Silent She Waits

She stepped off the bus into the cool spring breeze. She looked around at the muted green of the lawns and trees, the pale earth tones of the houses. The bus engine roared behind her, then even that faded away, leaving behind a confused muttering of birdsong. The whole world seemed withdrawn, waiting for something.

She set her cloth bag on the ground for a moment, rummaged through it, then brought out a small handful of printed pages. Her eyes skimmed the top of the page, then slowed as she seemed to start reading more intently. The pages rustled in the light wind, but her attention was drawn to the words written there. Finally, she stopped reading, closed her eyes, and returned the pages to her bag.

The world hadn't changed.

She hefted the bag back over her shoulder and began to walk. It was five blocks to her destination, and when she turned the corner her gaze was drawn to the third building on the right. An apartment building. Her heart skipped a beat and before she knew it she had stopped walking. She closed her eyes and found she was trembling, though the breeze was neither strong nor particularly cold.

She set the bag back down, brought out the pages again, read. She started breathing again, felt her heart returning to a more regular beat. Again she stopped reading suddenly and closed her eyes, then returned the pages to the bag.

She started walking, not toward the third building, but the second. Another apartment building. She stopped, found the call button for the caretaker's apartment, and took a deep breath. She pushed the button.

After a pause, a husky woman's voice answered. "Yes?"

"I'm from the Clarion Cleaning Service. Can you let me in?" Her voice rushed as if she were reading from a script. Reading from memory.

The woman on the other end of the intercom didn't seem to notice. "Oh, sure, sweetie, come on in!" The buzzer sounded. The door clicked, and she pulled it open and walked into the building.

The caretaker was already coming out of her apartment. The caretaker was a wide, pleasant woman with a wide, pleasant smile, dressed simply and comfortably. The kind of woman another era would have called a 'slut' - a woman unconcerned with appearance, not caring what others thought of her. She smiled a bit at the thought, and felt a distant tingle.

"So, you're here! He told me he was thinkin' about having someone come in and clean up the place, and here you are! What's your name, darlin'?"

She answered.

"OK, no problem then! You're not here to rob the place!" The caretaker chuckled, a deep, jolly, resonant rumble as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a jingling mass of keys, then trundled toward the front door, her smile still wide, a sparkle in her eye.

Shifting her bag on her shoulder, she followed, oddly comforted by this woman whom she'd never met, but still knew. She followed the caretaker across the lawn to the other building, listening to a steady stream of comforting small talk as she walked. It was clear that the caretaker liked Him.

Her mind flashed away for a moment, remembering Him. It was His kindness that had confused her the most, at first. She'd read about confident Men, cool Men, even cruel Men. They could be kind to Their special ones, but to everyone? How could a Man who was kind to everyone be strong?

The sound of jingling keys brought her back to the moment, as the caretaker opened the main door to the other building, held the door open for her, and walked up the stairs to an apartment door. His apartment door.

"If you get done before he gets back," the caretaker said, "come on over or call and I'll lock up the place for ya. But he said you'd probably still be here when he got back."

She flushed a bit at that, hoped her blush wasn't as visible as she feared, but said nothing.

"Oh, sorry. You must be in a hurry to get started. Don't mind me, I'll go on and on all day if ya give me the chance. Take it easy, now!"

She smiled as she watched the caretaker walk back down the stairs and out the door of the building. He would like the caretaker, and He probably had, more than once, stood smiling, listening to her ramble. Kindness.

She shook her head as she entered the apartment. The door closed behind her, and a wave of emotion swept over her. Now there was no wind at all, but she was still trembling. She slipped her bag down onto the floor, reached in for the pages, skimmed, skimmed, found the spot she needed.

Found her instructions. It was His story, after all. She'd found it, read it, and had been amazed. The first time she'd read it she knew He'd written it for her, even going so far as to write it from her perspective, but she'd been puzzled as to why until she reached the end.

She'd nearly reached the end now, so she closed her eyes before reading the last line and put the pages away again.

There would still be time before His return, so she walked slowly through the apartment, looking, tidying small things where she could. She took in the sight of His life, how He kept His kitchen, the stack of mail on His dining table.

Her mind wandered.

The first time she'd read His story, she'd wondered why He wrote it. When she met Him, He talked, and she did, too. He knew there was another Man in her life - she'd made that clear from the start - but she wasn't sure if she was ready to commit to that other Man. The flaw was in her, she knew, so to overcome it, she threw herself back into that other relationship. She was sure He felt betrayed, abandoned.

She reached the second-to-last paragraph of His story, and understood why. Then she read the last line, and understood how He could write it, and the first spark of hope, that He understood her and why she did what she did, was kindled. She hadn't been moved at that moment to do what she was doing now, following the blueprint He'd set down for her long ago, but the more she thought, and the more she re-read, the closer she came. Finally, she decided. It was the only way to know for certain.

She wasn't consciously thinking of her surroundings, but something in her mind told her that her eyes saw something odd. Bringing herself back to the moment, she found herself looking at a shelf of framed photographs. Friends and family, no doubt, most of whom she didn't recognize. And at the end of the shelf an empty frame, displayed as if it contained a picture.

Her mind flashed, and it was as if she was back in that park of a long-ago summer, sitting together.

"I want a picture of you," He said.

She shook her head. "I can't. He wouldn't understand. I'm sorry."

He said nothing. He simply sat there with a sad smile on His face, then gave one brief nod and changed the subject. It was as if the moment were gone for Him. She'd thought about it often - wondering how He could simply dismiss such a clear denial.

She looked again at the empty frame, realizing He had never forgotten.

Breathing heavily, she went back to the kitchen for a drink of water. Finishing it, she noticed the clock on the stove, and that it was getting close to the time He would be arriving home.

She took a deep breath, fetched her bag, and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She went to the dresser and opened the top drawer. She reached in and drew out the blindfold she knew would be there, because He'd written that it would be there. She stood there for a long moment, feeling the sleek material between her fingers. Then she set the blindfold down on top of the dresser, placed the bag on the floor, and fetched His story one last time. She went straight to the final page this time, knowing there was only one thing left for her to read and remind herself of.

"He always said that words were beautiful nothings, that anyone could fashion castles, roses, or any other wonderful thing out of mere air. And so i know that, if i were ever to want to return to Him, i would have to convince Him of my certainty with something other than words, something He could truly believe. Now i see that everything i learned, everything i thought i knew, was based on words - beautiful, wonderful words, but empty without action and commitment beneath. So here i am. When He enters His bedroom, He will see me, blind, naked, and trembling, my legs wide and my pussy exposed, silent and willing to be whatever He wants, to give whatever He wishes to take. There will be no warning - no car on His street, no clothes on His floor. It will be as though i dropped down straight from Heaven to offer myself to Him, just as He sees. An action to show my commitment, my desire, my prayer."

She fought the urge to close her eyes, as she'd done every time after the first time she'd read His story, knowing that this last time she had to see it through to the very end.

"And i pray that His answer will not be simply to close the door and walk away."

She set the pages back into her bag. Piece by piece, she removed her clothing, folding each item neatly and placing it into the bag before sliding it behind the dresser, out of sight. She carried the blindfold to the bed, then slipped it over her tears, settled gently onto the comforter, and slowly drew her knees as far apart as she could.