Part 1:

Her name was Laura, just Laura.

She called herself "a simple T-girl," but as I had grown to know her, I had learned there was very little, if anything, about her that was simple.

We had flirted online for months, me sharing far more details of my offline, real life than she shared of hers.

I had never even seen her photo, not a real photo at least. She had shared some quite erotic photographs showing her finely featured, porcelain body, not delicate, but robust, toned, almost perfect, with arms and legs that any man would want wrapped around him as he lost himself in her.

But no face shots. Never even a glimpse. So I had no idea what Laura looked like beyond the scant details I managed to get from her over the months. She was in her late 20s or early 30s, with black hair and green eyes. She deflected my every query, dodged every question, coyly but calculatedly. She was witty and sharp, smart and quick-tongued.

No, not like that. Though she boasted of her love-making prowess, it was, it seemed, something I would never know. No matter, really. I'm a married man. I shouldn't indulge even in online flirtations. But my attraction to special young women like Laura has long overwhelmed my nobler aspirations.

Laura volunteered at one point that she lived somewhere in the South and that she worked in the corporate travel business, mainly, it seemed, handling arrangements for overseas businessmen visiting the U.S. I don't know that for certain, and she would never say. She was always just vague enough about it that I could never be sure quite what she did or how she did it from her home office. But she worked all hours, once interrupting our online chat to join in a conference call at 10 on a Sunday night (Monday morning in Hong Kong or Tokyo).

As secretive as Laura was about how she made her living, it was, ironically, through her work that we finally did meet.

She volunteered to make all the arrangements for a reporting trip for me.

I was heading deep into the Wyoming backcountry. The easy part of the trip would be New York to Denver, where I'd layover for a night before heading north on a puddle-hopping regional airline to Casper. There I'd be meeting a rancher and flying with him in his two-seater prop for a couple of hours over the Bighorn Mountains. From experience, I knew that the last leg could only nominally be called "flying." It would be more like bouncing from updraft to updraft through the mountains. It would be two full days of travel, then a couple of days listening to him tell how the shale-oil boom is killing the last corner of the Old West.

Over my years of reporting, I have worked in plenty of rugged places and slept in some real crap holes. I once rode out a hurricane on the Gulf Coast, in a tent. I was in Baghdad on April 8, 2003, for "shock and awe." I'll go anywhere, endure whatever it takes, and do whatever I have to do to get a story. But what I won't do is rough it when I don't have to. Here's my rule: fried grasshoppers and dog meat if I have to on the road (and I have), steak-frites and Bordeaux because that's what I like in town. Fortunately, I write for the kinds of magazines that still have good expense accounts, so far at least, I can still travel well even when I'm traveling to one of the world's armpits.

Another rule: Never stay in a cookie-cutter, characterless hotel out on a highway near the airport. Go into town. Stay at the best. In Denver, that's the Brown Palace. If you don't know the Brown, you owe yourself a trip there. It's a grand dame, 19th century hotel, lots of wood and stone with an eight-story atrium lit by a giant leaded stained-glass skylight. Laura booked me a small suite on the top floor.

It's a long drive in from the airport, but the car service was waiting when I arrived. The uniformed driver was an attractive young woman, not too tall, maybe 5' 6" or 5' 7", just a couple of inches shorter than me. We drove into the city wordlessly. I stole glimpses at her in the rearview mirror. Was she looking back at me?

I checked in about 8 pm, tired and hungry. Laura had arranged for room service to be delivered at 9. A few minutes before, however, there was a knock on the door.

Expecting the waiter, I opened the door without inquiring, without even looking up, and turned back into the room. When I realized that no waiter had followed me in, I turned around. Leaning in the doorway was a vision, a beautiful brunette, 5' 6" or 5' 7", in a little black cocktail dress, hose, and heels.

"Welcome to Denver!" she said, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind her. She walked across the room, confidently and sexily, toward me.

