4 comments/ 15501 views/ 1 favorites Ten Minutes By: Susan Dreamer I'm at a gallery opening, a warm evening, an elegant crowd. I have only a slight acquaintance with the artist, but I promised her I'd be here. I don't see her anywhere, and I don't know any of the people milling around the large abstract paintings. But the wine is decent, and I had nothing better to do, so I'm not unhappy. I'm wearing a chic little dress, my makeup is fine, and I think I look good. Or at least interesting. People always tell me I look interesting. Am I pretty? Yes, I suppose I am, but sometimes I think I look too serious. After awhile, I notice a woman staring at me. She's about forty, a tall and slender brunette in a knockout black dress. a gorgeous face, all of her just my type, and my heart is suddenly pounding. Can she tell? Yes, I think so. From the way she looks at me, stares at me, it's obvious to me that she can read me like an open book. Some women can do that, they can read me easily, and she's evidently one of them. She knows what I am, and I want her, and my hunger is impossible to deny. Does she want me? She's with a small group, and at intervals she turns to look at me, maybe to see if I'm still there. Finally, she leaves the group and she walks toward me. My heart is pounding again, and as our eyes meet, I feel myself trembling. She walks right up to me and she extends her hand. "Hello, I'm Margot. And you? She continues to hold my hand. I'm still trembling. "Susan." She smiles. "Hello, Susan. You're pretty." "Thank you." Her eyes are locked with mine, a fixed stare. Is she reading everything in my mind? I blush again and look away. Finally, she says: "I'm going to the washroom. Why don't you come with me?" It's not really a suggestion, it's more like a statement of fact. She's going to the washroom, and she wants me to come with her, and of course I'll do that. My doing that was already obvious to her the first time our eyes met. She leads the way through the crowd, which gives me the opportunity to take her in from the back, her long legs, her narrow hips, her firm-looking ass so evident under her flimsy knockout dress. Now I'm more hungry than ever. And afraid. I know nothing about her, and I have no idea how cruel she might be. The washroom is a small room designed for one person at a time, but no one is in the corridor, and we slip into the room together and she immediately locks the door. She smiles at me, but she says nothing. She looks at herself in the mirror, pats her hair, then she walks to the commode and she puts the cover down. The commode is near the wall, and she leans against the wall and she carefully lifts the hem of her dress until her black lace panties are exposed, her panties and her sheer black thigh-highs, the stockings with wide lace tops. While holding the dress at her waist, she raises one leg and plants her high heeled shoe on the top of the commode as she leans against the wall to maintain her balance. "Hurry, I need to get back," she says. It's all very matter-of-fact. She knows all about me, knew all about me from the beginning, knew I'd be willing, hungry for it, knew that the first time she looked at me. I don't say anything. I don't ask any questions. I'm afraid if I ask a question she'll be annoyed. I know what she wants anyway. Or at least most of it. I move forward and squat before her, get my face between her spread thighs and start nuzzling and licking the crotch of her panties. She's damp and ripe and I can smell her, the scent of an aroused cunt increasing my hunger. She suddenly tells me to stop, and I pull my face away. She removes her foot from the commode, stands on two legs, and she quickly peels her panties down, drops them to her ankles and steps out of them. She's in a hurry. She leaves her panties on the floor and she puts her foot on the commode again. "Come on," she says. I move in again, no time to have a good look at her cunt, her trimmed dark bush, the full lips, she wants my mouth immediately, and in a moment my face is once again buried between her thighs, this time my mouth filled with her soft wetness, her flesh, her thick lips and the trimmed hair. I devour her. I adore her. Her nectar is both tangy and sweet, delicious and plentiful. I lick and suck and rub my nose and mouth over her lips and clitoris, rub and suck hard until she moans and comes against my face. She holds my head with one hand as she humps against my sucking mouth. My mouth still on her cunt, I look up at her. When our eyes meet, she says: "I need to pee." I remain where I am, and she chuckles as she realizes what it means. "Oh, you're very naughty," she says. "Hold still and keep your mouth open." Is she surprised? Maybe not. I press my mouth against her cunt, my mouth open and waiting. An instant later she groans and streams into my open mouth, a hot and delicate brine. I manage to get all of it, not a drop escapes my mouth. When she's finally finished, she gives a last groan and she pushes my face away. "You're delicious," she says. I retrieve her panties, and when I rise, I hand them to her. "And you too." "I want your phone number." "Okay." Will she call? I don't know. When we're ready to leave the washroom, she unlocks the door and we walk out. There's a man in the corridor, but he gives us only a cursory glance as he enters the men's washroom. When I rejoin the crowd in the gallery, my friend, the artist, is there, and she comes to me with a smile and we start talking about her paintings. Ten Minutes The first 12 victims were too embarrassed or two ashamed to file a police report. He wasn't as lucky with number 13. She was a little older than the others, although she looked 25. She was a waitress by choice and had made herself a vow on her 18 birthday - as her Dad was packing the car and getting ready to get rid of her - to never take crap from anyone again. So when the pervert with the twisted, painted face was done with her and had dropped her in an alley near Tremont Street, she ripped the cloth bag off her head, picked up her crying three year old, and began walking, unsteadily, toward the 7th precinct. She was taken downstairs to the assault center. A robotic woman about her age asked a battery of questions while the night janitor made a little bed in the corner and coaxed her daughter to sleep. After it was determined that no rape had occurred, the woman led her into a large bathroom and told her strip. She calmly made notes and drew sketches on the Victim Template Sheet detailing the condition of the victim's body and noted the small bruises on her shoulders and back. She showered alone and the anger grew. After she had cleaned up (on the outside) she spent most of the rest of the evening at the station, answering questions and sipping steaming coffee from sturdy paper cups with angel wing tabs. Detective Rizzo, the night manager in the assault center, got the case. He was the last one she talked to that evening. He sent a squad car to the alley on Tremont to pick up the child's car seat and put a bulletin out on her car. Some cops quickly found it - keys in the ignition - on Luray Street. At 5 a.m. she was released to the grey stillness that hangs like a cloud in the air before dawn. Detective Rizzo helped anchor the car seat in her car. "How could I have not seen that creep when I put her in the car seat? He was lying right on the floor." "Don't beat yourself up. You're both okay, and that's a good thing," Rizzo said. "Am I the first or is this some kind of serial thing?" "This is the first time we've heard this kind of story," Rizzo said. "But I'll check around town and see if anyone else has anything. Are you all right?" "Fine," she replied through gritted teeth. "Go home and take it easy," he advised. "Maybe take a couple days off. And don't worry Miss, we're gonna nail this bastard." She climbed in the front seat and cranked up the car. He watched her pull into the traffic lane and disappear down the street, knowing there was little chance they were ever going to nail the bastard. ----------- The deed had become a ritual. He would spend three or four days cruising a random neighborhood in Boston, looking for a pretty young thing with a child in tow. When a suitable candidate was found, he would follow her home and check for evidence of a husband or strong man in the picture. If none was found, he would take a picture of her with his cell phone. In his studio in the basement, behind the false book case, he would print the picture and hang it on the velvet wall, dead center, in the position of honor. Then he would sit in a cheap aluminum lawn chair and stare at the picture until he knew he had to have her. Then he would begin to follow her and wait for a safe opportunity. And then he would take her. All of the women were the same -- 20 to 30 years old, single, with young children under the age of three or four. He preferred the children to be boys, but he was flexible on that point. The woman were all blond, with straight stringy hair that hung to the shoulders or just beyond. All thin, with long faces and pretty eyes. He felt the sparkle in the eyes was what really made a woman beautiful. He varied his method of abduction as much as possible. He preferred an open car door and lying on the floor of the back seat, but not many cars were unlocked these days, what with the crime and all. It was 7 p.m. on a warm May night in Chelsea when he went for victim number 19. She seemed a little younger than the others, around 20, but was dragging a three or four year old boy around by the arm so she must have started early in life. He disapproved of her sexual mores. He watched her buckle the kid into a large car seat in the back of her white Ford Focus, then brush a wandering strand of hair behind her ear. "Slut," he whispered as he approached the car. He knocked on her window as she started the car. She looked up inquisitively and rolled down the window. "What is it, officer," she asked as she stared at his blue jacket and gold badge. "You've got a problem with your rear tire, M'am. Step out of the car please so I can show you." She unbuckled her seat belt and hopped out of the car. He stuck his gun into her ribs. "Into the passenger seat," he ordered and swung her around the car. "Oh God," she said and took a deep breath. He paused with her outside the passenger door. "I'm not going to rape you and I'm not going to kill you or the kid. Just play it smart and you'll be all right. Do you understand?" "Yes sir," she whispered. He buckled her into the passenger seat and fled around the car. He popped into the driver's seat, still pointing the gun at her slender waist. He pulled a blindfold from his pocket. "Put this on," he instructed and she complied. He started the car and turned back to smile at