2 comments/ 24511 views/ 1 favorites Grieving for the Love of Laura By: grumpymann As I walked across the parking lot the rain fell on my shaven head and down across my darkened features. I stalked towards the club. My ears were assailed by peels of laughter. I gazed over my shoulder to see two girls' heads covered by a coat running in the rain. One was clothed in a white button-down shirt and plaid skirt. A naughty school girl's uniform, one of the standard costumes worn to a fetish ball. I wondered to my self if she really was a naughty girl, if she had in the total package, including the white cotton panties or even, underneath her swaying skirt, clad only in air. For a moment I felt the familiar stirring of lust rising in the pit of my stomach. I just laughed it off. I don't come to these things to find playmates; I come here just to feel normal, if only for a few hours. At the door I bypass all the people standing in line, clad in everything from full body harnesses and smiles to full medieval garb. Some of them are here to play in public, others to see and be seen; and still others to gawk at the freaks. It crosses my mind how many of the later will leave with a new religion. I walk straight up to the doorman who is explaining to a suburban couple out to walk on the wild side in the dark, dirty, mean city that no way they are getting in here without fetish gear on. I incline my head to him he is an old friend from my hazy, crazy days of drugs and all-night parties. He turns away from them for a second and looks at me. "Hey, man long time no see!" "Yeah, haven't seen you since the Limp show." I give him a hug and a friendly slap on the back. "How's it look in there?" "It's jumping! Go on in." He waves me past the couple. "All right. I will catch up with you later then." I slap him on the arm, and slide inside, where I'm enveloped in the music, something with a dark, driving back beat and a rhythmic, almost sexy, tempo. I hear the man asking my friend why I'm allowed in with out a costume and they aren't. His answer is at once surprising and angering. "He's black. I don't think there are many people inside with a fetish for an overweight couple still stinking of the burbs. Now go, get a costume or get gone!" I let it slide off me. It is true after all, and I have known him for many years. I guess it's good to have friends in low places. I hand my coat to the girl behind the counter. She is dressed as a pony girl she has a smile that lights up the cramped cloak room. I slide a five in her jar. "Thanks! And I hope you enjoy the Ball!" "I'm sure I will," I say as I turn the corner to see the crowd of flesh, leather, lace and lust. This is always a strange time for me when I enter a club. I search the crowd for a familiar face, be it friend or foe. In all my years in the "alt" scene I have had few problems because of my race but the ones I have had were all bad. Fortune favors the prepared. I let my feet lead me to the bar and wait in line for my turn, as the tension of the day begins to easy out of my body. I order a whisky-and-sour, a hard drink for any bartender to screw up. As I make my rounds of the club, silently slipping past the sweaty and, in some cases, sweet smelling bodies. I drink in the world around me. In these dark places I can relax a bit; most of the time people are more than willing to let me be. If I am noted at all it is only because I stand out, the only black face in a sea of white skin. I often wondered if it's because the people here have their own secrets or maybe things have changed, maybe people have left racism to die the death it so richly deserved. But then the couple from the door pass into my vision both wearing collars bought from one of the many vendors here at the Ball and I remember the reason I could so easily walk in with out even that much. And for a moment, I can't seem to blend into the crowd. I'm reminded of how I stand apart from the mass around me. I begin to step back trying to place my back against the wall 'til the feeling passes. I stumble into a few people. Gone for the moment is the grace I have cultivated over years of moving through an abundance of people, be it at a club or a show. But I take no notice of them as I mumble my excuses. I back right into a couple petting heavily on the arm of a couch. That is just what I need to relieve myself of the feeling of being behind enemy lines, to bring me back the realization that here I am home. I raise my drink to my lips and drink in the sour lemon tang and let the bite of the whisky wrap me in its embrace. I look at the face of a woman, her eyes heavily lidded, mouth slightly parted, a sheen of sweat covering her forehead. She rubs her partner's back up and down slowly. In my mind's eye, it's this woman and me who lay in the darkness. her creamy white hand caressing the ebony smoothness that is the skin of my back. Head thrown back, hair flowing, moans escaping her mouth as my lips taste her skin. For a moment I'm lost in my mind's eye as the chaos of where my body is falls away. Flashes cross the screen in my mind, the top of her head nestled between my thighs as my hands grip her hair. Hair falls across her back, sweat pools in the curve of her spine. She lies beneath my arms. My hands grip her shoulders as I drive myself into her, grunts forced from between my lips as I lead us both head-long into that most exquisite of places. My reverie is broken as I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn my head in a flash to look at the owner of the hand, only to stare into the eyes of someone I would never have expected to see in a place like this. And in those eyes I see the look that put a gulf between us that it seemed nothing could span, not even love. It was a look of fear. It was a look with which I have become familiar. I see it almost every day. Coming around the corner, when the elevator doors open, any time I startle anyone, they don't see me a man like any other, just passing, like the hundreds they have passed that day, and how can they? All they see is a six foot; shaven headed, black man, earrings studding his ears, coal dark eyes hovering over a perpetual scowl. In short how can they see me past the thing that stands out amongst all the other things I am? How can they see the man past the buck? The look fades with a practiced speed to be replaced with one of joy. "My God it is you!" Her mouth wears the smile I remember; eyes of the deepest green, so green I can even see the color here in this dark smokey club. Her rosy cheeks are flecked with small red freckles and dimples to die for shine with blush. Her long dyed-black hair is splayed over her shoulders and down her back. We embrace then she presses her cheek to my chest. I hope she can't hear my heart pounding. I fold her in my arms, remembering how she felt, and the slow swell of her hips. The smell of her perfume wafting in my nose makes me heady. How her mere presence used to send my spirit soaring. God how I miss her. We stay like that for a moment, longer than