by Roxy Harte
“That is the second time today you have professed to love me.”
“I am obsessed with you. I spend too much time thinking about you, imagining where you are and what you are doing—who you are with. I am jealous and lustful,” she admits. “Is that love?”
I don’t say anything and Lin looks away.
“I guess when we were seeing each other before—it seemed we were getting serious—I believed I did love you.”
I was falling in love with you too.
“I am both fascinated and repulsed by what you do for a living. I cannot in my wildest dreams imagine introducing you to my grandmother—not as a professional Dominant—perhaps if I could have introduced you to her as a successful psychiatrist…the sting that you are not Chinese would have at least been lessened.”
My eyebrows go up. I’m alarmed but I wisely keep my mouth shut as she continues speaking.
“I was married before. My grandmother arranged the marriage.”
From past conversations I know that after her mother died her relatives sent her here from China to a father who before she arrived didn’t know she existed at all. He was Caucasian, married and an affluent businessman. His answer to her arrival was to immediately send her to a European boarding school. It is understandable that as an adult she saved every penny to bring her grandmother to the United States.
“I did not love him. I didn’t even particularly like him. And when he rutted on me, it was not a pleasant experience. When my husband died I told my grandmother I would never marry again unless it was a man of my choosing.”
I barely control my reaction. Why am I so shocked to learn that her grandmother would use her influence to coerce Lin into such an antiquated tradition? But it also suddenly makes sense why she had pressured me in the past. “Before—you wanted to introduce me to your grandmother?”
“It was only a worry back then. How would I ever introduce you to her if it became necessary? And how would I ever meet someone appropriate as long as I was obsessed with you? You see the impossible situation I was in?” In a rush she admits, “Now my grandmother is pressuring me to marry, because I am expected to continue the family line and I’m not getting any younger.”
Marriage? “Lin, are you suggesting—?”
“I would be a good wife to you. I would be faithful. I would bear your children. I would even overlook others if you choose to have relations outside of our marriage bed. I would only ask that when you meet my grandmother that it be as Dr. George Kirkpatrick. I would not require you to give up your current,” she struggles before saying, “occupation. I would only ask you to never reveal it.”
I stand. “Lin, I don’t think—”
“I’m sorry. I’ve completely caught you off guard. I’ve made you uncomfortable. Of course you do not want to marry someone like me—” She covers her mouth with her hand, her eyes threaten fresh tears. “I’ve made you angry.”
I squat in front of her, taking her hands in mine. “I’m not mad. I’m confused. How have I led you to believe I’m a normal man in pursuit of normal relationships?”
“You never misled me. You have been honest. Brutally so.” She bursts into tears.
Awkwardly I pull her against me, patting her back. “Lin, it’s going to be okay. There are many men who would jump at the chance of marrying you. You are kind, beautiful and so talented.”
She pulls back and meets my gaze with a sudden boldness. “Because I fear your kink?”
“Because I don’t believe a piece of paper creates a relationship, and if you remember—I told you the first time we went out—I’m polyamorous.”
“Is it very arrogant of me to believe I could be enough woman for you?”
I hold back the laugh that boils to the surface with the innocence of her ideas, and while I don’t believe in the one, I am intrigued enough by the woman that I do not want to part ways as of yet. I say teasingly, “A little arrogant.”
“I cannot explain why, and I’ve argued with myself for months that I should not call you, but I can’t seem to find a single other man as intriguing as I do you. I want to see you again…maybe because I am terrified of your deviance. I believe you are the one.”
“I had a lovely time at dinner—but I can’t promise you that our relationship will ever lead to marriage.”
Sighing heavily, she stands and it becomes obvious that she is trembling. “I should go.”
“Please don’t. I like you very much. I enjoy every moment we are together. I don’t want our evening to end on an ugly note. Let’s talk over a cup of tea.”
“Tea?”
“Yes. In the kitchen. The kitchen isn’t too sinister, is it?” I give her a look of innocence that makes her giggle and then take her hand and lead her from the garden.
I’ve lost my mind. I should stop this before it goes any further but I can’t. I look into her eyes and I’m swept into another world. It’s a place of hopes and dreams long forgotten. I feel as though I’m floating on a cloud of fantasy and it’s every bit as powerful as my usual aphrodisiacs.
Love.
Marriage.
Children.
I need someone to slap me. Wake me up. Instead I make tea in a dazed fog and carry it to the table where we sit and talk.
I ask about her sculptures and listen enraptured as she passionately explains her work. After several minutes she blushes and drops her eyes. “I am talking too much.”
“I love to hear you talk.” I lift her chin, willing her to meet my gaze. When she does, I can tell by her expression she wants to ask me something. “What?”
“What is it like for you? Your job?”
“I suppose that for me being a Dominant is much like being a sculptor is to you. I’m able to be myself completely. It’s a passionate, creative outlet.”
Lin makes a face, trying to hold back a smile. “I do not make people orgasm.”
I chuckle, saying jokingly, “You never know.”
Her eyes widen. “No, no, no. I won’t even consider that!”