I must have looked dumbfounded. Then, as she came closer, I realized that she was the driver from the car service.

"Is this part of the pick-up service?" I asked

"No, it's part of the travel service," she said.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Silly, James, my love," she said. "I'm Laura."

Part 2:

I didn't just look dumbfounded. I was dumbfounded. And enormously pleased.

Thrilled and pleased and surprised and overflowing with emotions as it sank in that she had arranged every detail of the trip for just that moment, to see my amazement as she walked into my room, realizing her power over me, a woman's power over a man when she gives herself to him and takes him as hers.

My eyes must have been the size of half dollars as I looked her up and down, bare shoulders, a young, feminine shape, the frilly hem of her dress reaching just halfway down her perfect thighs, her breathtaking legs tapering into her sharp-toed pumps.

And her face! So lovely, round, and soft.

I walked to her, taking her in my arms. "You are even prettier than I had imagined," I said. "I can't believe it! I can't believe you did this."

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back ever so slightly as I leaned in to kiss her. She kissed me back, her hands on my shoulders. We kissed passionately, but still, with a hint of the tentative, for though we had shared intimacies online, we had only then met, only then seen each other, for the first time smelled each other, tasted each other, felt each other.

Quickly, however, our bodies syncopated their rhythms, as if long practiced in the harmonies of lips, hands, necks, arms, and legs.

Then, a knocking. "Room service!"

We broke our embrace, and each of us tried to regain our composure. She straightened the front of her dress and moved away from me. I tried to conceal the obvious bulge in my pants front, standing just slightly behind the door as I opened it for the waiter.

He rolled in the table, set for two. Candles. A bottle of red wine (a Bordeaux?) with two glasses. The waiter was very efficient. He set up the table in front of the sofa so we could sit side by side as we ate. She took her seat. I stood. He showed me the wine. Yes, a Bordeaux, all right, a Petrus 2000. (It would be an expense account for the record books!) He opened the wine and poured a taste. I swirled it in my glass, letting the bouquet overpower me just as Laura's perfume had moments before. Superb. I raised a modest toast to her and her selection. A wink and a nod. "That's fine," I told him. "Terrific."

"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?

She motioned for me. I leaned toward her as she whispered in my ear.

"Yes," I said to him as I handed him a $20 bill. "The lady left her bag with the bellman. Have him send it up?"

"Yes, sir. Good night, sir. Good night, ma'am."

Part 3:

It was the moment I had lived for, the instant when all my senses were heightened, when all my desires and fantasies, thoughts and expectations coalesced, when I first sensed that my hunger for Laura, a unique and special woman, more than a woman, would be satisfied.

After the waiter left, we couldn't contain ourselves. I sat down next to her, but I wasn't interested in the food or the wine. All I wanted to consume was every inch of her from her sweet, black hair down to her painted toes. She pressed against me, gently touching my arm, resting her leg against mine. We held back, but for only a few moments. We tried to make small talk, to go through the motions of getting to know each other.

"This is so wonderful, Laura. This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Yes, it is," she replied. "It's even better than I had hoped. You're more handsome than your picture."

"Even though I'm old enough to be your father?"

"Then I'll just call you Daddy!" Her eyes brightened, and she smiled impishly as she kissed me, like a young woman, on my cheek.

I stopped and turned my body to face her. I took her face in my hands and kissed her. Deeply. Not like I was kissing a young lady, but a full woman as hungry for me as I was for her.

She pulled me to her. We pushed away the table. A wine glass tipped over and spilled. We did not stop.

She leaned back against the arm of the sofa, pulling me on top of her. I kissed her neck, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. She ran her hands over my back, moaning insistently.

"Take me, take me, James," she whispered. "I need you in me so badly."

"I need to be in you, my darling Laura."

