One day, I sat down to catalogue some of my stories and found that over the years I had written a lot of sexy romantic stories. If you ask what they are about, it is difficult to drawn a common thread from them (apart from romance and sex, which they all have).
I suppose the thing they have most in common is that none of them are set ‘at home’. They wander off to all sorts of different countries, and that’s fine because I love travelling. Especially if I have the time to settle for a while and really get to know the people and places that make our world so interesting.
And no matter where you are, everyone is interesting in sex. Even celibate priests seem to think about it all the time, even though they shouldn’t. And I am told that prisons, full of hardened, gay-baiting thugs, nevertheless have all sorts of sexual activity going on (I can’t imagine how that works!)
So I bundled a collection of the most interesting together as Love and Soft Lighting and here is a quick taste …
A Colourful Life
Once upon a time, in the old town of Bremen, there lived a young IT engineer - but perhaps I had better start by introducing myself properly. Very well, I shall stand before you all, hands clasped in front of me and head bowed and, in the manner approved by Alcoholics Anonymous all over the world, I will say...
“Good evening, everyone. My name is Fabian, and I am a pervert.”
There, that was not so terrible, was it? And perversion is not really like an addiction to alcohol. After all, an alcoholic can pour drink down his throat until he slips into an irreparable coma. Perverted sex is not like that at all. Physiology takes a hand, and while women might be able to indulge for longer than men, in the end we both have to stop and take a rest. It just won’t stand up any more, and we have to go off and do other things. Sleep, eat, live a normal life, until the hunger returns and you are ready to explore again.
I like being a pervert, and can recommend the lifestyle to anyone. At present, it makes me truly happy.
I can’t say that was always true. Before, my perversions were solitary affairs. I sat at my computer and cruised the pornographic world, finding new images to drool over and new things to dream of doing. That was not bad, but it did not get me out in the fresh air very much.
I admit I am a nerd, and so I never saved up my euros to visit the girls in Helenenstraße. I’m sure they are far too expensive, and besides, I dream of magic not commerce. I suppose I could have tried the gay scene. I understand gays are very undemanding in what they do, as long as orgasms are involved somewhere. It’s not that I’m afraid of male sex. I often play with it on my computer, and watching a hungry cock finally coming is most enjoyable. Sometimes I even join in the fun, if I get the timing right.
Those ideas never really tempted me, because what I truly dreamt of was a companion. I wanted a lover, a fellow explorer, whose hand I could hold while we tried all the outrageous, crazy, sexy things I desired. I look at the girls on the streets of Bremen, serious German girls with their loose jeans, baggy sweaters and boring haircuts, and I doubt if they’ve had a good orgasm in their limited lives. No hope there. Better to stay in my room and use my computer.
That is, until Deena arrived.
What shall I tell you about Deena? I shall certainly say that she is a beautiful woman. She is dark chocolate brown, and has long hair so black that it sometimes shines like a raven’s wing. She has an old fashioned figure, with nothing boyish about it. She has a waist, which most modern girls do not, and breasts that are not large but are very round and generous. I love the curve of her hips, and her plump female bum. That is something I can hardly stop myself stroking, and once I found out what she liked to do with it, I was trapped.
As I walk home in the November wind, tired after a day wrestling with bugs and bureaucrats, I am thinking about Deena and her innocence. I have never known anyone who can look so innocent while contemplating such concentrated, delightful naughtiness. I am not talking only of sex here; she is every bit as bad when she is trying to wheedle money out of me, for new clothes, gold earrings, or to send to her mother.
I am thinking of her last night, sitting at my computer and talking to her mother in Trincomalee. She was dressed as she usually dresses for Skype, wearing nothing but jewellery and her bra. She is talking animatedly, about the things important to mothers and daughters, I suppose. I still find her nudity strange, and I asked her once if her mother did not mind. Why should she? Deena asked, She’s my mother. Anyway, the camera can’t see down there and if it did, she’s not looking at my tits all the time, like you do. Now that’s true. I watch her breasts whenever I can. They are so perfect, round, inviting, and they sway and bounce so delightfully.
Deena understands this very well. She could use those breasts to entice any man in the world, but at the moment she is using them to lead me by the nose.
Sometimes, after we have used PayPal to send money to her mother and she is chatting away on Skype, I try to distract her by wriggling under the desk and licking her. She could stop me, but she doesn’t. She could bring her conversation to an end, but she doesn’t do that either. Instead, she slips to the edge of her seat, opens her legs wide, and keeps talking. I have learnt to treat her gently, suck and kiss softly for half an hour at a time, until even she has to hang up. She pushes the office chair back on its wheels, lies back open and demanding, and lets me give her orgasm after orgasm.
“Marry me, Deena,” I say to her sometimes, but she laughs and says her mother would never allow it.
“What’s wrong with her? I have a good job and a salary she should like. Doesn’t she know you and I are making love?”
“She wants me to go home and get married to a nice Sri Lankan boy. All she says about you is - don’t get pregnant.”
I do not give up hope because I have the key to her heart, although I don’t think she knows that yet. One evening I said, “Pretend. Pretend we’re getting married. Where would you like to go for a honeymoon?”
She did not hesitate. “America. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
Jacqueline lives in Far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral Sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about Jacqueline and her books at