0 comments/ 9416 views/ 1 favorites The One By: alwaysdying Brian slowly closed the door, shutting out the red glow from the tail lights of Megan's rapidly retreating car. It had been a wonderful night of "watching movies" as they liked to put it. In reality it was an excuse to rent a movie that neither really wanted to see and make out for 2 hours in a dark room. And that's all it had been...Making out. As the door clicked shut, Brian reflected that just making out was OK. The two of them had been together for only about 3 weeks, and he was not about to push her into doing anything that she was not ready for. Megan was still a virgin, and from a very conservative Christian family. Brian was quite content to wait until she was ready to go any farther. Brian sighed as he looked down. Apparently his body was not as content to wait as his heart was, as was evident from the bulge protruding from his pants. Brian leaned against the doorframe. He could still imagine the scent of her blonde hair falling around his face, the feel of her soft lips on his. He could still taste her skin, remembering how smooth her neck had been, how much fun it had been to nibble on her ears and feel her whole body quiver with pleasure... Brian opened his eyes...this line of thought was certainly not helping the ache in his groin. He turned away from the door, quickly walking back to his room and shutting his bedroom door. Time to take care of this problem... He quickly removed his clothes, getting his secret bottle of hand lotion out of the bottom dresser drawer. Lying back on his bed, Brain once again brought to mind images of Megan... She was smiling seductively down at him, her hair falling around her face and tickling his chest, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She was kneeling next to him on the bed, slowly dragging her fingers down his chest, softly caressing his stomach, and inching her hand toward his waiting cock... Brian gasped and snapped back to reality as the cold lotion came into contact with his hot member. He slowly rubbed it all over his cock, dragging his fingernails over the tender skin and sighing with pleasure. He wrapped his hand around his shaft and, smiling, once again closed his eyes... Megan's right hand moved methodically up and down Brian's erect cock. She leaned down to kiss him, her lips slightly parting as their tongues met. She playfully flicked his tongue with her own, while at the same time running her fingernails down the length of his cock, enjoying the moan of pleasure that escaped his hungrily kissing lips. She loved watching the expressions that he made, how they changed with every different way she stroked and touched him. She enjoyed being the source of his pleasure, hearing his soft moans as her hand slowly slid up and down his lubricated length. Her left hand moved in to replace her right in the stroking motion, as her right hand sought out the soft skin of his balls, gently caressing and kneading them in time to the rhythm of her stroking. The rest of Brian's body started to respond with urgency, his hips thrusting upward toward the gently stroking hand, his head slightly leaving the pillows with each thrust. Megan loved the pleading look in his eyes. "Oh yeah baby...jerk me hard!" he moaned in a slightly out of breath voice. Megan looked down at his face. It was a perfect picture of sensual pleasure, just the way she liked to see it. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated. Sweat was starting to form on his brow, and his moans had escalated into full voice "ahhhhs" and "ohhhhhs" She knew it wouldn't be long now. "Come on baby...I want you to cum for me...Do it for me baby..." she panted into his ear. She stroked faster, her hand tightening around his cock. He moaned at the new tightness of her grip, his thrusts getting frantic, his body bouncing a bit on the bed as his body sought release. "Cum for me baby! I want to see you cum!" Brian's whole body tightened "I'm gonna cum for you baby...Here it COMES!" The building tension in his cock released, and spurts of thick white cum landed on his chest and stomach. His cock continued to pulse, the creamy warmth running over his hand as he slowly continued to stroke his suddenly very sensitive cock. Brian lay his head back on the pillows, his eyes drifting shut. He knew he should clean himself up, but he was imagining Megan leaning down and licking his chest and stomach clean, all the while wearing that seductive little smile that has "I want you" written all over it He slowly sat up and grabbed the Kleenex he kept on the nightstand for just such an occasion, wiping himself clean. He lay back down on the bed, and with a contented smile drifted off to sleep and his dreams about the day when Megan would be there and he could stop imagining. But for now, this was enough. He'd wait forever for her. She was the one. He couldn't believe it, but he was in love. The One Part 1 He couldn't help but stare. She was nothing like the women he usually noticed, but there was something about the way she smiled that captured him. He watched her talk to the sales clerk at the counter, abent-mindedly stroking a piece of silk. It made him ache to feel her hands stroking him. Something primal in him told him that she was the one. He gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and someone grabbed his arm. Daniel almost growled at the person and wanted to cringe when he glanced down to notice very familiar long fingers with fake nails gripping his forearm. The offenders voice reminded him of nails on a chalk board, "I'm so glad we bumped into each other, Daniel." "Pamela." He nodded in recognition. It took everything in him not to gag when speaking her name. "I'm so glad that Joselyn agreed to have our fittings at the same time. Too bad that you have to walk down the aisle with her," she nodded in the direction of his mystery woman, "instead of me." Daniel thanked the man upstairs for that wonderful gift. He tried to gently disengage Pamela's claws from his forearm, but she wouldn't budge. That's when he looked up and noticed her staring at him. Her eyes were the color of dark chocolate. Daniel raised his eyebrows at her when she actually laughed at his situation. He smiled mischeviously in her direction, then jerked his arm from Pamela. He stalked towards her. With a gleam in his eye that he knew she couldn't mistake. He didn't stop until he was less than a foot away from her. Her big brown eyes widened when he framed her face with his hands, "Hi, baby." She licked her lips and almost as if asking, "Hi?" Then he kissed her. ************ A drop dead gorgeous man was kissing her. His lips were barely a whisper against her own. For the first time in her life, Cat felt that feeling. Her stomach seemed full of fluttering butterflies. She didn't even think to deny this stranger when his tongue brushed her bottom lip. His tongue gently explored her's. She gasped when he squeezed her neck and deepened the kiss. Then someone called her name. She snapped out of sensory overload and pulled away from his oh-so-tempting lips. She looked into his green eyes, searching for the answer to what on earth just happened. He stroked her bottom lip with his thumb and leaned towards her again. Cat stood immobile. She couldn't deny this man if she had to. "Daniel Levelor! Don't you dare kiss my sister again! Everyone's staring!" Blushing, Cat quickly buried her face in his...Daniel's?....chest. He smelled so good she wanted to groan. When his hands smoothed her hair, she wanted to purr like a contented kitten. "We need to talk, baby." His voice sent goosebumps down her skin and she had to clench her thighs together. Cat could only nod in agreance. Taking a deep breath she turned to face her sister and realized not only was her sister staring at her a gape, so was Pamela Grafton. Purposely she chose not to acknowledge Pamela, "Hi, Jos." "Catherine Barr! You could have told me you were dating Daniel!" Strong