Anonymous love - Chapter 4

Yee-haw!

Now Mr Gerald knew something his granddaddy didn’t, the real reason the South lost the WAAH. Those darned Confederates worked against their better judgment. Victory was hers.

Now to get to business, she thought. A precursory scan landed her eyes on a few words …”little snit”. Her grumbling was getting in the way of her reading. She reminded herself that it’s just a story, only a story. She was just a character. With a deep breath, she began again, now with her third person reply.

“As always, the first read through was for understanding, the second was for enjoyment. She wondered if even he knew the other D.H. Lawrence connection. Lawrence and ladies with prostrated posteriors had a commonality. This correlation left her a bit confused as to what actually happened in Gerald’s story. Was it anal? In Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover and in The Rainbow, the lovers confirmed their devotion with the most forbidden act. She was thinking way too much. So, she started to read the story over. This time, it worked.

She allowed his words to envelop her like an erotic layer of warmth. She pictured them, the teacher and herself; she took this picture with her. This was her luxury, a more accurate portrayal than he had. She relished in the thought of his touch. She wanted to hear the sound of his zipper. She wanted to push back against him and feel his nakedness against hers. She wanted to feel her body give way to him. The heat welled inside of her. She thought of what his kiss would be like, his mouth and hers. She tingled and shook from the inside out. Every second pushed her further into a rapture, into ecstasy. She bucked harder against her lover. He worked her over, pushing himself deeper inside…

Afterwards, she managed to get up and make her way to the shower. Her lover was left wondering who Mr Gerald was.

Now to answer your question.

How did you know that I wanted you?

Why me now?

Do you mean why you or why now?

Small town?

It’s a small community. I fear that exposure of a prohibited affair, even of this type, would be detrimental.”

Emailing had now become her favourite past time. She now understood how a person could be sucked into geekdom. This new vice could turn into a vise without her noticing. She didn’t really care at this point. She was too intoxicated by the thrill of the game. It’s just a game. She kept reminding herself.

Early the next morning, even before her hot chocolate, she was logged on and checking for emails. He didn’t disappoint.

“Lawrence, eh? How very nice, and precisely what I meant about intelligent is sexy & about the you behind (no pun intended–HAH!) the name. A cowgirl hat? What about boots? As in “…she crossed her boots at her ankles….” Avoiding tell-tail (oops) signs is just fine, but your fleshing (low, whistling “oooh” here) out that other you is so deeply appreciated that I’d do anything–anything–for (or to, or in, or best of all with you?). Fantasy, after all, does have form and clarity–for me that need not extend to your name and your face, especially if the withholding is part of your buzz, but (preferably yours pressed tightly against…) my preference is defined eroticism as opposed to random, general, vague–I’ll take a real fantasy woman over fantasies about women any, um, night. That you understand that difference and tell me about yourself, well, I’ll yours if you’ll mine. Yes, dahling? Oops, class.”

He’s so cheesy, she thought. Unknowingly, she wore that smile he gave her all day long.