5 comments/ 4848 views/ 1 favorites Dear Dick By: DreamerKitty February 12, 2015 Dear Sir, It has been a rocky road, though pampered with many hours and even days of smooth cruising. In a car, on a bed, on a floor...the moments have been wonderful and exciting. The moments were special. We began as ultimate intimidated strangers in one another's company. the introduction on my part was superficial because I already knew so much about you...but you evidently knew nothing of me. That was alright. I met your wife. Now, I meet you. Next, I meet your story. Troubled times with your wife, your family. But, you did not share any of it with me. I sat in the sidelines and waited. You were an amazing turn on for me from day one. From the moment we met, I spent my hours wet. Thankfully, I was not born a man, as my erection wood have given me away at the start of every day we worked beside one another. Rather my pussy continued to indicate to me how intensely I felt for you. Several days working with you, side by side, made me realize I was attracted. It was not only a physical observatory attraction, it was emotional as well. Chivalry always stimulates my fires within and you were the epitome of chivalrous. Deep, dark, attractive man in every sense. I was sold. Each day after a hard, sweaty day of being at your side, giving you a screw every time you asked for a screw, I traveled home alone...thinking back to the moments, the scent of you, the feel of your knee hitting mine during lunch when it was so benign...and my hand would inevitably land in my lap with a finger or two pressing and rubbing against my clit. We had some majorly special moments that were to remain secret. Those secrets still remain true...nobody knows how intense the orgasms were as you knelt before me and pressed your tongue between my lips and fluttered my clit until I was stepping backwards to a stiff surface where I could lean and let it all go under your spell. The orgasm in that small room was intense. My nipples had never felt the miracle of what you delivered that very first time. We stood face to face. Your hand cupped and stroked my jaw, my cheek, my hair behind my ear...as you pulled me into a kiss. I melted and I am wet writing about that very moment with you. I was pressed, back against the wall. heat rushing through my body. Moisture pressing through my lower lips to my panties. Between kisses, your hand inched up my shorts and you asked permission to touch me. I refused you. You asked again in the most sensual tone. I broke another kiss to tell you no. A hand on my breast needed no invitation and no additional permission for the amazingly stimulating feel. the kisses intensified in the absence of your being allowed to feel my pussy. the tension grew... But the next time you were here, it began where we left off and I allowed you the time to feel the "gift" to you from between my legs. We danced in circles with a bit of a tease all the while. Your hand touched my pussy and a thrill beyond words, beyond a normal gasp filled me. Were I ever able to capture that feeling for future use there would no longer be need for my bag of toys from some store in new england! We played and stroked until you made me cum. You kissed me harder as you felt my temperature rise. Pressing my nipples against you while you kissed me as the orgasm stirred the rest of my body was a full indication that you were making me cum. With the consideration that other men could not, on repeated attempts make me feel so full and complete and ecstatic...you brought me so perfectly to such an incredible orgasm. Fair action being fair, you allowed me - at my specified request - to go down on you. Not being one to relinquish control to anyone, it was a bit of a tangle at your groin to see who would be the one to open your button and even to unzip your jeans. The kissing ensued as you pressed my shoulders until I let my knees bend. slowly and methodically, as you prefer so well, I lowered myself to the floor. Soon enough, my mouth was even with your cock which you had graciously removed from your pants for me. As soon as my lips encircled your engorged head, you pulled at the back of my head and shoved yourself to the back of my mouth. had you not forced so hard, there is a strong chance I'd have taken you in even farther. We shall never know. You were slowly and naively being alerted to my sexual prowess and desires, but opted out of listening to all I was trying to share. Perhaps you needed to be slapped around a bit and tethered until you learned to be submissive as you wish I would have become in this moment. If I wanted to take all of your cock into my mouth and maybe even down my throat, you would have been best to leave me to a mission where I could succeed. Instead, you decided to be the dominant one. You knelt in front of me and helped yourself to a mouthful of my clit. The feeling of your knowing tongue as it danced around my pussy as I dripped at you being there made me weak in the knees. We silently agreed to let you continue. When my orgasm began, you kept me pressed against the wall and lifted my leg over your shoulder. I gave every muscle to you at that moment. A gasp was followed up with a yelping moan containing