The brunette put on her make-up, thinking of the blonde, and her strange dynamic with the blonde. Looking in the mirror, she observed how these thoughts inspired the glow of a smile, and how much the smile changed her look. It was not the smile she normally used with strangers; her smile in the mirror had a very different quality. Even though she normally disliked her own look, she liked her new look more, with that smile. She wondered if there would be more of that smile in her future.
She decided she’d put on enough make-up to reach the tipping point where she felt as good about her look as she was likely to. She added some finishing touches and considered her make-up to be completed. She didn’t feel pretty but she felt prettier than she’d felt … she realized … in years. She used to pride herself on looking as good as possible — and then she’d lost inspiration.
Things had changed dramatically after that. In so many ways, so much of what she’d previously cared about passionately … it didn’t matter any more. Letting go had involved an intellectual aspect as well as an emotional aspect. The latter had been much harder.
Standing in front of the mirror, she thought of the lyrics of a song, about things not mattering any more. It was a song about hopelessness, yet not giving up on the concept of love — just giving up on a particular person. Even so, at the time, those two actions had seemed synonymous to her.
She realized how much progress she’d made, recovering from feeling so deeply hurt, by being unappreciated after trying so hard for so long, to make things work with that other person. Before giving up, her energy and her zest for life had seemed boundless, but then the emotional pain had torn these to shreds. For several years she had survived at a bare-minimum subsistence level, emotionally. She had bravely dragged herself onward, through the difficult hours of difficult days, feeling ever more exhausted, yet trying to keep going. It had been like trying to move forward while encumbered with a far-too-heavy burden. Those times had been deep and dark.
She thought about the song lyrics some more. They also mentioned finding somebody new. It had taken several years, but it had finally happened. To be precise, it wasn’t that she’d found someone — instead, someone had found her.
She felt a tinge of pride at having overcome that pain, and more — at feeling hopeful again. The new arrival in her life had inspired that hope. Pondering all this, she felt more and more ridiculous about feeling hopeful. Even so, she did not allow this negative emotion to overwhelm her. Instead, she applied a technique that the blonde had taught her: she made a point of identifying and acknowledging the negative feeling, instead of trying to dismiss or ignore it. “I feel ridiculous about feeling hopeful,” she said out loud. She repeated it slowly, a few times more. Somehow, after that, she still felt hopeful but the feeling of ridiculousness had diminished.
She loved how empowering this new technique was. She always loved how comforting it was when the blonde validated the feelings of the brunette. This technique was similar, though the validation in this case was self-validation.
She collected her thoughts, and focused on the practical task of getting ready to leave, to go see the blonde.
Did it matter what kind of underwear she wore? — she wondered … not that she owned anything that she’d classify as inspiringly sexy. She chose at random. She wondered if that might change soon, too. She felt ridiculous at that thought, too but … not just ridiculous. She noticed a faint glimmer of “perhaps” that had survived the wave of negative emotion that had just washed over her. Perhaps what? — she confronted herself. She consciously and deliberately thought about it: Perhaps it does matter. Perhaps it’s not too late.
Next, she chose a dress. She considered a dress that she normally would hesitate to wear, because it was too elegant for day-to-day wear … yet it had the offsetting attraction of being comfortable. She chose it, and some high heels.
When dressed, she took another look at the mirror. The girl in the mirror contrasted starkly with the way she looked, day to day. She kept looking, critically. She didn’t like what she saw, but she could at least see why the blonde perhaps still might. That was good enough, for now.
She noticed that she still had that strange, glowing smile. She pondered that contrast, too. Normally her smile was like the flash of a camera. Today’s smile, instead, was more like the way the eastern sky looked before a sunrise. Perhaps a sunrise was a good symbol for her life from now on.
She thought about her future, and realized how, until recently, she’d thought of her life as better befitting a sunset rather than a sunrise. People she’d known, loved and looked up to had passed. When would it be her turn? Not for a long time, ideally, was her immediate thought – and yet some of the people who’d passed had been young — as young as she was, far too young to have passed away. For some of them, she realized by reading between the lines of their life story, that the root cause had been a deep sadness, and the secondary cause had been the effects of their coping mechanisms.
