Trembling, I picked up the phone and dialed your number. My breathing was uneven, shallow, and accelerated. My skin felt warm, flushed even as a light shiver coursed down my spine making me twitch suddenly. I listened to the phone ring, but had lost count of how many times. My mind rapidly flicked through all the possibilities and repercussions involved in placing this call.
The phone connected, someone was there, you of course, even though I could barely hear you breathe. There was that frisson of awareness that was there from the start. It set goose bumps racing up my arm. I felt you listening, waiting having anticipated my call.
My exhalations beat heavily against the receiver, the sound was exaggerated by the silence on the other end. My eyes flicked to the clock on my computer's menu bar, the time was 8:11 p.m. Two minutes before deadline. Such an arbitrary time you set. "If I don't hear from you by 8:13 p.m., don't call at all." You were testing me, making me edgy, watchful of the time, dancing to your tune as if you were right there whistling each and every note. You knew I'd hesitate, question, laugh at your audacity and resist; only to scramble to open your e-mail in the last few minutes, find your number, and call. The office cleaning staff was nearing my cubicle, the whirring of the vacuum cleaner droned louder. Internally, I urged myself to say something, anything.
"Hello." The word cracked in half, and dropped to a whisper as it hit the air.
I heard the faintest sound on your end, half grunt, half hum. But, I knew what it was: your acknowledgment, your pleasure, your signal to me that you knew what I was feeling and more. I could even imagine your face with those full, pink lips that looked like you had been sucking on a strawberry lollipop for hours, and moist like you'd just been kissed.
Yes, you'd lift the right corner of your mouth ever so slightly, tugging the rest of your lips into that sardonic, Cheshire cat smirk. The smirk that said you knew exactly what was in my head - the wanting, the fascination, the apprehension, okay call it what it was, fear, and the compelling need that had been pulsing through my veins for weeks now since Francisco left. The need to be touched, held, consumed like a piece of overripe fruit; bursting forth at the slightest touch.
Oh how I wanted you to speak to say something, anything. I longed for you to be urbane and witty like you were this morning when we first met or commanding and direct as you were in the e-mail I just read one hour and thirty-seven minutes ago. But not like this, quiet, waiting. Shit! "What should I say, what does he want to hear from me?" Feeling panicky my hands gripped the receiver. My eyes sought out the time again. A wave of relief crashed over me - only a minute had passed. I was flushed with gratitude, it hadn't been too long, right not too long? Holding my breath I strained to hear you through the fiber optics separating us while drawing me near. Your steady, patient breath sizzled along the air waves singeing my soul with relief.
Swallowing hard, I conjured up a meager drop of saliva to coat my parched throat.
"Yes, my Pet." Your voice was deep, rhythmic, and tantalizing. A hint of the Islands lingered in your speech. Your satisfaction was evident.
Upon hearing those three, simple words, my womb went into spasms, clenching and flexing tight. A ripple effect tingled through my stomach, back, anus and thighs - everything contracted as if you had penetrated me right there; the force of your possession was sharp, sudden, and complete. Though I fought the urge, a snippet of a moan slipped through my lips.
Your throaty chuckle filled my brain.
My pulse raced as I sucked in a deep breath, willing it to become even and steady. I was desperate not to give my every feeling away. Greater vulnerability I could not handle. But you knew differently. How I knew this, I couldn't have explained, and didn't want to contemplate it too deeply. But I felt possessed. I was drawn to inch closer to the towering flame that was you, knowing beyond a doubt I would be consumed, burned to ash, and then blown away. The me I knew would cease to exist; what remained would be yours for the making.
"Mm, so you've decided."
Jumping at the sound of your voice, I clenched the phone, nodding my head. Realizing you couldn't see me, I opened my mouth to answer, but you spoke before I could utter a word.
"Good. Good, my sweet Pet. Then follow my every direction and come to me."
As I waited anxiously for the sales clerk to locate a size 44DD crimson lace bustier, I thought of how strangely all the events of the day had led up to this very moment in time.
