Part 1

I looked forward to her emails.

Her first had been a curious questing for connection with a character that struck a chord. I hope I am not the only Internet writer that looks for the feminine usernames. I imagine the fingers they type a quick note to me are moist with their release.

The women rarely sign their name, but Megan did.

Some emails say 'good story', 'fantastic', or even 'you really turned me on'. Others ask an impossible question; did it really happen?

I believe in the Crossroads, Scratch, the Devil's woman, but my fingers break no strings. Dacia is real; I never stalked her. I like female bodybuilders; they WOULD kick my ass though. I never made love on a bus.

I had never made love.

Megan asked how much of David was I. She hid the question, but what she really wanted to find was in her words.

Stereotypical Mexican men do not dominate Amazonian blondes with enough curves to test an Indy driver. The women I write about do not look at me, except maybe to look down at me.

I told her how much of David I wanted to be.

Megan's emails had laughter, as if behind a username she could be how she saw herself.

She asked more questions.

I asked questions. It was not something I did, questions when someone emailed me. I told them when the next chapter was coming out, what my next story was going to be, or thanked them for compliments. I did not do Google their username and service to find more of their words among the trillions. I found the voice and laughter she hid from people that could touch her face, but the words lacked mischief. I thought maybe she saved that for me.

I knew what time she usually sent email, midnight, so I sat at my machine fifteen minutes before and after waiting. I came to hate when the graduate students or faculty took our half-hour away from me.

I worked at the Graduate and Faculty Computer Lab at my University. If I had four hours of work on any non-payroll day, it was because I did absolutely nothing the day before. I graduated college in three years by taking full course loads during summer semesters and had collected two Masters degrees, Fine Arts and Computer Science. The masters were not something I planned, but not taking advantage of free tuition seemed silly. I was trying to decide between the MBA program and a doctorate when I received the first of Megan's emails.

People's email about my stories filled some of work's boredom and replying was certainly more entertaining than trying to teach a professor how to put their lecture notes online. I guess she did not expect so florid an email back, our first time.

I did not think about meeting Megan, even during the half-hour I waited for her email. She said she had a boyfriend but was 'anti-monogamy'. In the same email, she admitted the 'anti' was in word only, so far. She also told me she was shy, and no matter how vivid her emails became I believed it. Somewhere along the line, email made it safe to be honest and to believe we both were. She wrote me her fantasies and found out how many of mine she had read.

I wrote a story about her desires: bondage, force, and freaky-looking beasties. I crossed a line, and Megan asked to meet me. I was glad that particular email came before a day off.

I could think about it.

I could dream about it.

I was not the kind of man a woman traveled five hundred miles to see.

I emailed back, no.

It was a week before I heard from her. I thought whatever it had been was over.

There were two words to her reply.

"Why not?"

I had prepared my response.

"I like being your fantasy."

For the first time in my life, a woman pursued.

"I'd like to live the fantasy."

Her words set me back, but they were not unexpected.

"A fantasy is a thought Megan, not a person."

"You think meeting me would destroy your fantasy, Miguel?"

It was unfair and true.

"When you think about me, is it David you imagine pulling your hair when you orgasm, Megan?"

"You're David, Miguel. You're Jason, and I hope you're Michael too."

I was none of my characters, but in the first person I could not avoid being all of them.

"What about your boyfriend?"

"The best sex we have is after I read any of your stories."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"I've always been anti-monogamy."

"In word only."

"Sometimes a word has to be lived, Miguel. I want to live some of yours."

I did not like the instant messenger services. I preferred to hear my conversations. The email messages went back and forth for an hour and half. I liked having the time that writing my answers gave me.

"Okay."

"Really?"

"How do we do this?"

"I was thinking of living a fantasy in a fantasy."

"I don't understand?"

"Strangers in a hotel room."

"We're not strangers, Megan."

"It's not like we've met."

No, Megan and I had never met.

