Did It Really Happen?

I push her panties aside to free her beautiful cock. It rises to me, and I take it one hand and caress it softly.

I’m very proud to publish this mysterious and very erotic and romantic story by our forum member, SMC. This story is indeed very unusual, it combines romance and sex and I’m absolutely sure you’re going to like it as much as I did.

It is one of those days of drudgery, tied to the computer, working for hours, trying to write. It is not going well. I am too distracted. Perhaps things will go better if I work somewhere else? Sometimes, moving from my office and the desktop computer to the living room and the laptop helps. I decide to give it a try.

Nothing doing. I am just as distracted. Only now, away from my office upstairs, with all the reminders of work, I find it even easier to drift away from my work tasks, and I look for anything to do but work. After drifting around on the web from news site to social networking to whatever, I check my email. There is a message from an address I have never seen before: her@want-me.net. The subject line reads: “I am not spam.”

That catches my attention. Of course it is spam, I surmise, but I must admit to being impressed by the cleverness of the subject line, so instead of instantly relegating the message to the trash, I decide to look. The message content is simple: “It’s me. Click here.”

I put the cursor over the clickable line to see what will show up at the bottom of my screen, fully expecting some long string of unintelligible letters and numbers comprising a URL somewhere in one of the spam or phishing capitols of Africa or Eastern Europe. But again, I am surprised. It reads: “This is real.”

How did the spammer do that? I wonder. Now I am more than curious, and against my better judgment I click, fully expecting it to be the last time I will get any use out of my laptop computer.

What happens next is truly remarkable. On my computer screen comes a very small image, difficult to discern. I strain to make out what is in front of me. Gradually, I begin to see it clearly: the curve of a woman’s smooth, bare shoulder.

Over the next several minutes, a barrage of small images arrives on my screen. At first, they are large enough to see, but after a second or so they become tiny and find a random place on my screen. The back of a woman’s calf is followed by what I think is likely a particularly soft part of a woman’s behind. Some hair falling against a back popped up, and then a partial picture of wet lips. The images continue, one after another, all bits and pieces of a woman coming to me in a completely random order. With some, it is impossible to tell exactly what part of the body they are, because they are small and out of context. Others are definite. There are perhaps three hundred separate images, and I can tell that some are front, like the navel, and some are back, like the crack of an ass. They are scattered all over my computer screen, disconnected. And then they stop coming.

I try to move them around with the cursor, but to no avail. I check my email again. There is a new message from her@want-me.net. It reads: “Are you sure? Click here.”

I am absolutely sure, so I click. Three final images arrive. First a nipple, and then another. Finally, two eyes. Even out of context, I can see that they are smiling.

Still, though, I cannot move the images on my screen. I check my mail again, and there is another message: “Now I am complete. Are you ready? Click here.”

I don’t think I’ve ever moved my cursor so quickly. I click. The hundreds of tiny image files on my desktop begin to whirl around. As the seconds go by, they begin to gather together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, beginning at the feet and moving up a pair of smooth, silk legs. But it isn’t a static picture. As the pieces connect, the larger image they are creating begins to move, rotate even, and I see both the front and back of those legs. The picture expands to the top of the legs, and I am facing a beautiful derriere that is ever so slightly arched in the air. The body turns, but she seems to be clenching her legs together, not offering me as clear a view as the rear. It doesn’t matter to my arousal, which is in full gear.

The images continue to swirl about, and I see a full back, with hair falling down it erotically, and a full torso, with two enticingly erect nipples. My cock is nearly poking through my pants. And then, quickly, the entire picture comes into view. As it turns from back to front, I see a beautiful woman. While I don’t think I know her, she looks oddly familiar. She looks at me from the screen with deep, knowing eyes.

There is a sudden blinding flash of light, and what seems like an explosion. I can see nothing, but it feels as if I am hurtling through space at a rapid speed. Then, suddenly, everything is calm. A woman’s voice says: “Open your eyes.”

The woman from the computer screen is sitting next to me on the couch. She is dressed in a simple black dress that barely covers her. The living room has been transformed; it is now softly lit with candles. The air has an aroma of flowers and fresh spring rain. I can hear some quiet music beneath everything. There is a bottle of red wine and two glasses on the table.

“Do you want to kiss me?” she asks.

I take her in my arms, running my hands over her shoulders and back as our lips meet. We tremble together as we embrace, our tongues dancing together. Then she breaks our kiss and whispers a question in my ear: “Do you know me now?” She then seductively darts her tongue quickly in and out of that ear, sending a chill down my spine and into my hardness.

