The fundamental ingredient in German dishes is flour. They use it in absolutely everything. That’s what Eric tells me as I polish off a Weissburst, a white sausage. It’s made from finely chopped veal, spices, and lard. It’s to die for! Happy because of the attention his uncle and I are paying him, Flyn bites into a figure-eight-shaped salty donut called a Brenz. He and I have set our differences aside, and Eric is enjoying our time together. For a while, they bring us many different dishes to try. Germans have a light supper, but I’m hungry, and I ask for finely sliced radishes lightly sprinkled with salt. They tell me it’s called Radi. After that, they bring us Obatzda, a cheese made with Camembert, butter, onions, and sweet smoked paprika. For dessert, I go crazy with the Germknödel, a dumpling filled with plum jelly and made from sugar, yeast, flour, and hot milk, then topped with confectioner’s sugar and poppy seeds and served with melted butter or vanilla custard sauce, so . . . very light.
When we return home later that night, we’re beat. We’ve walked a lot, and Flyn drops into bed. Lying on the sofa in the living room while watching a movie, I propose we go for a swim in the pool. Eric has his eyes closed and declines.
“Something wrong, honey?”
“No,” he quickly replies.
“Does your head hurt?” I ask, worried.
Suddenly, amused, he grabs me like a sack of potatoes and carries me to the pool. We turn on only the pool light, and, when he least expects it, I push him in, and he splashes in the water. When his head emerges, he just looks at me.
I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’re going to get mad?” I ask, laughing.
My laughter makes him laugh, and more so when, still dressed, I jump into the water beside him. Eric grabs me and tickles me.
“Sweetheart, you’re a very naughty girl.”
For a while, we play at drowning each other and slowly take off our clothes until we’re naked. We kiss. We tempt each other, and, finally, we make love.
I’ve never done it in a pool before, but it’s exciting. Eric is whispering in my ear things he knows make me hotter still.
After recovering, I suggest we lap-race in the pool, but Eric says he just wants to kiss me and enjoy me. Twenty minutes later, we get out of the water. I grab a couple of towels and go back to his side. Once dressed, we lie in a nice brown hammock.
When we move, it feels like we’re floating. Kisses, caresses, and suddenly I’m on top and devouring his penis. Lying on his back, he seems to enjoy my attention while I play with him and give him roguish and fiery kisses.
I love his penis. I love the feeling of it in my mouth. I love its softness, and I adore how Eric touches my hair and encourages me to suck it. But he can be impatient. He’s never satiated.
He gets up and plants his feet on the floor on either side of the hammock. Turning me over, he murmurs in my ear as he penetrates me, “This is for pushing me into the pool.”
“I’m going to push you again,” I whisper as I receive him.
“I’ll have to fuck you again and again for being such a bad girl.”
He bites my side as his hands passionately squeeze my waist and he makes me his own again and again.
“Arch your hips for me . . . More . . . more . . . ,” he demands, grabbing my hair.
He gives me a slap that echoes through the pool room. I gasp. I do what he asks. I bow, and he plunges deeper into me. What he’s doing pleases me, and my moans tumble around the room while, suspended in the hammock, I come and come before my love’s strong and wonderful attacks. An hour later, drained, we go to our room. We have to rest.
In the morning, when I get up and go downstairs to the kitchen, Simona informs me Eric hasn’t gone to work and is in his office. Surprised, I go find him. As soon as I open the door and see his face, I know something’s wrong.
I’m scared.
“Jude, call Marta.”
Quickly, I do what he says.
I’m trembling.
Eric, my strong and tough Iceman, is suffering. I can see it in the tension on his face. In his red-rimmed eyes. I want to be near him. I want to kiss him. Pamper him. I want to tell him not to worry. But Eric doesn’t want any of that. He asks me to leave him alone. I respect what he needs and stay in the background.
Half an hour later, Marta arrives. She’s carrying her medical case. When she sees the state I’m in, she asks me to calm down. I try. She examines her brother carefully before my watchful eye. Eric isn’t a good patient and complains the whole time. He’s unbearable.
