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I'm a member of a music board—you know, one of those fan-based forums. I'm not really a "joiner" of sorts, I'm more of a loner mostly, preferring my anonymity, but this musical group—their lyrics and sounds spoke to me. I was immediately welcomed by the other members; members from around the world. For the first time, I was speaking with people from England, from Australia, from Germany and France, hearing what they thought, how their lives differed from mine, lived out in Wisconsin, Midwest, USA.  One member in particular drew my attention—he was witty, sarcastic, absurd and ridiculous. He took great joy in laughing at himself, although he was also quick to point out when another of us were just as silly as he. And he used words—god, such words—words that we in America considered formal or unusual, but for him they were natural. They rolled off his pen in gorgeous seductive waves.I found him so interesting. The way his mind worked was intricate and different than anything I'd encountered before. His observations of other people, their lives, their activities, what was important to him—he saw them vastly differently than I did. But in his pointed, jocular analyses I could tell he watched everything around him as carefully as I did. We began to instant message each other on weekends when the time difference allowed us both to be parked in front of a computer with hours to chit chat about those absurd things. We laughed, we teased, we made fun of one another, and we used words like swords and parried and danced. And I found I was rather liked him, this self-described scruffy man. It went on for weeks, our little online flirtations. We got bolder, we asked each other everything and anything—somehow it was easier to find the honesty within when we were separated by half a continent and a wide ocean. Finally, we admitted we were fond of one another. We had actually spoken on the phone a few times. He'd let me call him, and we'd laughed and I'd heard his sharp accent, heard the growl in his voice that he'd tried to describe but only my ears could discern the truth. It made him sexy, made him real, made him more than just a computer talking to me somewhere. One day, he logged on to chat. He found me in a disturbed state—I'd been up most of the night, having been tormented by dreams. He tried to get me to tell him about it, but I resisted. I didn't want to break the tenuous contact we'd erected. He pushed, I finally relented. I laid it all out for him—with words, as we'd come to know one another. Told him about the dream I'd had—about him. How I dreamed I had gotten on a plane with the sole intention of seducing him. I went into complete, graphic, pornographic detail. I knew him as a skittish man, so I wanted his eventual surrender to be total… complete. I knew words were the way to bring him to me.  It did its job. He got off the computer at the café with what he told me later was a very evident bulge in the front of his trousers. He ran all the way home—20 minutes; I timed him. And then I called. What happened next was explosive, animalistic phone sex. We touched with words what we ached to explore with our hands, mouths, and bodies.After three weeks spent on the phone, I commented that I had probably already spent the same amount of money on my phone bill that I would have on a ticket to London. He paused, and I felt he was a nervous about it, but it planted a seed in my head. I was definitely the less cautious of the two of us, and London became more than an idea, it actually bordered on obsession. One day, preparing for work, I realized no one was ever going to take me there. No one was ever going to take me anywhere. If I wanted to do something, the only person who was going to make it happen was me. And so, on Priceline.com, I looked for tickets to England. With trepidation and nervousness I clicked submit. When I got the confirmation back, I picked up the phone. "Do you want me?" I asked him. "What do you mean," he asked, confused. "Of course I do." I explained what I had done. He was silent. I felt how apprehensive he was that I had taken that next leap, but goddammit—the phone-sex was so hot, so twisted, and so full of everything I needed. How could I not want the actual thing?  The day I got on the plane I wasn't nervous at all, although I didn't sleep on the overnight overseas flight, which I put down to my fear of crashes. Finally, I watched the sun come up as we flew over London. I walked through customs, entered the reception room and saw him—my online lover. I'd seen photos, but this was real-life, this was it. I was not disappointed.He took me home. I pounced on him as soon as we entered his flat. Tripping over luggage I threw him on his bed and fucked him like the world was going to end. I sucked his cock, put my pussy in his face, had him inside me in every position I could think of. And when we'd both tumbled apart, sweat-covered and exhausted all he said was: "Welcome to the UK." He took me to pubs, to clubs, to a chip shop. Took me for midnight curry and kebab. He romanced me and I fucked him: on the trains into London; in the smelly, urine-soaked toilets; in an alley outside Paddington Station one late night; beneath Tower Bridge on rain-drenched pavement. Every new place he took me was merely a new place for me to fuck him.  Everything felt exotic. It could have been the same as back home, but I knew in my heart I was in London with my lover. It took on a foreign flair; I even began to orgasm differently—more fiercely, more guttural, louder. I became fearless and daring, and he followed my lead whenever I got that look in my eye.For two weeks, I lived on curry and come. And then it came time to leave, and I cried, knowing something was over, that somehow our time had passed. I got on the plane and flew home, this time sleeping the whole way. I called him when I got in, so he would know I was okay, and for the first time, his voice didn't move me. It never came back, that passion between us. Not in our online chats, not in our stilted phone conversations. I finally realized one rainy day that what I had been after was the unknown—the adventure. Once I had had it, the real thrill was gone. We drifted apart, and finally, we stopped talking all together. I've been other places, to see other men I've met online, to meet other exotic lovers. But London, by far, is my favorite place to hear a lover's rough growl in my ear. I'm planning a trip back—as soon as I find another man worthy of another international adventure…
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