Horny Redhead

[RJ Fan]

Hi Boys,

I need someone to talk to...someone who would stand behind me on a crowded bus and reach under my dress when the bus lurched forward...someone who, in a restaurant, might remove a shoe and slowly part my knees and, oh yea, right there...someone smart and funny and sexy and charming...someone who uses words other than "my big fat cock shoved into your hairy little hole"...someone whose emails make me wet and hungry...someone like you? If so, write to me. KatieRay40@hotmail.com

 

[SOB 2000]

I like them raw!

Sorry, my cock in adverage sized and
I like to stick it shaved clits. Still want
to talk?

 

[Sherman Mann]

I kin yuse bigantic werds! I got me a kolladge aenimacation and a G.E.D.!

And whats really scary is I have a slough of facial expressions that could really pawn me off as an inbred hick who like country music. Now thats not me at all. I mean, I hate country music.

As many can attest to, I don't do the erotic email part so good, but I am entertaining. At least, in my own mind. I'm literate and I think everything has the capacity to be funny. Take them both together and in my emails I'll have a fascinating wit and can converse about darn near everything from the volume of this months flow to the Neolithic pygmies of the Andaman Islands to X-Rays emitted by hypothetical Einstein/Rosen bridges at the core of a black hole.

I'd be like your own personal eunich, but with testicles. So in that, nothing like a eunich, I suppose.

Well, that and your pics look great. I'd like to hear from you again sometime.

- Sherman
shermanmann@yahoo.com

 

[avid_69]

Re: Stop the Bus

HR, you sound like my kind of woman! If you are a natural redhead, that just drives me even more wild! I've been somewhat shy most of my life, but recently, I've thought about breaking out of my shell...

On the bus, I wouldn't just reach under your dress. I would start off by bumping into you, ever so slightly. Perhaps my hand would graze the back of your thigh. The next time the bus lurched, I would steady myself by grabbing your leg, on the inner thigh, just above the knee. A strong, firm grip. When I let go, my fingers would trail, just long enough on your skin to taste it's silky, cream-colored smoothness.

Then I would inch closer, my hand tracing its way up the back of your leg, tickling, teasing, taunting, higher, ever higher, until it reaches the junction of your legs, that area most men call Nirvana. There, I would slowly, forcefully, scratching lightly, I run my fingers through your lovely trimmed red down -- a "V" pointing the way to your hidden treasure.

I would skirt softly around your nub -- it is too soon -- tracing down the supple softness of your lips, my fingers circling, just out of reach. My breath would deepen, inhaling the scent of you. When my fingers come away wet, I know it is time. Slowly, tenderly, stroking your nether lips, I part them, revealing to the touch you innermost you.

You squirm and shift as your heart pounds harder. I smile, seeing, feeling, smelling the obvious effect I have on you. As lips part, ever so slightly, I plunge a single finger into your waiting confines. All the way. One stroke. I bury it there. I still my finger for a moment, luxuriating in the fell of you gripping me, a wayward intruder. My wrist rotates, my finger sounding out your damp cave walls, feeling for that most sacred of spots, that rough ridge of flesh that cries out for attention.

I find it, stroke it. Your flesh ripples on your body as waves of pleasure shoot through you. A sigh escapes your lips, barely audible. Your cheeks flush, setting off your red hair. In, out, in again, slowly the tension builds. Your knees feel weak, you wobble. Is it the bus, or you? Your hand trails across your chest, rubbing your oh-so-sensitive breasts through your blouse. You cover the movement -- is that a thread, or some lint? (Let me pick at it, pinch it twist it too much too much too much.) Your hand drops to your side, trembling.

Below, you grip me tight, relax, tight again. You are milking my finger, slow at first, then faster. Muscles clenching, you clamp down, trapping my finger in you. My wrist hurts from your pleasure. Suddenly, a light tap on your button, followed by a swirling stroke around it. A flick, a caress, pressure mounting in you, on you.

My thumb swirls around your anus, inviting new sensations. As I pull my finger out, my thumb dips in, coating itself in your juices. It travels up, slowly, to coat your butt in a light sheen. Then, as my finger plunges back in between your silky walls, my thumb dips in your sphincter, just enough to elicit a gasp.

It is a three-pronged attack, one which you can't resist. You feel your resolve melting away, past my hand, dripping down your legs. You can't take it anymore. You want to moan, but the bus is full of people. Do they know? Do you care? The waves of pleasure radiate outward from your center, crashing behind your eyes, at your toes, curled tightly in an attempt to hold back the tide. Your knees falter, you start to fall. The only thing holding you upright is my hand, the source. My arm screams at the effort, well worth it.

Immobile with ecstasy, you bite your lip to keep from announcing the situation. You turn your head slightly, to stare at me. All you see is a cheshire cat grin, twinkling eyes. The bus lurches again, throwing you into me. It is obvious that your arousal is my arousal.



Just a little something I whipped up for you. Tell me about yourself. avid_69@yahoo.com