The Door Into Summer

Our first experience with the webcam came under surprising circumstances. Our relationship had clearly progressed beyond mere fantasy; it had blossomed into something deep and multi-faceted, and highly addictive. We continued to chat and exchange emails at all hours of the day and night, and the more we learned about each, the more intrigued and enamored we became.

But the more intense our mutual attraction became, the more it became worrisome. For Simona, the guilt associated with our secret liaison was particularly acute, because for years her jealous husband had suspected her of infidelity, without foundation. She had come to resent his baseless accusations, but now they were no longer baseless. Toward the end of our second week, she wrote to me:

I don't want to fall for you... not the imaginary you, not the real you, not any aspect of you.

I took this to mean that she was breaking off our cyber-romance, that I was being “banished” back to the role of being a mere online acquaintance. I was depressed and heartbroken. We had made a date for cyber-sex the following day. I met her online at the appointed hour, assuming that we would simply be saying good-bye. As it turned out, that was not what Simona had in mind. Her statement to me had been a reflection of her inner turmoil, not an intention to break off our relationship.

We were both in a distressed emotional state, and we had no one to turn to for solace but each other. On the spur of the moment, we agreed to go on the webcam and just talk -- aided by rum, lots of rum. We sat and drank and looked at each other on our respective computer screens and got to know one another. I liked Simona’s face -- it was merry and kind. I knew that she was highly intelligent, but to see her react as we spoke to one another brought that home in a new way.

Not long thereafter, we resumed our cyber-sex with renewed intensity. And now that we had broken the ice with the webcam, it was inevitable that we would try using it for one of our trysts. It was a roaring success. Although Simona was still reserved on the phone, seeing my naked and aroused body obliterated her inhibitions. She threw herself into it in a way that was simply magnificent, noisy and exciting. She rose to her knees and wantonly thrust her wet cunt toward the camera so that I might adore it. Then we reversed roles.

From that moment on, we were committed to the webcam, not only for “dates”, but increasingly whenever an opportunity arose, throughout the day. Whenever one or both of us were in a relatively private situation, the clothes would come off for the camera. We delighted in displaying our arousal to each other, and sometimes took some rather wild risks to do so.

I had suffered from occasional bouts of insomnia in the past, but now it became a way of life. I would awaken at all hours of the night and hasten to the computer to see whether there was a new missive from Simona. Often there was. I would wake up in a state of high arousal because she was the first thing to come to my mind, and my fantasies about her were very vivid.

I found myself more and more becoming the advocate of a real-life meeting -- my sex life at home had dwindled to perhaps one sexual encounter per month at best, and it was unsatisfying for me. I had not achieved orgasm with my wife for the past six months. I expressed the fear to Simona that the remainder of my life would be "a long, drab farewell to sex."

As part of my campaign to persuade her, I wrote a second sonnet to Simona:

The Invitation

Would you ascend with me that daunting height

And rise above the gray uncertain mist,

Exposed and naked, at our lofty tryst,

To all the joys and perils that excite

The hearts of poets, and the likes of me?

That summit, by enamored breezes kissed,

Is one the gales of passion never missed;

There's havoc there, as well as ecstasy.

Our union, sweet as honey, may require

A core of steel, if it is to survive

The devastating tempest-winds that drive

Across the soaring peak of our desire.

Would you consent to make that climb with me,

To chase our loving to its apogee?

At Simona’s suggestion, I joined a discussion forum for aspiring poets at Literotica, and participated in a group poetry challenge. The instructions were to write a poem entitled “The Door Into Summer”. I wrote the following, another veiled inducement to a real-life encounter:

No gaudy autumn greeted me,

My winter was not cold.

The planet spun reluctantly,

So bland, disheartened, old.

Perhaps the galaxies aligned,

Or maybe just because...

A helpful zephyr teased my mind,

I woke, and there she was.

She brought what spring had promised, though

It wasn't in the air,

And paints my days, like long ago,

With glowing solar flair.

It shines profusely down once more,

A flood of joyful sin,

Together we unlatch the door

And summer tumbles in.

