This never happened. I wish it had, but it's all fiction. Yulia never existed -- at least not in my world. So, read and enjoy but remember, it's MY fantasy, not yours. Please don't steal my fantasy without my permission and,please, don't do this stuff in real life.

Secondly, no one ever writes to tell me they liked my story. Well, ALMOST no one. I get maybe one acknowledgement for every 1,000 people who read my stories. PLEASE write to tell me what you liked or didn't like and help me become better at this. Besides, I like to have my ego stroked. A REALLY nice letter from a really sexy girl might even get me off. Wanna try?

Yulia (Mg13)

Like most, our community offers a variety of educational services, one of which is tutoring for kids having trouble with the english language or with math and science. For years now I've tutored math to kids as young as 8 and as old as 18, boys AND girls. It is hugely satisfying work and I look forward every week to my sessions bringing light into their lives, life into their eyes, as they discover how math works in their daily lives. I think I'm successful because I change '4 divided by 3' into 'avocados are priced at $1.25 each or 4 for $3. Which is cheaper?' They're amazed that the answer to this question shows that, in this case, it's cheaper to buy avocados one at a time instead of buying three. It illustrates well how a working knowledge of math helps everyone -- except the shopkeeper, in this case.

Yulia is new this year. She's new to the USA -- here less than a year. Her parents emigrated from Ukraine. 
Yulia's english is not very good yet but she's trying hard to learn, mostly from TV, movies and the kids at school. My math As a result, my tutoring sessions seem to include english lessons as much as anything; I've set aside a section of her notebook for new words and phrases  She seems comfortable talking with me, since I don't ridicule her when she says something strange -- usually a sentence constructed like you would construct a sentence in russian or ukranian or even german. Nouns, objects and verbs get all scrambled and the kids at school make fun of her.

In the middle of a lesson about angles and congruence one day she suddenly asked me, "What 'slut' means?" 

"Where did you heard that word?" I asked. "Did someone call you a slut?"

"No. They talk about another girl."

I tried to explain as best I could but sometimes, particularly words dealing with sex, she knows so little english that it's hard for me to get the meaning across. "Windfall," as in "windfall profits" was especially difficult. She heard that word on a TV news program and wrote it down to ask me. She couldn't understand why it had nothing to do with the wind or with falling, both words she knew. We were spending half our time together on geometry and half on english words and concepts.

Trying to explain 'slut' by saying it was a girl who 'slept around,' she understood it to mean a girl who slept in different houses (or beds) every night and it didn't make sense to her. When I pressed her to tell me what she knew about sex she explained that she knew nothing as her parents avaoided even a hint of the word or the concept. I was wondering how they managed to have a daughter, thinking as they did. 

She wasn't stupid or even slow. She was quite bright and picked up math better than most kids but she was cramming ten or twenty new words a day into her pretty head. Pretty is a good word.  A tall, for 13, pale blonde with long and, if I could guess, small breasts sprouting under those sweatshirts and long unseen legs under the pants or long skirts she wore.  Her face and hands were about the only skin she ever showed.  I asked her one time why she covered up so much, comparing her mode of dress to the other 8th-grade girls, who preferred to show whatever they had. She just said her parents preferred her to dress that way -- that she should not show her body in public.

Yulia had worn baggy clothes all winter: sweatshirts and what looked like army surplus fatigue pants was seemed to be a favorite outfit. She always looked well-scrubbed and her hair was always clean and hung below her shoulders in soft waves or in a pony tail. Spring had arrived but the baggy clothes persisted. I frequently wondered what she would look like dressed as the other girls did now that the weather was warmer. 

Her pretty face turned heads wherever she went but she said the kids at school called her "The Ice Queen" because she didn't act friendly toward everyone. She wanted to know if Ice Queen was good or bad. I explained that it meant someone was aloof -- then I had to explain aloof. She finally got the picture. "But I'm NOT, as you say, aloof. My english is not good enough so I don't talk." It made sense to me. She felt bad that kids saw her as unfriendly. I explained that they would know better when her english improved.

I also explained to her that the clothes she wore made it seem like she didn't want anyone to know what she really looked like. "I would like to wear nicer clothes but my parents say it would make life more difficult for me."

"Why is that?"

"They say girls should not try to attract boys too much."

"Really?"