a hug for a friend not seen in a while. And just before she let go, I felt as well as heard her sigh. In that moment I realize that she too, has missed me. We make small talk, both ignoring the stinking body that lay in the middle of the floor between us. I slide between the mass of humanity around us and get a seat not far from where we were. She went off to powder her nose and get us a couple of drinks. I am once again alone; I can't seem to focus on anything. My mind keeps slipping back to the last time I laid eyes on Laura. She and I were leaving a restaurant after a wonderful romantic dinner, my head swimming with wine and the excellence of her company. Her hand in mine, we were passing another couple as obviously in love as we were. I stopped, letting go of her hand to open the door them and wish them a good day. It started with a look, moved on to an accusation, then came the words. "No, I wasn't staring at his woman's ass. No I didn't care who he was." I told him what my name was and that it wasn't pronounced nigger. Finally came the insult that took away any chance I had of walking away from this without a fight. He insulted Laura, my escort for the evening, and the woman I loved. No warning, no mercy, no escape. When it was all over, I straightened my jacket, bowed to the lady friend of my vanquished enemy, and turned to my own companion. And the hit I took then was worse than any I took in that or any fight. It was the look. With her hand held limply in mine we walked to the car. We drove in silence and she left me alone in the car without our traditional good night kiss. After that night she seemed to be too busy with one of her two jobs to see me. That lasted for a week or so till I finally got up the courage to suggest that maybe we were better off friends. Friends. To this day I wonder what hurt worse, the look of fear or the fact that we both let it dig a hole between us. I down the drink that I am swirling unconsciously in my hand in a single gulp. It was watery, though still a bit cold, and the warmth I felt from it was different than it had only a few moments ago. Instead of sour it was bitter. I see her weaving through the crowd heading straight for me, hips a-sway, short black leather mini so tightly covering her hips it looked painted on. Her red lacy bra barely contains her breasts, leaving her shoulders bare in the colored lights of the club, giving way to her swan-like neck. So different from the neo-conservative dress she wore when we dated so long ago. And for the first time I noticed her collar, scrolled across it in shiny letters was the word bitch. This Laura was so different in every way from the woman I knew maybe she had grown in the intervening months since we last saw each other. But then I remember the look. It is still good to see her. She plops down next to me on the couch as we toast to our past. The pleasantries continue. Then she asks me a question that I guess has been burning in her mind for some time, though not the one I had expected. "So hon, what are you doing here?" she asks a bit tentatively. I throw back my head and laugh. "I've been in 'the life' on and off for a few years now, I came out tonight to relax." I can see confusion in her eyes. How could I come here to relax with all the sex hanging in the air, pressed in so tightly with the bodies and loud music? But she just accepts it and I let it stand. "Well, that said, mind if I ask you a question?" Her voice is hesitant, almost unheard against the backdrop of the conversations and driving music. "Have I ever minded? No? Then why start now? Go right ahead." "Why didn't you ever tell me about this side of you? Or were you going to let it be a surprise?" I let that one sink in, trying to find the right way to answer it. But before I can answer, she hits me with another. "And are you Top or bottom?" There it is. I can see by the look in her eyes that was the question she really had for me. I answer them in order. "Firstly, I'm not in the closet. I'm a freak and I don't care who really knows it. But unlike a lot people, I don't go around advertising it. And as to when I was going to tell you, well it is only a small part of who and what I am. If we ever got to the place where it had been important I would have told you." She is quiet for a while taking it all in. I guess she understands I had no idea she was into the life as well. Maybe she is wondering if I would have said something had we ever ended one of our many romantic dates in her or my bed. Maybe I would have, maybe not. We never got that far. so I guess it doesn't matter. The looked at me to answer the last question. "And?" Before I can answer some girls come and rush her off. They saying she will be late and her saying we will talk later. I finish my drink, trying to drown out the taste of anger rising in my throat. At whom was I angry? Her, for letting our love go the way of the dodo? Me, for the same? What was I angry about, her, for not telling me about herself? Me, for the same? Or us both, for not even making love when we had the chance, when we were in love. I guess it doesn't matter. I just sat and watched the freak show play on past me. After another trip to the bar to down a shot of 151 rum to drown out the yelling in my head, I walk away with another whiskey sour. Then the DJ announces it is time for the "Live Entertainment." I make my way to the stage, pressing my way right to the front. It had become a tradition to put on a fashion show/public play. Nothing too rough or even intense, just a teaser to titillate the crowd. I am lost in my own thoughts. I must admit, if I hadn't been, I may have noticed what was going on in front of me. I hear a voice I recognize; it cuts through the fog of the drink and my own thoughts like a knife. When I look up there stands Laura in all her glory, majesty, beauty and charm! "On your knees!" She yells in a commanding voice, shrill with authority. To punctuate her point she cracks a wicked looking whip. I watch the show with my heart pounding in my chest, I see things in a new way. The show takes on a shine with a savage beauty it never had before, at least the parts I saw. I can't really say what's paraded on the stage because I have eyes only for her. I also see her a new light as well. I feel my blood rush in my veins, my breath deep and raspy in my chest. And for a brief time I fall for her again. We lock eyes several times during the show. At the final bow, she rushes to the edge of the stage and, sliding to her knees she bends down to me with a wild fury in her eyes and a desperation that can come only from lust. She grabs my shirt collar and pulls me forward and plants a hungry kiss on my lips. Our tongues slide past each other, battling. First her mouth then mine. My hands reach up into her hair, grasp it and pull her to me. A kiss to end all kisses. When we both break the kiss reluctantly, we are breathless, our sweat mingled on our skin. I look into her eyes, those eyes I loved, need with a hunger that feels insatiable. I