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Nothing. I placed an ad asking for what I wanted. Just like that. I can’t remember what I wrote now, but I imagine it was some approximation of my fantasy. Or…not really my fantasy because only someone special could have made that happen. To pretend to **** me and make it seem real and then cuddle and laugh with me later? That person does not exist, I am pretty sure. Or if they do I won’t be into that person otherwise than sexually, and that gets boring. Anyway…So I got a response. Maybe several responses but I only followed up on one. He was married, so he probably would not be able to get too attached after the fact. He was older, which is better for this scenario. Because **** is all about power, after all. And who wants to lose power to a peer? It’s demoralizing and that’s not sexy. Also he was semi-attractive. Or attractive enough to do what I wanted him to do, anyway. We e-mailed back and forth a few times. I never spoke to him on the phone. I didn’t want to become too. I may miss the first blush of dating and sex. All the discovery and excitement. But there’s no way I’d rather be in her place.” She tickled my belly button with her finger, then withdrew it and continued her downward journey.“And why is that?” I asked, my cock responding to her fingers, straining to feel their touch.“Because I am with you.” She slid her hand over my hard length, gave it a squeeze, then, maddeningly, stood up and walked to the far side of the coffee table. “Although, I’ve noticed you never bring me flowers like he does. I’m a little jealous of that.”She canted her hip to the left on the word “that.” She began to sway, and the liquidity of her movements spread out to the rest of her body like waves, down her thighs, up the giddy curves of her waist and tits, eddying through her arms before unfurling to her fingers. Even her clothes followed her motion: her blouse stretching and pulling as her breasts rose up against the material, her short skirt swirling around her.
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