arms wrapped around her from behind and his voice sent waves of heat through her, "Sorry. That would be my fault, Joselyn. It was my idea to surprise everyone." Pamela shrieked, "No! Not possible! He wouldn't be with her of all people!" Cat jerked like she had been hit, then turned to face Pamela. Daniel held on to her. He barely held the harshness from his voice, "Do not ever let me hear you say another word about Catherine again. Do you understand me?" Pamela's jaw dropped open and she dumbly nodded. Daniel chuckled when Jake, Joselyn's intended and his best friend, asked in obvious confusion, "What did I miss?" Catherine spun around and poked Daniel in the chest. Emphasizing, "This is all your fault, honey." Cupping the back of her neck, he promised against her lips, "I promise to make it up to you, baby." Damn. Daniel loved how she tasted. Loved the way her full lips felt against his. The way her tongue promised his body more. Since the moment he'd seen her, he just knew she was the one. Judging the way she melted against him, she knew it too. Nibbling her lip, "I'll be waiting here for you." Her smirk warned him, but he never thought, "So you decided to meet mom and dad at dinner tonight, after all?" Her husky laugh and gentle kiss of the cheek made him smile, "Paybacks, honey." Momentarily thrown off kilter, he shook his head and laughed. Catherine couldn't believe what just happened. Once she was safely ensconced in her dressing room, she pulled out her cell phone. She was barely dressed. A white corset laced so tight that her natural double d's looked as though they might spill out any moment. The thigh highs and baby blue garter her sister insisted needed to be worn under the dress along with the white lace thong. Cat knew she looked like a rolled up sausage and refused to look in the mirror. Impatiently she stuffed her feet into the too-high heels and stabbed her best friend's number. "'Lo?" Smiling Cat asked, "Now, now, hon. Is that anyway to answer a phone?" "It is when I turned down a hot little thing for my bestfriend's sister's wedding." Gabe was laughing as he said it. "Well, Gabe. Grab him quick. You don't have to be my escort after all. You won't believe...." Cat jumped when someone cleared his throat behind her. She wanted to cover herself, but there was too much to cover. She dropped her phone and spun around to face the intruder. "Daniel? What are you doing in here?" He picked up her cell, "Gabe, she's going with me to the wedding. Have a nice life." He looked fierce as he stalked to her. He threw the cell phone against the wall and pinned her with his body. "Who in the hell is Gabe?" Cat couldn't catch her balance, her hands reached for his shoulders. She sputterred, "None of your business!" Daniel groaned and brutally took her mouth. Cat couldn't think. She responded by giving in to him completely. If he thought this was punishment, she'd defy him every chance she got. His hands roamed from her hips to her butt. When he broke the kiss as his hands carressed her bare butt, she blushed and hid her face in his chest. "Damn baby. I want to see you." Cat couldn't bring herself to look at him. She hated being naked when she was by herself, and there was no way she'd let someone as hot as Daniel she her scantily clad fat ass. She felt his hand on her chin, gently lifting her face, but she kept her eyes tightly closed. "Who is Gabe, Catherine?" His soothing voice almost had her. Her eyes snapped open and she pushed him away from her. Deciding to say screw it, she turned away from him and primped with her hair in the mirror. At his sharp intake of breath she almost lost her nerve. He wanted to see her. Well there ya go buddy! She just knew he'd run away now. Her voice was a little shaky when she said, "Not only is Gabe my best friend, but he was also my date tonight. I called to let him know that I had met someone else, so he was off the hook." Daniel's voice held an edge of harshness, "Catherine. You. Are. Killing. Me." She jumped, and quickly moved to where her too big t-shirt layed on the floor. She almost had it over her head when he yanked it off of her. This time he was behind her. She watched in the mirror as his hands slid from her waist to cup the bottom of her breasts. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew he had her hands pinned against the mirror and held them there, causing her back to arch and her bottom stuck out. She could feel his erection pressing against the fabric of his trousers in between the cheeks of her butt. He commanded, "Keep your hands there. Don't move." Catherine groaned, "Daniel..." "My little wildcat, all full of fire and ready to strike. I need to feel you, Catherine." She barely knew this man, yet she couldn't tell him to stop. He traced the thong in between her butt all the way to where the strip widened to cover her bare lips. His intake of breath as he touched her outter lips made her shiver. She knew he could feel how wet she was for him, and part of her was ashamed, yet her body's growing need let her get past it. Catherine ground her hips into his hand, but he only teased her. She opened her eyes to see him kneel behind her. She couldn't stop a moan from escaping her lips. "Catherine?" Her sister's voice broke the trance Daniel had managed to put her in. Daniel almost fell when Catherine quickly turned around covering herself with her hands. To be continued.... Please email me if you liked or hated part one of my story. Any and all suggestions and comments are appreciated. The One About the Shrew She stood in front of him, her auburn hair pulled back into a tight bun, arms across her chest, legs spread. She was donning a short, red leather mini dress that zipped all the way up the front; with black stockings held up by a red garter. The best part of the ensemble was her boots; authentic black combat boots. He felt an erotic pull across his groin as his cock began to swell. He smiled in anticipation of the moments to come. "What the fuck are you smiling at, boy?" She said moving closer. She slowly circled him, eyeing his body up and down. He knew enough to keep his eyes downcast, which served him well when she finally stopped in front of him. The bodice of her dress landed just above her nipples, perfectly displaying the mounds of her sexy breasts. He wanted to pull her close, but he knew better. She was calling the shots. "I was smiling at you." He offered with a grin. He knew he was giving her the rope with which she would hang him. She chuckled and picked up his silk tie in her hands, pulling him down, closer to her face. They were nose to nose. "Did I tell you that it was ok to smile? I have not even given you permission to address me yet, have I?" She hissed, her sweet breath intoxicating him. In his eagerness, he could not help but smile again. It was ridiculously exciting being physically manipulated by her, especially since she was 6 inches shorter than him. She pulled back and shook her head slowly, rolling her eyes in mock disgust. She undid his tie and pulled it slowly away from his collar. He felt the pull against his neck but did not make any moves to assist. That would definitely be crossing the line. He did not want to give her any reason to ask him to leave. "I see you are going to need a lesson in respect." She whispered. She took his tie with her as she crossed the room and sat down on a beautiful antique chair. She crossed her legs slowly, deliberately exposing her upper thighs. He swallowed hard but said nothing. He did not move an inch. She quietly stared at him for a few minutes, not saying a word. He waited, trying to not let his impatience show. He knew that this was a test, and he meant to pass it. "Come," She beckoned. "Kneel in front of me, boy." He slowly crossed the room and knelt in front of her, with little concern for his Armani suit. "Hands behind your back." She ordered. He eagerly did as he was told, ignoring the discomfort in his knees, trying hard not to