She stood there pensively, her smile fading. She felt a rising tide of panic, perhaps too much to face head-on. She called the blonde immediately and told her what she was feeling and thinking, especially how afraid she was of dying before — by her own standards — she’d ever really lived.
“That shadow is not for you — not for a very long time,” the blonde gently replied. ”You have SO much living to do yet. You really have yet to begin. For so much of your life, you’ve been trying to accommodate others, trying to play by their rules. It’s your turn now, to live by your rules, and be truly happy.”
“You’ve said that before, but I still wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“That’s where I come in. I think in similar ways you do, and we can talk about it until, together, we find ways that work for you.”
“I don’t know … it all feels so futile.”
“I understand … and yet, imagine that Beethoven had played piano just briefly and then never again. That would have been a travesty, yes?
“You’re an artist. How much of your work has been intensely focused on romance, love, sexuality, intimacy, relationships, passion?”
“A lot …“
“Most of it?”
“Almost all of it?”
“You’re passionate about passion. True?”
“Yes, but it all feels so … so … ridiculous now.”
“I understand that’s how you feel … even so, let’s grade the passion in your art.”
“Probably, factors to use would be how much art you’ve created on that theme, and over how long a period of time. That’s a fair choice of metrics, yes?”
“Well, I suppose. Yes.”
“So, on that premise, I’d give you a least an A+” the blonde announced, and continued: “As to the amount of romance, love, sexuality, intimacy, relationships and passion in your life, would you say that this gets an A+ too?”
The brunette was silent for several long seconds. “No,” she replied, somberly.
“So, there’s a gap to be closed.”
The brunette realized that the blonde was understating things, gently and intentionally. She appreciated that, and then said so.
The blonde acknowledged that, and continued: “As to feeling ridiculous, I used to feel the same way about myself. There was much I wanted to do, and I felt it was too late for me.”
“I decided to go for it anyway. I felt ridiculous and I continued nevertheless. Gradually, I felt less ridiculous. And … I’m glad I proceeded as I did. I used to be depressed and now I’m almost giddily happy, and several nice people have mentioned that I’ve inspired them by being an example. You have so much loving and living to do, as yet — and as far as I can tell, you’ve experienced so little of it. Think of how much the world has to offer in that respect. Look past the ways in which you disqualify yourself from being worthy of experiencing all that, and just focus on how much there is for you to enjoy, assuming it all somehow pans out.”
“It’s hard to ignore that some of it seems vastly unrealistic.”
“Some of it might well be, but I’ve been amazed at how much I’ve accomplished by pushing forward even when victory seemed unrealistic. You won’t know until you try. It’s not as if I’m cheering on someone who’s all burned-out. You’re one of the most passionate women I know to exist. You’re just … conflicted.”
“You must be joking. Little old me? Passionate?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
The brunette was silent. She pondered this. She finally conceded the point. She tried hard, and managed to stop thinking of things as being impossible. She started imagining herself living the life she’d always craved, including deep emotional connections, primal candor, intensity, fun, excitement, sexuality …
Her lips felt dry. She moistened them with the tip of her tongue, absentmindedly — even though this would probably make them dry out faster. Her mind was elsewhere. She bit her lower lip, and then noticed what she looked like doing so. The being in the mirror radiated sexuality, shockingly so.
“I don’t know how you did it, but you have managed to inspire me to look like I belong on a street corner, and feeling enthusiastic about it. That’s what my face radiates, right now anyway. Wow.”
She felt a jolt in her tummy, at those words — butterflies, as a figure of speech. She hadn’t felt that in a long time. She almost said something about that but instead she said, “You’re a terrifying person to look up to. It’s like you’re holding out your hand, saying ‘climb up, and be with me’ yet the journey and the heights are dizzyingly scary. What if I fall?”
“I understand,” the blonde said, gently.
The brunette pondered that, then said, “Almost everyone I know would have said: ‘what if you don’t?’ ”
“Better that you figured that out by yourself,” the blonde smiled.
The brunette conceded that point too, and said, “I’d better go before I lose confidence again.” The girls said good-bye to each other. The brunette gave the sexually radiant being in the mirror one more glance, and then strode out.
* * *
Her husband happened to be nearby. He was surprised.
