Thank you to my two talented editors who make my stories a much better read, LadyCibelle and Techsan.
I'm Herman Howell and I'm a stalker. Well, not exactly a stalker, I don't want to hurt anyone; I'm just in love with a woman I've never met. I'm totally obsessed with a certain writer.
I'm a man in my forties and have never been married. I've never even come close. I guess I'm what a lot of people call a loser, but it's not true. I've always paid my way, never took money from the government.
I'm always reading stories about these good looking guys who screw all these women. They seem to have multiple orgasms and for a guy that doesn't seem overly possible, at least not for me.
During the day I work cutting lawns, and in the winter shoveling snow. I've always had mediocre jobs because I'm not the smartest egg in a carton, or is it donut in a dozen? Whatever it is, it isn't me. What people who write these stories don't realize is that there are a lot of guys like me out there reading them. I stand around 5' 7" and weigh a hundred and fifty pounds. My hair, what I have left, is brown; I'm mostly bald except for the horseshoe look.
I live with my mom who is on Social Security and I have no siblings. My dad left us many, many moons ago. Between my work and mom's Social Security, we do okay. We eat well and have a nice television. We even have cable. Our trailer has three bedrooms so mom let me have the largest one. I picked up a second hand computer for a few hundred bucks, but it allows me to play games and go online to read my stories. I get some e-mail but it's mostly from authors telling me, "Thank you for reading my stories."
It's where my obsession began. I spend all my evenings on the computer reading erotic stories. I have to close my door while I read them, if you know what I mean. The trailer walls aren't the thickest and my mom is usually a room away watching the television. I read the stories and then give comments or feedback like they ask. I'm not afraid to use my e-mail address 'cause I got a Yahoo one online and nobody knows where I really live. I always sign them H.H. for Henry Howell.
I started reading stories by Sharon, The Seductress. She writes the hottest stories on the net. I masturbate to almost all of her stories. I mean they are really sexy; sometimes she does more than one man at a time. She has also written stories about her with other women. She always uses Beth as her main character. I don't know if her stories are true or not, but they sure make me hot. I always write to her and let her know how much I like them. She almost always answers my e-mail. Lately I've been sending her jokes and other things I receive in the e-mail. Believe it or not, other authors send me jokes and stuff. I guess it's because I always write to them. It's like they are my online friends.
I had a few writers tell me not to send them stuff. I guess they must get loads of e-mail from readers. Sharon is still my favorite writer. I looked up her bio and it didn't tell me much. She's over eighteen, married to what sounds like a Greek God, and has two grown children in college. It makes her over forty like me if she has two kids in college. They sure must be smart; I wasn't able to go to college. My C- average just didn't hack it.
I set out to find everything I could about Sharon. I kind of wish I knew more about computers 'cause they say you can find anything on them. I wrote her and asked her where she lived. All she told me was in Canada. Damn, we didn't even live in the same country.
It's funny that when people keep writing to you, you learn a little more about them. One time by accident she signed her e-mail Beth, instead of Sharon. Now, I think her real name is Beth and Sharon is just her writer's name. Another time she mentioned the weather in a place called Alberta. I got my road atlas out and found out that there is an Alberta, Canada.
One time she wrote me and asked me about myself. I told her I was self-employed and forty-five years old. It was the truth. I told her I was divorced after finding my wife with another man. I told Beth I did a Rambo number on him. He was hospitalized for a month and I kicked my wife's ass out and kept everything. It was the kind of stuff I read in stories. I think she was impressed with me. I told her I was 6'1" 210 pounds of mostly muscle. I mentioned that I worked out three times a week. Actually, I haven't been inside a gym since high school, but I wanted to sound cool.
I asked her what she looked like and she told me to check in her bio on the author's page. So I signed up as an author so I could check her out. Damn, she was a knockout. By the picture, she looked kind of tall and looked to be in her mid-thirties. I figured it was an old picture since her kids were in college. She was blond and beautiful. The next time I wrote her I told her so. In fact I told her if she didn't live a thousand miles away I would come and see her. I remember her saying if I showed up we could have a threesome with her husband, or if I preferred he could watch me make love to her. God, that made me hot!
