The Study

It is well past midnight, and I cannot sleep. I normally do not watch television, but tonight I saw a show that really disturbed me. It was one of those “whodoneit” shows, and the murder was rather grizzly. I stare at the ceiling for several minutes, all I can hear is my husband sawing logs beside me, and I realize that my nightie is missing. It is not near the head of the bed, nor can I see it on the floor. I suppose that I have kicked it under the covers, as there is a lump near my feet, but I dare not retrieve it – for fear that I will wake my husband.

I slowly get out of bed and look for my slippers beside the bed, but I cannot find them. I do not pursue the slippers, now wondering where I placed my mind this evening, and slink down the hall. I approach the kitchen, knowing I really want to go towards the computer in the study. I take a glass from the cupboard, fill it with ice and then pour some bottled water over the cubes, listening to them crackle. I take the rest of the liter bottle of Perrier, the glass of water and myself, and I quietly make my way to the study.

Passing the laundry room on the way to the study, I peek in to see what clothes are clean, wanting to put something on my top. No clean clothes at all, but there is a pile of clothes needing to be washed. My husband’s dress shirt is on top – so I sniff it, and finding that it smells clean, slip it on.

I finally arrive at my destination, the study, and turn the computer on. The screen quickly comes to life, and I take several sips of water, watching the computer go through its initialization sequence. Then I click on the Internet Explorer button, and I hear the modem kick into action. I take a few more sips, and find the glass empty. I must have been thirsty.

I re-fill the glass, this time not hearing much out of the ice – not a crackle, not a pop. I take another sip or two as the home page loads. I type in the address for my online mail account, the account my husband does not know about, and the page slowly loads. Another couple of sips of water, and I smile when I see that I have received some mail. I click on the in-box, and finish the second glass as the page is loading. Sometimes I think we should get a cable modem, but I am against it for two reasons – I enjoy the anticipation, and if I could download files faster, I am afraid I would spend all of my time looking for pornography. All I really need is my pen pals and a couple of really good pictures, and I am all set for some, as my favorite on-line pal puts it, “wanking.”

He has written me a very nice note, concerned that I have not had much time for “wanking” and hoping that I will be able to self-satisfy me soon. Like him, when I travel for work, I am able to spend some time in the room, and they always turn into late night sessions. At the end, I am satiated but sore, tired but content.

In some of his notes, he places pictures that usually accompany the subject on which he writes. I read his letter further, and he describes, in this passage, a particular episode at the beginning of his sexual exploits. I sometimes wonder how he is as a lover – actually I often wonder.

The pictures that accompany the note this time are of young men, all touching themselves and in the height of pleasure. As he often does, he includes a couple of pictures that are meant to be me, young brunettes, usually with nice, full pubic regions, that either are satiated with cum in their vaginas, on their bums, or on their chests. And, as normal, it begins to turn me on.

I take another drink, only to have the ice rush forward and hit my nose – I was so intent on his note that I failed to notice that I was again out of water. Another refill, and another sip or two. Oh, how his note reaches my core.

I press the reply button and then describe to him how his note and pictures make me feel. I stop, on occasion, to ponder my words. Sometimes I think we are having a heated affair, but I know he is half-way around the world in his own place, with his wife, his practice, and his hobbies. As I sign the note “NBV,” for a little name he gave me, my heart is almost racing. I look at the clock, and I cannot believe that an hour has gone by. My bladder is now full from the water, and I hit the send button. I briefly look at the other notes and do not find anything of interest, so I decide that I will wank for my virtual lover on the guest bathroom toilet before going to bed. As I gather the empty glass and bottle, I notice there is but an inch of water in the bottle. Not wanting to put it back in the fridge, I drain the rest of the bottle on the way to the kitchen.

I place the bottle in the recyclables, the glass in the sink, and I am off to the bathroom for my early morning wank. I get to the bathroom, and I am about to “go”, but then I have an idea. I take off my husband’s shirt, and fold it neatly on the vanity. Then I straddle the toilet, facing the wall. I have wanked in this position before – but instead of walking out of my panties and wanking, I take a deep breath.

Then I begin to pee on the toilet, the pee soaking my crotch area and dripping into the toilet. Since I have had so much water, I continue to pee, and the stream is even stronger after the initial shock and feeling of wetting my panties. The fluid begins to creep up the panties a bit, and then I feel some urine running down my legs and onto the floor. Not a lot, but it is uncomfortable. After finishing, I sit still for a moment, listening to urine that had soaked my panties drip into the toilet.

