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Chrissie Bentley has been interviewed! Click here to read interview.

"Okay, before we go any further, go back to my profile and have a look at my photograph. Now, do I look like the kind of girl who enjoys going on fishing trips?"

There was a pause, then the beep of an incoming IM. I've cleaned up the spelling mistakes and abbreviations. "That photograph makes you look like you enjoy a lot of things. I was just hoping that fishing might be one of them."

I smiled and typed "goodnight"; hit Send, then fired off a line of kisses. Ray was one of the first guys to e-mail me after I started posting stories on this website and, though his first letters were little more than undisguised invitations to come and repeat all the action at his place, there was a humor to his words that made me curious to learn more about him... more, that is, than the admittedly impressive penile dimensions that he sketched out in one note, the heights of horniness that he painted in another, and the obsession with tit-fucks that he'd always been too shy to suggest to past partners. And, over time, I did. He was an art dealer, single, and he traveled extensively - five foreign countries and 23 states in the last six months.... I wondered whether mine was one of them?

Soon I was signing on at all hours of the day, just to see if he'd emailed me back, and he rarely disappointed, even if he was simply writing to complain that he'd just ruined a new set of sheets, jerking off over my picture... and "PS: I bet you wouldn't have wasted a drop if it, would you?"

One day, as he outlined his next scheduled trip, he asked where I lived. I told him the state; he mentioned a city... I sat and stared at the screen for a few moments. He was coming here? Careful not to give anything away, I typed, "when will you be there next?"

"This weekend. You?"

"I could probably make it. What are you doing there?"

"Fishing with some clients. And a reception Saturday night - a dozen or so people, out-of-towners like me, and some dear friends of mine, Derek and Mandy, who just happen to own half the city they live in. You should join us."

"I'll think about it."

I have one rule about on-line dating... don't do it. Hell, I won't even cyber with guys that I've slept with, let alone a complete stranger. But did this really count as on-line dating? Okay, so we met on-line, but what if he'd written me via a magazine or a publisher? Then we'd be pen pals, and how harmless would that be? Plus, I'd have my own car, I'd at least let some friends know where I was going; and I did want to get to know him better. I hit the reply button. "Okay."

We made arrangements. He would be flying in Friday, driving out to the ocean the following afternoon. He mentioned the hotel where he was staying - of course I knew it... it was only 15 minutes from my apartment! But I was still impressed when he told me he'd have his secretary book me a room, and charge it to his expense account. "How about if we meet up in the dining room for lunch on Saturday?"

"Great. See you there." I signed off, and tried to decide what clothing would be the most to wear on a fishing trip; but found myself instead spending more time in my underwear drawer. After all, if things did go well... surely I had at least one bra that screamed, "fuck me" from every fiber?

Yes I did, but I don't think he even noticed it, not when I walked into the dining room; not when we sat chatting in the bar; not when he waved a few friends off and told them he'd catch up with them later... not even when we went up to his room, stripped down in seconds, and fell on the bed with his cock already up to its root in my hot, soaking pussy.

He was everything he'd described in his e-mails... mid-40s, clean-shaven, good-looking, tall. His voice was soft, as though every word was a precious commodity to be drawn out of him with the most exquisite tenderness... and that is how he fucked me (yes, that

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