For the first time, I ran my hands over her dress and her body. I felt her tiny breasts, her sides, her waist, her flat tummy, her perfect hips. Her dress had ridden way up, revealing the tops of her stockings and just a glimpse of her tiny black panties. She lifted her leg. I took it and caressed it gently from her ankle to the top of her stocking. Then I slipped off her shoe.

I kissed her toes through the sheer fabric. Each of them. Pressing my tongue as far as possible between them. Then her sole and her ankle. I slowly kissed my way up her leg, to the soft white skin of her inner thigh.

She moaned and squirmed beneath my kisses, her dress riding up even higher.

And there it was! The moment, the instant! I saw her sweet, pink bud peek over the top of her panties, already moist and straining to contain her.

Part 4:

There was a knock at the door. "Bellman! I have your luggage."

"Just a moment."

I headed for the door. She got up from the sofa and went into the bedroom, shutting that door and leaving me in the living room to deal with the bellhop, the bag, and the unmistakable tent pole in my pants.

Again, I did the behind-the-door dance, as, singlehandedly, I took from him her small valise and I gave him a $10 bill. I thought what lovely things she must have in the little roller bag and how I wanted to see her wearing them and, then, how I wanted to take them off her.

I wanted to savor every inch of her. I wanted to learn her body as I do my own.

I left the bag in the living room and retrieved the wine and the two glasses. I knocked on the door.

Old habit, "You decent?"

Great answer from the bedroom, "No!"

I walked in on a perfect tableau. She was posed on the big, king-size bed, leaning against the headboard, wearing her black shoes, stockings, bra, and panties, all strategically framed by the giant, fluffy hotel robe she had wrapped around herself. A study in black and white, in living color.

Impossible to believe, but my hardon grew even harder and larger at the sight of her. My God, I could have come right there and then.

I walked over to her, placing the wine and glasses on the bedside table. I kicked off my shoes and lay next to her.

At last, my hands could freely roam all over her pearly white body beneath the soft cloth of the robe. Our lips and tongues merged into one hungry mass of passion. Her fingers caressed my chest, my waist. She gently rubbed my hard cock through my trousers. Just as gently, I stroked her through her panties.

"Oh my god," she moaned quietly, her tongue tracing each breath, each soft stroke on my ear and my neck. "Oh God, oh God, oh James."

Then, I slowly freed her from the silk panties. I slowly ran my fingers down her shaft, gently moving the skin up and down... up and down... up and down, until I cupped her bare, shaved sac in my hand.

"Oh, James. No one has ever made love to me like this before."

"And I've never wanted to make love to someone as much as I want you right this moment."

Part 5:

With that mutual declaration, we each abandoned all inhibition, all tentativeness. She reached for my belt buckle, opened it, released the top of my pants, and slipped her hand into my underwear. She gasped, surprised that I, too, was shaved.

"So smooth," she said. "I love it!"

"And I love your touch."

We fumbled about removing my pants, my shirt, and socks, leaving me only in my boxer briefs. Her hand found its former target in them. Her fingers roamed within the tight underwear, over my cock, my balls, to the crack of my ass.

And I, meanwhile, pushed the robe off her shoulders and unhooked her (front opening, thank you!) bra. I slipped it down, revealing her small, round breasts and their hard pink nipples. I cupped her breasts and kissed them, running my wet tongue over her nipples and down to her sweet underarm. I traced my way down her torso with my lips, tongue, and fingers.

She lifted up enough for me to remove her panties. I pulled down my underwear as well.

I took her tiny clitty-cock in one hand and cupped her balls with my other hand. I kissed the head, then ran my tongue its length to her bare balls. Then back up and back down again. "You are so hard for me, Laura!"

As my saliva mixed with the clear juice easing from the tip of her cock, it dribbled down the shaft, over her balls. I took a finger and eased the liquid to the opening of her moist pussy, gently putting the tip of my finger in her.

She gasped. One knuckle into her. She was breathless. Another knuckle. She sucked in her breath. "Yes," she moaned, "yes!"