see the fire of passion that won't be easily quelled. In those eyes I see me, my feelings for her, hers for me I see the hunger of a predator, I see my own reflection. I see a fellow Top. The gathered crowd erupts in a frenzy of jubilation maybe to them it is all part of the show. Maybe they had it right and figured the energy had gotten too much for us and we had to show it. It doesn't matter one way or another. They don't care and we don't care what they think. Laura is pulled away from me then by the hands of her fellow performers. As distance is put between us I yell to her, I answer her question, the answer you already know. "I'm a Dom!" Then I see a look from her, one that sends a pang to my heart almost as bad as the one from that fateful night so many months ago, her face falls. When I see it I turn away to hide the pain and disappointment. I won't give her the chance to see what I saw in her eyes, a reflection. In the middle of the slaps on the back and hand pumping I stalk to the bar, it has been a long time sense I have tied one on but I figured I am due. Two more shots later the fire is quelled, I have gotten enough of a buzz and enough time has passed to let the intensity bleed from me. No I'm not going to drink myself into a stupor. It's not worth it. I just got caught up is all, yeah that's it, I let the show get to me. But it wasn't the show that got to me it was Her. I spend the rest of the night in a fog, I can't tell you what I did or saw. The next thing I know I hare the DJ yelling out for "Last Call." I have had enough, I slink out to pick up my coat. When I look up I once again find myself looking into the eyes I have fallen for twice in my life. "Hey." She says. Dropping her eyes to look at her shoes. "Hey yourself. Heading home?" I ask, somehow managing to keep my voice level. "Nah, just getting out of here." She looks up at me. "So what did you think of the show?" I smile a rueful smile. "Exciting. I really loved the curtain call." I say, trying like hell to lighten the mood. I fail. "You BASTARD!" She spits at me from between clenched teeth. And whips around, turning her back on me. "Laura, listen I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it I loved it and much as you did." I gently rest my hands on her shoulders. "I just got caught up in it like you." It all comes rushing out of my mouth of its own accord. "I needed it as much as you did." When I say this I feel her stiffen. We stand there like that for some time. I have no idea what is going through her mind or her heart. Before I can let her go she turns to me, I see tears in her eyes, those damned eyes of hers. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. Listen, I think we need to talk but I have to get out of this get up. Why don't you follow me to the dungeon so I can change?" She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Then we can go have a cup of coffee and talk. We never did and I see we both need to." I let my hands slide along her arms lovingly. "Yeah I'd like that." I follow her to the warehouse district not far from the club to a nondescript building. Following her up the stairs, I began to wonder just what the hell I'm doing. I mean how many times do I have to let her step on my heart. Not that any thing she did I can blame her for, but this is getting silly. She opens the door to one of the set aside office spaces, and motions me inside. It is dark, no windows to the outside. I have the feeling of a lager space but say nothing. She steps in and turns on the light. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light. I am amazed by what I see. X-racks, chains hang from the ceiling, an array of whips, cats, floggers, and assorted other toys line the wall. Without thinking I walk to the wall and slide my hands across them letting the material caress the skin on the back of my hand. I turn to her, she just stands there staring at me. "This is sick; there is so much I wanted to say. So much I want to say," she says as much to herself as to me. "When have you ever held your tongue with me?" I ask. Then we both look around the room and see where we're standing and what has brought us here all comes flooding in. I look at her, for a moment it seems that I have said the wrong thing again. But we both laugh. "Present situation excluded," I say finally. "The foremost in my mind is the biggie. It's the one that all the others hang on. Answer that one wrong and the rest don't matter." She says avoiding looking at me. "The dead bodies in the middle of the floor?" "What?" She asks, confused. "Nothing. I'm listening." She takes a deep breath to steel herself. "Why?" A simple question with more than one not-so- simple answer. "Ah that one. Well it's complex, and long. Can we sit?" I ask trying to get time to get my thoughts together. On the couch we sit an arms length from one another, closer than friends and farther than lovers. I turn to her. "Remember the last night we were together?" She nods. I continue, I let it out. I tell her about the look, her look, the look in general. How it hurt me how I hated it. How in many ways I was disappointed by her of all people giving it to me. How she was the last person I ever expected to let my color affect her. When I finish, we are both silent, and the air in the room is pregnant with tension, apprenticing, accusation, pain and anger. Hers and mine. And when she speaks her voice is again a harsh whisper. "When we first met I was struck by how gentle you were, your compassion and the ease and grace you showed for someone your size. You seemed submissive." She gives a little laugh to herself as if there is something funny about it I can't see. I guess there is. Soon she looks up and into my eyes. But it is only for a second that she graces me with her gaze of bottomless green before she looks away then continues. "I'm not going to insult you, I won't deny it. In that moment I was scared of you. When I saw how savage you could be I was scared of that bestial side of you. I mean what would happen if it was ever turned against me? That was what put me off that night. So I guess that was the fear you saw, not of what you were but of who you were." Grieving for the Love of Laura She turns to me again her head down this time seemingly from shame. "But I got over it, and quickly I remembered how far that guy had to go before you exploded. Then it dawned on me that you may not be as submissive as I thought. I'm a Dominatrix here in this place. It's a job. The scenes, the beatings and humiliations are a part of it. But in my relationships I'm in control. I live the life 24/7 I need the control to be happy. And when I realized you may not be a part of my life I was crushed. The only thing that hurt worse was the call you made to me later. When you said we should be just friends, I knew it was the right thing but it was also a painful thing." She takes a deep breath to steel herself. Then turns to me, and looks right into my eyes. Her eyes are filled with pain and misting with tears but she