The Marks We Leave

"Grand Central, by the information booth in the center of the station at 6 pm."

"See you there" she responded.

I arrived at Central Station early, finding a post on the balcony that gave me the best view of the grand hall. I looked for her, knowing I'd be able to spot her even from a distance. I sent one short message telling her which side of the information booth to wait for me at and then I watched. So many people flowed through the terminal that it made me think of the water of a shallow, rocky river, but when I saw I knew without hesitation that it was her. She looked down at her phone at my incoming message and I made my way to where she was standing.

We hadn't met yet; we'd only exchanged messages and emails after she'd written to me with a very blunt introduction:

"I'm attracted to experience, so I'm attracted to you. I'm still really new to this world, but learning from someone as honest and mature as you seem is something I would definitely appreciate. I'd love to get to know you more."

She was traveling the week before and had just returned to New York that morning; I was leaving the next day. We had one day to meet because she would be in Paris when I returned and we'd agreed that we didn't want to wait for over a month; we needed to at least say hello face to face. In the few hours between her coming and my going, we made time for one another.

I descended the stairs into the grand hall, studying her body language as I drew nearer. She was eyeing the terminal nervously and checked her phone for further instructions, not noticing me as I approached. The crowd closed and opened and with each parting, I took in another detail about her.

Rowan is small and fair-skinned, with a bright smile, expressive eyes and Venetian blond hair (I liked the way that it framed her face). She wore a purple dress printed with flowers and it had small buttons that ran almost the length of it. Her shoulders were bare and the moment I saw them, I wanted to place my lips on them. She seemed both resilient and fragile at the same time and I felt from the moment that we met that she wanted me to leave a mark on her so that she could prove that she could take it. She didn't seem inherently submissive, but rather; like someone who wanted to be dominated.

I came to stop behind her, waiting for her to turn toward me, but she didn't right away. When she finally faced me, I said hello, startling her and she gave a nervous little laugh. We left the station together, less concerned about where we were going than we were about being able to talk openly regarding the things we'd corresponded about before agreeing to meet. Where does one take a pretty young woman in the middle of the day to publicly discuss the things you want to do to each other in private?

Choosing a general direction we headed away from Central Station, walking close together. We didn't have any particular destination but we both needed to move so we let the moment carry us, untouched by the chaos swirling around us. Plumes of smoke billowed from food trucks and people leaving their nine-to-fives scurried across intersections as tourists halted and stared up at buildings that can touch low-hanging clouds. Her hand brushed mine once, twice and then I took it.

Coming to the library and it's vast open lawn, it felt like the place to stop, sit, talk. We picked a spot and sat down in the grass, looking up at the sky; it looked like it might rain. The clouds were thick and heavy and grey, but they didn't dampen our mood at all. She kicked off her sandals and we spoke as she let blades of green grass poke up between her toes. I pulled a piece of it out of the ground and rubbed it between my two fingers as I glanced at her, taking in everything about her as we talked. We laid back in the thick grass and looked up past the trees and skyscrapers while we talked about who and what and when until they closed the lawn of the library and asked us twice to leave.

I took her hand and we left the library, joking about how having just graduated college one of her goals had been to have sex in the stacks. She said it out loud and blushed when she did, giving the impression that she'd thought about it before and was picturing the two of us behind the rows of books in that very moment.

I let her lead me in the direction of Central Park and we talked along the way. The handful of conversations that we'd had online prior to that left lots to discuss. We held hands almost the entire time and walked quickly, coming to the center entrance to the park as the sun was fading. I studied her face, which made her nervous and I liked the fact that it did.

"You are looking at me!" Rowan said.

"I like to look at you" I responded, refusing to look away until I was satisfied.

We stopped and let a family pass us and it was then that I pulled her close and kissed her for the first time. Her lips were full and I'd been thinking about kissing them from the moment I'd seen them in a photo. She made me promise to at least kiss her if we were to meet and it'd been easy to give my word. My hand slipped around her waist and she trembled but pressed herself against me as though to steady herself. She felt like trepidation that was plated with resolve.

I took her hand again and we continued to walk through the winding paths of the park. We passed beneath one of its bridges and just then a man started to play the saxophone. We smiled at each other and rolled our eyes just a little because it seemed so cliché but I think that it made us both secretly a little bit happy. We found a bench that was as alone as you can hope to be in Central Park and sat down closely next to one another. Just as we did a cool breeze came along, picking up the may buds, sending them swirling across the paved path. People ran, pushed strollers, skated past us; when we were alone, I kissed her again.