Suddenly, I feel dirty. I remember my friend talking about “pissing in panties” when his wife was out of town, and I wonder if his experience was similar. My guess is that he is more expert at this than I, and he took precautions to make things easier. Still thinking of my friend, I remember that I was not finished. I reached my hand into the front of my panties, and I touched myself in my sweet spot. I continued to touch myself, and within minutes, I was cuming on my fingers. It was fast and intense, and it took me completely by surprise.

I smelled my fingers, and they smelled of my vagina and of urine. I wanted to lick them, to taste me like I had done on so many other occasions, but the thought of the urine prevented me from doing so. I later learned that the urine was probably safer to taste than any cum I had swallowed from any guy I had previously serviced.

I wrung out my panties over the toilet, and more urine made its way into the bowl. Then I took a washcloth and wiped myself off – and I nearly came again, probably would have, but I heard something, and thought it might have been my husband. I cleaned up the floor with the washcloth and a towel, making a note to clean the bathroom in the morning. I went to the laundry room, and I put the panties, the towel and washcloth and my husband’s shirt back in the dirty clothes. Then, because of the unusually strong fragrance, I started the wash, knowing that I would have to lie to my husband the next morning – saying that I forgot I had put a load in before I went to bed.

I made my way back to the bedroom and slipped under the covers, completely nude. I could not risk waking my husband up at night. In the morning, when the alarm went off, I surprised my husband with a “good morning fuck,” the only way I knew to throw him off the fact that I went to sleep clothed and woke up nude. I do not think he thought anything of it, especially since I did not ask for him to eat me – he quickly took me from behind before, came rather quickly, and then headed into the shower. I started the dryer after he was in the shower, and I was tempted to log onto the computer again – but thought better of it.

My shower followed his, and a few minutes after putting on a fresh pair of panties, his cum leaked out of me, wetting my panties. For a moment, I flashed back to the previous night, a little excited, and a little embarrassed.

---

I have found a new, free sex game (new to me, not new to everyone). It is called Viva-Ponata.

If you have not heard of it, you can check it out at the following link:

http://viva-ponata.com/register.php?REF=142

If you use the link, I get credit for the referral (if you reach level 5), and I get 25 diamonds (which is a type of currency in the game).

The game is a sort of a sexual simulation game. You pick your name, you can earn money by performing various illegal acts (selling Viagra, stolen DVDs, turning tricks). And you also can enhance your appearance (which adds to your beauty, so you can get a better job, for instance). I am a fairly tame character in real life, so this allows me to let my hair down. I mean, I look forward to turning tricks – someone has to choose your ass among all the prostitutes working the streets.

I am by no means an expert at the game, but it is a fun diversion. If you want to try it, sign up (free), and write me or my online spouse. We can help you out.

Treading Water

I wake up from a deep sleep – and I feel so well rested. I look at the alarm clock, and it reads 4:30 a.m., and I remember that I fell asleep unusually early the night before.

4:40 a.m. – tried to go back to sleep but I can’t. Turn on the television, but nothing interests me – then fire up the computer to see if I have any mail. Several pieces of junk mail – mostly of the weight loss, refinance your mortgage type. Deleting these messages is easy work – from people I do not communicate with, and usually in all caps. And then I two real messages – one from my mother, a small chatty piece of mail. The other from Dr. Allan – I think of him as my personal psychiatrist. Although we have never met, him living in Australia and me in the States.

He has written another piece of e-mail with a story attached. His stories are always well written, always highly erotic but not dirty, and an unopened message from him always makes my heart jump a beat.

As I read his message, my breathing becomes a bit quicker and shallower, not noticeable at first, but I often have to remember to slow down my breaths after reading his stories. Quite uncontrollably, my hands sometimes wander, mostly to my hair, where I twirl my finger absentmindedly into my shoulder-length brunette hair. A nervous habit, I remind myself.

After finishing the e-mail, I am tempted to visit one of the few erotic sites that I know about – I frequented these types of sites a few years ago, but I have mainly lost interest over time. But I refrain, remembering that I normally will find a chat room, flirt and eventually some anonymous person and I will find a room where I spend most of my time typing, and he or she (not knowing the sex of the person) spends most of his/her time masturbating to my words. Not typically a shared experience. So I disconnect from the Internet, and make my way into the bathroom.

