Descend to Heaven

After she left, I had plenty of time to think about what I'd said to her, and wonder about it. My little speech hadn't been planned or thought out but had just come out of me, telling her what she'd feel over the next few days and what she'd do. It had been rude and incredibly arrogant and not like me at all.

And yet, at the time it hadn't seemed that way to me. At the time it had seemed to come from some hidden and unsuspected part of me, less a prediction than some sort of secret knowledge, or not even that: more like a force, a compulsion, as if I knew what would happen, as if I could actually make it happen just by telling her.

It was like I'd sensed that in this part of her life at least, I could control her. It was if I felt her calling for my control and wanting it. I'd felt in her a softness and confusion, a fear and uncertainty that she was working very hard to conceal, and I'd felt like I could somehow reach right in and take a grip on her, almost as if I could feel my fingers fitting into specific slots. It was a weird and uncanny feeling and intensely sexual, unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It was that feeling that had given me the certainty that my words would hit home and resonate, and then come to haunt her no matter what she did.

All I'd said was that she'd become obsessed with thinking about the things we'd done, the acts of love and control that had so deeply affected her. That was hardly a bold prediction. I knew how she'd reacted to our lovemaking. I'd seen her initial eagerness and curiosity turn into alarm and fear as she'd felt herself sliding out of control, and I knew that would leave an impression. I had no doubt that she'd be running those moments over and over in her mind for a long time to come.

But then I'd told her she'd be compelled to masturbate—something I was pretty certain Arianna didn't regularly do, or at least certainly wouldn't admit—and that she'd be unable to climax. And that had been a very bold and presumptuous prediction.

Or had it been a command?

I'd aroused something inside this demure and self-possessed young professional. I'd pried up the lid and awoken the sleeping beast, of that I had no doubt. Nor did I have much doubt that there was a part of her that very much wanted this beast to wake up, and longed for the feel of its fangs and claws and fiery breath. There was a force in Arianna, and I was aware of it even if she wasn't, savage and sexual and intensely alive. And it was this force I was counting on.

Meanwhile, I was possessed by a strange calm and confidence, and an odd and almost annoying sense of certainty that I was in control of her and this relationship. I'm not used to being that certain about anything, especially women, and that's what I found annoying.

I live at the outer fringe of society and pretty much always have. Round peg, square hole; hopeless romantic, non-conformist, grouch, skeptic, social renegade, what have you. My relationships with women have always been kind of iffy and fragile. Things would start out okay, but there'd always come a time when they'd start expecting more from me. More

what

is hard to say: money, ambition, normalcy, predictability? Less spaciness and involvement with the weird subjects that fascinated me? I admit it: I think too much. I dream, I wonder, I read weird books and have strange friends. In the seven years since my divorce, I hadn't had a relationship last for more than six months.

So this feeling of certainty and confidence I had about Arianna was something new and unexpected. I felt I held her like a baseball in a glove, like a jail holds a prisoner, like rails hold a train. I didn't have to think with her or strategize. I didn't have to work. I didn't have to plan my words or second guess or worry about losing her. The relationship was just that honest, and it was a wonderfully liberating feeling, She'd come to me as a gift, and as a gift I'd received her.

Seen this way, this would be a test for her. If the things I'd said had no effect, then she wasn't the woman I'd thought she was and it's likely I'd likely never see her again. But if they did have an effect, then I'd be hearing from her before too long. So there was no use worrying about it.

But tell that to my heart. The image of Arianna haunted me, as I'd thought it would. Her body, her face, the depth in her eyes; her lips slack in rapture as I touched her, and the way her body yielded and melted and flowed against me as her excitement mounted. Her face in orgasm as she lost all control and surrendered to me, becoming temporarily no more that an instrument of my pleasure, mindless, ecstatic, a vessel to receive my love.

I did some divination regarding the situation. I did a couple of tarot spreads. I don't want to give the impression that I believe in the cards' powers to predict the future, but the tarot comprise a collection of very potent symbols, and the cards' strength is in letting you see things in different contexts, or from different angles. They can help you understand your own feelings and reveal hidden meanings.