“That’s a very, very different look,” he observed.
Her smile deepened slightly but she didn’t say anything in reply. She picked up her car keys and her purse.
”Scene one, take two?” her husband asked.
She looked at him. Her smile deepened more yet, and she nodded.
He wasn’t sure what to say next. Even so, he knew this was a supremely important moment. She did, too.
Did he want her to succeed this time? — he wondered. He knew what the effect on her had been last time, due to not succeeding. He thought of the classic guy mantra of “If I can’t have her, nobody can.” Her previous failed attempt to leave, and the consequences to her, had exemplified that mantra — even though he had done nothing to discourage her from leaving. Is that what he wished for her? Did he want her with him even if she was miserable, and wanted to be elsewhere?
He knew that he didn’t. He was ready to see her leave and be happy. He hesitated … but then said that out loud.
The brunette inclined her head in acknowledgment. It seemed like a long moment. She realized that it had the life-changing quality of a dramatic scene in a movie. She thought of what the blonde had said, about living her life as if to inspire movies. She knew how dramatic a thing she was actually doing, right then. It was indeed the sort of scene that could be central to an intense movie. She took a deep breath. She calmly smiled a “good-bye” at her husband and walked out to her car. It all seemed surreal to her.
“I feel nervous,” she said aloud. She repeated it a few times – and felt less nervous. Sitting in her car, she texted to the blonde: “I’m in my car, about to drive off. And I don’t feel super nervous, just a little.“
“Good girl,” came the perfect reply.
* * *
An hour later, the brunette was in the blonde’s embrace, sitting in the blonde’s lap, by the hotel pool, under the moonlight. She had her arms loosely around the blonde’s neck.
“This feels like a very happy scene in a movie,” the brunette murmured.
The blonde hugged her, in silent reply.
“I’m happy,” said the brunette.
“You’ve earned it,” said the blonde.
They sat silently; loving life, enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies, and their joint victory.
“I wish we could sit like this forever,” the brunette murmured.
With perfectly ironic timing, a manager appeared and announced that it was midnight, and that the pool area was closing.
The blonde gave the brunette one last hug, and the brunette took that as her cue to get up. She did, reluctantly. She stood, and the blonde stood up too, then reached for her sundress and slipped it on.
The brunette felt brazen, and said: “I wanted to stare at you, with you wearing just your bikini.” Even so, she felt despair. She’d finally made it to where she was with the blonde, and sitting together had been so perfect, and suddenly it was over. “I’m sad that we have to leave,” she said, with simple candor.
“You’re exiting the pool area, not leaving me,” the blonde said, smiling. She took the brunette’s hand and led her away, not pulling her along but holding her hand as if they were walking down an aisle together, side by side yet with the blonde subtly setting the pace and direction. The brunette felt butterflies in her tummy again.
She imagined herself as a bride, walking down an aisle with the blonde as the other bride in the ceremony. They each had flowers in their hair, and they were each barefoot, walking on a soft, cool lawn in a lush garden, with a small group of well-wishers on either side of the aisle. The light had an odd quality, like sunlight dimmed slightly by wisps of cooling, playful-seeming morning fog. The scene seemed to belong in a dream and in the 60s, both.
For once, the brunette smiled at how her mind went to so many strange places. She dared not tell the blonde of what she’d just thought. Then, she reminded herself that intimacy was about openness, so she decided to speak up, as they ambled away from where they’d sat together.
“You used to be married, yes?” the brunette asked.
“Would you marry again?”
“No,” the blonde smiled.
“But your intended time-frame for my involvement is …” she hesitated to say it.
“Wow. Okay.” Then: “Would we ever have a ceremony celebrating our relationship?”
“I would like that. But perhaps not just one,” the blonde mused.
“I just was imagining what such a ceremony would be like,” the brunette said, and described it.
“I love it,” the blonde smiled.
“You don’t think it’s ridiculous?”
The blonde shook her head, with a warm smile that removed all of the brunette’s concerns. The brunette was so relieved that she could speak up, even about such intense thoughts. She used to have to be so guarded. She loved her new freedom, and said so, and added: “I feel so close to you, emotionally.”
