He called again last night. He told me that in the morning there would be a box on my porch that I was to get it inside the house, place it in my bedroom, and leave it there, unopened. He would be calling again tomorrow night.
Then he had me turn out all the lights and get in bed, snuggled in safely under the down comforter as he told me one last story. Of a man who finally has to hold the woman of his dreams. Of how he held her tenderly, and tasted her lips as if they were made of the finest and rarest of wine. Of how he stroked her to ease the fear that caused her heart to beat in triple time within her chest. Then, just as I drifted off to sleep I remember hearing the phone hang up.
Tonight as I sit here remembering his words of last night I look out the window at the beautiful sunset as it sets over the mountains in the distance. I remember bits and pieces of the conversations He and I have had over the last year and understand that all this time has been leading up to now. I was certainly tired of being alone. I admit that. However, this was just so strange. As I lifted the coffee cup to my lips to take a sip, I noticed the trembling of my hands…. every nerve in my body was drawing tight.
There was no question he knew who I was, and I had long ago stopped asking him how he knew me, and from where. He called me once or twice a week, every week for over a year now. I had not really felt afraid of him, not in a long time. Just a little uneasy after talking to him. I mean, its almost like we had developed a sort of relationship if that is possible from just talking to each other…yet I knew nothing of him. He seemed to always touch on something I was feeling inside during his calls. Our conversations encompassed many topics sometimes it was all sexual, and at other times it was just easy conversations. I began to listen to the things he said to me. I found that he found his way into my dreams…this faceless apparition that haunted me over the phone lines. I began to dream of the stories he would weave for me during the late night calls.
His stories held my attention. I didn't really understand why such tales held such appeal to him, and more than that I didn't understand why I listened to them with such rapt attention because they frightened me at times, yet eventually became so very erotic to me. Overtime they came to sound romantic, and desirable. They were erotic tales of bondage, and sadomasochism. The stories were of women, enslaved by strong seemingly cruel men. Why would any self-respecting woman want it? His answer. "It is stepping back to that time her heart belongs to. It is where she longs to be. In addition, if it was not right for her, there is no way she could be held there. It is that place where her heart beats most true…in service.
I got the idea the woman is his story was always the same in his mind. I once asked him what she looked like…he described her as a small woman with a beautiful breasts far to large for her frame. With short auburn hair, and piercing eyes that made you never want to look away…"One as beautiful as you." He would say.
That always made my heart skip a beat and sometimes when he said this I would hang up the phone, or I would ask him why he kept calling me…what did he want? His answer was always the same "You have a beautiful heart." Tonight, as I sit here thinking watching the beautiful sunset in the distance, I think of only him. It is rather silly, perhaps even dangerous, as I knew nothing of him. I did not even know his name, or where he was from. All I knew of his was his voice, and his stories. The phone rang startling me from my thoughts. I knew before I picked it up that it was him. I picked it up with a knot of apprehension in my throat and seemed to whisper, "Hello."
"You are to go into your bedroom and undress. Slip the blind fold over your beautiful eyes, and then take the metal cuffs I sent to you and put the first one on your wrist, lace the chain around one of the bars on your headboard and then clip the cuff onto the other wrist and relax there on your back as you await me…"I am afraid", I whispered to him with tears in my eyes. "I knew," he said to me. Then he hung up the phone. I had now way of knowing how close he was, or how long he would be in getting to me. I thought of calling the police, but something in my gut said not to. I got up, went to my bedroom, and undressed. I slipped the soft silky blindfold over my eyes just before I snapped the first cuff loosely on my antique iron headboard. With a choked sob, I snapped the other cuff into place. With snapping of the second cuff on my wrist, securing my body helplessly to my bed, I knew that I was about to say goodbye to something….