Finally, my full finger was in her, sliding back and forth easily. I withdrew it almost to the tip and then eased back into her. I pushed deeper, finding her spot in her, massaging it, all the while working my tongue and lips on her throbbing clit.

"Turn over," I said.

She spun on my finger. It did not come out of her until I withdrew it. She was on her tummy. I took the two round mounds of her bottom, squeezed them, kneaded them, as my tongue replaced my finger and probed deep into her.

"Oh, oh God, how I love that!" she said. "Fuck me, James, fuck me. Fuck with your tongue."

I probed as deeply as I could, smothering myself in the soft cheeks of her ass.

Then, I gently began to probe her with a finger alongside my tongue. First one finger... then two... then three.

"Oh, oh, oh," she gasped for air. "Fuck me. Please, god, fuck me. Please. Now."

I withdrew my tongue and fingers. Lifted her up a bit at the waist and positioned her, her knees slightly tucked under her.

Her cock and balls and very soul were ready to explode.

Part 6:

I could feel the wave as it began deep inside her, as it emanated through every cell, through her bottom, her thighs, her legs, through her ankles to the ends of her curling toes. And it would not stop. I felt it pulse within her, intensifying throughout her body, not just in the sudden bursting forth of her cock, not just in the explosive release of her balls, but in wave after wave of unknowable pleasure cascading over her, enveloping her in a sublime warmth, shielding her nakedness, easing her mind, obliterating care.

It began in the instant that the head of my cock entered her. She gasped and buried her face in the white pillow, stifling a scream that would have been heard back in Manhattan.

"Yes, baby," I said. "I feel your tight ass grab me and hold me. Yes, Laura. Yes, I love it."

I thrust, her ass locked down on me for an instant, then she thrust back at me. Over and over, the rhythm of thrust, squeeze, thrust. I could feel my dick so deep in her. I reached around and held her cock, pulsing with each wave of pleasure, and swelling with each of my thrusts, as if my own cock was passing through her and into my own hand. In and out of her. In and out. In and out. Deeper and deeper.

I could feel my own swelling, my own building climax. Each time she pushed back against me, her balls slapped back against mine. She reached behind and took my balls in her hand.

"C'mon, baby," Laura said between gasps. "Fill me up. I want you to fill me with your cum."

She milked my balls, as if trying to squeeze my cum from me.

My cock exploded. Wave after wave of cum filled her wet pussy, spilling out on her ass, dripping to the sheet, and mingling with hers. We collapsed in a warm lake of our semen. We rolled in it, smeared one another, tasted one another, lost in our own new reality.

Part 7:

Maybe I had been dreaming. But in the dark, I felt Laura's sharp nails gently running over my balls, her fingers, then her lips on my cock. I felt her bring it alive, harden yet again. Then she straddled me and eased herself down on me. She sat there for a moment, squirming a little, but more as if savoring the feel of me in her again. Then a soft back and forth motion, then side to side, then up and down.

Ring! The phone woke me. The room was white with sunlight. I was alone. Ring! I looked at my watch: 9 a.m. straight up.

"Yes," I answered, groggily.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

I knew your voice immediately, though I had never heard it before last night. "Good morning, baby."

"You had better get moving. Your flight's at 11, and it takes nearly an hour to get to the airport this time of day. I'll have the car brought around and be out front at 9:30. Hurry up, now. Oh, I almost forgot. How do you like your coffee?"

"With milk," I said. "See you in," I looked at my watch," Twenty-seven minutes."

I headed for the shower. I noticed a used towel on the floor, where she must have left it earlier when she showered.

As the water spilled over me, I relived in my mind every moment of the night, every motion, every sound, every smell. My cock grew hard again. I stroked it with my soapy hand, imagining... imagining what? That she was stroking me? Or I her?

No matter. No time for that. Out of the shower. Shave.