The blonde smiled at her protege, and calmly guided the brunette to the lobby, then to the elevator. She pressed the button, waited and then led the brunette into the elevator. Once inside, she pressed the button for a particular floor, and then moved toward a far corner, gently bringing the brunette along. When they arrived in the corner, she drew the brunette closer yet, until they stood in a warm embrace, with the brunette’s arms once more around the blonde’s neck, her face pressed against the warm skin of blonde.
The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. The brunette realized it an instant too late, and she instinctively and guiltily started to draw away, yet with a lack of enthusiasm that was conveyed by how little force she was applying. The blonde resisted gently, as if to say: “Stay. It’s okay.” The brunette loved that. She pushed herself against the blonde again, and hugged her closer.
A male voice cheerfully said, “I’d say ‘get a room, you two’ but I gather you already did.”
The brunette felt the blonde nodding, and she could imagine the blonde’s friendly, confident smile as the door closed and the elevator continued its ascent.
“In my next life, I want to come back as someone like either of you, if it works that way,” the guy in the elevator said smilingly. Then, the elevator stopped again, the door opened, and he said, “Have a good night,” to which the blonde replied with a friendly “good night.”
The man hadn’t seen the brunette’s face, just the back of her head. With their privacy restored, the brunette hugged the blonde tighter yet. The blonde returned the hug. The elevator stopped again, the door opened, and a minute later, the brunette had the blonde’s hotel room key in her hand, and was swiping it, her heart seeming to beat loudly.
The brunette held the door open, and in they went. The blonde put out the “do not disturb” sign, then led the brunette to the large bed, and guided her onto it. The blonde slipped off her sundress, knowing that the brunette had wanted to look at her some more. The blonde had done some modeling and private dancing, and she knew the poses that flattered the best aspects of her physique, so she slowly gave the brunette a show. Finally, the blonde reached behind her and undid the knot of the bikini top behind her neck, and then the one behind her back. The bikini top came loose, and the blonde tossed it imperiously across the room, to land in an armchair. She kept her back to the brunette while doing so. She walked away again, striking a sexy pose, but still with her back turned toward the brunette, who laughed happily. “Turn around already,” the brunette begged her.
The blonde slowly turned, and the brunette felt butterflies in her tummy again. She felt breathless. Her mouth felt dry.
The blonde sashayed across the floor, and slid onto the bed, her back arched. She took the brunette’s hand, then closed her eyes and placed the brunette’s hand on her breast. She heard the sharp intake of breath from the brunette.
Slowly, the brunette’s hands and fingers moved, and explored. She murmured a compliment. Her hands moved up, to the blonde’s chest, her shoulders … down the smooth skin of a muscular yet slender arm, then up again, back to the blonde’s breasts. She moved her hand up the blonde’s neck, slowly using a precise finger to trace the edges of the blonde’s features. The brunette was breathing in an unusual way, more deeply and loudly than she normally would. She traced a finger around the outline of the blonde’s lips. The blonde opened her mouth slightly. The brunette’s finger explored more deeply: white teeth, almost perfectly straight … she swallowed awkwardly. She knew that she wanted to experience the blonde’s mouth on hers.
She put her arms around the blonde’s neck again, and slowly moved her face toward the blonde’s. The blonde’s eyes were still closed. When she felt the warm breath of the brunette close to her, she shivered in anticipation.
When last had she felt this happy and alive? — the brunette wondered. Not in a very long time, perhaps ever. She thought about how magical this was, and how she didn’t want to lose the blonde. She thought of the possibility of things going wrong. She fought that, trying to control her thoughts, trying to simply focus on the present. She lost the battle. Her doubts, concerns and her internal conflict quickly ebbed her happy mood away. She physically pulled away, devastated that she’d destroyed her own magic moment with a self-fulfilling prophecy.
She let go of the blonde, then slumped down and lay down on her back, a bitter expression on her face. The blonde slowly opened her eyes, and saw. She lay down beside the brunette, who turned away in embarrassment, with tears burning her eyes.
“Think out loud,” the blonde requested, gently.
“I can’t believe I’ve ruined the moment. I ruined my own mood by being afraid I’d ruin it.” The brunette curled up into a fetal position.
“You have a complex mind,” the blonde said, in understanding.
