First Touch
Copyright, 2001, [email protected]
Lisa heard the sound of the front
door knob turning and opening. She stopped the gentle ministrations her
middle finger had been making to her clitoris. She looked at her bedroom
clock across the room on her dresser. Its electrically-illuminated red
letters blared "10:00." Right on time, she thought. No trouble, obviously,
finding the key she'd left resting inside a hanging planter on the stoop.
Lisa wasn't certain he'd come. But just planning for it had put her on
edge all day. She heard the door close. She
listened more. Her two-story townhouse was completely silent, windows all
closed, notwithstanding an unusually warm autumn evening. All Lisa could
hear was her own breathing, and the tick of a clock downstairs in the
living room. Lisa felt a sudden chill run
through her. She was tempted to pull the covers over herself, to warm her
naked body, but she knew that wasn't was she had agreed to do; agreed with
man whose footsteps came in slow march up the stairs. Her mind wandered .
. . remembering . . .
"No, not really," she aimlessly typed
back. It had been a fiew weeks after she got her account that she had
wandered aimlessly into the 'chat' area. A night of looking around
confirmed what she had once read; it was part community, part surreal
sexual bazaar. Lisa wasn't prudish. But neither was she accustomed to the
blatant, matter-of-fact way the topic of sex was promoted. "I don't normally just approach people
this way,' he typed apologetically. Lisa smiled to herself. The line had a
bit of a 'what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this feel,'
but it struck the right chord. Most of the others came off like the
hormone-crazed frat boys of her college days." Lisa was normally guarded about her
life. She had a few close 'girl friends' that were her confidants. But it
had been 9 years since she had first met her husband, Mike. Discussing her
life with another man had always seemed out of the question. But with
Steve it seemed to come effortlessly. Maybe it was the medium, which was
faceless. Maybe she just had the need to connect again with
someone. It started innocently. He was kind to
let her ramble, which she was beginning to do more with each conversation.
No detail seemed to mundane for him, from her routine as a small office
manager, to her life growing up in the model midwestern family of 6, to
the collection of cat artwork that pervaded her townhouse.
Steve's life was as mundane when put
in type as was hers, she thought. But, oh, his wit! He made her laugh.
Lisa hadn't done much laughing in a long while. The hours sped
by. It wasn't until well into their third
discussion that they discovered the coincidence that they lived a scant 30
miles apart. "Can I plead the 5th?" she typed in
response. "Oh? That good, eh? :) " Lisa had been
puzzled at first by the online chat 'symbols.' She liked the ' :) ' symbol
("a 'smile' turned sideways" someone had politely explained to her). It
was helpful when used by Steve, whose dry humor might otherwise be
mistaken for sarcasm. "OK, I admit, you caught me
unprepared. I had to stall," Lisa wrote. "Why don't you go first? No,
wait! . . . let me guess. You and 2 women together." "Well . . . Not that I'd turn down the
offer. But after all these years I doubt it will happen, so I've moved it
down the list for practical reasons.. Or are you offering? ;) " Steve
said, adding the chat sign for a 'wink.' "Sorry, guy. Hate to disappoint, but I
don't have any friends to share you with. ;) " Lisa quipped, adding the
wink sign herself. Lisa had no sooner hit 'send' when she gasped. She
hastily started to add "That didn't come out right. I didn't mean . . "
but his reply cut her off. "Oh, that's fine, I'm happy to have
you alone." Lisa could imagine him smiling. She'd set herself up on that
one. Score one point for Steve, she thought. Lisa didn't know whether to
look . . or look away. Steve's breathing was audible in the stillness. She
wanted to speak, but the right words escaped her. She heard the movement
of his hands . . the clink of a belt buckle coming undone . . . the
muffled snap of pants being undone . . "Spontaneous." The word
echoed in her mind. "Go on . . I can take it." Lisa was
enjoying this exchange, feeling emboldened by the mask which the computer
monitor afforded her. "Maybe it's a reaction to the caution
of the 90's . . . but . . I think of . . well . . spontaneous
things." "What do you mean 'spontaneous'?" Lisa
typed. "Sexual encounters with strangers.
Random, spur-of-the-moment sex. Very little of the courtship
games." Lisa paused. She wondered if the delay
seemed noticeable. "Do you ever fantasize about such
things, Lisa?" he asked without waiting longer for her turn to
reply. Lisa hesitated more. She recalled the
fantasies which had sprouted over the years as her marriage deteriorated.
A stranger . an encounter. . . escape . . pleasure. . . Lisa's heart raced
just recalling those moments she'd spent alone in her
dreams. "I used to imagine sunning on a beach
. . . warm sun . . gentle breeze . . alone . . .or so I think. Till the
proverbial handsome stranger comes by . . we chat for a while . . . he
offers to add some lotion to my back . . the touches progress . . . " she
wrote to him. "It's cliched, I know. But I like it. :)
" "Hmmm," she typed as she pondered. "I
guess that first moment of joining-- body and soul-- with the mystery man.