the boy in the back seat. "Hi," he said with a big smile. "Just gonna take care of some business son, then home you go." He put the car in gear and started rolling out of the parking lot. He heard the woman's breathing growing rapid, deep and shallow. She was on the verge of hyperventilating. "Relax, honey" he said reassuringly. "I wasn't lying to you, you're going to be all right." He drove to the loft in Southie that he rented as "an artistic studio." He led them inside. In the corner was a table and chair. He guided the boy over to the table. On top was a collection of crayons and coloring books. "Why don't you color a picture while I talk to you Mom in the next room." The woman started to protest but he grabbed her arm sharply and she went silent. The boy dove into the books and selected a picture. He began to color. The man led her into the adjoining room and closed the door. The room was bare, just a series of rough hewn beams and wide naked floor boards. A single end table was in the middle of the room with a white digital timer on it. "Get out your wallet," he said sternly. "Show me your driver's license." She fished her driver's license from the handbag on her shoulder and handed it to him. He examined it carefully. "All right Karen Thompson of 1841 Summerville Road in Natick, I know where you live. Do you understand that? I know how to get to you." She nodded in terror. He took the gun out his pocket. "Here's the deal," he said. "I gonna start that timer over there and then you've got ten minutes to make me cum. If I haven't shot my load when that timer goes off then I'm gonna shoot you in the head. Do you understand?" She nodded and tears began to stream from her eyes. "Crying will probably distract you," he said coldly. "I recommend you focus." He led her to a spot next to the table and motioned for her to kneel. She knelt on the floor, hands on her thighs, tears blurring her sight. He stepped back, kicked off his shoes, and stepped out of his pants and boxers. She looked at his cock and it sprung to life. He admired his smooth round erection. A drop of precum glistened in tip. As always, this wouldn't take long. No woman had ever failed to make him cum in less than ten minutes -- most had brought him to a shattering orgasm within a couple minutes. It's amazing how much incentive a loaded gun brings to a blowjob. There was even one, number 7, who had teased him. Getting him to the edge many times, checking the timer, and then backing off. She had been fantastic and he had felt a seizure in his balls when he exploded into her mouth. What was her name? 'Carol.' Yes, he was pretty sure he name was Carol. He took his dick and slapped it a couple times on Karen's forehead. "You can get topless or naked it you think it will get more off faster," he said. "I'm sure it will." She didn't respond. "Okay," he said, "I'll give you an extra 30 seconds because I like you." He set the timer for 10 minutes and thirty seconds. "Ready?" There was no response. He started the timer and she watched the large black seconds on the gray background begin to disappear. He cocked the gun and pushed it against her temple. She took a deep breath and wrapped a tiny hand around his monster cock. She began to stroke it, awkwardly, next to her nose. The seconds disappeared like rain down a storm drain. This continued for a couple minutes. He was getting nothing out of this, getting nowhere. He looked at the clock. Only seven minutes left. "What the hell," he said angrily. "Get to work." The tears had stopped. She looked up at him with big blue eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing," she said. "What do you mean?" "I don't know how to do this. I've never done this. I'm a good girl." "What is that supposed to mean?" "I'm a virgin." He stopped the timer. "How the hell are you a virgin when your kid is in the next room?" "That's not my kid," she shouted. "I'm his babysitter." He uncocked the gun and pointed it to the floor. "Then I sincerely apologize," he said weakly. "You don't fit the profile." She knelt, hand still unconsciously wrapped around his dick, waiting. "On the other hand," he said, "I've gone to a lot of trouble here these past two weeks. And you gotta learn sooner or later." He pushed the barrel of the gun back into her temple. "So let's get back to work." He pushed the red button on the timer and the seconds began to silently tick away. "Tell me what to do," she said quietly. "All right. Put my dick in your mouth and lick it and suck it." She closed her eyes and complied. It took a minute to figure it out but soon she was sliding up and down a few inches on his rod and roughly pulling his cock. He put his large free hand on the back of her head and began guiding her at the right pace. She began to relax and slide and twist her hand over his bulging cock. He tried to push her head further down his cock but she gagged and pulled away. "Sorry," he said. She went back to work on his thick hard cock. She was still very awkward and he could see saliva dripping out of the bottom of her mouth and splashing to the floor. He finally had her on a rhythm that was working and he felt his cock tightening. He looked at the clock. Only one minute left. "You gotta hurry, honey, you're running out of time," he said urgently. She opened her eyes, looked at the timer, and let out a yelp. She closed her eyes and began to work on his cock frantically. She yanked on his cock with abandon and slid it in and out of her mouth, sucking on it with each stroke. He felt it building and begin to encourage her. "Good girl, keep sucking. You're almost there. Suck it. Suck it. Suck it." He felt himself about to explode and jammed his cock down her throat. She gagged but did not pull away. The stillness was broken by the loud buzzing of the timer. He looked over and saw all zeros. He stepped back and pulled his still swollen cock from her mouth. "Dammit," he said. He pulled the trigger. She fell to the floor and began to scream and cry. He picked her up by the shoulder. "It's okay, honey," he said. "No bullets. I'm not a violent man. We should finish now." "You bastard," she cried and sprung to her feet. She knocked him over and began to pound his face and head with her fists. He did his best to shield himself from the blows but she poured them on. Eventually she opened her hands and began to slap him. He didn't try to deflect those shots. She straddled him on the floor. His dick was erect and at attention, wedged up against her ass. She slapped him with her left hand, then her right, without speaking. She kept this up, silently, until she was worn out. She leveled his face with one last slap, then her forehead fell against his forehead. He caught her as she fell and he embraced her. He felt her breath against his neck and he exploded, shooting his cum onto her black pants against her curved ass. She pushed herself up and climbed off him. "You bastard," she said venomously. "That was out of the ordinary," he said as he arose. "But very enjoyable. Come on, let's get you and the boy out of here". He put his pants and shoes on. She tried to straighten herself out and get her act together. He laughed as she walked to the door. His cum was bold and stark against her black pants, clinging to her ass and slipping down the back of her pant legs. She went through the door to the other room first and gasped. A woman with a gun stood in her path. The woman motioned her to the side silently. He came through the door and found himself face to face with the barrel of a Baretta nine millimeter gun, held by victim number 13. "Give me her car keys and put your gun on the floor, slowly." He reached into his pocket and gingerly removed the gun and placed it on the floor. He fished out Karen's car keys and tossed them to her. "You and the boy get lost," 13 said coldly, handing Karen the keys. Karen walked up to him and spit in his face. She walked over to the table, grabbed the boy's hand, and hurriedly left the building. 13 held the gun on the man as he raised his hands halfway into the air. She listened for the sound of the car leaving. "Back for more," he said with a smile. She took him into other room and set the timer for ten minutes. "Kneel," she commanded. She put the gun to his temple. "You've got ten minutes to make your peace with God," she said. He made no effort to take the gun from here. He spent the ten minutes in a fantasy. For ten minutes his mother hovered over him, a rolling pin in hand, ready to beat him senseless. Mother always said: "You've got ten minutes to get ______ done, or you get the rolling pin. The trouble was, he never got the chore done within ten minutes. Not once. So he was so proud of these women, because they had accomplished their tasks within the allotted time. Ten minutes. The buzzer went off. His ten minutes were up. 13 pulled the trigger. There were bullets in her gun. Ten Minutes "Come in here, Babygirl," Daddy called from the bedroom. "I have something for you." She trotted in, curious as always, to see Daddy and a towel with some suspicious lumps underneath it on the bed. "Strip for Daddy." He said with tiny bit of an evil glint in his eye. She took her time, not too much, just enough to give him a little show she knew he'd enjoy. "Get up on the bed, babydoll, I wanna show you something." "Okay, Daddy." She was starting to get the tiniest bit nervous, he hadn't even started to get undressed, and that usually meant she was in some trouble. Not that she didn't enjoy it, just that there was this little stinging anxiety every time that something like this was going to happen. She didn't know what he was going to do, she knew she'd like it, but the tiny little fear was always there. He started out by securing her wrists to the headboard of the bed. This, at least she was used to, and he stroked her gently until he felt she was calm enough. He pulled out some rope from under the towel. "I've been practicing tying knots, babygirl. How do you feel about that?" "Sounds fun, Daddy." She couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice, but she definitely wanted to try this, she knew he'd been working on it for a while. He started wrapping rope around her ankles, one at a time, and eventually tied them up to the headboard as well, leaving her open and available and feeling really vulnerable. He left her enough room to move her knees a little, but not much, after the time she punched him in the face by mistake while she was cumming he wasn't taking any chances with legs getting loose. He moved the towel and let her see the toys he'd gotten ready for her. A paddle, a belt, some other things she wasn't sure about, butt plugs, lube, vibrators, she was doubly anxious and doubly turned on all in the same second. She also noticed a kitchen timer, it looked out of place there, with all the sex toys and spanking implements, and she had a sneaking (and sinking) suspicion that it was somehow going to be involved with this game Daddy had thought up. "Daddy, what's the timer for?" "I'm glad you asked, babydoll. The timer is the best part of this game. Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to set the timer for ten minutes and play with you. If you don't cum, I'm going to spank you for a minute." He paused and she thought *This doesn't sound too bad.* "Then I'll set the timer for nine minutes, and play with you, and if you don't cum I'll spank you for two minutes, and so on..." "Oh crap." Was all she could think to say at that point. He knew sometimes it was difficult for her to orgasm, and putting a time limit on her was going to make it even tougher, at least at the beginning. He had plenty of other ideas on how to drag this out for a while anyway, and he planned to use them. "Okay, babygirl, are you ready to start?" He turned the timer to ten minutes and waited for her response. "Yes, Daddy," she knew what she was supposed to say, and it came out even though she wasn't really sure she was ready. She was tied up, though, and if she didn't manage to get this started she was going to be cramped as hell later. That, in and of itself, was motivation to start the party that Daddy was so obviously ready for. He made sure the timer was on ten minutes, then dipped one finger into her already wet pussy. "Oh, this idea has you wet already?" The question was so obviously rhetorical, but she nodded with wide eyes anyway, occasionally looking over at the assortment of objects on the bed next to her, wondering what he was going to do next. "It's not time for any of those things yet, babydoll. Let's see how you like my finger." He ran one finger over and around her pussy and clit, arousing her but not even coming close to giving her enough pressure to come close. It felt good. She strained toward him trying to get him to press harder, press on the magic spot, but he just smiled and kept that finger moving, exciting her, but not allowing her even the hope of getting off. Ten minutes of this had her moaning in frustration and need, and wetter than she'd ever been before, but without a hope of an orgasm before the timer went off and the promised minute of spanking started. He used his hand. It started more gently than his usual spanks, because he was going for time and effect, and he knew the effect would spread out over time. She still strained toward his hand though, enjoying what he was doing to her even as her ass was stinging and burning. He spanked her pussy a few times at the end, and she was obviously into that as well, although she'd expressed anxiety when he'd brought it up before. He knew her well, though, she lost a lot of anxiety as soon as she started getting turned on, and she would have told him outright if she didn't want to try something. The timer went off at the end of a minute, and he was resetting it. "Ready for round two?" She was still trying to regain composure from the spanking, which although light, had turned her on even more. "Yes, Daddy," her voice sounded much more strangled than it did the first time. This time he barely touched her clit, sliding his fingers mostly in and out of her wet pussy for the first few minutes, then transferring one to her ass. He would rub her clit every so often, but not nearly enough for her to get the pressure she needed. She'd known he'd draw this game out some, but there were some "Please, Daddies," sprinkled among her moans now. He wasn't ready to give her what she wanted yet, though, and was going to make her wait. Begging was nice, but he knew what he was doing to her, intentionally, and the buildup was going to be amazing for her. The timer went off, and he picked up a little wooden paddle. "Are you ready for this, babygirl?" "But, Daddy..." She started before she could stop it "What is it?" "I don't know if I can cum like this." "Oh, babygirl, you're gonna cum." He was all confident Daddy then. "I guarantee it. I can't wait to hear you scream. Now are you ready?" She held out for a few seconds before she said what he was waiting for. "Yes, Daddy." He set the timer for two minutes and went to work, starting slowly but making it more intense for her as she could take it. That thin little paddle stung, but not too bad, and he didn't get her in the same place *too* many times in a row. She was feeling more confident. She could take this. It was going to be okay. The timer went off, and she relaxed. She had started to feel that she could handle whatever he was going to do. Not exactly that it was going to be easy, just that she could take it. "Seven minutes this time, babygirl." He set the timer and didn't even ask if she was ready before he bent forward and gave her pussy a lick. "You taste divine." He ran his tongue over her lightly, then moved to her open thighs and began kissing and nibbling them. Sometimes harder love bites caused her to gasp. He slowly worked his way back down her thighs to her center, gave her a few slow licks, then worked his way back up her thighs. She was struggling against the ropes for real now, and he smiled to himself. This was much more fun than he'd thought it would be. She responded so well. She was getting more vocal, and he loved hearing her. He still wasn't going to give her enough to cum, though, and she was begging more and more. She was sweating, he noticed and turned the fan on. He wasn't cruel, much. The timer went off and she was panting, still straining toward him when he picked up the belt. "Oooh nooo Daddy, I don't think I can take the belt for three minutes." "Of course you can, babygirl. You're gonna make Daddy proud of his good girl, aren't you?" "But Daddy..." "You know I will never hurt you?" "Yes, Daddy." He loved hearing her say it. "Are you ready, babygirl?" "Yes, Daddy." He set the timer for three minutes and started with the belt. The pink from the paddle hadn't completely faded, and he was careful to not get too intense. She was not helping him much, obviously straining for the next spank about half the time, and just hanging in the restraints and taking it the other half with those moans that said please don't stop. The fact that he was going easy on her ass didn't keep it from being cherry red again by the time the timer went off, but she did look a little disappointed when it was over. It had been intense, but not really all that painful, and she'd obviously enjoyed it. He set the timer for six minutes and picked up one of the smaller butt plugs. He started out by pressing it into her pussy and starting to rim her with a finger from his other hand that had been lubed. The plug was enough to start her moaning again almost instantly, although the anal stimulation got her attention as well. It was no surprise when after a couple of minutes of very thorough lubing with his finger he started pressing the plug against her ass, slowly pressing it into her. He listened to her breathing, her begging, and every so often pulled it back only to press it slowly back in again. When she'd take as much as she could, he'd tickle her clit a little and stop, wait for her to relax, and press a little farther, then pull back and do it all again. He'd slid it all the way into her when the timer went off. "Oh, I forgot the nipple clamps." He turned around and dug in his drawer until he came out with a pair of clamps with bells on them. "You'll look great with these, and we'll be able to hear every time you get excited enough to move." If it was possible for her to turn redder, she would have, but it was clear that wasn't going to be able to happen. Her blush did spread farther down her breasts though as he licked and sucked and tugged at her already-hard nipples until he was satisfied, then clipped the clamps on. "Are you ready?" "Yes, Daddy." She wasn't sure if she was or not, but the sensations were starting to overcome her. Everything was blending together in one hot mess, and she was too busy sorting through how things felt to worry about what was coming next. A bigger, wooden paddle came next, and it was only with the first stroke that she truly realized the butt plug was still firmly lodged inside her. Her eyes opened wide as the paddle stroke nudged the plug and reminded her of it's presence. He was even more careful this time, making sure she got strokes in a measured sequence, counting seconds in between. Four minutes was a long spanking, and he had no intention of damaging his sweet babygirl who looked so sexily adorable spread apart, blushing, and taking what he wanted to give her. He made the strokes sting, but made sure his girl was enjoying it as well. About halfway through he picked up a different butt plug, a heavy glass spiral one and showed it to her. "This is what you're getting next." He grinned evilly at her sharp intake of breath. "Why don't you start getting it wet for me?" He slid it into her willing mouth while he continued spanking her, listening to her now slightly muffled moans and squeaks while he enjoyed reddening her tender ass. The timer went off and she relaxed just in time for him to pull out the first plug. "How well did you lube that, babygirl?" He looked at it assessingly. "Your hot little mouth did an adequate job, but let's play a little more." He slid the plug into her pussy, giving her ass a little time to tighten back up before he started on this one. It was not only a little larger, but also the spiral was going to offer her some interesting bumps when he started to press it into her. "Daddy..." She started. "Ssssh babygirl, it's only five minutes." He turned his head before she could see him smiling. "But Daddy..." Her speech was slurred and he was inordinately proud of himself. "Ooooh, I forgot to set the timer, you're such a good girl for reminding me. I guess you get the full five minutes." He set it for five and started pressing the plug against her ass, the spiral ridges doing exactly what he expected. With the other hand, he picked up a wand that she hadn't been able to see due to where it was lying. "Did I tell you once you cum, you get to keep cumming 'til the timer goes off?" "But Daddy, I can't..." "Of course you can, babygirl." He turned the wand on low and set it against her clit while he worked that spiral plug into her ass. Every thirty seconds he turned it up. It took exactly two minutes for her to start screaming and cumming. She was screaming his name. He loved hearing it. He turned the wand down a little and just held it against her as he worked that spiral plug in and out of her, the ridges doing their magic. As the timer went off, she stiffened one last time and passed out for a minute. He was untying her when