I decided right then and there that I was going to go see her. I still needed her last name. I had to figure a way to get it. I kept watching the author comments and Beth/Sharon got on a lot. To some of the other female authors she called herself Beth. I knew it was her because I followed all her stories and waited for the other writers to mention them. It was like listening to someone's phone conversation but reading it instead. A lot of what she talked to these other authors about didn't jive with the real her. She talked about taking the kids to school and things like that. It was kind of confusing to me.
I decided to trick one of the other authors. I wrote them a feedback and asked if they were Beth Hendley, who wrote, "One Nice Night"? They told me that was written by Beth Wilson, and that she wasn't her. I apologized but got my information. In other conversations the town of Gayley, Canada came up. I think that is probably where she lives.
Now I had all the information I needed. Beth and Roy Wilson, in all her stories the husband's name was Roy and since she is really Beth, I put two and two together. They lived in Alberta, Canada, in a town called Gayley. Now I just had to save up enough money to drive there. I knew it would be a big surprise but she was the woman in all my dreams.
We kept corresponding after reading each of her stories. I told her I was in love with her just from reading her stories. She told me to remember that her stories were mostly fantasies and I should remember that, but that she was honored that she could bring happiness into my life.
In all her stories the sexual action always took place at her house. It must be one beautiful place, cause she wrote about being in the pool, doing it in a hot tub, and all over the house. She talked about going upstairs and finding her different lovers waiting for her.
I do have to admit that the more I fell in love with her, the more jealous I had become. I wanted to be all these men in her stories. I wanted to be her lover. My sex life didn't have much love in it. I did have sex with a couple of women in our trailer court. They weren't very good looking but they let me fuck them. My mom always told me to stay away from them, because she was afraid their husbands would hurt me.
According to these women the only sex they got was with me. One of them flashed me one day as I walked by her trailer. She was standing in her door with no clothes on. I looked up at the door and there she was smiling at me. She invited me in and she reached down and unzipped my pants and gave me a blowjob. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. She was probably in her fifties and really was pretty ugly, but she gave me a blowjob. I remember in the stories how the guys get hard again right away; I didn't. She was pissed since she did give me the blowjob and told me I should eat her pussy. It was only fair since I didn't get hard again.
Her pussy looked kind of nasty but she sat on the sofa and I got on my knees and closed my eyes and ate her out. With my eyes closed, I thought of Beth and her stories and I pretended it was her and got really hot and into it. This old gal spewed cream all over my face. I had to wash it off before I went home. Anyway, this woman invited me back anytime I wanted when her husband wasn't home. She told another of her neighbors about me so I had two women I could service if I wanted to.
They were really old looking and probably wouldn't get picked up in a bar if they went to one. For me it was okay because I could get my rocks off in a real pussy, even if it looked kind of worn out. They didn't look like the ones in the stories that Beth wrote. Nice trimmed bushes and when you spread the lips it was suppose to be pretty, wet and pink inside. These ladies had the wet part; that was about it.
It took me a long time to save up enough money to make a trip to Canada. I got my maps and road atlas and told my mom I'd be back in a week. I was going on a vacation. This was the first time I ever did anything like this. I figured if I drove a lot, it would take me two days to get there and two days back. I'd sleep in the car going and coming but would need a room while I was there. I'd probably spend two nights.
It was a nice trip going there. The country was really beautiful, looking out over all the different bodies of water. I stopped a few times just to enjoy the scenery. Too bad Beth wasn't with me; it would have been perfect with her by my side.
I finally made it to Alberta, Canada. I arrived at a little town of Gayley. It was just outside of Calgary. I went to the telephone booth and got Beth's address, 401 Mystic Circle. Wow, sounded kind of ritzy. I headed to the post office and asked for directions to the street. The postman was nice enough to explain to me how to get there. I asked him where there was a local florist. He told me how to get there and I thanked him and was on my way.
I went into the florist and ask for some roses. After hearing the price, I asked if they had anything cheaper. They had carnations for $1.25 each. I had him wrap me up a dozen and I filled out the card. "To Beth, the best writer on the planet. Love, H.H."
