This was the last line of her first e-mail to me: “Thank you; for you writing, and for years of making me come.”
Was that a typo? Was she thanking me for my writing? Or did she mean what she wrote – was she thanking me for me writing? That second possibility is more intriguing to imagine – a sort of existential thanks. I like to think it wasn’t a typo.
Her other messages certainly suggest it wasn’t likely a typo. She’s articulate, thoughtful, and has lots to say. Her messages to me – there have been a few in the six weeks or so since that first one – have been many, many paragraphs long. She’s chastised me for my delay in responding, and complained about (observed?) that while I have been writing about women disappearing on me, I seem to have disappeared on her.
I pointed out the difference between disappearing and taking a long time to respond. They are different. The one is an abandonment; the other only feels like one.
I should say, I’m writing this as I listen to her moans in my ears, her smiling, gleeful moans as her vibrator hums in the distance. She told me she had come twice this evening. That her neighbors had heard. (This, her response to my complaint that I hadn’t heard.) But when I asked her to come a third time, she gratified my request, and my cock is hard as her moans mount. The vibrator sound is dull; her moans are sharp. They grow painfully loud, even, as they mount in my ears. The pace of her breathing is increasing, the sharpness is increasing, and even as the pace of her breathing increases, so too is the length between her breaths when she pauses. I’m five minutes in now, and I’m live-blogging.
Her voice is sweet, tender. It goes up, it goes down. She makes little “mmmmm” sounds. And then “aaahhhh” sounds. But more of the “mmmmm” ones. Some of them are just “mm”s, and others are more like “mmmmmmmmmmmm”s. Some are quiet and declarative. Others, louder, interrogatory. And some are more like “ah-hah-ah-hah”s.
All of them make my cock hard. Even as her call waiting interrupts her moans briefly, and then, 45 seconds later, I hear her phone buzz twice with the notification of the voicemail that awaits her.
When her orgasm arrives, just as the ten-minute marker approaches, it’s insane. Can everyone in my house hear?!? I can’t transcribe it here. It confounds phonemes. It’s just really fucking loud. And really fucking hot. I’m so sorry that she doesn’t want me to share it, because it is, truly, a thing of beauty.
I wish she would write me shorter e-mails. Simple questions. Instead she asks big ones, ones that take paragraphs – and weeks – for me to answer.
So tonight, when I asked her a simple question – “Would you come for me, please?” I was gratified that she did exactly as I pleased.
Here’s hoping that I can do a better job of satisfying her curiosity about me, and that she, similarly, can do a better job of satisfying mine about her.