I was after my morning cup of bliss: Starbucks Café Mochachino. I knew it was a horrible expense for coffee but in my mind it was a well-deserved luxury for living without sex for ninety-eight whole days and nights and counting. And, I agreed with all the self-lauded experts that a chocolate high runs a glorious second to the real thing, the luscious escape in the land of O - which I had visited everyday since Francisco left me, because I couldn't resist. But I had missed intercourse. Okay, alright, alright, male-female intercourse, if we must be literal. Not that I'd been with a woman either in those ninety-eight days. Nope, I had no human contact whatsoever, except for the casual brushing of hands as my change was dropped into my palm or someone on the street or elevator unconsciously passed me by taking the space that I had been occupying. But those moments didn't seem to count, not really. There was no consciousness of engagement, no intentionality behind the contact, no intent to connect, to feel, to make an impression upon another's existence. Yes, it was the latter that I was missing, aching for in particular. I guess that's what made that morning especially unique.
I had awoken more with the impression of having had a lusty dream rather than an actual image to reflect upon, tease out, and embellish. Intrigued, I shifted and turned on my back. Reluctant to break the lingering sensation by opening my eyes to the day, I kept them closed and cataloged my physical impressions.
My limbs felt heavy but without ache. My skin felt tight and steamy, as if I had been sitting in the sauna at too long; despite the coolness in the room from sleeping as always with a window cracked. But I didn't feel sweaty, sticky or clammy. My breathing was deep, rhythmic and slow. As I lay there longer I noted my pleasure, my sense of satisfaction as if I were floating in the middle of a secluded lake. Yes, like the one Francisco, Chelsea, and I stumbled upon at that little villa in Morocco. The air that day had been delicious. There was the slightest breeze that would have chilled had it not been for the toasty sun, and the semi-cool water seemed to welcome our bodies as we coasted along in stillness. Francisco let me float like that for hours it seemed; although he would always laughingly correct me, teasing me for my "love of dramatics," since he had clocked our bath at having taken no more than thirty-five minutes. But still, I had felt so free. I hadn't worried about floating away or into harm, for I knew he would save me from whatever, however.
Is that what I dreamed of that morning, his arms just beneath me - not touching but there, always there, making sure to catch me before I drowned?
With that memory, I moaned, and drifted back to sleep; and that's why I was late for the train that carried me into Century City, and to my morning appointment with Claire at the bookstore. She so hates for me to be late, a pet peeve she and I share: her hatred of my lateness and my being late. Because I needed it, my cup of bliss to ease and soothe me so I could bear her churlish condescension, I entered the Starbucks a little too fast, without being fully aware, and barreled into Him.
She was a siren, a discordant whirlwind of activity that morning as she bustled into the Starbucks on Wabash Ave. She was also running late, which made me smile and plot. I am usually not so obvious with my machinations, but I had had enough of waiting for her to notice me, she seemed so disassociated from her environs, which was in exact juxtaposition with the effect she had on most everyone she encountered. She was one of those women who never really gets the full impact of their inherent sensuality. Just as a rose, if granted human qualities, may never comprehend the heady essence it emits, she too walked around as if she were not perfuming the world with her own lusty scent. Or maybe it was just me, a connoisseur of such succulent vulnerability, that I could not only smell her desire but knew exactly how to magnify it. Others might have sensed it too but were daunted by its intensity and admitted defeat. But not me, I savored the challenge.
I had been watching her for weeks now, noting she moved around the city alone or every now and then with a girlfriend or two but never a man, a partner. She seemed to lack that specific, fundamental relationship as peanut butter served alone would lack jelly or warm, homemade cookies require a glass of ice cold milk. She was just one of those women that looked like she would intimately fit a man, not that she needed one, but that without one she was not as complete, as whole.
I had to smile at my arrogance, because I imagine she would likely have laughed aloud at my impertinence were she to have heard those words, but I knew as she herself knew that they were true.
