Not so with Melany. She could spell and create complete sentences that belied the fact that she was born and raised Hungarian, and English was a second language to her. So I enjoyed typing to Melany for hours each week. And she apparently enjoyed typing to me. So much so that it was in our fourth week that she used the ‘L’ word in a sentence just as naturally as could be. I nearly gasped, paused mentally, and then continued texting as if nothing important had happened. But, or course, something important HAD happened, and no one could take it back. You see, both Melany and I had broken the rules of a sex-based relationship. At the local strip bar or on a sex-site over the Internet, one thing no one does is get serious about feelings. All sorts of feelings can be expressed and every kind of promise can be tossed around and everyone took it for what it was – a statement made to get a sexual reaction. A man could say that he loved a dancer as long as he said so at the same time he was. “Okay,” I said, helping her with the basket. “Let’s go.”* As I was in bed with my wife, my mind crept to thinking about Ashley. Whenever I closed my eyes, I would think of her, slowly unbuttoning that pink blouse, and dropping it to the floor, revealing more of her sweet, soft body as she creeps closer to me. She smiled sweetly as she showed me more, taking off her pink bra and tossing it to the floor. Her breasts were perfect, beautifully shaped and proportional to her petite body, her nipples small but growing harder by the second. She winked at me as she removed her skirt, discarding it onto the floor, and soon after, she slowly but sensually removed her panties. But instead of simply tossing it on the floor, she threw her panties to me. I caught them in my hands, inhaling the sweet scent of her pussy. “You like what you see?” she asked as she crept closer to me. “Oh yes,” I managed as she wrapped her arms around me. We looked into each other’s eyes, smiled and admired each.
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