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Hannah's Secret pt. 1

A story that explores the question, is cyber sex cheating?

Meeting Hannah that afternoon was one of those bizarre events that convinced me how important it is to say “yes” to life, to be open to what presents itself and to not have expectations. I hadn’t been to New York City in over twenty years, and in fact, rarely leave my off the grid cabin in Maine for any cities. I shop at a local food co-op in our small town, pick up mail at the post office, sometimes get a bowl of soup or a cup of coffee and exchange greetings with friends and neighbors then head home, happy to drive down the long dirt road through the woods and walk the path up to my quiet life.

I had just completed a book of poetry and my brother told me about a group he belongs to at the library and their monthly guest speaker series. Each member arranges an evening and so he urged me to come to New York and give a reading. First, I said no I didn’t want to deal with all the hustle and bustle of New York, but then remembered my philosophy to always say “yes,” unless there is a moral conflict or it’s impossible. It’s Life’s way of giving you an unexpected gift, even though you might not realize it at the time.

“Come to New York and give the reading, it will be good for you,” he said more insistently. Finally, the desire to read my new poems and get away from my solitary life for awhile came over me and I said I would come. When I hung up I couldn’t believe what I had agreed to do.

So, the sudden opportunity to visit my brother in New York and give a poetry reading brought me this chance to taste a piece of life I had never experienced before or since. Whether it was fate or haphazard random circumstance, I can’t say. That’s part of the mystery. But coming to New York and meeting Hannah that afternoon in the cafe around the corner from my brother’s apartment took me into a realm of reality I am still trying to understand.

I arrived in New York on a Thursday afternoon and took the train from the airport, a subway to Times Square, then a crowded bus to Riverside Drive. I was completely dazzled and overwhelmed by the visual sensations of lights and sounds, the barrage of advertisements, horns honking, sirens screaming, department stores filled with shiny, glitzy merchandise, tall towering buildings and dozens of theaters with blinking lights. I found Eighty-Seventh Street and walked past people rushing in both directions to where my brother lived in a swanky penthouse apartment on the thirtieth floor.

The next day, while my brother had several appointments, I took the opportunity to explore the neighborhood and stopped at a little café called the Left Bank for a cup of coffee and a treat. My poetry reading wouldn’t be until eight that evening, so I had the whole afternoon to myself. The café was busy with people hurrying in for coffee and a pastry. Most of the tables were taken and the place was buzzing with conversations, or people reading the newspaper, or checking out their cell phones. I sat at a table by the window and could glance at people walking by. I had my journal and was jotting down impressions, sketching, reflecting, describing people, wondering what they were thinking.

While I was writing, a young woman with long dark curly hair walked in and caught my eye. She had a green canvas bag. I was surprised when she put her bag down on the empty table next to mine and went to the counter to place an order. Standing there, she glanced at the pastries, looked back at her table and at me. I had stopped writing and kept my pen paused on the page. Our eyes met briefly, but I quickly looked away then back, just as she turned to give her order.

I guessed she was in her early thirties and wore a colorful Indian print wrap-around skirt that came an inch or so above her knees and a soft textured white peasant-like blouse that revealed her shoulders, a small lavender scarf tied loosely at her neck. When she came to her table carrying her coffee and a croissant, our eyes met again. I noticed her lively eyes, olive skin, a narrow pointed nose and high cheekbones. Her dark wild flowing hair came just below her shoulders. Large round silver dangling earrings gave her an exotic appearance that made me think she looked like a gypsy.

She took a book out of her canvas bag and placed it on the table, then put the bag on the floor next to her chair, sat down, crossed her legs and looked around the room, glancing quickly in my direction. Our eyes met before she looked away. She took a sip of her coffee and opened her book, flattening it with her hand, smoothing the page.

I remember writing in my journal how I felt with this exotic young lady sitting at the table next to me. I enjoy looking at people, but rarely am I so captivated by a person as I was with her. Every few minutes, I stopped writing and glanced over at her, watching as she read, her long fingers bringing her coffee mug to her lips, taking a sip.

I continued writing, struggling to concentrate on what I was describing and not look at her, but there was something about her presence, her contained energy that caused me to keep glancing at her. I could feel her lively spirit. There was something mysterious and hidden about her that attracted me and made me feel how beautiful and fascinating she was.

I am an extremely shy, quiet person, and it is not in my nature to strike up a conversation with someone I don’t know, especially a young woman who must be a least twenty or so years younger than me. But there I was sitting at my table, wanting to burst out of my reserved personality and invite myself to sit with her, something I knew I couldn’t do.

She was reading her book with deep concentration, but every time she turned the page, she would look up to glance around the room and our eyes would meet. She would then return to her book, and I would return to my writing. In my journal I was describing this scene. When I wrote, “Her dark hair falling past her shoulder is lovely next to her olive complexion, but it’s her large hazel, mysterious eyes that draw me to her. I have to meet her! I have to meet her!” It was the urgency of that last sentence that startled me. I often see a woman who I think is attractive, but this was different. Why did I write, “I have to meet her?

I put my pen down, reading over what I had written when I heard her voice and turned. “What are you writing?”

At first I wasn’t sure how to answer and so I repeated her question, “Oh, ah, what am I writing?” I glanced down at my journal then back at her and somehow found the nerve to say, “”I’m writing about you.”

“You are?” she asked, her eyes widening, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, noticing the slight smile on her lips, the surprise in her eyes.

Neither of us spoke, but, in that silence there was no awkwardness, just curiosity. I took a deep breath and somehow found the boldness to say, “I think you’re beautiful. I wanted to describe you in words.”

“Thank you,” she responded and smiled. “I don’t think I’m beautiful, so thank you.”

Again, there was a silence, but we kept our eyes on each other. She picked up her coffee mug, brought it to her lips, looking at me over the rim. I did the same thing, took a sip of my coffee, quickly closed my journal, keeping the pen in the book as a marker and looked back at her. “What are you reading?”

