Ever since I was a little girl I’ve been frightened of the dark, things that go bump in the night, faces at the window, black mirrors. That sort of thing. I write about them: dark, erotic, fantasies. Those of you who know me, and read me, will understand why.
You see, I’m an insomniac. I wake up in the middle of the night with a story idea, write it down, go downstairs to the kitchen, and make myself a midnight feast of milky mint tea and hot toast. I live on my own in Marriage House, a red-brick farmhouse with a black slate roof, encircled by a dense hedge of dark cypress, well-established ivy climbing its walls. She knows the place well. I unlock the door and breathe in the cool night air, so rich, with the aromatic scent of pine.
I let her in.
The intruder stands behind me. Her mouth, nostrils and chin are covered by a thick black mask. Her shaggy teak hair hangs over her face, scratching her crazed walnut eyes, accentuating her baggy-lined eyelids, her umber weals of tiredness. She looks exhausted. I feel the tip of a knife blade press into the side of my neck, hear her excited voice for the first time,
‘Do what I say and you won’t get hurt.’
I decide not to nod my head, standing quite still, while she puts on my blindfold. The blindfold is made of coarse black linen. She fluffs my hair out of the way, then ties the knot securely at the nape of my neck. I feel its torn edges tickling my skin. The blindfold covers the bridge of my nose and eyes ending above my forehead, at my hairline, my grey-streaked widow’s peak.
‘Hold your hands behind your back.’
She arrests me. I obey her, clasping my hands to the small of my back while she ties my wrists. I feel her cord cut into my flesh. I’m dressed for bed in a loose black chemise and panties. My world is black tonight. My whole world is black. I feel her soft hands, slim fingers, grasp my shoulders and turn me around. I am her dummy. Her robot. Her wish is my command. The tiled floor feels cold under my bare feet. She propels me towards the kitchen door. I relish the warm tufts of carpet between my toes as we cross the hallway. She pushes me upstairs. I am bat blind. I can’t see her but I can feel her, sense her apprehension, smell her nervous sweat. At the top of the stairs, we turn left. My midriff brushes against the smooth banister. I feel myself being guided. I am forced to take three steps forward. She shoves me face-down on the bed. I twist my head to the right to breathe, careful not to let her blindfold slip, then I plead for my life,
‘I keep the key to my safe in the top right bedside drawer,’ I explain. ‘The safe is located under the pillows in the left-hand bedside cupboard. Insert the key and turn the dial to the right. Inside the safe you’ll find my passport, my most expensive, precious jewellery, my purse, a key, and a red notebook. The key opens my jewellery box which I keep under the bed. In there, you’ll find my diamond necklace, diamond earrings, diamond pendant, gold bangles, bracelets, pearls. The notebook contains all my passwords, details of my bank accounts. Take all of it, but please, don’t hurt me.’
The effort of revealing my innermost secrets leaves me drained of energy. I want to sleep, to dream, fantasize. Make her go away. I exhale, shutting my weary eyes. I listen to her reassuring me,
‘I’ll hurt you if you misbehave. I don’t want your money. I want us to play games. You will play games with me, won’t you?’
She presses the tip of the knife blade firmly into the side of my neck. I agree to play her games. She unties my wrists as my reward, and asks, ‘Do you wear stockings?’
‘Occasionally, you’ll find a pair of black stockings with a red suspender belt in the top drawer.’
She looks around. We’re alone in the moonlight. She speaks to me as if I’m a ragdoll, a corpse. ‘Don’t want to see you like this.’
She rolls me onto my back, then dresses me, drawing my stockings up my taut calves, over my knees, up my thighs, carefully attaching them to my ruby red suspender belt. I feel exhilarated. Can’t wait for our next game to begin.
She leans forward and kisses me, tasting my flavour with the tip of her tongue. I feel her hands idly wander up the soft insides of my thighs. For a moment, she stands perfectly still. Then she lifts off my chemise. Other than my panties, stockings and suspender belt, I am naked. She unties my blindfold and lets me watch. She is wearing a red short-sleeved sweater, faded skinny jeans, a silver belt. I marvel as she applies my make-up. My stomach is daubed with a tattoo of a magnificent scarlet rose in full bloom, its petals dripping dew. At my rose’s heart she lays a solid diamond charm sparkling violet, indigo, amber, emerald shards of light. Her beautiful phenomenon takes my breath away. I sink into my bed, transfixed. Slowly, my petals unfurl. My intimate charm protrudes. She extracts her surprise from my navel and lays the iridescent gem in the palm of my hand. I ask her if I can keep it. She tells me I can wear it as her keepsake, and gently replaces it in my navel.
‘Sit up straight for me.’
I sit up for her. She puts on my blindfold. I let her take off my panties, stockings, and suspender belt. I am nude for her now, ready, eager, to play her next game,
‘Lie on the towel.’
I feel the coarse texture of my beach towel lying on the bed beside me. I lie on it. Safe. I feel safe. On my towel. Happy, content, warm, secure, and satisfied. She tells me to keep still,
‘Play dead, relax for me, let your body go limp.’
I close my eyes under the blindfold. My arms flop to my sides. My legs go slack. I fall asleep, dreaming that I am lying on her beach. I perspire. She rakes the sweat strands of hair off my face, affectionately brushing my cheeks. I feel her place a warm bottle of suntan oil near my body, sense her squeezing a blob of oil onto her palm.