“I hate how I think. This is so typical,” the brunette exclaimed in self-disgust.
“You feel angry at yourself, in a way?”
“Yes!! I had the perfect moment, better than what I’d hoped for, and I ruined it by being afraid I’d ruin it.”
The blonde snuggled closer to the brunette and held her in an embrace, spooning her.
The brunette shrugged it away and said, “I should go. You should find someone who won’t ruin everything,” and squirmed as if to get up.
The blonde gently applied counter-force as she’d done in the elevator, and with similar effect. The brunette lay still, knowing that the next few seconds would shape the course of her life. She didn’t know what to do. She hoped fervently that the blonde did.
“So, this moment you ruined,” the blonde asked, “who made it?”
The brunette was puzzled. “I suppose … we did …?”
“I wonder if we can make another one,” the blonde said, mischievously.
With a shock, the brunette realized that, of course, they could. She said so.
“We should try,” the blonde said. “You are welcome to ruin as many of our moments as you like. We’ll just keep making new ones. Until you ruin them they’re enjoyable to me, anyway.”
The brunette felt ridiculous at having made such a big problem out of the issue. She said so.
“You feel ridiculous?”
“Yes! I feel absolutely ridiculous!!”
“Turn around,” the blonde suggested. The brunette did, loving the suggestion.
“Okay. I’m about to almost kiss you and I’d like you to ruin the moment as soon as it’s at it’s most poignant. Think of the first person who kissed you romantically, and then focus on that person, and the positive aspects. Then think of the negatives. Then, the next person, similarly. Then, think of ways the you-and-I dynamic can fail. Think of whatever you like, but keep your mouth close to mine, so I can feel your breath. When you’re done thinking about all that, and whatever else you want to think about, move in slowly until your lips barely touch mine.”
“Okay … if you’re sure.”
The blonde smiled, and closed her eyes. The brunette moved her lips closer, and made a point of thinking along the lines the blonde had suggested. She spent as much time as she wanted to, pondering each of those subjects. Then, she thought about the implications of the decisions she’d made, to bring her there tonight. She thought of what she’d have to deal with tomorrow, and how she could leave the hotel in broad daylight yet maintain her privacy. She thought about it perhaps raining the next day. She thought about rain.
She thought about how free she felt, for once, knowing that she could think of whatever she liked, without fear of it ruining the mood or the moment. She thought of the blonde, and how well the blonde understood her. She wanted to have the blonde in her life for the rest of her days. She finally moved her lips closer, and they gently touched those of the blonde.
* * *
They kissed for a long time, their mouths on each other’s. Then, the brunette’s mouth explored more. She stopped at the brunette’s waistline, not going beyond. Half an hour later, there wasn’t much of the blonde, from the waist on up, that the brunette’s lips hadn’t explored. Overwhelmed with happiness, the brunette lay back and simply savored the joy she felt. “I wonder if it’ll always be like this,” she said.
“It won’t. We’ll have our ups and downs, including much better yet and much worse than what you’ve just experienced. There’s also an intense initial euphoria currently, and that will probably fade.”
The brunette nodded, pensively. Then, she had another thought: “We’re in a sort of Dominant/submissive dynamic, aren’t we? As in, you set the direction, inspire me, guide me, and protect me?”
“And you’ve had many of these, yes?”
“Yes. And two of them, I have currently.”
“Two? Last I heard you had only one girlfriend.”
“Not every submissive girl whom I mentor is a girlfriend.”
“Oh! That hadn’t occurred to me. Are you emotionally close to this other girl?”
“It’s a matter of degree. Yes, but not with the intensity that there would be if she were on track to become girlfriend material.”
“Do you have sex with this other girl?”
“No, but I do set direction, inspire, guide and protect.”
“With a sexually themed element?”
“For me, with me, in a D/s dynamic, there always is. Without the sexual element, it’s not interesting to me.”
The brunette processed all this.
“So, your girlfriend … she is your lover and submissive?”
“Yes, though she doesn’t live with me and it’s currently a long-distance dynamic.”
“I see. As for me, do you think you and I will ever have sex, and will I ever be your girlfriend, and live with you?”