grin again. She smiled, in spite of herself. "Very good. Good boy. Feel free to sit back on your legs. We are going to be awhile." He gratefully sat back, easing the pressure. He was at eye level with her knees. As if aware of what he was thinking, she slowly uncrossed her legs, exposing her red satin panties to him. He swallowed hard and felt his cock tighten again. "So, here are my rules. I will only say them once. You will follow them to the letter. You will not get any second chances. If you fuck up, you will be asked to leave. If you please me, you will be greatly rewarded. Do you understand?" "Yes Mistress." He humbly offered. She smiled in approval. She was excited by him but in keeping with character she could not show it. She loved a man in a fine suit and she wanted nothing more than to get him naked and fuck him senseless, but there would be time for that later. She wanted to see how far she could push his limits; how far he would go for her. She must have been staring at him for a few minutes because he cleared his throat and then smiled at her, as if trying to break her trance. She glared back, as if to get in character, and sat up straighter, crossing her legs once more. "Rule number one," She began. "Do not speak to me unless I speak to you first, ever." She dropped down his tie and picked up a riding crop from the small round table beside the chair. She gently slapped it against her palm in a rhythmic motion. "Rule number two; do not touch me unless you are invited to do so, no matter how tempting it is. Clear?" She placed the riding crop under his chin, raising his head up to look him in the eye. She could tell he was conflicted. He was not the sort of man that took to rules easily, and yet he wanted nothing more than to please her; meet her expectations. "Yes Mistress, I understand." He offered. She smiled in approval and removed the crop from his chin. "Good. Rule number three. "She stopped and smiled at him playfully; then slowly enunciating each word she said, "You will not cum unless I tell you to cum." He smirked and shook his head slowly, in mock disbelief, knowing his insolence might irritate her. He knew he was challenging her. She raised her eyebrows and with a quick flick of her wrist brought the riding crop swiftly down on his thighs. His stifled groan sent a warm wave of pleasure through her. She liked the way he controlled his response to pain. He would be fun to break. "Finally, should you not be able to tolerate anything that is happening to you, be it pleasure, pain or humiliation, you may stop me instantly by uttering the safe word." She spoke very softly, as if to reassure him. He looked up to meet her pretty green eyes. She was beguiling. He was captivated by her. He could think of nothing that she could do that he would not gladly accept. "Yes Mistress." He whispered. She cocked her head, as if quietly regarding him. "The word is rabbits." She disclosed. He chuckled before he could stop himself. Again he felt the sharp sting of the crop on his thighs. She stood up and walked behind him, bending over to whisper in his ear. He felt the softness of her breasts against his shoulder and her perfume permeated the air around him. It was exhilarating. He inhaled deeply. "Do you understand the rules? " Her soft breath tickled his ear, just before he felt the nip of her teeth on his earlobe. The contrast of pleasure and pain sent a shiver through him and raised the goose bumps on his body. His flush was not lost on her. "I understand." He finally spoke. "Good, now stand up and follow me." She pulled her warm body away from him. The sudden chill left behind felt unnatural to him; unwanted. She walked out of the room and through an open door. Not knowing what to expect, but unafraid, he eagerly followed, as if under her spell. She led him into her bedroom. He slowly looked around, taking in the surroundings. The room was distinctly feminine, pretty actually. It quite surprised him and only added to the layers and mystery of his Mistress. He opened his mouth to say so, but thought better of it. She walked over to a chest and pulled out leather wrist restraints. He stood quietly in the doorway watching, waiting for instruction. She approached the four poster bed and attached a restraint to each foot post, about halfway up. He sighed deeply, anticipating the discipline to come. While he typically was not a pain slut, he knew he could trust her to push his boundaries, release his endorphins and bring him to the very edge of nirvana. "Did you not hear me, boy?" He met her eyes and realized that he hadn't. He shook his head. "I am sorry Mistress, I did not." She shook her head with mock impatience. "Fucking hell." She walked slowly towards him. "What the fuck am I going to do with you? Stand at the end of the bed, between the posts." He slowly walked around her, looking her in the eyes, deliberately challenging her; maybe testing her. She met his gaze with authority. A shiver coursed through him. He stood between the posts with his back to her. She stepped closely behind him, her breasts pressing into his back. He stood perfectly still. She felt herself drawn to him in a way she did not expect. Perhaps it was because she sensed that this was a huge step out of his comfort zone. He was not accustomed to being topped, this much was obvious. She found it both challenging and completely erotic all at once. She wrapped her hands around his waist and unbuckled his belt. She felt him stiffen, more out of excitement than fright, she suspected. She slowly pulled his belt out of his pants and regarded it for a moment, then thinking it might come in handy, she set it on the bed. She demanded that he turn around and he complied. After she took off his suit jacket, she leisurely unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off him, tossing it on the floor beside her. She seductively ran her hands over his torso enjoying the soft fleece of his chest hair and the warm scent of his cologne as it spiced the air around her. When he smiled down at her, she pouted and pulled two handfuls of his fur, just to make sure he knew who was in charge. He inhaled sharply, but said nothing. He saw her smirk and sensed that this pleased her. "Take off everything from the waist down." She ordered, rather clinically, he observed. He quickly removed both his pants and his boxers and kicked them aside with his shirt. She did not take her eyes off him but stood legs apart, arms at her side, rather like a sergeant. They stood observing each other for a moment, until he began to wonder if he should say something. Again he decided it was best to wait. He began to feel vulnerable, even shy, which was not something he enjoyed. "Come here and take off my panties," She whispered huskily. She wasn't sure why she was asking him this, but then nothing about this situation was typical for her. She wasn't accustomed to being so aroused during a scene. He approached her cautiously, uncertain. She did not move, even as he lifted her dress and hooked his thumbs into the waist band of her panties. He felt arousal surge through him and his cock stiffened quickly. She stared intensely into his deep, blue eyes as he slowly peeled her panties down her thighs. "May I kneel, Mistress, so I can remove your panties?" He whispered. She could hear the eagerness of his request. "Yes you may." She replied. He knelt in front of her, his face just inches from her shaved cunny, and slipped her panties down her calves, struggling to slip the dainty material over her combat boots. Her aroma was intoxicating. He wanted nothing more at the moment than to press his lips to her, tongue her, and taste her sex. She sensed his weakening self control and stepped back. He sat up straighter on his knees and collected himself, although he could do nothing about his erection. She took the same moment to compose her own self, taking deep deliberate breaths. She put her hand out to him, "May I have my underwear