I wash my face in the basin, taking time to ensure that my face is well cleaned. I place my hair in a pony-tail to keep it out of my face, and then I go to work. I start with warm water to open the pours, use my hypoallergenic soap, wash all of the soap off with warm water, and once my face is clean, I use cold water – and love the way I can almost feel my pours tighten and constrict.

I look at myself in the mirror – taking stock of myself. I like the look of myself – dark, natural brunette hair, soft freckle-free (I always wanted freckles as a little girl) skin – that was a shade darker when I was younger – well, proportioned facial features, bright blue eyes.

5:00 chimed the grandfather clock. Could it still be that early? I went out to the living room, and then to the kitchen, not knowing what to do next. Then I opened the sliding glass door, and out to the deck in the backyard. I could not see many stars in the sky, but the moon shown bright. Since our house is on a hill, I could see the front and back porch lights in many of the neighbors’ houses.

I noticed a couple of lounge chairs out of place, so the organizer in me straightens out the chairs. I look to the pool, and there are several large leaves floating in the pool. Grabbing the pool net, I approach the pool, skimming out several of the leaves and placing them in the yard. A couple of leaves are slightly out of reach, so I use the pool net as a paddle to attempt to bring the leaves closer to me and my net. A little close, a little closer . . . and then I lose by balance and unexpectedly fall into the pool.

As my head re-emerges from the surprisingly mild-temperatured water, I wonder how loud my scream was. I giggle, out of nervousness mostly, happy in the fact that I did not injure myself from my klutziness. I am wearing an old t-shirt, white cotton panties and a robe, and now the cotton robe reminds me that I need to get out of the water. Luckily for me, I fell in the deep end of the pool, but now I must swim towards the ladder – the weight of my robe would prevent me from lifting myself from the pool at the location where I entered the pool.

I reach the ladder, and begin to climb out, water rushing down my body as I exit the pool. The water runs fast, and I am a little amazed at the amount of water stored in my robe. After looking back at neighborhood below, I re-trace my steps and step back into the water, really enjoying the feeling of the water again weighing down my robe. I let the robe fall off my shoulders, me helping the robe as it clings to my body. I take the robe and begin playing with it in the water; spinning it around and watching the motion take control of the robe. For a moment, I feel like a little girl again. I laugh, throwing the robe towards the center of the pool, watching it perform its dance in the water sans me.

I swim out to the robe, treading water and again tossing it in front of me. I go back to the side of the pool, eying the location of the robe. As a game, I swim to it under water, turning and returning to the safety of the side. I do this several times, being able to reach the side easily. To make things more interesting I take off my t-shirt, throw it out, and because of the lighter weight, it travels nearly as far as the robe. Off with my panties, and I drop them a few feet from the side. Now, almost like a steeplechase, I, submerged, swim to the robe, my t-shirt and then return to find my panties. I ma successful on the third try, my panties being the cause of my misses – they are just too small to see until I am right near them.

Then my mind drifts to Dr. Allan. I wonder what he would think of me doing this – in relative safety, as I am in a pool which in all likelihood cannot be seen from anyone except for my closest neighbor, as long as I stay in the water. I wonder if he would attribute this behavior to my risk-taking concerning my sexuality, or the skinny-dipping fantasies that everyone seems to have. The second time in a row that I successfully touch all articles of clothing under water, I celebrate by tossing my panties in the air. I laugh a bit at my silliness and want to toss them higher, unfortunately because of the second toss, they land out of the water. I look at the panties, as the water starts making a more-or-less circular pattern on the recently dry cement. I quickly swim to the ladder and exit the pool, intent on retrieving my panties.

The warm night and the wonderful swim make me feel so alive. At first I was slinking to the panties, and then I stand up, feeling a slight wind blow past me, almost caressing my naked body.

Rather than return to the pool, I recline into one of the lounge chairs, and look at the neighbors below me. It may be 5:30 by now, not quite sure because I am losing track of time. If I had an almanac, I would know at what precise moment the sun would be coming up. I can tell it is a bit lighter, but the sun is still tucking safely below the horizon. My fingers move to my tummy, the tips lightly touching my drying skin. I wonder how many people are eating breakfast right now. And then my mind races to Dr. Allan in Australia, and I think to myself, “He is probably getting ready for dinner right now.”