“David Mamet,” she answered, closing her book. “Do you know his writing?”

“Yes, I’ve read a few of his plays and have seen several of his movies. I like his language and how he writes dialogue.”

“Me, too, it’s called, Mamet speak. I love how crisp his dialogue is. It’s like poetry, so spare.”

“Let’s pretend we’re in a Mamet play,” I said, surprising myself with that bold, spontaneous idea, somehow my usual shyness evaporating.

“Okay,” she said, nodding, “Let’s pretend we’re in a Mamet play.”

“Yes, let’s,” I responded, already entering the stylized, mono-syllabic, repetitive manner of his dialogue.

“Yes, let’s,” Hannah repeated, picking up our game, a slight playful smile on her lips.

“Hello,” I said, looking at her from my table.


“You look sad.

“I do?”

“Yes, sad.”

“Oh!” she said, widening her eyes.

“Yes, sadness is not what I want for today,” I said, shaking my head.

“Yes, I know you don’t want sadness. I know you don’t.”

“What do you think I want for today?”

“You want me to invite you to sit with me but you’re too shy to ask.”

“You’re right. I do.”

She smiled and gestured with her hand to the empty seat across from her, both of us enjoying imitating the flat way Mamet’s character spoke. I was stunned by her invitation, but smiled back, her dark eyes inviting me, that same slight, playful smile on her lips. I picked up my journal and coffee and sat down at her table, our eyes meeting again.

“I’m Thom. Thom with an “h,” I said, still in the Mamet mode of speaking.

“Hello, Thom with an h.”

“I’m Hannah with an h.”

“Hello Hannah with an h. I know your name has an h otherwise it would be Anna. Not Hannah.”

“Right, and if it started with a B, I’d be banana.”

We both laughed.

“Are we being silly?”

“Very. But thank you for reading my mind and inviting me to sit with you.”

“This is a new way of meeting someone,” she said, “like being in a Mamet play.”

“Yes, I guess it is, especially for me,” I said taking a sip of my coffee. “I never do things like this.”

“Me either. I’m a very private person, very shy. I keep to myself.”

“I do too,” I said. “But I’m surprised about you. Your face is so open. I’d think you would have a busy social life.”

“I don’t really. I love being home, reading, talking to my boyfriend and taking walks along the river. I love going to the library, bookstores and museums. I love to read.”

“So you have a boyfriend?”

“I do,” she said, touching the corner of her book.

“That’s nice. Are you happy with him?”

“I am, very. He’s wonderful,” she said, then asked, “Are you married?”

“No, I’m divorced,” I answered, shrugging my shoulders.

“Sorry,” she said, her eyes and mouth expressing her sadness. “Has that been hard for you?”

“At first, but actually I’m fine with it. We just decided not to be in each other’s movie anymore,” I said, repeating the explanation I often gave when people expressed their, “oh, that’s too bad.”

“That’s an interesting way of thinking about it,” she said, then paused, glancing at my checkered flannel shirt, “You’re not a New Yorker, are you?”

“No,” I answered with a slight chuckle, “How did you know?”

“Easy, no one in this neighborhood looks or dresses like you do,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I answered looking down at my plaid flannel shirt, my faded jeans, knowing my gray hair was long and shaggy.

“You look different, shaggy hair and beard, a flannel shirt, not slick, a little unkempt, definitely not a New Yorker.”

“Oh, well, I’m from Maine,” I said and shrugged my shoulders. “Not that everyone from Maine is shaggy and unkempt.”

“I like how you look. You look interesting. Not like everyone around here. I like that.”

“I like how you look, too,” I said. “There’s something mysterious about you.”

“Mysterious?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “You’re wrong. I’m not mysterious.”

“Yes, you are. You have a secret self that no one knows but you.”

“I do?” she asked, lifting her mug to her lips, her eyes looking over the rim at me.

When she put her mug down, I could tell she was thinking about what I said about her secret self. She seemed concerned at first, but then smiled, her eyes narrowing, looking into mine, indicating I had touched something in her and aroused her curiosity.

“Tell me about my secret self.”

“So, do you admit you have a secret self?”

“Maybe,” she responded, that slight smile returning to her lips.

I smiled back, our eyes probing one another, fascinated by where this conversation was heading.

“And you, Thom, do you have a secret life, a fantasy world?” she asked, shifting in her seat, leaning forward on her elbows, moving her face closer to mine, looking into my eyes, smiling, revealing her cleavage, her breasts pressing against the white peasant blouse.

I took a sip of my coffee, stunned by her question, uncertain what to say. I kept my mug to my lips as if I were hiding behind it, but my eyes were on her smile and dark eyes and, I admit, on the glimpse of cleavage as she leaned towards me. I put my cup down, surprised that she moved her face closer to mine, as if something intimate was about to be whispered.

“Let’s talk about our secret lives. I’ll tell you about mine, if you tell me about yours.”

“So you admit it,” I said, moving my face closer to hers, our eyes looking into each other’s eyes.

“Yes, you know I have a secret life and I know you do,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, our faces now inches away from each others, surprised at how our conversation had suddenly veered and became so intimate.

“Are we still in a Mamet play?” I asked.

“No, we’re in our own play. We’re entering our secret lives.”

I smiled, our eyes looking into each other’s eyes, probing.

“I’m enjoying this. Are you?” she asked.

“Yes. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she answered, breaking off a piece of her croissant, putting it her mouth, chewing delicately then licking her lips, her eyes fixed on mine. Though we were in our own play, it seemed we were still using Mamet’s language.

“Hannah, I think we have the same secret fantasy.”

“Really, tell me what it is.”

“You want to be fucked by a stranger. You want to be ravished.”