I found my pants on the floor where we had thrown them. Oh well, they'd have to do. Besides, writers can always get away with the rumpled look. I put on a fresh shirt. No tie today. Funny. When I was younger, I always wore ties, but as I have grown older, I wear them less often. I can't remember the last time I had my shirts heavily starched. I haven't worn suspenders with a suit since the first Clinton administration. Still, looking at myself in the mirror. Could be worse. More belly than I should have. Plenty of hair, though. Lines in my face that show I've been around the block a few times. A man of the world. And, judging from last night, a young dick. Yes, it could be worse.

I checked throughout the suite for anything either of us might have missed. In the bedroom, I peeled off a $10 bill for the maid. I looked at the bed, which looked like Times Square on New Year's morning. I peeled off another $10 and placed them under the bottle of Petrus, barely a quarter of it gone. I shrugged.

Part 8:

And there she was!

Back in full chauffeur's uniform, standing at the curb, very official. "Good morning, Mr. S." She opened the rear door for me and took my bag. "I hope you slept well, sir."

"Thanks, Laura. Very well."

"Excellent. Well, climb in, sir. It'll take about forty-five minutes to the airport. Your coffee's in the holder. Just milk."

"I'd like to ride up front."

"Very well, sir."

She closed the car door behind me. Put my bag in the trunk and walked around to the driver's door. She inched us into the traffic.

For a few moments, silence. I was trying to figure out if her official attitude was a signal that our little adventure was over. Were we to act as if nothing had happened?

Not a chance!

"Laura, last night was incredible," I said. "You're incredible."

"I was wondering if you were going to say anything. Most straight men wouldn't. Some might not even want to see me in the morning."

"I'm not most men, Laura."

"Believe me, sweetie, I know!"

She reached across the center console and squeezed my knee. I took her hand.

"Laura, you're really special. And last night. Last night..."

"Last night was the most wonderful night of my life, James. I mean it. It was everything I ever dreamed one night with a man could be."

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

"You made love to me like I'm a woman. I don't know that I've ever really had that before. I've never felt so completely like a woman as I did last night."

"That's what I wanted you to feel. I love that you told me."

"And you know, I knew it would be. I knew that when I decided to do this, to go through with this, to meet you, a total stranger I met on the damn Internet, that it would be. I could tell from how you wrote to me, the kinds of things you say, so different from other men. I knew that it would be different... I hoped it would be. And it was."

"Me, too, sweetie. I'd never felt so free in all my life. And you, you were spectacular. So what do we do next? What's the next step?"

"I'm driving you to your plane. You'll head off to Wyoming, and I'll go back home."

"That's all?"

"You'll go back to New York tomorrow, back to your wife, back to your family. And I'll go back to my life."

"I don't even know where you live."

"No, you don't."

"Nothing will be the same for me ever again," I said, turning away from her for the first time.

"Me either, sweetheart."

We stopped talking and rode the rest of the way in silence. She put her hand on my leg. I reached into my jacket pocket, scribbled a number on the back of my business card.

"Here's my cell number. I want you to call me from time to time and let me know you're OK. And if you're not OK, I want to know that, too. I can always help you."

She pulled up to the curb to let me out. I got out, got my bag from the trunk, and walked around to the driver's side. She rolled down the window. We kissed.

"Good-bye, my darling," I said.

"Good-bye, my love."

Epilogue

I took the two-hour puddle-jumper flight to Casper. I met my contact there, and we flew another two hours in his tiny Cessna to his ranch deep in the mountains. We drove around the ranch for most of the afternoon. He showed me a herd of mountain sheep, antelope, and a pair of golden eagles. Then it was to his house for supper. Some good Scotch whisky and story swapping into the night. It was cold.

No phone, no Internet.

As I prepared for bed, I opened my suitcase and rummaged around a bit, looking for something warm to wear. I reached into a side pocket and pulled out a pair of crumpled black panties. They were wrapped around a business card:

Laura K.
Travel Consultant
"Let me handle all your affairs!"

The End