Eva Cassidy - I Know You By Heart

Date Night.

He took me to see Les Misérables in Auckland one night many years ago now, and we dressed to the nines for the occasion. My cocktail dress was short, with killer heels and a tiny bag with nothing but my lipstick in it and a few dollars. He loved me in red; we could barely keep our hands to ourselves as we made our way to our seats. It was my first live theater show and I was so excited, I could hardly breathe.

What I remember most, apart from the outstanding performance, was forgetting to tuck a hanky into the sparkly bag I carried and his words afterward. Barely ten minutes into the performance, I was sobbing at the drama unfolding on the stage in front of us, gripping his hand tightly. Thankfully he had a handkerchief.

Later at the end of the show as he tilted my chin upward with a finger and saw the tear streaks on my cheeks, the make-up a smudged ruin on my face and my red nose nearly glowing in the dim lighting, he asked, with worry in his voice, if I had enjoyed it.

I grinned like a demented person and told him how marvelous it was as he threw back his head and laughed. He kissed me and said that I was the most beautiful woman in the world and that he loved me. It was the first time that he’d said it that night. Even now, when I hear music from Les Misérables, or see the dress I wore that night tucked into the back of my wardrobe, I smile, and I remember. 

The Art of Knots

Shibari for me was shocking the first time I felt the ropes that bind. 

A Dominant friend used me in a BDSM demonstration. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to cope, I thought it would frighten me being restrained. Instead, my busy mind found respite, as my body melted and succumbed to the simplicity and the complexity of the rope.

I was kneeling before him dressed in a lacy bra and thong and remember being embarrassed at the response of my body.

My nipples stiffening, the heat between my thighs and the sudden unexpected rush of wetness. I knew he could smell my excitement and I tried to turn away.

"Don't. Look at me. You're beautiful. Your eyes are huge right now, your lips swollen, and you smell delicious."

It was so incredibly erotic, that with every knot and coil I found myself inexplicitly spinning closer to climax.

With every brush of his fingers my body flared and yet my mind became more...tranquil, serene.

And then he parted my thighs and brought the rope between, making a knot right over the pouting hardness of my clitoris. I'd dropped my head, embarrassed again, knowing he felt the evidence of my excitement through my soaked thong...

He paused, lifted my head and stared at me. My cheeks were on fire, I bit the inside of my lip to stop the involuntary moan. 

Suddenly aware we were not alone, the still waters in my mind slipped and I began to struggle. But again he stopped me with his words, his fingers digging into my chin yet stroking my throat, the heat of them inflaming me further. 

It was confusing, intense, erotic...a terrible beauty.

And then he pulled the rope taunt against my clit...

I could see myself in his eyes. My own flaring wide in shock, the almost perfect "O" of my mouth as I dangled helplessly at the peak. 

"Give it to me now Bella."

With just those few words, I forgot about those watching and came so hard that I nearly blacked out... 

It remains one of the most memorable and satisfying conclusions, with or without clothing in my life.

Lost Loves.

But my heart bleeds.
I held her in my arms and feel the passage of her heartbeat at it slows. And the rage and despair threatened to overwhelm me, as I struggle in vain to keep it in check.
A precipice yawns open as her breathing, already so shallow, stutters.
Don't. Oh please, not yet.
I'm not ready for this.
But my heart bleeds...

****

I'll never forget the first time you were laid in my ams. You were so small, yet fat and already strong and long of limb. Your potential was already there, and just like that, I fell in love with you in an instant.
Adopting you and making you mine was easy peasy.
I never regretted you. Not once.
You changed my world.

Oh, there were times in the beginning that were a challenge for us both, but together we figured it out. Keeping you in your own bed was tough at first, but more for me than you I suspect. You weren't a finicky eater either. I loved that. Whatever I made you devoured with relish and would look at me for more. You liked to hide my things, always my favorite shoes or worse my keys.
You grew up too fast.
I drown in memories...
Of places we loved going to together. How you loved the car, and the sea as much as I did. So many times we explored along the shore and swam together. Or lazed in the sun baking like a couple of clams.
And you were always such a comfort. Always there when the past came back to haunt me in the night. Your love, your acceptance, the way you would listen to me...my tears and fears.

