Wild Horses (2 page)

“Of course,” I said to myself.

She adjusted the camera, so it was panning
over her body. She wore very small, and very tight, red panties.
She was taking them off as I watched. Her legs were long and
beautifully shaped, and her hips were rounded. Her stomach was not
flat but if I remembered the parts of her “bio” I had read rightly,
she was over thirty. If she was not lying about her age, and why
would she make herself older than she was? She had a pretty
spectacular body!

“Great body,” I wrote.

“Thank You baby.”

She parted her legs, slowly and deliberately.
There was not a shred of hair on her body. Not under her arms. Not
between her legs.

“Are you excited to see me?” she called, from
her room, on the other side of the world, her voice coming down the
internet connection and out of my laptop speakers.

“Oh yeah!” I wrote.

“I want to see you too,” she said.

“What?” I wrote.

“I want to see you baby.”

She was gently fingering herself. I had a
raging hard-on, but it was still in my jeans at this stage. That
was going to change pretty soon. But what did she want me to
do?

“What do I do?” I wrote.

“You can turn on your cam and we can be cam
to cam,” she told me. “Then I see you too.”

“Ok.”

I didn't know what was going to happen. I had
never done this before. When I clicked on the icon that operated
the camera built into the top of my laptop screen, I saw myself
appear in the bottom corner of the screen. My room was dark. I was
a grainy image, pale and bearded, wearing jeans and a pullover. And
by this stage I had my dick in my hand.

“Nice to see you,” she said, applauding
gently. “Nice to meet you baby.”

“You are so cute,” I said.

“Thank you.”

She said that a lot.

“Do I make you excited?” she asked, knowing,
I’m sure, the answer.

“Oh yeah.”

“I make you cum baby.”

“Please.”

It occurred to me that it wasn’t the most
dignified thing I had ever done. But by that stage I didn't care. I
watched her masturbate – or, at least, pretend to, for my benefit –
as I did, leaning back in my chair, not taking my eyes off her
fabulous body and sensuous white skin. When it was over, I reached
for the exit button, and said, before I clicked on it - “thank you,
good bye, you are gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” she said (again). “Come and see
me again.”

And then she was gone. The screen went
blank. And I had some cleaning up to do!

I was at work when I thought of her again. It
was a slow day, during the course of the following week. My PA had
gone home early, claiming to be unwell, and most of the work
stations were vacant. I had my own space, behind frosted glass.
There was a case on the go, that needed to be finalized, but it
could wait until next week. I leaned back in the reclining leather
chair, and stared into the desktop computer, aimlessly. I could
leave. I was the manager wasn’t I? I worked on my own time. But
what was waiting for me at home? Paula was already pissed off. I
wasn't even sure what I had done or said this time. She was always
pissed off. I thought of “sweetgirl34.” I hadn't read her biography
properly yet. The laptop was in a carry bag on my desk. It was
mine, and it pretty much went everywhere I went, but I had brought
it into the office today specifically to transfer some files from
the desktop I used at work, that I intended to work on over the
weekend. I opened it, went straight to the livegirls site, and
logged in. She was offline, but I could still access her page.
There were some photos of her, in various states of undress, all
wearing lingerie or underwear. I flicked through them quickly. They
served only to remind me of how attractive I found her. I clicked
on her profile page, and read it at length.

Basic Profile

Name: sweetgirl34Age: 34. Gender: Female.
Sexual Preference: Bisexual (That surprised! Maybe it was to invite
female clientele I wondered). Country: EE (I had noticed a number
of the girls on this site used the generic EE standing for “Eastern
Europe” as the location indicator). Zodiac: Capricorn

Appearance

Height: 1.63m (5'4")
.
Weight: 60kg
(130 lbs)
.
Hair Color: Brown
.
Eye Color:
Brown
.
Build: Petite
.
Ethnicity: White
.
Cup
Size: C. Pubic Hair: Bald
.
Measurements: 97-66-97cm
(38-26-38")

