Back to Vanilla Read Online Free PDF

of intense high moistens
me immediately. Just wet. I mean, I’ve always been a really sexual
being, but, honestly, I fucked for the first time when I was 17,
and I kind of get the feeling, even now, that there’s more to it. I
mean, really, I want to get into tantric eventually… that whole
spiritual thing… but for now I want the sharp
in-the-moment-forget-the-world-around-me buzz that I see and feel
is out there when I connect with people on PhetX. I think
connection is the key to what I’m after.
    And now I add that to
your obvious personal experience… I just want to know more…
    Squirting to one side
(the jury is still out on this one, as I have read papers
suggesting it’s a typically male way of dealing with the quirks of
the female body, turning something that only a few woman can
achieve – and, again, jury very much out – into a badge of honour
for the sexually adept man, etc), subspace fascinates me. I’ve
looked into hypnosis a lot as part of my psychology studies (I
graduated last year), and its supposed similarity to subspace came
up once. Well, I kind of asked about it in a tutorial, but was
swiftly hushed up by the overly staid sex-starved tutor – yes, LOL
– but I have never really met anyone who believes it so strongly.
Not that, I guess, I’ve really met you… Tell. Me. More!
    You sound amazingly
interesting, Meister. I’d love to know everything, but like you
say, I need to sleep, so can’t really formulate my questions right
now. How about you just tell me what you think I might find
interesting?
    That said, although
you mentioned that I might not want to chat to an old man, maybe
I’m too young for you – I’d hate to come across as an
over-inquisitive, tiresome child. Feel free to gently bat me off,
Meister. ;) xxx
    The wee tease. She
was way too clever to be unaware of the effect her language might
have on him, he knew. Shoving the laptop on to the table next to
him, he took the drink from the other side of his bed, chugged it,
and passed out.
    Three days later, and
there was barely a pause in their correspondence. His time was, for
the most part, his own, and by Wednesday evening LittleGirlLost was
Tamsin, a psychology graduate from the University of Kent in
Canterbury. And with a sense of inevitability, Alasdair had turned
this stretch of bunkering down into an excuse for a bender. He
considered it to be a controlled bender, for, although he was in no
doubt about his true condition as an alcoholic, he took immense
satisfaction in his ability to reach a point of semi-oblivion and
go no further, save for keeping himself topped up; it was more a
continual surfing of the wave than a messy descent into ethanol
anaesthesia.
    LittleGirlLost lived,
as her profile said, in a small village near Norfolk, currently
with her parents, although this, she maintained, was purely a
transitory base while she organised herself to move to a city.
She’d chosen Manchester as her potential new home, based on a year
of weekend visits to an old friend, who had later become an old
flame, and in between had, Alasdair ascertained, educated
naughty-naughty Tamsin, on paper at least, in the finer arts of the
flesh.
    LittleGirlLost
reminded him of his own youth and the girls he had gazed at from
afar. She had an appealing sense of assurance combining total
sexual self-confidence with an engaging credulity and candour that
left him palpitating for more. Yet as he reeled her lightly in,
Kindly_Meister was, uncharacteristically, faintly troubled every
now again by the murky nature of the game, by the thought that
there was something slightly suspect about the balance of power in
their relationship. He was always able to ground himself, to
re-establish his belief in his selfless benevolence, by topping up
his drink.
    Ultimately seeking a
career in advertising, for which, LittleGirlLost had told him,
psychology might seem a strange choice but was in fact ideal in
terms of understanding the human psyche and how