You were always so careful, so protective.
So for the life of me I can't understand why...what made you run out into street?
I'd been sitting at my desk, lost in words as usual.
It's a sound I'll never forget. A bang. Metal against living flesh, The squeal of tires.

I knew it was you.
I don't even remember leaving my desk, just running.
The bastard didn't even stop.
You'd been tossed high and flung to the curb, where you lay bloody and broken.
Your eyes were so filled with pain, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to help.

You were already leaving me. Never have I felt so utterly useless as I did that day.
I am ugly in grief, yet my overwhelming love for you would not be denied.
Collapsing to the curb, I gathered you gently in my arms and cried like a child.

So you fly free my bonny beauty.
Thank you for your unconditional love.
For every slobbery lick and tail wag, every enthusiastic greeting at the door, even if I was barely gone an hour.
For the loyalty, love and friendship that goes beyond words...
I hope there is a doggie heaven, or that we meet again someday. <3

Scandalous ACT I

She awoke suddenly.
Staring into the darkness, all her senses immediately tense and alert. Someone or something had pulled her from her sleep.
As she lay quiet and still, she felt the power within begin to flex andstir... She sent out a seeking.
Reaching outward first with her mind to feel for another presence in the house, she casts a quick glance to the crib in the corner, barely lit by the muted glow of the nightlight. Notes the babe is lying sweetly on his back, still slumbering peacefully. For tonight, she is the guardian, paid to watch over him.
She enjoys the baby and her friendship with his mother. And sometimes if she’s needed, especially on the weekend, she’ll stay over.

Maybe his mother had returned? Yes.
She can feel her now. As her senses start to come down, unwind, relax, but there’s something more.
Something else.
A force undefined yet swiftly building, powerful, so strong.

An achingly long, low groan comes clearly to her, breaking the silence from the room farther down at the other end of the hallway.
Instantly, her skin prickles with goose bumps, as her scalp tightens and her body quickens. She is standing and wrapping the thin robe about her and has moved toward the doorway and through it...
...before even aware of having done so.

Mood senses like quicksilver ripple over and within her.
She feels no fear, nor alarm, but a thrumming urgency. Though the sound is perhaps one of pain, it was not one of terror. This eliciting a note of caution in her step.
As she gently closes the door to the nursery and turns in the hallway, her mind blooms full and overflows with pictures...

With barely a whispered gasp, she falls back softly against the closed door and is projected instantly, plunging headfirst into the panorama before her.

The woman is nude...
Except for the floral silk gown, that has slipped down from her shoulders, to lie in delicate tucks and folds about her waist and hips.
She is sprawled in a wooden Captain’s chair facing the trio of mirrors that grace the dresser. A gorgeous dark mahogany antique style chair. High-backed

with elaborately turned legs and velvet padded armrests on each side. Though I can’t see them clearly, as her legs are splayed wide over each arm.
So...open and draped carelessly, so provocatively.
She sits before her dresser with the big mirror in the middle and the two slightly smaller ones either side.
She’s moved them...just a little, so she can see.
See herself and watch as...
She touches herself. Sees clearly, all of herself there is to see that faces the mirror.
And it’s a thrilling erotic view from where I stand to the side, captured in the glass from slightly different angles.

There’s a warm soft glow from the candles in the fancy holder to one side on the dresser, so many alight and...
It’s so bright.
Bright enough to make her nude form shimmer; appear almost wet and warmly blushed.
She is all peaches creamy skin and curves. Yet before this night, I was blind.

I didn’t know. How could I?
But I see her now.
Her long red hair hangs loose, thick, and heavy down her back.
Some of the strands are curly tendrils that appear whisper-silky smooth,
tangled and damp about her face.
How breathtakingly beautiful and alive she is...
But the words are too small. And I’m at a loss.

Incapable of capturing in the telling, how she looks, right here and now, at this very moment...
She pants softly.
Arching suddenly, groaning again long and deep... Her body in a writhing fluid motion of kinetic energy... And yet, it does sound...
Pained.
More...muted breathy moans and whimpers, the muffled cries ceaseless, exciting and so...

Different from the deeper, lengthier groans.
Her arched neck is a long, supple column exposed as her head fell back,
To show the pulsing throb of her heartbeat.
Before she smoothly raises her head once more.
I wish to Christ I could feel what she feels instead of this passive observance.
Yet, I can’t help but see.
Watch and learn.

