A Meeting with the perfect stranger (Part 2)
Here I am, driving a rented car at a strange city, entering a hotel, entering a hotel room, meeting a naked woman I have never seen before.
No, not yet.
Here I am, driving a rented car. And remembering all we said to each other. The photos she sent me, following suggestions, instructions, orders of mine. I want your lips. And she e-mailed me her lips. I want your ass. And she emailed me her ass. And always she managed to surprise me. With a non-obvious position to present her breasts, with colors I wouldn`t expect on pieces of underwear.
It was she who said: "things with us are always a naked woman and a fully dressed man". I was fully dressed by my words, by all the desires I expressed to her in words, words, words. And she was always naked in the pictures, in the acceptance of anything I asked her.
One of the first photos she sent me, she was in bed, a cigarette, a book, her big breasts smashed against the bed. She was drunk, she told me (and you could notice). She was ugly, she is ugly, and yet the picture, which made me think of a deliberate pastiche of a cheap dirty magazine, teased me tremendously. I wanted more from her.
I collected her photos: bathroom photos, panties photos, ass photos, surrealistic coloured photos. And with each photo the description of a sex act, the premonition of sex in the making.
I drive the rented car, I arrive at the hotel.
No, not yet.
Here I am, driving a rented car. And remembering all we said to each other. The photos she sent me, following suggestions, instructions, orders of mine. I want your lips. And she e-mailed me her lips. I want your ass. And she emailed me her ass. And always she managed to surprise me. With a non-obvious position to present her breasts, with colors I wouldn`t expect on pieces of underwear.
It was she who said: "things with us are always a naked woman and a fully dressed man". I was fully dressed by my words, by all the desires I expressed to her in words, words, words. And she was always naked in the pictures, in the acceptance of anything I asked her.
One of the first photos she sent me, she was in bed, a cigarette, a book, her big breasts smashed against the bed. She was drunk, she told me (and you could notice). She was ugly, she is ugly, and yet the picture, which made me think of a deliberate pastiche of a cheap dirty magazine, teased me tremendously. I wanted more from her.
I collected her photos: bathroom photos, panties photos, ass photos, surrealistic coloured photos. And with each photo the description of a sex act, the premonition of sex in the making.
I drive the rented car, I arrive at the hotel.