your name. It turned you on and made you dive further into my garden. As my knee weakened enough to lower me to a kneeling position with a leg still draped over your shoulder, you helped me to my back on the floor. As I absorbed the last of you eating me to an orgasm, we rolled me over to my back and you crept up along my body to ease your elongated manhood to my mouth. There was no way i'd be able to resist you as you offered your hard cock to my now-panting mouth. We continued. But, before you placed your head on my lower lip, I grabbed hold of the shaft and looked up along your body at your wanting eyes. "May I?" "Yes". I took you in and proceeded to suck as I knew best. Weeks later, I wonder whether you remember how it all felt. but I'd bet you never feel it again quite the same. Sincerely yours, Dreamer Kitty Dear Dickhead Dear Dickhead, I wanted to write you this letter of thanks for the most memorable; if not the most unique blind date experience I have had in my entire socially depressed life. The wonderment of it all began the moment you drove up in your rent-a-wreck car??? {I'm sorry, but I'm not familiar with recognizing the models the car manufacturers deemed "losers" and discontinued after their first year's assembly line run}. Pulling up to the curb with the exhaust spewing enough pollution into the air to kill off all plant life in the neighborhood didn't help me recognize what you were driving, either. I couldn't see clearly through the fallout, but I DID manage to find it as I followed the sound of the horn you incessantly were leaning on. I thank you, as do all the neighbors within a three block radius, for the air raid alert. FIRST IMPRESSIONS LAST –yours certainly will be branded into my memory banks well beyond my retirement years. I truly believe our date started off "with a bang" {or was that the tailpipe problem again?} as you tromped on the accelerator and peeled away leaving half the rubber of the tires embedded in the street for miles. That was very clever of you actually. In that way, if I was to get drunk {as were your intentions from the start}, and I couldn't direct us back to my house after our night on the town, you would be able to retrace your steps – like Hansel and Gretel dropping the trail of breadcrumbs in the forest- and safely and politely dump me at my front door. ALWAYS THINK AHEAD – that's my motto! As you drove warp speed through the rush hour traffic – weaving – no, more like crocheting – in, out, around, and almost through eighteen wheelers, I must confess to you I was not paying attention to your futile efforts at conversation. I wasn't hanging onto your every word, but onto the dashboard for precious life, since not only were you obviously trying out for your stealth pilot license in your let's play make believe world, but having the top down on the car??? with the wind roaring through my hair at cyclonic speeds and the radio cranked at upper atmospheric decibels, made it just a tad bit difficult to hear you. I apologize for my ineptness to do several things at once - keeping a vise-like grip onto the dash, gulping air down into my lungs for survival, and savoring the Rhode's scholar level of oral exchange I am positive you attempted with me. For these brash acts of selfishness in my will to live, I am truly sorry. I have to admit, though, it was very thoughtful of you to have gone to all the trouble getting advance-seating movie tickets for what I know was a well thought out choice for our mutual visual enjoyment: "Mean People Suck - Nice People Swallow". I can't begin to tell you how much I learned from that triple X flick! The film was produced as an educational tool, I gather, judging from all the men in the theater mimicking what the porno hunks were doing on the screen. I still had some audio difficulties, though, since I missed some of the dialogue through the moans and groans of the male patrons. I take the confident liberty to say "male", as I remember distinctly I was the only woman in the entire theater – imagine that! And, once again, I have YOU to thank for making me feel like one in a million – well, at least one in 15 or so. Your obvious enthusiasm for the back alley epic left a lasting impression on me, too. I stole a glance to my left and saw you diligent in the pursuit of happiness in your own perverse way. Nice going – or should I say, nice CUMming!!! If I were grading your cumshots {and actually, I was} and "10" was the highest score, I would give you a "9" – taking off one point for poor aim {you really should have cleaned up the back of the seat in front of you before we left}. Remember to FOCUS ON THE TASK AT HAND – or, should I say, IN hand, next time to earn a perfect score. Anyway, congrats on a {hand} job well done!!! Our dream date continued as we climbed back into your car??? and headed off to dinner – a grimy, greasy spoon that hadn't seen a mop, dust rag, or window cleaner in as many years as was the owner of the dive- a crusty, musty old codger that was, naturally, the cook and bottle washer – no, nix the bottle washer title; we've already established there was nothing washed in the dump. To be honest, I had pictured in my mind a quiet, romantic dinner by candlelight; some