This is my first post - chapter one of an in progress story about a long term erotic affair. Comments and suggestions are most welcome!
Emily smoothed her dress as she climbed from the car. She looked around nervously, scanning the parking lot for familiar faces. Then she breathed deeply, tried to get control of her racing heart, and stepped into the busy Starbucks.
This was her first in-person meeting with the man she'd been texting with for the past two weeks. She scanned the room and thought she spotted him. A tallish guy in his 40s with brown hair, he was dressed casually but neat. He said his name was Greg, but she wasn't totally sure. She'd gone by Ms. M until just a few days ago when she decided it was safe to share her first name, so who knew whether he was using his real name.
He was sitting at a small table occupied with his phone, so she took a beat to quickly think through all this one more time. Part of her was screaming "This is crazy, Emily! Get back in your car and delete Snapchat", but another part - a part that had only recently come alive - was daring her to go just a little further and see where it led. That second part kept winning out, and she didn't necessarily regret that.
"Here goes," she whispered as she crossed the room. As she approached, she smiled brightly. "Hey," she said, "I think you're Greg and if you are, then I'm Emily."
He looked up and she was immediately struck by his deep blue eyes and a glowing smile.
"Emily," he said as he stood and pulled a chair out for her, "it's great to meet you in real life."
*****
This all started with a spontaneous decision in the aftermath of a stupid break up about a month earlier. At this point, she felt that Todd could go fuck himself, but she also was a little lonely and a lot reckless in the aftermath of his bad decisions and meanness. After a quick download of a hookup app and a few right swipes, she was awash in a sea of dick pics and scammers.
Only a few matches escalated to messaging, and none of them ever got to the point where she shared real contact information. Emily wasn't sure what she was looking for on the app - maybe just some attention, or a little flirty banter, or for someone to validate that she was beautiful. Most of what she got was... well, gross. Contact had consisted of a lot of dick pics, both hard and soft, a few messages that promised to ram or stuff or jam stuff into her "dripping snatch", and a couple of ones on the margins - guys wanting to be pissed on, or to buy her panties, or to cheat in front of their wives, or worse.
Greg showed up just as she was getting ready to delete the app. He was no Casanova, but his messages were normal and maybe a little bit sweet. His second message to her began with "I'm not even sure what I'm looking for here and am probably going to delete the app." After a half a dozen DMs, they'd taken the conversation to an anonymous messaging service and just chatted. Not really about sex, although that was an undercurrent. More about what they did for fun and what movies they liked... the kind of stuff that normal people talked about. He was attentive, asked lots of questions, and was a little nerdy. And it was good.
Four nights ago was Saturday, and that's when things escalated... fast. Emily had a glass of wine before signing on and she suspected that he was probably doing the same, although she imagined him with a beer. She clearly started it, asking him the most daring place he'd ever had sex (a beach was the answer). This had gone back and forth, getting a bit more intimate with each question. After a second glass of wine, she sent him a carefully cropped picture of her lifting up her bra to expose a breast. Rethinking her choices, she'd signed off shortly after. Part of her wanted to delete the app right then, but the new, more daring part led her to keep going just a bit further. What harm could be done?
The next night was Sunday, and when she timidly signed back on, it escalated again, and this time without the wine. After some more or less innocent chat, she sent a topless shot followed by one of her panties. As the night wore on, they texted about what they would do to each others bodies, and - against all better judgment - she sent him another carefully cropped photo of her body, fully nude, her legs spread, and her very wet pussy swollen and exposed. That was a first for her, and her anxiety was off the charts. He went radio silent for about ten minutes. Well, she thought, I guess that settles that.
And then a text:
"I hope it's ok, but I just masturbated to that last picture. I couldn't help myself."
She swallowed hard and thought about how to respond. The smart thing - the responsible thing - would be to sign off, block him, and never look back. Instead, she responded:
