Aysha Ch. 2

Several weeks ago, I finally got the nerve to submit an erotic story online. People do it all the time… just not me. I'm one of those lurkers who have remained hidden all these years, content to just read the fantasies and stories of other people. On a whim, I wrote an erotic story based on a business trip that I had attended a few years ago. I'd met this attractive young woman… girl? Lady? What do you call someone like this? Anyhow, I'd met this girl named Aysha and we hit it off pretty well. Nothing intimate really happened between us… only casual contact and a fleeting hug, which was pleasant. There was some level of attraction going on between us, but I didn't follow up on it in real life. Partway into my embellished story, I branched off into the fantasy I'd had the night after we'd first met and that's the story that I submitted.

Okay, so, after I saw my story posted, I thought 'cool, I got an erotic story onto Literotica.' Parts of my story read kinda lame on the second time around. But eh, not so bad, maybe. I was curious about what people thought of it but I'd decided to remain anonymous. To submit the story, I opened up a Literotica e-mail account but I didn't include any personal info when I submitted the story. Don't you all get flooded with spam and wierdos writing to you when you do that? Anyhow, about a week ago I was surprised to find an e-mail in my new account. The only other message in there was the 'Welcome to Literotica' one. So I opened it up… and it's from the real Aysha. At first I thought it was a joke… some computer nerd having fun. But the more I read it, the more I became convinced that it's for real. There's stuff she says that I didn't include in my story. I kept coming back to the note and reading it over and over for the next couple of days, and then decided to reply to her. We've been chatting back and forth a little now and I'm kinda excited about where this might or might not be going. We've been talking about writing an erotic story together. If it turns out okay (or if something better develops from it), I'll submit it to the site, maybe. In my last note, I asked her if I could send her first note to Literotica and she said to go ahead. So here it is…

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Dear Dblwink [she used my real name here]:

This is going to be such a huge mistake if I'm wrong about sending this note. If you are who I think you are, please let me know it. I don't want to even think about it if this is someone else's e-mail address.

A lot of thought has gone into deciding to write this note to you. I've rewritten it three times now. It's been an interesting struggle for myself. But I will most likely regret it if I take no action at all; so rather than catch myself wondering about it later in my life I'm sending this note today. You see, I know who you are because your story is about me and about you watching me. Well, not the way your story is written. That part didn't happen for real. But parts of it did. And I'm certain enough about it to send you this note.

Confession #1: First of all, I will confess that I like your story. I didn't at first. But I keep reading it over and over. It is exciting to think that you imagined it and then put it down on "paper" for all the world to read. I'd enjoy reading it regardless, but it is extra exciting knowing that it is based on something that actually happened. To me! You are right. I did think that you were attractive, but reality is quite different from fantasy. That you have given life to your fantasy by sharing it for all to see makes me wonder if I can be a little more daring too.

When I first started reading your story, a strange shiver ran through me. Even from the first line. I remember that Denver conference [she named it here], and it was just like you said – terrible. When we met, I didn't intentionally approach you to get to know you. I was bored and I just wanted some coffee. It was nice to meet someone in my peer group, and I liked how you didn't oogle me like most men do. It really pisses me off to be stared at like I'm a piece of meat. I caught you glancing at me a couple times during lunch but it was cute how you thought you were so sly at it. By then, I'd already decided that you were fun company. You left out the part about me spilling coffee on my blouse. That was a bitch, by the way. You were so cute about being embarrassed for looking at me and then looking away when I caught you checking out my boobs. That was one of my favorite outfits too, so you know I didn't do that on purpose. What else? My room number was 531, or 513. I forget which one. You got my height right. Uhm, my measurement is 34B, thank you. And for your information, I was wearing my favorite satin royal blue nightie set from Victoria Secrets. It's not a front-snap though; you got that one wrong. And you… you're about 5'6", medium build, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and you wrestled in high school. You don't smoke, and you fake a terrible New York accent. So there. There's proof that I am who I say I am.

Confession #2: For a little while after the conference, I made up fantasies about you. Not so graphic or sex-filled like what you wrote but a little tamer, with more flirting, and at a slower pace. I remember your lips and I liked the way you smelled. I even tried to figure out what scent you were wearing once. My guess is that it's Calvin Klein Obsession. Am I right?.

That day we met, I saw you talking to another woman. She was older, but pretty, and I wondered if you'd made plans to spend the evening with her. I wasn't jealous or anything. Well, maybe a teeny, tiny bit, but I was half hoping that you'd show up at our after party. I thought about you when I was getting ready for it. If you had showed up, I'd decided that I would find a way to get you to kiss me. I don't know if I could've followed through with that for real, but oh well. It's spilt milk now, dahling. You know, if you had called me that night I'm not sure what I would've done. The gang wanted to go out and party more afterwards, but I just wanted to unwind so I went back to my room. I almost went down to the bar, but it looked crowded so I changed my mind. That's why I was in my underwear. I usually lounge around in a big, comfy t-shirt at night. I was bored and maybe a little lonely. I think I would've liked it if you had called me.

When I first read your story, I was appalled that you spied on me. I couldn't decide if I was upset because my privacy had been violated, or what. It felt like that at first. But as I read more, I changed my mind a little. I've never done anything exhibitionist-like. Well, once maybe, but I don't prance around flaunting my body. I just don't do that kind of thing. Okay now, deep breath… [deleted my name], I think if the situation had been reversed, and I had seen you walking around half-naked in your hotel room I would've spied on you too. In my fantasies, you and I do get naked. So it was a little arousing thinking about it as I read your story. That was Confession #3.

Thanks for not writing about my flabby tummy, by the way. I'm glad I didn't decide to clip my toenails or bleach my mustache that night. I'll have to be more careful about shutting the curtains for now on. I keep wondering what would have happened if I hadn't left them open a little. You wouldn't have written your story and I wouldn't have read it. And I wouldn't have spent the last couple of days thinking about it constantly.

And, I wouldn't have written such a long, scary e-mail to the unknown person who will have just read this note. If you are the person that I know wrote the story, please send me a reply. Prove it by telling me your dog's name. If you still have it, please don't call my work number. I can't promise you anything more than to talk more. That thought is frightening and exciting enough.

Maybe you can write another story for me.

- A