Wild Horses by Dominique Defforest Page B

other than the brief “bio” she had provided on her page.
I made a mental note to read it properly, later.
    “ty,” she wrote again. She seemed to write
that a lot.
    “No problem.”
    “hru,” she wrote.
    I had to think about that one – “how are
you?” I realized.
    “Good,” I answered. Then I typed, “Ok, let's
get naked.”
    “Yes.”
    I surrendered to the frustration and to the
desire welling up within me. As much as I wanted to stop and chat,
I needed release, and in the back of my mind the matter of the
credit card statement was making itself heard. It wasn’t a
bottomless pit! It had a credit limit!
3
    She leapt into my mind again the next
weekend. Paula was out. Girls weekend away. Our daughter was on a
sleepover. Two nights on my own. The Friday night the husbands had
drinks together in a local pub. Four of us. It was a good night,
but the three of them had younger children, and the babysitters had
their limits! I got in before midnight, took a beer from the
fridge, and went into the study, closing the door behind me. I
opened the laptop thinking first of porn, but even as I did, her
dark brown hair and brown eyes, and that smile, flashed before me.
I went to the “livegirls” site and logged on. Damn! She was
offline. I spent an hour or so combing through the hundreds of
others who were online. I tried to chat with two, but gave up after
a few sentences. It wasn’t the same. And they didn't have that
smile. I was about to log off when my heart leapt – she was online.
The circle in the top left corner had changed form red to green.
The message above her screenshot read – “sweetgirl34 is online.
Click here to chat with me.” I did.
    Hello again,” she said.
    I could hear her! I'd left the volume up. I
usually had it turned right down, for fear Paula would hear
something – she was such a light sleeper. As I was alone in the
house now, it didn't matter. It hadn't even crossed my mind that I
could hear her, as well as see her.
    “Hi sweetgirl,” I wrote. “U really R sweet.
So pretty.”
    “Thank You,” came the reply.
    Her voice was very feminine. At least, that’s
how it seemed to me. A pleasant, sing-song voice. Not guttural at
all. The accent was there, it was definitely Eastern European
(mental note again – check out her biography), but her English
seemed good. She leaned toward her camera and blew me a kiss. Then
she tilted her head back and laughed. The sound filled the small
room in which I was sitting. It was an act, I told myself, this was
part of the show. But it was strangely alluring, and exciting, in
its playfulness. I knew I was “going private” with her. And
soon.
    “Well. U R the most beautiful girl here,
easy.”
    “Oh thank you,” she said again, sweetly.
Smiling seductively. She was wearing a very loose fitting, and low
cut, red top. As she leaned toward the camera, to blow another
kiss, I realized she was not flawless. Who was? The layer of
cosmetics hiding the imperfections was heavily applied, but you
could see the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and the pores
that stood out across her cheeks and forehead.
    “Love to go pvte with u,” I wrote.
    “Yes,” she implored me. “Please. Let’s
go.”
    I clicked on the button, and waited for the
screen to blink, and for her to appear filling the laptop, as
before.
    “Hey.”
    She was waving as she said it, and smiling
into the camera. She really was cute, I thought. This was going to
be good.
    “Ok. Can take yr top off.”
    She did, immediately.
    “Wow.”
    The familiar laugh, head tilting, smile
looming large.
    “U R so beautiful,” I wrote. Even as I did, I
was telling myself – “you're overdoing it. What does she care, what
you think of her?”
    “Thank You” she said again, her voice
cheerful. If it was an act (as I fully expected it was), it was a
bloody good one!
    “Do u have panties on?” I wrote.
    “You want to see?” she asked. Still
smiling.
    “Of course,” I said to