is pressing her panties into the
slit of her pussy. Her hips are off raised off the bed. It looks like she's
trying to push the panties all the way inside.)
They are coming Federal Express. Please enjoy. I have a favor to ask.
When you jack-off, come in a hand kerchief and express mail it back to me. I
enclosed a reply coupon with your package. Zip lock please. Smile.
I have an idea I want to talk to you about. I'll be gone tonight and
tomorrow. Please, let's do a chat on Sunday.
You should know that I put a pad in my panties today because I know that I
will be wet thinking about you smelling and tasting me.
Jill
Maq continues:
I have never sought worn panties from the dirty clothes bin to sniff.
Even at the height of adolescent horniness I could never see the attraction of
ordering a set of soiled panties as offered in the back of magazines of dubious
literary quality. And yet, here I was on a Saturday, logging on to Federal
Express's web site to track a pair of panties making their way from Los Angeles
to Atlanta, making a u-turn and heading back half-way across the country to me.
I needed to get to the store to buy a clean handkerchief, but did not want
to leave the slightest possible chance of not being there when the package
arrived.
Finally, the familiar truck pulled up and the guy made his way to my door
holding a fat envelope.
Inside was a folded up return envelope all ready to be shipped back to JML
Production Co. There was also another sturdy envelope with a hand written note
on it saying: "To be opened only by me." It was signed by Jill. I felt the
same giddiness I used to feel looking at the shapes and curves of what the love-
of-my-life girlfriend wrote in my high school annual.
Praise be, there was a Ziploc bag holding a crisp new handkerchief with a
post note attached on which she'd written, "Please use this appropriately and
return to sender. Just put them in the envelope with my keep private note." I
wouldn't have to go to the store.
And then there was the other envelope, softly cushioned by its contents.
I opened it and there they were, protected in a Ziploc bag. Her panties. The
same I'd seen in the photograph earlier. They were folded in a white square.
I took them, and my new handkerchief, to where I could sit in a
comfortable chair and I stripped. I was rock hard.
I pondered the moment. Would their scent last longer if I allowed myself
only small and occasional whiffs? I decided that like a really fine wine it
would be a mistake to try to keep them too long. I would consume their
fragrance as if the supply was unlimited. When gone it would be gone. Or
perhaps, I could talk her out of another pair.
I had the pictures of Jill in front of me as I stroked my cock. I savored
the cushiony feel of the panties in side their plastic protection as I stroked
and thought of her and looked at her pictures and remembered the conversations
we'd had.
Finally, I opened the Ziploc, removed the soft cotton panties and held
them to my nose.
The scent was fresh and sexual, the musky spice of an aroused female.
Incredibly, I could feel that they were still damp. I tasted her sex, savoring
the flavor of her and imagining with wonder that from the things she'd said, I
just might someday be able to feel and taste her for real.
I came in very short order, spending myself into the handkerchief she'd
sent. I folded it into itself, sealed it in the Ziploc and then her privacy
envelope and then in the Federal Express return envelope. I called FedEx and
the driver returned. My return compliment was on its way before noon, set for
Sunday delivery.
Sunday afternoon:
To: Maq
From: Jill Lane
Re: Your gift
Dear Maq-
I enjoyed your sex scent. I tasted you. I came with you on my tongue.
Jill
Maq says: We chatted that afternoon. She paged me first:
"Maq. You there. I hope you enjoyed me on my panties as much as I
enjoyed you on your hankie."
"Yes. Twice so far."
"Twice! And you keep saying you're an old man."
"Kill me now. I'm happy."
"You better not leave me yet. We have things to do. I know I should feel
bad about how perverted it was to do that, but if it is, then I'm a pervert and
happy to be one."
"I enjoyed. If that's perversion, so be it."
"Just let me know when you need me to send you a new pair."
"Laughing. I wonder if FedEx has drug sniffing dogs."
"Shut up!"
"Laugh. So, you said you had something you wanted to chat about?"
"Yes. But not yet. Maybe tomorrow."
"Okay."
There was a pause here and I (Maq) finally continued:
"Uh oh, have we said it all? Are we being quiet?"
"This is companionable silence."
"Ahh."
"I only have a little while and it is crowded here. I have to leave in a
little while."
"I understand. I miss you already."
"Will you do me a favor?"
"Are you kidding? You sent me a pair of panties still damp from you. Who
do you need me to kill?"
"Ha. A couple of directors, several producers, and my agent."
"Consider it done."
"Really. . . write me another email. Tell me about a
wild time you had with Marie and Lori. I want details."
"Okay. I'll exchange it for an email from you. Tell me about the first
time, the best time, and the last time you were with your cousin. And, tell me
one of your nasty fantasies. I want details."
"I'll try."
"Okay, me too."
"I really have to go to LAX. Talk to you later. Okay?"
"Okay, bye."
The log of a recent chat with Jill:
"Maq, go ahead and post our story up to the day I sent you the panties. I
want to hold off on the rest until I read the responses."
"Okay. I'll copy all responses and send them to you."
"Tell everybody I'll respond through you if they send me email care of
you."
"It's a deal."
And so, here it is. There's more to come some day if responses are good
enough for Jill.