Leaning forward, I hug her face in my hands and drop kisses on her cheeks. “I love the expressions you make.”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth.
Standing, I take her hand and pull her to her feet. Without a word, I lead her to my bedroom. As if explanation is necessary, I admit, “I want to make love to you.”
“Should I undress for you?”
Oh that’s right, we’re both still completely dressed.
My cock tightens as she lifts her arms to undo a button behind her neck.
“Let me help you.” I turn her around and unfasten a short row of buttons.
She unzips a side closure at her waist and then pulls the dress over her head, leaving behind a thin silk-and-lace slip.
Still standing with her back to me, she looks over her shoulder at me and slides her arms from the spaghetti straps holding the delicate lingerie. The fabric falls as she lifts her hands to the bun twisted at the nape of her neck. I take in her smooth alabaster skin. Suddenly her waist-length hair falls in an inky black cascade to hide her strong shoulders and narrow waist from me.
Perfume rises around us and I realize it’s coming from her hair.
“God, Lin. You’re so beautiful.” I push her hair aside to kiss her shoulder. From behind, I wrap my arms around her to cup her breasts through a stiff lace bra that has thick padding. I don’t want to squeeze fabric, I want to touch her bare skin, and I slide my hands beneath the cups to find her warm flesh.
Her breasts are small and I massage them gently. Her nipples too seem small—tight, firm buds beneath my palms—and I can’t deny myself the lure of their temptation. Turning her in my arms, I bend to suck her nipple and my cock grows harder and more impatient.
She reaches behind herself to unfasten her bra, and I am still sucking hungrily on her flesh when the fabric comes away completely. I take my mouth to her other nipple and am pleased when she cries out, seeming as needy as I am.
Or maybe I am just being too rough.
“I need you, Lin.”
“Yes, yes, George.” She pulls out of my grasp and climbs onto the bed. She is still wearing her panties. I am completely clothed.
I manage to get my tie pulled off and my shirt unbuttoned before I cover her. I am too impatient to completely undress. I feel like a hormone-ravaged schoolboy as I claim her mouth with tongue and teeth. She meets my urgency with an equal passion and tugs my shirttail free. She slides her hands beneath the fabric.
I like the feel of her small hands sliding over my chest, helping to push my shirt off. Her hips buck under me, seeming to beg for the impossible, at least until I get out of my pants.
She fumbles with my belt, the metal fastener and zipper, but finally gets my pants loose, my underwear pulled down enough to expose my cock. The air seems cool on my newly bared skin.
“I need you now, George!”
Previous dates have never brought us this far. The barely functioning logical side of my brain demands a condom, and I rummage gracelessly in a bedside drawer. She shimmies out of her panties as I tear the package and slide it on.
Her impatient hands meet mine, trying to help or maybe hurry the process.
“Now, George! Now!” She wraps her legs around me and pulls me down to meet her upward thrust. I impale her fast, deep. Her breath sucks in as I find her depth shallow.
I push deeper and she cries out.
“My God, Lin, you’re so small. So tight.”
“You are just big, George. Too big.” She grunts and I realize I may be hurting her.
Withdrawing completely, I reach into the bedside drawer for lube and apply a liberal amount with my fingers. I finger-fuck her. Watching her face, I pull out, but not completely, and thrust back in, going a little deeper. “You’ll stretch for me.”
Her eyes roll back and her eyelids flutter closed.
I push deeper, two fingers and then three. She moans and it is no longer pain-filled. I press the tip of my erection into her, still massaging her with my fingers. When I am sure she can take my girth, I push into her tightness. “Take it, Lin. Open for me.”
“Ahhh! Ah! Ah!”
I back off but immediately thrust again, harder, deeper, burying myself to the hilt.
I hear her breath suck in, but she doesn’t exhale.
“Breathe, Lin, in and out.”
She finally exhales and her eyes open to meet my gaze.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
I start pushing in and pulling out, setting a rhythm. My need is almost boiling over when I see her expression change, her breath quicken. I hold back until I see pleasure building in the depths of her eyes and then I ride her hard, feeling her responding beneath me. Her hips rise again and again to meet mine.
“Come for me, Lin.”
She cries out, and I know she is riding a wave of bliss. Only then do I let my own pleasure peak. The sounds we make together are a primal song, her shrill yips perfectly harmonized with my deeper low growls.
And in the midst of it all, I get carried away and bury my face in her hair, whispering words that I regret as soon as they are said. “I love you.”
She falls asleep in the curve of my arm, but not before she whispers, “It’s never been like that for me before, George. Your patience and kindness lifted me to bliss. I knew you were the right man.”
* * * * *
Well, I’ve done it now, haven’t I? I’m in trouble. I can feel it deep within my being. I awake with Mitzi Gaynor’s voice in my head, and I lay grinning like a fool as my mind silently belts the lyrics from a South Pacific tune—I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love…
Of course with a wonderful guy didn’t work so I substitute with a beautiful girl.
And the song keeps going and going…my smile gets wider and wider.