She laid her head on my shoulder and we toyed with the idea of where we'd go next, but it seemed like we both already knew and were just waiting to say it. We alluded to where we'd hoped the night would take us but had attempted to curb expectations. It was obvious though that parting ways wasn't something that either of us was seriously considering.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked.

"Where do you want to take me?" she answered.

It took three trains to get back to the apartment and on the walk from the station, we alternated between silence and conversation, commenting on how quiet and peaceful my neighborhood is compared to where we'd just been. I took her hand again and held it as we turned down a dark, tree-lined street, headed toward the corner of Brooklyn that I live in. The brownstone buildings felt more like real homes from the outside than most of the places I've ever been to in New York and I like the sturdy, enduring look of them. Light creeped out through blinds and curtains; it was still early enough in the evening to imagine movement in most of the places we passed.

We stopped at a bodega and grabbed bottles of water; she stood in the doorway and the woman behind the counter (who I'd seen many times before) glanced at her and smiled a little as she handed my change back to me. We stepped back out into the night and looked at the lights over Manhattan, which were big and bright and colorful against the evening sky.

Alone in my bedroom, I undressed her down to her panties and looked at her pale skin in the low light that filtered in through the open window. She laid back on my bed and studying her I decided on rope over leather. Taking a length of it, I brought the ends together and pulled in the middle, making a loop, which I wound around her wrists, anchoring it back. I wound the rope quickly, precisely and she would tell me later that my face hardened as I concentrated. Tying the knot out of the reach of her fingers, I looked her into her eyes to be certain that the reality of it wasn't overwhelming to her.

I kissed her before sliding her panties off; I felt the heat emanating from her body when I touched the smooth soft skin on the inside of her thighs while I parted them. She arched her back and buried her fingers in my hair when I went down on her, trying to take some measure of control of the situation but I wouldn't let her. It wasn't up to her to decide when I'd tease or torment and she didn't have any say about when or where I'd kiss her; she'd given up control, but letting go isn't exactly the same thing.

When I surfaced, I kissed her, letting her taste herself on my lips while I untied her wrists. I whispered to her in the dark before going to grab a condom from the nightstand. While I slid it on, she turned over on her hands and knees and climbed into the bed. We were facing the window, beyond which the lights of Manhattan bled through the leaves of the tree which stood between us and the city.

She pushed back against me and then buckled slightly, trying to get used to the feel of me inside of her. She was very tight so we took it slow, giving her time to adjust. I didn't want to hurt her; not in any way other than that in which she'd asked me to. I brought my hand down on her bare skin once and I loved the way it sounded, echoing in the small room; I wondered if there was anyone on the street below us who'd heard.

Pushing her flat onto her stomach, I wrapped my arms around her tightly and held her legs together with my own. I kissed her neck as I worked my cock steadily in and out of her. With my weight pressing down on her I worried again that I might hurt her, but she was the wettest that she'd been. Losing that much control was hard for her, but it was also turning her on. We changed positions, again and again, trying different things, figuring out what each of us really likes. Time passed, but I don't know how much of it really; it felt like moments and ages at the same time. I know that when we collapsed together, I'd lost all sense of when we were.

Her face was bathed in the light from the street and I looked into her eyes, trying to decide what color they were. Depending on the direction she was looking in and the way the light caught them, they looked like they might be blue or green or perhaps even grey. I ran my fingertips over her naked body and we talked quietly for a little while until finally, we fell still and silent.

When I put the rope away, I picked up the leather restraints; she looked at them with enough curiosity to inspire me to put them on her wrists and ankles. When I approached with the collar, I gave her a chance to say no because she'd previously professed a disliking of the idea of them. She wanted to know what it was like though so I put it on her, reaching through her hair to buckle it. I pulled the ball gag from the bag next and she knitted her eyebrows together a little as I put it into her mouth.

I slide one hand between her legs and asked her questions, listening carefully to muffled answers. She asked to be properly spanked and as she lay face down on the bed, I happily obliged. You could see the perfect red outline of my hand when it landed, though I was careful not to leave a lasting mark. Every moan Rowan gave was followed by the rubbing away of the handprint that I'd just left and I wanted to know what the place where she was in her head looked like. Self-control takes effort when you find the sound of spanking so appealing but I saw the blood creeping toward the surface of her skin and I stopped, blowing on the last print that I'd left before I removed her gag and restraints.

We stared out of the window picking out which buildings the lights that peeked through the trees came from. She laid on her stomach, still naked and a gentle breeze blew across us. I couldn't tell if it was sprinkling or if I was just hearing the rustling of the leaves in the wind. My eyes followed the curve of her back up to her delicate shoulders and I smiled to myself at the sight of her in my bed by the lights of the night.