Her cheeks are flushed pink, and I see small beads of sweat gathered on her nose and high on her cheekbones like tiny freckles.
I watch in awe as the energy from her pours forth like a living flame.
It’s an incandescent, luminous golden ball of shifting, whirling light.
That radiates outward in waves, yet surrounds her too.
Her mouth is parted, her lips wet and they appear swollen, darker somehow...
As her body strains, twists. Moving in a continuous, urgent rhythm... Like a dance.

I move between her and the mirror so that I’m before her now, able to watch exactly every unrestrained action of her delicate fingers. Yet she looks straight through me with eyes half closed, naked and bright burning with a smoldering gold- green fire to the glass before her and the reflection she sees within...

I smile as I look back over my shoulder to see from her perspective all that she sees.
Observe for a moment as her hungry gaze follows the movements of her own hands.
And as I look back to her, and down to where they are...and see them move. I am enthralled.
Completely and utterly captivated.
Spellbound; rooted to the spot.
Only to fall in a careless soundless heap, between her spread thighs. Before rising smoothly to my knees.
Needing to move closer yet.

The rich curls of her hair below are the same deep red luster as that upon her head.

Though where it is wet, it’s darker and curlier still. So tender, so tempting and inviting.
The mound of her sex is plumped high; her folds seem thick, swollen.
And are spread wide by the fingers of one hand.
Her inner lips are the iridescent perfection inside a conch shell, the deepest rosy ripened-apricot.
I have the strangest urge to bury my face in her sex, rub my nose...my lips, even my chin through the slickness I see gathered there.
I want to dip and slide my tongue in and over it.
Curl the tip between the plump lips...to slide it deep into her body, lapping at the very core of her...to drench, to drown myself with the nectar I see dampening her inner thighs.
I yearn to taste; ache to drink in the essence of her feminine arousal. Feel...know for myself what pleasure tastes like.
Is the flavor tart or sweet? Or an ambrosial mix of both.
Though never before has such a thought even occurred to me.
I’ve never even tasted myself...but know I now will.

I think about sex...probably as much as other girls my age.
I’m eighteen after all and ready to experience, more...
Know I think about it a lot sometimes...especially when try as I might,
I still can’t imagine what it will feel like to have a hard, thoroughly male cock tear through the skin of my hymen the first time.
But never before have I thought to do that.
To imagine such a thing with...a woman. Shouldn’t it feel wrong?
Yet, despite the confusion, right here and now, it just feels right.
For she is simply without a doubt, the most potently sexual and desirable being that I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I’d chuckle if I could at such a nonsensical thought. This beats any pictures I’ve seen to date!
So I watch. Simply powerless to do otherwise.
I see something in her hand as she moves it, I don’t know what it is, but it’s obvious what it’s for.
She holds the end of it, pinched tight in the fingers of her left hand, while using those on her right, to lay open and stroke...

It’s a long solid rod. Maybe plastic, but definitely molded and phallic of shape. It’s black, the color a striking, blatant contrast to her skin.
So thick and huge around that if I could, I would tremble.
But in fear or excitement, I know not which.
My God...Is a man’s cock really that big? Surely they must come in different sizes, but how does one check for fit?
I can’t help but laugh inside as an image comes to mind...
A row of likely candidates, ‘down-trou’ with hardened shafts sticking up at me as I wander down the line perusing my choice. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Can you imagine?
I’ve heard my brothers speak of their dicks. Straining to hear every word and wishing I could see exactly what they meant. There’d have been hell to pay if they’d caught me!
How I covet and love the deliciously wicked, evocative sounds of such words as cock and fuck...and worse, cunt. That one shocks my sensibilities silent.

Such powerful words... Such naughty and forbidden words that ignite and inflame one’s curiosity with wicked fascination. Words, alive with a flavor I can taste and test, roll with lazy amusement, ever so shyly and deliciously over my tongue.

Newly awakened, the slow burn of the dragon that lies within the aching cradle of my womb, stretches and yawns...
My brothers speak of their cocks as though they are an appendage somehow separate from their bodies with a life force and will all its own. I don’t get that. Mind you it must be nice to be able to stand while peeing and not have it run down your leg. And to have something decent to play with...
At other times, they spoke of them as if a weapon, revered by thankful, satisfied girls and women alike.
What a crock! But then seeing as I wasn’t supposed to be listening, and I really like to hear...
But this cock looks like a long cucumber gone wrong.
And part of me wants to laugh out loud at the thought.