she woke up, it had only been a few moments, but he was already getting her legs down. He got her arms undone and pulled her close. "How was that, babydoll?" Her response didn't even make sense, and she was asleep, snuggled exactly where she wanted to be in Daddy's arms. Ten Minutes on the Mat with Kym "Still time to back out," I told myself as I sat in the car outside of the Elite Wrestling Academy, which was located at the end of a none too prosperous looking strip mall in Syracuse, New York. Backing the car up and driving back the 150 or so miles to my home in Argyle, New York would have probably been the prudent thing to do since what was waiting for me inside that storefront could end up to be something I would regret, but this was something I wanted to do all my life ever since seeing a picture of a woman named Mildred Burke in a bathing suit flexing her muscles in a wrestling magazine as a kid. The idea of wrestling somebody like that, a wonderfully muscular woman in top physical condition, excited me a whole lot and the concept of doing it went onto my bucket list. Now being divorced and 53 years old, I had decided that it was time to do it before I became too old and frail to enjoy being tossed around. The Elite Wrestling Academy came up when I searched the subject of inter-gender wrestling, and since it was located a good distance away from me I didn't have to worry about being seen doing something that would raise eyebrows for sure. Apparently, while the place was actually used for teaching the art of wrestling to kids and young adults seeking to someday be the next Hulk Hogan much of the time, they also did a brisk business catering to guys like me and during the e-mail exchanges the woman in charge didn't seem to be at all shocked at my interest. The guidelines were strict and the rules were not open for negotiation. I was doing this at my own risk and would be required to sign a waiver to that effect. I was to come alone and there would be no filming or photography allowed, although I would get a picture taken with my opponent before the match, I guess while I was still recognizable. My opponent? The woman's name was Kym Barnes, who was one of the proprietors of the academy, a woman who was supposed to be 33 but I suspected to be a bit older. She was a blond with close cropped hair who had a bit of a Martina Navratalova look to her courtesy of a lantern jaw and a piercing intimidating stare she had on her photo on the site. Below the neck she was an amazon with a body like that of that female wrestler Chyna who was around a while ago. The site claimed she was 5'7 and 170 pounds, and while that might be overweight as far as insurance charts go, if there was an ounce of fat on the woman it wasn't visible. The price was not cheap at all, especially for 10 minutes of wrestling, but in my mind it was worth it. There was also a mention that if a man beat Kym - provided he didn't outweigh her the session was free. At 5'8" and about 145 I qualified, and while I suppose it was within the realm of possibility some man could beat her, it sure as hell wasn't going to be me. Since my wrestling career consisted of a year of very bad grappling for my high school's JV team I wasn't expecting victory, especially since her bicep measurement was not much less that my thigh, but I didn't want to win. I wanted to get tossed around and pinned - not injured mind you because I'm not into pain or humiliation - and since the sessions were private there would be no shame in getting my butt kicked by a woman. Deciding that I had nothing to lose since I had already paid much of the fee upfront, I finally managed to get my ass out of the car and entered the place which smelled like every other gym I had ever been in. There were two women at the desk, with the rest of the place empty since these inter-gender sessions were done behind locked doors after hours with the curtains drawn over the front windows. "Dave?" the woman I recognized as Kym said, and her voice was as gravely as her look suggested. I nodded and got a brief introduction to the other women, a far more feminine young lady who I guessed was there to take a picture of Kym and I. Kym was wearing baggy black sweats, which disappointed me when the picture was taken. The photographer left right after taking the picture, and when Kym let the willowy girl out I saw that the two were more than friends if the kiss they shared was any indication. "Warm up with me for a bit and then we'll get into the main event," Kym said as she led me to the rear where a large red mat filled much of the room and a mirror covered the one wall. "I guess the mat color hides the blood," I said with a smile. "Yeah, but it gets sanitized regularly anyway," Kym informed me as she pulled off her sweats briskly, the snaps that held the legs and sides together sounding like caps as they popped open. "Good grief," I remember mumbling as Kym's wrestling attire was revealed. Short black trunks not unlike those of a boxer, only with what looked like studs in rows on the front, and they were brief enough to expose tree trunks disguised as thighs. Up top, an Olympic-like black top that did little but barely cover Kym's breasts, which were very small and looked more like a man's pecs in the tight fabric. Kym's head looked so tiny but it wasn't. It was her bull-like neck and massive shoulders that made her skull look little, and as she started doing exercises and playing with some equipment over to the side her muscles kept getting bigger and bigger. "Like your chances?" Kym asked as she started flexing in front of me, and although my first inclination was to not stare that wasn't possible. Besides, I was paying for Kym's time and standing right in front of me while she lifted small barbells over her head and reached back, she wasn't shy and seemed to welcome the attention. I was in love with her arms and shoulders, which seemed to get even larger as they took on a glaze of perspiration. Her armpits especially got my attention, since I have a thing about women's underarms to begin with, and when I saw the dense stubble that filled the deep craters I smiled, noting that the five o'clock shadow was several shades darker than her scalp. I wouldn't have minded if Kym was completely unshaven, because it wasn't as if she was feminine to begin with, but seeing what seemed to be the result of a couple of days of not shaving was fine by me. "I can shave my pits if you want," Kym said, her voice bringing me back out of my trance. "Lazy this morning." "NO!" I said very loudly, and she got a kick out of my mumbling afterward, "I mean no, you look fine." "Then let's get it on," Kym said with a grin as she headed over to the other side of the mat, and if I hadn't seen the front of the woman I would have sworn she was a man with that broad back. "Don't hold back." "I won't," I assured her as I moved close to her with my arms out, and in the brief second my hands touched her shoulders I felt how rock hard they were just before I went flying over her hip and onto my back. The sound the mat made was much like the groan that came out of me when I landed, and then Kym was all over me bending my arm back behind me and climbing on top of me. "Had enough?" she snapped as she bounced on me, and while the hold hurt my shoulder it wasn't as bad as Kym could have made it if she had bad intentions. "No," I wheezed and the next thing I knew Kym was wrapping her legs around my waist and squeezing hard while I slapped her thigh. "Tapping out?" Kym asked. "No," I grunted because all I wanted to do was feel her leg, the faint down on her thigh as thrilling as the marble-like muscles that were trying to squeeze the life out of me, and she even lifted me up a little bit and dropped me back down on my ass to show me who was boss. Mercifully she let me up, probably trying to see how she could keep my sorry self in one piece for the 10 minutes I had paid for, and when we tangled again she let me take her down to the mat, something that could not have happened without her help. Kym was slippery. sweating even more than I was, and the strong scent of her fresh perspiration acted like an aphrodisiac as I tried to wrap her up from behind. It was a lame effort on my part to try and duplicate what she had done to me only with me at her back, and I'm sure she could feel my erection against the small of her back as I tried to restrain her. "Got a little fight in you, dontcha?" Kym snapped as I tried to pull her arm back to give her a half nelson of some kind, and she actually pretended to struggle which allowed me to get up close and personal with her bicep that had become even more pumped. The sight of that undulating muscle that was as big as a softball hypnotized me as I got an up-close anatomy lesson watching the tendons and muscles in action. "Trying," I grunted as we had what I thought of as this epic struggle, and Kym let it go on for a bit before she slithered out of the dubious hold my legs had around her waist and then decided that my attempt at applying a half nelson on her was over. "There!" Kym chirped as her arm got away from me and I then found myself in a very sweaty headlock which would have hurt a bit if it wasn't for where I found myself, and I don't think it was by accident that my face ended up buried in Kym's muscular armpit. "You give?" I shook my head because I was being a little smothered and couldn't talk but I didn't care because I was in heaven as my ears were flattened by the vice-like grip my head was in, and judging by the way it felt Kym might not have been holding back much. The coarse stubble of her armpit against my lips and the ripe aroma of her was driving me crazy, and if the entire match was just like this I would have had no problem with that. I even let my tongue slip through my lips and brush her armpit, and when she didn't complain I just blatantly licked the salty cavern while pretending to be trying to escape. Kym's reaction? She started to churn my face into her underarm by cranking up the headlock, sending my head moving up and down and making the licking even easier. I would have cum if she didn't let go of my head and spin to her feet, and as I staggered upright my erection was clear to see and was noticed. "Having fun so far Dave?" Kym asked as she glanced at my boner. "Just warming up," I replied just as Kym slid towards me, her legs taking mine out from under me, and my ass had barely hit the mat before she had me in a figure four leg lock. We were twisted together like a pretzel with Kym dramatically slamming herself back down on the mat while pretending to be applying the actual pressure that would have ripped my knees to shreds. I remember as a kid Buddy Rogers and Ric Flair applying this hold to a lot of victims on