“That is my plan, yes,” the blonde smiled, “and none of those developments are far in the future, I’d guess.”
“Wow.” The brunette lay there, happily and pensively. Then: “I love how it’s OK with you that my mind goes all over the place.”
“It’s not just OK, I like how you think. And eventually, so will you.”
The brunette shrugged, and said wistfully, “That seems so unlikely.”
“More unlikely than you being here, now, as you are?”
The brunette laughed her breathless laugh. “No,” she conceded. Then, “I have a question. I’m of small stature, and slender. Is your current girlfriend also like that?”
“Not as slender as you are, but yes, that’s her basic body type.”
“Have you ever had a tall, muscular girlfriend or submissive?”
“Did you call them each your good girl too?”
“I don’t recall, but with each girl, I have the sort of dynamic that reconciles with that terminology.”
The brunette was pensive for a few more seconds, then: “I think I’m ready to articulate some observations, out loud. The way you deal with me is inverted from how others deal with me. Others tend to treat me as cute, charming, and diminutive, sort of like an endearing cartoon character whom they want to take to bed. That image has had its uses, for me, but I’m so deeply tired of that. You … you don’t treat me as if I’m diminutive. With you, I’m just one more girl, albeit one you care about and find endearing – yet not in a way that trivializes me. I like how seriously you take me. So many view me as superficial, quirky and eccentric, yet you see so much more.”
“Good observations,” the blonde commended her.
“Wait, I also realize that even while treating me as cute, so many people treat me as if I were royalty, fragile or both. They fuss over me. I hate that. By contrast, you don’t. For example, I love how you handed me the room key so that I’d be the one opening the hotel room door, and holding it open for you. Almost everyone else would have opened the door for me, and held it open so I could walk through it first. With you, it’s not like that. You like me and value me, but you don’t have me on a pedestal. Most others adore me in the sense that they’re fawning and groveling. Not you. It’s like you’re standing on a mountaintop, and I’m standing slightly below you. You’re looking down at me with a look that says I belong next to you, and you’re urging me to ascend, to be with you. Oh! And I just realized … I don’t even know what the others are seeing when they’re gushing. You, instead… you see the ‘real me’ … the actual person. I can’t imagine why you’d like what you see as a result, but … somehow you do.”
“So … others see you as diminutive, they don’t know the ‘real you’ and they treat you as if you’re on a pedestal, whereas I treat you as someone fundamentally equal … you, the ‘real you’ … and even though you view yourself as being so much less than me, I disagree and I am encouraging you to ascend to where I am and take your rightful place by my side,” summarized the blonde.
“Yes! And I can’t imagine how I could ever think of you as my equal. You’ve done so much, learned so much …”
“Not my equal in every way – just fundamentally. As in, you’re a good, worthy person and mate for me, and I like your way of thinking.”
“Wait, if you already think of me as your equal, then how can I ascend?”
“In your own estimation of yourself.”
That made sense to the brunette. Then: “Once I reach the level you are, will we still be in a D/s dynamic?”
“Yes. We probably always will be.”
“You prefer the role of a submissive, and I enjoy setting the direction, inspiring you, guiding you, protecting you.”
“What about the whips and chains, as in the BDSM books and movies?”
“Unnecessary, weren’t they?”
The brunette realized with a shock that the act of winning her submission was already in the past. “Yes, wow. Then again, I had no resistance that you had to break, so to speak.”
“If you had, whips and chains would not be the way. But as to you not having resisted, are you sure?” the blonde smiled.
The brunette thought about it, and it dawned on her how resistant she had been. “I indeed was resisting you. Wow, I didn’t think of it like that. You sometimes understand me better than I do myself. Often, actually. That used to scare me but nowadays I love it.”
She turned toward the blonde and brought her lips up to those of the other girl again. They kissed for a long time.
* * *
After a while, the blonde lifted her head, looked at the bedside clock and announced: “It’s 2 a.m. I prefer you spend the night but if there’s any announcement you should make to someone else, I’m gently reminding you that time flies when you’re doing what you enjoy.”
“Oh! That did go quickly. Wow! Okay … “ she reached for her phone and sent a text message to her husband, then lay back and said, “I can’t believe how natural and easy that was.”