She slides it, no...she pushes it in, thrusts it in hard and so deep that surely it must hurt! So that it almost disappears fully imbedded within her.
I squirm. Watching.
As pumping, plunging it firmly and rhythmically in and out of her body so it sucks and pulls with a wet, sticky sound.

She circles and rubs frantically at the engorged bud of her clitoris above with two fingers, ever faster setting a frantic pace. Only to pause now and then to press it instead as though a button.
Her pelvis rising and falling in time with the rapid movements.
Yet my eyes are drawn again to the black rod, and I can’t help but wonder...
Of all things, how in the hell she manages to keep such a firm grasp upon it? When her own hand, wrapped around the base is...
Shiny, slick and slippery with a frothy white syrupy cream, that spills freely from between her lips, stretched tight as they are about the ‘pretender.’
Trickling a path downward and beneath her to form a wee puddle.
Even though a part of me feels, that this is the worst, the most wicked of intrusions...
Still, I cannot seem to make myself leave.

Especially as everything abruptly seems to converge and begins to happen all at once.
And it is such a terrible beauty, that I feel the first prickly shards of fear...
Fear of the unknown? Or fear of what is left, yet to be revealed? As a climax, a culmination of something as yet unseen reaches critical.

Is this a true face of passion?
Her mouth hangs open wide to suck in halting, great, ragged gasps, though her eyes have fluttered closed until suddenly...
Suddenly her neck and upper body stretches, arches back on a groan torn from her lips as a visible, visceral trembling begins. The muscles in her spread thighs taut with the strain.
As she again releases a wail. Loud and long that has me moaning unheard along with her.
Such a desperate keening sound that even in the ethereal state I am in, it sets nerve endings on edge.
Such a primal resonance that seems to come from deep in her throat and is unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. To linger like an echo long after it’s gone.

Simultaneously, I watch mesmerized as the huge dark rosy-red nipples, on her heavy breasts, ruche tightly into thick hard stems. Her urgent hands move faster, one thrusting, the other rubbing. And it seems with such a brutal intent.
As unexpectedly, she all but stutters and stills, captured like a photograph at the moment of taking.

Then I sigh with amazement as her pleasure shatters into fragments before me. Spilling her release with an endless silent scream from the perfect ‘O’ of her mouth.
As her body ripples and rocks with the spasms, as though shocked with electricity.
She is easing now.
Till finally, it passes.
And she sags.
The toes that were curled tight, and her feet too, gradually unfurl.
Limbs that were strung tight, surely to breaking point.
Have collapsed loosely and lay spent.
She reminds me of a picture in a book I saw once; a most surreal landscape with melted clock faces, by Salvador Dali.
I think maybe she sobs...just a little, a soft lonesome cry.

But it’s her energy aura that still barely surrounds her now that has captured my attention once more.
In her moment of completion, it blasted outward like a supernova...

As bright as the sun.
It went from the golden glow I first saw, to a sizzling orange and then magenta, before coalescing to purple and white, as stretching...
Stretching impossibly outward to form a single, horizontal beam of pulsing white-hot light.
That now is slowly...
Ever so slowly...
Like fog that slips away and into the shadows...
Is dissipating before me.
The way she lies slumped slightly forward in the chair now.
Makes her appear fallen.
A bit like a broken doll.

And I wonder why they say “I’m coming?” When it looks like a death to me and should perhaps be, “I’m going...”

Oh God! I hunger for this look of sated. Tis my favorite so far.

As her head hangs limply down, the nipple I see before me is peeping out through her hair, soft and pink and round. Perfectly puffy once more.
She’s lifted a leg off of one of the armrests, and that too lays limp and relaxed cast awkwardly out before her.
I see clearly the ‘pretender’ that was now. As she slid it wet and slick from between her lips, where more of her cream had soaked her most thoroughly.
I assumed sex would be messy for two and grin wryly at my own naivety and ignorance.
I thought only men made a mess when they ejaculated. It just never occurred to me that women grew wet with their need and did that too when they came. It’s actually rather messy, how can people like that I wonder?
She dangles it loosely from even looser fingers, and as I look at it curiously, she is gradually catching her breath.
Perhaps, ‘like a cucumber’ wasn’t too bad a thought at all but I like ‘pretender.’ It amuses me more.
The end she had buried inside her, tapers to a rounded point while the end she gripped is blunt-cut straight across.