I couldn’t believe I was saying this to her. I rarely, if ever, use the word fuck or speak like this and shocked myself, but somehow enjoyed my sudden boldness. We were strangers, suddenly being personal, talking about our secrets.

“Hmm, tell me more.”

“Have you seen Last Tango in Paris?”

“Yes, get the butter!” she said, repeating a line from the movie.

“You want to be in an empty room or in a cheap, seedy motel with a stranger,” I said.

“Yes, it’s a cheap sleazy motel in the middle of nowhere, with a coffee shop, and there’s a red neon sign outside,” she said, nodding.

“Right, you and I have just met in the coffee shop late at night. You’re wearing tight jeans and a tank top, no bra.” I paused. “I’m now combining my fantasy with yours,” I added.

“I know you are. You like tight jeans on young women, don’t you? You like seeing their ass and the jeans tight on their cunt,” she whispered, looking into my eyes, a sly smile on her lips. I couldn’t believe her language but liked how she was talking to me, as if her secret self had taken over and merged with mine.

“Yes, tight jeans turn me on,” I whispered, my secret self emerging.

“It’s late and there’s no one in the coffee shop but me and you,” she said.

“Right, I just came in for a cup of coffee. You’re at the counter and look up at me when I enter. Your eyes move up and down my body, liking what you see, our eyes meet and you smile, luring me to sit next to you and order a coffee.”

“So, stranger, where are you from?” Hannah asked, becoming the character in the scenario we were creating.

“Nowhere, I’m kind of drifting from here to there.”

“Gotta name?”


“‘Good, me either.”

“‘What are you looking at, stranger?”

“You know what I’m looking at.”

“Do you like what you see?”

“Yes and I want to lick your nipples.”

“Hmmmmm, sounds good. What else do you want, stranger?”

“You know what I want. What do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me hard. I have a room here. Care to share it with me for the night.”

“Yes, lead the way.”

“We get up to go. I throw some money on the counter and follow you, loving your round ass in those tight jeans, your hips swaying. You turn around and smile.”

“‘Follow me, stranger.”

Just then Hannah sat back in her chair, took a deep breath, and swallowed, glancing around the café then back at me. “You’re getting me wet, Thom.”

“Good, we’ve entered each other’s secret life, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” she said, biting her lower lip, breathing heavily. “That was amazing. I’m hot. I really got into it.”

“I did too.”

“I’ve never talked to anyone like this before,” she said.

“Me either,” I said, our eyes fixed on each other.

“Let’s get out of here. I know a cheap hotel nearby,” Hannah said.

“Are you serious?”


“What about your boyfriend?”

“He doesn’t have a clue about my secret life,” she said. “He doesn’t know about my fantasies and all the toys I play with when he’s not around or this internet site I’m on and my several secret cyber lovers that fuck me when he’s at work or out,” she said, standing up. He has no idea. Let’s get out of here.”

We left the cafe and walked swiftly. Her large green canvas bag hanging from one shoulder and I noticed several books in it.

“The hotel is about two blocks from here,” she said.

While we were walking, Hannah’s words about her secret life baffled and intrigued me. How could she separate one reality from her reality with her boyfriend? How could her secret life not be part of her actual life?

“How do you know about this hotel?” I asked

“I just do,” she said, smiling. “It’s one of those places you can rent a room by the hour. It’s for people like us, secret lovers.”

“Have you been there before?” I asked.

“No, but I have wanted to go by myself. They have porn movies on the TV and I thought about going there and living out one of my fantasies.”

“So you’ve never really been there before.”

“No, this is the first time,” she said, smiling up at me, her long dark gypsy-like hair flowing in the breeze as we walked swiftly down the crowded street, weaving our way past people.

Finally, we were standing in front of a narrow building with a small green sign over the door that read, “Concord Hotel.”

“Interesting name,” I said.

“Yes, it’s perfect for what this place is, harmony and agreement,” she said, smiling playfully. She then stepped closer to me, her tits just touching my chest. “Rent us a room, Mister,” she said, looking seductively into my eyes. I could smell her perfume, the warmth of her body, my cock getting hard, unable to believe that I was standing there with this exotic, young woman about to live our fantasy.

I went up to the desk and asked for a room while Hannah waited by the elevator. I glanced over at her smiling at me, biting her lower lip. I rented the room for one hour.

In the elevator, she stood next to me. We didn’t speak as the elevator climbed. The only sound was the chime as we passed the floors, but we felt the anticipation, both of us thinking about the secret world we were entering, wondering where this meeting would end. At the fourth floor, she leaned into me and said, “So Mister, what are you going to do to me?”

“You’ll find out,” I said and put my hand on her ass and rubbed it, feeling the crack through the thin material of her skirt as my hand moved from one round cheek to the other, giving her ass a slight squeeze.

“Hmmmmm, that feels good, Mister,” she said in a low voice as we reached the fifth floor.

“This is our stop,” I said, hearing the ping of the chime.

We got off and she followed me down the red carpet of the dark narrow hall to our room. I unlocked and opened the door and let her walk in ahead of me. I closed the door and Hannah put her canvas bag down on a chair then walked around looking at the small bureau, an open closet with hangers, the TV, the bathroom. The curtains were open, letting sunlight in. Hannah closed the curtains then turned on a lamp.

“I want to shut out the world, but I like a light on when we make love. I want to see your face.”

She then sat on the bed and looked up at me. “Okay, Thom, this is the deal,” she said, spreading her legs. “We’re going to do everything but not actually fuck. We’re going to get hot and masturbate with each other. That’s as close to real fucking as we’re going to get. Do you understand?”

“Yes, this is fantasy land. You want me to be in your secret world like on the internet where you fuck, but don’t really fuck because you’re in cyber space masturbating so you feel you are not cheating on your boyfriend.”