back?" She said with a smirk. He placed them gently in her hand, but not without noticing that they were dampened with her juices. He was pleased that she was as turned on as he was, although he knew better than to say so. Although he was not accustomed to being submissive in a scene, he was pretty sure that she was bending the rules a wee bit and he was not about to complain. He was anxious to see where this was going. "Stand up and go back to the bed posts." She ordered. He did as she asked and she quickly took her place behind him. She lifted his wrists and one at a time, shackled him to the bed frame. He gave them a tug, and smirked at her, just for good measure. He was a cheeky brat, she thought, suppressing her own smile. She brought her hand down hard across his bare ass, leaving a delicious red imprint. This time he did yelp, causing her an unexpected surge of pleasure. She took a step back to admire her work, and slowly traced the impression of her hand with a long red fingernail. The sensitivity was not lost on him. He closed his eyes to fully appreciate the sensation. Again he felt her palm connect with his ass, this time on the other cheek. He did his best not to growl. She gently rubbed over the bruise with her hand, perfectly balancing the pain with pleasure. She brought her hand around towards his front, over his hip bone and then cupped his balls in her hand. With her other hand she reached around and grabbed his erection. He stiffened up, not sure whether her intention was pleasure or pain. He hoped for the former. She stroked his cock gently for a moment or two and then he felt the sting of her teeth on the flesh of his shoulder. She continued to nip, not so tenderly, up and down his arms and across his shoulders, torso, and back; all the while stroking his cock. The sweet blend of pleasure and pain was almost enough to pull him over the edge. It took most of his will power not to cum. His moans were a reflection of that. Sensing his need for release, she removed her hands from him and stepped back. He inhaled deeply and slowly let out his breath, his eyes following her to the bed. She climbed on the mattress and slowly crawled her way towards him, stopping in front of him, inches from his face. As much as he wanted to lean in and kiss her, the rules were clear. He waited to see what she would do. She licked her lips, regarding him, her slave; shackled, primed and helpless. It was suddenly clear to her; she was going for the mind fuck. Her hand reached for her dress zipper and she gradually pulled it down, watching his eyes follow the motion. She slipped the garment off her shoulders with a shrug. He stifled a moan as he saw that her little red bra matched her garter and her already displaced panties. She smiled wickedly at him as she pulled the binding that held her hair back in place. It fell loose, framing her pretty face. Suddenly the restraints were unbearable to him. She slipped off the bed and went back to her tickle trunk. Finding what she was searching for she sashayed back towards the bed and slid back on. He groaned loudly as she brought the blindfold to his eyes and proceeded to secure it into place. Again he objected with a suffering groan and was rewarded with a sharp slap to his cheek. He pulled his head back in protest. Not liking this sudden rebellion, she grabbed the back of his hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him towards her. She kissed him ferociously then pulled back and slapped him again. His growl succeeded in heating her up further. Again she kissed him, this time forcing her tongue deep into his mouth. As he accepted her kiss he felt her fingers gripping his scrotum like a vice. The pain was exquisite. He tried to pull away from her kiss, but she bit down on his lip, hard. He was torn between agony and ecstasy, hell and heaven and he wasn't sure which he preferred at the moment. He pulled hard on the restraints, rattling the bed. She was so exhilarated by his reaction that she could not suppress her own moans. She was completely and totally turned on by him. Hearing her response, he stopped and waited. He hated not seeing her, knowing in advance what was going to happen. He felt exposed and defenseless. This was a hard limit for him. He would have to dig deep to keep it together. The room grew quiet. He tried to listen attentively but could only hear her unsteady breathing, inches from him. He heard her shuffling off her bed and her footfalls on the carpet. He heard a thud thud, as she kicked off her army boots, he assumed. He could hear her rummaging once again through that trunk and his imagination began to explore the possibilities of what she might return with. He felt the beads of sweat slowly inch down the side of his face as the exertion of the last few minutes caught up with him. He held his breath in order to hear her better. Despite his anxiety, his cock was still hard, and he needed release, soon. He heard her softly walking back towards him and the swish of the blankets as she propped herself back on the bed. He heard a clutter sound as if several things dropped on the bed collided together. He could only imagine what they were. "I am going to fuck you, slave." She purred. He pulled in his breath slowly. "But first I am going to fuck myself with this big vibrating cock." He heard the toy hum before he actually felt it on his flesh. She massaged the toy between his legs, on either side of his balls. The vibration sent a warm sensation through his groin and he moaned softly. She turned off the vibration and he felt the toy make its way up his body, across his shoulder and neck, when it came to rest on his lips. "Open your mouth, boy. I want you to know how big this cock is." She whispered. His first reaction was a kneejerk one and he pulled his face away. She grabbed the back of his hair and pulled roughly. "Don't make me repeat myself." She whispered in his ear. She once again put the cock to his lips. He opened his mouth and she gently maneuvered the toy in, respectful of his teeth. The length and girth of it made him gag. She took it away slowly. "I am going to screw myself with this big fucking cock and then when I am done, I am going to fuck you with it." She promised. He felt himself stiffen, both from the fear and the anticipation. The thought of her fucking herself with the toy was unbelievably exciting but at the same time he was terrified of just how she intended to fuck him...and where. Then, she slowly peeled the blindfold away from his eyes and he blinked while they adjusted to the light. "I was going to leave you sightless, but I think it would torture you more to watch me. Would you agree?" She teased. He was pretty sure she was right. "Yes Mistress." He responded gratefully, his voice uneven. "Good." She kissed him hard but quickly, leaving him wanting more. She slipped back on the bed and fell into her soft pillows, her eyes never leaving his. She opened her legs to him, slow and deliberate, exposing her sweet, pink flesh. He felt his gut ache, begging for relief. His cock strained in protest. His pull on the restraints was an exercise in futility, but never the less, proved his displeasure. She smiled wickedly at him and turned on her vibrator. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her own pleasure as she massaged the toy over her mound and teased her clit. Her hips swayed gently side to side as the toy found its way around her folds. She was skilled with her play cock and her body responded quickly. It was clear to him that among her many layers, she was also an exhibitionist; which served him well as he was an admitted voyeur. He eagerly watched as she entertained him with this delightful little porn scene. She opened her eyes for a moment and locked them to his. She loved what this was doing to him. She enjoyed every ounce of torture it caused him. He licked his lips, desperate to taste the nectar that was trickling down her thighs. She slowly slid the cock into her pussy, mewing softly. He swallowed hard, wishing desperately that his hands were free to touch himself. She expertly fucked herself with the toy for a few minutes, slowly building her pleasure. He sensed that she was close by the flush of her cheeks and the guttural moans that escaped between breaths. He had never been harder in his life. He was aching to relieve the sensual pressure that was building up in his center. Then she came. He watched with open mouth, in awe, as the waves of uninhibited pleasure overtook her. It was the hottest and most exciting thing he ever saw in his life. Self satisfied and smug she pushed herself up on her elbows and looked at him. His own eyes bore the look of a man on the edge of madness. It was clear that he was on the verge of losing control. Although she should have felt that warm contentment that follows an orgasm, her need quickly grew as she watched him struggle with the restraints. She crawled towards him, toy in her hand and stopped to kneel in front of him. "Open your mouth, boy." She purred. "I want you to taste me." The spicy scent of her reached his nose making him anxious to taste her. He licked her juices off her toy, his eyes never leaving hers. She smiled naughtily. "You are a dirty one, aren't you?" She observed. He smirked but said nothing. She knew she would have to do more to shake him. He was a challenge. "I promised that I was going to fuck you when I was done taking care of myself, didn't I?" She asked balancing the toy between her fingers. He looked down at the toy, assessing its size and frowned. This wasn't "up there" on his need to do list, so to speak; but at the same time he was damned if he was going to say Rabbits. The One About the Shrew She sensed his anxiety and smiled, self-satisfied. God, she wanted him. She gently massaged the toy over his chest and slowly followed the trail that led to his cock. The soft vibration stirred his need even more. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. "I know you must be aching." She whispered. She traced her tongue around his ear and ended with a nip to his earlobe. "Tell me what you want." She growled. "Do you want me to fuck you with this bad boy?" She held the toy up to him again. He said nothing for a moment, their eyes locked, challenging one another. Finally he spoke. "I want you to do whatever pleases you, Mistress." Her smile widened and she touched his cheek. "Damn, you are perfect." She tossed the toy on the floor and reached for his member. She stroked it for a few moments and he felt himself edge closer to release. He ached for it. "Yes," she said quietly as if reading his thoughts. "I will allow you to cum, but don't you dare do it before I say you can. Are we clear?" He nodded, too uncomfortable to speak. He knew that if she continued to stroke him he would be a lost cause. "Please Mistress," he managed. His control was slipping. She let him go and he staggered back as far as the restraints would allow. She reached up and unlatched the cuffs. Resisting the urge to massage his wrists, he let them drop to his side. "Come to the bed and lie down." She ordered. He willingly complied and joined her. "Lie back on the pillows." She urged. He laid his body back and she immediately positioned herself between his legs, greedily taking his cock into her mouth. Her tongue tenderly explored the length of the shaft. Her teeth dangerously grazed the tip, but then she softened it with a kiss. She flicked her tongue over the opening, lapping up his beads of pre-cum. He almost lost control as she expertly worked over his cock, occasionally slapping his dick with her fingertips; again, a perfect balance between pleasure and pain. He moaned and struggled to not ejaculate. The sensation was both intensely frustrating but incredibly pleasurable. He felt animated and inspired, and very much alive. In a moment of pure clarity, he realized; this was why he was here. He reached out and gently touched her hair, aware that it was against her rules. The tenderness was not lost on her. She was torn between taking back control or allowing herself to submit to the moment. She pulled herself away and searched his eyes. He met her gaze and patiently waited for her to come to the conclusion she needed. She nodded. He sat forward and pulled her into his kiss. The One at Web Dating After two decades of being called an ugly effin fat frog my heart catches up with my head and my marriage ends. Almost 55 with too little time left to live on hope, I turn to the web through a daze of separation shock. Somehow I find a dating site, register my profile, pay my dues. Deliberately, I photograph myself as I really am, chubby cheeks, daggy smile and all. As a writer by trade, I automatically put in lots of information, truth well told being more powerful than the cleverest lies. Then I abandon hope. Am I mad? Who would have me anyway? But hang on, have I just been hit on? One contact in my email, another, then another! Emails bounce back and forth, my easy way with words giving me an advantage. Like me, the women want to talk with a kindred spirit to make them comfortable with uncomfortable emotions. Phone numbers are offered and long conversations ensue. I start to learn the first box on the divorced woman's checklist: No Projects! They who have been around the singles scene for a while, have picked up, put back together and seen off too many rebound men. Often these women come to love their charges and are deeply hurt when the time arrives for thanks-but-no-thanks. But I persist, taking my knockbacks. It will be a process of elimination like panning for gold. Then a date! Virginia has agreed to dinner after an hour of phone bashing. We natter like schoolgirls. She's a writer too. A whole book! My commercial techniques seem to surprise and enthuse her. I'm excited that she's excited and dinner is on! So much in common, so much to look forward to on my first date as a senior single. She arrives, looking more 63 than 53. Do people lie in their profiles? Spends most of the meal holding one hand in front of a severely crossed eye, while the other hand throws down chardy faster than I can sink light ales. The book she is writing is left of Lenin, in fact her fond wish would be to reincarnate during the 1917 red revolution, if such were possible. Mouth faster than brain, I respond, "If your husband and father would have let you." The meal peters out and she goes for the close. "Are you going to ask me out again?" I am a rabbit in her spotlight. What to say? Prevaricate! "Maybe." "That's a no then I take it!" Harumph. At least she ended the evening feeling in control. I retreat in dismay. Is this how it's going to be? A healing hug Now German lady has advertised for a friend. That will do me. Some female goodwill is my first need. If romance and lovemaking follow ... too soon to even think about those. She sends me a phone number and greets me with a Marlene Dietrich voice, hating her marriage, separated under the same roof, hoping to find a friend, don't even think about sex. "The loving comes before the shoving," I quip. Fortunately, she laughs, "Sounds good to me." We have a date. She is dainty, wistful and about as gorgeous as we can hope to be in our sixth decade. She confides about the cold, aloof chasm in her marriage. Me about the irresponsibility and cruelty I have left. Especially about the ugly effin fat frog. She stops in mid-bite, frozen into a stare of disbelief. I will see that look several times again, from different women. "But vy vould she say that? You are very handsome man." She is straight-faced, guile free. My turn to freeze. It is decades since I last fielded a compliment from a love interest. Did I even thank her? I hope so. We clasp hands, kiss cheeks and plan another date which ends in the sweetest, most healing of cuddles. We are both close to tears as she drives away, fingers waving. Our first post-marital hug! Yum. With that cuddle, I have rounded a gentle