Date: Fri, 6 Mar 2009 00:16:58 +0000 From: tina foster Subject: One of those things Encounters/TV M/M By Reading this, you acknowledge that it's intended for adults only, like the rest of the work of tinafosteruk@gmail.com If you're not old enough to read this, "why are you here?? Go away..." To those who enjoy reading these, thank you for your attention. It's appreciated. .. "Just one of those things" 01:59 A.M. 2nd March 2009 By Reading this, you acknowledge that it's intended for adults only, like the rest of the work of tinafosteruk@gmail.com If you're not old enough to read this, "why are you here?? Go away..." To those who enjoy reading these, thank you for your attention. It's appreciated. Do get in touch. I like the feedback. * * It was. Really, that's what it was -- `just one of those things.' It'd started with one of my stories being used on nifty.org A fella sent me an email, in response to it, as it happens: a really fit fella, with washboard stomach and impressive shoulders and pecs. That'd been sent in answer to my response to his email, saying how he liked my story. A nice thing to say. I say all that that, as he sent me a pic of himself, albeit the face and background were obscured. But, `oh wow, that body.' Then he'd gone on to say how much he'd like to meet: and, `where did I live?' So anyways, I'd told him that I lived in the North West of England. The pity was, he lived in Chicago. But, I'd sent the stories he'd asked for in my return email; then as an afterthought, attached a few of my best en femme pics. In the next email I received, he'd said he liked them; and how he'd like to slide his hand up the back of my short tartan skirt, his hands on my buttocks, encased in tights, cleaved in two by my pretty lilac panties. Now, I know I don't look convincing: heck, at nearly six foot, with a lean frame, I could hardly pass, but I do like to dress and I used to like to please, when I'd gone cottaging, well in my past. I told him this and that just seemed to promote more lurid emails, as he enquired how I had liked to please, way back then. Needless to say, my response had been through a story, in which I'd described our meeting and how I would do almost anything he might ask of me. And, when I had written anything, that's just what I'd meant. Then, nearly three months after that first email, I'd got the one that had led to my journey by underground, from The Wirral to Liverpool, my outfit in a bag, which I'd slung over my right shoulder. I'd not expected to hear that he'd arrived in England, ever. But that's what had happened and I was stoked to hear that, totally stoked. `You can meet me at The Adelphi, if you want to please me,' he'd written. The Adelphi, Liverpool? Of course I'd be there. And, that's what I told him. Within minutes of getting that message, I was out of the door and walking fast, to the station: and, within less than an hour, I was knocking on his hotel room door. And, it'd opened, by a man who body dwarfed mine, in size; and immediately I felt weak at the knees, with my sphincter muscles twitching, in anticipation. The fella was wearing just a blue-robe and a smile that reached a mile wide, as he beckoned me into his rooms. "C'mon in," he told me, urging me further, with a hand on my shoulder. I walked into the large airy room, sat my bag down by the sofa, and then stood there, looking at him, feeling quite submissive in his presence. Yet I couldn't figure it out: I hadn't felt like that in years, not since I was about sixteen and an older man had met me in a cottage on the main road, taken me back to his place, where just weeks later, I lain on my belly as three men had used me. That had been an adventure in itself. Now here I was, a bag of lingerie and a knotted stomach of nerves. "Do you want a drink," he asked, standing by the small bar. "Yes please," I responded, in a small voice, "a whiskey, straight." "Why don't you sit down, Wendy?" He suggested, as I stood there, fingers flexing, body tense, "That is the name you like, isn't it." So I sat down, as he busied himself at the bar. He'd remembered well, after all I'd only mentioned it once or twice, in an email. Joe, that was his name, walked back over the room and gave me my drink, then stood and watched and I drank it down, all-in-one. "Well, you needed that, didn't you?" He said, looking down at me. "Yeah, bit nervous," I told Joe, staring at my hands holding the glass. "Well, you sure about this then.. Wendy?" He enquired, with right eyebrow arched. Just saying that name, had my heart hammering even more. `Oh wow.' It was someone lighting a short taper, which ignited a small fire in growing erection: and suddenly I was harder still. "So where can I go get changed?" I said, looking up at Joe. Unlike me, he was a real man and I wanted to feel his need, his strength: and, desire. "Well then, seems you are sure," Joe from Chicago opined, with a grin. "Yes," I nodded. I was nervous, sure. But, I was also eager. "Okay," Joe said with a smile, "bathrooms that way." He'd indicated behind where I sat. So I stood, picked up my back and turned to smile and the big man, as he finished his own drink. "Will you have a fresh one waiting, for me?" I said to Joe, and then lightly licked my top lip. He just grinned broadly, in return. And, I'm pleased to say I'm almost all ready, before I go get dressed for him. I've shaved, all over, using moisturiser where needed; got my lingerie on, as well as a beautifully fine pair of clack stockings; hell, I've even lubed up. I ease into the little black dress, over the burgundy set; then apply a slash of red and slick back my hair, with gel. `Lookin good,' I muse, smiling at my reflected self, just prior to easing into the boots. The dress clings to my buttocks and ends at the top of my thigh, with just an inch or so of bare flesh, above my self support lace-top fine hose, which feel oh-so good on my legs, as I renter the room, where Joe waits, for me. I step toward him, carefully: these heels are a killer. But, my they look good. He takes me by the hand, leading me across the room. He sat on the sofa and drew me to him, so that as I sat, it was onto his lap. My skirt had risen as I sat, his erection pressing between my buttocks. It felt good, to feel him hard beneath me, evidence of his desire, his need: and I draped my arms around his neck, kissing the right of his neck and suckling on his earlobe. He sighed with pleasure, which delighted me. I ran my hands over his chest, pressing my lips to his, eager to prove myself and satisfy his needs. "You're hard," I said to him, quite unnecessarily. He just grinned his reply. He grin widened, as I slid to my knees and undid the zip to his trousers, and then eased them down to his ankles, prior to gently removing his underwear, pleased to learn that his manhood matched the rest of his impressive physique. I couldn't help but grin myself, as that definitely wasn't ` just one of those things.'