"Yes. They will not let me go to the movies or on a picnic with a boy until I am older. They say boys will 'take advantage' of me. But the other girls at school talk about going to movies and parties with boys and they say they have fun. Maybe I would like to have a boy take advantage of me." I don't think she quite understood what 'taking advantage' meant.

Yulia announced one day that she had been invited to a party and she wanted to know what "make out" meant. I asked her where she had heard the term and she said she had asked the girl who invited her what kind of party it was and whether she needed to bring a gift. The girl laughed and said that it was a "make-out party" and that she needed no gift. Yulia said she was afraid to ask the girl what "make-out" meant.

"Oh, dear," I said to her. "That's a party where there's lots of kissing and stuff going on."

"What kind of stuff?" she asked.

"Well, it depends on the people. Some parties will be just hugging and kissing but, since you're 13 now,  I suspect there'll be more happening."

"What 'more'," she asked.

"You don't know about 'more'?" I asked her, incredulous that she didn't.

"No. My parents are very strict. Even kissing a boy is something I've never done -- and something they would not approve of."

"You've never been kissed?"

"No. Never. My parents would never let me go to such a party." She paused, "But I would really like to go." She laughed and continued, "I don't want to be The Ice Queen forever."

"It's going to be difficult," I said. "Can you tell your parents that you're spending the night with a girfriend?"

"Oh, no. My parents would NEVER let me do something like that."

"Then I don't see how you're going to get to the party."

"Yes, I know." She paused, thinking. "Maybe YOU show me what is 'making out'?"

"Not likely, my dear. I'm twice your age."

"Yes, I know. But what difference does that make?"

"It would make a difference to your parents."

"They wouldn't like it if I did stuff with ANY boy."

"I guess you're right. But how about you? How would you feel about kissig an old man like me?"

"You're not old! I mean, you're older than me but you're not fat and bald like an old man."

I couldn't believe I was already considering her proposal. I knew that she was young enough that I could be thrown in jail for touching her, whether it was her idea or not. But I got excited every time she came for her lesson. I would feel a quivering, a stirring in my crotch as soon as I saw her. My eyes saw her dressed in her baggy clothes but my mind erased the clothes and saw her as I imagined her: tall and slim, with pale skin lighter even than her blonde hair. My mind saw her long legs meet in a "V" with a small slit and perhaps a little blonde fur above it. Narrow hips and a tiny waist tapering upwards to square shoulders above two little mounds with pink centers that sprouted from her chest. Then I would get hard.

I would have to hold something in front of me to hide the bulge in my pants and, as soon as I could without her seeing it, I would reach down to rearrange myself, allowing my hard cock to rise up and lie flat against my stomach instead of its usual position dangling between my legs. We would sit at my kitchen table, books spread out, her hip touching mine, her leg against mine, and do our lesson. It was sheer torture.

We were sitting like that, books open in front of us but totally ignored,  as we talked about 'making out' and how she could learn about it. "Please, Mr. Grant. I have no other way." She reached over and laid her hand on mine as she pleaded, her face looking down at the table and not far from breaking into tears. I was lost as soon as she touched me; the warmth of her hand on mine added to the smell of her hair and the beautiful face beseeching me to do something I already wanted so much to do made it impossible for me to do anything but agree.

"I will try," I said quietly.

"Oh, goody," she shrieked, recovering quickly from her depression. Was it all an act or was she as desperate as she sounded a few moments ago?  I'm sure the neighbors heard her shriek. 

She threw her arms around me in a tight embrace and, as I looked at her, she pressed her face against mine and kissed me full on the lips. What could I do? I kissed her back. She kissed me hard -- her lips closed tightly and welded to mine. It didn't last long but it was definitely more than just a friendly kiss. It was a determined kiss, a frantic kiss, a passionate kiss, an industrial-strength kiss, completely amateur but also completely genuine. I gave her my "A" kiss back but without tongue or open mouth. Yulia pulled away and looked at me as if she was in shock.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Nothing. I was just surprised. I've never had a kiss like that before."

"You didn't like it?"

"NO! It was good."

"Good. Let's work on it. Next time let your lips come apart just a little."

"I do whatever you say."

"A first kiss should be soft." I felt a familiar stirring in my groin.

"Ok."

"But this is awkward. Let's go sit on the sofa. Kisses at a kitchen table are not very romantic."

"OK. But that was good kiss. I will kiss you anywhere you want."