refuses to let them flow. For the first time sense I met her I can't read what was going on behind those gorgeous green eyes of hers. "I guess I was rattling on there towards the end. So, yes, the fight affected me not because you were black, but because you weren't a bottom. So when I saw you tonight I thought I may have had it wrong I thought there may still be a chance for us. But I guess there really isn't. I'm so sorry. I should have told you, I should have explained it." She folds herself in my arms and lets the tears she had been holding back flow. I don't know what to do, so I just do what comes natural, I hold her and tell her its okay. It isn't anyone's fault. That my pride had something to do with it too. Between the sobs she asks me. "Well what do we do now? You know I love you don't you? I mean I never said it but you had to know." "Yes, I know and I feel the same. But I'm beginning to get the feeling that it may have been for the best. Twenty-four/seven isn't my bag. And the pull of the life is stronger in you than it is in me. I could no more change my religion than I could change my color," I say kissing her on the head. Hoping against hope I'm wrong. "Yes, I mean no. I mean you're right." She laughs. "God you must hate me. I hate that part of me right now." I laugh at myself then. "Remember what happened to the last person who insulted any part of the woman I love." She calls me a bastard again and we both laughed. We sit there holding on to each other knowing that when we let go it's going to be for the final time. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly and loud. "You're right. This is sick. I'd better go before this moment of tenderness turns to hate." "Okay. You're right." She extracts herself from me as I stand. Suddenly, I don't want to be here any more. I head for the door fighting with my every fiber not to look back. I'm trying not to rush to the door and run down the hallway at a break-neck speed to put a lot room between me and the woman I love. As I reach for the door, I hear her say my name. I stop cold in my tracks. Why can;t she just let me leave? I turn to see her and I'm unable to move, struck by the beauty of what I see before me. She's her knees, head down in supplication arms stretched in front of her palms together facing her. It's quiet in this big empty room, the only sound I hear is the thudding of my heart, and even that sounds hollow in my ears. "Please! How do I thank someone so strong enough to let me go? What do I have to give thanks to such a gift, as unwanted as it is needed? I only have myself." She raises her head to offer me a look at those eyes that caused as much pain as they did joy. "I offer you what no one else has had, nor will they ever have, I offer you on this night for this night my submission." Her voice is clear, strong and I hear a confidence in her decision that seems unshakable. "Laura you don't have to. Not like this,: I say as my eyes begin to water. "I do have to, I want to and most importantly we need to," she says. I open my mouth to say something. I'm not sure what. But I never get the chance to say it because I make the mistake of looking into those eyes again. There I see need, pleading, hunger and most of all love. "Please!" She implores me. "No strings, no tomorrow, just tonight, just right now,"she finishes finally, and with that any hope I had of getting out of here without touching her again. Before I know it I have crossed the room my hands encircled hers in a touch so loving it makes my heart ache. I gently raise her to her feet. And look into her eyes so green so loving, so full of the same need to have this play out. "It doesn't have to be like this," I say. "Yes. Yes it does. It has to be just like this. No limits. Tonight I need to give you control. For the last time I ask you, please." "Red light, green light, I say after a time of looking into her eyes. She drops her eyes in submission. "As you wish Master." "Stand then, and make yourself ready," I say, slipping easily into my role as Master. Fifteen minutes later I'm sitting in one of the rooms its painted red with a deeper red satin draping the walls. The room holds the usual things one would find in any bedroom set aside for romance. All, save for the heart shaped bed in the middle. I chose this room apart from all the others for just the feel it provides, one of strange calm. Before she comes to me I hear the opening notes of a song by the Breath, "Hands to Heaven," a song that has special meaning for me. It was one of the songs that I played and played till it was burned in my mind I knew it in all it's subtlety. I used it like a drug to help me get over her. Damn her. It was our love for the little-played music of the 80's that brought us to each other's attention. The night we met we sat for hours reciting lyrics trying to stump each other. She told me that she had a CD of soundtrack I had been unable to find anywhere. How the hell she managed to find "Some Kind of Wonderful," and on CD no less, was as much a mystery to me as she seemed to be back then. When I left, shoving her phone number and address in my pocket, I remember thinking that I had to have the CD but even more I had to have her. The next day she gave me a copy she had burned and a kiss that burned my lips, my heart and my soul. She enters the room walking slowly, as if she’s unsteady on her own legs. Singing the words that made me cry when I heard them so many months ago, "Tonight, I need your sweet caress/ Hold me in the darkness/ Tonight, you calm my restlessness/ You relieve my sadness." She is dressed amazingly conservatively considering where we are. Her hair is loose and flowing just like I liked it. I stare at her long swanlike neck and down to her bare shoulders. Her chest is covered by a simple white peasant blouse. Her hips are draped in a long black, a-line skirt; underneath her legs and feet are bare. As she approaches me she graces me with a smile. "I listened to this song over and over after we parted." How, how, I think to myself, could I let a woman so perfect for me just walk away. She continues. "I don't know if it helped or hurt more, but the feeling it left me with made me feel better." She stops short realizing that she has spoken out of turn, her eyes snap down to her feet. I stand slowly and gently I slip my finger under her chin, lift her face so I can stare and get lost in those alluring green eyes of hers again. I breathe in a deeply, realizing that I have been holding my breath for I have no idea how long. In the end as I let it out. I say, "I can't see the eyes if you keep your eyes downcast all night. And, as for your transgression, we will speak and think on it no more." I bend to kiss her slowly, sweetly, lovingly and long on her lips my mouth slightly open so I can taste the tang of her mouth. My other arm encircles her holding her closely. I break the kiss and lay my head on hers, breathing the scent of her hair. When she hugs me back, I think my heart will break yet again this