I looked up and saw they had ball caps with the name, Clary Florist, written on them. I asked how much they were and the man smiled at me and said I could have one for free. It was how he advertised. I put on my ball cap and took my flowers and headed off to see Beth.
I have to tell you I was a nervous wreck. I ate a whole tube of antacids; my stomach was doing somersaults.
I followed the directions the post office gave me and Mystic Circle was a trailer court. This couldn't be right but I went down and found the address 401. It was a dumpy little trailer, not even as nice as mine. I was perplexed on what to do. Was my information wrong? Did Beth maybe lie about her lifestyle like I did? I had to find out; I just drove over a thousand miles to find the woman of my dreams. I couldn't quit now.
I took the flowers and walked up to the door. There was a name plate on the house that said, "Roy and Beth Wilson." This had to be it so I knocked on the door, waiting with total anticipation when a big burly ugly man came to the door.
"What the hell do you want?" He barked at me.
"I'm from Clary Florist and I have a delivery for a Beth Wilson. Does she live here?" I asked.
"Yea, she lives her. Give me the damn things and I'll give them to her," he replied.
"I'm sorry, she needs to sign for them," I said. I really wanted to see what she looked like.
"She's on the toilet; I'll sign for the damn things." He scribbled Roy on my paper and grabbed the box.
"You ain't getting no tip so get your ass out of here," growled Roy.
I quickly left the porch but I could hear him yelling.
"Who the fuck is H.H. and why would he send you flowers? Are you fucking someone behind my back?" I heard Roy yell.
"No, Roy, I don't know who that is, honest." For the first time I heard Beth's voice. She didn't sound like my vision of her. She sounded scared and afraid.
I heard Roy tell her, "If I ever find out you're fucking someone, I'll kill him and kick your fat ass out. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Roy. It must be someone who reads my stories, that's all. I don't know how they got our address. I'm sorry, Roy. I have to get to the library; I'll see you tonight." I heard Beth tell Roy.
They lived in a corner trailer and I had just pulled around the corner. It's why I was able to hear their conversation. Actually it was Roy's yelling. I wondered why she was going to the library. Did she work there, I wondered?
I didn't get a good look at her when she got in her car. I was too far around the corner. I could see that she wasn't blond and she wore glasses. I pulled out behind her as she left the trailer court. I tried to keep my distance like they do in the movies. I didn't want to be detected.
I saw the library up ahead and passed Beth and pulled into the lot ahead of her and walked inside. I watched as she came in. She sure wasn't what I expected. She was short, maybe 5'1" or so. She was heavy – well, she was fat; probably sixty or seventy pounds overweight. She wasn't very pretty but she wasn't ugly either. I guessed her to be maybe thirty-five. She was not at all like I pictured or like the picture she had posted in her bio. I was somewhat stunned. After all, I just drove a thousand miles to see the love of my life and she didn't look at all like I had pictured.
I was almost ready to cry when she came up to me standing there and said, "May I help you? I saw you just standing there looking kind of lost. My name is Beth and I work here, just so you know I wasn't coming on to you," she smiled.
She had a sweet voice.
"My name is um... I was... um...shit, damn. I don't,..."
"Sir, are you alright? Do you need me to call someone? Here, sit down please," she said.
I looked down at the table. I couldn't look her in the eyes. "Beth, I came here to see you," I said.
"What? Who are you? Do I know you?" she asked rather nervously.
"I'm Herman Howell - you know H.H. I read your stories."
She backed up, looking scared. "Oh, my God, you've been stalking me. I should call the police."
"Please, don't call the police. I'm not really a stalker. I just had to see you," I said.
""You got my address from somewhere; I never gave it to you. In fact, I never told you my name was Beth. You show up at my door with flowers and cause a big riff in my marriage and you say that's not stalking," she responded.
"Please listen; I'm not a bad person. I just had to see you. In fact you told me I could come and see you."
"What? I never told you to come and see me. You're some kind of nut case; I'm going to call the police."