I think about Allan, wondering if his wife is cooking for him tonight, if she is even in town. If she is gone, has he ordered a pizza, and is sitting in the living room, stroking himself, watching a tape of a woman who looks like me? My finger drifts, almost instinctively to my private area, my finger softly caressing my outer labial lips. Would Allan call it my labia majora, I wonder.

My finger stops for a moment, and I return to reality. What a beautiful pre-morning dawn, I think, my finger starts teasing my outer lips again, brushing against my opening on occasion. I need to feel my fingers from all sorts of angles. I am adept at pleasing myself, and then my thoughts return to Dr. Allan.

I wonder what kind of lover Dr. Allan is – patient, to be sure. Self-confident, imaginative, and inventive. This I know from our correspondence. My fingers continue to explore myself. I part my inner lips for the first time, and I think of Dr. Allan. I am sure he would run his tongue to tease my labia minora, probably more expertly than my fingers can. I love the feeling of tongue, and my fingers continue to drift over my private parts. In and out of crevices, as I wonder what Dr. Allan’s tongue would be like. I wonder if he would eat me out after cuming inside of me – I would want him to eat me before to ensure a more-exciting lovemaking session, but I would also want him, perhaps 30 minutes after depositing his seed deep within me, to again eat me. Not so much for the excitement, though I am certain I would be excited, but because it takes about that long for cum to exit my vagina – it is like clockwork, my panties get wet from cum almost precisely 30-minutes after lovemaking. And I would want him to prove himself by eating me, having him taste his salty gift as it flows outside of me.

My mind again drifts back to reality, and because of my mind and thinking of my virtual lover, the area between my legs is on fire. My pulse has increased, my breathing is shallow, and my vagina is engorged. I begin to feel myself coming, knowing the feeling so well. The feeling seems to come from deep within me, not nearly as well-defined as an area near the surface of me. It does not seem to radiate from my vagina, from my clitoris, from any distinct part of me. I start to spasm slightly, knowing what is coming, what is here. Again and again, I feel the waves of a finger-induced orgasm radiate from deep within me. I contort slightly, noticing for the first time the beginnings of a daybreak. My nipples are hard, the waves continue, and the sun, my heavenly foe, shows itself in the morning sunrise. The sky becomes, as my organism subsides, a brilliant golden-orange, almost too bright to fully appreciate.

Then it dawns on me (Allan would tam my arse for the pun) that I am completely nude – and I return fully to reality. I dive into the water to retrieve me robe and t-shirt, re-emerging from the pool quickly. I pick up my panties, and in a flash (another spanking from Dr. Allan for the additional pun), ring out, as best I can, the wet clothing as I walk towards the sliding door. I enter the house, toss the clothing in the washer on the way to the bathroom.

I look again at my nude frame in a mirror and smile. I empty the contents of my bladder in the toilel, facing the toilet, thinking again of Allan. Still horny, I masturbate once more on the toilet before taking a shower. I glance at the clock to see if there is enough time to write this down for Allan, and I am out-of-luck; I will have to remember the experience and write Dr. Allan in the evening. Although I am disappointed that I can not capture the moment in prose, I think about my experience many times during the day, getting flushed at times. How wonderful it is to have such a pen pal.

---

I have found a new, free sex game (new to me, not new to everyone). It is called Viva-Ponata.

If you have not heard of it, you can check it out at the following link:

http://viva-ponata.com/register.php?REF=13607

If you use the link, I get credit for the referral (if you reach level 5), and I get 25 diamonds (which is a type of currency in the game).

The game is a sort of a sexual simulation game. You pick your name, you can earn money by performing various illegal acts (selling Viagra, stolen DVDs, turning tricks). And you also can enhance your appearance (which adds to your beauty, so you can get a better job, for instance). I am a fairly tame character in real life, so this allows me to let my hair down. I mean, I look forward to turning tricks – someone has to choose your ass among all the prostitutes working the streets.

I am by no means an expert at the game, but it is a fun diversion. If you want to try it, sign up (free), and write me or my online spouse. We can help you out.

Strange Bedtime Story

This story is based on a true experience, but it is enhanced to give readers a more interesting story.

I had been going out with Allan for several weeks - and the "courtship" was fast, meaning I slept with him on our first date. Not normal for me. Neither is the rest of this story.

Allan and I went dancing on Saturday night. We had gone dancing before ˆ drank heavily before we left, and then we drank plenty of water at the club. It was cheaper, and you had to drink because it was so hot on the dance floor. We started home about 2:00 a.m., and were at his place by 2:30. He had two roommates but both were gone for the weekend.