Context. It's all about context. It's context that separates rape from passionate love; context that gives a simple touch its power to thrill; context that turns a one-night affair into a lifelong involvement. Context is meaning, and its meaning we're all seeking, the sludgy ambergris of truth.

Arianna's cards changed with every spread, but in all were symbols of the feminine, in all its various manifestations: emotion, receptivity, fertility, change, darkness. I was just doing simple three-card peaks: the first card being her, the second the situation, the third the outcome.

The spread I remember best came up like this: (1)

The Moon

; (2)

Eight of Cups

—Indolence; (3)

the Blasted Tower

, or

Tower Hit By Lightning

.

The Moon signifies confusion, change, and mutability, the mixing of reason and emotion. The Moon has always been a very feminine images. In this spread it represented Arianna and how she was feeling and perceiving: her state of mind.

The Eight of Cups represents Indolence, the weary languor that often follows sensual excess. It's the trap that follows pleasure, a cushion-strewn sofa that beckons you to rest and give up because there is no more, when actually the journey has just begun. This card represented Arianna's present situation.

The future was in the third card: the Blasted Tower, showing a medieval castle torn asunder by a strike of lightning, two hapless soldiers plummeting to their doom: major change, the destruction of the old, the violent ending of the status quo; crisis, catastrophe, the birth of the new.

I don't think I have to describe what this reading told me, or the kind of context it provided me with

Of even more use in understanding our relationship was the alchemical interpretation. Everyone knows alchemy as a joke, the silly attempt to turn lead into gold, practiced by scientifically illiterate fools and con-men back in the middle ages. Not many understand the hidden meaning of alchemy, which was to turn man's base and earthy nature into spiritual gold. Alchemy was a spiritual art, an attempt to achieve the

magnum opus

of converting the gross and impure matter of everyday life into something clean, heavenly, and sacred, and by so doing likewise convert our tarnished and polluted souls into into the pure radiance of spirit.

Tarot is temporary. The cards describe a system in flux but temporary. But alchemy is a pattern for life. And seen in this secret and spiritual light, the alchemical principle of

solve et coagulum

, dissolve and coagulate, takes on a new, deeper meaning. The substance to be changed must be completely dissolved so the impurities can be removed, and then solidified into a purer, more perfect state. This dissolution was to be accomplished by heat8ng the matter with the most foul and base of sunstancesthought to be aided by deliberately adding contaminants and gross impurities, and so the alchemists would heat their substances with urine, dung, and even feces.

And likewise, those carrying out the Magnum Opus of purifying themselves, would often drench themselves in sin and debauchery in order to dissolve themselves in it and emerge as pure and spiritual, uncontaminated.

I could see myself doing that to Arianna, forcing her down and debasing her till she dissolved in her own depravity, and then lifting her from the slag like an ingot of pure gold. I could see her as my receiving flask, a vessel placed to receive the purified vapors of my lust. I could see these desires coagulating and solidifying to create a new core to her being, firm and hard and clear like a diamond. I dreamed about her.

The call came not on Tuesday, but on Thursday. Her voice was soft but intense, as if kept under rigid control.

"I want to see you," she said.

"Oh?" I took the call in the kitchen standing near the sin k. "And what brought

that

about, Arianna? I thought you'd decided we were a bad idea together."

"I know. I did. A real relationship, I meant. I still don't think it's a good idea. But I need to see you."

"And what for?" I was in no way inclined to make this easy for her. "Something we can't discuss on the phone?"

I could feel her hand tightening on her cell. She was upset. She lowered her voice. "You know what it's about, David. Something you did to me."

"Oh? Something about our former affair, you mean? Or something else?"

"David, don't. It was what you said to me. As I was leaving. You know what it was."

I smiled. I couldn't help it. I smiled, and I felt a rush of exciting and intoxicating power run through my belly.

"Remind me," I said.

She sighed and lowered her voice even further, down to a whisper. "You told me to do certain things. And you told me not to do other things. You got inside my mind somehow, David, and I can't get you out. Whatever you did to me, I need you to stop."

I sat down at the table to enjoy this. "Tell me what happened, Arianna."

"David, please. Is this necessary? It happened like you said. Every bit of it. And it's still going on. Do you understand? "

"Where are you, Arianna?"