After reading “The Revelation”, Simona had complained rather mournfully to me that her belly was no longer “sleek and taut,” and she sent me some photos of herself when she was in her prime. It was true that both of us were slightly over the hill; we were in good shape for people in their 50s and 60s respectively, but neither of us were aspiring fashion models.

Nonetheless, I found Simona very attractive, and I tried to explain it in a third sonnet:

On Earned Beauty

You were more lovely in your youth, you say.

It may, in part, be true -- for youth is free

Of care, and smooth and taut. But if I may,

I'll teach you how, with these, mine eyes, to see

Yourself. When in the heat of love we play,

My vision comes alive. A history

Of fierce emotions makes your nipples rise,

More beauteous than a maiden's supple bloom.

And how your liquid cunt delights mine eyes!

It calls me like no youngster's may presume

To do. That font of passion 'twixt your thighs,

It sings of love that dares the brink of doom.

Not everyone can see these things, it's true.

I see your soul in every part of you.

Simona: “I loved this sonnet - it was not an over-the-top, insincere-sounding negation of my demuring about my looks. It acknowledged the issue and moved on, in poetry that - still full of gentle diplomacy - nevertheless spoke to me. I felt Andre recognized the issues; he knew what he saw, and wasn’t in any way turning me into some 20- or 30-year old sex bomb; he seemed more than satisfied with who I was in reality. It was believable and reassuring, and barring the occasional poke and tease, we left the issue alone as irrelevant.”

First meeting

Finally, we set a date, and I reserved a motel room in Salem, roughly midway between our two cities. I told my wife that I was going out of town for the day for an afternoon gig.

I purchased an orchid as a gift for Simona, and hid it outside in a storage closet so my wife wouldn't ask questions.

As late as the night before our date, both of us were still contemplating canceling. Simona said as much; I kept my worries to myself, but I wrestled with the thought that I had managed to be married to Ella for 23 years without cheating, and once it was done, it could not be undone. Nonetheless, I got up the next morning and drove south down Interstate Five, arriving in Salem about an hour before the appointed time.

The motel seemed pleasant and non-descript, just as I was hoping. I had little experience in this sort of illicit liaison, and I was hoping for a neutral, impersonal environment, a sort of tabula rasa where Simona and I could create our own little world. I went to the front desk and checked in, finding it to be surprisingly easy. I'm not sure just what I was expecting -- to be asked to fill out a questionnaire about whether I would be using the facilities for an illicit sexual liaison? I carried the orchid, my guitar and amplifier, and other supplies to the room, and then the nervous anticipation began. Would my aging body let me down? Would I have trouble climaxing, or getting an erection? I thought of Simona's fascination with BDSM -- would she feel disappointed because I was not a dominating macho brute? But I kept returning to the thoughts of the easy, affectionate rapport we had enjoyed online, and how much I looked forward to simply embracing her and showing her my appreciation.

I played the guitar a little. I took off my shoes -- I didn't want to fumble with them when the time came to disrobe. I was wearing no underwear; I hoped that this would please Simona. I wore white slacks and a form-fitting black shirt that I hoped would flatter my physique. Finally Simona called -- she was exiting the freeway, and would be there soon. She added significantly that she was wearing the top with the zipper down the front.

I paced the room anxiously. I stroked my cock through my pants and felt it grow hard -- that was reassuring. Finally I heard a knock at the door. I opened it, and there she was. There was the smile I recognized from the computer screen, a blend of eagerness and shyness.

There was so much that could have gone wrong. We knew each other more or less as erotic pen-pals, but in real life there is a biological dimension which is bound to assert itself. There was no way to predict, from our electronic interactions, whether the pheromones or other biological cues would work for us. But as it turns out, they worked perfectly.