“Yes, this room is like a room in cyber space. It’s not real but feels real. It becomes what we want it to be. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do, Hannah, but it’s a thin line and we might lose control and cross over from one reality into the other. We’re not in cyber space. It’s dangerous.”

“I know it’s dangerous, but we won’t cross over. I won’t let that happen. I’m always in control.” She paused and looked into my eyes, “Always!”

“And you think what we’re doing is not cheating on your boyfriend.”

“Right, I know it’s dangerous and on the edge. I know it sounds confusing. And you think I’m crazy and maybe I am. I want us to fuck each other with our minds and hands, masturbate, but not touch, use our imaginations. Can you handle that?”

“I don’t know, Hannah. I can try, but might get so hot I just take you. This is dangerous territory we’re in.”

“But its exciting isn’t it? It’s scary, but it turns me on. I love it,” she said, getting up from the bed. She stood close to me, our bodies barely touching and looked into my eyes. “Make me your lover.”

She then walked in back of me and I felt her tits on my back as she reached around and placed her hands on my crotch, grabbing my balls through my jeans. My cock was already hard and she moved her hand from my balls to my hardness, rubbing my cock through my jeans. “Hmmmmm, what a big hard cock you have,” she whispered. “I want this. I want you to fuck me hard.”

I was surprised she was actually touching me and could not believe how Hannah had changed, but liked how she moved her hand up and down my hard cock and how she was talking to me. It was as if she became her secret self. I didn’t say a word, but closed my eyes enjoying her hands, letting her take the lead, my cock now harder than it had ever been, bulging in my jeans.

“I want this big cock in my tight wet pussy. I want hot, raunchy, dirty fucking, Mister. You want that too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I want to fuck you. I want my cock in your tight cunt.”

“That’s it, mister, talk dirty to me. I want you to ravish me. I want you to take me and fuck my brains out.”

Just then Hannah, still in back of me reached around and unbuttoned my jeans, lowered the zipper and saw I didn’t wear underwear. She took my hard cock in her hand, pulling it out, “Hmmmmm, I like a man ready for action. Damn, you’re so big and hard.”

Hannah’s hand on my hard cock was driving me crazy. Just then I turned around and faced her, my throbbing cock and balls outside my jeans. I put my hands under her skirt, lifting it, reached around and grabbed her panty covered ass and pulled her against me. My cock was standing straight up. I gripped her ass, grinding my cock against her mound through her skirt. She gasped, “Oh yes!” and arched her back and started sliding her pussy up and down the length of my cock. “Oh you feel so good,” she moaned. I could smell her arousal and loved how her ass felt, gripped by my hands.

She then pushed me away and stepped back. We were both breathing heavily. “This is getting too real,” she gasped, panting, her face flushed, her mouth open. She stood facing me, our eyes looking into each other’s eyes. She then walked to the bed, turned, reached under her skirt and squirmed out of her black panties, tossing them to the floor. “Time for scene two,” she said then sat on the edge of the bed, lifted her skirt high on her thighs, revealing her neatly trimmed pussy and spread her legs. “Masturbate with me. Stand between my legs and we can play with each other and pretend we’re fucking.”

“Just a minute,” I said and went into the bathroom, grabbed the little complimentary plastic container of shampoo and squirted it onto my right hand. In a flash I was back between her open legs, looking down at her wet pussy then into her eyes as she lay on her back, our hungry eyes fixed on each other when she lowered her bra, grabbed her tits and started rubbing herself, her mouth open, her hungry eyes looking into my eyes and then at my hard cock standing straight out just over her as I stood between her legs at the edge of the bed.

“I’ve seen some big cocks on the internet,” she said. “Sometimes I use the cam,” she added, putting hand on her pussy and looked up at me. “Jerk off for me, baby while I fuck myself with my fingers.”

“I’ll play your game,” I said, my jeans dropping to the floor while she wiggled her way to the middle of the bed, her head on the pillow, spreading her legs apart. I stepped out of my jeans, kneeled on the bed between her legs as she spread them wider. I looked down at her hand on her wet pussy and then into her eyes looking up at me.

“Fuck me,” she said, looking at my cock. She put two fingers in her pussy while I grasped my cock with my soapy hand, watching her fingers going in and out of her wet pussy, while she watched my hand moving up and down my hard cock. I squeezed my fist tightly, pretending it was her tight pussy, “Oh god you’re so tight. I love your tight cunt.”

“Oh, god, your cock is so big,” she said, watching my hand.

“I can barely get my cock in you, you’re so tight,” I said, squeezing my hand tighter around my cock.

“Come on baby, harder, fuck me harder,” she yelled, her fingers going in and out faster and harder. “Oh my god, you’re splitting me apart with your big cock.”

“Take it baby. Give me your tight cunt!” I yelled, pumping my cock through my tight grasp, leaning forward so that my cock was just above her fingers moving faster and harder in and out of her dripping pussy. She was twisting her nipples with her other hand, her eyes fixed on my cock, her mouth wide open, her breathing heavier.

“Oh, yes, fuck me, Thom. Fuck me, Thom. Harder! Harder! Give it to me baby” she yelled, as she placed a third finger in her pussy, moving her hand faster and faster.

My hand was going faster and faster through my clenched fist. “Oh god, you’re so fucking tight. I love your fucking your tight cunt. Fuck me! Fuck me you little slut!”

She then brought her other hand from her tit and placed it on top of her hand, then moved one finger to her clit, rubbing her clit while fucking herself with three fingers. I knew she was close, seeing her body tensing, hearing her ragged breathing. She lifted her trembling body off of the bed, arching her back, moving closer to my cock inches from her pussy, “Ohmygod. Oh, yes, fuck your slut! Fuck me! Fuck me! Harder, give it to me harder! Please, fuck me, Oh fuckkkkk! Oh Fucckkkk! That feels so good.”

