"I'll pick you up at the bus station,"

The words were straightforward, and their meaning was clear, with a loose agenda already agreed upon. The bus journey lasted a few hours, taking him to the largest town near her. During the trip, his mind drifted back to the early chatroom banter they had shared. He remembered it fondly; it had been delightfully childish and utterly carefree. They had truly enjoyed it.

His thoughts moved next from recollections of the early exchanges to its next step, as light-hearted banter had eased into flirtatious exchanges, and he recalled how this had seemed so much fun. He hadn't really expected anything to come from the suggestive chat, but she always made him horny with what she said to him and was keen to let him know when his words had a similar effect on her.

As he neared the end of his bus journey, his anticipation grew. However, his cynicism kept his excitement in check; he felt he needed to see her before he could truly believe that this might actually unfold the way she had eagerly described.

When he saw someone matching the photographs of her he had seen, he waved and smiled. She responded in a similar fashion, and he felt his heart thump and experienced a moment of joy that he had not dared picture in his mind until it had happened in reality.

"My car's just around the corner," she said, leaning forward to allow their lips to share a long, slow, sensual kiss that was full of erotic hope and anticipation. Feeling the passion in the kiss saw anxiety slip away. The pleasure of their lips locking was felt equally, and the early signs suggested that this could be the night of their dreams.

The drive took them from the bus station to her village. She concentrated on the road admirably, although her smiling eyes showed that this wasn't easy for her at all.

He was in a positive frame of mind, thinking that if she had left him standing at the bus station, he would still have achieved something, whatever happened thereafter. He didn't have much of a history of success, but this meant the ones he had always felt special, and they would always remain so.

When they reached her home, she led him immediately to her sofa. They kissed for a time he could not begin to estimate. It was beautiful and was mutually enjoyed.

"I like kissing you; it's different," she said, which relieved any anxiety. They both laughed at how she had made something positive out of an experience that perhaps wasn't.

Hands eventually began to wander with encouragement. His touch was even led by her own to where she wanted it to be. The kisses reflected the growing intensity and touches explored. He smiled and laughed; she did the same. The purr she made when his fingertips undressed her, stroked her aroused nipples, and sucked them? He would never forget that sound. It was a sign to him to dwell on delivering this pleasure to her, and he did.

Although immersed in the shared sweetness of a massage, his thoughts ventured into the wider context occasionally, He had seduced a woman just by being himself. He knew this was a satisfaction the cocksure, confident, or arrogant would never have the thrill of experiencing, as he was doing.

His kisses sucked on her nipples; her hands rested on the sides of his body; she let out a sigh of pleasure.

"I think we need to take this somewhere more comfortable, don't you?" she said.

Undressing each other was something they found very erotic, and it brought another aspect of their online fantasy to life; There were no late changes to plans; none had been made, but she felt ready, and so she took hold of his cock and slid it into her wetness.

She took charge, making the movements on his cock as her body gripped it, and she eased back and forth over him. He had expected to be excited by anything they shared, but this was more than he, or his body, had anticipated in its intensity. With his mind too chaotic to feel regret or embarrassment at letting her down, he twitched, groaned, and sent his inexperience into her body as she gripped him inside hers with her own.

His orgasm felt beautiful to him as her body squeezed it out; he gasped; he felt beautiful...until reality dawned.

Without the knowledge to think things through, he simply chose to make it his mission to ensure she got something from the encounter. He worked hard to try to make that happen with everything he did.

He caressed her body with focus and intensity he had never shown before. He was committed to giving her pleasure with a drive and desperation to succeed.

When he slipped his soon furiously plunging fingers into her body, she made the right noises and movements to suggest to him she felt aroused and he was on the right track. Her noises encouraged him, and he continued to thrust. He would keep going until he was told to do otherwise. He owed it to her.

He kept the promise he had made to himself and continued with his massage into her wetness. He felt for reaction to a particular movement and tried to replicate any that suggested approval. She continued to grip his touch as it moved.

His fingers circling inside her aroused him, doing so with no feelings of guilt whatsoever. His excitement spurred him on rather than worried him, and it meant he could give more of all that he had to excite her.

Finally, she reached down and lifted his hand to ease his touch from her body. They then embraced tightly, although no words were spoken. They were not required.

They shared a kiss, after which she said she felt a little nauseous and would go into the spare room and leave him where he was lying to sleep.

Alone in her bed, he reflected on what had happened. He was not angry, bitter, or even too disappointed. After all, she hadn't thrown him out onto the streets of a remote village in the middle of the night, as she could have done.

The next morning, they kissed. The kiss was as they had shared when they had met: long, passionate, and intense. The escapism of linked lips continued until she drove him back to civilisation to catch his bus home.

The online chat they shared after their meeting was never awkward, based on regret, or dwelt on things that could not be changed. Their conversations were also never scarred by what reality had delivered.

They chatted. They laughed. They got cheeky. They met. They fucked, They moved on.

I always remember this encounter for someone who felt disappointed dealing with it in a compassionate way. Without this element, I wouldn't remember as much about it as I do. Happy memories really can be about an encounter involving a poor-quality fuck. There will be plenty out there who don't believe that, but it's entirely true, just like the rest of this story.