Marta, unperturbed by his grunting, sits right in front of him.
“Your optic nerve is worse. You have to go back to the operating room.”
Eric curses. Groans. He doesn’t look at me.
“I told you this could happen,” Marta says calmly. “You knew it. You need to start the treatment so we can do the trabecular microbypass.”
Hearing this makes me mad. He hasn’t said a word to me at all about this, nothing at all. But I don’t want to argue. It’s not the time. He has enough to deal with already. But, wanting to join the conversation, I ask, “What is the treatment?”
Marta explains. Eric doesn’t look at me.
“Very well then,” I say confidently. “You’ll say when we can start.”
23
As expected, Eric is even more unbearable during the treatment. A real tyrant. He doesn’t want to do anything he’s supposed to and complains day in and day out. Because I know him, I don’t take him seriously, although at times I feel an uncontrollable urge to push his head into the pool and not let him come back up.
During this time, Marta talks to several specialists. She, of course, wants the best for her brother and keeps me posted on everything. The eye drops Eric has to use wreck him. His head hurts, his stomach churns, and he can’t see very well. He’s overwhelmed.
“Again?” he protests.
“Yes, love, time for the drops again,” I say.
He curses, but when he sees I’m not going away, he sits down, and, after a long sigh, he lets me treat his eyes.
They’re red rimmed. Too red. Their blue is faded. I’m scared. But I don’t let him see just how scared I am. I don’t want him to be even more overwhelmed. He’s scared too. He doesn’t say anything, but his fury lets me know just how terrified he is of his condition.
It’s night, and the darkness of our room envelops us. I can’t sleep. He can’t either.
“Jude, my illness is getting worse. What are you going to do?” he asks, surprising me. I know what he means. Sometimes I get very tired of wanting to smack him for allowing himself to think such nonsense.
“For the moment, I’m going to kiss you,” I say, turning toward him in the dark.
I kiss him, and when my head is back on the pillow, I add, “And, of course, keep on loving you the same way I love you right now, darling.”
We stay quiet for a while.
“If I go blind, I won’t be a good partner.”
Shivers go down my spine. I don’t want to think about that. Please, no. But he can’t stop himself.
“I’ll just be a nuisance to you, someone who’ll put limits on your life and . . .”
“Stop!” I plead.
“We have to talk about it, Jude. As much as it hurts, we must talk about it.”
I’m in despair. I have nothing to talk about with him. It doesn’t matter what happens to him. I love him, and I’ll keep on loving him. Doesn’t he realize that? I sit up on the bed, seething.
“It hurts to hear you say that. And do you know why? Because you make me feel that if something happens to me, you’ll leave me.”
“No, love,” he murmurs, pulling me toward him.
“Yes . . . yes, honey,” I insist. “Am I different from you? No. If I have to consider having to leave you, you should have to consider having to leave me if I get sick.” I’m really agitated. “Oh God, I hope nothing ever happens to me because, if it does and I am forced to live without you, honestly, I wouldn’t know w
hat to do.”
After a silence that lets me know Eric has understood what I said, I come close and kiss his forehead.
“That will never happen because . . .”
I don’t let him finish. I get out of bed and open my drawer. I take out several things, including a black stocking, and then I sit astride him.
“Will you let me do something?”
“What?” he asks, surprised by the turn of events.
“Do you trust me?”
In the darkness of our room, I see him nod.
“Lift your head.”
He does as I say. Gently, I place the black stocking around his head, over his eyes, and tie a knot in the back.
“Now can you see anything at all?”
He doesn’t speak—just shakes his head. I lie on top of him.
“Although one day you may not see me, I love your mouth”—I kiss it—“I adore your nose”—I kiss it—“I adore your eyes”—I kiss them over the stocking—“and I adore your beautiful hair and, above all, the way you groan and get angry with me.”
I straddle him again and take his hands, placing them on my body.