night. I'm not sure who starts swaying to the music she or I, and I guess it doesn't matter, in time we began to dance to the song that we both used as a shield against the pain, oh, so long ago. That was yet another thing I loved about loving her. Not only did she like to dance, she danced well. Now I don't mean fast dance, I mean slowly, stately, with grace. We would sometimes start the night at the local ballroom or dance hall and dance till we thought we had danced our way straight to heaven. Then, if we had any energy left, we would trip off to one of the clubs. But as time went on we left the ballroom less and less. My hand slips from her chin along her shoulder, along her arm and to her hand I twine my fingers in hers the other glides down to the small of her back. Now we are in a familiar posture and we begin to dance in earnest to the last notes of the song. Her head rests on my shoulder and I'm sure she can hear my heart beating in my chest, I know I can feel hers. The next song is yet another I listened to incessantly, "Coming up Close!" by 'Till Tuesday. Our feet begin to move, our hips stir and we begin to sway as one in time with the music. I slide my feet back while I pressed slightly on her back and she comes along with me, first on the right foot, then the left. We sweep into a large circle swaying as we move, enraptured by the song and the company we keep. During the bridge I raise my arm and slid my hand to her hip as she spins, I lower, my hand so that her hand is holding mine across her body. I see my arm, its dark skin seeming even darker in contrast to her paleness, is draped over her shoulder. In the end, arms are crossed, with her holding herself as I hold her. With her back to me we dance on. As the song draws to a close, I kiss her neck. We stay like that till the final notes fade. The next song is "No More Words," by Berlin, nothing we can dance to, but we just stand there. Finally I step back so I can see her. There, standing so close after being so far away for so long, I see her again like I did the first time. Her hair is tumbling down from her head across her creamy shoulders, the easy rise of her chest giving way to her ample breasts, the coil of her torso leading to the curve of her hips and shapely thighs, trickling down to her feet ending in her long shapely toes. All creates the effect of her standing there like a figure in a painting and taking my breath away. God how I love her, want her, need her. I get tired of that thought running around in my head alone and decide to share it with her in the form of a kiss. Again it is sweet, soft and simple at least to start. My hands go to her shoulders as I pull her close to me. My mouth opens as I slither my tongue into her mouth. She willingly presses her body against mine. Her hands grasp my back. She squeezes her hips to mine. I feel her legs part as I glide mine between her thighs. My hand stirs up her back, along the supple curve of her spine. My fingers revel in the silky texture of her skin. Up I go, 'til my fingers tangle in her hair. I firmly press her face to mine. My other hand grasps her ass as I squeeze it in rhythmic motions. Her soft moan caresses my ears as it seeps from her mouth. I feel her breath on my cheek. One hand rests on her shoulder and my fingers delight in the feel of her skin, then it travels across the material of her blouse and comes to rest on her breast. I press the flesh into itself as I feel her nipple harden in my palm. I begin to shimmy my body up and down hers, fanning the flame of passion that was sparked all those months ago as we sat and talked the night away. My mouth inches its way across her face and comes to rest in the crook of her neck, leaving little kisses in its wake. Her hands grasp and pull at the shirt that is wet with lusty sweat. And suddenly the room seems very hot. Her breath is humid and comes in ragged gushes. I can feel it in my ear as she expels it. And a shudder runs down my spine. I kiss her mouth again. My hands on her cheeks hold her face still. With out thinking I lift her, my mouth still plastered on hers and I walk in great strides to the bed that lays not three paces from where we had stopped one dance and began another. I lie her down and finally I break the kiss that has stolen my breath away. Once again I see her as she lies there. Her hair is wild from my hands and from her head tossing as we kissed; it is haphazardly covering her face. But I can still see her eyes gazing out at me and they pierce my very soul with their hunger. I feel the hunger of my own passion reaching out to hers as if in answer. I stand up straight, my chest heaving, trying to provide my body with life-giving oxygen. Her hands reach for me imploring me to come to her, touch her, feel her. And I stop. I look up at the lines of industrial lights as they hum over head. Their soft white light bathe the room around us and I close my eyes. And try to slow things down a bit. I would slow down. I wanted this moment from my first sighting of her. I waited so long because I wanted more than just her body. And for a short time I did. Then in a flash I had nothing but memories. Now I have her, not just her soul and her love but in this moment I have her body. I lie next to her, she on her back breathing heavy with lust, face shiny and eyes staring with hunger. My hand strays to her face; I move her hair with a single finger and then stroke her cheek. Staring at her brow I trail down her jaw line to her chin. I move on to her long silky neck to the hollow of her throat. On to her chest, I trace beneath the blouse down her cleavage. I bend to kiss her again. Her ravenous lips meet mine. She tries to force her tongue in my mouth. But it isn't to be. Finally I gain control of the situation. "To control someone else you must first control your own passion." A mantra I learned when I first got into the BDSM life. And for the first time it serves me well. We start again taking our time letting the passion build again but this time I know what I'm going to do with my sub. My hand caresses her face, it glides up slowlym my fingers tangle in her hair. I let the silky strands fall through my fingers, as my mouth presses on hers. I break and look into her eyes. I run the back of my hand on her cheek down, down, to her neck. Down to her blouse and to her breast. I take it in my hand and grasp filling my hand with as much as I can take. I massage it feeling it through her blouse. