Earning My "a"

"On the breast of her gown, in fine red cloth, surrounded with an elaborate embroidery and fantastic flourishes of gold thread, appeared the letter A."

― Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

Tuesday (in flight)

Commercial airlines were invented to torment people.

I believe that's true, and if that isn't true then it's certainly what they do best.

I was in an airport this morning at six o'clock. To truly appreciate that statement, you have to understand that I don't do anything a six a.m. unless I can do it in my own bed. Today I was in an airport, and no, I didn't sleep there.

For such a short trip, I didn't have any bags to check, that was one small corner of hell I avoided. It was a small consolation really since I would have preferred a much longer stay.

Still, there I was. In line with all the other sleepy-eyed people who had somewhere they wanted to be badly enough to be standing in line at that ungodly hour.

We were all waiting for permission to get into what is more or less a 21st century bus. We had paid our fare and now we were about to begin our journeys. (I wondered for a moment, right then, where all these others could be going that was so important to them. Were any of them seeking what I was seeking, did any of them stand a chance of finding it? Did I?)

First we waited, allowed our belongings to be inspected (really don't want someone traveling that early to have a weapon, do we?) Then we waited a little bit more. Finally we were told to board, now we were supposed to hurry. Get quickly settled so we could sit in one damn spot for the next 6 hours.

I'm not stupid—I've done this before even if it was a lifetime ago. The carry-on bag had a soft drink and a couple of bottles of water (now you have to get them after you're through security so they cost a small fortune) and snacks. I had a book and my laptop. I even had my earplugs and a pillow. So I should have been perfectly cozy, ready to spend the next day trapped in that seat. Of course they put me right next to the girl with the crying baby. Of course the guy behind me had what sounded remarkably like TB.

None of it mattered to me. Not the lies I'd told to explain my going or the small tortures of the journey.

It didn't matter because it wasn't important. Where I was going was important, getting there would be forgotten the moment I arrived.

The long denim skirt was soft and it wouldn't wrinkle, even sitting all day in that tiny seat. My blue cotton blouse was loose and should still look good at the end of the trip too. My boots were fancy to look at but comfortable, high heels and all. I'd had it all chosen for months.

No makeup—I hate the stuff and I didn't want to look "all painted up" anyway. Some tinted lip balm was in my bag that I mostly liked because it tasted good.

The wretched trip went on for ages, or seemed to. It gave me time to dream, to imagine and plan. Those I'd been doing for far too long. I had a dozen plans for my first words, a dozen ideas of how they might go wrong.

When the announcement was made that we would be landing soon it broke my reverie. I used the time to wash my face and straighten my clothes, all those 'girl' things that we all do.

I did what I could to steady my racing heart, to calm the millions of fears that took hold in my mind as the moment approached.

Now I'll close my laptop and gather myself to go and meet the person who owns my heart.

Wednesday (morning)

I'm a different person today. Put that another way, I know now where all these months have been leading.

Yesterday afternoon I stepped into a Delta terminal having no idea if I were right or wrong, only knowing that I had done the only thing I could that might promise happiness. All the lovely words I had put together, those witty or sexy or romantic things I might say all flew from my head in an instant when I saw him. More truly, when I saw him see me. That look, the smile that was full of sweetness and longing, of quiet amazement, was still on his lips. His eyes danced with something very like glee. I could feel my own smile—too open and unguarded. He saw his Disneyland. I saw my heart's desire.

Perhaps there should have been guilt but I didn't feel any. There were no thoughts of the woman he had left at home or the man who was waiting for me to return. If I would come to reproach myself for what we were doing it would be later and right then "later" seemed very much later indeed.

Our eyes were locked and my heartbeat was loud in my ears. Now, would I wait for him to come to me, or would I cross the floor to him? I so desperately wanted to run into his arms but my feet seemed stuck to the spot.

The moment I saw him take a step towards me that paralysis shattered and I went toward him. Oh how sweet it was to be standing near enough to touch. I felt so helpless, not one of the thousands of words I had considered would come forth.

