Your Voice, My Hand - Sex Stories

Your Voice, My Hand

... reflection only long enough to make sure I was presentable before I left the apartment. A guy I'd briefly dated a couple of years ago once told me I was being ridiculous when I refused to pose for a photo with him. "You're pretty, Justine," he said, rolling his eyes. "Is this your way of trying to get me to compliment you more?"

I heard you clear your throat, and I was drawn back to the present. "I understand if you're not comfortable with that," you said. "I just figured..."

"I would love to see you, Paul."

"It's not a great photo," you hurried on, "but it's one of the most recent of me."

When I first saw the photo you sent, I pressed my fingers to my lips, trying to hold back a wave of emotion. I adored your dark curls, and the way your smile was so open and kind. Your blue eyes were full of warmth. I was gripped by an overwhelming need to look into those eyes, to touch your face, and breathe in your scent. I wanted to kiss you, to make love to you. I wanted to see that beautiful smile and know I'd caused it.

I could tell you were nervous, waiting for my reaction. "Paul, you are absolutely gorgeous," I said.

"You flatter me." I heard the grin in your voice. "I've put on a little weight recently, but I'm working to lose it. My job's been so crazy, I haven't had as much time to go to the gym--"

"Paul. You're perfect." I emphasized each word.

"Thank you, baby," you whispered.

Before I could lose my nerve, I took a deep breath and said, "Do you want ...

... to see a photo of me?"

"Um, if you're comfortable sending one. I don't want you to feel pressured in any way, Justine."

I was embarrassed to admit I had no recent photos of myself. I'm sure you found that strange, but you didn't comment on it, and when I asked you to give me a few minutes, you quickly agreed. My resolve faltered as I tried to decide how to take the most flattering photo. Hurrying to the bathroom, I ran a brush through my long dark hair, then applied a little gloss to my lips. The light in the bathroom was soft and subtle, but I cringed at the thought of you seeing the tacky wallpaper that was last popular in the 1980s.

I finally returned to my room. Lying in bed, I let the sheet fall just below my breasts. My pink nipples had grown hard. The faintest trace of a smile played on my lips when I took the photo. Scrutinizing my image, I immediately hated it. I was pale, and my large dark eyes looked haunted. But I sent the picture to you before I could change my mind.

You called me moments later. "Justine, you're even more beautiful than I imagined!" Now I was the one grinning. "It's going to kill me to delete this photo," you went on, "but I understand if you want me to."

A blush heated my cheeks as I said, "You don't have to delete it, Paul."

Once we were no longer anonymous to each other, we shared even more personal details, including our last names and where we worked. You had an important position in your company, and I understood why you ...