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in her scent and licking the salt off her skin. Her hands are on my back again, grasping me, running up and down my shirt. Her soft moans urge me to continue. I roll over on top of her. I have to be careful not to put my full weight on her small frame. Well, smaller than mine. I slither up and down her body, obliging her to open for me. She responds just as I wish. I persist rubbing my groin against hers. Kissing her deeply, my tongue coils around hers, her moans turn to groans, heavy with lust. My hands fall to her shoulders snake down her arms and their suppleness to her hands, where they are grasp the bed sheets alternately. I take her wrists in my hands and hold them over her head. "Oh Master," she manages to moan through her eagerness for my touch. I rise from her so I can see her eyes, filled with ardor and wantonness. I grind slowly in small circles, knees bent for better traction and her hips rise to meet me and mirror my movements. Her head turns from side to side. And the passion in me begins to boil again. I move from circles to up and down as I add more and more pressure. Incensing in tempo, her hips leave the bed as she humps me with mounting excitement. "Do you offer your self to me in body and soul?" I ask. "Yessss," she hisses. "Submitting to my every want and whim?" "Your whim, my duty." I sit back and pull her to a sitting position. I remove her blouse. Beneath lies the red bra that she wore to the Ball, barely containing her seething breasts. Her hair tumbles down almost covering them. I run a finger up both of her arms. To her shoulder, to the straps that hold the bra on. I unhurriedly slip them down. She closes her eyes, opens her mouth and a wordless sigh escapes her between her barely parted lips. I feel the rush of her breath on my face. I kiss her again, as I struggle to remove the offending clothing from her back. She reaches out to remove my shirt as I finally free her. I stop her with my hands. "Not yet my pet, in time, first I will reveal you in all your glory." I run my hands down her bare breasts to her nipples. They are already hard as hard as diamonds. I take them between my fingers and roll them, inducing them to harden more and Laura to moan louder. Her back arches, trying to force her self even deeper into my mouth. I give her a gentle push to lay her flat on the bed so I can continue. I bend down to her exposed belly, sketching a long line with my tongue from her navel, up slowly between her breasts, then move my head from left to right. Her scent and her taste explode in my mouth. I take her right nipple in my mouth with short sucking action, and then run my teeth along it, taking small bites and finally a quick flick. The other is not left unattended I kept tweaking it as I bathe its twin with my hungry mouth. Again I dry hump her. I can feel the skirt giving way to my motions, slowly creeping up to give my crotch access to her moist panties. I look up to see her head intermittently shifting from side to side fast and slow. Her hands grasp my head with a stinging slap that echoes in the air. Grinding my face into her tits, she responds in kind by humping me back, fanning my own lust. My cock rubs against her pussy, my mouth on her nipple, the blood rushes through my ears and her moans hang heavy in the air, I am in heaven. How did this happen when only a few hours ago, a few moments ago, I was cursing her. Trying to hate her, for loving me, wanting me as much as I did her and failing. Is this the moment I was driving towards when I turned to her after the Adam Ant line and asked her if she knew the words to "Ant Music"? Was this what I wanted to do when she opened the door, that next day, and graced me with a twinkle in those green eyes of hers? Two days later when she took my hand in the movie was this what I waited for? No. But it's damn close. I flip her over so I can gaze at the subtle curve of her spine. I push the skirt up as I slowly, predatorily lean in. My hands slip along her quivering thighs; I run my tongue up her spine from the place where her ass meets her back, to the hollow between her shoulder blades. She shivers and moans even more as I leave a trace of hot wetness in my wake. My hands are on her sides, fingers just coming in contact with the very edge of her tits. Then back down I creep, till my mouth comes in contact with the silky material of her red panties. I take them in my teeth and firmly seductively began to pull. I want to see her ass. Tossing them over my shoulder, I slide off the bed, my knees on the floor. I begin to lick my way up her left leg, swirling little circles as I skulk my way up to the place where I can smell the musky odor of her pussy. I can see the glistening juices drip from her pussy onto the bed, soaking it. I retrace my route back down the other leg to her toes. I suck them in to my mouth. I greedily, hungrily I devour them. Her hips arch off the bed as she humps and grinds her ravenous mound against the it. It's almost too much for my lust-addled mind. My hands grip the thin material of my shirt and pull it off; next the pants and finally the boxers. I'm standing there in the suit that God gave me on my birth. Laura stares at me with a look of famished passion, her hair partiality covering her face. I stalk my way back to the bed and skulk my way back up her body. Slowly purposefully, relentlessly, I know that there is no way I can keep the look of craving from my face. How can I? Craving for her is all there is in my heart. Grieving for the Love of Laura I plant my lips on hers, a kiss that takes my breath away. I feel my dick brush against her slippery pussy and a thrill runs from the tip of my shaft to up my spine and into my brain. I press myself to her again. Her breathing is full in my face as we kiss like starving animals. Grunts and groans rush from both of our lips and intermingle in the air. I'm heady with her presence. I slide along her and she turns with her back to me. I lie with my shaft in the crease of her ass. I feel the juice that has migrated across her body. Our mouths still press together, tongues twining about each other. My hand comes to rest on her tit, the nipple falls between my fingers. I close my fingers on it as I grasp the fleshy loveliness. Undulate my body on hers, I use my leg to part hers. I snake my hand down her body enjoying the smoothness of her skin as I move my way to her sopping wet sex. I trail my fingers to her shaven lips as I tickle and tease my way inside. First my middle finger, running it across the upper part of her hidden sex, as I slip in and out slowly. I keep it up as I continue to hump her from behind. In and out slowly and relentlessly, as I caress her engorged clit. In no time at all another finger joins it. I quicken my pace as I increase the pressure. Faster and faster 'til my hand is a blur and the sound of the motion fills the air. Her breath come quicker, her body begins to shake. I can feel the small tremors as they begin to build and build. Her grunting is growing in pace with my motions, her hips buck. I can feel it like a freight train unstoppable, undeniable, inevitable, unavoidable. Her mouth rips away from mine; she presses her face into the pillow as she explodes. I hold her tight, but it is hard she rides a tilde wave of pure lust. Her body convulses, her hips buck uncontrollably as she screams into the pillow! Not a soft mewing or even a series of satisfied grunts, but a throat ripping roar that shakes the walls around us! I kiss her neck as the wave subsides and her breath slowly