36 comments/ 20534 views/ 4 favorites Doors By: E.Z.Riter Hi, Dear Reader, This one is short and sweet. A little romance. Thanks to Gail and Ruthie for editing. And please comment and vote. Thanks. E. Z. * I opened the door to find Carla at thirteen. Big blue eyes with long lashes. Overpowering eyes. Gangly, coltish, flat chested, and hipless. Long, straight brown hair. Lips of brown from a Fudgcicle she sucked innocently. "I'm Carla. You're Bill, Bessie's grandson who lives here now. You're twenty-six and working on your Master's in English at the University. You're a writer, too, but you've never published anything. You're single and you don't have a girlfriend. See. I know all about you. Can I come in?" She bounced by me to spend the first of countless delightful hours. Creaking, the rusted hinges on the door of my heart began to open. Carla at fourteen slammed the door behind her. Angry eyes, perturbed expression. Sweatshirt hiding budding breasts. Shorts revealing long legs starting to ripen. Brown hair, slightly curled, to her shoulders. "I hate boys." "Why?" Hands on hips, eyes flashing. "They all want to play with me. Do I look like a toy to you? Well, Bill, do I?" How do you talk about love, about sex, to a beautiful young woman starting to blossom? How do you talk about those things you desperately want to share with her? Carla at sixteen closed the door softly behind her. She sat on the couch. Blue eyes sensual. Brown hair streaked with red-blonde sunlight. Shapely leg tucked under her. Breasts moved rhythmically as if an offer given only to be withdrawn. "How's Jane?" "We broke up." "Of course. She wasn't the woman for you. I could've told you that. Do you have a new girlfriend?" "No." "I don't have a boyfriend." Brow furrowed waiting for me to speak. She leaned forward hesitantly. "I want to be your girlfriend, Bill." "Carla, I love you," rushed from me. She flew onto my lap. Arms around my neck. Lips hot against mine. "I love you, too. I want to make love to you, Bill. I want you now." Insane for a man of twenty-nine to take a girl of sixteen? Yes. Insanely in love. I opened the door to Carla at nineteen. Red eyes swollen with tears and guilt. Face puffy. Shoulders slumped. "What's wrong?" I asked apprehensively. "I... oh, God, Bill. I..." She slumped to the floor. Sobs ripped the air as she rocked, cradling herself in her arms. Voice tortured. "I cheated on you. Please, Bill, can you forgive me?" The doors of my heart opened wider, telling me this woman, with all her faults, held the key. The doors at the back of the church opened. The organ played and Carla entered. Veiled, all in white. Radiant at the altar. Tears of joy slipped down my face. Her love enveloped me. I opened the front door to find Carla at twenty-nine on the floor, pregnant belly resting on her crossed legs, our three children piled around her. "Daddy's home!" a small voice squealed. Carla smiled up at me and the weight of the world evaporated. "I'm glad you're home. I don't think I can get up." "Not with three kids sitting on you anyway." "Oh, Bill, aren't they wonderful. And it won't be too long until there's another one." I stood behind her as Carla at forty opened the front door. Our daughter was there. Beaming, shining. A reflection of her mother. A young man at her side. "Mom. Dad. This is Jason." In front of the church, I opened the car door for Carla at forty-two. "I can't believe I'm the mother of the bride. Good Lord, I'm not that old. How do I look?" "Ravishing. Magnificent. More beautiful than ever." Lips warm and loving against mine. Eyes twinkled. "I shouldn't have asked you. You're too much in love to give an honest opinion." I gave my eldest away. Her two sisters were bridesmaids. Her brother was a groomsman. Carla at fifty opened the door. "Merry Christmas," they shouted. Giggles. Laughter. Little feet quick and light. Little hands seeking mine. Little kisses wet and tender. Christmas. Gathering of the clan rocked the old house, overflowing it with love. I threw open the doors to the emergency room. Terror filled my heart. "I'm Bill Brown. Car wreck. My wife." "I'm sorry. We tried, but..." I sat by her grave as the minister spoke. Sunlight beamed down. Our children and grandchildren surrounded me. The doors to my heart slowly closed. Not in anguish or fear, but to hold safe the most precious thing I have. Memories of Carla. The End * Come on now. Give us a vote and a comment. Please. Doors in the Mind It started as a party trick. I'd been into mysticism, sacred geometry, and mentalism for a long time, and one of my friends asked if I'd hypnotize her on a lark. My manipulative streak kicked in, and soon, my friends watched as I had her take off all her clothes, and dance around the room naked. Granted, this wasn't the most modest girl knew, and we'd seen her do similar things under the influence of alcohol. Still, it was a