‘Lie on your front.’
I roll onto my front and lie with my chin resting comfortably on the backs of my hands. She ties back my hair with an elastic band. Excited, I grip the edge of the bed. Although her tender touch will caress the whole of my body, she lightly covers my buttocks with a soft towel. She will soon strip it off of me when my skin falls under her soothing magic spell.
Delicately, she glides her hands over my shoulders and neck, up and down my arms, kneading warm oil into my flesh. She rubs my back using long, deep strokes, pressing herself against me, so that I can feel her breasts, her hot breath on my cheek, fleeting kisses on my ear lobes, jaw, neck, spine. Slowly, softly, her tongue licks my lower back. I quiver as she removes the towel and spreads my legs apart. Gently, she massages my inner thighs. I tense as her fingertips gently brush my outer lips.
‘How does that feel?’
‘Mmmn.’
I roll onto my back. Once I’ve settled, she lubricates my chest, pouring oil all over my breasts.
‘Be gentle with them,’ I plead, ‘They’re sensitive.’
She massages my shoulders, working up and down my arms, using the balm to lightly skim my breasts with the palms of her hands, pausing to tease my stiff teats, circling my aroused nipples. Sending blissful sensations tingling through my body. She removes the blindfold, so that I can watch her undress. Breathing heavily, taking in deep gasps, she slips out of her sweater, jeans, bra and panties. My jaw falls at the sight of her, naked, uninhibited. Her beauty intoxicates me. She licks her lips salaciously. Her eyes are eyes half-shut.
We embrace. She holds me tight, enjoying my hand buried in her soft belly, pressing her mouth against mine, her dewy, rose lips. Our membranes adhere, bound in an infinitesimal moment of intimacy. We pause to catch our breaths. She is crying. Tears of joy moisten her fiery cheeks. Her smile illuminates her face. Her soft lips brush my ear. I lie back and arrange myself on the crumpled towel.
She licks my tummy, plucking out my charm, tasting the salt in my navel. With my leg hiked over her shoulder, she kisses my inner thigh, massaging my soft outer lips. By now, I am all dreamy, dripping wet, and smothered in oil. She kneels between my legs. I gaze into her shiny eyes, the luckiest woman in the world. She covers my eyes with the blindfold. I feel her tongue. My face flushes. My breasts swell. My heart races. I grit my teeth, flex my hips, arch my body upwards,
‘What’re you waiting for?’ I slur, ‘Want you.’
She pours warm oil all over me and massages my cleft. My skin feels soft, smooth, scintillated, blushing, I’m on fire.
‘Oh God!’
I thrill to petit mort. She grips my hand and combs my hair. A single tear trickles down my cheek from under the blindfold. Gently, she removes the damp cloth and kisses my face dry. We lie in our passionate embrace, our bodies entwined, her head snuggled to my sweaty breasts.
‘I love you,’ I say dreamily, ‘You’re my world.’
She tells me she loves me, too. My heart races with excitement. Her eyes sparkle like stars on a clear summer night. She smirks mischievously, twirling a strand of her straggly teak hair, and murmurs in my ear, ‘What would you like me to do next?’
‘Kiss me.’
She kisses me, a longing, loving kiss. She is all I have left in the world. A tingling sensation passes through my body. Her cheeks blush roses.
She asks me, ‘Do you know what it means when we kiss like that?’
I only know I love her more than life itself. I sit up for her. She ties on my blindfold and forces me to stand in front of the bed. She maims me gracefully, silently drawing the garotte tight around my neck. I thrash my head from side to side. My brittle nails tear out my assailant’s hair. My elbows pummel her ribs. I strain and stretch, kick and bite. She clings on, until my near-death. Calmed, I relax onto her chest. I fall asleep, dreaming of the time when she made love to me. My neck still entwined, my sad head flops forward, my dead eyes staring into her empty space.
She waits by my bedside for me to come to. I open my eyes. The blindfold has gone. She hasn’t put on any make-up. Her beautiful teak hair is a bedraggled mess. Her eyes are bleary, blotched blood-red with tiredness. Dawn breaks at last. Sunlight streams thru our window. She climbs onto the bed to be with me. We kiss and embrace.
‘Have you missed me, Jacqui?’ she says.
‘Have I!’
She gently strokes my cheeks, and kisses my breasts.
‘What kept you?’
I roll my eyes in disbelief. We lie hand-in-hand on the bed, enjoying the hot sun on our bodies. I am content with her. She is naturally very beautiful. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. My thoughts turn to lockdown. I’m frail, sick, vulnerable, forced to stay indoors. I sunbathe with her, make sweet angelic love to her upon our crumpled bed, then whisper naughtily to her.
‘I hope you packed my bikini.’
My girl glances at me, smiling. ‘As if I’d forget. Honestly! What do you take me for?’
She takes me in her arms and holds me tight, stroking my hair, smothering my lips with kisses.
‘My true love, girl,’ I murmur, drawing her naked body snug and close to mine, ‘My true love.’
Ever since I was a little girl I have been frightened of the dark, things that go bump in the night, faces at the window, black mirrors. That sort of thing. I write about them: dark, erotic fantasies. Those of you who know me, and read me, will understand why.
You see, I enact them with her. We live out my dreams. Fantasies are our life. Nightmares are my death.