“Even if you can’t see me one day,” I say, “your strong hands can still touch me. My breasts will continue to be excited by your touch and your penis. Oh God, your hard, amazing, unyielding, and maddening penis!” I growl, excited, as I squeeze against him. “That’s what will make me gasp, go crazy, and ask you to ‘tell me what you want.’”
The corners of his lips curve. All right! I’m getting that smile. Wanting to go on, I place the anal ring in his hands and raise it to his mouth.
“Suck it,” I murmur.
He does what I’ve asked, and then I guide his hand to my ass.
“Although one day you may not see me,” I whisper near his face, “you’ll still implant that jewel in, as you say, ‘my pretty ass.’ And you’ll do it because you like it, because I like it, and because it’s our game, darling. C’mon! Do it.”
Eric caresses my ass, and when he locates my anus, he does as I’ve asked. He tucks in the anal ring. My body receives it, and we both gasp.
Excited by what’s happening, I move my mouth closer to his ear.
“Do you like what you’ve done, honey?”
“Yes . . . very much,” he purrs as he squeezes his hands on my buttocks.
His desire obviously grows by the second. This seems to thrill him, and he moves the jewel inside me.
“Although one day you may not see me, you can have me at your whim,” I say, eager to raise the temperature even more. “I’ll open my legs for you and for whom you tell me, and I swear I’ll enjoy it and I’ll make you enjoy it like you always have. And you’ll do it because you’ll be in charge. You’ll touch me. You’ll tell me what to do. I’m yours, darling, and without you, nothing about our game is worthwhile because it has no allure for me.” Eric groans, and I add, “C’mon, do it. Play with me.”
I get off him and lie down beside him. I pull his hand and place it on me. He touches me; his desperate mouth roams all over my body, my neck, my nipples, my navel, my mound, and I lead him until he is right between my legs. Without needing to be asked, I open them for him.
“More?” I ask.
Eric touches me.
“Yes.”
I smile and open farther.
In tenths of a second, he’s feeding on me. His tongue searches for my clitoris. Plays with it. He pulls it with his lips and when it swells, he taps me in a way that makes me scream and arch, crazed. I squirm. Panting. He moves the anal jewel at the same time he pulls on my clitoris, and I go crazy. His hands fiercely grab my thighs and wiggle me at his whim over his mouth while I, with my hand, touch his hair and murmur, gladly, “You don’t need to see to give me pleasure. To make me happy. To go crazy.”
For a few minutes, my crazy love continues with his devastating attack.
In the darkness of the room, I watch him. With elegant feline movements, he hovers like a tiger over me, ravaging his prey. He can’t see me. The darkness and the stocking I’ve placed over his eyes prevent it. His breathing accelerates. His mouth seeks mine and kisses me. Moments later, and without his speaking, one of his hands takes his erection, and the other touches the moisture of my vagina.
“I’m soaked for you, honey,” I whisper in his ear. “Just for you.”
He urgently guides his erection to my slit until, with one sure move, he slides right inside. We’re both breathing heavily. Eric grabs me, pressing himself against me as his hips push and sway and I can barely move. He sucks my neck. I bite his shoulder.
“Even though you may not see me one day, you’ll still possess me with passion, with force and vitality, and I’ll welcome you always, because I’m yours. You’re my fantasy. I’m yours. And we’ll enjoy each other now and always, my love.”
Eric doesn’t speak. He lets the moment carry him. And when we both reach our climax, he embraces me.
“Yes, love,” he says, “now and always.”
24
During the treatment, he doesn’t go into the office. He can’t. At home, I help him out with emails and respond like a good secretary to everything he asks for. Whenever he gets emails from Amanda, I want to slit her throat. Witch! Curious, I sneak a peek at some of the past exchanges between the two of them and crack up when I read one from a few months back when Eric asks her to change her attitude toward him. He tells her he has a partner, and his partner comes first. I’m glad to see he’s made things clear to that bitch.
On several occasions, I want to stick his head in the trash can or yank him by the ear when he acts grumpy or dumb. He’s insufferable! But, when these moods subside, I adore him, and I want to cover him with kisses.