rather impressive demonstration. It Impressed two of my friends particularly. They'd been going out a couple years, and in all that time, he'd talked her into letting him touch her breast when they where kissing. She was vying for the dubious distinction of the most modest girl I knew, her prudishness bordered on Erotiphobia. She didn't even masturbate, needless to say, she was a virgin. After the party, he asked if I could hypnotize her into putting out. He didn't use those exact words, but that was it, in a nutshell. I didn't make any promises, but was intrigued by the challenge. As I told him, hypnosis just doesn't work without trust, and any she had for me hit the floor with every stitch of clothing I'd talked that girl out of. I'd also have to basically put her under without her knowledge, since she sure as hell wouldn't consent. All the literature I'd read stated unequivocally that it couldn't be done. They also stated as unequivocally that you couldn't make someone do something against their character, and this seemed to apply as well. I still agreed to try, but had him promise to follow my directions. The first was when I said "Phrenology," he must be as quiet, and unobtrusive as possible. This'd be hard enough without any distractions. The first step was to gain her trust. She didn't even want to be alone with me, because "I freaked her out" even before the strip tease incident. She still tolerated my presence, because I can be charming, and entertaining. I'm also highly intelligent, but I don't make a big deal out of it. The way I see it, it makes up for some physical limitations. I may come off as a creepy little freak, but that didn't keep people from coming to me for advice, and answers. She was having trouble in math, Euclidian geometry to be precise, and I agreed to help her study. I'd been hanging out with them a while, and she started getting used to me. Her boyfriend was there the whole time, but now it was because he didn't want to leave me alone with her. Like I said, I sometime have that effect on people. As it turns out, our little math study sessions provided the perfect opportunity. All the numbers, variables, and abstract concepts lulled her into the right frame of mind. It was especially effective as I tended to recite formulae like "L time W times H divided by two" (area of a corner) in a singsong monotone of equal measured beats. I nonchalantly commented that she was getting stressed out in frustration, and he moved in to rub her shoulders like I'd arraigned beforehand. It would help her relax, and get comfortable with the situation. sure enough, she started to loll a little. Next, I pointed out that one of the formulas was used in "phrenology." He nodded behind her, and kept rubbing. She asked about it, and I made up some bullshit about how it was a ratio of facial features thought to be the prime of beauty. She swallowed it, and went back to her study. "That reminds me," I went on, "Have you ever heard of a memory house?" She'd seen Hannibal, but not read it, so she hadn't. I'd known about it before the book was even written, but was pleased when I'd read it. (in case you're wondering, I remembered Lecher referring to psychology as "on the level of phrenology," and that'd brought it to mind earlier. That's just the way my mind works.) "It's a Mnemonic device," I droned on, "An imaginary construct where you can keep memories. It helps you organise your thoughts." the wording was deliberate. Phonetic repetition is an effective technique in hypnosis. "How does it work?" she wondered fascinated. "Lean back, and close your eyes," I instructed, but she balked suspiciously, "I'll help you make one." "Don't try anything,," she warned me. "I wouldn't dream of it," I lied, and nodded with a slow blink. The dream suggestion, and visual cues would work much better than saying something suspicious like, "You are getting sleepy, Verry Sleeeepy." She relented, and closed her eves, but refused to relax. Her forgotten boyfriend stopped rubbing until I waved him on. "Now," I returned to her, "Visualize a room. it's empty now, but we can come back later to decorate. There's a door on the wall there, with the Pi symbol on it, open it, and look inside." "Okay..." she said sceptically. "Pi is the ratio of a circle's radius to it's circumference," I recited in my droning monotone. She opened her eyes, "I know." "Of course you do," I leaned in to intimate, "You just studied it. We're putting it in here so you can find it again when you need it." "Oh," she says, and closes her eyes again. "The area is equal to the pi times the radius squared," I went on, "It's also the ratio of the diameter to the circumference. Two times pi times the diameter equals the circumferences. The diameter is twice the radius, so the circumferences is twice the radius times twice pi." "Uh huh," she concentrated, but with a slight smile on