Some Day, All This Will Be Yours Ch. 02

On second thoughts, maybe her real gift was to my parents, because without her house I'd have had to go back and live with them, which would have been sheer hell for everyone!

So, rejected by the United Nations, I did what every other unemployable graduate does: scraped together what little cash I had and got drunk. Once that was out of the way, I decided to make my fortune - or at least my living - by writing (Hmm... must still have been drunk). I was convinced that my first novel, full of bitterness and angst, would one day be read - and taught - alongside 'Catcher in the Rye'. It was to be a satirical autobiography; I called it: 'Catch Her in the Wry'.

I can honestly say that when I sat down to write that first day, laptop on midriff, I had no clue what would come out. Banging away on my keyboard, I felt like the infinite number of monkeys trying to write Hamlet: 'To be, or mpy yp nr!... That is the wirdyopm!' (Close, but no banana.)

Well, what came out wasn't Hamlet, that's for sure; it was sex! Page after page of pure, unadulterated sex - no, make that 'impure, adulterated sex' - spilling spontaneously from my fingertips. Scenes that I thought were securely locked away in my imagination, to be visited only late at night in the company of consenting adults, were suddenly staring back at me from my computer screen!

Delete them as I might, next day they reappeared as if by magic, even more outrageous than the day before. Desperate, and feeling rather like the sorcerer's apprentice, I realized that there was only one way to rid myself of them: publish and be damned! And that was how 'Your Turn' was born, followed two weeks later by 'The Letters'.

The thrill was unexpected and indescribable, even for someone with my literary talent (What?). As readers began to hit on my offspring, I longed to drag them out through the screen of my laptop and ask:

'Well, whaddya think? Did you like it? Go on, be honest! (Well, be honest if you thought it was the best thing you've read since Harry Potter. Otherwise, you can keep your opinions to yourself!)'

Exposed to my adoring (and not so adoring) fans, I felt naked in a whole new way, and you know how I love to feel naked! Who knew that baring one's soul to complete strangers could be so erotic? (Note to any flashers reading this: Try writing instead. It's even more arousing, and you hardly ever get arrested!)

And then there were the comments! Oh, how I lusted after those comments... the friendly ones, anyway. But even the unfriendly ones gave me the satisfaction of knowing I'd got up someone's nose. As each new comment landed on my laptop, a complete backstory sprang from my head, like that dyke Athena springing from the head of Zeus, fully grown and already clad in body-armor. (No wonder he had a headache!)

Dear Monagamous_Now, you were my first: you tall, straight, cat-loving male, you! You took my virginity as an author, and I loved you for it. Lounging in a deck chair on the foredeck of your mega-yacht somewhere in the Caribbean, sipping one of your occasional mint juleps at ten a.m., you were so aroused by my story that you grabbed dear Mona by the hand (that was no spelling mistake in your username, now, was it? You can't fool me!), and took her below to have your way with her. Didn't you see me lying there beside you, masturbating as I watched you fuck your imaginary heart out?

But best of all were the private comments, the ones that appeared in my email inbox, sandwiched between the penis-enhancers and the Nigerian multi-millionaires who'd died in mysterious plane crashes, having first been wise enough to leave me their entire fortunes (just as soon as I sent their executors my bank account number). And that was how we met.

(Come on, be honest! You were beginning to think I'd lost the plot, weren't you?)

Anonymous: 'Hmm... Not bad.'

Me: 'Thank you. Which 'Anonymous' are you?'

Anonymous: 'What part of 'Anonymous' don't you understand?'

Me: 'The entire concept. What's wrong? 'Fraid I'll bite?'

Anonymous: 'Is that a promise?'

Me: 'M or F?'

Anonymous: 'Does it matter?'

Me: 'I have this quota to fill, you see. Right now, there's a vacancy for an M.'

Anonymous: 'Then we're both in luck! "M: tall, straight, concupiscent. Seeking F with the right stuff between her ears."

Me (What the hell does concupiscent mean? Oh... Thanks, Google!): 'Do you have a mega-yacht in the Caribbean, by any chance?'