An insidious thought worms it way into my thinking, as I can’t help but consider what such a huge, hard thing would feel like, buried that deep inside of me.

Would a blood and flesh male feel better or worse?

Which then has me thinking as to whether or not, to fuck and feel the first time within me a youth my own age? Would he perhaps be careless of my beginning though? Clueless to what sated means, save his own?

Better perhaps, a man of experience. One who might think my maidenhead a precious gift.
A man with a confident proud cock with the wanting to see me shatter in his arms and more, the knowing to make it happen
.
I so want to feel that! Before and after the tearing.

*****

Before she could finish her thought, she is hurled back inside herself once more.
Into her body, whole again as she slowly becomes aware of her surroundings.
Her legs start to give out, and she feels herself begin to slide down the door.
Moving to regain her balance, she is already turning away from both rooms, walking swiftly in the opposite direction down the dark hall to the empty room beyond.

Slipping silently inside, easing the door closed before tearing at the belt on her robe, and pulling urgently at the gown and nightshirt until they fall free from her body and land where they may.
Oblivious to the buttons that tore loose and went flying to clatter against the linoleum as still holding the belt, she makes for the bed.
Throwing back the covers before sliding herself in and tumbling back against the cold sheets.
Folding the belt now over and upon itself before slipping it into her mouth between her teeth and biting down, she lies back against the chilly covers and stares without seeing the ceiling above.
Her body is a tortured; living, breathing, flame of suppressed, acute need. Burning her to the molten core within.
Sprung tight as a coil and desperate to the point of pain to be unleashed. Every cell...
Every nerve raw...

Screaming in an agonizing silent overload of sensations.
Each hair in its follicle over her body seems to stand erect, as the hot blood roars in her ears, surging rhythmically through her body to the persistent hammering of her heart.

Her mind’s eye is flooded with the images of what she’d just witnessed, as they continue to flash one after another. To sear indelibly into her brain.

Drowning her consciousness with a permanent memory of every single, sharply defined moment.
Using her hands, she keeps them flat to her nipples, her breasts filling each of her palms then moving them in small hard circles over the tender and sensitive tips. Then tentatively she smoothes a hand lower over muscles and stomach to the searing ache between her thighs. Spreading her legs wide, she lifts her ass until slightly raised. She feels the dampness of her own juices on her inner thighs before sliding her hand beneath the elastic of her panties to the honeyed wetness within.

And as shaky fingers glide over the hardened pout of her clitoris, those first tentative strokes over the swollen, sensitized knot jolts and excites every nerve ending.
It’s enough. Enough to send her exploding—catapulting end over end and into the rapture. As screaming into the make-shift gag between her teeth, she is lost, tossed into a blissful oblivion. 

Scandalous ACT II

Sunlight stabbed insistently at her closed eyes, forcing Rose to roll away. She sighed, slowly sat up, drawing her knees up and rubbing at her face and head.

OHMYGOD! OHMYGOD! OH-MY-GOD!

Wow. So real. So bloody real! How do I ever look her in the face again!?! Shit! Never mind her face, how do I ever look at her again, without seeing her in that chair? Like she was...last night...Jesus, Mary and Joseph! How do I stop seeing her like that?

She moaned, hugging her knees tightly now as she laid her head upon them and rocked herself gently from side to side. Silent tears of misery and distress slid down her cheeks and into her hair unnoticed. Yet still the images came. Flowing like water and drenching her mind again with each and every vivid detail.

She felt strange. Like she were hanging over the edge of a precipice, without a safety net or rope to cling to, waiting to fall. So many changes had happened; were occurring, too many, too fast...until she felt dizzy.

Rose could feel the power growing.

It had happened again.

Her first thought upon waking.

It grew exponentially. Scaring her senseless with the force and rapidity of the strength and power that radiated throughout her body. Her alarm increasing day by day, as like a living, breathing force, it hammered insistently with the threat of its presence, until it took on a life of its own. She could no longer tell where she began and it ended.