her face. "Now," I shifted slightly, "Turn around, and there should be another door across from this one." She nodded silently, and chewed her lip. "It has a right triangle on it, the sides three inches, four inches, and five inches. Open the door, and look in." She nods again. I took her through Pythagorean theorem, using the 3/4/5 triplet for example. "Three and three is nine, four and four is sixteen nine plus sixteen is twenty five. Five and five is twenty five, so three squared plus four squared is five squared. For every right triangle, the sum of the squares of the legs equals the square of the hypotenuses." The repetition of numbers was incredibly effective. She repeated them silently, burning them into the floor of her brain. I judged her just about ready, and decided to try and put her deeper. she was under, but I didn't want to jerk her through the gears fast enough to snap her out of it. "Now, there's many halls here. with many doors, leading to many rooms. It's as infinite as knowledge, all you know is here, and all you will know will fit. there's another floor below this one, a warehouse of the everyday thoughts that don't need rooms, or halls, or walls. Deeper than that, below the surface of your thoughts is your heart. It beats with blood, but it also holds emotions. everything you feel is down here, and everything you will learn to feel." She didn't respond at all. She was too deep under, entranced by this hitherto unknown vastness within her. "You haven't even scratched the surface of feeling yet, never truly loved, never felt the warmth of knowing you're loved." Finally, she responded, her face fell with a deep sadness that I could almost feel out here. Even her boyfriend was affected, blindly massaging her back with his eyes closed. "There's much for you to learn," I went on, "Great things too far off for you to understand, and little things like the fact that massages feel better without a shirt in the way." That brought him back, he looked up with a grin. "Do you want to try that?" She nodded, lazily, "Alright, turn right, and go through the door with the hands on it. This is the massage room, and shirts aren't allowed in here." Slowly, mechanically, she pulled out her shirt, and we helped her out of it. Meanwhile, I motioned for us to switch, and took over rubbing her back. "That's better," I thought for her, and I must admit with no false modesty that it was true. I was a better masseur than him, hell I knew the word. I will point out that you can't learn everything there is to know about massage from a book. On the other hand, we had about the same amount of experience, plus the knowledge I'd read. I knew Shiatzu, and tantra, or at least I could pick them out of a line-up. Reaching up to rub her neck with one hand, I reached down with the other, and unhooked her bra. "your chest looks tense," I suggested, would you like it massaged too?" She nodded as I gave her boyfriend his first glimpse of her bare breasts. He reached in, entranced, and began to rub them. "that's better," I supplied for her again, and she nodded again. I wasn't expecting that, and that worried me. At that point, I decided to pull her out as gently as possible, so I could sweep up behind us. "It's quiet in here," I noted, "You cannot hear a thing." I hoped that would let me talk to him, and convince him it was time to call it a night. "all right, that's it." "Whuh?" he looked up confused. "We've been at this at least twenty minutes," I warned him, "I don't know if I can go any further, and she'll notice the time discrepancy if I do." He finally concented, so I started the long journey back to reality. "This is but one door in the long hall of sensuality," I whispered in her ear, "We can delve deeper, when you're ready, but for now, let's go up, and explore some more." She nods again, a bit more forcefully, so I get her going back. "The corridors are long, and dark, so you don't think you'll be able to find your way back again. In fact, as you climb back out of the darkness, you forget what was down there, and what you did there. Eventually, you forget that you where even there, that it's there at all." I never new all those hours palying D&D in middle school would ever be useful. We dressed her as I bought her back, "up past your everyday concerns, past even the math room is a tower. at the top, you can see the world around you, and that none can get in but you. Open your eyes." We'd switched our places back, so everything was back to normal when she came back to us. "Now," I say in a conversational tone, "You should be able to remember all the stuff we studied tonight. Pi is about 3.1415926535, but with the nine there, you can just round it up to 3.1416." She glanced up, and mumbled under her breath. "I'll remember that, " she said to me. After that first session, I had it out with him. He'd nearly messed everything up for