Lane and I met through an online dating service. It seemed to me to be one of those, “Too good to be true” kinds of things. Sexually, she was about as open as a twenty-four-hour convenience store. She was always open.

I don’t remember what prompted me to write my first story but the effect it had on her and its unforeseen impact on our relationship will be forever etched in my memory.

That being said, here is the story that started it all. Dream Dance.

The room was shrouded in a kind of mist, like Vaseline on a camera lens making it very hard to see at first. There were figures in the center of this room and the sounds I could hear were faint but familiar. I was still too far away from the scene to grasp what was going on. As my eyes adjusted, I moved closer to the center of the room and I thought I could make out what was taking place, though still unsure of what I was seeing.

I continued to walk forward, toward the center but didn’t seem to be closing the distance. I bumped into a small table with a single chair and sat down. I then noticed the crowd. They seemed to be vague silhouettes moved by some unfelt breeze. They were more of a whole, rather than individuals. Ideas of people.

The dance floor was only lit by a small conical beam from overhead. You were dancing with another woman, entwined. She ran her hand up and down your thigh, the slit in your black gown allowing the material to fall away and expose your long, sensuous leg.

As you danced, this black-haired woman then leaned forward and began to kiss your neck, which, to my surprise and curiosity, you responded to by running your hands up the sides of her neck and pulling her mouth to yours. Tongues lightly brushed together.

I was unnoticed, a spectator not viewing an event but a memory. I was very excited by the scene unfolding in front of me. I continued to watch, speechless, transfixed.

Continuing to dance, hands explored bodies, locked in an embrace. Breaking from this passionate kiss, she turned so she was behind you and let her hands glide into your dress, cupping your fabulous breasts, and running her fingers over your perfect nipples. Taking control, with your eyes closed, you covered her hand with your own, guiding it down your belly to rest on your pussy.

My cock was now free of my pants, I moved my hand up and down its length, completely aroused by the hypnotic sight before me.

I could see her hand under yours, her fingers sliding between the folds of your skin, tickling your clit. Your head rolled back as her finger slid inside your wet lips. I could see your breath quicken, your chest rising and falling, and hardened nipples under the thin material of your gown. I was riveted to my chair

You turned to face her, removing her hand from your sex and bringing her wet fingers to her mouth. Without hesitation she licked her moist fingers, sucking them, tasting you. Continuing to control the situation, you placed your hands on her shoulders, slight pressure inviting her to her knees. She accepted, moving the material of your gown aside, while you held the back of her head, allowing her to part the lips of your petal-like skin, that danced on her tongue…..

Our eyes met. Your mouth opened seductively as your hips swayed back and forth guiding your anonymous lover's tongue deeper into your warmth. I could see your nipples stiffen under the thin material of your gown as your thighs began to quiver. Your hands shifted to either side of your lover's head, holding her still as orgasm gripped you. Your long, flowing red curls shrouded your face as you trembled, feeding your lover from your now-dripping sex.

You entwined your fingers into her black hair, raising her from her sexual buffet to lick her own sweet, orgasmic sugar from her lover’s glistening lips. Both mouths opened and I could see the darkened silhouette of your tongues dancing before you locked her into an oral embrace…..

And then I woke up.

At the time of my writing that little story, we had been married for about eighteen months. The story itself was a recollection of a dream I had.

The day after I had this dream, I presented it to her in the original form posted here. Her comment was, “It made me so wet and I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

Little did I know, at that time, this story would be the primary catalyst for some very interesting “extracurricular” activities.

Now, my wife of the time was no ordinary woman with ordinary life experiences. Truly a Bohemian free spirit type, and by that, I don’t mean hairy legs and armpits. She lived life for the experience. Nothing was too outrageous or out of the question. She was extraordinarily attractive, very well-cultured, frighteningly smart, gregarious, engaging, tenacious, with an imagination that knew no boundaries, and wildly creative.

