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I have a hard time saying no to a friend – that’s just who I am. So when I read her email to me, I didn’t hesitate in saying yes to her. It really wasn’t that onerous a request anyway.She wants another sordid fantasy from me.A few thousand miles separate us, and we’ve never met face to face. For that matter, I’ve never seen her face. Just online messages, some chat and now some emails. We haven’t even exchanged the naughty pictures of body parts that sometimes characterize online friendships.Who is she? I really don’t know too much, now that I think about it. I know enough, though, from her words, to know that she is a beautiful person. A good soul. A generous spirit. One of those people who when they become your friend, they are one hundred percent committed to being selfless.The kind of person who says, “thank you” and actually means it.The other night I made a passing comment about something in an email, and added, “unless you want to hear my sordid fantasies”. I added an LOL just so she wouldn’t think anything ill of my comment. It was meant innocently. But she then responded and said she wanted to hear my sordid fantasies.I sent her one.She read it. She responded. Then she wanted to hear another of my sordid fantasies about her.For the record, the fantasies are not really sordid. They are fantasies, fueled by the beauty of her inherent nature, a beauty Ataşehir escort bayan that comes through so clearly in her words. Call me crazy, but the biggest turn-on for me is a woman’s mind and her soul. When I am making love to a woman, I am not making love to her body parts – they are just a conduit for physical contact. No, I am making love to who that woman is, what she believes in, what she feels, what she expresses. I am making love to a person, not an object. Not an image.My last fantasy ended as I finished giving her oral pleasure in her home, after I travelled thousands of miles to see her.But where does my next fantasy begin?You sit there, spent from the attention my tongue and lips have given your pussy. You are wet, and your breathing, although settling down from the peak of your climax, is still deep and labored. Your blouse is still on, and beneath it I can see the faint shadows of a dark-colored bra, and you still have your skirt on, although it is pushed up about your waist, exposing your pussy which is now flushed red and wet all around. You are not wearing panties, and that is how I first found you, so I haven’t even had the pleasure yet of undressing you.I am still fully dressed, except for my shoes, which I left at your front door. It had been raining, and even though you said I could leave Escort Ümraniye them on, I didn’t want to track the rain onto your floors. I dressed formally – I was supposed to be on a business trip, at least to everyone else in my world – and I am still in my blazer, tie, dress pants and white shirt. I am dressed for business not pleasure.I kneel in front of you, watching your pussy so closely and with fascination. A pussy is a pussy, right? All women have them. Why is yours so different? Why do I love it so?But I do. And I kneel there, fixated on the beautiful pink flesh within the soft folds, the dampness, the smoothness, the heady aroma of your nectar still fresh on your body and on my face.“I want to see you now,” you say to me. “Stand up and get undressed for me.”I do as I am told, because as much as coming to see you was my fantasy and my desire, I am a guest in your home. I respect your rules inside your four walls.And I do it because deep down I want you to see just how aroused you have made me.I stand up, and remove my blazer, carefully draping it over the back of a chair. I undo my tie and lay it on top of my blazer, and then I remove my white shirt, undoing the buttons and draping it on top of my other clothes. I am wearing a white cotton undershirt, and I leave that on while I undo my belt and slide it Bostancı escort through the belt loops of my pants and then drop it onto the chair. I undo my pants and slide them down to my ankles, and then step out of the pant legs, taking them off and again draping them on top of the chair. I am in my socks, a pair of red boxers and a white undershirt, and I remove my socks first, then my undershirt, and I stand in front of you, only in my boxers.“Let me do the rest,” you say, as you stand up from the sofa, your skirt falling down again to cover you modestly, although I know just below the skirt what lies there.You come up to me, and reach down to my boxers, and you bend down as you slide the boxers off of me, and I accommodate your efforts by stepping out of them.You bring my boxers to your face and inhale them, and you purr softly, saying “Hmmmm…even your sweat smells sexy…you were sweating on the plane ride, weren’t you? In your crotch…on your balls…your cock…you were hot and sweaty inside these boxers…”You toss my boxers onto the chair, a perfect shot – a three-pointer. I stand in front of you naked, my erect cock standing up straight, pointing up toward you, firm and steely, and you grasp my cock with both hands and start to stroke me. Your hands feel soft upon my skin, and rather than handle me roughly or with passion, your touch is tender and soothing. The tenderness of a woman who has been a mother, I think to myself, and whose hands have cradled and soothed babies, and now she touches me with the same gentle reassurance.You caress me, and fondle my balls in your hands as you also stroke my erection, your gaze fixed upon my eyes and not upon my parts.
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