The sense of surrender, the forbidden." "Yes, quite forbidden. And very
spontaneous." "Hard to get more spontaneous than
that I would think," she smiled. "What if I just skipped the hello's
and the introductory chat?" Lisa meant to joke, but her stomach was
tingling. "What if . . . . . . .
." Lisa finally reached her arms
around him, her hands caressing his back, moving to his shoulders, as
Steve began to find his rhythm inside her. She hungrily consumed him, her
mind absorbing all the data about his body her senses could draw
in. His body moved with increasing
tempo, the former stillness of the room now audible with the sounds of his
movement and her wetness. Breaths turned to gasps, gasps turned to moans,
as their voices were revealed to each other, not in speech, but in the
primordial communication of pleasure. Lisa moaned as wave built upon wave
within her. She was lost in time; suspended outside reality. Lisa felt his arms wrap around
her, hips pounding with raw power straight down into her. She pulled her
legs up, feet pointed at the skylights above, ready to take his orgasm.
Steve came with a rough, hoarse moan, his stocky frame tensing as he
pushed one last time deep into her. There he lingered, chest heaving along
with hers . . subsiding. After what seemed minutes, he slowly withdrew
himself from her, lowering her leg and rolling to her side. Lisa reached over and flipped on
the tiny reading lamp on her night stand. She was suddenly embarrassed to
turn to him. She closed her eyes and laid back. Finally, she opened one
eye to see Steve looking down at an angle towards her. "A pleasure finally to meet you,
Lisa," he smiled, extending his hand as if to greet her. She touched his hand with a giggle
and sigh, then reached and stroked his face. "Yes, it's nice to meet you,
too."
Hi, are you busy?" he typed. Lisa saw the "Instant Message"
window open on her monitor. At least this one's polite, she thought. She
had gotten an America Online account a few months after her divorce was
finalized. One of those 'trial CD's' showed up in her mailbox one day. She
wasn't allowed to use the office e-mail and Internet access for anything
personal. Why not? she figured.
It seemed like an eternity to
Lisa as he stepped his way to the second floor. She resisted the
continuous temptation to cover herself. Her bedroom was near total
darkness, save for the bit of light that came through the closed curtain .
. . and the light from the clock. But she had never felt more exposed in
her life.
His
name was Steve, Lisa soon learned. Age 37. Slightly older than her 33
years. Divorced long ago. A network engineer. And able to type
a complete sentence, a
feature she found lacking in most of the men online.
Lisa saw Steve's shadow
appear in the doorway to her bedroom. She took a slow quiet breath, trying
to stem the anxiety beginning to overtake her. Her thoughts raced . . .
disjointedly . . randomly . . ."can he see me ? should I have put on
music ?" A line from an old David Byrne tune danced in her head .
. "you may find yourself asking . . . 'Self . . . how did I get here'"? .
. . Lisa
almost had to suppress a giggle.
"So what's your favorite sex fantasy?"
Lisa's heart skipped when reading those words. In the endless discussions
with Steve on the computer, the subject of sex had been curiously absent.
Or was the proper term' avoided?'
He walked
slowly, awkwardly, to the foot of her bed. Lisa wondered if his eyes had
even yet adjusted to the darkness.
"But I'm sure a faceless woman on
the computer is now suddenly your favorite fantasy," Lisa wrote, hoping
the facetious tone came through. "C'mon, Steve, I'm still waiting to hear
your burning fantasy."
"It'll sound sorta cheap . . " he
responded.
Lisa had
observed the shadowy motions. She knew he was now naked at the foot of her
bed. A dark outline in her room. The darkness was part friend, cloaking
her anxiety, and part tormenter, accentuating the sense of the unknown.
She felt the bed move, first by her feet as he climbed on, then beside
her, as his hand pressed down near to her shoulders to support
himself.
"So what image in that fantasy is the most
intense?" he probed. "What moment brings the most
pleasure?"
The first
touch came almost imperceptibly, the indirect sensation of her outer pubic
hairs being grazed. Lisa moved her legs, parting her knees ever slightly
more . . .
"Perhaps. But what if you just
skipped the suntan lotion? That'd be even more spontaneous," he
said.
The touch
blossomed as she felt the head of his cock search, then part the folds of
her labia. Steve paused for what seemed an eternity. Lisa fought the urge
to arch her back. Her mind screamed for more. He pressed down, the head of
his cock entering her, then the ever-widening shaft following, moving
along the layer of moisture her finger had happily created minutes before.
Both of them shuddered together.