Some days, it felt like a snake in her belly where it uncoiled to slither up her spine; surreptitious and sly, perfectly poised to strike. Some days, it was like stepping out of herself and into something, so beautiful, so mesmerizing and enthralling that she found herself hopelessly transfixed in place, utterly helpless to do anything other than experience the moment for what it was.

A bit like last night.

But the enormity of it overshadowed everything else. It was still too much. Way too much!
No matter the firm denials she told herself, or the stoic stubbornness of which she and her family were known for, life as she knew it, was over.
God...what a joke that was!

As the span between reality and the extraordinary, grew infinitely wider each day until there was no longer any point denying what was happening to her.
Especially after last night, besides, she was an O’Neill, damn it!

Suck it up Rosie baby! Time to end the poor ole’ pitiful me party. Or as big brother Ty would say, “Shit or get off the pot!”

Her family line had furnished Kings and High Kings of Ireland who ruled the territories of Tir Eoghan.
I’m a bloody descendant of the ancient royal family of Tara no less, damn it! With the oldest traceable genealogy in Europe from as far back as 360AD.
And there’d been numerous leaders throughout the centuries; fearless chieftains and outstanding men of the Irish Brigade and French Army who were men of honor, known for their courage and daring. They’d led by example and fought with their men, in legendary battles and won many a victory—annihilating and crushing with deadly efficiency, all those who would dare stand against them.
My blood may be diluted by the centuries, but by God, it once ran in the veins of...
the most famous ‘Niall of the Nine Hostages’ from the clan of Aoidh Bhuidhe, who settled in County Antrim in the fourteenth century.

Indeed, the O’Neill’s were men and women who in the sixteenth century proved too tough for even the English to eradicate.
Tough old bastards! Too bloody stubborn to know when to give up is all!

Even with the sheer unrelenting brutality and violence carried out by Essex and others, with a ferocity and treachery seldom, if ever, equaled during those savage times. They were unsuccessful in the attempt, with many O’Neill’s like rabbits, surviving today to spread their seed as far and wide as the four winds.

Oh she was good! 
She could laugh through bitter tears as her mind beat at her. What use was it if she could recite reams of facts that were useless bloody crap, pertaining to the family hierarchy and history, as taught to her by her own dear Da?
Yeah...I’m real good at that, so what, doesn’t help much does it? What bloody use was it all? And who cares anyway? Lot of ancient good-for-nothing bullshit that’s all.

Besides, not once in all her seventeen years had she ever heard or discovered anything strange or unusual in the family archives. No latent talents had appeared or were attributed to anyone that she could find, that had manifested in some way as to further an already legendary reputation. At least not where she had searched.

Her people had been fighters for sure and valiant defenders of the land, their livelihood, their blood, kith and kin. They were about honor and integrity and were a hardy folk who survived, prospered and multiplied. Some by staying in Ireland, and others by leaving the home of their birth, beginning again on foreign shores.

There had been no hint of magic or historical accounts of the Fae, and whilst fantastic and mythical, it might have made sense to her! If only. It all seemed somehow irrelevant now.
Silly and childish compared with the ‘wild and wacky’ things that are happening to me in real life!
So she found herself without reference. Without guidance and completely bereft, alone and at a loss, as events beyond her control came on more frequently. Each more disturbing than the last. She wanted to talk to Da about it and had even approached him several times to do just that. But the sexual nature and feelings that went along with the events of late, simply made it impossible to discuss such an intimate matter with him. Even her brothers had seemed to sense she needed them more lately, though always protective of the only girl in the family and the ‘baby’ too, it almost seemed like they were ‘closing ranks.’ Protecting her. Aye, but from what exactly? The thought comforting yet disturbing all at once. The pendulum swing of indecision drove her mad.

Who am I kidding? I’m just going stark raving bonkers,-that’s all it is! Time to wake up and smell the roses Rosie girl...
And back again, willing her to fight back and rid herself of the problem, or failing that, learn all she could about it and take control of it. Discover a way to master what was happening, yeah, before it masters me! And perhaps even make it do her bidding instead...now, wouldn’t that be interesting...