bend in the river of senior singles. Whether I drown or stay afloat there is no turning back on the current. Second virginity The emails I send are always personalised, reflecting each woman's profile and telling her how I might match her lifestyle and standards - only if I first believe I would. It takes time but it works and soon I am on the phone with four prospective dates. The first move, although I fail to recognise it at the time, is made by Holly from a country town. Will I visit her? Will I stay the whole night? Sure, chuck me on the couch, I promise to be good. In retrospect, what can I say but "Durrrr!" Driving into her town I face my demons. It could be on! If she decides to have me it will be the second loss of virginity, the defining moment. Dinner at her local is all done by nine-thirty. Sipping a cuppa and leaning on her kitchen bench, I suddenly find her face inches from mine. Lovely. A big smooch coming up? "I like what I see," she declares and the rest is bed and breakfast, the first of many with Holly. She becomes my home away from home. Her divorce story is a variation on the theme I will keep encountering. The selfishness, the unyielding, thoughtless, pointless, self-destructive scoring that drives people apart, even after decades invested in each other. Holly believes, because her experience had proved it, that there is only one way for her to orgasm with a man. She must take the saddle and do the work or nothing will happen. So she is amazed that I wait for her, encourage her, delight in her pleasure while savouring mine. She comes in a man's hands, at 53 years of age, for the first time in her life. "I didn't know it was possible. Better than three pokes and a roll off!" They tell it straight, these country women. I am equally amazed. Do men like her ex-husband still exist? How do they find women who put up with it? After I have made love with Holly, I tell her that she was the defining moment. But it really happened inside my head, not inside her. The frayed old rope of my marriage has disintegrated, nothing left to repair. In Holly's arms, in her bed, I peer into the future with awe. Much to my surprise I am handsome for one woman, sexually appealing and satisfying to another. Holly has a house for me to live in, work for me in her business, a big divorce settlement imminent. All for me to share. But she is just not the one. She had deluded us with the classic "If we only have a few good nights, what have we got to lose? At least we will have that." It sounded good but rationalise as we will, there is nothing objective about love. Tangles Marlene was still good company whenever she came down from her hills and we were good for each other, sharing complaints, cuddles and laughs. Just listening to each other was a tonic. But her partially separated life made it impossible to develop a real relationship. "I would love to make a lover of you, Marlene but I really can't see how. Not while you're still bringing up your son. Not while you're living it two ways," I reasoned, thinking it sealed the friendship and took the pressure off her. But her imagination was creating pressures of its own. Another surprise in store for this exploring senior single. The emails criss-cross and the rejections mount up, along with some acceptances. Phillipa, a part-Asian lady, meets me for lunch. She is chubby, chuckly, sweet smiling and acutely intelligent. In the old country she had been a chemical engineer. No boast, in time I would see the books on her shelves. We enjoy each other's company, letting the barriers crumble at their own pace until we are comfortable kissing in the park like school kids. Her femininity is a power in its own right. This must be what pheromones are all about. She invites me to a party with her ethnic group - tiny, gorgeous, welcoming, folk. She has chosen this night to make love with me and proves to be slow, calm and quietly appreciative, although taking few initiatives. She refuses to sleep over, wanting to be home when her son and his wife arise. Reluctantly I kiss her goodnight, trying to smooth her hair which is five ways at once. This was to be our only love-making, the one that decided Holly's romantic fate with me. Phillipa could have been The One but suddenly the love of my life is on the horizon. My attention will be fully occupied from now on. Siren song Circe's profile parallels mine. Similar family lives, dabblers in art and music, workers in related roles. She looks classy, demanding, expressive, confident. Her broad, symmetrical smile beams off the screen, captivating me. The old insecurities! No way I can catch a girl who answers all my hopes so neatly! But I must try. She can only knock me back. My email is timid and tentative but her response is forthright. "Of course we are doomed, we have way too much in common!" It became a prophecy, a heartbreaking prophecy. Our phone introduction is lively and easy. Soon we meet for drinks. After a couple of rounds she is still hesitant, holding a lot back, toying with her keys and announcing time to go. Seize the moment! "Circe, I think you are just fabulous, will you see me again?" More hesitation, a sideways look, lips slightly parted, keys dangling in mid pickup. For once, I shut up and wait, knowing there is nothing I can do to influence her decision. "Alright," with a nod, "Why not?" Our dinner date is a week later and we fill the gap with emails, disrupting each others' work, playing with words, flirting and revealing. From some deep, unknowable driver of my psyche, I just know she is the one. To my lasting regret, I never stop knowing. We are the first to take a table and the last to leave. Anything one says triggers a lively response in the other. Five hours fly past. I am full of questions, genuinely fascinated by her. She listens actively, comparing broken marriages. I allude to various books, she has read them too. She has just experienced hypnotic regression. A lucid dream of herself as a roman soldier, who battled his way to pastoral retirement and peaceful death. I have read all about this stuff - we are off like the Melbourne Cup! Into mind-power, metaphysics, the mystery and uncharted potential inside every human skull. After closing time, we window shop to stretch the evening and the waiter chases us down the street with her forgotten bottle of wine. A contributor from the start, she brought the wine but we had been too pre-occupied to bother with it. What a find she is. A sweet kiss goodnight, a repeat kiss to be sure and I will not see her till after a ten day visit to her daughter. Back into suspended animation. By phone text I contrive to pick her up from the airport. "Absolutely you are picking me up," she texts back, causing the first of many adrenaline jolts I will get from Circe. The untangling Now I am in stalling mode with three girlfriends. Marlene and Phillipa are intermittent anyway so my inner coward can wait to face them. Holly has been sustaining the romance with nightly phone calls but now I have made love with Phillipa and have hopes for Circe. It would be total hypocrisy to string the affair along. How to tell her? I have not been in this situation for over 30 years. Am I kidding? As a young bloke, I only ever had one girl at a time, between droughts. Uncharted, unprecedented territory. I face the difficult conversation and return one of Holly's many messages. She has been a real friend, generous hostess, good company and an enthusiastic lover. Now I am going to hurt her. She howls, she blames, she questions, "Why, why, why?" So much for the "What have we got to lose?" of two months before. She is sobbing and I am writhing. Apologies are useless, explanations empty. Holly has been gazumped and she knows it. How to soften the blow? She has my empathy and genuine affection. It is not her fault that she is not the one. Some things just is. I promise to maintain our friendship and to my surprise, that's what happened. There can be goodwill