I was getting close too and looked down at her hands and fingers and at my hand moving faster and faster. “Take it, you little slut! Take it! Take it! Fuck me! Fuck me!” I yelled as I looked down at my tight fist moving faster and at her fingers moving furiously, watching her writhing, our eyes and hands fixed hard on what we were doing.

I was so hot and it was all I could do not to push her hands away, pounce on her and drive my cock into her. I wanted to fuck her for real.

“I want to fuck you for real,” I shouted.

“No keep doing it this way. Please, I love this,” she gasped. “I want that too, but we can’t.”

With our eyes fixed on each other, she continued fucking herself, moving her fingers faster and harder, her body tensing, trembling, lifting her ass off the bed, jamming her fingers faster and harder, her tits bouncing, her mouth open, her breathing faster.

“Ohhhhmygod. I’m cummming!” she screamed, her fingers moving faster in her pussy and on her clit. “I’m cumming, I’m there. I’m cumming, keep fucking me! Harder! Harder! I want it harder!” she screamed, lifting herself off the bed, her fingers going in and out. “Oh fuckkkkkkk, I’m cumming,” she screamed, looking up at me. “Don’t stop. Keep fucking me! Harder! Harder!”

My hand was pumping away, my balls swaying back and forth as I kneeled over her, getting closer to exploding. “Oh yes, I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” I shouted, pumping harder.

“Ohhhhmygod, I’m cummmming, Ohhhhh yesssss,” she screamed, lifting her body off of the bed as violent convulsions shook her and she fell back to the bed, panting and gasping, her mouth wide open, her eyes watching my hands, her cum dripping down to her ass and onto her thighs.

Just then I felt my cock swelling in my tight fist and knew I was about to explode all over her, “Fuck me! Fuck me!” I yelled, pumping my cock harder and harder. “Fuck me you little slut!” I yelled and suddenly exploded, spurting hot cum all over her stomach, tits and thighs. She then reached down with her hand, spreading my cum all over her tits, moaning, “Oh I love this!” she gasped. “I can’t get enough!”

Suddenly, I collapsed on the bed next to her, lying on my back, looking up at the ceiling, gasping, panting and dizzy from my intense orgasm.

“Oh, Thom that was so amazing.”

“It was, considering we didn’t really fuck.”

“It still felt good, didn’t it?” she asked, looking over at me lying next to her.

“Yes, very intense. You’re something else, Hannah.” I said, wondering whether we should be using our real names here.

Suddenly, Hannah sat up, “Oh, I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to meet my boyfriend at five.”

“No, I don’t want this to end,” I said.

“I know. This is difficult, isn’t it?” she said, closing her eyes as if she were shutting out reality.

“Very hard, how can you go from here to your boy friend?”

“I don’t know. I can’t explain it,” she said, standing up. She picked up her panties and went into the bathroom to clean her body. When she came out, wearing her black panties, her bra back in place, she went to the mirror and straightened her disheveled hair and smoothed her skirt.

“Hannah, I can’t let you go.”

“Thom, I love being with you, but don’t make this more than it is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This is play. It’s not real. It exists in our minds, our imaginations and nowhere else.”

“No this room is real, Hannah. We’re here in this room. It might be a room we’ve paid for and don’t live in, but it’s real. I’m real and you’re real and what we just did was real. This is not the internet!”

“I have to go,” she said.

“Hannah! Come to the reading tonight. I want you there.”

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Eight. It’s at the main library.”

“I can’t promise.”

Hannah was at the door and I was still lying on the bed with my jeans on the floor. “Bye,” she said and blew me a kiss.

I watched as she opened the door, waved goodbye and left. I lay on the bed, staring at the door, unable to believe what had happened in the last hour or so. I stood up, put on my jeans and stood in front of the mirror over the bureau, looking at myself, my shaggy hair and beard, my flannel shirt and leaned forward and looked into my eyes looking back at me. I shook my head and heaved a huge sigh, still unable to believe what was happening to my quiet life. I walked over to the window and opened the curtain and looked out at the city.

My reading was in three hours and as I left the hotel room, glancing back at the bed, I wondered whether she would come to the reading, would I ever see Hannah again. It was a painful thought, wanting to see her again and not knowing if this was the end of our fantasy.

I had agreed to meet my brother for a light dinner at Jewish deli near the library. I told him I had a craving for a big hot pastrami sandwich on real sourdough rye bread, something impossible to get in Maine. I had my poems with me and was glancing over them, arranging them in the order I would read.

When my brother arrived and sat down, he asked me how my afternoon was. For some reason, I still don’t understand, I decided not to tell him about Hannah, though there was a moment when I was bursting to tell him about the amazing experience I had just an hour ago.

I told him I had a quiet afternoon, walking around and had coffee at The Left Bank Café. I told him I wrote in my journal, nothing more. I wanted to keep Hannah to myself. I wanted to savor the reality she and I had shared and keep it a secret, knowing putting it into words would tarnish it. I also knew that it was something Hannah would never talk about to anyone. It was her secret world. I guess I just wanted to keep our relationship secret too, something no one else knew, something only she and I shared.

While we were eating, my brother told me about his meetings and the project he was working on and though I listened, Hannah kept coming into my mind. I pictured her having dinner with her boyfriend, talking to him just as I was talking to my brother, but hidden inside of her, I was there--her secret fantasy lover.

After enjoying my delicious hot pastrami sandwich, my brother told me a little about the group I would be reading to, how he has known these people for years and they’ve been having these events at the library for long time. I told him again how rare it is for me to ever go anywhere and what a stark contrast New York is to my life in the woods. I told him about my philosophy to say “yes” when opportunities present themselves, believing they are God-sent. I also told him how I try to never have expectations and because of that, I am never disappointed and often surprised and delighted. Not having expectations makes life an adventure, but I must admit, my afternoon with Hannah was beyond any expectation I could possibly have.