"Don't make any promises you won't be able to keep," I said, smiling and leading her by the hand into the living room while walking in a sort of crouch. I turned to face her as we stood in front of the sofa; she was almost at eye level. I'm 5 feet ten inches so she must be five feet eight or nine at 13! I took both her hands in mine and stepped forward. Her eyes widened a little when she realized she was going to be kissed again. She smiled and the frightened look softened as our lips touched but her eyes remained open.

I gave her the softest possible kiss. our lips only brushed but we held it for perhaps 30 seconds to a minute. Suddenly she pulled back and exhaled in a great 'whoosh.'

"I can't hold my breath that long," she giggled, panting to catch her breath.

"You don't need to. Breathe through your nose as we kiss."

"Oh. Ok. Kiss me again."

My lips met hers again, this time just a little more forcefully. She got the hang of the breathing thing and, when we finlly broke the kiss, smiled broadly at her accomplishment."

"You're a good kisser already," I told her.

She laughed and said, "So are you. That's the best kiss I ever had."

"How many kisses have you had?"

"Well, none -- until now, except for momma and papa. But they don't kiss me like that and NEVER on the lips." I chuckled. She continued, "Is that what 'making out' is?"

"That's part of it but there's more."

"Oh, goody. Please show me."

This was too good to be true but I didn't want to spook her by going too fast. "Making out also involves kissing and touching other parts of your -- and my -- body."

"Oh," she said. He brow became wrinkled as she stopped to think about that. Finally, she spoke again. "You mean ... here?" She put her hands on her breasts and held them there, waiting for my answer.

"Yes, but also your hands and arms and neck and then, when you're ready for more intense pleasure, it would involve the rest of your body."

"What is 'intense'?"

"Greater pleasure, more pleasure, the best pleasure. Write that word in your notebook and look it up tonight."

"Oh. You mean like sex stuff."

"Well, sex is the ultimate but 'making out' doesn't usually go that far. Boys and girls might touch each other through their clothes and then reach under the clothes and then, perhaps, take their clothes off so that their bodies can rub together and they can see and feel and touch each other. It can be something wonderful."

"Oh. I shouldn't do that. I mean I would like to know all about it and feel it for myself but my parents would not want me to do something like that."

"Nobody's parents actually want their kids to do much more than kiss but that doesn't stop them from doing so."

"I will have to think about it," she said, solemnly.

"That's fine. It's a very personal decision because it involves your body -- I mean YOUR body -- and allowing a boy to touch you in private places involves a lot of trust."

"I don't understand 'trust'," she said.

"Well, making out with a boy is something you might not want everyone to know about and some boys will tell their friends what you allowed them to do and it might make them think that you will allow every boy to do those same things."

"Oh. That's not good."

"No. It's not. So you need to move slowly and carefully to find the boy who will give you pleasure -- and allow you to give him pleasure -- without compromising your reputation."

"What is 'compromise'?" she asked. I could tell that her lessons in sex were going to include many more language lessons. I tried to define it as best I could but, again, asked her to  look it up that evening at home. It was almost 6:00 and she had been here since shortly after school let out around 3:00. The rest of Yulia's education would have to wait.

It was a very long week before Yulia came to again. She said she had looked up all the words I had given her the week before but what she really wanted was to learn about 'making out.' She said she understood about "trust" and "compromise" after listening to some of the girls talk about other girls. She said some boys who did things with some girls told their friends, who told their friends and so on until the strories got back to the girls, usually in very exagerated form.

The girls concerned became very embarassed, hurt and upset and Yulia said she understood now why her parents had told her to avoid doing anything at all with boys. But she said she liked kissing, even after just the two with me, that she wanted to know more about making out -- the kissing and the other stuff, too --  and that she had decided that she should avoid the rumor mill among the boys and learn from me.  I would now be her tutor in 'making out' as well as math and english, she declared as if it was all settled.

"Whoa, my dear. There are other considerations. Come sit." I led her to the sofa and we sat side by side.

"What ... considration?"

"Well, firstly, guys my age aren't supposed to do stuff like that with girls your age."

"I hear that but I don't know why it is."

"There's a fear that an older, experienced guy may take advantage of a young girl with no experience."

"I don't know 'take advantage.' But what if the girl wants to do stuff -- make out -- with him?"

