I have no idea what you look like.
You read a story of mine and liked it. You found my e-mail address (somehow) and let me know that you became quite aroused after finishing. I couldn't believe what I was reading, even though my aim in publishing the fantasy was to see if it would evoke the same sort of thoughts as it did me. I wrote back thanking you for your response; you wrote back saying 'you're welcome.' That's how it started.
We've been writing back and forth like this for weeks now. At first it was simply discussions about the story; then it became what we found exciting. Gradually, it became more personal and real, from what our date looked like last night to how our day was at work. When I told you how I had been passed over for promotion, you listened; when you found out a friend had passed away suddenly, I was there for you.
We first developed a rapport, then a friendship, lastly a bond.
Through it all, we kept up our erotic discussions...you told me how much you like your clitoris lightly rubbed with a man's lips before he takes it in his mouth and drives you wild with soaked ecstasy; I let you know how much I enjoy entering a woman while we're both on our sides, me behind her in a "spooning" position (with a little special extra), all the time nuzzling the back of her neck and softly massaging her breasts...
"We need to meet," you tell me one time, over the computer. "I can't take much more, the suspense of really meeting and knowing you is driving me insane!"
I'm only too happy to agree.
The day arrived, and I can't describe my emotions. Fear, excitement, even doubt, all coursing through me like a bolt of lightning over and over again. I made sure to have everything prepared; from the fresh flowers in the vases to the soft music floating in the background to the ingredients of my favorite dish that I wanted to share with you.
When the hour of your arrival came, I was beside myself with exhilaration. What would it be like to meet you? Would you live up to the image of you I've carried with me all these weeks? would I measure up to yours? Would this be a night filled with passion, or a night two friends met and enjoyed each other's company, or would it be a total disappointment, as many fantasies end up being?
A knock on the door broke my imagination and brought me into reality. This was it, for better, for worse.
"Come in, it's unlocked," I say to the door. I watch as the door knob rotates slowly, adding to the suspense. It opens fully, and there you are.
You're beautiful.
Dressed in an Indian sari, the flowing materials dancing around your feet, you step inside my place. Your hair is long, but pulled back off your face in a tight braid or bun, I can't tell which yet. Your eyes simply shine at me, informing me that the uneasiness and thrill I've been experiencing has also had you tied up in knots.
"Hi," you almost whisper. "Nice to see you, finally."
"Likewise, though you're braver than I, meeting someone you really don't know in a place you've never been," I smile.
"Oh, yes, I do know you," you smirk back. "And I've enjoyed what I've learned about you. Now I'm enjoying the sight of you."
If I were not so dark complected, you'd see my face flush three or four shades redder, but as it is, I look down and giggle a little. I feel like a schoolboy again, on his first date, relieved to be here with you, but not really sure what to do next. Then my manners return to my thoughts.
"Oh, I'm sorry, would you like to sit down? I have some wine, if you'd like."
"Oh, thank you anyway, but I don't drink. Some water or juice would be fine," you reply, hoping not to distress me.
I pour a glass of wine for myself and some juice for you. "Now, if you don't mind, I have just a few things to do in the kitchen to prepare supper."
"That's fine. It's been so long since I've had a meal made for me. I'll join you there, keep you company." You smile from ear to ear.
Soon I'm in front of the stove, mixing the ingredients for a vegetable Korma, a type of curry, all the while talking with you. You're even more interesting in person than over the cold computer screen. I look back at you when you make a joke, and you're sitting at the table, your head resting on one hand, your fingers of your free hand making small circles around the lip of the juice glass. You are beautiful, I realize.
The meal wasn't my best work, I have to admit, but you don't seem to mind it. Throughout the meal we both can feel the energy in the air with the way we look at each other, the way you laugh at my jokes, the way I gaze into your mesmerizing eyes.
As I'm clearing away the dishes (I refuse to let you help!), you saunter into the living room and look at my things. Soon I towel dry my hands, leaving the heavy work for later, and join you.
"Well, I don't really have any other activities for the evening, so would you like to sit and talk?"
"I have a better idea," you answer. "Why don't you just sit and relax."
"What're you going to do?"