regulates itself. When she seems calm, I brush the hair from her face with her wetness still clinging to my fingers. She sucks them, cleaning the juice away, the sound is at once sloppy and exciting. I make room for her and turn her to face me. First I think it is her own sweat and love juice that coats her face, but it its tears. Weather it is from joy or ecstasy, I don't know. I kiss them away; the taste of salt on my lips is refreshing. I roll my self onto her. Her legs spread seemingly of their own accord. My hands stray to her hair. Once again my mouth meets hers. She wraps her arms about me, holding my close. My member jumps when it comes in contact with her again. I press myself up on one arm as my other hand snakes its way between us. I brush the moisture in search of myself. I sit back on my knees her legs bend and fly open. I take the tip and rub it lightly up and down her slit. She thrusts her hips up at me trying to swallow me. But I keep up my teasing. At every attempt I thwart her and keep teasing. I'm drawing out the ardor she has kept deep inside for me for all this time. Eventually I give her a bit more pressure. Only a bit at a time, her hips begin to bounce off of the bed in a vain attempt to entreat me to enter her. Her face is covered in sweat and love juices, those green eyes that I love so much are wild like a feral thing. I lie on her again, my mouth going to her nipple. I suck it in and my member falls so close to her sex. I lick suck and bite the little button escalating, fanning the fire with in her. I press myself just outside of her lips, slowly, inch by inch with aching unhurriedness I begin to slip in. She moans loud and long. Not all the way. I take my time continuing the tease, the dance. Inching closer, closer, till in an instant of pure pleasure that she has been seeking for so long. I'm all the way in. Again she begins to cry, but I can see from the look on her face it is from joy, maybe even triumph. She begins to shake and shudder again but only for a moment. The orgasm she has is a small one compared with the ear-splitting one she had only a few moments ago. But somehow I think this one is so much more satisfying. I know it is for me. Again I move slowly, almost slightly, barely in and out of her. My arms meander so that I hold her under her shoulders. I bury my face in her neck. Breathing in her scent mixed with the smell of sex cum and her perfume I begin amplify my movements. But I realize what I'm doing. I'm not here for a scene, to have sex, or even to fuck. I'm here to make love to the woman I love. And that is just what I do. I rise from my reclining position so that I can see her face, and stare into those eyes of green. First, I see hunger behind the tears, but I keep on searching. Next I'm met by a slight bewilderment at what it is I want. Then another tear slides from the edge of her eye, and slowly I see it, what I was searching for, I see understanding and agreement. We begin to move as one. Up slowly, then down, up slowly, then down again. No need for that slight awkwardness that happens before you get into a rhythm. We are in time. A little faster now as if our hearts are setting the tempo. I slide in, and the feeling of being inside of her is unlike it has ever been with any other woman. Warm, Close, Wet, Safe. As of nothing can touch us here. Not the rain outside, the millions of people, who envy us at this moment, not even the look. I come out again, her hands stray along my back up to my neck. The feeling of her fingers on my skin thrills me like never before. I keep retreating 'til I'm almost out. I hold there I feel the cold, like the absence of her in my life. She doesn't rise to meet me. She too sits still almost as if she understands. I'm sure she does. My fingers tangle in her hair again. Then back down and in. So slow, so deep, so satisfying, so right. I hear a heart beat it's not mine it's too slow, too slow for hers as well I can feel it through my chest. Then I realize it is the music again. An old song, "Somebody" by Depeche Mode. Share my innermost thoughts / Know my intimate details. And I realize I have just that. We keep it up, building the pace of our bodied, out hearts. I kiss her again. Most likely the sweetest kiss I have or ever will have. We begin to circle our hips. I'm not sure but I think we both decided it would feel good at the same time, and it dose. In and out round and round we move as one the pace the passion climbing higher. We kiss, we smile, we caress, we pinch. We make love. Time stands still. Time slips by. Time flies when you're having fun. An hour, a day, a life time, an instant, it doesn't matter. This is what I wanted. This, to make love to her, all those months ago when I walked up to her door to get that music, not the music of the CD but the music of her soul. Thinking of music strangely my mind floats to what is playing. When I hear the opening notes of what is playing I begin to cry. Her legs are wrapped around my waist my hands on her hips. I use strength that I rarely show. I pull us to a sitting position. Pistoning in and out of her I begin to sing the song in my head, at least I think so, I can't really tell. Love, I get so lost, sometimes Days pass and this emptiness fills my heart When I want to run away I drive off in my car But whichever way I go I come back to the place you are My heart is races; I can't find the air to breathe, as we speed towards heaven. But somewhere I can still find the breath to go on. And all my instincts, they return And the grand facade, so soon will burn Without a noise, without my pride I reach out from the inside A sigh comes from her. Faster she forces her self down on to me; her head lies on my shoulder, her face in my neck kissing me. In your eyes The light the heat In your eyes I am complete In your eyes I see the doorway to a thousand churches In your eyes The resolution of all the fruitless searches In your eyes I see the light and the heat In your eyes Oh, I want to be that complete I want to touch the light The heat I see in your eyes Her face meets mine. I look into her eyes, green and deep, so full of love and I can see that she is close. I can feel it in her body as she begins to stiffen. I kiss her again. I want to keep kissing her but there is something I have to tell her. I break the kiss and see that she is crying, I don't seem to care, I have to tell her. "I love you," I whisper, my face only a hair's breadth from hers. But she can't answer. She is moaning now, close so close. I sing on. Now I know I'm singing out loud. Love, I don't like to see so much pain So much wasted and this moment keeps slipping away She stops me, her mouth on mine, her breath mixing with mine her moans echoing inside my lips, inside of my soul. Her grip tightens around my waist and squeezes my chest making it even harder for me to breathe. I can feel it mount; it starts in the back of my head. It zips to my chest. She tosses her head back; her hair flies every which way. Her neck is right there I can't help