Never In A Million Years by Detroit_Rising
As you read, you’ll see this story has two voices … mine and her’s. I literally copy and pasted her words from emails that we exchanged. Yes, this story is that real! I’m looking for other experiences like this, so if this turns you on, I hope you’ll contact me at kay-eye-kay chicago440, regardless of your age. , When I used to travel on business I would occasionally post an ad in the Craigs List Men-for-Women section. It was mostly a way to kill time while was alone in a hotel room. I’d write something fun, like “Baby Oil, Wine & Hot Tub – What Could Be Better?” The body of the post would be well written, in complete sentences, with proper punctuation. If you ever looked at CL listings, these basic qualities made the ad stand out from the normal “HMU 2 F$#@” type fare.
As an older white guy (just over 50 when I posted this particular ad), it’s not like my in box got flooded. The responses were mostly from Russian scammers, prostitutes, or drug addicts. Depending on how bored I was, I’d turn the tables on the scammers, be nice to the hookers, and point the addicts toward local treatment centers.
Occasionally, I’d get a hit from a real, genuine human being. Most emails were guys offering blow jobs. Once in a blue moon, a woman would respond.
Her first e-mail answered my query about “what could be better.” The woman whom I would come to know as Madison wrote, “Chocolate would be better.” Opinionated I thought. I like strong women. In addition to the subject line declarative, she wrote only, “Are you single?” Opinionated, laconic and moral.
My response didn’t lie, but I agreed with her assessment, then offered dark chocolate along with a body rub. She responded, “Well, I am adamant, so I don’t think you can change my mind, although you may be able to seduce my mind. Strong, masculine hands on my soft, pretty body is so enticing and intoxicating. I could use a body rub…I have been working really hard on my thesis and am quite fatigued. I wish I could come. 🙁 I am just very serious about respecting other women and their relationships, even if I don’t know them.”
The additional detail in her note revealed a deepening curiosity. Expecting nothing more than e-mails – which I knew would end if I offended her or she simply lost interest – I pressed on just for fun. Plus, because I live my work life at a keyboard creating stories for a living, it was a welcomed distraction from my regular life, and offered hope for the perpetual hole I felt in my heart about longing to be with a woman who wanted to be with me (the reason I didn’t just hire a call girl).
Soon we exchanged photos. I knew she was in college (the thesis tipped me off), so when she saw the real 50-something me, I figured it’d be over. It wasn’t.
She wrote, “I really feel obliged to say that if you are really trying to get me to meet then you will not succeed. I just don’t want you to waste your time. I really do believe it is wrong to be with someone who is married or in a relationship, and I am very conscientious about that.
“But I do really like your photos though. You look smart and handsome in the best way possible. You are definitely a good bit older than me but very much my type physically speaking with your hair and skin. You’re adorable. I love it. 🙂 Very sexy. And seeing your strong hands makes me want you to give me a thigh massage.
“As for me, I am 22. I am writing my undergraduate, senior thesis on The Plague by Albert Camus. I am single. I love languages, especially Latin and Ancient Greek. I spent a month in Italy last summer; I love to travel. I enjoy baking bread. I love the symphony and the opera. And I love to eat. 🙂
“What do you think of my photo?”
Oh my. What did I think? I was looking at a college girl who was flirting with me! My feelings raced from disbelief to being flattered, excited, enchanted and seriously aroused.
Madison exuded the girl-next-door look with medium brown hair that hung past her shoulders. Even though the photo was not at all revealing, she had beautiful womanly curves. Imagine a classic Rubenesque model minus 20 pounds and you’re picturing Madison. Her sparkling eyes and welcoming smile were simply, well, just pretty. Melt-me cute. And pure.
Of course, she was not completely pure. Like me, like everyone who pursues what they need but can’t find through normal channels, Madison wasn’t totally innocent. Like me, she had started down a shadowy path of her own. Fortunately, somehow we’d met.
My business plans put me in the Southern city near her college in the dead of winter. Our e-mails took on an urgency because the opportunity to meet was ours to miss. I suggested coffee. Her response revealed a longing. “Of course, I am curious about what it would be like to be with you. I can’t say that I wasn’t fantasizing a little in my morning class about your hands on my thighs. Honestly, I wish I could go with you to dinner tonight, but I don’t have a way to get there. It has been about a year since I have been with a man who knew something about build up and prolonged passion. It is something I love and something that takes me to ecstasy, and something about which many men know practically nothing. I would love a buildup of intensity tonight.
“If I went even to dinner with you, I think that I would want you to make at least a little love to me, but since I won’t let that happen since you are attached, it would just be torture for me. I can’t stop wishing you were single! But I just can’t go against my conscience. I want kisses on my neck and ear. I dislike this inner struggle. :(”
Driven by the deepest need to satisfy my heart, I rationalized the situation in a note back to her, “To put things into perspective, you’ll likely do worse things in your life than see me. At least if you see me, there’s a terrific upside. Some things are worth it. The reality of how I could make you feel: Worth it. The memories of what we’ve shared. Worth it. The adventure. Worth it.”
I did not tell her that for me, the tryst would renew my strength to stay in my outwardly perfect marriage that was otherwise killing me … slowly sucking the passion and energy from my soul due to my wife’s emotional and physical disinterest. Being with Madison took on extra urgency as I realized she could be so deeply important to me at a level she couldn’t possibly understand.
Madison resisted and resisted until she didn’t. Dozens of e-mails tracked the moral battle. Either of us could have walked away. Neither did.
We’d agreed to meet at a wine bar for dinner. I got there a bit early and ordered a Riesling. Then a second. I’d positioned myself in the very back of the restaurant, faced so I could see the door. Madison arrived. She was prettier than her photos, and I hadn’t realized how tall she was, at least 5’8″. She didn’t see me, so I stood up and walked to greet her. We paused for a moment, eye to eye, my hands in front of me to gently welcome her by taking her’s and leading her to our table. It was going to be a nice evening.