Anonymous: 'Sorry, not in the Caribbean. Bath tub do you?'

Suddenly and inexplicably, I longed to be in the bath tub with this tall, straight, concupiscent male, playing with his mega-yacht. I went to bed that night and dreamt of him: not quite as tall as he wished he was, but straight enough and the very definition of concupiscent. We were running hand-in-hand along a beach somewhere, my blonde hair blowing in the warm breeze coming off the ocean, and my nipples hard with anticipation.

Do your dreams go the way you want them to? Mine never do. I was dying to have him throw me down on the sand, peel my bikini bottom from my hips, and just take me - then and there - as the incoming tide lapped around our writhing bodies. Or maybe just grab the crotch of my bikini and, in his haste to get into me, simply pull it aside to make way for his prick.

Have you ever fucked like that? It doesn't have to be a bikini, of course; panties work just as well, although they often end up getting trashed in the process. But for me there's something extra specially erotic about being fucked through my underwear, particularly if I'm standing up with my back against the wall. Ahh, memories! Where would we be without them?

But in my dream, just as he took me into his arms and pressed his almost-naked body against mine, with his burgeoning erection seeking a place to call home, I developed an excruciating cramp in my leg, and awoke to find that bit of my dream was true! No wonder I was writhing. I reached for my laptop...

Me: 'Are you still there?'

Anon: 'It's three a.m.! When do you sleep?'

Me: 'I was just dreaming about you.'

Anon: 'Makes two of us...'

Me, still horny from my dream (Sorry concupiscent; I don't do long words at three a.m.): 'Oh! Wanna meet up sometime?'

Anon: 'Am I still dreaming?'

Me: 'Hope not. Dreams never go the way I want them to.'

Anon: 'How 'bout real life?'

Me: 'Just occasionally.'

Anon: 'Then I'll be at the restaurant closest to your current location at seven p.m. tomorrow evening. Buy you dinner, okay? G'night!'

I fell back asleep, and this time - for once - my dream turned out just the way I hoped it would.

***

Of course, he had absolutely no way of knowing where I was... did he? Did I even know for sure that he was a guy? It was just one of those crazy three a.m. fantasies. But next morning, I found that my email folders had evidently shared in the fantasy, because there were our messages, sent and received.

I spent the morning composing emails to him and then deleting them, unsent. In the middle of the afternoon I emailed my brother, who knows about these things:

'Hey, squirt. Can someone tell exactly where you are, just from an exchange of emails?'

'Sure, sis! Piece of cake. 'S called email tracking. Right now, you're in Gran's cottage.'

Oh, shit! Why was my pulse racing all of a sudden? That interface between fantasy and reality? It's like quicksand! What should I wear? Should I even go? My hair's a mess! What time had he said? Did I have time for a shower? Where the hell was the nearest restaurant anyway? Lucky I'd just finished my period.

Whoa! Was I thinking of sleeping with this guy, this complete stranger? Don't be absurd! What did I know about him? He thought one of my stories was 'Hmm... Not bad'; he'd introduced me to a neat new word; and he kept a mega-yacht in his bath tub... maybe. Was this enough on which to build a relationship?

Eventually I decided that I would go to the restaurant - it turned out there was only one within a ten-mile radius of my rural cottage - but I'd lurk in the shadows until I got a good look at him.

***

'Hi, do you lurk here often?'

'Go away; I'm waiting for someone.'

'In the shadows? What is it - a blind date?'

'Go away, please!'

'That's what I'd do, if I was on a blind date. I'd lurk here in the shadows until I could see what my date looked like.'

'How would you know, if you'd never met before?'

'How will you?'

'I'll just know. Please go away.'

'I bet that's him now.'

'Where?'

'Over there by the door. Tall, goofy-looking, Buddy Holly glasses, orange hair... Yes, he's spotted you! He's coming this way.'

'Quick, get me out of here! Put your arm around me! ... Thank you, honey! That was a delicious meal; let's go home!'

'To bed?'

'Anything! Just keep walking! He's leering at me.'

...

'He was probably feeling concupiscent.'