"I'm at home. In my room. But I need to see you in person, at your place. Please."

"Tell me what happened, Arianna. I want to know."

"David, how did you do this to me? Is it hypnosis, some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion? David, I need to know. I trusted you."

So it had worked. My words had worked on her better than I'd even hoped for. But how could I tell her what I'd done when I wasn't even sure myself?

"Calm down, Arianna. Now just tell me what happened."

She sighed tightly. "Ethan's been talking about a reconciliation. The legal stuff about the divorce is freaking him out. He's having second thoughts. I... Well, I didn't encourage him, but I didn't say no. We had dinner last Sunday. We went out. In the car he got amorous. He asked if he could kiss me..."

"And you let him."

"David, he's still my husband. You know what I've been going through with this divorce. You know how it's torn me to pieces. And then with you, what we've done together. I'm just totally confused and don't even know what I'm doing any more. Please don't judge me. I just can't stand that right now."

I agreed. "All right. So he asked if he could kiss you. And you said yes."

A silence, then: "It was awful. It was like kissing a dead man. A corpse. He wanted me to come back to his place. I couldn't. David, I can't stand his touch anymore, his hands scrabbling at me, looking for my switches and buttons so he can turn me on. It was horrible. All I could think about was you and the things we did. But still, I didn't want to hurt him..."

My initial feeling of smug satisfaction morphed into a kind of steely jealousy and selfish possessiveness, an anger. "And so what happened?"

"I begged off. I had to. I told him I couldn't, that I wasn't ready. I told him I was all full of confusion and hurt and I just couldn't go with him. And I wasn't lying. That was all absolute truth. I just didn't tell him about us or what we'd done. He took me home. He tried to kiss me goodnight..."

"And that's it?" I asked. "That's what you need to see me about?"

"No, David! Of course not. I just want you to have an idea of my mental state, that I'm very stressed right now and very vulnerable."

"I understand," I said. "Now tell me about Tuesday night."

"David—"

"Tell me."

Tuesday night was when I'd told her she'd go into the shower and masturbate for me and not be able to climax. Whether my words had been a prognostication or a command, the results would be the same. I wanted to know which, but Arianna balked.

"Can't I tell you in person?"

"No, Arianna. Over the phone. What are you wearing?"

"Wearing? Really? I'm wearing my black wool slacks, my bank clothes. We had meetings till 8."

"Open your legs, Arianna. Touch yourself. Slowly, softly—"

"David! I'm at home!"

"Then close your door," I said. "Do you want to see me, Arianna? Then do what I say."

"Oh God. Do I have it to? It's embarrassing."

"Do you want to see me?" I answered. "Then do it. I want to see if you're serious."

"God, what have I gotten myself into?" she said. "Why are you so mean to me? All right. There. I'm doing it. I'm sitting on my bed and I'm doing it."

"Good girl. Now tell me."

Her voice took on a breathy, whiney edge. "It happened just like you said. That's what was so scary. I didn't want to think about the things you'd told me, but I couldn't

not

think about them, do you know what I mean? I mean, if someone tells you to not think of a pink elephant, you have to think about the pink elephant just so you won't think about it."

I smiled. "You still touching, Arianna?"

"Yes, yes, damn it!" Her voice rose to a harsh whisper, then dropped back down. "Is that all you want from me is sex, David? Is that all I am to you?"

"Hardly, Arianna. Hardly. But I can't explain now. You're not ready. Meanwhile, you were saying—?"

"Yes. Anyhow, I failed miserably at not thinking about what we've been doing, as you knew I would. But I still hadn't followed your orders. I told myself I just wouldn't do them, easy as that. I'd stay away from the shower on Tuesday night. How hard could that be, right? I even showered before dinner so I wouldn't be tempted to shower later on.

"But the same thing happened. The more I told myself I wasn't going to shower, the more I knew I'd have to. God, I can't explain it. It's like I knew you wanted it and I didn't want to disappoint you, but I didn't want to give in to you either, and I went back and forth..."

"Go on, Arianna."

"Oh, God," she breathed. "May I touch harder, David?"

I smiled. "Yes, you may. But you still won't orgasm until I allow it. And finish your story."