Oh my God. She was opening the door. She was handing herself to me on a platter. She was begging me to have her. I was getting hard already. The 'brain' between my legs was about to take over and I knew I was going to let it happen. "You have two choices," I said. "Learn from a boy your age who probably doesn't have a lot of experience himself, who might be interested only in his own pleasure and not in yours and who might -- no, probably will -- tell his friends about his time with you... " I paused for it to sink in before I set the hook. "...or... you can learn from a more experienced older man who can give pleasure as well as receive it." I paused again while she thought. Continuing, I said, "But if you decide to learn from me, you can never tell anyone -- anyone, your friends, your parents -- about what we do together. It must be just between us."

"I think I like to learn from you," she said slowly.

"All right. But I will go slowly, sometimes slower than you want. You must promise to let your body -- your feelings  -- take over while you're learning. Making out -- and sex -- are emotional things. You cannot analyze or control yourself from your brain or you will lose much of the pleasure it brings. Can you do that?"

"I think, yes." Then she continued, "Can we kiss again?"

"Yes. And you will feel my hands touching you. You must relax and enjoy what you feel. Stand up."

"Ok."

We stood face to face in front of the sofa; she was tall for her age, as I said. I took her hands in mine and moved forward, locking my eyes on hers, until our bodies met. I could feel small breasts pressing against my chest. I moved my face slowly toward hers, eyes open, until our lips met softly in a long, lingering kiss. She started to breath heavily almost immediately, having aready gotten the hang of breathing through her nose while kissing. 

I let go of her hands, reached behind her and grasped her butt, pulling her hips tightly against my own. She made a little "Mmmfffff" sound but held the kiss. Slowly, her arms came around my back and she pulled me close, pressing her breasts hard against me. I could feel myself hardening and I'm sure she could, too. My cock, held fast by underwear and two bodies pressed together, was trying to grow and straighten itself. It had nowhere to go.

I pulled back, ending the long kiss. Yulia looked down to see what had had been poking her and saw my pants tented out as my cock worked its way upward to stand hard and straight. I watched her eyes as she recognized what was happening, looking down and then up again at me several times. Neither of us said a word for half a minute or so. Then I asked, "Was that ok?"

"That was cool," she said, looking down at my pants again. Then she looked up and smiled. "Your 'thing' is moving."

I smiled. "Yeah."

"Does that mean you want to have sex?"

"It means I am aroused. It means that it feels good to me when we kiss and when I can feel your body against mine. It means I want to do more -- not necessarily to have sex but to feel and give more pleasure. And, if you haven't already and if you are feeling pleasure, too, from our kiss and our bodies pressing together, you will also feel some changes."

"Yes, I do."

"You may feel something happening down between your legs."

"Yes."

"Then it means you are enjoying this, too."

"Yes."

"Do you want to continue -- to do more things for pleasure?"

"Yes," she said as she moved to press herself against me once more. She turned her face up to main and kissed me as I had kissed her earlier. This time I thrust my tongue out and prodded her lips, attempting to get between her teeth and into her mouth. "What you doing," she asked, pulling her head back but keeping her hips solidly against mine.

"It's called french kissing," I said. "Open your mouth a little when I do that."

She rolled her eyes, thinking. "Ok. You're teaching me new thing, right?"

"Right."

"Ok. We kiss again." She closed her eyes this time as our lips met. Her mouth was open, a little more than I expected, but she allowed my tongue to slide back and forth between her lips and then into her mouth. She soon learned to use her tongue to spar with mine, tasting each other. Her breathing became heavier again and she pulled me tight as we kissed hungrily and ratcheted up the  passion.

When we finally broke the kiss, she held her hips hard against mine but leaned her head back and said, "Oh, wow!" 

"You liked?"

"I liked. Show me more things."

I couldn't have written a better response for her. "Let's sit," I said."

When we were side by side on the sofa again, I turned to her and said, "We will begin now to touch each other. Just do whatever you feel like doing and I will make some suggestions." I leaned forward and started kissing her again -- on the mouth, the eyelids, the sides of her nose, the neck -- in every erotic place I knew. Meanwhile, I started my hand at her shoulder and worked it down slowly until I felt her breast. She stiffened momentarily at what was to her something previously out of bounds. But she relaxed as I squezzed it gently through her shirt and bra -- soft, not quite a handful (probably a mouthful, I thought to myself). 

I tried unsuccessfully to find her nipple through the clothing; I wanted to pinch it softly until it was hard but that would have to wait. She lifted one arm around me and turned to better face me, never resisting my hand. I was able to reach across to tweak her other breast but our position was awkward, so I decided to change my approach.