Features

Languages Spoken: English

What I do in my show

Here she had typed in what looked to be the
lyrics to a song. I didn't know the song, so it appeared pretty
meaningless to me. Some of the girls, I recalled, would list here
their specialties. Some of them were kinky, some extreme. Some
disturbing. I felt like a I knew a little bit about her now. I
closed the laptop, and reclined again in the chair, to sit with my
thoughts as I gathered them. What was it that I found so
attractive, so enticing, so “special” about this girl? This lady?
This woman? Who lived somewhere on the other side of the world, and
stripped for men online, for money? She was probably a stripper. A
prostitute. A porn star. No, I reasoned. Maybe she was a hooker, or
had been, I couldn't discount that, but most of the strippers and
the porn stars I had seen (and I had seen a few over the years!)
had the telltale scars underneath their breasts, or were pierced in
unlikely places, or had perfectly toned bodies and clinically
enhanced features. She seemed to be entirely natural – breasts
sagging over her chest, flawed skin, slightly overweight. She was a
hooker, I told myself, or a recently retired one. I didn't care. I
would be online tonight!

“Hey you're back again,” she said, her voice
coming to me through headphones this time (since Paula was asleep
down the corridor, in our bed. This was already risky).

“Can't keep away from you,” I wrote.

“You’re too nice.” That melodious, girlish
voice, with the clipped accent. What was it? Hungarian? Russian? I
resolved to ask her. She could only tell me to get lost!

“Where are you from?”

“Can you guess?’

She was laughing. Not maliciously, playfully.
I smiled.

“Russia?”

“No way.”

“Ukraine?”

“You must come further west,” she said.

“Hungary?” I tried.

“Very close. Almost.”

“Romania.”

“No You must go up now. How do you say?
North.”

“Checkoslovakia.” I spelled it wrongly. I
knew I did, but I was not European!

“Yes,” she cried. “Sort of.”

She was laughing now. It was an engaging
laugh. She was enjoying herself. She was so beautiful! She was
driving me crazy!

“What do u mean sort of?” I wrote.

“Can you put on your cam and talk to me?”

“Not this time.”

“Ohhh” she purred, frowning, still playful.
“Okay, there is no country Czechoslovakia now. There is Slovakia
and there is the Czech Republic.”

“Which r u?”

“I have to have some secrets. Let's say I’m
both. Part Czech. Part Slovak.”

“You speak great English.”

“Thank You baby.”

She fell silent, and I just stared into the
screen, admiring her.

“So, what do you want to do with me tonight?”
she enquired. She lifted her top off. “You want to see my body. In
private?”

“Always,” I wrote. The moment I had typed it
in, I clicked on the button for private. When she appeared on the
screen, she was smiling broadly, and giggling. I suspected that she
knew she had me. Maybe she was thinking I was a potential goldmine,
I mused. Maybe she thought (wrongly) I was rich. Cashed up!

“You want me naked?” she asked.

“Hell yes.”

This got a brief laugh. The panties came off,
and she adjusted her posture on the bed, and the cam, so I could
see her entire body. The flesh was a milky white, and just as
tantalizing, as I recalled it. I watched her play with herself for
a few moments, feeling myself hardening instantly.

“You like?”

Of course I do, I thought. You’re stunning,
you're a knock out. I'd do anything to on that bed next you right
now. A thought occurred to me suddenly.

“Can u turn over,” I wrote. “I want to see
you from behind.”

She did, immediately, in one fluid movement.
She was beautifully curved. If her skin wasn’t perfect, her figure
was, especially from this angle. There didn't appear to be a ripple
of excess flesh on her tightly drawn ass cheeks. She glanced up at
me, through the cam, her head turning, so she could see.

“You want me to use my sex toy?” she
asked.

The thought that occurred to me,
instantaneously, surprised me. You came to this site to see exactly
this. To type in commands, and to ask the girls to do what you
wanted. You came to beat off and to cum, and then log out,
hopefully as quickly as you could. You came for quick
gratification, and immediate satisfaction.

“No,” I wrote. “Turn over. I will just admire
you for a little while, before I go.”

“Oh, you are so sweet,” she purred.