The blonde waited for the brunette to elaborate. The brunette’s mind seemed to be going a million miles per hour.
“I texted him that I’m not planning to go back tonight or tomorrow night, and that I plan to go back the day after that, physically … yet emotionally I’m not going back.”
Her phone made a sound. She looked at it. The text message reply was: “I figured. Best of success with your new life, but in person, we should discuss how this affects things, officially.”
She typed … “Agreed. I appreciate your understanding. Shall we talk? Tuesday afternoon?”
“See you then”
“That’s that,” the brunette announced. “I just dynamited the bridge behind me.”
“Good girl … but was it ever really there?”
The brunette thought hard. “No … but it seemed to be, and that was comforting in its illusion.”
“I understand,” replied the blonde.
The girls were quiet for a long time. Then, the brunette seemed to have processed her concerns, and she focused on kissing the blonde some more. After half an hour of that, she lay against the brunette, looking at the ceiling. She was happy but her mind was racing. The blonde could see this, and smiled.
After several minutes, the brunette frowned, then thought some more and finally said: “Normally I’d never say this, especially since things seem so perfect but … I just realized something that has been bothering me, these last few minutes. I no longer feel that what we have is fragile, and so I feel OK with bringing up … difficult subjects, like this next one.”
The blonde prompted her to continue.
“I love that you cherish me and want to protect me but some of my fantasies are … “ she turned and finished the rest of the sentence with her face buried in a pillow.
“I didn’t hear that, but let me guess … Primal? Intense?”
The brunette turned around and replied: “Oh, gawd, yes. But,” she hastened to add, “I don’t need to experience them. I just now realized I probably never will and I have accepted that. I’m so happy with what you and I have, but this aspect has just occurred to me and I felt the need to say good-bye to those fantasies — so if I looked a little sad, I wanted you to know why.”
“Wait, I don’t want the you-and-I dynamic to be bland.”
“No, but what I fantasize about is FAR from bland, and doesn’t reconcile to you cherishing me.”
“Are you sure? If you crave something intense and I orchestrate that, wouldn’t that be consistent with me valuing you highly?”
The brunette was shocked. “I … I hadn’t considered that. But what I crave is so … so … intense.”
“Remember, I used to be a professional Dominatrix, and part of the job is not unlike the erotic version of an action movie stunt director. I make viable enough of the elements of what seems implausible. As a result, the watered-down version is viable yet still satisfyingly intense.”
The brunette absorbed all this and then prompted the blonde to continue.
“You probably don’t have just one fantasy, true? Multiple?”
“So choose one that’s sort of in the middle of the intensity scale, and tell me.”
“Oh, I could never!”
“Okay,” the blonde said, “then let me tell you one of mine.”
“Does it involve me?”
“Not this one. I’ve had it for years.”
The blonde told the brunette about her own sexual fantasy. The brunette responded with: “Wow. That IS intense. I didn’t realize that sort of thing was a fantasy for you.”
“And it’s totally impracticable, yes?”
“Yes, it seems to be.”
“And yet, someone who loved me very much helped me move towards orchestrating that, and with a few aspects absent in the interest of viability, I experienced that fantasy.”
“Wow! And were you safe?”
“Wow! And those missing ingredients … “
“Ended up not detracting much.”
“But you still have that fantasy?”
“Yes. I’d like to experience it again.”
“So … now I feel OK with telling you one of mine.”
And so they lay in bed together, taking turns with discussing ever-more-intense sexual fantasies. By 4 a.m. the brunette snuggled closer and mumbled, “I feel closer to you emotionally, romantically, then I’ve felt … ever. And yet, we haven’t even had sex. I even still have my dress and my shoes on. Isn’t that strange?”
“No. It’s all fundamentally about having a mental connection.”
“But there’s a physical aspect too, though.”
“Yes, but most people overestimate its importance.”
“Wow. Yes, I can see that. So, now I want to remove my dress and you’ve seen my soul naked, so to speak — yet somehow I still hesitate to show you my body, naked.”
“I’m happy with whatever you’re comfortable with. You can sleep in your dress if you like. Worst case you rumple it. However, I do think you should take your dress off if you would like to do it, and you just need a little encouragement.”
