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"One time only?" He asked, staring at her. He couldn't believe what she'd just asked of him. They had been dating for six months. Six wonderful months, and tonight she had told him "something" was missing. How could anything possibly be missing? He was completely in love with her-not that he'd told her that, but that wasn't what she was looking for tonight. No, professing his love would have been easy.
"Yes, please. Just this once, and I'll never ask again." She answered, hoping against hope that he would see how much she needs this to feel right, loved, and.....wonderful.
She glanced at the window, at the driving rain outside and wondered if this was somehow a bad omen, a prelude to the end.
He sighed, running his hand over his shaved head, not sure where-or how-to begin. He looked at her, staring at him with her doe eyes glistening and lower lip between her teeth, and wondered what he had gotten himself into. She had always seemed so....normal, and now...this? "I, uh.....," he began, not sure what he wanted to say or if he wanted to say anything at all.
She gnawed on her lip, her only comfort, as he stood there and stared down at her. Oh, how she wished he would say something. Anything at all. He wouldn't be the first to turn around and walk out, but he would be the first to take her heart with him if he left. "Please," she begged on the verge of tears, "please say something. Anything."
"What am I supposed to say? After six months you spring this on me and I'm supposed to be prepared for it? Sorry, babe, this one's gonna take some time." With that, he turned and walked out the door.
She stood there in shock, amazed that he would leave over something like this. She loved him. With every fiber of her being she loved him and didn't know how she was to survive without him. But she couldn't deny her own needs, either. She couldn't possibly allow the bitterness of living without what she craved to destroy her love for him. What was she to do now? She did the only thing she could do; she curled up in a ball and cried herself to sleep.
He couldn't believe he had walked out like that. His love, his heart, his very soul was standing in that apartment and he left her there, closing the door behind him. He couldn't think about that now. He had to sort things out. He stepped out of the building, into the rain, with no idea where he was going or why.
She slept fitfully on the couch, her dreams polluted with the memories of the others who had left her. She had never loved any of them. She couldn't say that their leaving had affected her life, but the reason they walked away had hurt. She couldn't deny that. They were just there to temporarily fill the empty spaces in her life but he was different and now, he was gone, too. A loud clap of thunder woke her. She sat up in a panic, the power was out and her love had left her. Was it really worth all of this? Her mind screamed "NO!" But her heart knew what she had to have and would not let her settle for less.
He walked through the rain, cursing himself for not even getting a jacket, but mostly regretting walking out at all. Perhaps if she had eased him into the idea instead of just throwing it out there like that..... But, no, he knew that he would have reacted the same way. He just couldn't wrap his head around it all. How could anyone want...THAT? Surely there was something wrong with her? As the lightning flashed, memories that he had thought long buried assailed him and an anger long forgotten swelled up inside.
She lit the few candles she kept in the apartment and allowed the warm glow to drown out the storm, inside and out. She smiled as she remembered the day they met, she had been dragged along to a New Year's Eve party by her sister. He had been bribed by his best friend to attend. At midnight, they found themselves side by side, and then mouth to mouth. She laughed at the cliched absurdity of it all. She should have known then that it was a fairy tale and, like all fairy tales, had to end.
He wiped the rain from his eyes and swallowed the bitterness rising like bile in his throat. Every flash of lightning brought back another vivid, technicolor image of his parents. His father, drunk and loud, his mother cowering in a corner. He couldn't deny that he was a man controlled by a past he didn't choose but he had to ask himself how long it would be before he made his life his own. Sadly, he didn't know the answer and wasn't sure he would like it if he found out.
When her laughter turned once again to tears, she stared into the flames and regained her trance. He had, of course, not let her leave the party without giving him her phone number. She smiled at the memory of the way her legs turned to jelly when he threatened to find her and spank her if he found out it was a fake. Yes, at one time he had shown great potential. She smiled a bittersweet smile. "False advertising..." she whispered to the empty room.
He was soaked and cold when he looked up and saw the sign of The Duck, the only pub in walking distance. He hated bars, made it a point to never go in them, but just this once he needed some shelter from the rain. He sat at the bar and was shocked when the barkeep came over and said, "You wanna talk about her, bud?" He just shook his head with a bitter laugh and ordered a Coke, wanting to be alone with his thoughts.
She poured a glass of merlot and sat on the floor. Another memory washed through her and lifted her spirits as the wine warmed her blood. They had been in the kitchen, she stirring her "famous" spaghetti sauce, he sitting on the counter chatting with her. When her favorite word slipped out (as it so often did, but never around him) she was informed that no woman of his would use such language. Her only answer was to take the spoon out of the pot and swipe it across the front of his crisp white dress shirt. He promptly yanked the spoon out of her hand and laid it across her backside three times before dropping it and walking out the door. "If only he had known how right he was to take the bait," she thought.