wine, maybe a little dancing to live entertainment. As it were, we conceded to a naked light bulb hanging dangerously close to the top of our heads, beer that was so flat it rivaled the terrain of The Great Plains, and music? Well...the music MAY have been alright; if not for the static emitting from the plastic radio that sat precariously on a shelf above a single door marked, "The Shitter" – let's not even go there. As I choked down something that vaguely resembled – uh, uhmm, well, let's call it "Mystery Misery" – my intestines will vouch for the nickname – I felt something crawling up my skirt. For a second, I thought it may be a thousand legged pet the owner kept to guard the place from unwanted guests - like the health inspector, for instance. Then I realized it was your hand – the hand you hadn't washed since its rendezvous with your cock - groping up the inside of my thigh; hangnails snagging my pantyhose every inch of the way. My reaction to your suave and sophisticated moves was to leap out of my crumb-laden seat and bolt for the door marked – well, let's not even go there. Once I recovered from my vomiting session, { and the shocking horror of what lay behind door " number one"}, I staggered back to our table, threw some money down on it to pay for the privilege of the food poisoning assault, and hurried out the rusty, fly inhabited screen door - out to your car??? where I didn't bother to take the time to open its door. I simply dove over it; bouncing my face off the back seat that was filled with dirty clothes {heading to the laundromat were we?}- cigarette butts, hard core porn magazines, and... condoms...condoms that were – thank the good Lord and all the Saints above! - unused. You were right on my heels {or up my skirt} by that time, coming to the rescue of your damsel in distress – with a rumpled, soiled tissue that you pulled out of your pocket to wipe away the soot of the charcoal filters of your tobacco-strewn car???- grunge that now highlighted my face. As I slowly recuperated from the back seat trauma, I settled down once more in the passenger seat of the car??? – attempting to regain my composure- and my sanity – before offering you my first-born child in exchange for taking me immediately – if not sooner than that – HOME – and cremating my number with your overused lighter on the way back there as well. You started the car??? engine up; the sludge-like substance again shot out of the tailpipe, and you put the pedal to the metal – leaving the remainder of the rubber of the tires in the culinary nightmare's dirt parking lot. Nothing short of a total colostomy – without anesthesia – could make me feel worse than I felt at that very moment – I was dead-on sure of that. NOTHING. I was dead-on wrong. TOTALLY. It was at that moment you put your arm tenderly around me; gently leaning me toward you so that my wracked and tortured body rested up against your side, and as you so carefully leaned into me, I heard you softly say, "How about a blow job?" That was it!!! I had, in just one evening, been in a life threatening heap of a car??? , been embarrassed and humiliated to the hilt as the sole female at a self cock stroking commune at a porno flick, been exposed to dysentery, pinworms {judging from the toilet seat in the let's- not- go- there- room}, heartburn, wind burn, sunburn, and last, but certainly not least – subjected to this degrading, perverted, debased, sick twist request!!! One thing's for sure, dude – you have some balls! – HUGE ones at that! Rather than going for the jugular and pleading temporary insanity, I surprised both you AND me – remember? - by turning to you and calmly saying what had always been so logical to me: "Why do people call it a blow job? I have yet to "blow" on, in, over, under, or around anything in the southern regions of a man's body, and if I ever considered it a "job", I would resign my position – NOT give two week's notice, and let the requesting party find himself a person that truly enjoyed "giving head". I always found that term to be user friendly – because I always gave of my own free will, and I gave that erotic pleasure to his "lower" head – allowing his "upper" head to enjoy it, too. Soooo, in reply to your filthy, obscene, disgusting question, the answer is NO. NOPE. NEVER. NADA. UH UH. NOT A CHANCE." After listening to my polite decline of your gracious invitation to explore your genitals with my tongue, I was surprised you didn't leave me off at the curb. But you actually walked me to my front door; waiting there long enough for me to rifle through my purse to find my key. I appreciate the fact you did that,{actually shocked} and that you made no attempt to do more than just kiss me on my cheek, and tell me you had a wonderful time, and even mention you would be honored to have the pleasure of my company on another evening. I close this "thank you for all you've done" letter now, trusting I have made myself perfectly clear in that I do not give "blow jobs", and certainly not on the first date – or the second. But... if you can promise me we can go to a movie I select, and dinner at MY favorite little hangout, I will be honored to have the pleasure of YOUR company on another evening. I