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This is a story about you and me. You know who you are. I wrote a story. You did not really like it but it aroused some sort of interest in you and you sent me a brief compliment. I sent back a brief reply. Later I cursed myself for not taking longer over it. Perhaps I should have said more - but then I was always more of a chatter than a chatter up. Anyway you did reply and we started a bit of a dialogue each reply getting more explicit. It became addictive for me logging on as soon as I got home and last thing at night and first thing in the morning to see if you had replied to my latest.

We described ourselves to each other. I was not sure whether you were telling the truth because it sounded too good to be true but I did not mind if you had. Then we swapped private e-mail addresses and started to send very explicit e-mails to each other. I even used my work PC carefully deleting all my cache and history - paranoid in case I got discovered. I also had to do the same at home so that my extremely jealous wife would not suspect.

You sent me photos of yourself. I loved the ones of your large breasts in your tight white bra. Your face was always a bit obscured and the photos were genuinely amateur which re-assured me (as well as turning me on). I was a bit reluctant to send any back. What if they appeared all over the Internet? What if you were really some psychopathic bunny boiler who would track me down and stab me? Anyway I did send some. I sucked my belly in to make it look like I had more of a ...

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