I didn't jerk off that time. I had intended
to. But I didn't. I closed the laptop and rose from my desk chair.
Outside it was dark and cold. I wondered what it was like in the
Czech Republic, or Slovakia, or wherever she was. It occurred to me
that she might be anywhere in Eastern Europe. She didn't have to
give me, or anyone else, an authentic location, any more than she
needed to provide a real name. And “sweetgirl34” was certainly not
her real name! I walked to the fridge and opened a beer. She was
still on my mind as I drank it. This was irrational now! I went
into the lounge room end collapsed onto the leather sofa, reaching
for the television remote as I did so. Maybe the Friday night
football game will take my mind off her, I reasoned with myself. It
didn’t. I fell asleep, with a vision of her naked, on her bed,
fixed in my mind’s eye.

It was the next time I saw her, online of
course, that I realized this was becoming something quite different
to that which it had been, at the start, at least for me.

“Hi again,” she called, as we entered private
chat. It was the now familiar greeting, with the now longed for
smile, and the brief little laugh that normally followed it.

“Hi,” I wrote.

“You can talk now, on your cam?” she
asked.

“Not tonight,” I wrote. “Next time.”

“Okay.”

It was the familiar reason – Paula was
somewhere nearby, not asleep. I think reading in the lounge room,
and she could walk into the study at any moment. She rarely did,
for we rarely spoke, unless we really had to. Nonetheless, it was a
possibility.

“So. You want me to get naked now?” she
asked.

“Yes.” Of course!

She did.

“Where are you from?” she asked suddenly. She
was lying on the pink sheets, on top of her bed, somewhere in
Eastern Europe, and, quite suddenly, she wanted to know where I was
from. It was a stalling tactic, I decided. I was paying by the
minute. It probably was her stalling, to run the clock down, as
they would say at a football game. But I didn't care!

“I’m in Australia.”

“Really. I thought you were English maybe,”
she answered.

“I’m Australian English,” I wrote.

She laughed.

“We're all six foot tall and bronzed and
athletic,” I wrote, smiling as I wrote it.

This got a burst of laughter.

“Except me,” I added.

More laughter.

“Well I don't know what six foot tall is,”
she said, “we have meters.”

“We too,” I typed. “It's 1.8 meters.”

“Oh. I’m 1.7. So we are nearly the same
tall.”

I smiled at the grammar.

“How old are you?” she enquired.

“40.” It was a lie. I was 46. But what were
six years between online friends?

“You are so nice,” she was saying, dreamily.
I guess it beat the hell out of what she was really paid to do, I
thought, just sitting there on the bed, yes naked, but not actually
doing anything. And certainly not anything nasty. Nothing kinky.
Nothing painful. My toes curled at the thought of some of the
things girls on this site offered to do for their clients.

“I will come online tomorrow maybe and we can
talk more,” I wrote.

“Sure. Thank you. Thank you, baby, so
much.”

She blew me a kiss, smiling into a camera. I
logged off, and reclined in the chair, to think. I often did it.
That was probably $20 I told myself. To chat to a girl whose name I
didn't know, on the other side of the word. A naked girl! A girl
willing, even offering, to do things I would not dream of asking
Paula to do, not now – chiefly because I knew she would tell me to
“fuck off”! A wry grin appeared on my face. I could see it, in my
reflection, in the blank computer screen. An idea was forming in my
mind. It was lunacy of course. But even as I told myself it was
“nuts”, I knew I was going to do it. I reached for the iTunes icon
and clicked on it. When the program launched, I selected the
Rolling Stones playlist and clicked on “Wild Horses.” I turned it
up, loud.

“I’m trying to read,” Paula’s strained voice,
crisp with anger, objected, from somewhere inside the house.

I turned it up further.

“For fuck sake,” she cried.

I leaned back, further, in the chair, to let
the words wash over me. She appeared in my vision, - sweetgirl34.
Smiling, laughing, her brown hair falling down in front of her. Her
brown eyes looking up at me. Her lithe body, and white flesh. Mick
was singing:

“I know I've dreamed you a sin and a lie,

I have my freedom, but I don't have much
time,

faith has been broken, tears must be
cried,

let's do some living after we die.”

Keith joined him for the chorus.