The Narrator


»I’m entering the room in this dress, the dress you like so much. You’re sitting on the bed with a towel around your groin, that’s all. I see that you’re aroused, I can see your excitement through the towel. Step by step I get closer, longingly you look up at me. With my knees I touch yours. You don’t hesitate much, because the outlook on everything that’s about to happen is too tempting. You stroke the inside of my calves with one hand, with the other hand you lean on the bed. I feel the gently circling movements of your fingertips around my knees as they slowly move upwards between my thighs. You enjoy the look of my blushing face, devoted and ready for anything.

You push my panties aside and lovingly touch my wet labia. Now you can’t wait any longer, you put your fingers completely under my panties, where it is warm, where it is wet, where it seems like so much is hidden. I like the feeling of the textile alternating with your fingers, it turns me on indescribably. Quickly you pull up my dress with one hand and tear down my panties with the other. You put two of your fingers deep inside me. I moan loudly because it comes unexpected, I moan loudly because it has been so long. You look at your fingers as they enter me. My clitoris vibrates like a little heart, cries out for more and hastily begins to breathe.«


She has already staged many stories, many of which would never be heard, as they were only ever meant for one person. She saved them in her mind, in her memories. Dean needs these special stories. He needs them to fall into a fantasy world. He does not have to be touched, not physically, but rather he wants to be touched by these stories, stories that are only meant for him.

Whenever he’s longing for it, the narrator will be ready for him. She would bow to his wishes. She was once in love with Dean, she loved the youthfulness that lived in him and apparently lasted forever. But he could not offer her much, he was not in love, he would never fall in love with her. She knew, and yet a kind of relationship remains with a certain distance. He never stopped contacting her. Again and again he asks for her erotic stories and that, it seems, is the only thing he can offer her permanently. How banal some other encounters were on one hand, this one is different.

Dean is a composer, and the narrator has always been attracted to like- minded people, familiar ones in a creative sense. People who bury themselves in their own world for hours, days, weeks and only reappear when they have created something great. Be it a piece of music, a poem or a painting. Like-minded people who concentrate on trifles, deliver themselves completely to the moment, display themselves naked without shyness of contempt or strange looks.

For a long time she was denied love, for a long time she only relied on Dean. Most others are only after her body anyway. She identifies herself solely through her sexual charisma. She is aware of her sensuality, she knows how to move elegantly, with her attention, the unrestrained willingness to let herself in on her counterpart, enjoyably delivering herself without contemplating.


»Tell me something, tell me the sequel to the story«, it says in the message from Dean. He thinks of her, he needs her fantasies, he longs for tenderness at this very moment. Every time she tells Dean a new story, they touch each other in her thoughts and she brings him to climax. The power it possesses, the greatness in which it floats, a greatness that can only be proved to such an extent by reverie.

»I’ll take off my dress, the dress you like so much. I stand naked in front of you and circle my fingers around my wet clitoris. Then I put two of my fingers deep inside me while gently stroking your face. I moan softly because it’s been so long, I moan softly because there’s nothing more to understand.

You’re just looking at my fingers as they slowly get inside me. Then I’ll rub the sweet juice over my lips and kiss you. I’m sinking to the ground between your legs. We look at each other, I pull the towel away from your lap with a quick movement. I recognize a certain joy, I can feel your excitement. Alternately to wet kisses I touch your legs, your testicles, your pubic hair and your hard cock. My touches are not unknown to you and you also missed them somehow. I grab your hard cock, rub it in a combination of slow, tender stroking and fast and strong vibrations. You moan, your loins twisting with pleasure. Your glans pulsates like a little heart, it cries out for more and hastily begins to breathe.«