We started kissing, our hands running over each other‚s bodies, and Allan said, "Want to try something different?"

“Sure," I answered, thinking he was going to ask for some anal sex. I had anal sex three times before, having two wonderful and one painful experience.

“You have to have an open mind," he warned.

“Just so you don't hurt me . . . much," I coyly responded.

Allan retrieved a plain white cotton shirt from his dresser drawer, and asked me to but it on. Only the shirt. As I was going to the bathroom to change, he beckoned me back, saying I could change there.

I also mentioned I had to go to the bathroom, and he said there would be time for that. Then he unlocked his footlocker, and took out a couple of strange things, a diaper, baby powder, a large baby bottle and a bottle of Evian.

He filled the baby bottle with Evian, and asked me to lie on the bed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

“Sure," I replied, not really knowing if I were sure anymore.

I lied on the bed, and he asked me to lift up my ass. He placed the biggest diaper I had ever seen under me, and I lowered myself onto the diaper. He then said, "its alright dear," and proceeded to powder my privates and then put the diaper on me.It was a strange feeling, and I wiggled a little. Because of the plastic and cotton construction, I could hear the plastic make noises on the bed.

“Good girl," he said, and he led me to the living room with the baby bottle and another Evian in his hand.

We sat on his roommates Lazyboy .

I sat on his lap. He cradled me in his arms and offered me the bottle. "Drink," he said.

I started to drink from the bottle, half thinking this was crazy. It took me a few seconds to get good at drinking, and soon I had emptied the bottle. We had been dancing, and I was still thirsty.

He re-filled the bottle and offered more to me.

“No thanks," I said.

He said that babies can't talk, and that I should continue to drink.

So I drank. It took me longer to finish this bottle, and he was singing me songs during this time, children’s songs.

Now I was getting uncomfortable. I had to urinate and I just came to the conclusion that is what he wanted.

I kissed him long and hard, then as we parted lips, I said, "I have to go to the bathroom. Let me up."

He patted my diapers right over my vagina (on purpose, I am sure), and said,

“That is what the diaper is for.

"I was right. Then he started patting my back, saying, "I have to burp you now.

"Maybe it was the role-playing, maybe I swallowed air while drinking from the bottle, but I actually burped. Not lady-like, but it is hard to be a lady in a big diaper on your boyfriend‚s lap early in the morning.

“Tell you what," he offered. "If you can drink one more bottle without peeing in your diaper, you can take off the diaper and pee."

“Fair enough," I said, and then he said he had to fill up the bottle. He came back with an even larger bottle, and I drank it almost as fast as the first bottle.

Then Allan said he would like to take off the diaper for me, to which I agreed, and he carried me into his bedroom again and gently lay me on the bed.

Before he took off the diaper, he wanted to play peek-a-boo with a pillow, and I was humoring him, since I knew this was a fantasy for him. When he had the pillow over my eyes and nose, he grabbed on of my wrists, and before I could stop him, he handcuffed my wrist to his headboard. Then he kissed me on the cheek and said, "Call me when you need changing" as he got up and walked out of the room. I was shocked and lay there in disbelief for several minutes. I had to urinate, but I did not want to wet myself. After about ten minutes I really had to go, and knowing no alternative, I began to pee. When I started to go, the feeling was strange, as the absorptive material in the diaper kept the urine from my skin. But I continued to pee and filled the diaper with urine. I could feel a warm, itchy feeling because of this, and I called Allan to the room. I could smell myself as he entered, and a grin was on his face. "

Punkin had a wee-wee," he said as it was evident he got his wish.

He had the handcuff key in his fingers, and he immediate uncuffed me.

Let me get that, he offered, and he took off my wet diaper, smelling me as he was unfastening the Velcro. He lifted down the diaper, the bottom of which was still between the bed and me. I looked up at him and his erection. He was loving this.

I said, "Too bad you can't fuck babies," and laughed. "Please clean me up, you pervert."

Then he parted my vaginal lips, caked with wet baby powder and smelling of urine, and he drove his member deep inside of me.

It surprised me for a moment, and we started fucking harder than we had ever fucked. He came quickly, then often that night.

We had to wash all of his sheets the next morning, they smelled strongly of urine and sex. That was the last time I would ever have sex with him. It was great that night, but it was too much for me.

