Sex On The Net
Technology has provided us with a whole new arena for getting off with one another. So is there really a difference between having online sexual dalliances and doing it for real?
Anne Sexton, 15 Apr 2010
For months, my friend Timothy has been asking me to come and visit him and his new fiancée in their lovely home in the south of France. Every time he’s issued the invitation, I’ve declined, citing work or prior commitments, and being a smart man, he eventually twigged that my excuses were just that – excuses.
“Are you broke?” he asked. “I’ll buy you a ticket.”
But no, my finances, precarious at the best of times, were not the issue. Instead it was our relationship, which I’d begun to think had strayed over an invisible line marked “inappropriate”.
The last time we’d seen one another drinking and flashing had occurred. Naturally I’m blaming the flashing on the drinking, but truth be told, our relationship has always been more than a little flirtatious – banter and innuendo mostly, although we do have a bit of previous, but that was a long time ago.
It was late, around one in the morning. He suggested another drink and when he stood up to refresh his whiskey, I noticed something about him was different.
“Have you lost weight?” I asked. Yes he had, and since he was proud of his newly acquired six-pack he was more than happy to show me, pulling up his shirt so I could take a good gander.
“How about you?” he inquired.
“Lost some too, by accident, not design.”
“Let me see,” he said.
I stood up, lifted my hands over my head and did a little twirl. Why? Well duh, because if you put your hands in the air, your stomach flattens out and your breasts perk up – it’s a flattering angle for girls like me who are vain enough to worry about this kind of nonsense, but not vain enough (or possibly just too lazy!) to have anything more than a sporadic relationship with the gym.
As I executed this little manoeuvre, my shirt rose up and the lace trim of my knickers was visible over my now slightly too large low-riding jeans.
“Nice pants,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Can I see more?”
Later on he persuaded me to show him my bra, to prove I was a lady and therefore wearing a matching set. Of course it would have been far more ladylike not have done any flashing at all, but after three glasses of wine, his logic made a kind of perverse sense, especially since he promised to show me his silk boxers.
Page 1/4 <Previous 1 2 3 4 Next>
©Hot Press 2011. Why be a member? | Terms of Service | Privacy Policy