Still kissing. I took my hand away from her breasts and moved it down onto her thigh. As usual, she was wearing a heavy long skirt that went well below her knees. I began by slowly rubbing her thigh up and down but, with each stroke, I pulled the skirt upwards, gathering it at her waist. The kiss went on and on.

It took several minutes of working her skirt upwards before I felt bare leg. Again, she stiffened for a moment before relaxing. My hand was just above her knee when I first felt skin. I brushed my hand upwards slowly, barely touching her leg as I worked up under the skirt. Slowly, gently, ever-so-lightly I let my hand slide up along her inner thigh, enjoying the warmth and softness of her flesh there. She was puffing through her nose now, obviously excited but holding onto me and our kiss for dear life as my hand drifted slowly higher and higher. Her fingers dug into me and she spread her legs to make room for my hand. 

I moved my hand higher and higher until, finally, I felt the edge of her panties. She made no move to stop me but, rather, held me even tighter. I moved my hand again, using the backs of my first two fingers, just the knuckles, to rub her pussy softly through her panties -- wet cotton panties. She was soaked and, when my knuckles rubbed against the wet slot formed by her open lips, she actually relaxed her grip on me slightly. The tension, the waiting, was broken. Her breathing leveled out and her body relaxed as I rubbed up and down along the soft furrow. 

I couldn't feel much except wet cotton but her reaction was making my cock throb with anticipation. Since Yulia was not resisting in any way, I proceeded. I felt higher for the elastic band at the top of her panties. She was wearing those oversized women's panties and the eleastic was up under the waistband of her skirt.

Yulia broke the kiss. "What you doing?" she asked in a way that implied no anger or fear, just wanting information.

"I'm trying to get your panties out of the way."

"I take them off."

She stood quickly and reached under her long skirt and dragged her panties down, over her ankles and off. Then she sat back down, her shoulder pressed against me.  I noticed that her face was flushed, her cheeks bright pink and her bangs were moist with persperation.

"We do more, no?"

"If you like."

"I like. I like 'making out," she giggled. "I like making out with you. You make me feel so good."

"That's good. That's part of the pleasure a man can give a woman."

"I feel like many ... umm...what you call them -- the little animals with big tails...?

"Squirrels."

"Yes, like many little squorels running around down there," she said pointing to her crotch, "when you touch me."

"That's part of feeling sexy."

"I like feeling sexy."

"Good. So do I," I said.

"We do more sexy stuff now?"

"I would like to."

"Me, too."

I thought of just taking her into the bedroom but reconsidered. This sweet, naive girl has just today gone beyond kissing. True, she shucked her panties in an instant but getting her naked was another thing. I had to get her so hot and ready that she would shuck her clothes as she had her panties. 

"Do you like kissing?"

"Yes," she almost whispered as she pressed her face to mine. I lifted her skirt quickly this time. She spread her legs just as quickly. Again, I started at the knee and rubbed her thigh softly, my hand advancing much more quickly now that she knew what I was doing. The kiss continued.

I love the feel of a girl's skin along her upper thighs; so soft and silky, so smooth and warm. If I'm freshly shaven, I love to kiss and rub my cheeks against this softness. It helps that, by the time I get to this, she is sufficiently aroused for the aroma of her sexual perfume to hang heavy between her legs and fill my nostrils. But, for the moment, I must be the giver of pleasure, not the recipient. Well, not quite. 

Much of my pleasure comes from feeling the pleasure my partner is feeling and Yulia was giving strong feedback. This was all new and exciting for her and first-time pleasures are usually the most intense they will ever be. People remember their first kiss; they can't possibly describe the second one. They remember their first fuck but who was the second one with? I knew that Yulia would remember this day forever and I wanted to make it perfect for her. That would be my pleasure today.

Yulia slid down and thrust her legs wide as my hand reached her wet pussy. Oh, how I would love to see it right now, to see her pink, to see it glisten. How I would love to have my mouth pressed against it as I drank her elixir. 

I placed my fingers flat against it then curled the middle finger inward and in between those soft, wet, puffy lips. Yulia groaned. I drew my hand upwards with the finger still curled until I felt her spasm as I touched her clit. She slammed her legs together to hold my hand still.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No," was all she said, slowly relaxing the grip her legs had on my hand and resuming the long kiss. I just barely wiggled my finger between her lips. She closed her legs again but not so tightly. I waited for her to relax again then I started to work on her clit very slowly and gently, making slow circles around it, pushing and prodding it. She would snort through her nose but never break the kiss whenever my finger would touch a particuarly sensitive spot. 