His mother, Sonia, comes to see him. When Eric is distracted, she encourages me to go by the house and pick up Hannah’s motorcycle. I decide that, yes, I’ll go get it. Given the tense days I’m having with Eric, I need to vent. And, for me, motocross is the best way.
The day of surgery is nearing. Eric’s tension is sky-high, and I try to help him relax the best way I know how. One night, when my Iceman is in bed with a cold gel mask on his eyes to rest his vision, I decide to surprise him so he won’t think about the operation.
“Hello, Mr. Zimmerman!” I whisper into his mouth as I throw myself on top of him.
Eric is about to peel off the mask, but I grab his hands.
“No . . . don’t take it off.”
“I can’t see you, love.”
“You don’t need to see me for what I’m about to do to you,” I say, clearly giving him goose bumps when I bring my mouth close to his ear.
“We’re going to play a few games, whether you want to or not.”
“All right . . . I want to,” he says, willing.
I kiss him. He kisses me back, and I can feel his passion.
“Let me explain how to play, OK?” Eric nods. “The first one is called ‘the feather.’ I’ll run it all over your body, and if you can stand it for two minutes without laughing, without talking or complaining, I’ll do whatever you want, OK?”
“OK, sweetheart.”
“The second game is called ‘the box of desires and punishments.’”
“That’s a very suggestive name. I think I’m going to like that one,” he says as he grabs me possessively by the waist.
I take his hands from my waist.
“Control yourself, my love. In this little box, I’ve put together five wishes and five punishments. You’ll choose one. I’ll read it, and if you don’t grant me my wish, I get to punish you.” Eric laughs. “And, for the third game, try to let yourself relax so I can do you. Just be still. What do you think?”
“Perfect,” he says happily.
“Great. If I see you’re not still, I’m going to tie you down, OK?”
Eric chuckles and nods.
“Very well, Mr. Zimmerman, the first thing I’m going to do is undress you.”
Gently, I pull off his white under
shirt and black cotton pants. When I go to pull down his briefs, he’s already got a hard-on. Without saying a word, I turn on a video camera; I want him to see himself playing later. I’m sure he’s going to like it.
Once I have him nude, I pick up a feather I found. I delicately go over his neck and then down to his nipples, which get stiff on contact. The feather continues its journey down to his abs and circles his navel, and when I arrive at his penis, he moans. I go on with my fun, and minutes pass as I move the feather all over his marvelous body. Finally, he takes my hand.
“Miss Flores, I think I won. It’s been more than two minutes. Don’t cheat.” I look at the clock and realize it’s been seven minutes. Time goes by so quickly when I’m having fun with my addiction!
“You’re right, sir. What would you like me to do for you?”
He signals for me to come close with his finger. I lean down to him.
“I want you to undress, completely.”
I do as he asks.
Since he can’t see me because of the mask, he searches for me with his hands until he finds me. His hand touches my belly and then goes up to my breast. He encircles it and squeezes my nipple.
“Very well. I’ve granted your wish. Let’s go on to the next game.”
I pick up the small box where I’ve put the little folded papers and bring it to him. I guide his hand to the box.
“Pick a wish, and I’ll read it.”
Eric does as I say. I put down the box, and, making it up as I go along, I say, “I’d like a motorcycle. Does the gentleman mind if I bring mine from Spain?” His face changes.
“Yes, I mind. I don’t want you to kill yourself.”
That makes me laugh. But I don’t want to argue with him. “Very well, Mr. Zimmerman,” I quickly say. “Since you’re not going to grant my wish, you’ll have to choose a punishment.”
He grins and chooses a small folded piece of paper.
“Your punishment for not granting my wish is to remain perfectly still, not touching me, as I do whatever I want to your body.”
He nods. I know my bringing up the motorcycle has put a bit of a damper on things, but this way I’ll have a better sense of what he’s thinking when I bring home his sister’s motorcycle.
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