VENICE IS FOR LOVERS:
EROTICA FROM THE MIRACLE IN JULY—ACT ONE
Written by:
Michelle Rae Anderson
http://michelleraeanderson.com
Forward by:
Paul Levinson
Edited by:
Dr. Sarah D. Holloway
Cover and interior design by:
Michelle Rae Anderson
Cover photo by:
Brad Bridgewater (CC BY 2.0)
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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Published by:
I Heart Media
Venice is for Lovers: Erotica from The Miracle in July—Act One
Copyright © 2010 by Michelle Rae Anderson
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Dedication:
For Daniel
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VENICE IS FOR LOVERS:
EROTICA FROM THE MIRACLE IN JULY – ACT ONE
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FOREWORD
Erotic communication online has been publicly known at least since the Minitel in France in the early 1980s. I’d bet there was plenty of it on earlier online systems. In those days, it was all text. As the history of the written word should tell us, text was no handicap. Indeed, the faceless quality of the written word, its capacity to evoke any and all things in the hands and minds of fine writers and readers, gave it a power that exceeded even physical contact, in some respects. The written word also carried with it the possibility of total deception, which made it even more dangerously appealing to some.
In the 21st century, Second Life and kindred avatar systems have endowed online sexuality with a graphic component. But text, irrepressible, was never far from the surface. In Michelle Rae Anderson’s Venice is for Lovers, text is back in the saddle…though no metaphor or allusion in her sizzling book is as worn as that.
The story is based, Anderson says, on a series of erotic encounters she had with a Danish gentleman. Each instant-messaged detailed sexual fantasies to the other, with both playing their loving escalating parts, though love was not the purpose. The book reproduces some of those exchanges, with a little commentary, before and after, by the author.
Anderson says in this anthology of messages that the gentleman is real, and the exchanges really happened. I couldn’t tell you if they really did, only that they are invitingly written. I’m pretty sure Michelle Anderson is real, because I met her briefly over lunch at an academic conference in New York this past October. As for the Danish guy—enough already with my use of “gent”—I don’t know if it matters. Either way, in any configuration of real and fictional, the anthology-diary works. It’s almost an online, textual kind of Inception, with layers of interwoven virtuality and semi-dream states, including one hot passage in which the guy is in bed with the author (this is the surface fantasy) deep massaging her and then more while she sleeps, which gets her to dream about an encounter with a woman, all while she’s partly aware that she’s really dreaming.
The writing is explicit, poetic, detailed, colorfully tinted. The story gives good insight into how women think (at least, as far as I know), and provides a compelling tableau of erotic life at the intersection of real and virtual worlds. This is too much for CBS to pick up as a new sitcom. But, Showtime, are you listening?
— Paul Levinson, Author of New New Media and The Plot to Save Socrates
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AUTHOR’S PREFACE
This collection of erotic stories is part of a larger story called The Miracle in July, a visceral semi-autobiography about my relationship with a bad boy actor/writer who lived 9 hours ahead and 5,000 miles apart from me.
When I met Daniel, I was a writer who didn’t write and nursing a recently broken heart in Portland, Oregon. He was my Danish distraction, a movie-star-handsome Viking who kindly offered me a pleasurable “no strings attached” respite from my pain. But like all great love stories, in the end I gained so much more.
He began our cybersex affair with a beautiful, explicit tale of our passion on a train bound for Venice, Italy. With rhythmic bursts of words in our private online chat, Daniel’s imagery made exquisite sensory imprints on my skin that my body still remembers.
While no stranger to cybersex—or its predecessor, phone sex—I was nonetheless unprepared for the intense connection that Daniel created with his beautiful erotic story. It was a sensual space that eliminated the time and distance between us. And, when our time together in Venice came to a very happy ending, I was left glowing with endorphins, and also breathless with a long-dormant, overwhelming desire to write again.
When Daniel asked me to write the next chapter in our Venetian tale, I was truly surprised—I didn't think anything more would come of the story of an American woman and Danish man in the City of Love. I hadn't written anything for a very long time, but for the first time in a very long time I felt inspired to write. I embraced the challenge to conjure a sensual escape more enchanting, more sublimely seductive than my online lover had created for me. It was all harmless fun, after all...