He sipped the soda slowly, thinking about his life, how empty and pointless it was before he found her. He had been reckless and self-destructive--damaged goods. Though his impulsiveness had served him very well in the business world, outside of that arena, it landed him in the hospital more often than not. He thought about how she had quite literally saved him from himself. He knew then what he had to do. He had to keep her, and damn the cost. He tipped the bartender generously and headed for the door.
She poured another glass of wine and cried as she thought about the conversation they had struggled through when he came back to her after the incident in the kitchen. His lost childhood with an abusive, alcoholic father had scarred him beyond belief. As she swiped away angry tears, she wished that there were some way for him to see that he could never be that man. She drained her glass and laid down on the floor to cry.
He stood outside the apartment and took a deep breath to steel himself for the inevitable confrontation. As he turned his key in the lock, he realized that she hadn't locked the door. He took off his soaked shirt as he walked into the apartment. He kicked off his shoes and removed his wet socks before stepping onto the carpet. The faint glow of the remaining candles provided just enough light for him to see her, curled into the fetal position on the floor. He couldn't help but smile as he shook his head and walked over to her.
She must have felt his presence because as he stood there and smiled down at her, she stirred. She stretched and rubbed her eyes, not believing that he was back. "Wh-What time is it?" She whispered as she stood up slowly.
"It's just after two," he answered, "but I have a better question. Why did you fall asleep with the candles burning? And with the door unlocked?"
Even in the shadows of the candle light he could see her beautiful blush and his heart melted once again. "I, ummm," she faltered, knowing they had argued over these very things before, "was just....shocked, and.....upset, and...."
"And you forgot. Again?" He raised a brow and smirked at her.
"Well, yes. Yes, I did." She said indignantly as she pushed her fists into her hips. "What the hell difference does it make to you? You walked out on me!" She shouted.
He sighed and once again ran his head over his head. She almost smiled at his oft-used gesture. Until she realized that it was the ONLY way he ever showed his exasperation, frustration, or anger.
"Yes. I did. I'm sorry," he started.
"Oh! Yes! You're 'sorry'! You're ALWAYS 'sorry'!" She shouted. "Stop being sorry and start being.....real!"
He moved in on her. He was only inches from her. "Real?" He asked. "You want me to be real?" He was almost being too quiet, too controlled. This was certainly not the direction this conversation was supposed to be going.
She gulped, sensing the power that lay beneath the surface, and decided to back down for now. "Well, it's just that....you're always so....calm and careful and.....robotic. When we met, I sensed something in you. Something I was drawn to."
"Robotic?" If his emotions weren't running so high, he might have laughed at that little gem. Instead, he stood and waited for her to explain. When no explanation was forthcoming, he raised a single brow, and she started talking.
"You're just so afraid of becoming...HIM...of becoming a monster that you won't even allow yourself to be human! You aren't your father. You don't have it in you. So, please, start feeling and stop walking away. All I'm asking is that you do this for me one time. If you hate it, neither of us will ever mention it again. I promise." She chewed on her lip, silently willing him to relent.
He sighed heavily and asked, "WHY? Why do you want me to....beat you?"
She rolled her eyes and gave him a shy smile. Amazingly, that one tiny gesture seemed to chase the tension from the room. "I don't want you to beat me! I want you to SPANK me. There's a difference, you know!"
"Okay, but WHY?"
"I don't know...," now it was her turn to sigh, "it just feels good. Sometimes it relieves stress. It always leads to....things you don't object to." She grinned up at him, and he couldn't resist the urge to grin back.
He looked around the room at the waning candle light, cocked his head to the side, and gave her his own lop-sided grin. "Well, you certainly NEED to be spanked...."
"Uh-huh," she agreed, still grinning.
"Always leads to.....?"
"Uh-huh."
"You little minx." He wrapped her in his arms, where she belonged, and kissed the top of her head. Then he sat on the couch, took her by the hand, and guided her ever-so-gently over his lap. He rubbed her bottom through the silky fabric of her nightgown before pushing it out of his way. He kissed each cheek reverently, and brought his hand down with a resounding "SLAP!"
She sighed with pleasure as the delicious sting washed through to the very core of her being. When she turned her head to look up at him, she noticed his smile growing as he watched his hand print appear. Yes, everything was going to be okay. |
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