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. đ 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. đ 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. đ
“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.
Still to this moment I can’t recall the dress she was wearing, except that had a modestly deep neckline with a lace up feature. I did my best to keep my eyes on hers, but her ample breasts made for the most beautiful cleavage.
We talked for a while, noshed on some great food, drank a little (more) wine, and then Madison announced she needed to go. It wasn’t late, but I knew she was working on her thesis, and I didn’t want to impinge on her studies.
Being that it was truly freezing out (below 32°), I asked if she’d mind driving me back to my hotel. She agreed. As we walked to her car, she sheepishly admitted she’d forgotten where she parked. Then she realized she didn’t have cash to pay the parking fee. I found this so charming and innocent.
Perhaps as a life metaphor regarding needs, as we were walking, she shivered. I put my arm around her and turned up the collar on her wool coat. She’d never known you could do that! I guess when Georgia is your home, what comes naturally to those who grew up in the frozen Mid-West wouldn’t be second nature. Then she slipped on some ice. I instinctively caught her. That moment it was Madison who melted a little. I kept her warm and safe that walk.
The dinner and walk surprisingly revealed, that despite our age difference, we clicked. Our personalities and deep-seated needs meshed in a way I still don’t understand. This girl with whom I was walking was so young, pretty, smart and vivacious that I didn’t want her to go. I told her I’d like some desert. She coyly asked, “What are you hungry for?” Chocolate was the only appropriate verbal answer, although my eyes said otherwise. I casually noted, as if by coincidence, that I had dark chocolate in my room. As we pulled into my hotel, she was the one to suggest that she’d like to come up.
You could have knocked me over with a feather. Never in a million years.
As for what happened next, Madison’s diary entry puts it in her words. She sent the words below in an email. This is what she wrote in her journal. The action picks up after she gets into her friend’s borrowed car and drives away from the university:
“Dear Journal, I decided to go and meet him. The tension within myself was too great for me to bear, so I had to go. I think our e-mail exchanges made meeting that much more exciting. I did not put much care into my underthings when getting ready as I had no idea of what was to come. But I put on my royal blue silk dress. It is one of my favorite dresses. It is a soft, fine 100% silk dress and it makes men want to put their arms around me. It is delightfully and teasingly low cut although it shows but a glimpse of cleavage. It is a very classy dress. It ties above the breasts; I like to fancy that when men see it they just want to untie it and start kissing me. I curled my hair and put on light makeup as well as my rose oil perfume. In my very humble but very accurate opinion, I looked lovely.
“I drove to the city, and I felt a little nervous as I walked to establishment. It turned out to be the perfect place for our rendezvous. I like to imagine how we looked that evening, all dressed up and full of desire. I walked in, and I did not see anyone. I thought he would be sitting next to the door watching for me. I felt a small pang of dismay as I looked about and did not see him. But after a few seconds, he stood up and I caught sight of him. He was sitting in the back; I walked to him, and the moment I saw him I knew it was going to be a lovely, romantic evening. People most often look more attractive in pictures than in real life. But it was the opposite with him. He was so handsome. He was definitely quite a bit older than I was, but the age difference did not feel too pronounced. I felt that we were on the same wavelength. I wonder what were his thoughts when he first saw me. He wears glasses. I love glasses on a man. He was wearing a sweater that looked to be very soft and a silk tie. He has very good taste and seemed young at heart. When I approached him, he welcomed me with an embrace and kissed me on the cheek. My heart began to waver and to melt a little. It was so romantic and made me feel so womanly. I wish I could have played that scene again and again. I loved him kissing me on the cheek upon meeting me. He is such a romantic, gentlemanly man. He helped me out of my coat and pulled out my chair for me to sit down. He is absolutely my type physically and intellectually. I loved his voice and his style of dress. I loved his taste in food.