Daniel loved my story (see No Strings Attached, the first chapter in this anthology). We continued to exchange several more stories, and along the way—inexplicably—fell wildly in love. This shift in our affections, from “just sex” to “I love you,” can be felt between the lines in this anthology. However, the international love affair born from the erotica in this book can best be experienced by first visiting the website: www.themiracleinjuly.com
It is my sincere hope that this erotic anthology is appreciated for the gift that meeting and loving a Viking brought me: the strength it gave me to chase my dream to be a writer.
I wish all the world inspiration to follow their bliss, as well, whatever and wherever it may be.
— Michelle Rae Anderson
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NO STRINGS ATTACHED
Dates 1 & 2
Author’s Note: We begin this erotic narrative with an excerpt from one of the most sizzling segments of my semi-autobiography The Miracle in July. Its high readability rating doesn’t surprise, for this is when the digital lovers connect for the first time (in all that this thinly-veiled innuendo implies). It’s also, in my opinion, a quality example of following your bliss.
The late afternoon sky is the color of light turquoise streaked with arrows of dark brown starlings and cloud wisps. It is framed square in the ceiling above my bed in Denmark where I lay swelling with a lazy longing under goose feather blankets and loose pages of erotica. I’ve spent the night and most of the morning recalling the stories Daniel and I wrote to each other, crumpling in and out of consciousness.
The words are just as I remember them: picturesque.
Their specialness was not in the letters grouped left to right, between the white spaces and punctuation. It was not just the concentrated effort to perfect the art of the sexy story, or mastering the awkward beat in the digital dance of an instant message conversation. Our words became a secret lover’s language. Our words meant everything to us. But not at first…at first it was just about getting off, no strings attached.
I had marked the occasion of our first intimate rendezvous with a red symbol in my calendar, a big heart circling the eleven of a long-ago date in July. And that’s what we called them: “dates.” We joked about our “imaginary” relationship, and we called our synchronized masturbation “dating.”
I was soap cleaned, shaved and naked ten minutes before I was due to meet Daniel in our private instant message conversation. The nine-hour time difference made it nighttime for me and morning sex for Daniel. I spent my extra time making sure the computer program was working; I also updated my avatar to an image of my lips, waiting for a kiss. I had no camera for my computer, or any expectations. I only wanted to give myself away, for just one night, to a stranger on the Internet.
I was holed up in my bedroom fidgeting on fresh sheets, the shower’s lingering steam like a fever rising out of my skin. I experimented with where to put my laptop and where I should position myself on the bed. Should I lie down? Should I sit up? In my memories I am illuminated by both the blue light from my computer’s screen and the yellow light from paraffin candles. I am still too thin, and my breasts still droop, but my skin is very soft.
Touchable. Fuckable.
A chime called my anxious, roaming thoughts to the computer screen where a text-box had appeared. It was asking me to choose. Did I want to accept Daniel’s request for a chat? Yes or No? I said yes, and unknowingly twisted my fate toward an impossible love.
“Ever been to Venice?” Daniel asked.
I promised to do whatever was asked of me and settled in for our sweet charade. Daniel controlled the pace of the story. He staggered the plot line with details of visceral scenes of our imaginary lovemaking, heightening my anticipation for each expertly timed sentence-by-sentence burst in the chat-window. I was obviously dealing with someone who’d done this plenty of times before. I relaxed immediately and gave up control of my fingers, my heartbeats, and my climax.
I was soon wrapped in Daniel’s ecstasy, a story that takes place on a train rumbling from Verona to Venice, a trip of three hours or so. The Italian countryside blurs green and yellow outside the window of the private coach we are in. There is Barolo to suck off my lips and a Conductor who ogles my nipples, which poke through my thin, sweat-soaked cotton shirt.
Daniel’s fantasy unfolded deliciously dirty, and almost immediately I was struck with the details in the story. I had read bits of his writing online before, and he wrote well considering English was his second language, but these words were especially well written. I was surprised, and I was impressed. I remember thinking that many other women may have been impressed as well. I marveled at my good luck in spinning the wheel of fortune. I had won a beautiful distraction for my mending heart.
“Perfect,” I said. “Yes, I see it.”
“You can start touching yourself now,” said Daniel. “Picture it.”