"Wait! Look, I have the e-mails; I save all your letters. Here, read it for yourself. "Well, H.H., if you're ever in my neck of the woods, stop by and we can have a threesome with my husband, or he can watch you fuck me." See, I told you that I might come and see you and that's what you wrote me. I would never hurt you; I'm in love with you. I don't even care that you lied about your appearance, 'cause I did too. It's your stories and the inner you that I crave. I might be a nut job, but only for you. Please don't call the police." I had tears in my eyes, I could feel them.
"God! What have I done? Herman, that was all fantasy. I write fantasy stories. You saw my trailer and that fat vile old man that's my husband. He's a horrible man and I write stories to get away from it all. I live my life through my writing. I'm just a librarian and I write stories. If I would have ever thought you would come this far to see me, I would have told you the truth."
I had tears running down my cheek. "Beth, you're my fantasy; you're my reason for getting up. I have nothing. I'm forty-five years old and live with my mother. I'm short, nothing to look at and half bald. I have no talent but I do work hard cutting grass or shoveling snow. The way I get away from it all is reading your stories and writing to you. I used my savings to come a thousand miles to see you, not to hurt you. I'm staying just one night at that little motel on the corner. I'm sorry if I scared you."
She touched my hand. "Herman, I'm so sorry. I didn't know something like this would happen. No one has ever bought me flowers, not even Roy. I made a big mistake writing lies to you. I don't have a nice home or a great husband. We married about eight years ago. He has two sons from a previous marriage. I guess he wanted a mother for them and asked me to marry him. At first it was nice but then he started coming home drunk and using me and sometimes even beating me. My life is a hell hole. My only release is my job here and writing my stories."
"Why don't you leave him? Move away and divorce him?"
"I tried that once and he looked for me until he found me and dragged me back to his home. I'm afraid of him. I'm terribly afraid. His sons are now sixteen and seventeen but he still won't let me leave. There is nowhere for me to go anyway. In fact if he found out I was talking to you he would beat me and try to kill you. I can't see you again. Please don't write to me anymore."
"If you can, I would like to see you one more time. I'll be at my motel room. I guess life really does suck. You really are the best writer I've ever read."
"Herman, look at me. I'm a plain fat woman in her thirties. I might have big breasts but they are flabby. No man would want to caress them. You can see I have a big tummy and gun boats for legs. Roy calls me thunder thighs because they are so large. I faced the facts when I married Roy that I am no man's dream. I guess that's why I started writing. Letters and comments from people like you are the highlight of my day. I guess that's why I answered your feedback. I'm so terribly sorry."
I told her that I felt I still loved the inner Beth, the writer with the real feeling trying to get out. She knew where to find me if she wanted to talk some more.
I got up and headed to get a sandwich from a take out place and drove to my motel room. It was getting late when there was a knock on my door. I was afraid it might be Roy. "Who is it?" I asked?"
"Herman, it's me, Beth; please let me in." she asked.
I opened the door and there stood Beth. "I needed to see you and apologize for the whole fiasco. Honest, I never meant to lead you on or hurt you. I thought about it all day and you seem to be a kind man."
"Where's Roy? Will he come looking for you?" I asked.
"No, he's dead to the world. He won't wake up till morning. Herman, will you make love to me?"
"What! You want to make love with an old ugly fellow like me?"
"I owe you big time. In the letter I promised you this and I want to give it to you. It must only be this one time and we can't ever see each other again. If you find my body revolting, I can dim the lights."
"Beth, I'm in love with your mind and soul and would love to make love to your entire body. I do have a favor to ask."
"What is it, Herman? What do you want?"
"I want to record our lovemaking and we can maybe put it in one of your stories," I said.
"You can tape it but no video equipment. Herman, if you never understand anything else about this night, I want you to know it's for you; your devotion to my writings, and for my deceiving you. Also, I have not been with another man since I've been with Roy. You can't just fuck me, you must and I do mean must make love to me. How do you want to begin?"
"I want you to tell me one of your beautiful stories and as you're telling it, I will be doing it to you. You say it and I'll do my best to follow up," I responded.