myself. I bite it, take the soft flesh in my teeth. My hands move of their own accord and grasp her hair. A throaty gurgle erupts from her, I can feel it as much as I can hear it. Tighter she squeezes my chest with her arms, tighter she squeezes my waist with her legs. And finally tighter she squeezes me with the walls of her gripping pussy. I'm compressed. There is no way I can breathe. Where did she get the strength? I don't care. I pump even harder, using my arms on her sides to press her even closer to me, to get even deeper in to her. She starts to shake. No, that is too tame. She convulses, her hips bucking, neck jerking so hard I'm forced to let go of her hair. Every time a wave hits her another wordless screech discharges from between her gnashing teeth past her curling lips and blasts me in the face. But I can barely hear her from the blood in my own ears. Laura shimmies so hard I can't hold her upright. She jolts from my grasp and onto the bed where she continues to quake. And I continue to drive myself into her. I can't stop now. I too am close. No not close. There. I flop onto her, eyes shut tight, so tight I see colors. But they are nothing compared to the sparks I see in my mind and feel in my soul. I still can't seem to stop. On and on I go pressing the boundaries of pleasure. My skin feels like I'm on fire. I'm burning. I'm burning wherever she touches me. Every nerve in my skin is bare. The very air is electric. She's holding me now tighter that before. I didn't think it was possible but some how she does. Then the only sound we make is the heavy breathing that somehow sounds satisfied in my ears. In the air are the last notes of Peter Gariel's "In Your Eyes." The African-like beat intertwines with the wailing, just under Peter Gariel's oh-so-European voice seems to be a perfect fit with the mingling of my black skin on her white body. I hear her talking from somewhere. "I love you, too," she says, as the last shudders leave her body and voice. I collapse next to her, air heaving in and out of my lungs, a buzzing in my ears and a joy in my heart. She raises herself onto one elbow and places the other hand on my chest. I see her creamy white skin in high contrast to my coal black skin. Her face nuzzles my neck I feel her hot breath on me. "My God! If I had known, I would have jumped you when you said, 'Sorry, I don't pray that way.'" She recites the first thing she heard me say, breathlessly. Damn her again. "If you had, I never would have heard you say, 'Unplug the jukebox and do us all a favor,' and that would have been a shame." We laughed, hugged and kissed. The second time is better than the first because I knew her body better I make a symphony of her moans and sighs. The third is even better even more intense, it is the best I have ever had. The second was the second, the third is, well you get the idea. The fourth. The fourth never happens. It's getting early and we are both long past tired, we sleep, arms about each other. I breathe out as she breathes in. I wake a short time later, we're still tangled together. I look at her again, more beautiful than I could ever imagine, this woman I love. Her face is slack, mouth parted, looking so much like I have always thought an angel should. I think on what a wonderful night we have shared. And I stop, remembering that it is our first night and our last. The pain hits me so hard it brings a tear to my eyes. I can't seem to find enough air in the room, maybe because there are no windows. There are no windows because we are in her dungeon. The circle of logic threatens to bring down my mind. I bite my lip the pain helps me calm my mind. And I know what I must do. I bend to kiss her on the cheek, a sweet kiss, soft and loving. But I see my tear fall on her face, and I stop again. She moves a bit and smiles. I hear her mumble something that sounds like my name. My heart melts again. Slowly I extract myself from her, hoping she doesn't wake and make what I'm doing impossible by simply saying my name again. I get to my feet, with out waking her, and try to gather my clothes, hers and mine are intertwined. I find her panties in the leg of my pants. I hold them up and stare at them. Red, exquisitely shaped and soft to the touch. For a moment I think of taking, stuffing them in my pocket in remembrance of her, of this night. But no. It would hurt too much and more pain I can't take. I drop them and turn my back Laura. I turn my back on love. I turn my back on heartache. I dress in the first room we walked into, the one with all the toys and tools of her trade. My hands are shaky and my movements are slow. Slowed by the weight of just what I'm doing. I think about myself, how I look. Do I look heroic? Dressing here in a dungeon in the dark? Will I look back on this moment in the future and think how brave I was? But I can't see that far, I know I don't feel brave, I feel foolish. Outside its cold I can see my breath. The sun isn't up yet but it is light enough to see. I hear the gulls in the sky crying. I look out over the river that splits the city I live in, in half. For a moment I think about the river that splits me from Laura. For a moment I'm tempted to look back finally, to see at least the building that she sleeps in. I don't, I wont, I can't. I take a deep breath and start the shortest and longest walk in my life. A block away I'm crying in earnest I can't stop the tears or the feelings. I can't see the road so I pull over for a second or two. It's quiet in the car too quiet. I reach for my CD case. Tossing the CDs over the back seat, I'm looking for something, anything to help. Help what? The pain? The pain of losing her again, for the third time in my life. First with the look. The next, the show and lastly now? What can help when you remove your own heart? I raise my hands and scream. I rage, I beat the steering wheel. "What the HELL am I doing?" I yell at the top of my lungs. But in the empty car there is no response. No words of wisdom. I calm my self not long after my out burst. In that I feel brave, the effort was heroic but I manage it. I slip a CD in at random, and pull away from the curb. Another block. I'm in traffic, people who go to work early I can see coffee mugs and make up in the cars as I pass. At a red light, I'm stopped next to a woman who turns and smiles at me. I somehow pull a smile from somewhere. She waves. Yeah, she's interested, but I'm not, she's not Laura. Laura. I feel the tears coming again but before I let them flow I hit the play button on the player. And pull away. I hear it. Its coming but I can't or won't stop it. Thomas Dolby, "Astronauts and Heretics." The first track on that album. "I Love You Goodbye." I let the first two verses wash over me. Knowing what comes next. But there are no tears as I sing, only the knowledge that he is right. Under a Cajun moon I lay me open There is a spirit here that won't be broken Some words are sad to sing Some leave me tongue-tied But the hardest words I know Are I love you goodbye I love you goodbye