I see the time stamp of our lovemaking in the printed pages of our messaging. I see that twenty minutes later Daniel ended our erotic story with “you fall on top of me exhausted, breathing hard.” I still remember how my body disintegrated into dust when I came, how I floated in the space-blue illumination of the laptop beside me. It took me five minutes to gather my atoms and punch out “Great story, hold please” on the keyboard, and another four before I could feel my fingers again and answer his question, “Are you sweating?” I was. My upper lip and nipples were damp.
“How do you get cum off the keyboard?” Daniel asked.
“You can wait for it to dry, and then go buy a new one,” I quipped.
Superficial sex-talk followed. I told Daniel I enjoyed the taste of my sex on the lips and cock of my lover. He detailed, at my prodding, his personal cock-stroking technique, and I laughed at him when he used the word “spittle.” I told him that I loved the part of his story where he rubs my pussy with my own fingers.
“Who’d have thought the possibilities of this relationship should result in this?” asked Daniel. “You’re a bad girl—a very bad but hot girl, and those lips keep smooching me.” He is fascinated by the image of my lips, poised for a kiss, in the instant message window.
“This story is to be continued,” said Daniel. “We’ll arrive at Venice the next time.”
“Of course,” I replied. “Tuck me in, darling?”
“I want you to Google the city of Venice for me, so you’re there when we continue—and then you’ll do the talking.”
For the second time that night, Daniel surprised me. He wanted this sexy story exchange to continue. And he also wanted me to write the next one.
“Good lord! Pressure, already?” I whined.
“Ha! Welcome to my world,” said Daniel. “Sleep tight and satisfied.”
I purr’d for him, typing each letter with kittenish strokes. I enjoyed teasing him. I had all the power then.
“Damn girl,” mused Daniel.
We set up another “date,” just three days from then, and I drifted off to sleep to the sound of trains clanging in the air of my industrial neighborhood, so very far from the scenery in Italy which I dreamt of all night.
The next day I started writing my first dirty story. It was slow going, with many false starts, and I frequently had to retreat to my bedroom or shower—wherever I could find privacy—to masturbate. My nipples were constantly sensitive, aching, and my online lover monopolized my thoughts as I plotted my story. I wanted to craft a scenario so steamy that its heat would be felt 5,000 miles away.
I was determined to show Daniel that I could write beautiful pornographic stories better than he did, and even more erotically visceral. I was challenged and engaged.
And hungry.
I wanted to consume all I could of the experience of fucking this beautiful, talented man before we grew bored with the intangible nature of digital lovemaking. Surely that end would come much sooner than later, I thought. What mortal woman, regardless of her way with erotic storytelling and physical beauty, had the endurance to keep this man’s cock piqued for long?
The next time Daniel and I shared sex together—at 2pm my time and 11pm his—I upped the ante.
“Smooch,” I typed. “Are you ready for our date?”
“Hold, please. Phone.”
How much this annoyed me! My debut sex story was set to be unleashed, and I’m waiting? Didn’t we agree to meet at a certain time? Did I waste my time creating a sex scene for an inconsiderate asshole? I wilted slightly, and pouted like a child.
“Sorry,” Daniel typed. “Mum.” Good enough excuse, but I punished Daniel anyway by making him wait a few of minutes before typing: “Ah, yes. Parental figures. No big deal.”
“I’ve been so fucking horny all day,” said Daniel.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At the freeway,” he shot back. “I’m at home in a chair in front of the ‘puter, naked.”
Asshole. “Very good. I have all my clothes on,” I said.
“WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?” moaned Daniel. I smiled. That’s right baby, I thought. You’re going to eat this up. I will crawl under your skin and stay there until you die. Having the upper hand was an intoxicating elixir coursing through my veins and brought a thundering between my legs.
I described what I was wearing, and then the order in which I took off my clothes. When I was nude, I wrote that I had been in that state a lot since our first date, and that I couldn’t stop touching myself, to again feel the tingle that makes my sexual skin swell.
Finally, after much teasing, I typed, “Do you want me to tell you a story?”
“Yes, bring it on darling,” replied Daniel.
Me: we arrive in Venice, the two of us smelling of sex and constantly touching each other, we head to Hotel Danieli where luxury awaits. I’ve left my cum-soaked, expensive panties behind in the train that brought us here…on accident.
