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A Story Request

Wherein I'm requested to have a desire to wear "sexy lingerie". . .

Recently, I received an email from someone through my website. Here is what it said:

I noticed you link to on your webpage Can you to link to our site,, since we also offer lingerie and accessories? You can put a free link to your site in our directory if you would like, at .
Thank You-
I set this aside to respond to, unsure quite how to respond to it. But a few weeks later, after I'd almost (but not quite) forgotten, this email came:
I emailed you a couple weeks ago regarding our site,, and was wondering if you had time to get to it. I see your link to on your page, and ask you to link to our site also since it is useful to your visitors. If you want to link to us you can place your site in our directory for free at .
P.S. I won't email you again if I don't hear back from you.
To this, I responded:
I do have a link there, but the context of the link is. . . Well, it's not really an advertisement. It's more, "Hey, I saw a Fredricks of Hollywood store", and I linked it because there might be people who don't know what Fredericks is. I can't think of a logical reason to add your site anywhere on there, though I might eventually have a story in which I have to mention sexy lingerie, I guess.

I'm also not entirely sure if traffic from your site matches the sort of traffic my site is looking for. Sure, strange people read it, but mutual links will probably not be very beneficial to either site.

Of course, I could be completely wrong: feel free to try and persuade me differently. I'm just not seeing how it would benefit either of us.
The next day, this was in my mailbox:
Persuasive? How bout you write a story about having a dream about how you have a extreme desire to wear sexy lingerie from

Does that sound good?
And so, I have written the story requested (though I took out the part about desire. . . I just end up wearing it. . .). Here it is:

Dreaming the Beach

It was dark where I was, so dark that I couldn't see a thing. The darkness seemed to close in about me, to box me in, and I didn't know what to do.

It was cool, but not cold. I paused in my thoughts, and my mind began to work. How did I end up here? How could I get out? Did I want to get out, or was I safe here?

I moved my hand forward. Before it had moved far, it hit a wall. There was a hollow sound, and I added this information to my thought process.

Moving my hand across the surface, I found a doorknob. This showed me a way out. Would I take it? Should I? Where would it lead?

I made the decision. I opened the door.

Light flooded in and blinded me. It filled my vision and burned my eyes, and cut in between my eyelids when I squeezed them shut. I took a moment, then cracked my eyes. The light was still painful, but I could make out shapes and the occasional colour.

As my eyes adjusted, I found myself standing on a beach, looking into the sun on the water, either setting or rising. The wind was whipping around, and sand and spray were flying into my face and my lips tasted of salt. I stepped out, and looked behind me.

I had been standing in a cartoon-style beach changing-tent. Looking down, I found myself in my bermudas and Birkenstocks, apparently freshly changed. I looked into the tent and saw my pants and shirt crumpled on the sand.

I turned to look up and down the beach. To my right, far down the beach, I saw the coast curve out of sight. To my left, far up the beach, I saw a pier lying out into the sea. It struck me, though, that there was no one on the beach in either direction. . . except one person, between myself and the pier.

I wasn't entirely certain that the person I saw was real. It could have been a trick of the light, or the way the sand was pushed by the wind to look as if it were a person's shape. It was the multi-coloured towel that the shape was lying on that told me it was likely to be a person.

I made my way up the beach, intent on understanding where I was and how I got here. As I approached, I found that it was, indeed, a real person. . . and what a person!

The first thing I made out were the curves. From a long distance, these were obvious. Hourglasses had less perfect curves, and they would never cause my blood to heat as much as this person's curves were.

The legs came into view next, one folded above, the other lying flat, like a number four lying on its back. Each was perfectly formed, each shapely and amazing.

An arm raised to a forehead as the rest of her body came into solid view, and "her" was certainly the correct term. The woman was naked, basking in the light of the sun, enjoying its heat and the coolness of the wind at the same time.

I stood still, ten paces from her, not knowing what to do. There was silence for a moment, then:

"Come closer."

I moved forward again, slightly embarrassed to be wearing my trunks while she was naked before me. When I stood a step from her, I stopped.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, not looking at me.

I was momentarily confused. "I'm not sure. I was hoping you'd know."

Now she looked at me. Up, then down, then up again. "Being overdressed, obviously."

"I can't argue with that," I said. "Why are you the only one here?"

"I'm not," she said, with some impatience, again not looking at me. "I'm here with a man who can't take a hint."

I looked up the beach, and back down. We were the only two on the beach, and I shrugged. "What the hell," I muttered, kicked off my sandals, and pulled off the bermudas. "Is that better?"

I think I expected her to look at me again, but she did not. "Sit down," she said.

I sat down on my bermudas and didn't say a word.

"Who are you?" she asked. "Aside from stubborn and a bit rude?"

I blushed a bit. "I'm Mike. I'm not trying ot be rude, though."

"No one tries to be rude, Mike. But you sure have a gift for it."

"Thanks. I think," I said. "I try to take most things as compliments, even if they're not meant as such."

"I know you do." She rolled over on her side, looking me straight in the eye. "You came out of the tent down there, I imagine?"

"I did. How did I get in there?" I asked.

She stretched, and I caught my eyes following her curves from ankle to neck. "You're dreaming."

"Well, I suppose that explains a lot," I responded. "How do I get out of this?"

Suddenly she was sitting and looking me in the eye again. "Are you sure you want to leave? If you're dreaming, this world is yours. I'm yours. The sexy lingerie you're wearing is yours. The. . ."

"Wait," I said. "The what I'm wearing?"

Looking down, she was right. I was wearing something frilly and lacy and. . . vaguely see-through. "Dreaming, eh?" I asked. "Girl I can't have and women's underwear: it seems like I'm more likely having a nightmare. What's next, pudgy men in bikinis?"

She smiled. "Funny you should ask. . ."

And I knew what would greet my eyes, should I look up. . .

Fortunatley, I woke up, a cold sweat dripping off my face and running down my back, no pudgy men in bikinis anywhere, and no lingerie.

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