Simona: “Although I made good time on the road, I got a bit lost among the strip malls surrounding the hotel and was getting more and more anxious. During the drive I had already considered turning back, 10-15 times. Something kept pulling me forward: curiosity, lust, a need to connect with someone with whom I might be myself. If Andre were to reject me, the rejection would not be a hundredth as painful as even one instance of my husband’s denial of sex when he was upset with me for some infraction I had not realized I’d made. Finally on the right road, I pulled my car over and switched my comfortable shoes for a pair of medium-heeled sandals that I thought were more appropriate for the occasion. I certainly wasn’t a sex kitten, nor a sex bomb, and wasn’t about to try acting like one, but I was secure in knowing that I was sexy enough.

I could still turn around and back out. I was sure he would understand and not hold it against me, however disappointed he might be. But I was excited, and curious, and incredibly turned on, and the adventure called to me. I combed my hair, took a deep breath, and drove the final few minutes to the hotel.”

We embraced and kissed awkwardly. I wanted her to know how excited I was to see her, so I took her hand, causing her to drop whatever it was that she carried, and placed it so that she could feel my hard cock through my pants. She seemed to appreciate it. She then said she had to get more supplies from the car, and shed her backpack. Being barefoot, I couldn't accompany her without slowing everything down, so I let her go and anxiously awaited her return.

Simona: “I thought he might follow to help me carry the stuff I’d brought. I didn’t know what to make of that: it seemed incongruous with his otherwise gallant personality so far. I had been afraid our first encounter would be incredibly awkward. It started to be, but his immediate embrace, and his brazenly placing my hand on his crotch had the effect of immediately squaring us with the agenda for this meeting. There really was no point in being shy or awkward. If I were shy and awkward, the entire meeting, and the anticipation of it, would have been wasted. If I was going to throw my fidelity on a pyre, there should be no doubt at all of what I was doing: the flames better be burning high and bright, and hot enough to engulf and torch whatever was left of my hesitation and modesty.”

She returned. We embraced again, and she presented her selection of three fine whiskeys. I felt a bit like a peasant, my taste not sufficiently cultivated to appreciate the treats she had brought, but I put that thought aside and pulled two chairs together so that we could face each other, knee to knee, as we sampled the whiskeys.

We were giddy and excited to finally have our illicit meeting, and we found that we enjoyed each other’s company as much in real life as we had enjoyed it online. We may have discussed the names and the differences between the whiskeys. We tried all three. My memory is dominated by her proximity, and how I began to touch her calves, then her knees. We kissed, I nuzzled her neck; I detected her perfume -- she had told me that she favored a scent called "Malabah," and I wondered whether that were what she was wearing. I touched her breasts through her garments, then my teeth found her zipper and pulled it down. I removed her top and unclasped her bra. It was a bra for a full-breasted woman, a challenge to unhook with four clasps, but I managed without incident. And she was indeed full-breasted. I took her nipples alternately into my mouth as I grew increasing excited, and my fingers advanced up her thighs. As they approached her panties, I discovered that her upper thighs were slick with her juices, which electrified me with desire, and when I touched her panties they were drenched. I fell to my knees to rub my face on them. Her scent was mild, almost sweet, and at this point I was agitated and in a hurry to get naked.

Simona: “He knelt before me and I looked down at him, amazed and flattered at his ardour. He encouraged me to sip more whisky and I smiled internally--he must be trying to put me at ease, Between his evident excitement and impatience, my own libido rearing its head, and the whisky, whatever modestly I still had was now dissolved, entirely gone. His teeth at my zipper, slowly pulling it down, were mesmerizing. I looked down at his head and all I felt was a searing hot lust.”

Somehow we shed our clothes, and she lay sideways across the bed, parting her legs to let me taste her cunt. I had dreamt of this moment, and I savored it. Then we shifted position so that her head pointed toward foot of the bed. I remember how easily my cock went inside her, like a key going into a lock, a perfect fit. We ran the gamut of different positions, and every one of them was exciting and delicious. It seemed almost miraculous; we both seemed to have inexhaustible desire and capacity, as if, at this late point in our lives, we were finally discovering sex, despite the fact that we were both relatively experienced. We were passionate and playful; we lay end to end and sucked each other’s toes. We tried position after position. Everything we did seemed to work wonderfully.