us, and gotten us busted, if you'll pardon the expression. "What do you think you where doing in there?" I confronted him. "What?" he asks hurt. "You nearly made me snap her out of it," I point out, "If she came too, half naked, with both of us touching like that, she would never have gone out with you again. She could've called the cops, and brought us up on assault charges, sexual assault charges!" He hangs his head, and nods it dejectedly, "You're right, I'm sorry, won't happen again," he mumbles. "You're damn skippy it won't," I cut in, "None of it will. You'll have to be satisfied with what you got tonight." "Hey," he looked up a little miffed, "We had a deal." "Bullocks," I contradict, "I said I'd try. She's too resistive, and you're too distracting." "Cummon," he pleaded, "Give it another shot, I'll be good." "What do I get out of it?" I sneer. "I'll owe you," he attempts to lend. "You already owe me," I remind him. "What do you want?" he offers. Now's my chance, "I let you touch her tits, it's only fair I get the same." "No way," he doesn't seem convinced. The possibility of getting more no doubt clouded his judgement. I laugh, "Fine, you might be able to talk her into taking her shirt off next time you give her a back rub, but she'll stay on her chest, and in her bra." I prognosticate. "How do you know?" he doubts me. "Try it," I leave. ****************************************** The next day, she calls me. "I got a math tes comming up," she informs me, "You think you could help me study?" I concider, "What's Pi?" I decide to give her a pop quiz. "Three point one four one six," she recites almost instantly. "Close enough," I judge. "Well," she can't resist showing off, "It's closer to .314159, but you said I could round it up." "When do you want me to come over?" I wonder. "Can I go over there?" oh, yeah. "Sure," I curb my enthusiasm, "When?" "I'll be there in a few," she hangs up without another word. In the interrum, I set the stage. The sheet gets pulled down over my window, and I light some candles to balance the illumination. Going through the room, I hide most of the incriminating stuff, books by Crowley, La Vey, Tarot cards, my Athame, Pentacle, Chalace, and Rod. I also pick up some magazines, and shove them under the mattress, 10%, Yin&Yang, ATM, ETC. I leave out the cauldron/ braesur, because it's too big too hide, and deniable. It's not much of a walk, but he drives her up sooner than I anticipated. Apparently, she got a ride from her boyfriend. He would, of course, want to tag along to be in on it, and keep an eye on me. That changed my plans slightly, though. I let them in, then lead them up to my room. I live with some other guys at my school but it isn't a fraternity. I put PSI, and PHI up over the door as a joke. They weren't around, but that wasn't unusual, they came by to sleep, or fuck the girl du jour, and didn't study from what I could tell. I barely knew them at all, and they pretty much left me alone. "Got the study sheet?" I wondered. She nodded, and got it out of her backpack. Fairly basic stuff, regular polygons, Pythagorean proof, phi ratio... I tore off some sheets, folded over the corners to a right icosolese triangles to make a square, and trimmed it back while I taught her. She kept her eyes open, and watched what I was doing, glancing up occasionally to store some thing away. When I had six squares of paper, I folded them over again, then again, and again until I had four lobed shapes like pyramids with the sides flattened into wings. Then, I wove them together, tucking ends into each other until they became the six points of a collapsed octahedron. Finally, I started offhandedly spinning it between my palms with my fingers. She watched raptly, the spinning vanes cause a little air to be thrown out like a centripetal pump, but I was really going for repetitive cyclic motion. Again, it wasn't stereotypical, and suspicious like swinging a pocket watch in front of her face. It worked, she was entranced, so I didn't have to get mine out. Finally, her face went slack, eyes staring off to infinity in the general direction of the spinning candle-lit Euclidian solid. I moved to set it aside, but her eyes followed. "Close your eyes," I directed gently. She did, but I saw them glaze over, and roll up as the lids came down. "Now," I went on, "You are in the foyer of your mind, the spacious place without walls, or halls, or doors. A spiral staircase leads up to your memories, and a hatch in the floor goes down to the dark corridors of your heart." I almost said 'trap door,' but didn't want to make that association. "Open the hatch," I basically tell her to open her heart, "and climb down. It's dark, but you don't need to see. None knows your heart better than you," I lie, "so you easily navigate." She breathes some more. "The way is long, and winding, but you eventually find your way to the Hall Of The Senses. Here is the massage room, do you want to go in?" "Yes," she answers in a flat inflectionless tone, and starts for her shirt. Though my post hypnotic suggestion stated that she wouldn't remember, it doesn't work like that. I basically closed, and locked the door behind us last time, but once we came back, so did the rules. "Where would you like to be massaged?" I ask gently. I usually don't prompt like this, but I wanted it to be "Her" idea. It makes it more natural, so I'm not trying to get her to do something against her inner inhibitions, but reprogram them. "Everywhere," she sighs. My heart races, and I notice him getting excited too. "Lie back," I direct, and the two of us help her down. 