Message-ID: <20345eli$9903040430@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: auryman@aol.com (AuryMan) Subject: Diane's Mistake - ch 1 (M+F+f, blackmail, smbd, etc etc) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19990304000546.01323.00002186@ng-fy1.aol.com> WARNING: This story contains strong sexual themes. It is intended as a work of fiction for ADULTS ONLY, and the writer does not in any way suggest or condone similar behavior. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. All names are fictitious. The acts described herein are illegal, and are not condoned by the author. This work is to be read by PERSONS 21 OR OLDER ONLY where such topics are not against the law. If unusual sexual behavior offends you, please STOP reading here THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING! =============================== SubDiane's Mistake Chapter 1 Diane Lawson stretched her arms high over her head then stood up. She'd been sitting in one position for a long time, knew that it was going to play hell with her back later (it's grim being over 35!), knew that she'd better walk around the room a few times to loosen things up. She walked across the thick, blue-green carpet to the door, opened it a bit and looked out into the hall. No lights, everyone was still asleep. Even the dog just lay curled in the hallway - everything a perfect picture of middle-class bliss. The only anomalous thing at all was the blue light coming from the monitor on the desk. The library was dark, done with polished wood walls (their one big extravagence in an otherwise mundane house) and three of the four walls floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The fourth wall was covered with a variety of pictures, plaque, awards and paintings. And in the middle of the room was the desk. A big oak affair, custom made to house the computer monitor, speakers, scanners, printers, all of the new necesssary appliances of a suburban home. The monitor faced the wall. When laying out the room, her husband and she both agreed that they didn't want anyone reading over their shoulder -- she expected they had hugely different reasons. He was a very private person, a known conservative church-going man in the community, who often wrote opinion pieces for local and national magazines. He was militant about letting no one read drafts - only finished copy was to EVER leave the confines of his imagination or the TEMP directory on his computer. She had other reasons for wanting privacy. At least for the last several months. Both of them had been slow to warm to the Internet concept. He, for reasons that smacked of an almost Amish avoidance of technology; she because of all the hype about child pornography and credit card fraud. Once the machine was in the house, though, they found they often fought for their online time. He found hundreds of sources he just had to read and keep track of - local conservative fact sheets that gave out the names and addresses of suspected drug dealers, Satanists, interracial liberal groups, in short, all those doing the work of the Devil. She found women's groups online that talked about raising children, handling multiple careers (she occasionally worked outside the home), and slowly started reading posts from many who were trying to come out from under the grip of a domineering husband. It wasn't much longer than her second week online that she started getting the infamous IM messages during her AOL sessions. She initially found them disgusting and yet another sign of the Downfall of Western Culture. Not long after that, she became intrigued by a seminary student in California who talked to her about poetry, art, God, and ultimately, sex. She fell into an online affair. She found herself up until one and two in the morning having cybersex with this 22 year old student halfway across the country. It was amazing, she'd read about it but discounted it as the domain of pimply, adolescent losers. Or perverts. Or child molesters. But at the very least, the domain of MEN. + + + In reality, she found herself completely engulfed in the freedom and intensity of a relationship with no strings, no faces, no histories, even no bodies. She'd masturbate herself to orgasm two and three times during a session. She was sure she'd found a soulmate and even carried on several weeks of self-reflection and discussion about the possibilities of leaving her family and moving to the West Coast to pursue a "new life." It was during this last May that the student came clean. "He" was a "she" - a lesbian who was doing her best to use the Internet to liberate straight women of their rape-culture husbands. There would be no point in them meeting as Diane had made it clear in many discussions that she was not interested in a woman as a lover. The student was just sending email to say she was graduating and had to move on. It was a Dear John letter