I agreed to a Saturday two weeks from that night. I thought the extra time was a good idea, in case she changed her mind. Her emails became funnier, more mischievous, and more intimately heated as our Saturday drew closer. I asked time and again if she was sure this was what she wanted.

She was adamant.

My car was parked in front of the hotel room; I was thinking about leaving. The only word she spoke when she called was the room number.

I reached to start the car when the room door opened. The light above the door framed her.

She was short: long, dark auburn hair with the right amount of curl.

She was wearing a black leather trench coat and like fantasy, she opened it: black demi-cup bra, matching panties, garters, stockings, heels. The curves of a short woman, athletic when active rounder if life interfered with fun, displayed the lingerie to perfection. She put her hands as high as she could on either side of the doorframe.

Her chin went up in challenge. Megan knew I was in the car.

The challenge set my jaw like I wrote that David's did when he was angry. The challenge was not enough for her; her hands dropped to her sides and the coat pooled at her feet. She turned and strutted with her ass and hips swaying back into the room.

I was out of the car and slamming the door hard before I knew I had moved. I stopped and closed my eyes; I took a deep breath feeling almost high on her.

I reminded myself of the words I had written; the thick line between fantasy and reality is not knowing what is ONLY her fantasy. I walked into the room and closed the door. I turned and leaned a shoulder against it.

I looked at Megan.

She was sitting on the bed with one leg folded underneath her; the other was tapping the floor nervously. She had dark brown eyes, almost black, that swam in pools of shy mischief.

She almost cracked under the silence. I felt it; her decision to stop. I walked up to her and leaned down to take her lips with mine.

It was the fantasy of me.

I kissed Megan to possess; hard, commanding contact with an immediate invasion of her mouth with my tongue. She moaned and her arms came up to pull me closer. I put a knee on the bed and pushed her back with my weight. I rested my weight on top of her pinning her to the bed. I let her lips go and looked at her.

Her eyes were even darker in passion; I smiled at the dusting of freckles she lamented. I could feel her heartbeat in my body. Her pulse was the counterpoint of my excitement.

She had told me about the underwear as soon as she bought it. My hands moved of their own volition to her hips.

To untie the panties.

She raised her hips so I could remove the panel of cloth. I did not think about what happened next.

I had kissed her lips and wanted to taste her. I moved down her body resisting the temptation to touch anywhere else with my lips. I pushed her legs up with a hard grip on her inner thighs and touched her pussy with my tongue.

She was wet, and I drank her moisture. I opened her lips with my tongue and sucked in her clit. She pushed herself against me for more. I wanted to give her more; I wanted her to scream.

I tongued her pussy from bottom to clit and then did it again.

And again.

I took her clit back into my mouth and while suckling it, tickled it with the tip of my tongue.

She tried to hold it in.

It was a brief struggle between us. I used quick flicks of my tongue across her clit to convince her to fly. They were not enough so I flattened my tongue on her core. I applied pressure and rubbed my tongue on her, up and down. Her thighs tensed in my hand so I tightened my grip. I added more pressure with my tongue and rubbed faster.

She let release escape her body and gave it to me as a gift. I savored every moment of it and begged her body for more with my mouth. She tried to push me away when I did not stop. I wrapped my arms around her thighs to hold her in place.

She did scream when I made pleasure continue to crash through her. She stopped fighting me and struggled against the pleasure. She was trying to protect herself; I had taken over her thoughts with words and now her mind was opening under the physical onslaught.

I stood up between her legs. She opened her eyes to stare at me. She watched as I took my clothes off. She brought her legs up when I was naked; she wanted it as much as I did. I put my hands under her knees and pushed down to open her. She reached for me, but I knelt down and licked her again. She grabbed my hair and tried to pull me up. We wrestled for a second, my tongue on her clit and her grip on my hair. She won our first argument by nearly ripping my hair out at the roots when I scraped my teeth gently along the top and bottom of her clit.