I studied her reactions. Her most sensitive spot was underneath her clit when my finger pushed it upwards from below. She also liked to have me press it inwards and in a slow circle.

Her arousal was building with every passing second. She finally broke the kiss and put her head back against the sofa, having slid her body so far down that her butt was at the front edge. My hand was working her pussy more forcefully now, my middle finger making deep upward strokes along the full length of her pussy and ending at the top with a litle tweak of her clit. Her mouth was open and her face flushed, her eyes open and unfocused, her breathing shallow, ragged and fast.

Then it happened. She grabbed my forearm with both hands, clamped her legs together and groaned a loud "Nnnnnggggg"  as she came. She held my hand and arm tightly for perhaps half a minute as her body spasmed and throbbed with her orgasm and, finally, relaxed. Neither of us spoke as she came down.

She basked in her orgasmic glow for a couple of minutes, her body relaxing slowly. Then she turned her face to me and gave a weak, satiated smile. Her face was still flushed and her hair wet and matted against her forehead. She was beautiful!!

"You are very good for me," she said softly.

"Thank you."

"I don't want to move."

"I don't, either," I told her. I would like to stay like this forever."

"Me, too," she said and then paused. "But maybe we get hungry later."

"Possible."

"And maybe my parents want to know where I am."

"Likely."

"I don't want to go.

"I don't want you to go but you will have to soon."

"Yes. But maybe we can do this more before next week. Yes?"

"What are you thinking?"

"Maybe I could come again tomorrow. My parents are not home in the afternoon and they will not know I am not home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I want to know all about making out and you make me feel so good today I want you to do it again with me."

"What time would you come here?"

"After school. I can be here just like today, at 3:30."

"And what time would you have to leave?"

"I must be home at 5:30. I can only stay this late when they know I am studying with you."

"That isn't much time."

"Yes, but I want to feel good -- like today."

"I liked it, too."

"You did?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good. I thought you were just letting me have all the fun."

"No, I enjoy giving pleasure. Sometime soon I'll show you how to give pleasure, too."

"Cool."

"But for now, you'd better put your panties back on and then go wash your face."

"Ooooh'" she said as she pulled her panties on. They're all cold." She washed up and headed for the door, kissing me softly as she went by. "Thank you, Mr. Wells," she said. 

I watched her leave and close the door before I reached down to grab my sore cock and balls. "Damn," I muttered. "A guy shouldn't have to go through this without some relief. I tasted my fingers and delighted in the heavy, exotic taste of Yulia's pussy.

I got a paper towel from the kitchen and sat down on the sofa, where Yulia and I had been minutes before.  I proceeded to beat myself off into the towel, cumming in about thirty seconds, I was so aroused still. "Oh, geez, that feels good," I thought to myself. "Tomorrow I should have time to get her skirt off, too, and taste that sweet pussy." Here I was, having just shot my load and now feeling the pleasant throb of release in my groin and I was plotting out the scenario for our next meeting, less than 24 hours away. I hadn't felt this good in months -- not even after the best fuck.

I'll tell you the rest of the story soon. But, for now, I need to just sit here and enjoy the feeling.


                                                 ----------------------- End of Part 1 ------------------------


Read all my stories at:  http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/cyberguy

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Needless to say, this story belongs to me. You can share it with friends but son't rip it off for any kind of personal gain without my written authorization.

                                                                         --------------------------

I write, usually about a young girl and an older man, for my own pleasure. My stories usually have a kernel of an actual event in them but they are sheer fantasy. I will sometimes see a young girl at the market or riding a bicycle or waiting in line with friends for a movie and my body will literally twitch with excitement. Not just ANY girl; some girls. There is no way I would ever approach one of these girls but I do fix an image in my mind of their faces, figures, clothes and body language. I then dream, like a perverted Walter Mitty, about what might have happened had we actually met. 

I always enjoy comments, good or bad. Nice things encourage me to write more. Critical things encourage me to write better. Please encourage me, one way or another, by emailing me at:

                         CYBERGUY20038@YAHOO.COM



Sometimes true stories are better than what you can imagine. Several readers have emailed me to tell me their own true stories, just like this one. If YOU would like me to turn your true story into a peice of erotic fiction, let me know. I'll write it if I think I can do it justice.

Thanks.