To this day, when I smell urine, I remember Allan. I wonder how many other women wore diapers for him.

---

I have found a new, free sex game (new to me, not new to everyone). It is called Viva-Ponata.

If you have not heard of it, you can check it out at the following link:

http://viva-ponata.com/register.php?REF=13607

If you use the link, I get credit for the referral (if you reach level 5), and I get 25 diamonds (which is a type of currency in the game).

The game is a sort of a sexual simulation game. You pick your name, you can earn money by performing various illegal acts (selling Viagra, stolen DVDs, turning tricks). And you also can enhance your appearance (which adds to your beauty, so you can get a better job, for instance). I am a fairly tame character in real life, so this allows me to let my hair down. I mean, I look forward to turning tricks – someone has to choose your ass among all the prostitutes working the streets.

I am by no means an expert at the game, but it is a fun diversion. If you want to try it, sign up (free), and write me or my online spouse. We can help you out.

Girl Scout Cookies

I was at work the other day, and a co-worker was hitting us up for Girl Scout Cookies. I ordered two boxes of Thin Mints for my husband, but it reminded me of a spring break I spent in Savannah, home to Juliette Gordon Lowe, founder of the Girl Scouts.

I was a freshman at the University of Georgia, and I was coming home for Spring Break. It was a time for me to renew some high school friendships, as I did not have the cash to go to Florida for Spring Break.

One of my old girlfriends was Wendy. She was a very beautiful girl - medium length blond hair, nice brown eyes, dimples, a wonderful smile and very large breasts - and was not going to college. I actually was jealous of her figure, as I was so flat-chested. I was in college, but I sported modest 32-B's (I had not grown since sixth grade). Anyway, Wendy was working for the Girl Scouts of Savannah, Georgia in their gift shop on Drayton Street. It was an old, historic building, and she liked working with the girls.

I met her at the shop 30 minutes before closing in Mid-March, and we were going to go out to dinner that evening, catching up on each other's lives. We also had agreed to go out the next day to the Saint Patrick's parade - Savannah has the second largest one in the nation, and it was a chance to get plastered and stupid, things college girls needed to do on Spring Break. I got to the shop, and it was completely empty. She had some bad news, saying that she had to work the following day at the parade - selling Girl Scout cookies, of all things. Apparently the council bought too many cookies, and it was a last ditch effort to unload the cookies on the public. Most of my other friends were either in Florida or other places for Spring Break, so I had few options to myself.

"How many boxes," I asked.

"500" was the answer Wendy gave me.

I did not know how she would be able to do it, as I had remembered St.

Patty's Day was full of drunks, and beer does not go well with cookies.

"Hell, I will help you sell them. I have nothing better to do," I offered.

"Sure," Wendy said, "but we will have to find you a Leader's Uniform. You

can borrow one from the shop and I will return it after the parade." Well, I tried on the smallest leader's uniform and it was too big. Most of the Girl Scout mom's were fairly large women, I guess, and the uniforms were hanging off my body. My petite size and small breasts did not help one bit.I fit well in one of the Older Girls uniforms, so I figured that would do. Not great, but it would have to do. I joked that I would be a Girl Scout for a day!

The next day I met her in front of the shop, and she introduced me as Debbie. She did not say I was in college because I was wearing the GS uniform. I had some fun with the uniform (short-sleeve shirt and short skirt), pulling my hair back and only wearing the most basic make-up. I looked young.

Wendy and I went in one direction, and the others scattered in other areas along the parade path. We were not doing well - again, cookies do not go well with beer, but then I started flirting with the crowd. I played it up, acting bubbly, bouncy, and saying how they would help our troop with a trip to Washington, DC. And it worked.

Wendy and I were selling lots of cookies. Per her request, I even unbuttoned the top button - not showing cleavage as I was flat-chested, but I felt several men look down my shirt when I was giving them their cookies. One cute guy who was in college and definitely drinking said he would take 20 boxes, but he was wondering if I could carry them to his house around the corner. Quite an order, since most had been one's and two's. We were carrying three cases of cookies (36 boxes), as I was going to try and unload the other cookies after making this delivery.

As we walked to his house, he asked me about me. I made up that I was a high school junior, skipped a grade, and was still active with the Girl Scouts because some of my friends were still in the organization. When we were inside, he continued the chit-chat, asking if it were true that all older Girl Scouts were lesbian. I said "no", knowing he was talking about a book published in the late 1980's.