Finally, it was time for the reading and we walked a block from the deli to the library. When we entered the room, my brother introduced me to some of his friends. There were about forty chairs lined up in rows and a small lectern at the front. The walls were covered with paintings and photographs. People were dressed in a variety of clothes, some men with suits and ties and others with slacks and casual shirts. The women were wearing what appeared to be expensive dresses or wore slacks and blouses. I, of course, looked different in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans, but didn’t care. I don’t even own a tie, or sports jacket, or anything that would make me fit in. I was here to read poetry and not put on a costume that I wouldn’t feel comfortable in.

I glanced up at the clock and saw it was about time to begin the reading. I had hoped Hannah would show up, but she hadn’t. I was resigned to the fact that what happened that afternoon was a once in a life-time experience and that was it, nothing more. I waited in a chair at the front of the room to be introduced by my brother. I looked around the room as people sat and chatted with each other. I looked over at the door at the back of the room, hoping to see Hannah then up at the clock. I thumbed through my folder of poems, feeling a little tense but excited to have this opportunity.

My brother went to the front of the room, thanked everyone for coming and began to introduce me by mentioning I live in a solar powered cabin in the woods of Maine and rarely leave home. People applauded as I walked up to the lectern. I nodded my appreciation and told them about this series of poems I have been working on based on the Sisyphus myth, that to me the stone he is forced to push as a punishment by the gods is a metaphor for the burden of moral responsibility, the burden of human existence and how much that myth meant to me.

Just as I was to begin, Hannah entered the room and stood against the back wall. My heart leaped when I saw her. Our eyes met and she smiled, lifting her hand slightly and bent her fingers with that small gesture of a greeting. I was stunned that she came, but happy. She then took a seat in the last row.

Unlike many poets who are not very good readers, I pay a lot of attention to how I present each poem. I try to give a sense of the setting, where I was and where the poem was coming from. Though I am not an actor, I actually perform each poem as if I were an actor. I was going to read for forty-five minutes and then answer questions for fifteen minutes, if there were any. Poetry can be very intense and I was careful not to wear people out. I thought of the old show business adage, “Always leave them wanting more.”

Finally, I came to the last poem and said this is dedicated to a very special person. I described it as an existential love poem about illusion and reality and how we each create our own reality and choose to believe it’s real.

Before I read it, I looked at Hannah and our eyes met. I smiled and she smiled back, but no one in the room knew I was reading this poem to her. I said the title of the poem, “Choosing an Illusion.” Here is the poem I read:

Choosing an illusion

doesn’t make my life less real.

And if I care to sing

instead of crawling on my hands and knees

holding up a bleeding heart,

the sunrise still will sparkle on the lake

and through the trees.


Morning has no pity

as it marches through the sky.

The choice is ours to shrink

behind a rock, complaining until we die,

or to let the imagination wink

and look the passing heavens in the eye.


Noon comes fast and bright

and shadows disappear at this hot hour.

What mist was on the lake at dawn

will surely come again at dark—

and so I dream:

The sun that shines now on your lovely face

will rise tomorrow from my lyric heart.

When I finished reading and people applauded, I looked at Hannah at the back of the room. Our eyes met and she placed her hand on her heart, patting it and smiled at me. No one else had any idea of what was happening between us and for a brief flash no one else existed but the two of us. We had briefly slipped back into our little secret world, kissed and left to return to the reality of the poetry reading.

People mingled. A few came up to me and said how much they enjoyed the reading and thanked me for coming all the way from Maine. Hannah did not move from her seat and was observing the whole scene. I glanced up at her as I responded to the comments of several people surrounding me.

Just then Hannah came up to where I was standing and handed me a small piece of paper, smiled at me and left the room without a word. While a woman with white hair and glasses hanging from a thin band around her neck spoke to me, I opened the folded piece of paper and saw her words, “meet me in our room at 10.”

I glanced up at the clock and saw it was 9:15. I knew the Concord Hotel was about three blocks from the library. Finally, people cleared out and it was just my brother, me and empty chairs. When my brother said we should get home, I had to think of something to say so I could meet Hannah and not reveal anything. I told him I didn’t want to go home yet. I wanted to walk around by myself and think. I said after a reading I need to be alone and would he leave a key with the doorman. My brother gave me a surprised look but thankfully asked no questions, “Sure, no problem,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Once outside, I said goodbye and we walked in opposite directions. I walked briskly in the direction of the Concord Hotel, thinking about Hannah sitting in the last row and how exciting and romantic it was to be handed that note to meet her in “our hotel room.” I was thinking: things like this don’t happen in real life. They happen in movies and in books. In fact, this whole situation seemed like it was out of a French movie like, “Last Tango in Paris” and not part of the life of a guy like me who lives a solitary life in the Maine woods. And yet, here I was walking to a rendezvous with this exotic young woman waiting for me in a hotel room. It seemed unbelievable.

Taking the elevator up to the fifth floor I thought about her wanting us to only masturbate with each other and pretend we were making love and whether this would still be a more daring variation of cyber sex. These were her boundaries, her need to separate our relationship from her relationship with her boyfriend. I didn’t know whether I would be able to honor that rule or not, but, if that was what she wanted, I would try. I have to admit I was baffled by the idea that just because we weren’t actually fucking, she wasn’t really cheating.

I reached the room, knocked, turned the knob and entered but didn’t see Hannah. I heard water running in the bathroom. The water stopped and Hannah came out of the bathroom wearing a short, sheer white nightie that came just below her hips, barely covering her pussy and ass. It hung from her shoulders by thin straps and I could see her cleavage and nipples through the sheer material. I thought how daring she was to dress so seductively, wondering if this was one of her secret fantasies.

She came over to me without a word, looking at my eyes and had that subtle sensual smile on her lips. She put her arms around my neck, pressing her tits against my chest and looked at me. “You were wonderful tonight. I loved your reading.”

