Vicky Part 1

"NO." I yelped and pulled my hand away like I had been burned.

But she just smiled a knowing smile. It reminded me of a shark, knowing it was going to get the kill, maybe just not as soon as it wanted.

"NO!" I yelled again. Finally recovering my wits, I opened the door and was out in a flash.

Maybe I ran out of the building, maybe I walked. I don't remember. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and my mind was racing faster than I could drive. I made it back to my apartment and slammed the door behind me. My hands where shaking as I paced the room, trying to make sense of what just happened.

As my mind wandered, I failed to notice that on occasion my hand curved back to the exact fit of her cock.

The next few days were a blur that seemed to drag on interminably. I couldn't concentrate on anything. When I tried to fill out job applications, I would forget things, mess up and have to start over. From the moment I woke up until I fell into a restless sleep, my mind raced. I kept replaying that scene in my mind.

I was horny almost constantly. My cock ached for release, but I refused to give in. I knew the moment I started stroking myself I would be thinking about her. I wanted to watch that video so badly, but I wouldn't let myself. The effect was maddening.

Two days after the fated night I got another letter. I tore it up without even opening it. The next day another arrived. It went in the trash unopened as well.

I kept thinking about her words though. What if she was right? What if deep down inside that's what I wanted? I wouldn't go so far as to say I had never been happy with my sex life, but sometimes I got a nagging feeling that something was missing.

Wasn't that normal though? Every guy wished he was a few inches longer, and that he was fucking models. But even as I tried to tell myself this, I knew there was something more.

Everyday more letters came. A week had passed since that night, and six letters had been trashed, unopened. The seventh sat on the counter, and I thought about opening it. Maybe I should write them back, tell them to stop writing me these letters. Did I want them to stop sending me letters?