I did not go quietly into defeat and scraped my skin on her pussy as she pulled me up. We did not need to assist our joining. I was pointing at her; craving her. As she pulled me up, the tip of my dick touched her moisture. I sank into her until our pubic hairs curled around each other.

We fit.

I rested all of my weight on her hips. Her pussy did not squeeze me; I did not feel pressure moving up and down in waves. I did not feel anything that I had ever written about sex.

Megan and I just fit.

I could not believe I was still in control. I felt the need to cum, but it was not overwhelming. I was hard inside her; I could feel her body hugging me tightly. I pulled her by her thighs so that her hips were almost off the bed. I pushed down on her legs and pulled my hips back.

I took all of Megan that my body could claim in a hard stroke. She arched her back and pushed herself against me trying to give more of her body.

I pulled back until I was out of her. I wanted to feel it again. I pushed into her and her body welcomed me. I had written about long and powerful strokes. I wanted to be that fantasy but all I could manage was pulling back until my crown was being hugged by her pussylips and re-taking her.

Even that did not last long enough.

Her eyes widened in surprise as my thickening and the feel of my heat inside took her over the top also. Her body tried to push me out as she came. I had to bear down to stay where I wanted to be. My orgasm lasted longer than any I ever had, but it was unbelievingly incomplete.

I wanted more of Megan.

I lay my upper body on top of her, and we kissed as we spiraled down gently.

The running shower woke me up. I looked around the room and smiled. I had not slept much the night before, and I was glad the noise had woken me up. I got out of the bed and walked into the bathroom. She had not closed the shower curtain. She smiled at me when I stopped to admire her. I was surprised that there was a bathtub instead of just a shower.

I walked into the tub and the shower stream.

I stepped up to her so we could share a wet kiss.

She let me explore her body with my hands and lips. The soap went unused, as she made do with my tongue and water. I sat down on the edge of the tub and settled her in my lap. I placed her legs outside of mine so that when I spread my knees she flowered. She put a hand on the wall to balance herself and leaned back against me.

She did not try to hold in the noise of pleasure. I toyed with her pussylips first; light touches as my fingers learned their texture. I backed off and played with the silk of her pubic hair. I put both of my hands on her sides and traveled up her body. I cupped her breasts on the way to learning the feel of her nipples. I let my hands argue about which one would stay and which would return.

My right hand slipped down her tummy to her clit. It was a long, wet session and I thought she was ready for it to continue elsewhere. I put my middle finger on her clit and moved it in small, slow circles. She circled her hips to hint she wanted me to stimulate her faster.

I did exactly what she wanted.

A minute later she grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away from her as her orgasm began. I almost laughed knowing she was trying to avoid my continuing to give her friction even as her orgasm faded. I settled for kissing her shoulders and back as she wrapped my arms around her torso and enjoyed the aftereffects of her orgasm.

She spun out of my grasp and the tub when my fingers rubbed the underside of her breast lightly. She smiled at me and shook her head playfully. She turned, twitched her hips, and strutted out of the bathroom. I had a feeling she had practiced the strut in front of her mirror before asking to meet.

I turned the heat of the water up. I set the warmth of the water against the heat Megan caused in me.

It was no contest.

I stepped out of the shower and dried myself in front of the mirror. I looked at the towel and smiled. I folded it in half and wrapped it around my hips. I looked at myself in the mirror. She had told me about her thing for guys in skirts. I did not get it but the towel almost looked like a skirt to me.

I stood leaning against the frame of the bathroom door. She was lying on the bed. Her fingers were playing along her skin. She was humming tunelessly while looking towards the window. Before I could move to her side, she turned her head.

She smiled and moved sensuously off the bed.

She crawled to me.

My chest tightened at the sight. She came up on her knees in front of me. She stared into my eyes drowning me in the brown of hers. She watched me as she extended her tongue and licked the water I had missed from my belly.