I had seen her first three weeks ago entering Chapeau's, an upscale haberdashery that I had often frequented. I was passing by; at the time thinking I would quickly check on the status of my tailor-made suits. As I glanced through the windowpane looking for Pierce, a vivid splash of orange caught my eye. Chapeau's was never the place to over indulge in the whims of fashion, so I was intrigued, and looked more closely, and there wearing a crushed velvet walking coat in a warm salmon shade stood she. I could only see her backside, which was wide and round, and certainly nothing seen within the pages of Maxim or GQ. Yet, the lush fabric of the coat molded and folded over every generous curve. It flowed down her seemingly long torso to embrace her wide, hands-filling hips that had my fingers flexing instinctively. Though she was fully dressed and her coat was not overly snug, I could sense that she had an ass that would feel both firm and soft; a voluminous expanse for me to caress and spank. The rest of her was blocked by a low table sporting sweaters. I was left feeling both frustrated and delighted. Since her backside had such a pleasing effect on me, I was intrigued to view more of her. Having always been a patient man, knowing that pleasure tends to be heightened with each moment in wait, I stood there and occupied myself by noting her other visible features.
Her hair was a very dark brown, almost black shade, and shined in the afternoon light pouring through the shop's window. It barely brushed her shoulders, as she moved to search through the rack of dress shirts, each flipped layer bobbed sexily in the air and against her neck. She was shopping alone it seemed since no one else was at her side, except for that annoying sales clerk, Morgan or Monroe. He was hovering at her side, bouncing from foot-to-foot agitatedly as usual; as if he needed to go somewhere quick but had to stay because of you. His attitude irritated me, which was why I dealt exclusively with Pierce, but she didn't seem to take notice. Intent, she was, on making her purchase. She asked him some questions about the two crisp white dress shirts that she held aloft, and then walked deeper into the store towards the register. Although I was holding up my trainer, Jeremy, at the gym, and I knew I had been standing there too long by the curious glances I was receiving, I had to wait until I could see her face. I paid Jeremy well, so his time was really mine, and I was only too accustomed with drawing attention having been born the way I was.
Nonetheless, I almost missed her exit, because I was giving someone directions. It was the ring of the door bell, and the rustling sound of a paper bag that caught my attention in time. I turned back around to find her lingering a moment in the doorway looking for something in her handbag.
She was exquisite. Her skin was smooth and seemed to subtly sparkle as if she had walked through a light shower of gold dust. Her lips were full, sensual and glossy; tinted a faint cherry red. Her ebony lashes nearly brushed against the tops of her cheeks as she intently looked downward, and her eyelids glowed a springtime peach. I couldn't quite tell the shade of her eyes, but I knew I would soon enough. But it was her skin tone that did me in. It reminded me of my favorite childhood sweet: butter rum toffees with just a hint of cinnamon. I took a deep, slurping swallow before I wound up drooling. I had never felt hungrier in my life.
My eyes darted to her many ringed fingers wrapped in gold and stones, and was struck with a sharp pang of relief at finding that one significant finger was bare. A deep chocolate colored suede dress wrapped snugly around her large bosom, creating a tantalizing frame for her cleavage. She was stunning, without looking sluttish. A woman her size couldn't help but catch a man's attention. I didn't care to think too much about that fact. Taking her fully in I noted the skirt wrapped her full hips and thighs and ended just above the knee. A couple of inches lower her full calves were zipped into supple leather matching boots with three inch heels; icing on a Rosseau cake, almost superfluous, almost. Damn, was she worth the wait! I was close enough to hear her grateful exclamation as she pulled out her sunglasses.
I turned away just as she looked up to once again assess the street traffic. It was too soon yet for us to make contact. In those brief moments I had made my decision. She was next. I needed to see her again and again. When I met her I wanted to have her, make her want to have me, and I knew that would take some time and some planning. I waited at the corner, as if waiting for the light to change, but my attention remained on her. A phone rang. I heard her speak. As she slowly made her way down the street, I followed at a good distance, picking the air for sounds of her movements as she walked away from me.
I followed her to the open air flower market where she picked mums, purple lace, and Gerber daisies over the roses. She delighted over a bowl of sun-warmed gardenias as she breathed in their sweet scent and seemed only mildly interested in the orchids. This was a woman who enjoyed beauty and scents for their sake and not for their price tag or social allure. I knew such information would be useful. A few times during the hour and a half journey together and apart, I could tell she sensed my presence but she never spied me, too good I had become as a hunter of my prey. I was proud of her for noticing though, her keen intuition showed.
