Waiting in a Coffee Shop

I have been waiting for this for so long.

Before you knew I existed, I was waiting for you.

Sitting here alone, at the coffee shop, waiting for you, I imagine the man who will come walking through the door for me.

Before I even set eyes upon you, I knew what I wanted to see.

The details of your physique, well, they're not important. Not really -- not for what I was looking for in you.

This is what I knew I wanted, what I knew I would find --

Power. Masculine power. I knew how I wanted you- I wanted you strong and uncompromising. I wanted you to be strong enough to hurt me lovingly, knew that I wanted to look into your eyes and sink, without being told, down to my knees where I belong. I knew that I could give over the burden to you, that you would take it gladly, that you would know what was good for me and deliver it unflinchingly.

Your voice -- how many times had I imagined your voice? Smooth and even, low, soft, confident. I knew that your voice would be soft enough to stroke me, hard enough to slide along my spine and shock me into obeisance. A voice that could stroke me one moment, slap me the next, and command my unfaltering devotion throughout it all.

Your eyes -- my darling, how often had I imagined your eyes! The color and shape was not important as was the response I knew that they would elicit from me. I imagined your gaze, while alone in my bed, imagined the way you would look at me and in that one moment, drain all small talk from my lips, halt any unnecessary pleasantries between us. I knew that I would look into your eyes, and see only what you wanted me to.

And so here I was, sitting, waiting. We decided to meet in a coffee shop -- a safe, public place.

I sit at my table, waiting for you to arrive, hands slightly trembling, pretending to sip on my mocha in order to mask my erratic body language.

My cheeks burn -- I wonder if everyone in the room can see that I am here to meet a man I do not know. My mocha burns my tongue and I do not taste it. I am nervous to please you in my appearance, nervous to please you with my words, and most of all, nervous that my inexperience and shyness will not be to your liking.

I look up and wonder if every man that walks through the door is you. Each one seems to believe that I am looking for their attention, and accordingly, perks up. I know that they can't be you. You wouldn't behave like that, like a dog being thrown a bone...the way I hope you inspire me to behave someday...

And then I see you. I see you, and know without a shadow of a doubt that it is you. You have seen my picture, and you know me, but even without visual recognition I know that there would have been an attraction, a click, an animal knowing, of who we are.

You smile gently, the smile never reaching your eyes, as you gracefully make your way to the table. My cheeks burn, my heart pounds -- I even feel my palms begin to sweat.

You sit, still as gracefully as a ballerina, but with the confidence and security of a man, a real man. The pulse is throbbing so loudly in my ears that I am afraid that I will appear simple to you, a boon not worth conquering. You say nothing, gently smiling, gazing at me, and I want so badly to know what to say next, to please you with my words, and I would give anything to show you how much I want to be worthy of being conquered by you...

I swallow, begin to greet you-

And you gently shake your head, plucking the words from my lips.

As you continue to study me in silence, I feel my stomach drop to the floor --

You say "Come on. Let's get out of here."

And willingly, like I always knew I would, I follow you.