the Saturday afternoon wrestling shows but this was a lot better and I wouldn't have rubbed their thigh like I did to the chiseled one that had me twisted and immobile. After letting me back up to my feet after milking that hold for a short break she correctly sensed I needed, I wearily reached out towards Kym as time was running out. That was just as well because I was running out of gas and a brief glance at my reflection in the mirror on the wall confirmed that I was a beaten man. "You want to see yourself Dave?" Kym snarled as her slippery body spun around me, and after applying a full nelson walked me over closer to the mirror. "Take a good look." I looked helpless and pitiful, like a child being toyed with as Kym kept the hold on hard and making my arms flop around futily, her grinning face showing how she reveled in flaunting her physical superiority over me. My shorts were tented out embarrassingly as my erection throbbed away begging for release and the large wet stain that was present was not sweat but my cock drooling. "Want to go night-night Dave?" Kym asked as she changed the hold to what might have been a sleeper hold, and when I felt her apply a little pressure to my neck I grunted no. Kym response was to spin my head around to apply another headlock to me and cackling, "I know you like this," as my face got forced into her other armpit and she ground my face into the sweaty stubble. I came with my cock pressed against her thigh, and while I didn't try to make it happen I did try not to let on when it did, and because my shorts were already a mess I didn't know if Kym even noticed. In any event, it was time to finish me off and I got to watch myself get hoisted into the air just over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes by the glorious Amazon, and although I got the wind knocked out of me when I got slammed down as gently as I suppose was possible it was worth it. "One, two, three," Kym counted as she covered me, her count slow enough so I could enjoy the feel of her breasts as she slapped the mat like a ref. "You're done." Kym jumped up to her feet effortlessly and raised her arms in triumph while looking down at my spent self, allowing me the thrill of seeing those ripped arms one last time before she reached down and grabbed my hand to effortlessly help me to my feet. "Good match," Kym charitably said. "Thank you - for not killing me," I replied which got her to laugh that husky laugh. I fished my wallet out of my slacks and after refusing the offer of using the facilities to clean up I settled up, happy to sit in the car and revel in the scent of taste of Kym for the three hour ride home. "It was everything I hoped it would be," I said as I paid the balance and generously tipped Kym. "You seemed to have fun," Kym said. "Look," I said, not sure I wanted to mention it but feeling guilty. "When we were wrestling..." "It's okay. It happens Dave." "It does?" "Sure. but as long as a guy isn't gross about it, what's the harm?" Kym explained. "If somebody gets out of line I have ways to - let's say dampen their enthusiasm?" "I don't doubt it. You seem to love your work though. I'm surprised you aren't in the WWF or something." "I tried when I was young but it's too much bullshit and the travel sucks. I have a bad back and planes kill me." "I couldn't tell your back hurt when you lifted me over your head," I mentioned and she chuckled at that. "I'm glad that you took it easy on me." "When I started this I had some anger issues," Kym admitted. "I kind of hated men - some bad experiences when I was young - and when the idea of wrestling guys came up I started out by pretending every guy was my Uncle Ray. Then my partners explained to me that putting guys in traction was bad for business so I learned to relax and just enjoying beating them." I'm sorry about that - not about the relaxing part," I told her. "I didn't want to get hurt but I confess what I wanted was to wrestle a woman who was physically imposing. I have no interest in wrestling a man of any shape or size. I've just always had a thing for muscular women." "Among other things," Kym chortled, and I blushed when I was reminded of my none-too-subtle licking. "Hey you're harmless." "Sadly you're right," I told her as I grabbed my clothes and prepared to leave. "Hey Dave," Kym said as she walked over to the side of the gym where were had grappled, giving be another view of her magnificent back, and after she fiddled with something on the wall returned with a tape. "It's not professional quality and it's just a stationary shot of the mat," Kym said as she showed me the tape. "It's more for security purposes than anything else but if you want a memento of our match..." "You're kidding?" "I only offer it to cool guys," Kym said. "Your tip more than paid for the tape itself." "Sold!" I chirped and gave Kym what I would have spent for a bunch of porn that wouldn't be half as hot in my book. "If you ever want a rematch," Kym said as she let me out. "Let me bask in the agony of my defeat for a while," I replied as I headed for my car, nodding at Kym's friend who I would have given anything to trade places with for ten minutes too. I don't know if I will ever go back because that was so good that it would be tough to top that, or even duplicate that experience. Besides, I got a tape that I wasted no time in having transferred to a DVD for posterity, and I didn't even mind that the old guy who ran the store would see it, and judging by the look on his face he didn't mind either. "That was really something," he said as I paid him for the duplication. "That gal - she was really..." "That she is." "If I was younger I would have loved giving her a tussle. I was sectional champ in my weight class back in 1963 but I'm too old now and she would mop the mat up with me worse than she did you." "Bet you weren't too old to make an extra copy for yourself," I suggested, giving him a wink to say I knew I couldn't have stopped him but didn't much care. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't pay much attention to you when I watch it," the proprietor told me. "And I might be old but I'm not dead if you know what I mean." "Elite Wrestling Academy in Syracuse if you want to give Kym a match," I said in leaving. "It was on my bucket list too." *** Thank you for reading. Ten Minutes to Cum Ten minutes of moaning and grunting. * * * * * Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (11 min/mp3) * * * * * Ten Minutes to Midnight They talk about milestones. Those moments that change everything, the solidified and framed memories that you will carry to your grave. Moments that reshape who you are, what you believe in and what you reckon life is all about. They talk about notes that ring, reverberating echoes through the years, new ones blending in with older ones that will never die, reshaping the chord that is you. They talk of many things, but what they really talk about is this. It has no name, only faint clichés that follows in its trail. It can't be stripped down to a single metaphor. There is simply nothing in the world that can contain it. It can only be told, and possibly understood, through stories. I hope my witness to this nameless, this most powerful of moments, will make you close your eyes and remember your own. Just like I have read others and remembered this. *** "Lose the shoes." It's the little differences that stick. Tiny little variations on what is common behaviour in otherwise seemingly similar cultures. Some of them you see immediately, like the southpaw traffic and almost perverted obsession with roundabouts in Britain. Or the way your lunch spins backward when you hurl it up and flush it down in Australia, although I'd have to work pretty hard to tag that phenomena to some Oz national trait. Others are more subtle, because you don't encounter them 24/7. But they are equally confusing. Like shoes in Iceland. Apparently, you don't wear the things. Anna didn't wear the things. Not here at work, at least. And now she stood there a few steps into the hallway of the office, with a sweet smile on her cute-as-a-button face and an implying glare in her eye. She nodded to me to follow her example. And what the hell, when in Rome and all that, what could I do? I untied my shoes and kicked them off, trying to look as if I didn't care about the big gaping hole in the heel of my left sock. I hadn't exactly expected to be showing it to the world today. Little did I know that the only place where an Icelander wore shoes were in public places. Outdoors, in stores and restaurants, and so on. Anna had perfect socks. Clean, white, neat. Of course she did. I felt like an ogre. One would think that Reykjavik would be filled with burly, unshaven Vikings and their burly, unshaven women. Instead, I turned out to be the least neat thing in the whole office of ReKe Tölva's main office. I hadn't slept for thirty-five hours, my clothes were as wrinkled as the landscape, and my three-day shave was more vegetation than the whole barren island could provide. The garbage cans beside every desk in the open office landscape were in better order. But then again, beside Anna Sigundsdottir, anyone would look like a bum. She was, in the simplest of terms, the epitome of loveliness. A wide, pearly smile, glacier blue eyes that could only be described as cosy, and the kind of energetic sway in her walk that made every curve and lovely mound of her fit body whisper 'come here, come here' when she walked. She had hair that the wind loved to carry irresistible strands off and drape over her freckled face. She had a voice and a calling melody in her speech that made dogs and small children pop their heads up and listen, and that made me slightly giddy every time she spoke. She had a golden heart the size of the ocean and a bubbly personality that made me wonder if she wasn't channelling Shirley Temple. She was my elven angel, an enchanting blend of raw sex and impish playfulness in the package of a fairy tale princess, a walking and breathing promise of something unforgettable. *** The occasional curious pair of eyes peeked up from behind computer screens when I followed Anna through the office to the far end. But most people didn't pay enough attention to their pretty co-worker and her not-so-pretty guest. People were generally busy with phone calls or completely lost in the info on their screens. But mostly they just didn't care. The general mood seemed to be much more relaxed than any cubicle hell that I had the displeasure of working in back in the states. "Hey," I said. "I just realised I've no idea what you do. I mean, you said you work with a website. But for what kind of place? What does this company do?" Amazing, isn't it? We had more or less known each other for half a year, but the subject of our professions had never really come up. There had always been much more interesting things to talk about, I guess. She turned and gave me a quizzical look. Then she laughed and said "Computers." With the peculiar prosodies of the Icelandic tongue, the word came out as cum-pyoo-ter. It seems that despite reading and hearing lots of it, their own language makes the actual pronunciation of English very difficult to master. "I forget that it's not obvious to you," she continued, "but it's right there in the name of the company. Tölva means computer. We sell PCs, and we're also the biggest DSL provider in the area. ReKe is short for Reykjavik and Keflavik. That's the area we deliver to. Or rather, where we originally delivered. We are nation wide these days. By far the biggest supplier in Iceland." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Gosh, shut up already miss Anna, you sound like a sales pitch," she said to herself. "Oh, no, it's interesting," I lied. "You're lying." "Ok, I'm lying, you bore me to tears." She stuck a pink tongue out at me and dug in her purse for a key card, which she waved in front of a panel beside an anonymous looking door. A faint click told me that it was unlocked and Anna pulled the door open. It was a much thicker and heavier one than it looked like from the outside. A foot of solid metal, it seemed. A gust of cold air and a roar of fans poured out from inside. "It's the server room," Anna said. "I forgot some papers in here when I went to get you at the airport. Wait here, I'll be right out." She slipped inside and the door closed with a click, completely sealing off the commotion inside. The office produced it's own cacophony of ringing phones, casual conversations and keyboards clattering. A radio churned out rock music at a low volume from one corner, and a window was open to the street in another. As a working environment, it was not exactly peace and quiet, but it still seemed to do wonders to reduce the stress level of the people who worked there. Casual comfortable and relaxed, as well as nicely proportioned, stylish and impeccably clean. Just like Anna. I wasn't dreaming about fucking the brains out of the entire office though. So there was a difference. "You the secret boyfriend?" a voice by my side said. I had been drowsing off to the susurrus of the room, and a blonde spiky hairdo, a movie star face and way too many piercings were peering up at me from the Xerox on my left. The face's owner, a 20-something man with a three-day shave and hands that looked like they could crush bare rock, was busy refilling the machine's paper feeder. He gave me a grin that could either cut glass or charm you to death, before continuing his wrestling game with a stuck paper tray. "Could you give me a hand here?" he said. "Piece of shit is stuck again. I need to pull at three places at the same time." With the spike man's guidance I grabbed hold of the front of the tray, while he banged his fist against the back of the machine. Nothing happened, except a muttered line of profanities from him. Or at least I think he was cursing. The few words I recognised were certainly not nice ones. "No luck?" I said. "No, I need to get medieval on this bastard's ass. But thanks for the help. So, are you sleeping with her or not?" This was getting weirder by the minute. "What? Who?" "You know who," said Spike's voice from behind the copier. "The sex on legs in the server room. The jerk-off fantasy of every human being in this room." "Speak for yourself, Arní," a dark haired girl in a Linux t-shirt at a nearby desk called out. "You know it's you that I want." Spike, or Arní, gave up a laugh. "Ain't gonna happen. You know I'm not into your—things." The Linux girl chuckled. "Denial, denial. All you need is a good hard strap-on up your ass, and you'll come around." Arní said something in Icelandic to the woman. I didn't recognise anything except that it ended with "American". "Me?" Linux laughed. "I'm not the one interrogating him about who he is boning." "Look, I'm not—uuh—sleeping—" I began. "Of course you're not," Arní said. "You just got off the plane for crying out loud. But you're the new guy, aren't you? Jamie—ah—something. The one she's been all girly-giggly and head-in-the-clouds about for weeks. Right?" "I—well, I hope so. Or else she's really been leading me on." *** It had been a spark across proxies and routers that I never thought was possible. A silly little IRC banter one winter night, with just another anonymous line of bytes masked as human response. We talked about nothing, about everything, about the sheer pleasure of sharing a nexus across the dead of wire and digital modulation. A blink of an eye later, hours had passed and my head was tingling with exhaustion. Hours, had it really been that long? I don't even remember what she called herself. It started with an M—whatever. It doesn't matter. She logged on with a different handle every day. But from that first day, I knew. I just knew it was her when another conspicuous handle appeared in the participant list. It was as if I heard her voice, a voice I hadn't even experienced for real. It was in the rhythm of the sentences, the uniqueness of punctuation, the choice of words. All those little things told me that it was her, who she was, what she felt, her mood and her reactions. I imagined her lips shape the words I witnessed on screen, her fingers resting on a keyboard, her eyes scanning my words, the signal I pained for, keystrokes I chose in anguish to find those that would please her the most. I became nothing short of addicted. I clung to my keyboard night after night, my heart stopping every time she revealed herself to me, in a new disguise every time, my heart sinking every time she didn't show up. And every time, there was that sudden rush of dead cold fear. What if she didn't sense what I sensed? What if I meant nothing to her? What if all I was to her was letters on a screen, a little digital amusement, an online pet-project to be discarded when boredom kicked in? What if she was, in fact, just leading me on? *** "Oh, she hasn't." the Linux girl said. "One thing about Anna: She would never lie to me about things like that. But I think she's blowing smoke up your ass right now, though." "What do you mean?" I said. "Do you really think she's still in there collecting paper, like she told you? It's been five minutes! She's probably curled up in a corner, hyperventilating into a bag." "What?" "She told me about picking you up at the airport in the afternoon. She's been a nervous wreck all day. Couldn't sit still at the morning briefing, couldn't answer the phone without her voice trembling, couldn't get a single mouthful down at lunch. I was seriously worried that she'd have a fit and drive off the road on the way out to meet you." Arní chuckled from behind the copier. "So that's what the little cutie was doing all day. I was beginning to wonder." I had to close my eyes and think back. The woman waving at me from the crowd at Keflavijk's arrival gate had radiated warmth, strength and comfort that made my own fluttering worries curl up and blow away. "She didn't seem nervous at all to me." I said But I realised that it wasn't true. There had been little signs, little glitches in the welcoming mask. The way she didn't hold my gaze for more than a few seconds, the way she spoke just a little bit too fast. The small, tense strain in her temple and how she kept her eyes glued to the road when she drove us back to the city. "You didn't see her eyes when she came in now," Linux said. "Nervous is just the beginning. Anna wants you bad, she's totally off-the-chain crazy about you, take my word for it. But I think she's terrified you don't feel the same way." I managed a sheepish grin. It seemed like open honesty was the fad around here, so I could as well jump on the bandwagon. "Well, she has nothing to worry about there. I'm smitten silly, to put it poetically." "Good," the girl said. "Really good. She needs some positive things coming her way, with all the crap she's been through. But for god's sake, don't tell me that you like her. Tell her!" Why hadn't I already? Same old tongue-tied-disease as always, I guess. The concrete in my legs and the local tranquilizer shot to my tongue every time the opportunity and occasion rose to say those words. Words that I had roaring inside of me, words that could cut granite and part oceans. Well, that was then, and this was now. And this time I knew exactly why I didn't say them. "That's a little hard to do with a bomb shelter grade steel door and a digital security lock between us," I said. "Pussy," Arní said, half to me and half to the copier's paper tray that he finally managed to pull free. "Do you call that an obstacle? I proposed to my girlfriend via cell phone in a life raft while the fishing boat I was on sunk to the bottom of the sea. So never give up." "Except," Linux interrupted. "She didn't say yes." "Now, that's another story." Arní said. "Turned out she was already busy jumping the bones of another guy when I called. Anyway, what I mean is that if there's a will, there's a handsome devil with a way. In this case me, and my index finger." "Your—index finger?" I said. "The very same index finger that will punch you the key code to the door." "Oh, that finger." He stood up and went over to the little key panel. Four faint beeps later, there was an even fainter click. Arní pulled down the door handle and carefully opened the heavy door. The rumbling of cooling engines and the chilly air from inside leaked out into the room, slid over my face and surrounded me like the strangest siren's call in human history. Arní peeked into the room and then turned his head back to me and winked. He nodded me closer. "She didn't notice us," he whispered, barely audible over the roar of fans. I glanced into the room, and saw Anna's slender shape sitting with her back against us on a chair. She had her hands clasped behind her neck, and her neck pulled down so her elbows rested on the desk before her. Her upper body rocked slowly back and forth, and she took short, fast breaths. It was a side of her I'd never seen, a far cry from the impish supernova of confidence, the persona she had thrown at me at the airport. It struck me like a slap in the face. She agonized and over-dramatized, just like me, battled her insecurity and every terrible little what-if that she could think of. Just like me. Just like—everybody, I guess. *** That was my milestone, the key definer, the note that would ring for the rest of my life. Seeing her there, at her most private, guard down, vulnerable, human, for real for the very first time, and as scared as I was... that cut the last cord of caution for me, the last