Claudia hung up the phone, pulled out her journal and began writing...
God, I want her. Every time I talk to her I feel connected. Like there's finally someone out there who gets me for who I am and understands what I feel and what I want and need.
I want to meet her. I want to look into her eyes as we talk to each other. To hold her and touch her.
I want her to touch me. I want her to do to me all the things we've talked about. To taste and touch and explore my body. To show me what it's like to be worshiped and appreciated. I want her to take her time with me.
We talk about it. About meeting and what it would be like, how much we both want it. She knows I'm not ready to take that last step. I'm nervous and guilty and unsure of what this all means. But she’s patient and understanding, mindful of my fears and responsibilities.
In the meantime we satisfy ourselves with stolen conversations and shared moments of pleasure.
Today I listened as she breathed heavy in my ear. I told her what I wanted to do to her, how I wanted to take her nipple into my mouth and press my fingers into her deep warmth. Her moans urged me on and I...
Claudia quickly closed her journal and stashed it under the bed as she heard her husband pull into the driveway.