While ago I shared a little tidbit from my real life, either through e-mail or a blog entry, I can’t remember right now. Either way, a couple of days later I got an e-mail from a friend that had found my blog and had e-mailed me some nice feedback and shared a bit about herself. Nothing too personal, but enough to establish a bit of connection.
As a side note, it is interesting how the Internet has changed the meaning of the phrase, “Nothing Personal” when it comes to personal information. We are more likely to know our on-line friend’s sexual preferences, masturbation habits, kinks, hobbies, indiscretions, than we are to know their real first names.
Our deepest, darkest, most hidden secrets are posted to our blogs while we choose not to share where we live, where we grew up, where we attend church, or who we voted for.
We expose every weakness, yet refuse to divulge a phone number. So when I say, “Nothing Personal” it could mean a lot of different things.
All I shared was that, while at work, the lights went out. Our building lost power. Using my laptop’s battery and the emergency power that feeds our network within the building, I was able to work for another hour before my Internet server powered down and my laptop started to complain that it was loosing touch with the outside world. So I shut down, caught my bus, and went home.
Imagine, if you will, and I hope you will, my surprise when I got an e-mail from my friend with a story attached. She had mentioned in her notes that she liked to write but found it difficult to find the right convergence of mood and time to write erotica. I have to agree, finding time is the hardest part, but the mood has to be right as well.
The story was based on my real life power outage. She took my life and put it in the middle of what is turning in to a very erotic encounter. She has sent me parts one and two, and I’m eagerly awaiting the next part.
When I got part two and read it at my office desk, I got hard. When I finished combining them together and read it from the start, I got harder. It was so sexy to have someone writing about me. All sorts of thoughts crossed my mind, was the girl, the aggressor in the story, her? Was this her fantasy or her guess at mine? Was she the barefoot girl with the sexy lingerie under the starched white blouse? Who is she writing about when he kneels before the mysterious girl who comes in to the office in the dark seeking comfort?
Is she touching herself while she writes as I do when I read?
Does she get as wet as I get hard?
She asked me what happened when I read her stories. I admitted that I got an erection and she asked me what I did with it…
Well, silly question, silly answer, I play with it of course. I touch it through my pants at work, and if I have time, I unlock the door, close the blinds, and bring it out. I even used it to fuel the fire while getting a little hand job from my wife this morning. It was wonderfully erotic thinking about the story while being serviced in bed. It made for a very, very good morning.