In her email, she told me her name was Brooke Anne Jackson.
She came right out and asked, I want you to write a story about me. I'm a 19 year old college student. I'm bi, I turned 2 of my high school friends into pussy loving lesbians. I even seduced one of their mothers. I have pierced nipples and I'm thinking about getting a ring on my clit. I love to tease, it makes the fuck so much hotter. I like swimming naked in my pool and walking around sweaty in my Sunday dress with nothing underneath. It drives my dad crazy. I know I remind him of my mom.
Fucking-a. I've been spammed. Through Google Mail, no less. That's what happens when you hang around sex sites.
I wrote her back. Ha ha. See you in the funny pages.
She replied, I'm for real. I love your stuff on alt.stories. Your stories are hot. I'm a natural girl. I have it where it counts. I know you like that in a woman. I respect a man that appreciates curves.You'll love writing about me.
She told me she had read all my stories: I like you're portrayal of sex. I like how you describe a woman's thigh and ass, when the guys grabbing this and that and then fucking them. I like the trick endings, too. Write me a story. I've attached some pictures to give you some ideas.
As if the crazy fan mail wasn't enough. Now, I'm getting dirty pictures in my mail box.
I opened up the attachments.
I was expecting some crazy looking white chick. I've dated a few of those. This was a regular chocolate bunny piece of dark meat. She wore two different white bikinis in her photo sets. She was thick, and I'm not talking thick like pudding, more like a juicy piece of sizzling pan fried mutton. Her belly was curvy and wide, she wasn't even trying to squeeze anything in. Her tits hung low. She had frizzed afro-beautiful hair, and it spread out in into a thick tent down to her shoulders. She had large beautiful eyes and a wide nose. She wore a dark pair of designer sunglasses. Guccis or something. She had money or knew people with money. The background was a nice looking backyard, and she was lying down in some landscaped rocks beside a blue pool.
Thankfully, there's Google and Facebook, and this chick, beside not being able to write a 2 page fuck story, gave me her real name. I copy pasted Brooke Anne Jackson into the search bar and presto, my chocolate cupcake bunny piece of mutton showed up. She was in college, Purdue from what the banner hanging in the wall said. She had a bunch of girlfriends hanging on to her. They were sticking out their tongues, posing like Charlie's Angels, and slapping each others asses. They were tamer than what I had in my email, but that was the same skanky slut.
I wrote her back.
Hi, thanks for the email and the letters. I very much enjoy writing sex stories. I appreciate your interest in having me write one about you. I can think of all sorts of fun scenarios. As you know, it takes time and talent to write a good story. I know you can appreciate that. My word rates are very reasonable. I charge 10 cents a word. Most of my stories run no longer than 4,000 words. At the high end, and this is just the high-end, we're talking no more than 400 bucks. Let me know what you think.
I turned my iPhone to vibrate on new emails. She wrote:
Thanks for writing back. I would love for you to write me a story. But, I was just thinking it would be something between you and me. I wouldn't want it posted all over the Internet. I've seen your work in every sex story site online. Also, I can't pay you anything. I'm in college, remember? Love, Brooke.
I wrote back:
Thanks for your reply, Brooke. I'd love to write your story but I'm, unfortunately, busy writing out my own ideas. I'd want to get paid for my efforts. Thanks and good luck.
She wrote me back the next day.
I think we can work something out.
She told me to meet her on Yahoo chat later that night. We hooked up and started typing away.
Hi. Hi. How you doing? How's school.
So, you still want me to write you a story?
Yes. Use my name. I get off seeing my name in a story. (So, this was not her first time reaching out)
But you can't pay, right?
So, listen, I appreciate your interest in my work, but I can't work for free. I've got to eat.
Wait. How about we try something. Do you really live in Portland?
.... There is more of this story ...