Love is a grand and beautiful thing, I’m not ashamed to reveal, the world-famous feeling I feel. I’m as corny as Kansas in August…I’m in love, I’m in love…
No! Stop this now!
But I can’t stop. And the song keeps repeating in my head.
As I lie beside her my conscience screams at me for professing my love to her.
This is horrible. This is insane. I’ve completely lost my mind. Proven as I lay for hours watching Lin sleep, trying to find the imperfection.
Disgusted with myself, I leave the bed and trod naked to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I think we will both need it in light of the sobering morning we face. I don’t want to spoil our friendship. But it’s already too late to worry about such things, isn’t it? Really, isn’t it pretty clear? She’s vanilla! I’m a sadist.
If anyone in my position came to me for advice, I would advise them to get out before anyone gets hurt. I don’t want to break Lin’s heart.
But the truth is I want her. Some part of me needs what a relationship with her gives me.
Is it just normalcy?
I do lots of normal things. I golf. I lunch on occasion with past colleagues. Rarely, to be certain, but I do.
My heart aches, threatening to explode in my chest.
I wish to God I was having a heart attack—an honest-to-goodness life-threatening moment—anything but the truth.
I’m in love with her. There’s no rhyme or reason to it.
Suddenly she appears in the doorway. She looks fragile. She looks like a woman in love. Well, haven’t I just fucked us both royally?
“Why are you looking at me that way?” she asks.
“You are beautiful to gaze upon.”
“You looked pained.”
“A star as brilliant as the sun burns as it brightens.”
She frowns at me.
“I am darkness, you are light. It hurts to be so near you.”
She laughs. “I’m glad you don’t make your living as a poet.”
I clutch my chest dramatically but we are both laughing.
“Are you saying that you can’t be happy with me unless you hurt me in your dungeon because you are a sadist?”
“I did not say that.”
She approaches the table. “Deny it.”
I pull silence to me as a defense. Childish, I know, but I won’t lie to her. Grabbing her wrist, I pull her to me and wrap my arms around her waist. I press my cheek against her stomach. She has pulled on her silk slip and the fabric is cool against my face. “Let me show you a glimpse of the darkness inside you.”
“George.”
In just my name there is so much emotion. Fear, frustration, need, longing…
I won’t force her.
“We won’t leave the kitchen,” I promise, looking up into her face. “This is not a scary room.” I look around the space, hoping she can see that as well—moss-green walls, pecan cabinets, quartz countertops—and see when my gaze returns to hers that she is looking at the room appreciatively.
“I love this room. Do you like to cook, George?”
“I do. Very much so.”
“Maybe we could prepare a meal together sometime?” She strokes my hair.
“I would like that,” I admit, realizing the truth of my words.
She meets my gaze. “What do you mean when you say ‘a glimpse’?”
Standing, I say, “Sit.”
Fortunately she does.
I kneel before her. “Put your feet onto my shoulders.”
She tilts her head questioningly.
“The first rule is to obey without question and see where my requests lead. I promise I will not give you any pain.”
She lifts her bare feet onto my shoulders and the short slip slides up on her thighs. I help the fabric along, pushing it higher so that her genitals are exposed to me. I run my finger along her slit, not pushing between, just lightly teasing the smooth, soft flesh of her labia as I explain, “Many men and women have fantasies that revolve around a gynecological exam. I think in this position you could imagine yourself in an examination room, your feet in cold metal
stirrups, a doctor looking between your legs.”
She gasps and her vaginal muscles jerk beneath my touch.
“In my basement I have all of the medical instruments to make such a fantasy a reality.”
“I don’t understand why anyone would want to—”
“You don’t see a gynecological exam as erotic?” I ask.
“No, of course not.” Her vaginal muscles twitch again.
“So if I had a cool, metal speculum and slid it between your vaginal lips,” I press two fingers from each hand into her to demonstrate, “you would not find that erotic at all?”
“No.” Her entire face frowns with confusion.
“Invasive?”
“Disturbing, painful,” she says and I stop stretching.
“So most gynecological exams are uncomfortable for you?”
“Embarrassing,” she admits, her knees beginning to tremble. “I am small down there. Yes, it hurts.”
“Pain and embarrassment can be powerful sexual triggers,” I explain, pulling her slip down her thighs. I lift her heels off my shoulders and put her feet back on the floor. “Maybe someday you will allow me to demonstrate completely.”
“That’s it?” She looks disappointed.
“For now.” I want to leave her guessing, curious, and I know she will be left thinking about this strange encounter for the rest of the day. I want her to be able to come to me with her needs. I want to be able to tell her my needs without fear of judgment.
She didn’t run screaming. That in itself seems a good start.
“Can I make you some breakfast?”
“Oh George. Who told you the way to my heart is through my stomach? I am always starving.”
I look at her thin, delicate frame, hardly believing that.
Our gazes collide and she blushes sweetly before ducking her head. She’s thinking about it already, possibly about me knelt before her, giving her an exam in the room just below us.
Turning away, I start gathering the supplies I’ll need to make omelets and the song plays in my head. It’s all I can do to keep myself from humming. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in looooove, I’m in love with a beautiful girl.