'till now, we'd been sitting equilaterally, but now, I moved up to her upper body, and he stayed down where he was interested in. I reached for her bra, and he moves to stop me. "Again, you can hear nothing in here," I quickly shut us out of her. To him, I state, "We had a deal." He shook his head, "She's mine." "Oh really?" I raise my hands over my head dramatically, as if to clap them. "No, wait!" he tries to stop me. "I control her," I remind him, "You'd get nothing without my help. Allow me this, or I end it now." He sighs, unsure, so I offer, "I can get you in her pants, if you do exactly what I say." "Fine," he gives in. She's got nice breasts, a bit small, but perky. The bra, and gravity pressed them down, creating little curved creases between. Thankfully, it was a front clasp, so I was able to open it without reaching under. It popped open, but didn't slide off. I murmer to her, "Now, you can go deeper into the room, where they massage you deeper on your body," I reward him for his acquiescence. But no clothes are allowed at all." she balks, just lies there not moving. "It's alright, noone is in her to see you, noone can even come in here but you." Finally, she slowly reaches down to undo her jeans. He happily helps her out of them, exposing her blue cotton panties. I note a little perturbed that it doesn't match the white tafetta of her bra, but let it pass. To compensate a little, I spread my hands across her chest, brushing the open bra aside. Her hard little nipples scrape across my palm to appear on the other side. They're tiny, and dark with blood. Pinching them gently between the web of my thumbs, she arches slightly, a small smile on her equally plumped lips. Looking back, I see him rubbing the slight mound of her pubis. She lets out an unconscious sigh. Briefly removing my hands from her chest, I wave for his attention, make an "OK" with my fingers, and slip another through it while shaking my head. He opens his mouth to protest, but I shake my head explicitly "NO!" and glare at him. He resigns, and nods dejectedly. This is "massage," so penetration would be going too far. "You can come back here whenever you please," I permit her, "Whenever it's private, and you want a little pleasure for yourself." If I could get her over her inhibition against masturbation, maybe I could get her ready to accept sex. I had a similar place in my mind, connected to the hall of dreams through a fantasy shortcut. Here, I remembered all my fondest erotic wishes, and experiences. I was there now, watching with some interest as we molested her. Taking notes, and recording every detail. She felt so good in my hands, her soft smoothe breasts, the harder warm nipples. Mimicing their response, more points stood out on her chest, goose flesh pebbling her despite the warmth of the room. A flush followed, spreading up to her neck, and her lips darkened further with blood. A rosy glow suffused her cheeks as well. Her breathing got shallower, and the scent of her arousal started overpowering the burning wax in the room. He'd pulled her panties down, and was running a couple fingers between her other lips. I'm sure her button was out by now, so it must've been running between them. Sure enough, a shudder rolled across her, then again. They kept comming, in time with his slow strokes. She also hunched forward, like I do when I brush my tip after an orgasm. It's reflexive, so I didn't take it as a sign of her comming out of it. Finally, her belly rippled. She gasped, and sighed, but didn't cry out. Muscle stood out in her jaw as it clenched, and her eyelids rippled. "That's good," I thought for her, "That's so good. Now, there's no further you can go in this room. Come back, though, when you want to feel like this again." Finally, she subsided. Doors in the Mind I talked her out while we dressed her again. Retaking our positions, I lit a stick of incense to cover the smell. It positively reeked in there. She came out of it early, at the acrid scent. She sighed, sucked in a lip, and chewed on it thoughtfully. "I'm hot," she commented, and I couldn't argue, "You mind if I go out for some air?" I didn't argue with that either. As she headed