Either way, no point hanging around here wasting time.
Taking in the little she wore, seeing I’m sitting here practically starkers, she
looked for her nightclothes.
The still partially folded belt from her robe was lying on the bed near the pillow where it must have fallen. The discarded nightshirt and robe on the floor near the door. Throwing her legs out of bed, she made it quickly, put her clothing back on and left to go back to Henry’s room, to shower and dress. After tidying the nursery, she gathered her things, tossed them in her backpack, and followed the cheerful racket to the kitchen.

Henry was such a cutie at nearly two.
He sat like the little lord he no doubt thought he was, perched in his high chair with his face covered in green mush. He shared his breakfast with the cat by dropping wet spoonfuls of the greenish muck, down to the linoleum below. Babbling his litany of nonsense and pealing loudly with delighted giggles, especially when he spied Rose. Merris, the cat, didn’t seem particularly amused and after sniffing about haughtily and nearly ending up with a lump of goo on her head, decided to take herself off somewhere else. Cozy in the warm kitchen. Music blared, something techno, sort of...thought Rose, but good, she wondered who it was.

Anna was at the table, sipping on her coffee. The one and only cup a day she allowed herself while munching on toast and reading the paper.

Did anyone besides Anna, still read about news in a newspaper? Good grief, it’d be yesterday’s news before she’d even gotten it out of the mail slot! And how can she read, let alone think in all this noise? I’m never having kids!
Anna glanced up, saw Rose and beamed that familiar, cheerful smile and pointed at the other setting on the table.
Still looks like Anna...
Duh! Who do you expect? Who else would she look like?
“There you are sleepyhead... Did you sleep well?”
Wow. Sleep...yeah...Loaded question that.
“What would you like to eat? Do you want some cereal?” She started to get up, “There’s yogurt in the fridge and some fresh berries, or I could scramble you a couple of eggs if you’d rather have that?”


Rose looked at Anna and saw the thick red hair, now braided into a single heavy plait. She was dressed in her yoga clothes, looking bright-eyed and bushy- tailed. Everything normal. All as usual and honky dory! Still the same plain-in- the-light-of-day Anna she’d known for the last year...
Not the sex kitten, splayed in the chair of last night, getting herself off...and doing it so well...

Jeez, did I just imagine it?

Dunno, is it easier to think that? Give me a break!
But what if...
God! What a crock!

“Uh-huh, just fine thanks. I’m gonna skip breakfast though, thanks anyway Anna, but I really need to get going. I’ve---I’ve got some things to do and stuff. You know...”
Rose felt the heat color her cheeks, but covered it by walking over to Henry as she spoke, “Look at you! You’re a mess kiddo,” she laughed. He gave her a thoroughly unselfconscious, toothy grin in response before going back to banging his spoon and attacking the food in his bowl again.
Splatters of the remains went flying. She had reached for some paper towels to clean up, but Anna was behind her, “I’ll get that Rose, don’t worry about it, besides, there’s never any point till he’s finished.” She’d already taken the towels from Rose and had dipped to wipe some food from the side of the cupboard nearest him.

“But if you wouldn’t mind getting my purse for me, it’s on the floor by my bed, I’ll give you what I owe you for last night and you can take off.”

“Sure, I need to grab my backpack anyway.”

Rose went to retrieve the purse and thought about how good it would be to escape the house.
She felt anxious. Strung tight and over-wound.

Maybe she’d go straight to the beach and clear her head out. Drown out the thoughts, in the crash of breakers against the shore, draw in the smell, that salty tang of fresh sea air and lose herself in the screeching of the gulls. When nothing else soothed, when nothing else could calm the dramas in her life, going to the beach and walking the long, often deserted shores always did the trick. Even just sitting in the sand with her back braced by a tree, did it. And nothing worked better than getting in or on the water—swimming riding the waves, or skimming across the surface, it didn’t matter, for there she found her sanctuary.

She’d been in Anna’s room lots of times. Anna had even let her try on a couple of her things, though they’d hung on her! And she’d even done Rose’s hair and make-up for her once too.
So Rose knew that Anna had a dresser, like the one from last night.

All looked pretty ordinary this morning.
The bed was neatly made, curtains stirring gently in the cool breeze coming through the partially open slider. Dresser looked much the same as it always did, lightly cluttered with trays of perfume bottles and make-up, books in a stack, lots of pictures in frames, most of them Henry...

And not one fancy candle holder, anywhere in sight!

