End before we begin

I'm a lucky girl. I've had some great lovers. It's been a smooth, wet transition into this lifestyle. It's easy to enjoy the lover who worships your body, begs for your mouth and cums with a shudder and a gasp.

Lately, my luck has not been so good. My brown-eyed Irish boy could care less if he ever saw me again. Occassionally he'll e-mail, tell me he misses my pussy. I just stopped writing back.

My long-distance lover pulled the curtain on our meeting the day before I boarded a plane. While he had a valid excuse, I can't help but feel like the dupe. Was he as in to me as I am into him? I guess I'll never know.

And then there's the boy I'm seeing now. Eager, voracious appetite, works close by but is never satisfied. Now before you open your mouth in surprise, I always leave my man satisfied. But this man isn't happy with just me. He wants to try something new, exciting, different every time. Let's add a guy, he suggests. Or maybe a girl. What about double penetration? We could swing with another couple.

All of those are exciting, fun things I'm eager to have, but not on my lunch hour when I have a lovely planning meeting at 1. He never seems happy to just meet me for some quick but thorough sex at the local park. I feel like I'm failing before we even start.

The pragmatic me shakes her head, and reminds me that I should be thankful to have these chances at all. To be thankful that men look at my freckled nose and looping curls and want to bury their hands between my thighs. But there's that other little voice, the one that wants something more. Something that I haven't had for a while.

I am a sure thing, but I still want to be seduced. Maybe it's time to look for someone else again.

Listen

My cell phone buzzes and for an instant, I'm frozen. I was anticipating the call, but it still gives me a thrill to see his number on the screen.

I answer and once again, marvel at the affect his voice has on my nerve endings. Tingling from head to toe, I respond a little breathless.

"I'm all alone in the house."

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

He instructs me to strip my pants and thong, lie on the bed spread and softly rub my swelling clit.

"What would you do, if you walked into my room and saw me like this. Spread on the bed, fingers in my pussy?"

"I'd watch you."

His voice urges me along toward the inevitable with promises of kisses, fingers, dick and fucking. I pant and moan in his ear. When I'm close to the edge, balancing, I ask to cum.

"Can I cum, please?"

"Do you want to? Do you need it?"

"Yes."

"Cum now. Now, kitten!"

My voice fills his ear with moans, squeaks and sighs as I shudder and cum on my fingers and palm.

"God, I love the sound of a woman having an orgasm."

Shopping trip

I've made some plans. This will be a first for me. In this lifestyle, there aren't many "firsts" left.

This is the first time I met and pursued a man online. The first time I booked a ticket to meet him in another city. The first time I carefully picked out dresses, skirts and high heels specifically to please him.

I'm counting the days until I see those brown eyes and hear that rich, deep voice in person. But until then, I have a few more things to arrange. I've made a little list to make sure I get everything I need.

Black garters with matching stockings
The prettiest new anal dildo. My lover has never put his cock in a woman's ass. I promised to be his first.
Red leather collar, jewels or studs optional

I know my prepartions are largely unnecessary. If this man and I connect physcially as we do virtually, all we really need is plenty of room to explore each other.

I'll still finish my list. Much of these relationships are about fantasy. I know I'll probably never leave my home, and neither will he. I know that "future" is couched in phrases of "if only we'd met.." or "maybe next time we can ..."

But fantasy has its own rewards. It's the opportunity to try those things never before allowed. The opportunity to be lovers in a strange city, kissing in public, fondling at dinner, experiencing wet blow jobs in the cab on the way to our hotel. The opportunity to fuck with abandon and joy, without the worry of phone calls in the morning or arcane dating rituals designed to kill intimacy.

And above all, it's the opportunity for orgasms...lots and lots of orgasms.

Pre-occupation

His voice slides like liquid erotica in my ear. He purrs, calls me his kitten. He laughs low, amazingly sexy. I want him badly. He lives hundreds of miles away.

We've been chatting online, what he likes, what I like. We have very similar opinions on dress up, positions, technique. I want to be touched, when I see him the first time. I don't want shy, getting-to-know you handshakes. I want his hands on me, sliding up my skirt, grabbing my ass or just at the small of my back leading me through the hall.

I crave his tongue, that same honey tongue that rolls from my headset down my spine to my wet pussy. I close my eyes, slide my fingers into that wetness and imagine him there. He has never heard me cum for him even though I've done it many times.

When I'm out in the brightness of the real world, away from the siren ping of his IM or the patient wait for his phone call, I wonder if others can feel my desire. I'm so turned on, it's palpable. I'm vibrating with want.

At the deli, dark hair and dark eyes watch me from the table in the corner. He nods in my direction, I wink in response. Does he sense my need? As I place my order, he slides up behind me, brushing my arm as he leans around to grab napkins. He's close enough to smell my perfume, whispers "excuse me."

I could if I wanted, turn around, grab his gaze to hold him there. Strike up a converstion that could lead to many other things. I've done it before. It's worked in the past.

But my mind is preoccupied by his accent, how he says my name and when I'll hear him say it again.

The difference between you and me

There lies a subtle difference between women who like sex, and women like me.

I don't like sex. I relish it. I've been known to lie for it, beg for it. I'll wear ill-fitting lingerie, apply spicy hot lotion to my nipples, search for the perfect pink dog collar and subject myself to face-down denegration in the happy pursuit of the almighty fuck.

I had this discussion with a long-distance lover today. I tried to explain why someone like me takes extreme pleasure in sex when so many women don't. I'm built the same way, the same triggers and turn ons. The same plump clit and stiff nipples. But for me, sex is transcendental in a way that other women seem to miss. My pleasure is really secondary to my lovers. I think that's the key, I get off the more he gets off.

I like to do anything that turns you on. Your excitement will amp my excitement. The more turned on you get, the more turned on I get. I want you to be nearly drooling with desire. That's my idea of good foreplay. If it takes a dog collar to get you there, then I'm in. I want you to want me sooo bad, you can barely contain yourself.

I think that's the real difference between women like me and others. I am invested in the sexual experience. I want you to cum, I want your excitement, your lust, your perverted thoughts. I want you to look at me like I'm a bowl of ice cream that you can't wait to lick and suck. I want to see that in your face.

Other women look at sex like a chore. They might it enjoy it a little, but it's more about filling your needs than theirs so they are not fully invested. Well I need and you need, and I want you to need ME!

I think that about sums it up.