Once I began telling K of the FAN FIC addiction I couldnt seem to stop, the words of admission simply flowed endlessly. I had sat up in bed, my back completely against the headboard and the sheet pulled up to my chin in an effort to not expose any more of myself than I already had (probably some kind of psychological Freudian thing: you may have to ask mb about that). K was lying on her side, her arm bent at the elbow, her head in her hand. As I spoke, she stroked – light brushes on my cheek and through my hair. One by one she gently dislodged my fingers which so tightly held the sheet to my chin then ran her fingers up and down my now exposed arm. I was a bit taken aback by her reaction — her silence and her tender touch. But thats a common side effect of addiction — the addict becomes so paranoid that she lies and miscalculates the impending result of a situation. I totally miscalculated Ks reaction but I continued my confession, slowly and deliberately trying to gauge her thoughts.

I told her how I accidentally found the site, how I lied to her about being there so often, how I logged on more than once a day because the stories were so appealing. I told her about HER and how she permeates my thoughts daily in hopes of another post.

When did you lie to me? K asks, pulling the sheet down a little farther, exposing and caressing my breast, tracing my nipple with her thumb.

Oh, lets see, I began trying to remember a few of the hundreds of times I engaged in that activity. There was the time on the bike ride when you caught me talking to myself about killing someone. Then the time you came to dinner and I was in the bedroom saying I was checking the e-mail and I wasnt. And then., wait, K, I could come up with hundreds of times, the point is I lied to you A LOT and I just want this to end.

But I have to tell you one more thing, I said reluctantly and looking away as I talked.

What, babe? K asked, never stopping the stroking which had moved to my stomach and abdomen just above where she had pulled the sheet. I could almost feel her smiling at my being uncomfortable as if she were some how enjoying this exposition.

I was beginning to have a little trouble breathing and wasnt sure if it was from her stroking or my choking on my words.

I didnt just read the stories, K, I wrote one, too. I just couldnt stop myself. Those other writers were making me crazy with a desire to be like them – to be able to write something that people would want to read and become hooked on like I did to all their stories.

And did they? she asked taking a break from the finger torture to retrace her path with her tongue. (*****-I KNEW SHE WOULD TRY TO KILL ME; I JUST DIDNT THINK IT WOULD BE THIS WAY)

Did they what? I asked trying to keep perfectly still – a feeble attempt to ignore Ks touch and tongue assault.

Did they read your story?

Yea, some of them did – it was a little different from what they were used to because I cant write about Bette and Tina and all those guys. .. . not qualified.”

Not questioning my qualifications, she continued her inquisition. What did you write about? her hand pulling the sheet completely off me then continuing to paint me with her nails.

I wrote about us, a story about our lives – I lied a little here and there, but mostly told a tale about you and me and some of the things we do.

Did you tell them about that Kritter character who gave you that tattoo?

Yea, but that was so long ago I barely gave her a paragraph . K outlined the frog on the crease between my hip and crotch with her tongue as I mentioned that nutcase. You know, she said as she continued to trace the amphibian, I just might have to shave you myself to finally get that little fly. She ran her finger over my ***** and I shuddered with a mixture of delight and fear.

Did you tell them about my job? She has to reposition herself slightly as her little hand job had moved to my thighs and knees and calves.

Yea, my response barely audible.

What else? she asks massaging my foot.

She broke me, I could no longer resist and dance around the entire truth –I spilled the beans and waited for the fallout.

I told them about the Stooges thing, I blurted out and held my breath expecting some anvil to fall from the ceiling like in the cartoons and kill me on the spot.

K stopped the massage and sat up. She threw her legs over the side of the bed, her back to me.

I quickly pulled the sheet back up over me and shut my eyes so tightly I thought my head would explode. Again, I couldnt help myself so I turned to K and peeked at her through the tiniest of slits in my eyes, trying to assess the damage I had just inflicted.

By this time she has placed her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. (OH MY GAWD – IM FEELING THE BASIC INSTINCT – SHES REACHING FOR THE ICE PICK UNDER THE BED!)

Jesus, babe, I CAN NOT believe you told the entire cyberspace population about my Curly fetish – what were you thinking?

Gawd, K Im so sorry, I WASNT thinking that was the problem. I wanted to reach out and caress her bare back before she stabbed me beyond recognition. (*****-I KNEW THIS WAS A MISTAKE).

Against my better judgment, I continued talking trying to explain my way out of this one.

Come on K, you gotta admit it is funny. I decided that I should take the chance, even if it was to be the last act I perform before I die. I want to hold her and comfort her, but as I go to reach for her I notice her shoulders are shaking – not in a crying sort of way, but rather in a LAUGHING sort of way.

Why you little faker, I scream with delight. I grab a pillow from behind my back and swat her in the head with it.

Now she is laughing hysterically and says, Good god girl, you are such a knucklehead.!!

I stop my self dead in my tracks before I can hit her again with the pillow. What did you just call me? I ask incredulously.

K knew what she had just done – she turned and jumped on the bed on all fours, like a tiger ready to devour its prey. She pinned me down on the mattress grabbing my wrists and pulling them above my head, her knees tightly against my hips.

She locks into my eyes with a look of hunger that only my flesh could satisfy– Im a goner and I know it – –

SAY IT she demands. I SAID SAY IT.

Fearing for my life I manage to squeak out a weak Yuck

NOT GOOD ENOUGH, SAY IT NOW !

Just as I about to burst out laughing I am able to yuck yuck yuck it one really good time and for the next 36 hours I must tell you I am one happy girl. Before she descends on my lips and neck, I make a quick visual survey of the room and am relieved to find no hand-held objects are within reach of the bed.. . .

TBC