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Subject: Handcuffed

Author:
Jessie

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Date Posted: 03:39:15 12/21/04 Tue

This is the moment I have spent the last week living out in my mind. For days, I have observed this situation from every angle, constructed numerous possibilities for how this encounter could go, and graphed out the range of emotions that I could succumb to, as though human sentiment could conform to a formula and embody a parabola or an elipse. But of course, it doesn't, and all I feel now is frozen. I am wishing the wine over dinner had been stronger. Then perhpas the way she is looking into my eyes would not intimidate me. Kneeling on my bed in front of me is her perfect, olive-hued size 6 frame, draped only in lacy black lingerie and a fresh-scented mass of brunette curls. She is a woman in every sense of the word, and I assume that if I want her body to find its way out of the lingerie in which it is cloaked and lay atop the French poetry scrawled in cursive across my bedsheets, I am going to have to make the first move. Her features are petite and delicate and she talks about the way music and words and photographs make her feel. She talks about one day wanting to walk down a rose and lilly covered aisle in a white Cinderella gown and then giving birth to children who will take care of her when she is old. If I want this woman to move from being my Madonna to my whore, I am going to have to lean in and seduce her. Having committed ourselves to one another, in this place at this time, there is no part of her body I cannot touch, no risk of her saying no. Still, I am working to mask my nervousness from her, working to make every caress deliberate, without hesitation. I am afraid of something I cannot define. Still, confronting fear is something I am willing to do for her. I move my hand under her black neglige and down her thigh in a one, smooth stroke. Unexpectedly, her hand catches mine. Her grip is firm. In one deft movement, she has me on my back, pinned to my own bed. Looking up, I see her sitting on my hips, smiling seductively and gazing down at me with bittersweet chocolate orbs. She tells me she has me right where she wants me as she makes handcuffs appear from crisp, winter night air. This is nothing I could have forseen, nothing I could have planned for, nothing I could have graphed out on the geometric canvas of my heart. Yet, in this moment, unclothed and handcuffed to my own bed, I know, unequivocally, I have committed myself to the right woman. I learn that just becuase someone gives you a bouquet of flowers, writes you loves notes, and opens doors for you doesn't mean she's a nice girl. Sometimes, it just means she wants to make damn sure she can handcuff you to your own bed!

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Replies:

Subject	Author	Date
.......and...	suz	09:59:55 12/21/04 Tue
Re: ...and... -- Jessie, 23:06:15 12/21/04 Tue thank you -- suz, 08:35:39 12/22/04 Wed
It's been several days....	Nicole	21:17:34 12/22/04 Wed