'What did you just say?'

'You heard me.'

'You bastard! That poor guy! I've a good mind to go back in there and have dinner with him. And it's not orange; it's light auburn.'

'Whatever... Probably a rug. Anyway, you've already had dinner; I heard you say so.'

'Actually, I'm starving, and there isn't another restaurant for miles.'

'I bought some Chinese take-out, just in case my date didn't work out. We could share it.'

'It would be better if it were hot, and we had something to drink...'

'It would... What do you suggest?'

'Wanna follow me? Don't get lost, now.'

'I know where you live, remember? I've got email tracking and a satnav. I'll meet you there.'

***

This was so not what I'd expected.

No? Why d'you put clean sheets on the bed, then?

It was time!

You changed them only three days ago. What is this: The Four Seasons?

Shut up and let me think! Got to take it slowly. He might be a rapist! He might be a serial killer!

Hey, you could write a story about a serial killer, and have them say: "I could just kill a bowl of Cornflakes".

Lame!

Guess so...

Come on, concentrate! What am I going to do here?

He's quite cute...

If you like the tall, handsome, smiling type that somehow gets right under your guard.

Guard? What guard?

We could just talk, I suppose. It doesn't necessarily have to get physical...

***

And talk we did. We talked as I opened a bottle of wine and he microwaved the take-out. (No stereotypical roles in this relationship!) We talked as we ate, our words slip-sliding over one another, his warp to my weft in the tapestry woven between us. When he had a mouthful, I talked; and when I had a mouthful, he talked. I refilled his wine-glass and we talked; he refilled mine, and we talked some more.

We talked of our parents, our childhoods, our younger brothers, our loves and our hates, our hopes and our dreams (No, I didn't tell him that one!), and what we wanted to be when we grew up. Hesitatingly, and with fingers crossed, we inquired about current significant others, and struggled in vain to hide our relief on learning that there were none. (There would be a better moment to tell him about my sweet aunt.)

He said he loved my ramshackle cottage, so of course I had to show him upstairs. We talked as I shyly took his hand and led him into my bedroom (Me... Shy? I know it's hard to believe; but this one was different!)

We stopped talking, briefly, to kiss... Well, not so briefly, actually. I blushed as he noticed the mirror standing at the foot of my bed, watching everything that was going on between us; just as it's watching me now, rocking back and forth in my sling... mostly forth, at this point.

I talked as he unbuttoned my blouse and kissed my naked neck, but that was just to hide my racing heart. He talked as I undid his belt and reached for his zipper, until I shut him up by kissing him again.

We talked as we made slow, lovely love. When he had a mouthful, I talked; and when I had a mouthful, he talked, the sex feeling almost incidental to what was really going on between us. And then at last he was on top of me, smiling down into my eyes as I spread my legs to welcome him home.

'Fuck me, would you, please?'

That did it! Here I come! Oh, I can feel his pubic hair rubbing against my clit as he drives his gorgeous prick deep, deep into my vagina! It feels just like terry-cloth... Ahhh! Yes!! With long, perfectly-timed strokes he rode me through my first orgasm, which burst into my head like fireworks on the fourth of July.

You know when you're hiking up a mountain, and you think you've got to the top only to discover another, higher peak up ahead? Well... You get the picture! We climbed together, the view widening around us as peak after peak - for me at least - turned out to lead on to another. So this was what sex was all about, was it? Why hadn't anyone told me?

And then we were there: the final peak. Breathless, we clung to each other as he triumphantly drove his flag into my summit, each of us shouting the other's name as we came.

Ahhh... Yes yes yes! More more more! God, I love orgasms!

We finally fell asleep as dawn approached, sated at last and wrapped in each other's arms. I'd never been able to sleep like that before, except with you-know-who. I told you this one was different.

He woke me with a kiss and a cup of tea.

'I took a chance that you take milk.'

'This is perfect! Thank you. You?

'Coffee.'

'We're incompatible!'

'Yeah, I'm sorry it didn't work out.'

'Me too. Come here 'n' love me again... one last time, why don't you?'

And so he did.

THE END