I had been corresponding with him for months. It started out innocently enough - me admiring his writing and he mine. But we wrote erotica, so there was always the sexual tension in the correspondence.
He never said he wanted me - in fact, he did not say anything about me physically. We kept the letters focussed on our writing.
The closest it got was when I would mention that his style of writing was so real, that I admired the little details in the stories. It made them seem more real.
He would pay me other compliments, mostly how my stories stimulated him. But none of this sounded dirty to me.
Another reason most of this seemed harmless is that I was safely in the United States, while he lived in Australia. That was as far away as he could be, and I never saw myself traveling to Australia. Similarly, I never dreamed he would ever come to the United States.
Well, as fate would have it, he had wrote me that he would be traveling to the United States for a conference, and he wanted to know if I knew anything about Houston, Texas. He was a Psychiatrist, and he was attending a medical conference there. He did not know much about me, but he knew that I lived in Georgia.
What he did not know is that my brother lived in Houston, so I had a connection to that city. Well, to further the story, I had decided to visit my brother during Allan's conference. I was not sure that I would meet him, but I had communicated that I would be in the area and that I might meet him for lunch one day. Lunches are safe. Well, I knew his name and the hotel he was staying at, and I called him one morning while my sister-in-law was in the shower and my brother had already left for work. He answered the phone, almost shocked that I called, and then we made plans to eat at a Korean restaurant near the conference.
When I first saw Allen, he was a little older than I had thought, although he was handsome and distinguished. He had a kind face, and a very graceful way of carrying himself. He took me by the arm, almost like a friend of the family would take my arm, and lead me to where we would be eating. Our lunch took more than an hour to eat, and I was enthralled with listening to him converse with me. He had a way with words and conversations, and we must have gone through two pots of jasmine tea and many more stories.
We had to leave the restaurant, as we were not going to eat anymore, and I was so at ease with this fellow writer. When he invited me up to his room, I accepted, wanting to continue our talks. These talks were about when we were children, what fascinated us, what continued to fascinate us as we grew and matured. He put on some more tea in the room, and we continued to talk about things which I cannot remember.
All I know is that time was passing so quickly, and I was worried that I would have to be leaving soon. The tea from the restaurant and the tea afterwards filled my bladder quickly, and I asked if I could use his restroom.
As I got up, Allan said casually, "Let me watch you pee."
I had known that some of his stories centered on urination, and I felt a little surprised by the request.
Almost out of character, I agreed to his request.
He followed me into the restroom, and I continued to do things out of character. I stepped out of my black skirt and put it on the sink. I then stepped out of my plain cotton white Hanes Her Way panties and stood in front of him.
His eyes were glued on my vagina, and I had known that he enjoyed dark, hairy vaginas.
He had mentioend that he liked looking on Camilla's web site at the amateur submissions of muff shots. I enjoyed the attention.
In fact, I felt very desirable, almost like a super model. Then I remembered that I still had to urinate. I really did not want him to see this, but I had already agreed, and I also did not want to back down now.
I sat down on the toilet, and I spread my legs further apart than I normally would while on the toilet.
Allan stood in silence while I urinated. I could tell he was excited, as I could see his penis enlarge.
I urinated for an uncomfortably long time. His eyes remained glued on my vagina, his eyes seeing the light golden stream of urine between my legs.
When I was done, he asked if he could wipe me dry. I declined his offer, reminding him I was married, and I considered that crossing the line.
He left the bathroom, feeling a little dejected, I am sure. I put on my panties and skirt, and I joined Allan in conversation once again.
He had small beads of perspiration on his forehead, but he did not even bring up what had just happened.
He was a perfect gentleman through the rest of the afternoon. I returned to my brother's house, and I did not meet Allan again that week. When he returned to Australia, he continued to write me as if nothing had ever happened between us.
I still consider Allan to be one of my best advocates, and I am glad that nothing else happened.
I am also glad that he got to see my vagina, the kind of vagina he dreams about, the kind of vagina he writes about.
‘A mari usque ad mare’ and all that that entails
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