I ponder her question even as I continue to hold her and we kiss again. I know her, I think, but yet I am so uncertain. She begins to take my shirt off as we continue to caress and kiss. I break the kiss for a moment and gently pull her dress down to run my lips and then my tongue over first one nipple, and then the other. She touches my leg and gently moves her hand up to run her fingers lightly over the bulge between my legs, underneath my pants. This makes me moan.

She whispers again in my ear. “You must be certain. This changes everything. There is no going back.” And then she clutches my now-harder cock through my pants.

I continue to concentrate on her nipples, pulling at them gently and rolling them between my fingers. I use my thumbs to rub the tips in slow circles. Her head falls back, and her breath becomes to come in steamy gasps. She pushes herself against me and we fall back on the couch. She is atop me, and pressing against my groin. There is something there that feels unfamiliar, but I am too aroused to think any more about it. Instead, I concentrate on her beautiful tits for a while as she kisses my neck and fumbles to get my pants open despite being on top of me. Soon, though, I leave my mouth and one hand to concentrate on one nipple while I move my other hand down to help her. Along the way, I rub and caress every inch of her I can reach, and I feel a bulge like mine on her.

Now she is moaning, and she moves her legs and opens her thighs. Together, we sit up, while in an embrace. I pull away and she remains on the couch, seated. She is so beautiful. She looks like no woman I have ever seen before. No picture I have looked at comes close. And yet, her beauty is completely unconventional. It is not that of a supermodel, or the girl next door, or does it fall into any of the other typical categories society has set before us. Her beauty is unique. I sense something of myself in her beauty, as if we share something that creates an inner beauty only I can comprehend. I wonder whether what I see on the outside of her is unique to my mind’s eye. I wonder whether any other guy would see her beauty the way I am seeing it, or even see it as beauty. But I don’t care. Here she is.

I begin to speak, but she puts her finger to my lips and quiets me. “Take off my dress, ” she instructs me, and so I get on my knees in front of her and begin to pull it down the rest of the way. Her beautiful tits, with nipples wet from my mouth, are before me. She has on lovely lace panties that contrast with her delicious skin. I move to pull them aside and I discover that the bulge I felt earlier is, indeed, a cock. I feel my own leak.

She notices that I have noticed. “Do you want me?” she asks again.

My heart is pounding. In a second, I look around the room. The soft candlelight and music create an aura of romance. The music, which I cannot identify but that creates a perfect mood, ebbs and flows. I think quickly, and answer. “Would you like some wine?”

The beautiful woman before me smiles and whispers, “That is the correct response to my question, for now.” She pulls me to her and kisses me again, and then sits back comfortably on the couch. I pour two glasses of wine and sit next to her. She is naked, but for the lace panties. I am partially undressed, disheveled. We look deeply into each other’s eyes.

“I’ve been waiting to come see you, ” she says, “ever since the first time we met. Do you remember?”

It is beginning to come back to me. “You were at the museum a few weeks ago, right?”

“Yes, that was me.”

Several weeks ago, I took some time off from work to treat myself to an afternoon at the fine arts museum. I found myself mesmerized by an abstract expressionist painting, and stood staring at it for what seemed like an eternity. A beautiful woman came and stood next to me and began to speak to me. She asked me what I saw, and I told her that it was changing with every minute. She laughed and told me that that was the story of her life. Confused, I asked her what she meant, and she told me that sometimes what we think we see is not what we are truly seeing, and sometimes what we are truly seeing is something that we are afraid to see, and sometimes what we are afraid to see is the very thing we most want to see. I asked her whether she was playing hooky from a philosophy class at the nearby university.

That afternoon, we looked at a number of abstract expressionist paintings together in that particular gallery room of the museum. Our discussion was engrossing. There was something special, something different about her. I was captivated. And then she got a text message and, in a flash, declared that she had to leave right away. I never got her name, but I went back to the museum the next day and asked the guard in that room whether he remembered her and anything about her. He told me she had spoken briefly to him and said she was visiting from out of town. That sealed it. I guess it was my disappointment and the realization that I would probably never see her again that made her face begin to fade from my memory.

Now she sits next to me, half-naked, with a glass of wine in her hand and arousal between her legs. It is something I have longed for.

We talk and laugh and find ourselves emphasizing the things we say with caresses. She puts down her empty glass and tells me I have passed the test.