after an affair. Holly is onto her third boyfriend since and seems about to settle down. I wonder if she is risking a mistake but that's her business. All I can be is a sounding board, ready to congratulate or console. Thank you Holly for being the one who helped put me back together, a role that sophisticated city girls avoid. So sorry you were hurt. So glad you bounced back. Marlene invites me to meet her at a friend's house. She has something to tell me and sits primly on a chair, rejecting my invitation to join me on the settee. "I like you but we mustn't let things move too fast," she declares. "Don't worry Marlene, I won't be a nuisance to you, in fact I think I have met the love of my life." See? No pressure, we can remain friends. Mature, objective, worldly. Launching from her chair, Marlene collapses onto my chest, sobbing. Wondering what the hell, I hug her, stroking her hair. "Just when I am starting to get close to you and introduce you to my friends, you are taken away from me," she wails. Did I miss something? She has never let me near her. She asked for friendship and I have been true to that. "Marlene, you just didn't let me know. Why didn't you let me know?" Months later she remains a friend and is about to go travelling with her new man, taking the big risk at last. Go girl, let me know how it works out. At the airport, leaning on a pillar, I watch Circe head for the luggage pickup. Her eyes scan the crowd, looking dismayed until I walk into her field of view, which lights up her face. How I would come to love that smile! We are a little awkward, driving to her home, though she likes the little gift I bought for her. By way of thanks, she shout me to dinner. Again, we are such easy company, chatting away on chinese tea without even feeling the need for social lubricant. A real, grownup, self assured, independent, talented, charming woman who likes my company. At her apartment, we toast our acquaintance till, at the polite time, I pick up my keys, thanking her for her company. Just so she knows where I stand, I venture, "Circe, if we ever get into bed, it will be spectacular. We are such good friends already." Having risked that, it is definitely time to go. "You know, I have been thinking about that," she replies, two arms suddenly round my neck and the smell of her skin making me dizzy. I already adore the woman, can this really be happening? "You pass the kissing test at least," she decides. Do all single women have a check-list in their handbag? Who cares? I have passed so far. Press on. We smooch on the couch, settle the condom question, agree for me to wait while she showers. I lay back, hands pressed together, almost praying, "Please don't let her change her mind." Circe returns in a silken white robe and climbs astride me, letting me loosen the sash. "Well that was a nice reaction," she laughs at my breath-taken response to her torso. Breasts of a teenager, skin like a baby, a little tummy flowing smoothly into her curves, imperfect enough to make her human, approachable, as I stroke her sides. She throws a towel at me and directs me into the shower. Yes, ma'am! For five hours we made love, each giving and getting as good as the other, both surprised how long it lasts. That's a bonus of this stage of life. Although compounded by stage fright, my delayed climax is definitely to the woman's advantage. It is such a powerful pleasure to please a responsive woman! Circe jockeys the last ride and I have my first experience of female ejaculation. "What the bloody hell was that?" I ask, but she is in too mellow a mood to answer. Over breakfast, she tells me it is called 'Amrita' launching my fascination with all things Tantric. It is a wonderful, natural, sexual supercharge and most women in western cultures are missing out big time! We soon become quite expert at it. The moment is beyond conscious control but if a man really pleases his lover, she can ejaculate a special fluid, quite different to sperm and urine. It is produced in the Skeine's glands which line the urethra and it is absolutely gorgeous to touch. Tantric mystics believe it is healing to mind and body, clearing psychological blockages and often leading to sobs of joy and release. It certainly did for me. As we drift into sleep I stroke her skin and blurt something that unnerves me, "Bless the living God who made you." Would Kipling have minded me twisting his words? Have I found religion? I simply, totally, uncontrollably adore her. Things gets curiouser. At home, dazed, on the toilet, I put my head in my hands. Suddenly a startling howl fills the room. It is me I am hearing, as if from a third person. A howl erupting long and deep from an unknown source in my own persona. I sob for minutes, fat teardrops sploshing on the terrazzo. Freud, Yung and Shirley McLaine would have loved it. Speculation, not explanation, is all I have to cling to. Perhaps it was, as Circe believed, a psychic clearance, a letting go of all the pentup frustration and anger of my marriage. The Amrita could have caused it. She accepts things metaphysical easily and she may be right. Or was it my stunned response to the girl of my dreams accepting me so passionately, in such total contrast to the marital decades of battered self esteem? Was it the notorious Primal Scream? These explanations fail to satisfy me. All I can say is, it happened as described and shattered my illusions of control. In religious times, it might have inspired a revelation or vision. As an atheist, I know it was about me, even though I am struggling to understand. Making love with Circe dragged something deep out of my soul, challenging me to know myself as few ever get the chance to do. Over six months later, I still relive the awe of that moment and still wonder how to process it. If you have any insights, please let me know. From then on, there is only Circe and my total commitment to our future together. She is the one. Days later, Phillipa phones with her cheery trademark introduction, "Want some company?" Truth time. "Philli, I am so sorry but it looks as if I have found the love of my life and I am going to concentrate totally on her." She is icily brief. "Well, thank you for you advising me." Gone. Hopes and plans Circe and I are lucky with our timing and have the whole festive season free for each other. Her place and mine, visiting friends, meeting relatives, buying gifts, making love under the stars, under the sun, in the sea and by the fire. We start searching for a country property, calculating that if we lived together, the savings would pay for some modest acres. The sexual surprises work for both genders as Circe and I explore each other. We read everything we can find on Tantric lovemaking, looking more for explanations than for tips and techniques. It is a relief to learn that my 'dry' orgasms are actually a hard-won skill in Tantric lore and not a flaw in my ageing anatomy. By restraining ejaculation, I can enjoy what we call 'girl comes' over and over, keeping the sex game in play for hours. It is deliriously good fun and we often emerge hungry and disbelieving of the clock, whole mornings lost in a blur. In the half-consciouness before real sleep, my system becomes prone to 'bliss bombs', a name we had to invent for lack of any better information. Circe could bring me to an orgasmic state just by cuddling up, boobs in my back and warm breath on my neck. Some chemical or electrical phenomenon would race up and down my spine, curling my toes and shuddering my whole body. The feeling was related to 'someone just walked over my grave' but much more powerfully erotic, warm, ecstatic, soporific. Shiver me timbers. Soon we would be sleeping together every day. Obviously the sexual honeymoon would settle down. It would have to for a normal life! But my happiness would be complete. And I would live to make Circe happy. She phones me before work. "We should make the move sooner, rather than later. Move in as soon as you can. Why