Daniel: you did that on purpose.....
Me: yes I did
we can’t keep from touching each other as we travel to the hotel and get checked in. you touch my hand, I offer you my cheek for your lips to brush against, your hand cups my ass. No one bats an eye, as Venice is the city of lovers.
Daniel: yes
Me: I am wondering, if you are touching yourself yet?
Daniel: have been since we started yes
not until after the mum thing though
gawk
Me: thanks for clarifying +)
Daniel: lol
Me: don’t forget to squeeze those balls for me
Daniel: on it
Me: there is sex in the air and so many beautiful people. We enjoy pointing out to each other the hot, minimally-clothed, voluptuous women. We have the same taste in women, although I usually see them first.
These women don’t bat an eye at our lustful stares, as Venice is the city of casual sex.
By the way...
I am gently rubbing and tugging at my clit
Daniel: I see that, who’s it doing the small one
Me: hm?
Daniel: sorry, how’s it doing - having a hard time concentrating writing
Me: good sign. lickity fingers.
In the full elevator to our room you pinch my nipple. I act embarrassed, then wink at you and kiss your neck. Our plush room is full of antiques and ornate tapestries. And a big, fluffy bed. We should be tired and give our sex organs a rest after fucking for the last three hours on the train, but as soon as the nice boy who brought our bags leaves I push you against the door. “Wanna go again?” I ask. We are sweaty and dirty from travel and much fucking. We also can’t seem to get enough.
Do you like my story so far Daniel?
Daniel: I love it
Me: are you really turned on? ready to fuck me?
Daniel: oh yeah
Me: I press my chest against yours and you can feel my heart racing. You kiss my eyelids, then trap me against the wall with the weight of your body. Your cock is already hard and you rub my pussy with it through our clothes. “I want it” I whimper.
You spin me around. I am now pinned with your hard-on between my ass cheeks. You begin rhythmically pressing against me, and I can’t help but arch my back into you in response.
You move my hair from my neck and kiss and lick it. I whimper.
Daniel: y
Me: I am suddenly flung onto the bed and under the full weight of you. You reach between us and release your cock from your pants. Your balls tight, you’re breathing hard and staring at me. You are lost in desire for me. I tell you what I want by wriggling my dress over my head and then leading your mouth to my left tit.
want some more?
Daniel: I let my tongue circle your nipple
Me: You suckle hungrily, you reach between my legs, clumsily and eagerly fucking me with your fingers. You squeeze my clit with your fingers, your palm drips with wetness from me. I am overwhelmed with longing for you to fill me again.
“Fuck me, please.” Kissing me deeply and sucking my lower lip and tongue, you part my legs. I wrap them around you as you enter me.
I'm still dirty and wet. And very tight. Every time you put your cock inside me it’s like the first time: very wet, very tight, and hungry.
I’ve been very, very hungry lately, thanks to you, lover
I’m pinching my nipples
Daniel: give it to me, and don’t stop pinching
Me: My pussy has already begun vibrating in anticipation of receiving you. It contracts around you, making you shudder, making you moan in my mouth. Hearing your pleasure excites even more, and I lick my fingers and then pinch my nipples, moaning, kissing you deeply.
You are fucking me faster now, sometimes frenzied, sometimes sweet and kind, sometimes hard and mean.
You are kissing me with such tenderness, my body feels it’s being fucked by many lovers at once. We are sweaty and making noises of desire, making erotic sounds as our sticky bodies press together.
are you close lover?
Daniel: y
Me: Suddenly you stop and pull out of me, and rub the head of your cock on my clit. I run my hands through your hair. I take your face in my hands and lead your mouth to mine. I bite and suck your lower lip like a baby. And then I look at you breathlessly, innocently, my eyes wide and lucid. I meet your stare, I lean into you, touch my lips to yours, and
I whisper, against your open mouth,
Fuck me like I’m your whore.
do you like it when I ask you that?
Daniel: yes
I want to
Me: let me have it, I can take it
This sends you out of your mind. You bury your head in my neck, wrap your arms around my middle and fuck me hard, then slow and fast.
You can tell I am cumming because my pussy is contracting around your cock as it moves in and out of me. It grabs hold of you, and then releases you, over and over, a precursor to the rhythm of the white light engulfing us.