down, I moved to open the windows, and let the lovely scent out. "She should start masturbating soon," I informed him, "After that, it's only a matter of time until she's ready. Speaking of which, "I have to go to the bathroom," he lied, and rushed out jerkily. Unfortunately, I felt the same way, but couldn't risk running off to relieve myself. Instead, I went down to talk to her. "You alright?" I came out behind her. She'd tucked her shirt back in, but didn't seem to think anything of it. Nodding, "I feel great," she grinned, and spread her arms. I lit a cigarette, and she asked me, "Could I have one of those?" "I didn't know you smoked," I held out my case anyway. "I don't," she commented, "But I thought I'd try one." "Take it easy," I warned, "Don't inhale right away, and take small tokes to start." "You really aren't that bad a guy," she lied unknowingly. I had to lower my head to hide my reaction, she took it as modesty, "No really, I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance when I first met you." "It's alright," I commented, "I'm used to it." "We should study together more often," she mused. I had to agree. She came by again the next day. "I passed! 87!" she squealed excitedly. "Good for you," I comment, "Did the memory house help?" "You bet!" she utters excitedly, "I just had to look it up, and it was all right there!" "Glad I could help," I comment, "You wanna come in?" She nods, and steps in. I ask if she wants a drink, but she shakes her head, "You wouldn't happen to have any cigarettes, though would you?" "Sure," I lead her back to the patio door. "Where's..." I had to ask about her boyfriend. She shrugs, then leans in to let me light her up. I avoid looking down the neck of her loose tee-shirt for the first time since I've known her. "Why do you smoke outside?" she asks after blowing it out. It's my turn to shrug, "It tends to stink up the place," I admit, "Out here, there's room for it to dissipate." "Why are you so smart?" she cocks her head at the $.50 word. I repeat the noncommittal gesture, "I'm not pretty," I venture, "So most of my friends are books." "You're not ugly either," she lies. It's apparent on her face that even she doesn't believe it. "Thanks," I take the compliment grudgingly, "But you can be honest." "Alright," she acquiesced, "So you're not the most handsome guy," yeah, I have a lot of character, meaning I frighten children, "You just need to find a nice girl who'll look past it." "Like you?" I prompted hopefully. She shook her head, but at least it wasn't in disgust, "Look, you're a sweet guy, but we're from different worlds." "Yeah," I joked, "You're from Rivendell," she preened at the compliment, "I'm from under Sauruman's tower." "You're not an Orch," so she'd seen the movie. "Actually, that'd make me an Uruk Hai," I corrected, "An intelligent Orc." She giggled a little at the comparison. I'd flicked my fag away a while ago, she took her time, and squished it under her toe like a bug. "Don't tell..." she said her boyfriend's name, "He doesn't know I smoke." "Your secret's safe with me. " speaking of secrets, I really wanted to tell her then. As we went back in, she commented, "Orchs are evil, though, you're not evil." I came within a millimetre of telling her then, but couldn't find the intestinal fortitude. She followed me up to my room. I'd left the windows open to air them out, and the paper design I'd made spun in the breeze from the chain pull of my ceiling fan. "You changed it," she looked at it fascinated. I took it down gently. Out of boredom, I'd drawn symbols, and pictograms on the 24 panels The three intersecting planes where elemental, opposite sides opposing, and the glyphs worked together in triplets of adjacent sides. Among others, the Ground schematic from electronics was on the earth side with other electrical signs and opposing the lightning rune that's half a swastika, or SS logo. "I got bored," I admitted nonchalantly. "So what's this all about frenology?" she had heard that a couple time the past two days. "It's an archaic protoscience that's like early psychology as astrology preceded astronomy, and alchemy led to chemistry." I lecture. "How's it work?" she seats herself on the corner of the bed. "It doesn't," I climbed on, and she turned around to face me, "Instead of looking inside the head, they tried to tell things about personality by the face and shape of the head." "Like reading palms?" she showed remarkable alacrity. I nod, and blink slowly. Reaching up to her face, I start to show her. "I'd have to take precise measurements, but your eyes are large, and far apart, which is supposed to mean you're emotional." I reach outward, and touch her temples, "You have deep temples, which is supposed to mean you're a deep thinker, while your small flat ears mean you depend more on your own thoughts than listening to other's. It's mostly symbolic, complete