My Tormentress

I am writing this in a nice little café. The sun is warm upon my shoulders and the scent of fresh coffee assails my nostrils as I wait. A text arrives and grinning my thumbs fly across the pad in reply. Just thirty minutes before she arrives, hardly anytime really, not nearly enough to tell you about her, and most certainly not enough to tell you about us.

But you should know I think, I think if I could tell you quite how ordinary and extraordinary we are you may well be surprised. But where to start, well the man I see in the reflection on this laptop, is rather anti fashion, truth to tell he’s anti a lot of things, mainly because to have a contra opinion is fun. I enjoy fun, I laugh a lot, I can be surprisingly thoughtful, but I avoid it, preferring instead to make you laugh, smile, if you grin, I know your world just got a little better. I like to make that difference. What else can I say, I’m not good looking, I wear long hair and a beard, both out of date, but she calls me beautiful and when she is here, I believe it. But then I pretty much believe everything she tells me, and I can say hand on heart she has never ever lied to me.

See already we are at her, she does that rather well, turns my head to her. I am grinning as I write this, and I think it will make her grin too, or blush. She doesn’t agree with me I don’t think, when I look at her, she is beautiful. There is not one part of her that makes me think otherwise and I have been privileged to look extensively, my grin now threatens to split my head and a man over yonder is looking most perturbed at what I am writing to make me smile.

Beautiful, that is were we are, She has eyes and a smile that make a sun burn inside me, that is why I think I love making her smile so much. Because it is like standing in the sun on a hot day, with a gentle breeze. It is a moment of perfection. Again she’d disagree and point out that a) I love her and b) I am usually libidinally challenged when I gaze at her so that my blood is not in my brain. Laughing now or at least chuckling as I hear her words in my head, I have to agree, maybe. But and it’s a but she doesn’t see, I can stand and watch people react to her, and when she approves, when she smiles, I can visibly see people relax and become happy. It’s a gift she has, when she smiles at you, it is like a cat being stroked, you brush against that smile purring. People want to make her happy, because it makes them feel good, and I am no exception.

Physically she is shorter than I by a mere inch, I like this it means when I hold her close her head sits on my shoulder and I can bury my nose, my face, in her hair. So soft, it always smells so wonderful. That thought alone makes me pine and checking the clock I can see it is only 20 minutes now.

Her skin is so very soft, and warm, it reminds me of a time when I used to make bread, that warm smell it gives off, the covering of flour that allows your hand to glide over it and the elastic ness pushing back at your hand. It is almost always tanned, so much so that I think the sun must shine just for her some days, and that hint of tan makes her glow even more.

She has just telephoned and ten minutes has just disappeared in a blink, ten minutes less to finish this. Do I care? No of course I don’t. Our words were not of earth shattering import, but to me, they are. Just to sit and talk to her is something that I long for, and precious few are our opportunities to do that. I remember clearly the first time I spoke to her, how surprised I was at her voice, not at all the voice I had imagined in those typed words. Perhaps I should add we met in that most modern of ways upon the internet, on a social networking site, there seems so many now days, so many millions of people trying to reach out. But still she found me, I think she thought I was perhaps more exciting, my profile certainly was, it was designed that way. I wanted excitement, sexual online excitement. She tells me she read through some of my lines and was curious about the person behind my carefully constructed porn lure. I have no reason to disbelieve her, in fact she is unerringly accurate at seeing through me, alarmingly so, it is what makes it so much a necessity that we deal only in truth, no mater how painful, embarrassing or personal, I tell her only the truth.
But let us get back to her voice, I guess I imagined her voice as those telephone voice lines, deep, haughty, her words though outrageously and stunningly explicit, were intelligently placed, her tales well paced and exciting. I imagined her as an English teacher maybe. I laugh now at those misconceptions, her voice has a sing song note to it, I lose myself sometimes in it’s melody and her laugh could make a sailor blush, when we are together and she chuckles it sends tingles up my spine and makes my scalp rush.

Over time we talked a lot; by email, by text, by telephone, those first calls from a trembling hand and she though trembling too sounded so confident. We both do that to each other, with her by my side I could conquer the world, that is how I feel, and I know that my gift to her is similar, I enable her to be the woman I see, the confident, sensuous, decisive wonder that she is.

As we talked we explored our fantasies, it was safe, we would never meet. It seems so childish now, so impossible now, this woman who has wrought such changes in me, who has turned me from self loathing to a man at peace. That is not to say the world is rosy, it is still hard, as I said we see each other all too infrequently but, the man she has created or has helped to emerge is better from the one she met.

The fantasies we discussed she tells me were evident in my day to day messages, not that she could see it then, after all, my tales of a Dominant woman, of wanting to fulfill her needs, although not new, were not something she had explored.

So we talked more, I gave her what little I had fantasied about what little I knew and she, the loving woman that she is, experimented with me. All the while we talked emailed and texted, each day a little more of my mind, my fantasies explained.

The waiter brings a refill and I stretch, my body relaxed though tingling, so little time till she is here, and so much to tell. The coffee is bitter and reminds me of lovemaking, a mouthful of hot coffee, holding her within it, wanting to lavish sensations upon her.

So you see, yes we met, how could we not. I loved her, I had told her, and I held her, I kissed her, and I fell into her eyes. We met time and again, and the world receded for these meetings, a flurry of hands and mouths, I remember vividly her first kiss, her first touch, the first time we made love. I remember too, how I wrote of these things to her and others, how I opened my heart and head for exploration. She continued to explore with me, each new piece of information, she latched too, asking questions, wanting to understand. Wanting to understand something that even I did not. Not at the time.

I recall too, the first time naked, making tea for her, bringing it to her, her relaxed body post coital, how beautiful she looked, and that smile as she took the cup, I felt so loved so wonderful, and that I think is part of it all. She has never taken or demanded, yes, when we have played our intoxicating games she has given instructions, but I want so much to give, to be gifted with that smile, that willingly I follow them and wish I could do more.

So it continues, each time we play, I offer another key to my head to my heart to myself, not because it is demanded, not because she tells me she wants them, but because I can, because it is so small a thing to give yet the only true thing I have to give, myself. She takes them, treasures them and over time has opened new doors within me, doors that I never knew were there, and they are corridors within for her alone to walk.

And that would seem the time to save and print this, I can smell her on the breeze, and I will try and order her coffee before she reaches, not because she demands or expects it but because it will tell her my heart, it will make her smile, and that is all I truly want.

Dedicated for, to and because of a truly wonderful Woman, thank you. db

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