Anonymous love - Chapter 2

She silently scolded herself. She let the day slip past with thoughts of lust, thoughts of wrapping her slightly damp panties around her fingers and forcing them into his mouth as she slid on top of him.

“C’mon, get a grip. This is just for play.”

After the day wound down and night saturated the air with its damp chill, she went upstairs to settle for the evening. She began to draw herself a bath. This was going to be a bubble bath night for sure. Securing a drink from the fridge, she hauled herself back up to the bathroom were her bath waited for her so she could soak away the day’s dramas. What a crazy idea it was to approach an English professor as an email partner in crime. She became a bit embarrassed at her sophomoric attempt at a descriptive paragraph. It was obvious that she didn’t proof it with a second read before she sent it off. She glided herself into the almost scalding water. Once she relaxed in her well-rehearsed position, she began to think about Mr Gerald. Her thoughts wandered, as she tried to pop bubbles with the water spitting from her lazily pumping fists.

“I wonder if he’s trying to methodically go through each of his classes to figure out who or is it whom I am. I really need to look that who/whom thing up. Will he send out clues tomorrow during class to try and tempt me to come out of hiding? Does he have an idea of who I am? Will he work little bits and pieces of descriptions of the person he thinks I am into the story? How is he going to describe me? Heck, I wonder if he’s even given my character a name yet?”

Her mind continued to wander idly, as did her hands. The bubble bath made her skin feel silken. She slightly stroked her nipple with her right hand and slid the other down to her stomach. She loved the hot sudsy water. She thought about Mr Gerald some more. The anonymity made the techno trysts so exciting to her. She began to caress her thigh. Mmmm… she hoped he would continue to correspond. Her hand moved up to her submerged lips. She stroked herself softly down there as her other hand began to encircle her breasts, in one lazy circle after another. She sighed Mr Gerald’s name twice before she slipped deeper into herself.

She woke early the next morning, anxious to see if she had new mail.

“Not a name, necessarily, but convince me you are who(and what) you claim–I mean the thrill is all/only yours, dahling.”

“Hmm…good point,” she thought. He’s either going to play or not. She typed and retyped her reply. She had no idea how to combat his uneasiness.

“I present you with a possible bit of insurance that your time with this story should continue. You have looked at me. You have wanted me. Granted, you have a discretionary taste when it comes to women. It is, as always, up to you to continue. You can view this simply as a developing storyline, perhaps an excerpt in your novel.

Life is as boring or as exciting as we choose to make it. Right now, mine’s extraordinarily exciting. I’m still swooning after reading your instalment. I look forward to future collaborations. I’m sure you won’t disappoint. If you don’t name me soon I swear I’ll call myself Ethel.” Thinking that she had done the best she could, she sent it. She was able to stay away from her computer for almost 30 minutes. The torment became too much and she checked her account for new additions.

“BINGO!”

“Oh swell. I know an “Ethel” as it happens, which brings us, or at least me, back to my last comments–or qualms, concerns… Which are not at all about content, but all about (isn’t the techno-term?) the “content provider.” And yeah, yeah, yeah “anonymity,” “prudence,” “small town,” and oaths of eternal silence (“…if [I] discuss this further…” suggests that I have already: Semantics, darling?) and all of that. And what, exactly, is it you fear? BUT. But every assurance, all the control you enjoy (and sure, I can dig the power, the frisson…) in your anonymity is at my expense; all/any risk is mine, none yours. Imagine the situation reversed–our positions (ahem) reversed. Just exactly as with those other positions–Turn over, my dear?–compliance and pleasure derive from the complete absence of, or the total opposite of anonymity: You would be titillated to have an anonymous phone caller suggest forcing damp undergarments into your mouth? You would perform a striptease (actual or by email) for someone “selected…on many qualifications” if that someone was other, or turned out to be, then you assumed? Just asking, you know? I may have “discretionary taste [no comment for the present on your word choice] when it comes to women”–emphasis on the gender and the plural entirely mine, though certain exes might argue the former merely modified the latter–but suggesting I’ve looked at you and wanted you provided little discretion and limits your possible identity to, what, half the females I see every day? That’s pretty dang anonymous, all right.

So again, not a name, necessarily, but convince me. You can figure out how; quite obviously you’re intelligent (now that is sexy). Look, dropping the soap in a candle-lit (or dark?) shower for two merely presents additional lubricious possibilities; doing so in a crowded locker room shower is so wrong.”