To touch him

We all have our internet crushes I suppose. You know the ones that you stay up to talk to cause they are in a different time zone, that no matter how long you talk you can't seem to want to leave to sleep. I've had my share of mine, traveled to another country to meet one, and although it ended in disaster a couple of years later, I do not regret that decision.

I am older now, less flighty, I would like to believe. Less eager to fly across the world on the whim of my heart's foolish longing, less gypsy-like in my desire to just GO, just be some place else, some place new, have the rush of adrenalin that always accompanies the unknown.

But I find myself thinking of him at the oddest moments. Wondering what he is doing, who he is with? Trying to mentally note things in my day to tell him of, to share with him my essence. Yes I am a very foolish girl sometimes. He just crept in my head, like some type of fog, clouding my reason, my senses. Making the landscape of my concious appear nothing more than a dream like haze where leprechans, fairies and good men dwell.

Different then anything I say I want, anything I have ever imagined. Yet he is slowly becoming an addiction, a playful, exilerating, mystifying addiction. Not that I kid myself to believe that this thing between us is a relationship, but I feel something stirring, a sensation of bliss that I long ago forgot.

Perhaps one day he will be my unrequitted love, my friend, another piece of my soul, just blighted by what ever twisted path fate has. Perhaps again, I am just giddy in the new of things, languishing in the attentions of a gentleman and a rogue, a saint and devil, both young and old, bottled up in a beautiful package of contridiction and lust, and soon the attraction will fade, or he will grow tired of my constant questions and peculiar way.

When we talk though, I can feel him touching me. Each spoken word a caress on my soul, I can feel his energy reaching out to embrace me, seduce me and entrance me. His words make me lose my breath, we talk of his day, I ache to sooth his troubles with warm hands on his generous shoulders. He speaks of his childhood, and I can almost see into his eyes and the laugher and joy he experienced. When he speaks of his hands on my body, I shiver, quaking internally, anticipting his next desire.

As he talks to me, I close my eyes, and I feel the whisper of his lips on my neck and I gently trail my nails down. His playful flick of my nipple is my own, and I moan, caught up in the moment. His spirit is there with me, following commands from his prompts. Perhaps more like robot, yet so very warm and needing. Trailing, trailing, trailing my hands at his command, I feel my thighs, soft and warm, so big as he traverses every inch, kneading them, teasing them slowly open, looking into my eyes with a mischevious light. His hands flutter like a butterflies wings, teasing, enticing wetness to build.

Oh sweet torture! I want to push ahead, my climax fast and harsh and full of need, yet he wont cooperate, even in the myst where are two worlds might not collide, I am worth more than a few fevered moments. I am a lady, a godddess and he wants to explore each inch of me, slowly delaying my release. He speaks now of kissing me through my thin panties and i can feel his breath on my clit, the roughness of his daily stubble teasing my thighs with newer sensations.

I can barely breath, much less type! In a language that could only be called typo, I tell him of my need to kiss him. In detail he rises up and places a hand to my cheek and tenderly kisses me, deepening it as he slides his hands inside the rim of my pants. I moaned outloud again, blushing, hoping no one can hear me as I follow his lead, my hand slipping into the wet folds of my lips.

My hand on my lips I pull to trail the bit of moisture as he speaks of holding my heavy breast in his hand, his thumb perking my nipple to attention before he slowly takes the nipple and areola in, sucking and nibbling. I want to hold his head close to me, so I don't scar him with the nails I would run down his back, I want to arch into his embrace, his lips, give myself to him completely. I am shaking from the want of him. I pinch my nipple hard, I want to know what it feels like for his teeth to playfully pull at me, for his smile to press against my lips and for me to taste his soul.

My eyes can barely open to read each command, each lurid detail, my hand thrumming my clit, every now and then a slight slap and a pinch of my lips as he speaks of handling me. I shudder involuntarily and sigh, embarassed I am so close to completion, his seduction so complete. He submits to my will, claiming a tender embrace, then removing all that stands between us, and slowly, so painstakingly slow, stretching me, inch by inch, his head thick and wet with precum, sliding in as I mimic his penetration with my dildo.

I imagine his hands in the folds of my fat, pulling me closer, my softness in such contrast with the chisled frame he possesses. His powerful thrusts both tender and strong, pushing, pushing, pushing.. until I whimper helplessly as I topple over, moaning and sighing, breathing god, over and over, each rush amazingly stronger, rippling and cascading throughout me.

I barely type the words, no spaces, over lapping, my breath so labored I gasp from pleasure. And he cums, deep and full within me, his energy pooling and spiraling into me like a dance of autumn leaves in the wind. He is in every part of me now. I can feel our blushes, bashful at such brash talk. Momentarily having lost ourselves in the sensations of need.

The chat returns, playful, honest, slightly questioning, and I am reminded again of what a great person I am speaking to, his poetic response and aura bright even on my dim screen. I sigh. Yep, I have got a crush. But that is okay too, as we all have our weaknesses, and if mine is he, then I feel stronger already.