I could tell this was his parents‚ house - it was in the historic district, tastefully furnished. There were several museum-quality paintings in the house, not Van Gogh but good 19th Century work.

He said he had to go upstairs and get the cash, and he asked me to wait downstairs. Before he left, he asked me if I wanted anything to drink, and I asked him what he had. He started listing alcoholic beverages and I giggled, telling him I was 16. He said that there was no harm in one drink, that he would make it very dilute, and then he was off to get the money.

I started drinking his lime concoction - and I could tell that it was strong. I sank into a very comfortable leather couch, and fixed my ponytail. It took him 10 minutes to return, and by then, I had finished the drink. He said he would buy 24 and gave me the cash for them. He then went into the kitchen, emerging with two drinks, one for him and one for me. He asked if I had time for one more drink, and I nodded, adding that I was not used to drinking (another lie, but I giggled again).

He sat down beside me, and we chatted. I do not remember the chatting, but it was the nervous chatting that people do when they would rather fuck than chat, but were afraid to do. Then he started talking about my eyes, how deep they were. I asked them what they said to him, and he kissed me. It was a slow and deep kiss, and I returned the kiss almost aggressively. I was still holding my drink, and some of it spilled, interrupting the kiss. I placed the half-finished drink on the coaster, and we kissed again and again.

Pretty soon, he was pushing me into the couch, his two strong hands clutching my buttocks. It was a bit strange being groped in a Girl Scout uniform.

Then he suggested we go to a more comfortable room, his room. I said I had to freshen up a bit, and I went into the bathroom to take my panties off. As I entered his room, the room was poorly lit. We embraced again, kissing, and then he led me to the bed.

I asked him if he had any protection, and he said he had already slipped something on. I reclined onto the bed, and he made a motion to take off my panties. Finding them already removed, I could tell he was excited. He asked me if it was my first time, and I laughed.

He lifted up my skirt, and he began smelling and then licking me.I was so ready for him, and it seemed like an eternity before he planted his flag into me. As soon as he started fucking me, I had a heightened sense of my lower region. I could feel his member stiffen and throb. I think he was trying to pulsate it himself. I have felt this since then, but this was the first time a man did this in me.

He started to fondle my breasts through my Girl Scout uniform. And then I had the weirdest thought: "I am borrowing this uniform; I better not get anything on it."

Before I knew it, he started cumming, and I felt his penis release his load. That is when I guessed he was lying to me about wearing a condom, as I felt his cum flood me; the first time a guy ever came inside of me. As he was finishing, I wrapped my legs around his skinny butt. It felt so good, but I

felt a little betrayed at the same time.

As we were cleaning up, I asked him, "How old are you?"

He said, "21, and how old are you really?"

"Fifteen," I lied again and kissed him on the lips. "Does it matter?"

"No," was his reply, and I knew at that point in my freshmen life that men really do not care about any rules during sex. You could be 15 and willing, a sister-in-law, drunk off your ass.

As long as your vagina (or asshole) gives them the friction they need, that is all that matters.

At least men are dependable that way!

---

I have found a new, free sex game (new to me, not new to everyone). It is called Viva-Ponata.

If you have not heard of it, you can check it out at the following link:

http://viva-ponata.com/register.php?REF=13607

If you use the link, I get credit for the referral (if you reach level 5), and I get 25 diamonds (which is a type of currency in the game).

The game is a sort of a sexual simulation game. You pick your name, you can earn money by performing various illegal acts (selling Viagra, stolen DVDs, turning tricks). And you also can enhance your appearance (which adds to your beauty, so you can get a better job, for instance). I am a fairly tame character in real life, so this allows me to let my hair down. I mean, I look forward to turning tricks – someone has to choose your ass among all the prostitutes working the streets.

I am by no means an expert at the game, but it is a fun diversion. If you want to try it, sign up (free), and write me or my online spouse. We can help you out.

Pee Between Friends

I had been corresponding with him for months. It started out innocently enough - me admiring his writing and he mine. But we wrote erotica, so there was always the sexual tension in the correspondence.

He never said he wanted me - in fact, he did not say anything about me physically. We kept the letters focussed on our writing.

The closest it got was when I would mention that his style of writing was so real, that I admired the little details in the stories. It made them seem more real.

He would pay me other compliments, mostly how my stories stimulated him. But none of this sounded dirty to me.

