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"You understand what I'm saying, don't you, don't you?" he demanded, a frantic note in his voice. I was both terrified and electrified, excited and frightened, but I could do nothing more than nod and close my eyes as his fingers continued to caress my breasts.
"Dawn," he whispered, "the first light of day." He backed off the sofa and knelt down beside it to slip his hands under me. Then he lifted me into his arms. He kissed the tip of my nose and started to carry me toward his bedroom.
"But . . ." I turned the doorway. "Your other guests . . ."
He smiled and shook his head.
"They were very rude being so late. We won't answer the door, should they come," he said and continued to carry me across the living room. He leaned against his bedroom door and it swung open.
A small lamp on the night stand by his bed cast a soft glow over the room. The blanket had been drawn down on the bed. Michael lowered me g
ently to the sheets. He took off his jacket and the crisp white shirt beneath it quickly and leaned over me, flooding my face with kisses. I started to open my eyes when he pulled back, but he put the tip of his fingers on them and whispered, "Don't open your eyes until I tell you to.”
I heard the sounds of the rest of his clothing being taken off and then I felt him beside me. I started to open my eyes again, but he brought his lips to them so I would keep them closed. Then he lifted my sweater up and over my head and he continued to undress me while I lay there quietly, gazing into the darkness behind my eyelids, my heart pounding.
"Now open your eyes," he said softly.
With his eyes he began his lovemaking, and in his eyes I drowned, afraid to look at anything else. He lay beside me at first, not touching, not kissing, not moving. His chest was barely inches from my naked breasts. My body tingled everywhere in expectation of his touch. The anticipation was like torture.
"You are stunning, almost too beautiful to disturb, like a magnificent flower that should only be admired and never plucked. But I don't have that kind of restraint and then again, you should not be denied the splendid ecstasy that comes when two talented and beautiful people make love."
With that he brought his lips firmly to mine. Skin to skin we pressed, just holding close at first and thrilling in the exaltation of sharing what the other had to give. With each touch of his lips, of his hands I was shot through with electrifying sensations, until at last I was wild to have him enter me, no longer tender, but fervent with his own fierce, demanding need to reach the same heights I was seeking.
He cupped my breasts in his hands and kissed the tops of each, each kiss feeling like a drop of warm rain. His hands endlessly roamed and sought all my most intimate places. Then he turned and twisted until he had fixed himself over me. He lifted my legs and closed them like a scissors around his waist. I uttered soft cries as he pressed on, calling to me over and over as if seeking me to do more, but I wasn't sure what more I should do. He was still the teacher and I was still the student.
Finally, hot juices spurted forth to warm up my insides pleasantly and then it was all over. Spent, he fell forward, his body fully over mine, his breathing as heavy and as fast as mine. For a few moments, he did nothing else nor said anything. Then he kissed me quickly on the forehead and rose.
"Wasn't it wonderful?" he said. "Wasn't it like hitting the greatest notes, feeling yourself soar to the greatest heights? Well?" he said with some irritation when I didn't respond immediately. But I was thinking about it, trying to relive the moments and see if I could recall the feeling being as magnificent as he had said.
The problem was I had been so concerned about being a good lover and doing everything right, I thought I might have missed some of the ecstasy he assured me had been there.
"Yes," I said quickly.
He smiled with satisfaction.
"I told you passion makes us desperate, but being desperate brings us to the height of our very being, the ultimate of our essence, places us in exquisite danger. You will sing great songs," he declared and laughed.
"I'm hungry," he said. "Making love always increases my appetite." He started to dress quickly. I sat up and began to put on my clothing. "Would you like something to eat?"
"No," I said. "Thank you. I just use the bathroom a moment."
"Of course. Come out when you're finished and watch me eat something. You can finish your wine. Then," he said, nodding more like a teacher now than a lover, "I'll call a cab for you and you will get back so you don't miss your curfew."
He left me alone. As I finished my dressing, I gazed around his bedroom, and as if I had been in a daze the whole time, I suddenly realized where I was and what I had done.
What had I done!
I had made love without the slightest restraint or hesitation. I had permitted Michael to carry me off and seduce me, but I believed, I prayed, that his words were honest and sincere. He did see me as someone beautiful, someone to cherish, someone to love be-cause I was like him. We were blessed with a talent that made us different, made us feel things more intently. It was good; it was meant to be that two people such as he and I would find ecstasy together.
And yet, I couldn't help feeling guilty. Was Grandmother Cutler right about me? Was I the spawn of some evil, sinful act between my mother and an itinerant singer who didn't care about the consequences of his actions? Was I as spoiled and as vain as my mother who wanted to be treated like a princess and be young and beautiful forever and ever?
Just like my mother, I had my singer lover, I thought.
But Michael was different; he had to be. He wasn't some wandering crooner looking for a good time and not caring about his career and his art. Michael loved me because he saw something exceptional in me. We would be beautiful together; we would sing duets on the stage, duets that people would remember forever and ever because we sang to each other sincerely, with a passion that made our voices even greater.
No, I declared to myself, I would not feel bad; I would not feel guilty. I would feel fulfilled and I would be fulfilled. Michael had turned me into a woman, his woman, and I would wear my new identity with pride; although for a while at least, I would have to keep it all secret.
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