LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Two

      Four days later Liuz hadn’t sent any emails with a fixed meeting date. I found myself getting anxious. I wanted – no, needed – to meet him sooner rather than later. My lust for him was growing by the second, and any further delay would likely send me into a tailspin.

      On a day when I had absolutely nothing planned, my mind as equally idle as my computer, I wondered why Liuz hadn’t contacted me at all that morning. I usually had correspondence from him to wake up to every day, and this was the first time my in-box only displayed spam for penis enlargement and breast augmentation. It got me to thinking about cocks and tits, then Liuz and me. By mid-afternoon a thought came to mind – a totally irrational and insane thought.

      I would go to Brixton.

      Such was my obsession with him that, as I dressed, I dallied with the idea that fate had made us meet; therefore, fate would direct me to his neighbourhood and we would know one another as soon as we made eye contact. I knew it wasn’t normal behaviour, to indulge in such fancies and even believe they could possibly be true, but that was obsession for you. It drove a person to entertain the ludicrous, to imagine the impossible.

      I called in a couple of favours from fellow journalists with connections who could do a quick check on names and addresses. I’d wondered if his name was really Liuz; after all, he could have made that up for the purposes of using the internet anonymously, but somehow I didn’t think he had. He’d always been honest, blunt a lot of the time, and him being so self-assured made me think he’d be comfortable enough to use his real name. Without a surname to go on, though, the results of the check might have been fruitless, but hey, I’d got lucky. And don’t forget, fate was my friend.

      Armed with my notebook containing three possible addresses of men named Liuz in Brixton, picked out of the database using God knew what search words – and I didn’t want to know – I boarded a bus. Seated next to the window, with my bag on the chair beside me to prevent anyone sitting there, I gazed out at the passing scenery – houses, the odd open space here and there with scant trees, people out and about – seeing them as a blur, focusing my mind on other things.

      Like Liuz’s picture. Our email conversations. The way he made me come with his dirty words.

      I imagined he’d be so pleased to see me when we finally did meet face to face. But what if he wasn’t? Yes, I was intrepid online – wasn’t everyone, hiding behind a façade of brimming self-confidence and ultra-awareness of how alluring they were to the recipient of their emails? Now, I allowed myself to wallow in insecurity and doubts, nearly biting one of my long, beautifully manicured nails in the process before I stopped myself. I wouldn’t want him seeing me with ugly hands. Along with my tongue, pussy, ass and mouth, they were the tools I’d use to seduce him.

      I dug into my bag and brought out my compact mirror, flipping it open to take a good look at myself and see what someone saw when they met me for the first time. I wasn’t bad-looking, but I wasn’t exactly drop-dead gorgeous either. But then, hadn’t Liuz been able to come with just my words, sight unseen?

      It would be OK, I was sure of it.

      And then another thought arrived, fresh from its swift entrance into my mind, all blustery and full of importance.

      What if I don’t fancy him?

      I’d imagined him to be so sexy, so handsome, that I hadn’t entertained the idea he might not be to my tastes visually. His words had been enough, hot and lurid, straight to the damn point, but would they be enough once I’d set eyes on him for real? I wasn’t a fool; I knew appearances mattered. I’m not shallow, honestly I’m not, but a girl’s got to find something about the outer package in order to have a connection.

      I huffed out a breath and slipped the compact back into my bag, terrorising myself about him not living up to my expectations and me not living up to his. I succumbed, putting one fingernail in my mouth and lightly running the tip across my teeth, then snatching it away, chewing the inside of my cheek instead. What if it all went wrong? Would it be better to just keep it as an online thing?

      I tried to envisage never meeting him, never having his hands on my skin, his breaths tickling the back of my neck, his cock inside me. I couldn’t do it. I had to meet him and, like we’d said, if we didn’t like the look of one another then there wouldn’t even be a meeting – not one that went anywhere anyway.

      It’ll be all right. Honestly, it’ll be fine.

      The bus lurched to a stop, the movement shunting me forward, and I flung my hand up to grab the back rail of the seat in front. A middle-aged man got off, stepping down onto a residential street strewn with litter that had undoubtedly been jostled by the wind from an untied refuse sack. As he walked off up the road, a white paper napkin chased him, winding around his ankles like a starving cat unwilling to be ignored. He stopped walking, bent down to catch a hold of it, then balled it into a meaty fist. As the bus started up again, I stared across the bus and out the opposite windows at him, wishing he’d see me so I could gauge his reaction to my looks.

      Since when had I become so in need of assurance?

      Since I knew damn well this wasn’t a game any more. Since I realised he was serious in wanting to meet.

      I was serious too, but deep inside, even though I’d gone along with it, even though I’d told myself we’d be meeting, I hadn’t quite believed it. Easy to be swept along, just like those pieces of litter, and easy to convince myself I could do this thing. And here I was, taking the initiative, a step outside what we’d agreed. Why? Because I wanted to gain the advantage, of seeing him before he saw me. Perhaps, if I did manage to catch a glimpse of him today, and liked what I saw, it would give me the courage to go home and press for a real meet. The problem was, Liuz tended to call the shots. Even though I played the game too, gave the right answers, behaved as though I had all the confidence in the world, it was clear he was the more dominant one.

      But wasn’t that what I liked so much about him?

      Absolutely, and the idea of him being so dominant in person, in bed, had me squirming in my seat. My face flushed at the images flickering through my mind, of our sex-sweat bodies, hands slippery from that and my juices, his cum. Of my hair, lank and damp from exertion, held tight in his steel fist. Of his lips, barely touching my earlobe, filthy words spilling from his mouth in a torrent. Filthy enough to make me come without him touching me.

      The bus bell, loud and abrasive, jerked me from my reverie, and I looked about, feeling foolish for having indulged in fantasies when I was supposed to be watching out for the first of my stops. Relieved to see I hadn’t missed it, I paid attention to the streets outside, swallowing to combat the sudden dryness in my throat. Another stop and it would be time for me to get off.

      That stop came all too quickly, but conversely, not soon enough. I was a tangle of emotions, the threads of them writhing inside me to form several knots that rested hard and dull in my stomach. I wanted to spy on him and I didn’t. I wanted to spot him and I didn’t. I wanted – God, I wanted far too much. He’d made it that way too, with his dirty emails that set me on fire and gave me a taste for needing more out of sex than a quick fuck that always left

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