Another reason most of this seemed harmless is that I was safely in the United States, while he lived in Australia. That was as far away as he could be, and I never saw myself traveling to Australia. Similarly, I never dreamed he would ever come to the United States.

Well, as fate would have it, he had wrote me that he would be traveling to the United States for a conference, and he wanted to know if I knew anything about Houston, Texas. He was a Psychiatrist, and he was attending a medical conference there. He did not know much about me, but he knew that I lived in Georgia.

What he did not know is that my brother lived in Houston, so I had a connection to that city. Well, to further the story, I had decided to visit my brother during Allan's conference. I was not sure that I would meet him, but I had communicated that I would be in the area and that I might meet him for lunch one day. Lunches are safe. Well, I knew his name and the hotel he was staying at, and I called him one morning while my sister-in-law was in the shower and my brother had already left for work. He answered the phone, almost shocked that I called, and then we made plans to eat at a Korean restaurant near the conference.

When I first saw Allen, he was a little older than I had thought, although he was handsome and distinguished. He had a kind face, and a very graceful way of carrying himself. He took me by the arm, almost like a friend of the family would take my arm, and lead me to where we would be eating. Our lunch took more than an hour to eat, and I was enthralled with listening to him converse with me. He had a way with words and conversations, and we must have gone through two pots of jasmine tea and many more stories.

We had to leave the restaurant, as we were not going to eat anymore, and I was so at ease with this fellow writer. When he invited me up to his room, I accepted, wanting to continue our talks. These talks were about when we were children, what fascinated us, what continued to fascinate us as we grew and matured. He put on some more tea in the room, and we continued to talk about things which I cannot remember.

All I know is that time was passing so quickly, and I was worried that I would have to be leaving soon. The tea from the restaurant and the tea afterwards filled my bladder quickly, and I asked if I could use his restroom.

As I got up, Allan said casually, "Let me watch you pee."

I had known that some of his stories centered on urination, and I felt a little surprised by the request.

Almost out of character, I agreed to his request.

He followed me into the restroom, and I continued to do things out of character. I stepped out of my black skirt and put it on the sink. I then stepped out of my plain cotton white Hanes Her Way panties and stood in front of him.

His eyes were glued on my vagina, and I had known that he enjoyed dark, hairy vaginas.

He had mentioend that he liked looking on Camilla's web site at the amateur submissions of muff shots. I enjoyed the attention.

In fact, I felt very desirable, almost like a super model. Then I remembered that I still had to urinate. I really did not want him to see this, but I had already agreed, and I also did not want to back down now.

I sat down on the toilet, and I spread my legs further apart than I normally would while on the toilet.

Allan stood in silence while I urinated. I could tell he was excited, as I could see his penis enlarge.

I urinated for an uncomfortably long time. His eyes remained glued on my vagina, his eyes seeing the light golden stream of urine between my legs.

When I was done, he asked if he could wipe me dry. I declined his offer, reminding him I was married, and I considered that crossing the line.

He left the bathroom, feeling a little dejected, I am sure. I put on my panties and skirt, and I joined Allan in conversation once again.

He had small beads of perspiration on his forehead, but he did not even bring up what had just happened.

He was a perfect gentleman through the rest of the afternoon. I returned to my brother's house, and I did not meet Allan again that week. When he returned to Australia, he continued to write me as if nothing had ever happened between us.

I still consider Allan to be one of my best advocates, and I am glad that nothing else happened.

I am also glad that he got to see my vagina, the kind of vagina he dreams about, the kind of vagina he writes about.

---

I have found a new, free sex game (new to me, not new to everyone). It is called Viva-Ponata.

If you have not heard of it, you can check it out at the following link:

http://viva-ponata.com/register.php?REF=13607

If you use the link, I get credit for the referral (if you reach level 5), and I get 25 diamonds (which is a type of currency in the game).

The game is a sort of a sexual simulation game. You pick your name, you can earn money by performing various illegal acts (selling Viagra, stolen DVDs, turning tricks). And you also can enhance your appearance (which adds to your beauty, so you can get a better job, for instance). I am a fairly tame character in real life, so this allows me to let my hair down. I mean, I look forward to turning tricks – someone has to choose your ass among all the prostitutes working the streets.

I am by no means an expert at the game, but it is a fun diversion. If you want to try it, sign up (free), and write me or my online spouse. We can help you out.