qualifier I had set up in defence against what I felt. It made me want to wrap my arms around her and never let go. It made me hell-bent on doing it. Arní looked at me and worded a "go" before stepping aside. I quietly snuck into the room and saw the man close the door again behind me. In the swirl of air and whooshing of fan blades, I didn't hear anything when the door clicked into place again. No wonder Anna just sat there, oblivious of what had happened. Her back was straight now, and her hands covered her face. It almost hurt to look at her. To see that distress in the way she moved her hands, that anxiety in huddling shoulders. But only almost, since I knew how to end it. It had freed me from my own remaining demons, and laid out a path that I was bound to follow. I knew what to do. Or rather, I knew of nothing else. Not even waiting or backing out. Ten careful steps later, I was so close that I could reach out and touch her. My hands could have warmed the goosebumps on her arms, caressed her delicate neck and slid down around, down her neckline, and further. I could have leaned down and kissed her soft skin, breathed in the herbs, perfumes and human fragrances of her hair, and whispered tender words into her ear. But it was not what I wanted, not right then. Instead I held my breath for a few more seconds, drinking in the sight of her beauty, just revelling in the moment before. It was her hands that I was after. The ones she held up before her face now. She tried, it seemed, to read some sense into the lines in her palms, to find an answer to the question that haunts us all. What shall I do? I had the answer. Just let go, let it happen, let me guide you. I knew that I could. And I would. Somehow, I would. I quickly reached around her shoulders and grabbed her wrists. Startled and scared, she cried out in surprise and tried instinctively to break free from my hands. Adrenaline would have given her a fair chance, had I not anticipated it, and tightened the grip. I hoped I wasn't hurting her, but that would be over in a second or two anyway. Lifting her arms above her head, I quickly pulled her around. She spun easily in the rotating office chair, and as soon as she turned around enough to see who I was, her panicked struggling was replaced with a stunned stillness. I took the opportunity to pull her up to me. She stared at me, bewildered, lost for words or notions to guide her through the situation. It was just a moment, just a second of eyes locked to eyes, but it said more about her than all the time we had talked from the airport to her office, more than all the weeks of endless nightly phone calls and webcam chatting, more than all the months of tentative online messaging and email interaction. It said things that you can't even begin to put into words. Because there are no words in that language, only actions. And actions was what I was going for. As long as I spoke in those, no words would get in the way. In an instant, I let go of her wrists, let my arms wrap around her waist, pulled her body to mine and placed my lips on hers. Only then did it occur to me what the hell I was doing. I was kissing her, kissing Anna. Stealing a kiss, feeling the warm sense of her beautiful lips on mine, for the very first time. It was the moment that I had been circling closer and closer to for months. And now it was there. It was all I could do not to scream directly into her mouth. This was it. Everything, the rest of my existence, hanged onto the moment, balanced on the scale of her reaction. It all came down to that one heartbeat. Or so I thought. Apparently, it took Anna's overloaded mind a few more seconds to come around. First, she tore her head away from mine. Then she clenched her hands into fists, bore them into the front of my ribs and pushed me away. Her eyes were all over the place, her face a strange mix of a thousand alien, aggressive emotions, and her voice was strained on the verge of a scream. "What the fuck do you think you..." she began. But then the barbwire attitude frown faded away, and she lost trail of her words. She blinked once, then once again, and looked up into my face. We stood like that, motionless while the impact of the situation solidified around us. It became a cocoon, a universe of two, a shelter of realization that something fundamental had changed. In there, everything was all right, there were no doubts, no second thoughts and hesitation. Slowly, Anna's pose straightened, her tense shoulders relaxed, and her breathing slowed down. What my own body did, I can only guess. I had my entire attention focused on her. A hint of a gleam had woken in her eyes, and a tiny fraction of a smile was forming on her lips. The cocoon shrunk, as she took the step that breached the distance between us. Ten Minutes to Midnight *** This time, it was not a kiss stolen, but one shared, given and accepted, and given back. Then given back again, over and over. Almost no pressure, just lips moving against lips, tongue tips fluttering by. We didn't cling to each other, did not even lean closer. She just slipped her hands into mine, as a statement, a new casual comfort zone claimed for her. They belong there, just like my lips belong on yours. For minutes, or for years, it was impossible to tell which, we stood like that, exchanging guilt-free gifts with nothing but hands on hands and mouths together. Then finally, the time had come for words again. "You bastard," she whispered into my lips. Over the commotion, I could barely hear her. It was more like reading the Braille of her lips brushing against mine. Then louder, in her normal solid and melodic timbre, "You scared the hell out of me." "I'm sorry," I said. "No, you're not." "You're right, I'm not sorry at all." Anna laughed, leaned forward and rested her cheek on my shoulder. I couldn't quite figure out what to do next. I should have been pondering what to tell her, how to figure out what went on in her head, the codes to the vault, the magic password. But the massive task echoing in my mind was whether I should put my arms around her. The idea had its appeal, but it would also mean that I had to let go of her hands, a thought that terrified me to no end. What if I let go, and she disappeared? It was the four-year-old's phobia all over again. The certainty that letting go of my mother's safe hand would tear her away from me forever, that if I relaxed my feverish grip even the tiniest bit, she would be swept away, leaving me alone, in a supermarket nightmare full of mean strangers. I thought I had gotten rid of that feeling forever, that obsessive-compulsive bogeyman spook that made me hold on. But there it was again, just as acute and astute as ever before. What did that say? What did that mean? "Jamie, stop that!" "What?" "You're hurting my hands!" Her hands. Oh, shit. I mumbled an apology and let go. She looked at me with questioning eyes. Still warmth in her eyes, but a little more reserved than before. She must have wondered, is he always like that? I never asked. "It's, ah—I—I'm sorry." was all I could come up with. And for the time being, that seemed to be enough. She gave me a quick smile, and grabbed my arm. "Come, let's get out of here. I'm freezing to death." "But," I said. "What about the—um—paperwork?" Anna turned and gave me another one of those Oh, you adorable oaf-glares that made me fall for her, even months ago when they were only seconds of artful silence on a screen. "There are no papers, Dumbo. And don't pretend like you didn't know that. You know full and well that I was in here ready to bawl my eyes out because I thought you'd decided you didn't like me." "What?! Why would—" "But no matter," she interrupted me. "It seems you were just a slow starter. So, who ratted me out?" Arní and Linux stood huddled over the geek girl's desk when we emerged from the cold noise of the server room out into the warm and tidy silence of the office. Anna strode right over to them and barked something at them in her native tongue. They looked up and looked genuinely afraid for about two seconds, before breaking out into laughter. Anna couldn't help herself, and cracked a wide grin and threw her hands in the air. "They're hopeless. All right...which one of you told him?" "That would be me," Linux said. "And which one let this monster into my lair?" Linux pointed a thumb at Arní, who winced. He had reason to, Anna's palm hit his cheek with a loud clap. "Ow!" he said. "I guess I deserved that." "Damn right you did. You don't let people into my castle. No matter who it is. I'm serious." "Sorry ma'am," he said with a chuckle. "It won't happen again." "Yeah right," Anna said and turned to the Linux girl. "And you—" She grabbed her by the front of the shirt, yanked the girl up from the office chair and gave her a long, sincere kiss on the lips. "Takk! Thank you!" Anna said as she let go. Linux plopped back into her chair, stunned silent. Arní looked from one girl to the other, and then over at where I was standing. "Did that turn you on as much as it did me?" "A gentleman doesn't tell," I replied. "Good thing I'm not a gentleman then. Cause that was hot!" Anna just laughed, and led me by the hand out of the office, out into the city, and a swirl of memories that range from sharp and crisp, to satin red and hazy. The remainder of the day, I immersed myself in every detail of her face, drank myself silly on the smell of her skin and revelled in the perfect blend of strength and balance that was her body in my arms. I got lost in the blossomy lush of her hair, re-lived her life through the stories she told, or sometimes just drifted away on the melody of her speech. It was one of those nights, when details are redundant, where every breath is arousing, every movement a hypnotic sway. One of those nights when everything was a little bit more colourful than usual, when the food was a little bit spicier, the wine a little bit sweeter, when everything you said was a little bit wittier, and everything you heard was a little bit more right. There was a restaurant, baked clams the size of hands, with a taste that could stop wars, and tiny cubes of pickled fish with a taste that could start them again. Wine so spicy you had to sip it with caution and vodka so clean you could drink it like water. There were carefree strolls along back alleys and main streets of a small town with a big city rhythm. There were flashing lights and pumping base beats of some club, shouted conversations and introductions to new and old friends. There were the sounds and smells of the North Atlantic colliding with the wave breakers of the docks, while we shared a cheap bottle of random red swill and dangled our legs over the edge of the quay as the sun never quite set. There were so many things, but only one