She had a dancer’s body, was tall and slender, and was about 5’7". Long, flowing loosely curled red hair, almost black eyes. Perfect 34C breasts with those little upturned nipples. An always meticulously manicured mound that stood sentinel over the most delicate pink lips and a flawless backdoor that was a shade of pink to rival Double Bubble Bubble Gum or cotton candy…. it gets better…

Raised in Beverly Hills by an inattentive mother, she became a model at a young age. Not a model because people wanted to photograph her, but a “B” status print model. She was sought after and paid for her work. She was a five-time centerfold, Twice in OUI magazine, (on the cover once and the centerfold), and three times in Hustler, (twice on the cover and twice the centerfold), and did it on a dare. I was given all five issues as a birthday gift.

Sexually, she had no limits. If she hadn’t already done it, she was open to any suggestion. To quote her, “When someone tells me no, then I just haven't found the right path yet.” That bit of insight turned out to be more telling and prophetic than I could imagine at the time.

She had her preferred methods of intimacy just as we all do. She thrived on playing out a fantasy and had been doing so to satisfy not only herself but her former sexual partners over the years. Over time, I would hear about them all. Experience most of them, and create others.

So we married about eighteen months after meeting and this seemed like a dream come true. She was open to anything in or out of bed and fiercely loyal. She appreciated the finer thing but didn’t need them to feel fulfilled. What on earth could go wrong? Plenty.

It has always been my belief that the universe creates and maintains a balance in all things, especially people. For all her extraordinary traits and skills, there was an equally extraordinary set of “The Undesirables”, as I used to call them. While we all possess this yin/yan balance, the intensity to which my wife would exhibit these attributes was staggering, obsessive, and sometimes dangerous. In any confrontation, she simply did not lose. I saw these behaviors in action many times, used against others that she perceived as enemies or threats. For the time being, I was exempt from the wrath of this behavior. That would not last forever. All I knew was that I didn’t want to find myself on the wrong side of that gun. One day I became the shooting range and primary target.

But why discuss the end of something when the beginning is so much better? Let me begin with our first date:

We’d met over an internet dating site and were ridiculously close to each other, mere blocks. We spoke through the site and then via text for a few days. It was effortless. Like we’d known each other for years. We agreed to meet for dinner at a little house that had been converted into a restaurant. We meet on the street and neither of us had in any way “embellished” our actual selves or photographs which was a bit astonishing, even fifteen years ago. She reminded me of someone, and when I saw her in person but I couldn’t put my finger on who that was. I was certain that an angel had fallen from heaven to reward me for all my good deeds…..and that was true at least for a while.

It was the easiest first date/meeting I’d ever been on. None of those awkward silences, just flowing conversation and goo goo eyed stares. I know, it’s kind of disgusting, but a fact nonetheless. That date ended with a typical first kiss, that lingered to the point of embarrassment at our separate cars.

Before I had even reached my apartment, which was less than two miles from the restaurant, she was texting me, just gushing about the great time she’d had. She came right out and asked me for a second date. I was beyond flattered.

It was decided that we’d go the fifteen miles down the coast to Nepenthe in Big Sur for dinner. I, in the meantime, went to a used car lot and bought a used, little MZB coupe because I couldn’t or wouldn’t drive her around in my work truck.

I picked her up in my new used car and she was an absolute vision. Tall, slender, a dancer's body in a very plunging black dress with slits on the sides practically up to her armpits. And then it struck me, just who it was that she not only resembled but could’ve been a sister too. She was Julia Roberts. No doubt about it. The hair, the nose, wide-set eyes as well as that big, toothy, wide mouth. I was dating Julia Roberts. There are lots of mistaken identity stories around that because the resemblance is that striking, but I’ll get into that another time.

So we pick up right where we’d left off, having a great time. We got to Nepenthe just at sunset, sat on the outside patio, and watched the whales spout as they migrated south. We stayed until long after dark. The waitstaff decided we were the cutest most obviously “in love” couple they’d seen all season and comped everything. It’s a pity neither of us are drinkers.

When we left, we walked down the long driveway to the parking lot and she commented on liking my car. I told her that since I’d seen her last that I went out and got it so she’d have a suitable car to ride in. That was it. The defining moment…

She stopped walking and turned to me.

“You bought a car just so I wouldn’t be uncomfortable?” she asked.

