I was holding my breath when I opened my front door. Those two raps were her first command of the night.
"Eyes down," She said the moment I pulled the door open. I only saw a flash of a grin before I let my chin drop.
She strolled in, walking into my apartment slowly, carefully. With my eyes glued to my shoes, I could only listen to Her. I listened to the gentle rustle of Her clothes folding and unfolding over Her, picking apart the sound for some clues to what She had worn that night. I painted pictures in silk and leather, all framed by that grin. It was the only flash She'd allowed me. After a moment standing there, trying to parse a skimming glance that might have been stockings gently brushing each other as legs crossed, I heard Her chuckle.
"Close the door, Cerdito." And, I did. "Then turn around. Keep your head down." I did.
She moved a few steps deeper into my apartment. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. Both clicked a little as they landed.
"Take off your clothes, and leave them in the middle of the floor," She said, her voice coming calm and even, like she was reading off a line from a recipe. I started undoing my belt.
Her voice bounced off different walls as she spoke. She was looking around, taking it all in. I'd cleaned, straightened the art on the walls, and in a fit of anxiety the night before, I'd alphabetized my DVD's. Now with her here, I wish I'd tucked them away. I was suddenly terrified by what she might think based on the fact that I owned the Dark Knight Trilogy box set. It was a gift from my Aunt, who assumed every man in his late twenties was in love with those movies. I liked them fine, but that was it.
"When you're done, go sit in your bathtub." She seemed to the will the words into the air. If She had any opinion on my interior design, She gave no signal at all. I unbuttoned my shirt and folded it on top of my pants.
"Close the door behind you when you go and keep the lights off." I could hear Her move to the back of my apartment, towards the bedroom. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. As I heard my bedroom door open, She finally let a little inflection slip. "I'll tell you when you can come out." I could picture Her grin making those words, and it made me smile.
Bathtubs tend to have an echo anyway, and when you combine that with a small New York bathroom, the smallest sound can take a long while bouncing off the walls. The tiniest shuffle of my feet had never been louder. Settling down into the tub in near pitch darkness became a careful operation, and I used my toes to feel for the edges.
I wrapped my arms around my knees, breathing through the chill that was climbing up my backside. She was here. After all the conversations, the pictures, the nights gasping over the phone, and the mornings texting Her with so little sleep, She'd finally made her way to my coast, and was wandering my bedroom, plotting God knows what marvelous things. Sitting there, picturing Her shift my closet door, or sit on my bed, my breath caught. I tried to calm myself down. After everything, I wanted the longest night she'd allow Me.
"Come out, Cerdito," She said from my bedroom. A moment later I heard the bedroom door close. I wasn't stepping out to see Her.
I could feel the open window as I stepped into the kitchen. The breeze curled past me, and both my breath and bare skin drew up tight. I felt it everywhere all at once; in one motion my chest, my ass, my calves all went taut in the cold air running through my kitchen. My clothes were gone. She hadn't left me a stitch.
All the lights were off, but I could see a flicker dancing deeper in my railroad apartment. I moved to the living room, fighting off the temptation to wrap my arms around myself. I knew She wouldn't want that. She wanted me to feel the cold.
She'd placed a lit candle in the center of my coffee table, right on top of my book of Vivian Maier street photography. I remember liking the book when I bought it, and thinking it was a good adult coffee table book to have in my new apartment. It started serving as a coaster within a week, and it had been hard at the job ever since. Circling the candle, She'd left me my outfit: a pair of fishnets, a leather mask with yellow feathers around the edges, a pair of sequined shorts, and a small bottle of body paint.
"Get dressed, but do not open the door to my bedroom."
Her bedroom.
"Do not put on anything I did not lay out for you. Tell when you're done."
The fishnets were still in their packaging and opening them by the light of candle was a bit of a challenge. I could feel my fingers rushing at first. I did not want to keep her waiting, and as I fumbled them to the ground, I felt my cheeks redden. Once I had the fishnets in hand, I took another breath. I wanted the longest possible night.
So, I took my time bundling them up, folding each leg up between pointer and thumb. I wanted to lace them on as smoothly as possible. I slipped them over my toes and up, slowly placing the criss cross down over my ankle, then calf, then thigh, then hip. I pulled the shorts on over the fishnets. The sequins sat loose on the string, and the color would change from purple to silver if you ran your hand along your ass. Purple was Her favorite color. She told me once how purple was a royal color. It was early on. I asked about Her favorite color as a joke, and then suddenly there was fifteen minutes about how in the past to make purple dye, they had to crack open snail shells and pull it out and you'd maybe get a drop. That it was rare and difficult, and that made it worth something. There was always a reason for what She did.