not? Everything is so right and we are too old to procrastinate." I melt inside. All my dreams and hopes are coming true and the future is glorious. I tell her as much, although memory of my exact reply is buried in an overload of bliss. The One Bomber The One Bomber. That would have to be his name. That asshole, Ted Kaczynski, had already used up his first choice for a name, the Uni Bomber, so he would have to go with this lesser selection to express the same idea. He was the One Bomber. The One that mattered, the One who would punish those who deserved it. Someone once tried to tell him that that Kaczynski was not the Uni Bomber, but rather the Unabomber. "Fuck you. What the fuck do you know, asshole?" Gary knew what he was talking about. He always knew what he was talking about and he was always right. Gary thought about the person who had pushed him into this extreme of becoming the One Bomber. His wife. Rather, his former wife. "I hate that bitch. That fucking cunt. That whore. I hate that fucking cunt whore bitch. Goddamn that fucking bitch!" Gary was consumed with hate. His soul was black with seething anger and hatred. His mind, once rational, had been eaten away by the all-consuming vileness of his obsession. Daily, he experienced the intensity of a black hatred that could have only been spawned in the depths of Hell. Burn the Bitch was too good for her. Unless, of course, he could have done it in actual reality. Like some medieval witch, chained to the stake with wood piled all around. Gary liked to think that he would have lit the whole thing and laughed while she screamed. One day, completely without warning, she had walked into the kitchen with the announcement that changed his whole world. "I'm leaving you Gary. My bags are packed and already loaded in my car. I want nothing from you. Everything you see is all yours. I claim nothing. Not the house, not the bank account, nothing. My car, I bought strictly with my own money. The title is in my name alone and I am using it to escape from here. I have packed it with my clothes and personal items and anything I owned before I met you. I want nothing that has any trace of you on it. Anything we bought together is yours to do with as you please. I want nothing that will remind me that I ever knew you. I hope to forget your name." "Why?" he asked. "Why would you ever want to leave me? I am the best thing that ever happened to you. You will never find anyone as good as me! So who is it? Who are you fucking? If you were unhappy, why didn't you tell me?" She replied. "There's no one Gary. I am seeing no one. I have never once cheated on you. I have tried to tell you many times that I was not happy, but you were not interested in listening. You are not now, nor have you ever been, interested in anyone other than yourself. Any subject I raised, only interested you in as far as it affected you. You never cared how anything affected me or anyone else. Anyone who holds any opinion different than yours is an idiot. Anyone who doesn't take your unsolicited and unwanted advice is stupid. You hold forth on any and every subject, including those about which you know nothing. You are a narcissist of the highest order. Even right now, I can tell that my walking out holds no relevance for you, other than how it might inconvenience you in some possible way. You think that the entire Universe and everyone in it exists solely to tend to your needs. If some part of it fails to do so, you throw a temper tantrum worthy of a two year old. You do not love me. You are incapable of it. The only thing in this world that you love is yourself." She left him. Told him that she never wanted to see him again, never wanted to speak to him again, walked to her car, and drove away. He was served with divorce papers that afternoon. At first, Gary had been stunned. How could she have done that to him? How could she have thought that there was something out there better than him? Who the hell was going to make his breakfast? Gary went to work and announced to everyone that he had thrown his wife out. "She was never good enough for me. She couldn't take all of the sex I wanted. She was lazy and couldn't cook worth a damn. Just like all women, she married me in order to have a way to get what she wanted. I knew it when I married her. But I did it anyway because I took pity on her. I thought she was capable of change. But she didn't and I finally threw her out." "Sorry Gary," one of his coworkers spoke up, "but your wife telephoned mine last week telling her that she was moving out because she could not stand another minute with your self-aggrandizing, pompous ass. Just like the rest of us that know you. No one here can believe that it took her this long." From that moment on, Gary's passion was to get revenge on the bitch that had betrayed him. She had turned everyone against him. But the truth was that it was never going to happen. Gary was weak. He was never going to do anything to her. He was simply too afraid. Taking actual revenge on the actual person would have involved risk. He would have to go places and arrange things. He would have to meet people who might remember him. He might get caught. Besides, it would have cost money. Gary made up for his fear with bombastic behavior. He told everyone how his Ex had ruined their marriage. How he would never forgive her. That any man who would forgive a woman who had betrayed him was just a pussy. Any real man would get all the revenge he could. Any man who even thought about reconciliation was a fool. "When I threw that bitch out, I told her that she could take her clothes and any personal items. She could leave if she wanted, but the bank accounts, the house and anything acquired during the marriage was mine." Gary turned into a full time misogynistic asshole. Every woman was a whore. Women just wanted to fuck over all men and they were all secret dykes. People just stopped listening. No one wanted to be around a negative, hate filled, loud mouthed ass. They avoided him. Only the most absolutely unavoidable conversations were allowed and those were cut short as much as possible. Gary became increasingly isolated. The more isolated he was, the angrier he became. He hated his Ex. He hated all women. He hated any man who didn't hate woman. Gary wanted to destroy anyone whom he hated, which now included most of humanity. And that hatred hatched a plan to bomb anyone who expressed any idea contrary to his own. They deserved it. But he wouldn't be stupid like Kaczynski. Kaczynski tried to hide in isolation to protect his anonymity. But you can't do that forever if you are using physical bombs. Gary had a better plan. He could completely hide his identity and still bomb away all he wanted. He just had to do it differently. He knew exactly where to find all of these sub-humans whom he hated. He had read their stories. They talked about reconciling with unfaithful wives. There were stories about forgiving and letting go. And worst of all cuckolds. Willing cuckolds. Some of whom like having their wife be unfaithful. Some who wanted to watch! They got off on it. All of those fucking shit heads deserved to be bombed. Anyone who thought that way deserved to be bombed into oblivion. They should never be allowed to express their stupid, sick, twisted shit ever again. The reality was that Gary knew his opinion was the only one that mattered. Everyone should bow before the brilliance of his mind. Anything that differed from his own sensibilities needed to be banned, to be destroyed. And he was never afraid to say so in writing. As long as he remained cloaked behind the veil of Anonymous, they could never find him. They could never stop him from bombing them. And now for the execution of his perfect weapon. Voting stars sighted. The bomb sight aligned perfectly, via his mouse, right over the first star. Click! One Bomb Away! "Shit!" Gary said. He was going to have to change his underwear again. He came every time.