garbage." "I don't know," she ventured, "I think you described me pretty well." "That's the point," I put in, "You start with what you know about someone, and retrofit corresponding traits. You can always find something to support your assumptions if you try hard enough." "What does that have to do with the memory house?" she wonders. "Nothing," I put in, "That's a tantric technique of meditation." "The Chinese sex people?" shit, she'd heard of the Kama Sutra, and put it together with the authors. I shook my head, "It's Tibetan," I put out, "And it's a lot more than the Kama Sutra. That's like calling Christianity a death cult because of their veneration of martyrs, and the cross." Actually, I do it all the time. "So you're a Tantrist?" she was fascinated. I'd started massaging her temples, but she didn't seem to notice. "I use some of their stuff," I let my hands fall, and turned to get a small vial from my bedside. "This is Neroli," I unstoppered the precious fluid, and waved it under her nose, "It's an essential oil they distill from the bitter orange blossoms. I could catch a whiff of the deep scent. It doesn't smell fruity at all, more a slight citris flavour with all the sweetness, and tang removed.. "Mmmm," she inhaled deeply. "Unfortunately," I went on, "It's rediculously expensive." I turned the half ounce phial to show her the $45.00 sticker on the side. Then, I tipped a little out onto my finger tips, and went back to rubbing her temples. "I sometimes use it as a cologne base because Ambergris is Illegal." "Why?" she wondered wistfully, and let her lids fall shut. I didn't bother to tell her it was a whale product. I knew what I was doing, and felt ashamed of myself. It wasn't right, but I couldn't help myself. She reminded me more of Galadriel, but she was definitely elven. I despised Kate Blanchette, trust a Shakespearian to ruin an otherwise outstanding movie adopation by over acting. "Are you in your memory house?" I asked gently. She smiled, "Mmmm." "Where?" I wondered aloud, and was shocked when she started reaching for her shirt. I released her, and she slowly pulled it over her head. He hands fell limply in her lap. "Have you been back here?" I asked surprised. "Uh huh," she smiled. "When?" my wonder doesn't cease. "Last night." she discloses. "How deep do you want to go?" I asked gently. "All, the, way," she whispered, pausing after each word like Tiffany on Daria. I held her hands as he lay back, and started undressing her. "There's a door in the back of the massage room," I added as I undid her jeans, "It leads to the land of fantasy. There you can do whatever you wish, be whatever you want." "Mmmm," she repeated. "There's someone there," I go on, "Your perfect someone. Is it..." I say her boyfriend's name. She frowns, but doesn't answer, "Is it someone you know?" "No," she replies without any emotion behind it. "Describe him," I direct gently. By now, her bra is off, and I've stopped undressing to enjoy her tits. "Tall," she thinks to herself, after a good pause of indecicion, "Blonde." "What's he wearing?" I go on down to her underpants, this time noting they match. She frowns again, "Who?" "Naked?" I deduce. "Yes." I'm nearly there myself, my erection cools in the slight breeze. "What about the face," I grunt slightly, climbing up, and over her spread legs. "Pretty." I stop, nearly touching her with me. "Breasts?" I probe slightly curious. She nods, and smiles, "Small." "What's her name?" I ask dejectedly. "I don't know," she confirms. "Have you seen her before?" I'm starting to cramp up, holding back in indecision. "Last night," she sighs. Well, now, apparently she'd opened that door without me. I guess she kept her fantasies in a closet. "It's me," I lie in a slight falsetto. I can't stand it any more. Slowly, I lower my weight onto her. I slip between her lips, but not past them. I can't bring myself to rape the lesbian I love, besides, I think she'd notice her hymen missing eventually. That's alright, the direct clitoral stimulation would do her better good than me. She arched her body fully, as I brought what little weight I had down on my erection, and hers. It poked into me, and she shuddered as I dragged my inconsiderable lenth across it. She responded, the goose flesh, and corresponding flush spreading across her body in a flash. Her sharp points pressed into me making a tripod of pleasure for her. For me, I got a good amount of friction and pressure where it counted most. I slipped back and forth across her slick clitoris, quickly bringing my love and lust front and centre. I came, bringing myself all the way up to shoot my seed away from her uteral opening. She shuddered harder, and wet herself. It dampened my purse, but didn't soak it. I finished long before her, and bent to clean it up. I made sure to swallow before moving my lips down to hers for the most intimate of kisses. It