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When I made the appointment to see him, he was a bit surprised, but he agreed without asking why. I as mount the steps to his house, I have to think of what I’ll say to him, how I’ll answer the initial question. I could speculate that he already knows what I’m going to say, but he’ll have me spit it out, lay it all on the line.
“I’d like you to take me into a scene, Bernard. I want you to top me. I’d like to slave for you.” There are a dozen ways to say it, they all mean the same thing. I’ve gone over them in my mind repeatedly, and wonder exactly how I’ll tell him the truth. I guess I want a whole lot more than just his stern lecture.
“Anna, how nice to see you!” he greets me in his conservatory with his arm going around me for a generous hug. His lips meet mine and I’m ready to drop to the floor at his feet. Instead, I stand back and smile. Though he scares me, I could melt into him now. “How are you?” He backs up and sits on his pruning bench where he’s been clipping his prized orchids. “Sit,” his hand motions to the chair behind me. Taking a seat, I look up at his open face and feel more yielding. I’m sure he reads exactly what’s in my thoughts. “This is a surprise.”
“Am I wrong to visit an old friend?”
“Not at all.”
He strikes a causal pose, one tight ass cheek and his leg resting on the bench—an open posture that draws me in. My face is at his crotch height unable to take my eyes from where I know his black dick resides.
“So, what brings you here?”
I sigh. “I would think you could guess.”
“Guessing sometimes gets you in trouble, better you tell me.”
I get brave, “I’m missing the scene.”
He nods as though it’s no surprise. “Runs deep in you, Anna.”
“It does.”
“You want your husband back?”
“Oh, good lord no!”
“You know I think your divorce was a mistake. You had all the right ingredients, just needed a little coaxing to make it a real relationship.”
“I didn’t come here to go down that road.” He sees how I flinch at the very mention of my marriage.
“Then what is it you want?”
I think for a moment, unable to speak. All those words and phrases I practiced, and none come out but the one word that matters, “you.”
“Me?”
“I need it nasty, Bernard. My whole being is so wanting. I used to count on a good thrashing to ease my inner turmoil, but it’s just day after day of waiting for something that is not going to come. Do you know how many weeks it’s been? Not weeks, but months. I’m living with a man I love, but he only knows half of me, and only has half of me to love.”
“And you can’t tell him the rest?”
“No, no, no,” I shake my head. “I can’t make him into something he’s not and I refuse to try.”
“So, you’ll cheat on him the way you did Heinrich to get the other side. Seems like the flip side of your marriage. Not fair to anyone.”
His words are stern and reproachful.
“I’m only asking for it once and while. Or maybe just once, until I get this figured out.”
He considers for awhile, just staring at me like his eyes could bore through oak—and I’m just a slender sapling with no roots at all.
“You haven’t atoned for your crimes yet, have you? Washed away the stain of your infidelity?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but perhaps not.”
“I think you’d better feel it that way. You’re feeling empty and unfulfilled because you didn’t treat your marriage with any respect. You committed adultery and now you’re paying in loss and sorrow. I should just let you just stew in your misery.”
“Bernard please.”