“Thank you for coming, I was hoping you would.”

“My boyfriend had a meeting tonight. I told him I was going to the library to a poetry reading and that I was meeting a friend later and not to wait up for me.” She paused. “I never lie,” she added, smiling at me.

“And you don’t cheat.”

“Let’s not talk about that,” she said.

“Okay, my dear, we’re in our own world now, our own reality.”

“Right, here we live our secret lives, our fantasies, as if nothing else exists.”

She started unbuttoning my jeans, her eyes looking into mine while I started unbuttoning my shirt.

“You look sexy,” I said.

“I want to turn you on,” she said, pulling my zipper down.

‘”You already have,” I said.

“Hmmm, let me see,” she said, pulling my jeans open and my hard cock sprung out. “Oh, my, did I do that?”

“Yes,” I said, looking into her widening eyes.

“Oh, am I naughty?”

“You are very naughty.”

“Oh and are you going to punish me for being naughty?” she asked. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“It’s too late, you’ve already been naughty and you know what happens to naughty girls, don’t you?”

“No, tell me. Tell me what happens to naughty girls,” she said, looking into my eyes, biting her lower lip then back at my hard cock sticking straight out at her like a sword.

She then turned around and bent over, her short nightie rising revealing her round ass. She then moved back, wiggling her ass, but not touching my cock. As she wiggled, she glanced back at me over her shoulder, “Come on, Thom tell me what you’re going to do to your naughty girl.”

With my hard cock sticking straight out aimed at her ass, the head an inch away, my jeans dropped to the floor and I stepped out of them. I put my hands on her hips as she wiggled her ass.

“You like me being naughty, don’t you, Thom? You want to spank your naughty girl, don’t you?”

Her words stunned me but looking at her round ass as she wiggled it at me, made me do something I had never done. I couldn’t resist. I slapped her ass and started spanking her.

“Ouch!” she gasped and I slapped her again, then again, harder—slap, slap, slap.

“Oh yes, spank your naughty girl, spank me!” and I could see she liked it, and so I kept slapping, seeing her ass getting red. I had never hit a person before, let alone slap a woman’s ass, but she kept shouting, “Spank your naughty girl! This is so hot!” she said, turning her head, looking at me, her mouth wide open and I slapped her again.

Spanking her, I suddenly felt the urge to ram my cock hard into her. When I stopped spanking her, she wiggled her ass again as if taunting me then turned, looking over her shoulder and saw my cock standing straight out.

“So, Thom, are you going to fuck me for being naughty?” she asked, wiggling her ass, grazing the tip of my cock, surprising me at how on the edge of fantasy and reality we were.

“Yeah, I’m going to fuck you,” I said, speaking like I was someone else.

“You think so. You think I’m going to let you fuck me. Remember, Thom, I’m the one who’s always in control.”

I couldn’t believe how she was playing with my mind, teasing me then taking charge, one minute being the submissive naughty girl and the next minute tantalizing me with her I’m in control game.

She then went to the bed and crawled up to the other end, revealing her round ass as she moved cat-like, and then turned and sat up, facing me, leaning back against the headboard and propped up pillows. She sat up with her feet flat against the mattress, her legs bent and wide open, exposing her neatly trimmed pussy. She smiled seeing where my eyes were looking, knowing she was seducing me.

“You really want to fuck your naughty little girl, don’t you?” she said, opening and closing her legs, each time a little wider than before, biting her lower lip, looking into my eyes. “I’m making you horny, aren’t I, Thom?” She then covered her pussy with her hand and started rubbing, “You want to put that big hard cock in me, don’t you, Thom?”

“Yes, you know I do.”

“But you can’t,” she said, coyly, playfully. “You know the rules. We just masturbate for each other. Remember! No more touching. The spanking was just a little game to get us warmed up.”

“I remember the rules, but I don’t know if I can play by those rules.”

“Yes, you can. You have to.” she said. “We can’t really fuck.”

I got on my knees at the edge of the bed looking at her eyes. “This is dangerous territory,” I said, moving closer to her.

“I know but this is the reality we’re in, no real fucking, just our hands and imagination like in one of those private rooms on the internet.”

I looked into her eyes, moving closer, kneeling between her open legs, my cock standing straight out over her hand rubbing her pussy.

“I’m so wet, Thom,” she said, looking at my hard cock. “Hmmmmmmm, I love how hard you are.”

I looked down at her open pussy as she rubbed herself harder. Suddenly, I knew I wanted to eat her, to lick her pussy.

“I want to eat you,” I said.

“Just pretend,” she said, moving her finger in and out of her pussy.

I moved my face between her legs, shoving her hand away, ignoring her, and started licking her pussy.

“Oh Thom,” she gasped and started pushing my head, struggling to squirm away then suddenly, she hesitated, her hands stopped pushing and held my head, still, letting my insistent tongue continue probing her open pussy. I was surprised that she wasn’t resisting, but let my tongue move up and down her dripping pussy.

“Oh, Thom,” she gasped.

I continued pressing my tongue against her pussy, lapping up her juices with the flat of my tongue, devouring her pussy, my nose now pressed against her clit. She grabbed my hair and was pulling my head into her pussy, “Oh, yes! Eat me! Do it. Do it!”

While darting my tongue in and out, she lifted her hips off of the bed, pressing harder against my mouth. “Oh yes, eat me, this is so good, yes, yes,” she screamed, holding my head tighter, forcing my tongue to lick harder and harder, her body writhing, her head thrashing. I then placed two fingers in her and began sucking her engorged clit. As soon as I did that, she rose off of the bed, her whole body shuddering as a huge convulsing orgasm swept over her, causing her to scream louder, her cum pouring out of her pussy all over my mouth, before collapsing on the bed

She was panting and then looked up at me hovering over her. “Well, I guess we crossed the Rubicon,” she said, panting and smiling.