A little whining sigh, and then she went on, a bit breathier this time: "So finally I had to shower. I figured I'd shower for you just to show you that I could do it without doing the rest of the things you said. And that was like such a relief, to do what you wanted. It was like you were there with me. I know it's stupid, but I did because I was doing what you wanted."

"Good," I said. "That's very good, Arianna. And then?"

So I was in the shower, and as I was washing, I kept on seeing you and that angry look you get in your eyes when I don't do what you want quickly enough. God, that excited me so much! I had to touch. I tried to do it the way you do, and then I had this feeling like you were watching me. I can't describe it. You were making me do it, and I couldn't stop. I just needed it so much and you were making me."

"Just like I'm making you do it now."

She moaned over the phone. "Yes. Almost. I wanted to do it. I wanted to do it for you. And I wanted to do it for me too, because I so needed it. I was hurting. I was hurting and it was so shameful standing in the shower like that, imagining your hands on me, your kisses, your body against mine."

I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes, picturing her, picturing her in the shower and picturing as she was now, probably sitting on her pink frilly bed—the bed she'd had since girlhood, she'd told me—in her black wool pants with her legs apart, rubbing her concealed pussy with her manicured nails. I could picture that swatch of black woolen fabric over her panties, and beneath those, the dark, mysterious architecture of her pussy, the complex hydraulics of her valves and glands and ducts.

"And did you cum, my little slut?" I whispered.

I felt her shudder as the word hit home. I knew she loved being called names.

"No!" she whined. "No. I came so close. I knew you wanted me to, but you'd told me not to too. I just got so confused. It was agony. And now I can't. I just can't! And I need to. The more I can't, the more I need to. Really really need to, David. You have to let me. I need to hear you say it. I need to see you. Please, David? This isn't fair!"

I let her hang there for a while, enjoying her hunger and discomfort. Then I spoke: "Is this the Arianna who's terrified she might be sexually submissive and hates the idea of being controlled?"

"David, please— Don't tease. You don't know how hard it is for me to even talk about these things."

That was true. Arianna could be perfectly open about sexual matters, but never talked about what she wanted and she desired. This was new. And exciting.

I held the phone close. "Are you wet now, Arianna? Do you need release now?"

"Yes. God, yes! I'm always wet now. I can't turn it off and I can't stop thinking about you and that's why you have to see me. Let me, David. Tell me I can. Please? Say that I can?"

This had turned out even better than I'd imagined in my wildest fantasies: so well I wondered if she was just faking, play acting the part. I'd never heard her talk this way. This wasn't the Arianna I'd known.

But at the same time, her voice was earnest, low and urgent and tightly controlled, and if it was an act, then she was a masterful actress. And hearing her like this, begging and imploring, was not only thrilling, but felt incredibly

right

, incredibly fitting, as if there was no other way things could have turned out. In the stars, in the heavens, I had an image of two planets falling under the sway of each other's gravity and slowly starting to circle, orbits diminishing and speeds increasing, the attraction getting stronger as the distance between them shrank:

F=G(M1 x M2)/r^2

"No," I said calmly. "You may not."

I ignored her long, frustrated groan and sat back up in my chair, tugging at my trousers to give my cock more room.

"But I

will

see you, Arianna. Not tonight, not tomorrow night. But on Saturday night I'll see you. But there are conditions, Arianna."

She sighed with relief. "Thank you- What conditions?"

"I think it's time, you acknowledge the special bond between us. And not just in words, but in deeds."

Silence on her end, waiting.

"I don't care what you want to call it, but sexually, you'll be my slave, Arianna. You'll be my private slut and sex toy, because I have access to parts of you you can't even imagine yet. You need me for that, to explore you and use you, and uncover all that's hidden away."

Silence on the phone, but I could hear her breathing, listening.

"You're one of those women like the nymphs in my story. Remember? They were too pure and modest for their own good. They felt sexual desire, but didn't know how to express it, or satisfy it. They needed to satyrs for that. I'm going to be your satyr.

"So I will meet you on Saturday, but we'll be meeting in a very different context for a very different kind of relationship."

"David—"

I sat back and closed my eyes and let my imagination go wild. I knew just how I wanted her to dress.