The brunette processed all this. Then she stood up, and said: “Somehow that was the perfect response.” She reached behind her back to unzip her dress.
“Whoa, wait, stop. Slow down … very, very slowly, so that I can savor this.”
“What am I, your stripper girl?”
The brunette took a deep breath. She looked the blonde in the eyes, and very slowly, she removed her dress. It snagged on her elbow and there was an awkward moment, but she recovered.
“Please tell me that none of your former girlfriends was a professional stripper and that she did this so much better.”
“One of them was, yet she didn’t do it better.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“For you, this was important, and I could see it. For her, this sort of thing was routine. What you just did was much more meaningful, thus more sexy.”
“Even though she is more skilled and prettier than I am?”
“So she is prettier than I am?”
“Technically, yes as in: she’d be more likely to win a typical beauty pageant.”
“And yet, what I just did was sexier for you, personally?”
“I’m starting to understand how this all works … I like it. Wow. “ Then: “Do I have to remove my underwear too? And I apologize, it’s not very sexy.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Because you crave to do so.”
The brunette laughed again. “Yes, I do,” and with her mind racing, she absent-mindedly reached to undo her bra. She was immediately asked to stop, and to proceed at a much slower pace. She did so.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, when she stood there naked. “I’m probably the least sexy girl you’ve ever seen naked.”
“You don’t feel sexy?”
“Well, I DO feel sexy in a way — but I’m trying to sympathize with how disappointed you must feel.”
“Do you know how I feel?”
“Well, no,” the brunette conceded.
“Are you disappointed at how I look?”
“Be honest … I crave that. I can’t be pretty by the standards of the girls you’ve been with.”
“You’re pretty by my standards.”
“Because it’s not just a naked body. It’s YOUR naked body.”
“Well, if it weren’t mine, would you still like it?”
“Less, and that’d be true even if it were shaped like Miss Nevada.”
“You really can’t separate how much you like me from liking my body, can you?” the brunette asked, loving what she had just discovered.
“I’m so glad,” the brunette said, feeling intense relief. She kicked off her shoes and walked across the room, naked. She pirouetted. “You like?”
“I haven’t felt attractive, deep down, personally, in a long time …” she paused … “if ever.”
“You like that feeling.”
“I LOVE this feeling.”
“I’m glad. You deserve it. Welcome to your new life.”
The brunette thought about the implications of everything she was learning. They overwhelmed her. She became silent, and stopped moving. Tears formed, then streamed down her cheeks. She stood there, slumped, simply crying. The blonde stood waiting, watching, sympathizing but not intervening. After two minutes of standing there crying, the brunette stumbled toward the bed, fell down on it, and embraced the blonde. She tried to speak through her tears but soon she was sobbing and it became impossible to speak. She stopped trying, and simply gave in, and cried, holding onto the blonde. Many minutes later, she could finally articulate her thoughts, and she did.
“So that’s why my age isn’t a negative for you?”
The blonde nodded and smiled.
“You still want me to look good but more as a ‘be the best I can be’ sort of thing, not as a prerequisite?”
The blonde nodded again, smiling.
“So that’s why ten years or more from now, you’re still likely to want me and find me attractive?”
“Yes,” the blonde replied. “No guarantees or promises, but it seems logical.”
“It does,” the brunette agreed. “I have not felt so relieved in a very, very long time. Wow. My biggest concern has just evaporated.”
She turned, lying in front of the blonde, spooning, and she pushed back against the blonde, snuggling happily. Then, she realized something. “You still have your bikini bottom on,” she said, almost accusingly.
“For tonight, it seems prudent,” the blonde explained. Reluctantly, the brunette agreed. Then, she reached for the blonde’s hand, and placed it over her own breast. She loved how the blonde’s hand explored its new protégé, for a long time.
“I’m so sleepy but I don’t want to fall asleep. I am happy,” the brunette mumbled, the smile and sleepiness both audible in her voice.
“Me too,” replied the blonde. “But we have tomorrow, and every day after that, potentially. Good night, my princess.”
“Good night, my queen,” the brunette responded, sleepily, almost asleep. “I love how you said that … not little princess, just princess … your princess … ” her voice trailed off into a mumble on the last two words. She was asleep.