from Jane. Since then, she'd engaged in several other online relationships and found them all wanting. None had the depth of her first encounter, the commonality, the sense of deep friendship. On the other hand, she was able to recreate the excitement, the intensity and the gut-wrenching power of the sexual side of that relationship almost immediately. She learned a lot about herself in doing that. She found that she loved the newness of each new conquest. (She considered herself the conqueror regardless of how many men initiated conversations with the familiar IM box.) Her Buddy List grew to dozens of names, many of whom she'd allow to invite others into their sessions. She would spin with the most far-flung fantasies of the most creative of the men - fucking in public, taking on groups of men, selling herself at another man's command, even weaving word fantasies about near-misses with women, high school football teams and a variety of mechanical devices. About three months ago, she'd decided to take on the project of writing and posting erotic stories online. She found it thrilling to recount her "chat" encounters as though they were real, retelling the stories and adding details that the participants had left out or had not been able to write clearly. She'd posted nearly two dozen stories when she hit on the idea of collaborating with one or two of the better writers whose work she'd read. And that was what she was writing tonight - her part of the next chapter in their ongoing serialized novel. + + + "You've got mail!" the machine announced in that familiar voice. She peered down the hall one last time, then closed the door and walked back to the desk. The name in the mailbox - SumwonElz - was not familiar. The subject line was simply "Hello Dolly!" Probably another ad for free time on a porn site. She deleted it. A few seconds later, "you've got mail" called her attention again to the mailbox. It was from the same person. This time the subject line had changed to "I Know What You Did Last Summer". She chuckled - persistent anyway - then deleted it again. The third time, the subject line was "Dangerous Liasons". She had to give it to him for ingenuity: the lines are catchy and they must be using an autoresponder of some sort. But, what about the timing? The new messages appeared pretty quickly after she deleted the prior ones. This time, she left it in the mailbox for several minutes before deleting it. Sure enough, another one came on its heels. Subject line: "Don't You Want Me Baby?" - a song title this time. She didn't open it or delete it. If it was a game of some kind, she was already hooked. She let it languish in her IN box. Her mind went back to its work. She was writing the next chapter, an encounter in an adult movie house with the blackmailer. She had to try and put herself into the scene, get the right feel for it, before trying to write it. An IM broke her concentration. - SumwonElz: Diane, why aren't you reading my mail? She grinned, thought a second, then typed her answer. - SubDiane: Because I don't know you. She clicked the dialog box closed and Alt-Tabbed back to her story. "Ding!" Back in AOL, another IM: - SumwonElz: I know you don't know me. But I know you. - SubDiane: I don't think so. Did we meet in a chat under another name? - SumwonElz: Oh no, nothing that simple. - SumwonElz: I was just driving down L--- street a little while ago. - SumwonElz: I spotted your minivan in the driveway. - SumwonElz: Thought I'd see if you were online. How in the hell would he know she lived on L--- street? After a short pause, she realized it was a guess. There must be an L--- street in a dozen towns in the country. He was guessing. It was a little unnerving, but hey, sometimes they hit. She decided to play along and see what he was up to. - SubDiane: Nice of you to notice. Would I have seen you? - SumwonElz: Oh, I don't think so. You would have had to be outside. And you weren't. - SubDiane: Sorry I missed you. Maybe next time. - SumwonElz: Certainly next time. Because I'm going to tell you when and where to be. She caught his drift. It was going to be another online encounter. Everyone was asleep and she was feeling a little horny, maybe it would be fun. She decided to see what he had to offer. - SubDiane: That sounds like fun... - SubDiane: Are you good at this? - SumwonElz: Oh, Mrs. Lawson, don't be cute. I'm not looking for cyber. Diane felt a jolt of panic. She looked around the room to make sure she was alone. The window was closed, the shade drawn. The door was still closed. The entire room was cloaked in shadow with the blue glow from the terminal the only light. It reflected off glass lampshades, silver knick-knacks on the shelves, and the curtainrod. Still, she had the feeling someone was watching her. - SumwonElz: Mrs. Lawson? Are you still there? - SubDiane: Yes, I'm here. Who do you think I am? This "Mrs. Lawson"? - SumwonElz: Mrs. Diane Lawson - SumwonElz: of 3991 L--- Street, Franklin Park, Illinois? - SumwonElz: 38 years old, white (Caucasian) mid-west housewife - SumwonElz: two teenage children, one boy, one girl - SumwonElz: (you lied in your online profile, very nice move) - SumwonElz: married for just under 12 years - SumwonElz: statistics you posted seem slightly incorrect from what - SumwonElz: I could see in the last week or two. 5'6" sounds right, - SumwonElz: but weigh around 140 lbs - SumwonElz: we'll talk about that later, I work out at a very nice gym in town - SumwonElz: brown eyes shoulder length, brown hair - SumwonElz: Measurements are a bit obscure, I haven't seen you up that close yet - SumwonElz: but soon... - SumwonElz: Now, are there any questions about whether or not I know you? - SubDiane: Who the hell are you? - SumwonElz: I advise you to answer your email. He knew her! How? Had she been careless in one of her chats? Left enough clues for someone to track her down? Was it someone who saw her name on the computer somehow? But who? Who looked at the computer in their house? - SubDiane: How do you know me? - SumwonElz: I guess that's for me to know and for you to find out. She paused, trying to figure out her next move. Maybe she could learn something about him from AOL. Report him to TOS. She clicked on the "People" icon, then "Locate Member Online". The reply box came back saying "Member is not currently online." Just to check, she clicked "write mail" and sent a test message. She got back a dialog box that said "SumwonElz - This is not a known member." He did not exist inside AOL. - SubDiane: Who are you? AOL says you do not exist. - SumwonElz: Given what I know about you, wouldn't you say they're wrong? - SubDiane: I don't understand - SumwonElz: you don't need to. Look at it this way, - SumwonElz: either I'm an employee who is misusing my authority, - SumwonElz: or I'm a hacker who broke into their site and is messing with them - SumwonElz: either way, you're kinda stuck, aren't you? - SumwonElz: Now, just read the mail. - SubDiane: what do you mean? - "Member is no longer logged on" Whoever it was, he was certainly a hacker. He'd cut the connection and she was left with the email in her IN basket. She hesitated to read it, clicked off the power saver screen and pushed the chair back. Just a few fingers of scotch, she told herself, to steady myself. She was curious, puzzled, confused. Who was this guy and what did he want? Was he playing, maybe a friend who wanted to get in on the chats? Maybe someone from an old chat? But that didn't make any sense. How could they know personal details. And, how could they know which of the ones she'd posted were lies? No, this person knew her. It was someone playing games. But who? And why? + + + She drank the scotch, put the bottle and glass back on the shelf, then went back to the computer. Still standing, she clicked the monitor ON, then double clicked in her IN box to open his mail. She read his email: > Diane: > > I've been watching you with fascination for the last several weeks now. > You are versatile and imaginative in your cybersex encounters, in fact, > one of the most eager I've met. I can see from your recent posts that > you are considering entering the real world. You are like a moth, you > are flying close to the fire. You have been unaware of the danger. > > The danger is here. > > I know your name. I know your address. I know the names of your > daughter and son. I know where they go to school. > > I know where your husband works. I know about his articles, I know > about the causes he supports. I know about his petition work during > the Communications Decency Act. I have, in fact, spoken with him > about it and he has made a generous donation to my organization. > Ask him about it. It's called Parents Against Smut and Sleaze. We > met, spoke for about 30 minutes, and he donated $100 dollars just two > weeks ago. > > Don't bother checking on the organization, it doesn't exist. In fact, if you >like, you can tell him to void his check. > > James would be quite shocked to receive in the mail transcripts of several of > your better 'chat' sessions. He would also be upset to review the > facts of your attempted affair with the college student from California. > I believe you said -- and I quote: "I could come up with the money for > a plane ticket if you promised that all of your energy would be focused > on me for the entire two days..." -- unquote. > > I plan to be the one who helps you make that next step, from the > lust-crazed world inside your head to fucking and sucking in the > real world. > > I will contact you again soon. > > Have a nice night. > > SumwonElz She stared at the screen, completely numb and frozen, for several minutes before turning it off and heading for bed. + + + end of Chapter 1 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----