The mirrors three, were upright and flush together and no chair to be seen either. She felt something inside her relax. Certainly there was no chair in the house that she’d ever seen that looked like the one from last night...Perhaps...A dream after all...
As more of the tension, tension she hadn’t even realized she held, slowly eased and loosened in her shoulders.

Just a stupid, really graphic...really weird...sex dream...but a dream nonetheless.

She grabbed Anna’s purse off the floor, her backpack from just inside the door of Henry’s room, returned to the kitchen, and waited while Anna got her babysitting money together. Anna noted the dark circles under her eyes, “You okay pet?”
Rose was quick to answer, “Uh-huh, sure, just thinking. Stuff on my mind, you know.”
“I worry about you sometimes Rose.” She took the proffered purse and searched for her wallet, drawing it out and counting the money she owed her as she spoke. “You’re way too serious for eighteen. You know I’m only six years older than you, but I swear you seem older than me at times!”

You have no idea! Rose thought and listened as Anna continued.
“You need to get out more...be with kids your own age, instead of always having your nose stuck in a book or hanging out with old fogies or all by yourself at the beach! Go have some fun! Seriously, do something fun or even a little scary.”

You’ve no bloody idea just how scary my life is right now Anna.
“Cut loose and live a little Rose.”

She paused considering, “Just don’t be dumb and get pregnant like I did. Be careful and always protect yourself, don’t believe a guy if he tells you, he’s got it covered.” She laughed then and gave Rose’s hand a quick squeeze...
“You know what I mean. Lighten up a little Blossom...you know? Live a little.”


Rose gave her a reluctant half-smile and a hug before going to Henry and giving him a swift kiss on the top of his head, since that appeared to be the only spot relatively free of food. Turning with a last smile for Anna and a cheery wave, she left them in the kitchen and headed off down the hallway to the front door.

Past the formal dining room, noting the new dining suite that filled the once empty space and was almost to the lounge before she stopped short, dropped her bag, and retraced her steps...

Rose stood silently by the chair at the head of the table and stared for long moments at the elegant, solid dark wood of the new suite. She had no idea what type of wood it was made from, but could appreciate the quality of the furniture with the eight, equally elegant chairs placed neatly around the table. Slim, slightly unsteady fingers reached out reluctantly to graze the top frame of the stunning Captain’s chair before her.
Dark, aged wood, almost ebony in the gloom of this room. Gooseflesh broke out over her body, her scalp prickling uneasily...
Beautifully made and comfortable in appearance, the chair all but invited one to sit and relax. There were heavy curved slats in the back of the chair that would mold to a back, giving support and comfort. The top of the chair where she gently traced was framed by an intricately carved header...
Not too high to arch back over. Easy as pie...shaped seat, and I bet there’s even a dark water spot still drying if I checked...and don’t forget the thickly padded armrests—all the better to spread your legs over...

“I thought you’d gone already, what do you think of it? I got it for a great price at the auction last week, isn’t that chair just amazing! A song I tell you, I’m so thrilled with it! And there’s another one too just like it, only smaller at the other end...”

Yet though Rose’s eyes had gone to Anna’s mouth, followed the movement of her lips as she spoke, she’d have been hard pressed to repeat whatever it was Anna was saying...

How long have I been standing here gawking?
How much bloody proof do you need!?!
It wasn’t a freaking dream. Oh God...Oh my God!

Anna stood in the doorway, with a slightly cleaner Henry in her arms, excited words tumbling one after another from her mouth, a mile a minute.
Rose turned tail and simply fled.
Flew past a startled Anna and a just as startled Henry, who squawked in indignation as she darted past.
Barely pausing, she grabbed her bag from the floor in the hallway, and was out the front door and gone, with the finality of it banging shut behind her.

*****

Anna had leaned back into the hallway to watch, wondering what on earth was wrong with the girl now. She shook her head, hoisted Henry a little higher on her hip, and turned back to the chair Rose had been staring at.

Moving forward she reached out to trail a finger across the wood, a shiver rippling through her as she recalled the pleasure.
No...she couldn’t have seen anything. Surely not, it didn’t bare thinking about! She’d been asleep after all. Rose and Henry both when she’d checked on the way past to her room, besides, she’d locked the door and after all... Henry was getting antsy, no point worrying about it now.

Time to get on with the day.