“What test is that?” I ask.

“I am a special woman, ” she answers. “Remember the paintings we looked at? I can only be with someone who can see beyond the obvious, and see who I really am. I have no desire to be a stop on a tour. I want to be aroused by ideas, by romance, and by truth, just as much as I am aroused by the animal instinct that is in me as in every human.”

“We are back in philosophy class, ” I joke. But then I turn serious. “You are special. I have been looking for you.”

She pulls me to her lips again and we kiss. Then she whispers: “Show me.”

I get on my knees between her spread legs. Although we have never been together, I know this is something she loves. I can see how hard she has become inside her panties. I push them aside to free her beautiful cock. It rises to me, and I take it one hand and caress it softly. I have never done this before, but I am guided by what I know feels good to me. She gasps.

I am harder from this than I have ever been before. With my other hand, I struggle to remove my pants. It is difficult to do with one hand, but I succeed. I pull my briefs down and free myself. I am fully naked on my knees. I feel worshipful of her beauty, and I show her. I kiss her cock, my first cock, and then I gently run my tongue up and down her. It is larger than my own. I look up into her eyes for a signal that I am doing the right thing. She smiles and kisses me from that distance.

With one hand on her, I take her cock and put it in my mouth. Again, this is my first time, but her reaction seems to tell me that I am doing it right. As she gets wetter and wetter from my mouth, I take her deeper and deeper. I am loving this. What a fabulous feeling. What a beautiful taste. I reach up with my other hand to caress a nipple. After a moment, she takes that hand and sucks on one of my fingers. Pushing my hand down, she makes it clear that I am supposed to stick that moistened finger in my own ass. I will do anything she wants.

My own hard cock is leaking. I can feel the precum dripping down from it, but I ignore the attention it calls out for to concentrate on her. This is what I want. As I finger myself from behind, I continue to worship her cock. I can feel it growing in my mouth. I know what that means. I am not afraid. I want the sweet juice. I want to drink it. I want to show her that I am for real, that this is what I really want. I want her to fill my mouth with her cum and know that as I drink it I am fully aware that we are sharing everything, not just some bodily fluid. I want her to know that what we are doing now is yet another expression of the connection that we made when we first met, and that we will continue to connect in other ways that are not about sex.

She continues to grow in my mouth. I want to kiss her, though, so I rise from my knees slightly and bring myself to her lips. “I love the way you taste, ” I tell her. “Thank you for coming back to me.” She smiles as I put my tongue in her mouth. A moment passes, and she pushes my head back to between her legs.

I take up where I left off, and it is only another few moments before I hear her breathing change. She clutches the cover on the couch. With her cock filling my mouth, I smile, because I know that I cannot possibly be doing this that well. But she, in all her beauty, is encouraging me.

Suddenly, her beautiful cock begins to unload a delicious liquid in my mouth. I drink it greedily, but not every drop. As it continues to spurt, I feel myself cum, too. I have never done so without direct stimulation, but it is happening now. I feel like a teenager about to have sex for the first time, like a premature ejaculation. But I don’t care. As her cumming begins to subside, I use my hand to caress her beautiful, and now empty, balls. I then rise off my knees, bring my mouth to her lips, and kiss her passionately. We share the bit of her cum that I saved for this moment. It makes my lips glisten and tingle. I am in spent, and I am in love.

We collapse in each other’s arms on the couch. She whispers in my ear that she must leave.

“How did you even get here?” I ask.

“I am magic, ” she answers. “Because you believed, I could be here.”

“Will I see you again?” I ask.

“Be at the museum tomorrow afternoon, ” she says. “Meet me in the same gallery. We have other things to look at, and more ideas to pursue.”

“I will be there. I cannot think of anyplace I’d rather be.”

“Don’t be so sure, ” she replies. “You have to give yourself to the moment. And there will be another moment like this. There is someplace else I’d like to put myself.”

I feel my entire body shudder in pleasure at the thought. I close my eyes for a moment, and she is gone. I am fully dressed. The laptop screen has my work on it. The candles are gone, and there is no music playing. But there, on the table, I notice a single wine glass, with a slight stain of lipstick on it.

5 thoughts on “Did It Really Happen?”

  1. Wow, what a beautiful story. Exciting, enticing, and well worth the read. I have felt similarly as Marissa when my boyfriend and I are in our passionate moments. Wonderfully well written!!

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