Over the net, through my stories and journal entries, you constructed
an image of my appeal, from what I chose to reveal. You touch your
fly, satisfied that I would satisfy your desires from the lens of your
mind’s eye.
Who would you like me to be? A catholic school girl professing her sin
in lighting the erotic fires, or a fantasy china doll subservient to
all your sexual wishes and desires? If we meet up in a club would I be
a flirt, letting my garter belt peek through my mini-skirt? What would
dinner be like in a restaurant, would I sit on top of you right after
dessert? What about attending a concert, what would I do to keep you
alert? How hard can you push until it hurts, am I open to being an
anal convert?
How do you think I like to be taken – roughly, gently, by a man, by a
woman, or both at once until I am shaken? How would I react to your
cock, do I take it all in and let my hips rock? What would be my
favorite position, how much can you push for submission? What do I
look like after a night of passion, would I like to go again, and in
what fashion?
What would I be doing on those long nights, would I satisfy myself
with my hands, or break out my vibrators from that drawer on my right?
Would I utter erotic sounds while I think of you, or search the net
looking for something new? Do I dance seductively to the beat of
Dreadfully Dead, or prop myself on top of your bed and keep my legs
nicely spread?
In the fantasy land of your imagination, I can be, whoever you want me to be.