Simona: “He attacked my cunt with his lips and I melted--I had never experienced anything like it before. This was what it was all about. I felt I had been cheated before, but wasted no time dwelling on the past and simply let myself enjoy the present, his hunger and mine. He seemed genuinely delighted, enjoying the kind of sex that we might have had in our younger days. Except, in my case at least, Ihadn’thad sex like this in my younger days.”

At one point we took a lunch break. Simona had brought a dazzling array of lunch meats, breads, cheeses, and fruit. Then I serenaded her on the guitar. She gazed at me, smiling, as I played. She seemed to be doting on me. Afterward, we began to fuck with renewed gusto.

Simona had described to me online just how she liked to have her G-spot touched. This was new to me. I had read about the G-spot, but I half-suspected that it was an urban legend. However, with Simona, I could easily find hers by the distinctive rough texture, and the effects of touching her there were dramatic. I gloried in her wetness and the supple feel of her clit between my fingers.

When I took her from behind, I remember that she began to cry out "Jesus Christ!", which struck me as being somehow incongruous, coming from a Jewish girl. It was all glorious. But there were two memories that remain particularly vivid for me. One is of lying silently in each other's arms, gazing into each other's eyes. I had never had a properly close look at them using the webcam. Simona's eyes were dark and very kind. There were wrinkles at the corners of her eyes which betrayed her age (she always seemed girlish on the cam), but also seemed to underscore the warmth I saw there.

The other memory is a naughtier one. We lay in bed talking, and somehow the topic came up of which term we preferred, "pussy" or "cunt". With playful wickedness, Simona assured me that if it was as wet as hers was, it must be a cunt. I was delighted.

As the conclusion of our tryst approached, Simona made a gift of her wet panties to me. I packed them carefully away, intending to find a use for them when I returned home.

Finally, time was running out for our meeting. We showered together, during which Simona sucked me ardently. Then I accompanied her to her car and embraced her, feeling very much in love with her. She concealed it from me then, but she later revealed that she felt very sorrowful that we had to part.

Simona: “I was surprised to find myself getting emotional toward the end of our tryst, and tried hard not to show it. Perhaps it was the stress of the anticipation and the loveliness of this first meeting, so much better than I had dared hope for. In fact, my worst “nightmare” had been that I would have broken the trust of my partner for an indifferent, pedestrian meeting with a not-very interesting and perhaps not even very nice man (although I doubted that our online interactions would have been that misleading). Our get-together was in fact so much better than I had imagined it would be that I was extremely sad to see it come to an end. He had been both gentle and forceful, fun and serious, and our chemistry on line had been sparked and flared so much more brightly in real life. In truth, I imagined this was the one and only time we would meet in real life, and I was sorry to have to let it go at this. Andre helped me and we carted all the various packages out to my car and his. At the end, we went to check out and, after embracing him tightly, I left.”

What might have been just an enchanting and addicting online fantasy was now something else. We had an almost magical chemistry, something that felt very natural and very real and somehow, very right, despite the ethical compromises we had made.

Intermezzo

Following our real-life encounter, we resumed our cyber-sex with a vengeance. Now, instead of trying to imagine what it would be like to make love, we could draw upon powerful memories with all five senses, and it imbued our online encounters with a much greater depth and intensity.

We compared notes on the experience of meeting in Salem, and on our sexual histories, as lovers sometimes do. We both felt fairly worldly; each of us had had in the neighborhood of 25 sexual partners prior to marrying our respective spouses during the 1990s, after which we stayed strictly monogamous up until the time that we met each other. We had both experimented with some kinky sexual practises, although not necessarily the same ones. We were both somewhat frustrated with our sex lives, or some aspect of our relationship, at home.

We marveled at the lovemaking we had shared; neither of us had ever experienced sex that good. It seemed ironic that we had waited until so late in our lives for a partner with whom we could engage in sex for hours on end, finding it endlessly arousing and satisfying. We wryly observed that youth is wasted on the young (others before us have made the same observation.)

Simona wrote her first poem to me:

Spring Flows Into Summer