“Yes, but we’re still in our own world,” I said, “our own reality.”

“I went farther than I wanted to,” she said.

“No, you went where you needed to go.”

“And you took me where I needed to go,” she said.

“No I didn’t. You chose and went where you needed to go,” I said.

“Am I cheating on my boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. You’re in your secret self, your own reality, a place that belongs only to you and to no one else.”

“It’s confusing, but it felt good to let go.”

“Hannah, you don’t belong to anyone. Your reality is yours, not your boyfriends, not anyone’s and if you need to explore your own sexual world. Don’t hold back. Your body and your spirit belong only to you.”

“I’m still horny,” she said. “I’m insatiable. I want you to fuck me.”

I was kneeling between her knees, my cock still hard. She looked at it. “I want you! I need you.”

I moved forward and started moving the head of my cock up and down her wet pussy lips, teasing her.

“Hmmmmm that feels sooooo good,” she murmured, lying back against the pillows, her arms above her head, her hands gripping the top of the headboard, lifting her hips.

I moved the tip of my cock slowly up and down her pussy lips, our eyes locked on each other. Hannah bit her lower lip, savoring the sensation of my cock playing with her.

“Don’t tease me, Thom. Fuck me hard.”

I was determined to drive her crazy, to fuck her in a way she would never forget.

“Oh, Thom, please don’t tease me. Please, just fuck me. I can’t stand this, fuck me. Do it! I want it now!”

I looked into her hungry eyes, my cock playing with her pussy like the strings of a violin, bringing her to the edge of breaking, her ass lifting off of the bed, her back arching, reaching for my teasing cock.

Gripping the headboard tightly, lifting her ass higher, my backing off forcing her to strain, reaching for it, “Oh, damn you! Fuck me, give it to me. Oh Thom, I can’t stand it anymore. Please, fuck me! Take me!”

Suddenly she put her arms around my shoulders, locking her legs around my waist, lifting her ass, her strong insistent legs pulling me into her until I reared back, thrusting hard, driving her back to the bed, her tight pussy gripping my cock, the headboard banging against the wall.

Pulling out again, ramming my cock into her harder, I reached under her, lifting her up by her ass, holding her off of the bed, my cock thrusting into her again and again, her back arching, my hard cock pumping into her hot tight pussy again and again and again before driving her back to the bed, her screaming urging me to pound her even harder. She unlocked her legs from around my back, placing them over my shoulders, lifting her ass higher off the bed, letting me fuck her like a jackhammer, her hands grabbing the headboard, her head thrashing from side to side, her dripping pussy completely open to my hard thrusting cock.

Moving my body forward, swiveling, screwing her, my swollen cock rubbing her clit and g-spot, pounding her harder again and again and again, her whole body wracked with convulsions, her screaming urging me to thrust even harder.

At the same time, glad that I had a vasectomy, I felt my balls tighten, that tingling trembling sensation rising, my swollen cock about to burst, thrusting like a hot piston in and out of her tight wet pussy faster and faster harder and harder.

“Cum in me, cum in me Thom, I’m safe, just give it to me. I want it all,” she shouted, my cock gripped by her tight pussy.

“I’m cummming! I’m cummming!” I yelled louder, suddenly exploding, shooting out white hot gushes of cum into her already creaming, overflowing pussy, writhing in ecstasy, my cock driving deeper, our screaming filling the room, our bodies shaking in huge orgasms, my swollen cock clutched by her flooding pussy, our mingling cum dripping down her ass and thighs.

Collapsing on her, we couldn’t speak, both of us trying desperately to catch our breath. I had never fucked anyone so hard in all my life. We both lay there unable to budge, dazed, wallowing in the warm afterglow.

After a few moments, I rolled off of her and lay on my back, panting, gasping and looking up at the ceiling, trying to make sense out of what just happened. I then turned on my side, facing her and she did the same. We embraced, holding each other close, neither of us wanting to speak.

Finally, Hannah got up on one elbows and looked down at me, tears in her eyes, a smile on her lips. I smiled up at her and loved her eyes, her mouth, her dimples. “I’m glad you came into my life today,” she said, softly.

“I’m glad we met, too.”

“I want you to know I love my boyfriend very much,” she said, wiping a tear with her knuckle. “And I would never want to hurt him.”

“I know,” I said. “But you have a secret life. There’s a whole part of you that he knows nothing about and you have a right to keep it to yourself, or take the risk of telling him about it, but whatever you do, don’t feel guilty for who you are. You’re a good person.”

“This is hard for me. I understand what you mean, but it’s hard. I don’t want to lose him or hurt him, but I don’t want to give up this part of me, my sexuality, my imagination.”

“Life is a risk, Hannah. You have to take the chance of sharing this part of who you are with him, or keeping it secret. It’s a choice. There is no right or wrong, but it would be better if he knew and is able accept you--all of you. I’ve learned that opportunities present themselves and are gifts, blessings in disguise, often lessons, but you have to be willing to listen and learn. It’s not what happens but what you do with what happens.”

“I know,” she said, pausing, nodding. “Choosing an illusion doesn’t make my life less real.”

“It’s all an illusion,” I said, reaching up and moving the hair out of her eyes. “And we create our own reality.”

“You’re amazing,” she said.

“So are you,” I responded.

We were quiet in the elevator, feeling it descending, glancing at each other then up at the small light above the door, the numbers three, two, one flashing. The bell chimed just as the door opened into the small lobby. Outside, on the street, she took my hand, then stood up on her toes and kissed me on the lips. I kissed her back. We didn’t say a word. She then turned and started walking down the street, her green canvas bag over her shoulder.

I walked away in the opposite direction. After a few minutes, we both turned and she waved goodbye to me and I waved goodbye to her, both knowing we had experienced something rare as we went back to our own lives.

(To be continued--wait until you read Pt. 2)
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