that I remember with clarity. All the places we went, all the things we did, all the faces we saw, and all I remember is Anna's hand. It never left mine. Not for a second. *** I woke up to the sound of rain, a crisp white noise of light drops hitting a windowpane. I woke up to a gloomy grey morning sky seeping light in through closed but thin curtains. I woke in a wide bed in a small room, with antique wallpaper and designer posters on the walls. And I woke up to Anna, her warm body close to mine, her head on my shoulder and strands of her hair like stray lava beds snaking across my chest. I was still fully dressed, and Anna had snuggled up against me in an oversized T-shirt. I could see two smooth thighs lazily stretched from the edge of it, one resting over my own legs. One of her delicate hands lay softly on the skin of my chest, bared in a half-unbuttoned shirt. It was just one of those serene little moments of perfection in an all too hectic world. One that you wish you could cling on to forever. "Good morning," came a whisper from beside me. Anna shifted a little, and I felt tell-tale shapes and curves rub against me from two sheets of fabric away, and her leg rode up higher on mine. "Hey," I mumbled. "I thought you were asleep." "At three in the afternoon? I've been up since long. I just came back for a nap with you. You're a really nice pillow." "It must be the jet-lag," I grunted. "I lost almost a whole night flying here, and I didn't manage to sleep on the plane." "Talk about making up for lost time," Anna said and rose up on an elbow to look down at me. "You simply fell knock-down asleep ten minutes to midnight, just when we got home. Poor, tired thing. I totally run you into the ground." There were new details in her face, features I hadn't noticed last night. The slightest dimples, a fine, pale line across the right temple, one lone freckle high on her left cheek, like a scout to the larger flock further down. Painted and preened up, she had been a porcelain doll yesterday night. She had been too precious to spoil, just too much on the other side of perfection to harbour unchaste lust for. But here, in pale sunlight, in messed up hair and no make-up to hide the actual human, she was beyond beautiful. She was a body and a soul, with all the imperfections and variations that makes them real, and I needed so much to touch them both that it almost hurt. I reached up to brush the freckle with my fingertip. Anna gave me a quizzing look. I just slid my hand to the back of her head, and drew her closer. There was no jet-jag left. There weren't even any traces of wine and liqueur from last night. Only she and me and this perfect afternoon, this more-than-perfect occasion. I had to kiss her. It was more certain than gravity, harder to hold back than tectonic movement. Our lips met like the tide, slowly but with undeniable force, washing away all other notions. From there on, I couldn't even begin to give a fair description. When she slid her leg over, straddled me and sunk her ass right down to rub against my crotch, I lost all sense of direction and time. While still sucking greedily on her tongue, my hands sought out her thighs, and two palms slid up the smooth backside of her legs to cup and firmly squeeze her buttocks through thin cotton. The immediate reaction was a moaning gasp straight into my mouth, and the secondary reaction even more delightful. She broke the kiss and stared down at me with an impish smile, her hair falling like a forest around me. It brushed my face as she rose up, unbuttoning my shirt on her way, until she was sitting straight up, literally in my hands. She had something on her mind, I could see it in the way her eyes moved, in the pace of her breathing. It was the same rhythm that I had learned to love in nothing but her typing at first, then in the prosodies of her voice and nervous winks on a web-cam. Only a hundred times more nuanced, a thousand times more wonderful to watch. The days of screens were over. This was the time for touch, taste and smell. To figure out, hands-on, exactly what she was all about. First went the t-shirt. Just a swift pull over her head, and it went soaring, for a moment filled with air, before collapsing in a pile out of sight. She shook her hair back behind her shoulders, and her full, bare body revealed itself to me. The neck I had dreamed of kissing, the belly-button I longed to flick my tongue into, the shoulders I wanted to wrap my arms around, the breasts, still hugged together in a plain, black bra. I had seen the shadow of this sight before. Once, a tipsy night in front of a fuzzy cell phone camera, when she'd been braver and bolder than ever before, she had sent a batch of bedroom shots with the outline of what I now had in front of, and around me. But this was something else entirely. This was a woman who was not shy anymore, one that had made a decision and was prepared to live by it to the fullest. This was her privacy, and I was invited. I started to pull my hands from under her, but she grabbed my wrists and pushed them back. "Stay put," she said and let go of my wrists. I knew better than to disobey her when she had that tone in her voice. But I couldn't help wondering what she was up to. That question didn't take long to answer. With her gaze locked with mine, and a sly smile on her lips, she slipped a hand inside her panties and started to slowly move her fingers in gentle, circular motions. Her gaze never wavered, but she started to breathe deeper, parted her lips and tilted her head slowly from side to side. It was staring at a beautiful painting, or a fractal flower developing. A visual scene in front of me that I kept falling into, losing more and more of myself to. Her breath a hypnotic pace that lulled me to a different kind of sleep, the growth of sensations blooming from between her legs, the constant connection between my eyes and hers. It didn't matter that she didn't let me touch her. Yet. That would come soon enough, and I had all the time in the world. For now I drank the sight of her willing display, a visual gift more intimate than most kinetic ones. The hand between Anna's legs was rubbing on in a faster and faster pace, and I could see through the panties a hint that she had at least one finger buried fully in her pussy. The sweet and sharp fumes of arousal filled the air between her sex and my face, and teased my nostrils with its warm, wonderful fragrance. Anna's silent breaths were upgraded to short, light moans, and she started to attack her pussy with increasing vigour. It didn't take long before she tore her gaze away from mine, threw her head back and gave up a happy, prolonged groan. I could feel her thighs squeeze and shudder at my hips, and her ass tense up in my hands. She came there, climaxed as the grand finale of some vaudeville act with a one-man audience. Her fingers were still fiercely attacking her pussy, plunging inside of her, and milking a string of pleasure waves out of her body. And all I did was look. All she wanted was to be seen. A little clearer than ever before, a little closer than she'd ever been comfortable with. To let herself go and explore the idea of exposure to the fullest, before she went any further. That's how she explained it to me, later. That it was a final step in the opening up and teasing that had been going on for months, in messages, in pictures, in late night fantasy lovemaking over the phone and in live video streams. Now there was no more revealing left to do. She had shown me the way to her body, given me the key to her sex. Her breath evened out, her eyes once again sought out mine. She had the most satisfied smile and the most calm and confident eyes I had ever seen on a person. "Now," she said. "Now what?" "Now you can fuck me." *** It's the little details that stick. Snapshots from an hour, plunging in to the deep end of the pool, letting myself surrender to the carnal madness that ensued. Her fingers tasting of love juices and night-old red wine, her hair meshing my face, strands blending in with her tongue and lips in ravening, almost violent kisses, her forceful inhales as I sunk deep into her so tender and yet so strong body. Her shoulders and spine flexing against my arms and palms, her buttocks clenching as she rode me, slow and thoroughly, her breasts rocking with the pace of my thrusts as I pounded her, fast and forceful, tiny beads of sweat forming on her thighs, tiny beads of tears rolling down her temples from the corner of her eye, a tiny smile up at my concern, tiny words with massive meaning, "Go on, don't stop, it's all right...." When I came, I poured six months of torturous longing into her clinging pussy, pressed myself as deep, as close to her as I could. It was a love-drunk moment, sleep tipsy, and high on blustering sex, a feeble, feverish attempt to defy both physics and metaphysics, to become one with this angel and occupy the same spot in the space-time continuum. I kept thrusting my aching cock up her soaked hole while she kept her smooth legs wrapped tightly around my waist and her determined arms wrapped around my neck. She came within seconds, arched her back to lift us both off the sheets, hollered something incomprehensible into the air and dug her fingernails into the skin of my back. Afterwards she didn't let me go. She kept her legs and arms around me, and my soft member resting inside of her warm and wet pussy. I just lay down on top of her, kissed her gently on the lips, and whispered the "I love you" that I couldn't for the life of me realize why I hadn't said much, much earlier. Another milestone, some would say. But it didn't feel that way. It was more of a vocal extension of something I had said with every breath the last few days. Anna didn't seem to be very surprised either. "Do you think I'd let you do this if you didn't love me?" she said with a soft laugh. "Hey, you're ruining the moment. I read somewhere that saying 'I love you' to a girl is supposed to be a sure way of getting into her pants." "My pants are on the floor. Be my guest. But I don't think they'll fit you." And there it was again. Her voice, the tempo of her wit, a tone so pleasant it could forgive anything, and could make you forget any misfortunes, just by idle conversation. I realized there and then that it was that, and not her beauty, not the playful grace of her movement, not the intensity of her lovemaking, that was the reason for those three little words. That was all it had begun with, thousands of miles away, in front of a keyboard and bytes on a screen. That's what had taken me on a journey to a strange and barren land that smelled of sulphur, fish and archaic legends. To a land of little differences. But when it comes down to it, also something glorious in common.