We finally parted ways when she entered "The Corner Store." It was a quaint bookstore where she warmly greeted the women working behind the counter, and some of the patrons, too, before heading into a backroom. I entered the store about ten minutes later, and engaged the twenty-something clerk in conversation. It wasn't difficult to do as she kept batting her eyes and wrapping her curls around her fingers as she leaned against the counter hoping to bring my attention to her push-up bra enhanced breasts. But after my earlier view of perfection in suede, shit, her dimunitive assets didn't stand a chance. Nonetheless, I indulged her long enough to find out that my crushed velvet lady was the new owner of this establishment, and worked there most days of the week.
As I left for my delayed workout I couldn't help but hum my satisfaction, I had her now.
For the next couple of weeks I became her shadow, finding reasons to leave my office early or arrive late so that I could walk with her from the train to get her morning indulgence. Every time I saw the crowds in Starbucks I thanked my broker for urging me to buy their stock. While I enjoyed a good, strong cup of coffee, I usually had my personal blend brewed for me at work, but she definitely made me reconsider what I had been missing.
The first time I watched her sip her morning brew it was an intoxicating sight. I had arrived an hour before her not yet knowing that she was never early and most often late. Her coffee time hovered between 9:15 and 10 a.m. I was sitting at a corner table reading the Journal. I kept the paper raised high to keep attention away from me, yet I had a clear shot of the door and window, and was just a few tables away from the creamers station.
She entered the room wearing a honey colored sweater dress that hugged her every curve. Even the small roll of fat along her back seemed sexy to me, more places to fondle, to nibble, to inhale. Suddenly my pants felt too snug, and I shifted to find a more comfortable position. I watched her prepare her coffee, her posture seemed to radiate her delight as first she inhaled the fragrance, and then flicked her tongue over the plastic lid as if testing the heat. Her pouty lips wrapped around the hole in the lid, and her eyes closed with the first sip. Her husky, soft moan caressed my ear, and suddenly no shifting would elevate the pressure in my slacks. I was rock hard and interested. I missed her exit, because I couldn't chance staring at her again. I knew she would have felt the intensity of my lust, and neither of us was yet ready for that.
But after three weeks of this cat and mouse, hide and seek, the time was indeed right!
One last thing and I was ready, but where on earth was I going to find a cherry red butt plug at this hour. Glancing nervously I checked the time, 9:45 p.m. I pressed on the accelerator, shifted gears, and gripped the steering wheel of my sporty Jag, doing 85 in a 55 speed zone. God, I could only hope my luck would hold.
"Luck?!" I mused, "is that what I'd call all of this?"
"My God, I'm so sorry,"
Hot coffee, barely missed splashing my arms and chest as I walked directly into a man who was exiting the Starbucks as I was entering. He barely acknowledged me, unless a grumbling snarl is an acknowledgement, as he walked past me into the street.
"Well, excuse me," I grumbled back. But honestly, I was grateful as I checked to see that I hadn't stained my new Herve dress shirt. I hate it when I can't even begin a day looking as clean and crisp as I'd like. But who was I kidding, I'm a walking target for stains, it's just my nature, if it can be stained, it will be stained, that seems to be my fashion Karma. I always longed to be one of those women who looked my best at all times in all situations, like eating a plate of rich marina while wearing a crisp white linen pantsuit. I snorted softly at the thought.
Snapping out of my reverie I noted I was still blocking the doorway. What's wrong with me this morning?
"I'm sorry, please forgive me." Stepping quickly to my right, I turned to flash the person behind me a smile of apology, when I hit a solid wall of flesh, bounced back a step, stepped on a woman's foot who was standing by the creamery, and would have fallen flat on my face had it not been for two impossibly strong hands setting me aright.