“Well, uh, yeah…I did,” I replied not certain where this was going to go.

She threw her arms around my neck and said, “That is the single most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me……I can’t believe you did that…and you did it to impress me?”

“And so as not to overly embarrass me,” I answered. “I can usually handle that kind of stuff all by myself.”

“ I can’t believe this,” she said almost to herself. “I’ve heard of being swept off your feet but I think I just got run over with a Mercedes.”

“It’s not that big a deal…really it’s not,” I interjected.

“Oh no…Don’t try to minimize this…” she answered. “You, sir, need to be properly thanked.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I liked the sound of it.

She initiated a long passionate kiss and one of the arms around my neck fell away. Her free hand came to rest on the growing bulge in the front of my pants.

“Why don’t we get into the car and I’ll 'thank' you all the way back to my place,” she suggested, flashing with that wide Cheshire cat, radiant, smile.

“You’re not going to take advantage of me. Are you?” I said jokingly.

“Oh, I plan on taking advantage of things you can’t even imagine,” she replied as I opened the car door for her and then ran around to the driver’s side.

I hopped into my seat and she turned to me and said, “ It’s a good thing this car has a short center console.”

“Well, I can raise the seat too,” I answered, in anxious anticipation. “All the amenities…gotta love those Germans. They think of everything.”

“I’m Jewish,” she replied.

“Great…” I thought to myself. Not only did I put my foot into my mouth, I decided to swallow the entire leg as well. In what I’m sure was a millisecond, but felt like an eternity, I grappled for some sort of verbal recovery and then Lane said,

“Who am I to talk, I have a BMW.”

“I’m sorry. Honestly, I didn't mean anything of the sort,” I kind of stammered.

“You’re sorry I have a BMW? ” she responded.

“No, no…,” I fumbled.

“You’re sorry I’m Jewish?” she said, becoming confused.

“NO, NO…Geez, this is getting awful,” I replied feeling myself slipping into the abyss of misunderstanding. “I don’t care what you are,” I added making things sound even worse.

“Then what exactly are you sorry for?” she said starting to giggle. “Driving a Jew around in a German car?”

“Ok….Ok…that was really, really uncool,” I replied, as I caught on and I, too, began to laugh. “It’s not nice fucking with people like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “But honestly, I am Jewish…I’m also very, very psychic.”

“You know what?” I retorted. “I don’t care…I don’t care and I’m not going to touch any of that right now. We’ll revisit this at another time.”

“As you wish,” she replied, stroking my denim-covered crotch as I pulled out of the almost empty parking lot.

“I don’t trust you,” I said, with a suspicious smirk as I pulled back onto Highway One North.

“Nor should you,” she answered, unbuttoning the front of my Levi’s, allowing my cock to spring forth. “But I guess you have to take a chance when someone has your cock in their mouth.”

And with that, my lap was adorned in a sea of red curls.

I never enjoyed a drive back to the Peninsula more than I did that night and there would be countless nights and days just like it to follow.

She effortlessly swallowed my sizable 7” companion, purring like a satisfied kitten. Slowly and methodically she pumped my cock into the enveloping warmth of her oral embrace, somehow squeezing the head with the muscles in her throat.

She grabbed the base of my cock firmly and turned her head to the side, lighting her face in the August moonlight.

“I want you to watch me,” she said, imploringly.

“As much as I’d love to, I have to watch the road,” I replied honestly. “But there will be a time for that.”

I kept sneaking glances down to my lap watching her serpent-like tongue wrap itself around my shaft and greedily collecting the first droplets of what she would come to refer to as “the offering.”

“I want you to cum all over me,” she requested, while intermittently taking my throbbing head between her lips. “I want you to cover my face and watch it run down my neck.”

I was mere seconds from complying when she removed my cock from her mouth and using two fingers, applied pressure at the base of my head. In an instant, my climax was interrupted. The urge just vanished.

“Well, it’s that quite a trick,” I said, not knowing if she really wanted me to finish or not.

“The longer I make you wait, the more of that white gold you’ll have to cover me with,” she answered, revealing the method of her madness. “When we get to my house….I expect you to come in.”

“ I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more…”