think. Never Forever Yours, Me PS. Give me a call – you still have my number. Oh, and I'll pick you up in MY car. Dear Dildo Maker The apparent links contained herein are not real and don't connect to anything. ***** From: SusanJones@hornyhotty.cum To: ComplaintDept@DildoDelights.cum Dear Complaint Department: I have a complaint about you latest model sex toy, the Palooka, or something like that. When I use it, I get it all wet and can hardly hang onto it, especially when I am close to coming. Is there something I can do about this problem? From: ComplaintDept@DildoDelights.cum To: SusanJones@hornyhotty.cum Dear Susan Jones: We here at Dildo Delights are dismayed to hear you are not completely satisfied with The Big Bazooka, the latest in our outstanding line of life-like sex toys. First, as you probably know already, the wetness you mention is a normal response to sexual arousal brought about by this amazing toy and will help you to enjoy your Dildo Delight experience even more. As for the other part of your problem, our multi-talented research department has been working hard on the problem you describe and they have come up with a solution. We now offer, for sale at better sex shops everywhere, a knurled handle which fits snugly on your Big Bazooka. Even during the multiple wild climaxes which will be brought about through use of one of these dildos or any of the other Dildo Delight products, you will be able to retain a firm grip on the toy and revel in the incredible carnal pleasures. From: SusanJones@hornyhotty.cum To: ComplaintDept@DildoDelights.cum Dear Dildo Delights, I bought the knurled handle, and it does help, at least for a few minutes. The problem is that after that time, my legs are kicking in the air while I rock from side to side on my ass and, even with the knurled handle, I knock the toy loose from my hand and it goes flying out of my pussy and across the room. I end up being sexually frustrated and the wallpaper in my bedroom has become badly stained. Do you have any further solution to my problem? From: ComplaintDept@DildoDelights.cum To: SusanJones@hornyhotty.cum Dear Ms. Jones, Did you get the wrist strap that attaches to the knurled handle? That would solve your problem because, even when you get quite active while pleasuring yourself with one of our fine dildos, you would not lose control of the toy. I am instructing our marketing department to send you one with our compliments. From: SusanJones@hornyhotty.cum To: ComplaintDept@DildoDelights.cum Thank you for sending me the wrist strap. It did help except when I am getting close to coming, I thrash around on my bed and tend to flail the mattress with my arms and, when I do that, I yank the dildo out of my pussy. I have been able to grab it right away and shove it back where it belongs but I did lose something from my orgasm. From: ComplaintDept@DildoDelights.cum To: SusanJones@hornyhotty.cum Dear Sue, It sounds like you are such a sensuous woman that what you need is a horny boyfriend or several of them, with the right equipment, such as the ten inch schlong I have hanging between my legs. Except it's usually sticking out, like it is right now, rather than hanging out. I have always heard a real cock wielded by a man who knows what he's doing is much better than any toy, even one made by Dildo Delights. That would be my personal suggestion as a way to alleviate your problems. JimMalone@DildoDelights.cum From: SusanJones@hornyhotty.cum To: JimMalone@DildoDelights.cum Hi, Jimmy, I know the real thing, either a cock or a tongue is a lot better than a toy. The problem is finding a man or some men who want to eat my pussy or fuck me or, preferably, both. I have found a few guys who were fun in bed but mostly when I hit on somebody, he gets all flustered and tongue-tied and ends up running away. I talked to my shrink last month and he told me they were afraid of me or they thought they weren't good enough for me or something else like that. In between copping some feels that I let him have, the shrink said guys see my long red hair, green eyes and creamy skin with the freckles and my big tits and round ass and they tell me they have to do something else. I think he might have something there. After our session ended, he canceled the rest of his appointments for the day and we got it on together on the sofa in his office. It was pretty good and I came four times but then he had to leave, even though he could hardly walk, and hasn't answered by phone calls since. Do you think it was something I said? I can get pretty loud when I'm coming. From: JimMalone@DildoDelights.cum To: SusanJones@hornyhotty.cum Hi, Susie, I see by your address you live no more than a few miles from me. A while ago, I mentioned my ten inch schlong. It gets even bigger than that when it is fully erect, such as it is now from thinking about you. I believe I have what you need and I know you have what I need. How about I come over to see you on Friday night after work and we can spend all weekend finding out for sure. After that, we can throw away that stupid dildo because you won't need it anymore. Jim From: SusanJones@hornyhotty.cum To: JimMalone@DildoDelights.cum Hi, Jimmy, I was afraid you'd never ask. See you on Friday.