A low, husky chuckle rumbled through the chest I was now pressed upon against. And what an impressively broad chest it was, too. Though I had originally placed my palms on this chest to stabilize myself, my wanton fingertips couldn't help but curl inward and stroke the fine linen of his pressed shirt, reveling at the firm pectoral muscles beneath it. Just one more second and I'll step away, I promised myself, as I inhaled deeply and felt a sharp pang of awareness and pleasure surge through me. Fahrenheit! The owner of this delicious chest was also wearing my favorite cologne in existence! The spicy blend of sandalwood and ginger and some other exotic blend released the flood gates of my memory, and I was instantly reminded of my last night with Francisco, his scent enveloped me as he teased his index finger along my inner thigh, forcing me to open wider for him. We were at dinner, Lucia's, and the place was packed. We were in a round booth in the middle of the restaurant; people were all around us, though fully engaged in their own meals and conversations. He loved to tease me in public, put me on edge, aching for release. He knew how much I wanted to beg him to take me right there and then. But, I didn't dare move too much or speak for fear I would give myself away or be seen. Yes that, and because I so loved the tantalizing game.
"Do you always moan against perfect strangers?"
Jerking back into the present, my eyes popped open, and I stared up into the most captivating face I had ever seen. His eyes were a coke bottle green, light enough to remind me of the approaching spring. And those lips, pink, so pink and plump, they looked succulent and ripe for sucking. Then I watched them curl into a knowing smirk, and his eyes registered that he may have known just what I was thinking.
"What?" I pushed back, dropping my hands from his chest. "I - I - excuse me you can let me go now."
You maintained your hold, not tight but firm.
"So do you?"
I blinked up at you. "Do I what?" Now feeling flustered enough to think we shouldn't be doing this, not here in public, and yet what were we doing exactly? My mind was struggling to make sense of the situation, ordinary as it was a woman walks too fast in a coffee shop, and jostles several patrons, no problem - simple, right? Why then, was my heart racing, and breath shallow like I was just about to be kissed or worse yet had already been kissed - deep, soulfully, raking my very being with his lust.
You repeated your initial question extra slowly. You were clearly amused.
"Oh, that? I.. " I stopped and took a deep breath, forcing myself not to stutter again. "I don't know what you're talking about." So I couldn't look him in the eye when I said it, okay so kill me, had I really moaned aloud? I was ready to shrink into the earth.
"Yes you did," you said, answering my unspoken question. "You emitted a soft, throaty moan."
You paused and waited for me to look at you again.
"At first I thought you were hurt, so I looked down and there you were eyes closed, neck slightly arched, biting your bottom lip, and moaning. Do you know what that does to a man, seeing a beautiful woman enacting her lust for him so early in the morning?" Your lips held that same teasing smile, but your eyes seemed to sparkle with heat.
"Umm, no," I whispered, shaking my head. Heaven help me, I couldn't think of anything better to say. Beautiful woman? Me? Clumsy, train-wreck-on-wheels, me? It would have been laughable, were I able to get enough saliva together to squeak. Did I really do that? It was his stroking hands rubbing along my arms that snapped me out of my lull.
I shook my head, and stepped back enough this time to break your hold.
"Well, I don't know what came over me exactly, and I'm sorry for, um, taking your time and bumping into you earlier. Okay? Sorry." I turned away, hoping for a safe getaway. Scanning the room I noted that the morning rush had died down and no one was staring at us, thankfully. At least I had only made a fool of myself in front of him and not the entire room.
"Wait a second, not so fast." Your hand fell on my shoulder.
"Really, I'm sorry for the bother but I'm not interested."
"Not interested, in what?" Your lips twisted in that sexy smirk that told me you had me again. "I was just trying to give you your handbag." You motioned to it hanging in your fist. "What did you think I wanted?" Your sexy eyes held my own. I couldn't move and was finding it difficult to breathe.
"I don't know, I just thought - I mean - You know what it doesn't really matter."
"No?" You stepped closer lifting my chin with your thick index finger, your thumb lightly stroked my chin, the nail grazed the curve of my lip.
"I think you do know what you mean. I think we're sharing a meaning actually." Taking my hand you led me to an overstuffed chair near the window. "Here, have a seat, and let me buy you a cup of coffee, okay?"
Your smile was so reassuring, and by that time I really did need to sit down, so I agreed.
"I'll have a Café Mocha -"
"-chino. Got it. I'll be right back." You gave me a saucy wink as you headed for the counter.
I sank back into the sofa and took a moment to catch my breath. What on earth was going on?