bloomed for me, lay exposed in her thick soft dark beard. Okay, so she wasn't a natural blonde, I knew that from her eyebrows, and hardly cared. She responded as I tasted her essential fluids. Naroli doesn't compare, but it's taken from a wholly different flower. This was the sacred bloom, and I was lost in it's fragance. She said my name then, gently, though. It took me a moment to realise what that meant. She was out of it, I was discovered. I look, and she repeats herself, "I didn't know." she adds. "I'm sorry," my heart fell, broken. "Why?" she asked sincerely. "I mesmerised you," I admitted, "Molested you, raped you, raped your mind." She shook her head, gently, "No," I was suddenly confused, "I knew that, I didn't know I was gay. I guess that's why I balked with," she said her boyfriend, but not lover's name, "I just couldn't admit it to myself." "But I violated you," I interrupt. "No," she contradicts, "You loved me, and opened my mind. I thank you for that." Doors of the Soul It was a small enclosure, erected in one day that housed an audience and a stage. I sat and watched each play act out, each person searching for the same thing, but not really knowing how to obtain it. Endless cries of pain, as the whip would lift and fall, the people no more then marionettes, moving to the dance of pain. If your eyes fell on each face, each participant of the show, if you delved into their minds you would know what they all sought, the same thing. That one moment, the release of the soul, of the mind in which you feel an ethereal peace, a sanctuary of freedom, to totally surrender, to submit, to dominate, to control, unexplainable contentment. Imagine watching a man standing on a cliff, and within a moment he lifts into the air, time almost stands still as he slowly moves towards the water. His body enters, the water enveloping him as he disappears. We sit back and see the beauty, we want to feel the experience but fear stops us, an uncertainty, though we would like nothing than feel the surge that must race through him. A thousand times we may dive with only feet between us and the water, and never will we know how that man felt. The final act, a naked woman is slowly lead to a chair, her eyes covered, and her world darkness. The executioner’s chair, the interrogators chair, her chair, in the search for her inner freedom. As a warning is expressed to the audience about the nature of what we will see, the straps are tightly buckled around the woman’s frame. A tool case was set to the floor and as it was opened, my eyes riveted, he slowly and methodically worked on her body to get to her mind. To capture her submission, her surrender, he violated, marked and humiliated, to bring her to that one point of freedom. Sobs were heard as a person slowly slipped out, gasps and eyes averted. My attention did not flicker for a moment. People made it a game, a scene, enduring endless hours of pain to feel one moment of freedom, as they feel themselves floating, lost in a world where there are no walls, nor barriers, where you can soar and lift like butterfly, until no energy is left, mentally the time has come to rest. Every time I see the world of bondage, domination, sado-masochism I imagine it as a person trying to break down a door. With everything he has at hand, in frustration, pounding and beating, prying as he tries to get in. Slowly splinters break apart, as he centers in the area that has given away, his hands reaching in, trying to force himself through. All of a sudden he gains entry, as he bursts within, without thought of the damage he has done. His time there is limited; he must hurry, because by natural instinct a new door is being built. Many failed to see the key that was hanging by the door, in their excitement, in their fury to reach within. Maybe they did see the key, but thought their way more efficient; maybe they just didn’t know how to use it. Maybe they don’t know, with that key it will open any door within, nothing is locked, nothing is closed, it all becomes ones playground. I watched the girl on the stage finally break, the moment of release, she gave up everything, she no longer had a choice, and it was no longer her decision. She was unbound and slid to her knees, weak, exhausted, her lips searching out his feet in gratitude for setting her free. My eyes did fill with tears, not because of what I had seen, but because she found what she was searching for. I knew what she felt at the moment, I knew the emotions, and I knew how it had consumed her. Maybe I felt envy, I am not really sure. It saddened me because as I moved to my feet to leave, I knew there was another way, someone had once taken the key, and I was waiting for someone, anyone to be able to find it again. No pain, no fear, no humiliation, just a freedom that lasts every moment, with each and every breath, with each waking second of the day.