We turned over together and I laid on my back, cradling her in my arms. She reached down taking my cock in her hand and my body responded instantly to her touch. I closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth of her body as it pressed against me and the feel of her hair as strands of it swept over my skin with her movement. I kissed her forehead and she whispered into my ear.

"I want to make you come again," she said.

I closed my eyes and relaxed letting her touch me in a way that felt both selfless and selfish at the same time. She wanted me to come again as much for me as she did for the satisfaction of having accomplished it. I held her as she laid on her side and we both got what we wanted.

With my eyes closed and her hand on my cock, I thought about all the things that she'd told me she wanted to try. I thought about the expression on her face as I spanked her and the way that her hands looked tied together. I thought about the sound of her voice and the look in her eyes when I'd fastened the collar around her delicate neck. I thought about the feeling of being inside of her and how I wanted that again too. I felt her and smelled her and tasted her on my lips as she touched me and I pulled her body tightly to mine as she made me come for the second time.

I invited her to stay the night with the offer to walk her back to the train in the morning. In the bed next to her, I wrapped my arms around her and we drifted in and out of sleep for the few hours, I had left in New York. I needed to rest, but I found myself waking often. When I did I reached out and touched her soft skin beneath the sheets and I kissed her cheek. The sound of the alarm was such an unwelcome sound when it rang; I didn't want to leave the bed. I left her dozing there as I showered and caught up on the packing for my trip that I'd neglected in favor of spending time with her. I showered and changed, packed and planned and then I went back to the room to wake her.

The sun was barely in the sky when I walked her to the train. I'd left my jacket upstairs and the chilly morning air made me consider going back for it, but it was also invigorating to feel the wind on my skin after a sleepless night. The low hanging clouds felt close enough to touch and made me feel like all of it was that much more surreal. Even though the sun had risen, I felt like I was wearing the night.

We said goodbye outside of the subway station; I kissed her and pressed her against me one last time before she left, watching as she pivoted and climbed down the stairs. I didn't look away until after the last glimpse of her disappeared around the corner.

I looked up at the sky and saw a plane overhead, reminding me that it was almost time to go; hearing the train pass underneath me and I knew that Rowan was on her way home. Looking around me the streets were empty; I was alone in the early morning hours. Most of the bodegas were still gated, the nearby pet shop and adjacent restaurants were dark. I crossed the road with no traffic to compete with, turning down the same street that Rowan and I had walked together the night before. I thought of the way that her hand felt in mine, the way that she smelled and the purple dress she'd been wearing. I thought about the marks we'd left on each other and how much I wanted to leave (and wear them) again.

***

Chapters (an epilogue)

We sat in the grass in the park today, almost five years exactly from when we first met. We've seen each other here and there over the years in other cities and different places in our lives. Every time we meet it's a little different, like skipping ahead in a book.

Her vanilla blonde hair is cropped short now on the back and sides and her bangs sweep across her pale blue eyes. She's grown more into herself every time that I've seen her; she is still the same person at heart, but who she is now feels like the version of herself that's taking root and flourishing. She carries herself with more confidence in who she is and what she wants for herself.

We ate sushi beneath a giant northern red oak that was too tall to provide shade from the low hanging sun, talking about life and relationships and people. We didn't speak much about the times that we'd spent together in the past; mostly just about where we both are now.

We commiserated a little about the different types of relationship communication pains that we've each been coping with and it occurred to me how similar we are in the way that we struggle with time and expectation from romantic partners. She is a choreographer now and a dancer and she loves organized chaos; structure and freedom coming together with intent. Lead or follow; that's the struggle that we have in common with ourselves and with those we surround ourselves with.

"I don't want you to get 'bad boyfriend syndrome' when I vent about him," she said. I knew just what she meant; people often take the last thing that you've said about your partner(s) and paint a picture with that particularly when it's venting. We don't often enough sing our partners praises to our friends (and other partners) or tell friends about the easy Sunday we had with them, but instead, we pick up the phone when we need someone to agree with us or understand about something that's gone wrong. Lately I've found myself in a cycle of venting and defending, so I understood right away what she meant.

We left the park together and I walked her to class, where we hugged goodbye and made promises to see each again soon. I made my way down the street alone, putting my headphones in to listen to a book as I considered where we'd been together, where we are now and where we are headed. We are more alike each time that we see each other and in the ways that we are different, I am reminded of why I was so taken with her when we met. This is the latest chapter in our story, but it's certainly not the last.