The very best I could manage was "Hi." As I said it, he said the same word to me. We spoke almost in unison. That was enough to make me laugh, thank god to make both of us laugh.

A heartbeat later my hand was resting on his chest as he cupped my cheek in his palm. Then, seamlessly we kissed. First gently then the passion grew. He pulled me near and I wrapped my arms around him. We kissed like lovers separated for too long a time. What else were we, after all, even if we had only just met? Nevertheless, there was no awkwardness, no adjusting for one another. We fit perfectly, him and me.

One of us broke that kiss, I'll never be able to say which, but my feet were settling back on the floor from where I'd been standing on my toes. He looked down into my eyes as I gazed up into his and all I felt was joy—all I saw was joy.

We did speak then—simple, inconsequential words. The test had been met and overcome.

He steered me along through the small crowd and out to where we would find his car. He took my things and put them inside for me. Next he would have opened a door for me as well but before he could I put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down into another kiss.

This one wasn't bounded by a crowd of onlookers nor was it timid or gentle. This was a kiss of hunger and urgency. My body was pressed tightly against his and there was no truer sign of desire than what I felt there.

Shameless, wanton, I leaned back against the car and pulled him with me. His hands were touching me everywhere, his lips devouring my mouth and my throat. Tipping my head back, I simply let him. I brought my knee up slowly until I could wrap my ankle around his thigh. I wanted him closer to me, no space between us at all.

When I felt him, confined in his jeans but straining for me I ground my body hard against him. I could hear the words I was speaking as though from a distance.

I was saying simply "yes." This above all I wanted and I heard the words from my lips more than once "oh yes this."

It might have been there and then. His hand was creeping under my skirt and mine was inching toward his belt. Yes, it might have been there and then except for the sound of an engine starting somewhere. Suddenly we were in a parking garage again. When my mind went to the empty back seat, I couldn't help but laugh.

He caught it as well and I collapsed into him, both of us shaking with laughter. God help us, at our age! About to go at each other in a parked car like teenagers! I felt like a teenager, more than I ever had when I'd been one.

I had predicted that I might cry, seeing him that first time but the tears he was wiping from my eyes weren't the ones I had expected. He asked me a question that seemed to make absolutely no sense at first. "What time is it?" I couldn't answer, even if I'd known the answer—I was too busy puzzling out the meaning of the question. He'd let me go to look at his watch (I don't wear one) when I got it. "We have a room," he told me with a smile.

The next thing he whispered to me, well it brought different tears to my eyes (as predicted) and an answer to my lips. How long had I wanted to say those words knowing he could hear them, see and feel me say them? How long had I waited to hear him say them? "I love you."

When he asked me if I'd eaten, I broke out in more gales of laughter. I couldn't help it. The double entendre was surely unintended but it was just too funny. When he said, "Lunch first then," I thought I would die.

It was what we'd planned and he sticks to plans, damn him. It's what I had asked for and he meant to see that I had it.

Ask me if it was because he was willing to wait for me, to have that time to talk and be together the way we never had first. I can't answer it. I only know that I was overcome—with love that he would choose that, and with desire so that I didn't want that time so much anymore.

We found a place (I suspect it was already found) and sat together hands clasped, neither of us tasting what we ate. Only the anticipation was delicious, his presence (with me, dear god so close to me!) Over and over I brought his hands to my lips, kissed those fingertips that had been our lifeline in all the hours at the keys. Those fingertips had been his voice and his presence, almost tangible against mine as the keys warmed and I could think I felt him on the other side of them.

In our long conversation, what was left we hadn't already talked about? We'd had 10,000 words—probably much more. I knew him as I knew myself, only better. We sat and talked—new things and old things. I reveled in the sound of his voice, so deep and soft. I'm constantly amazed that there are always new things to say, new things to share between us. I could talk with him for a lifetime. I wanted to stop talking.

We walked out of the place with his hand in the small of my back (something I'd never told him, that I so loved a hand in the small of my back. More intimate than an arm around my waist, sweeter than a hand in mine. A simple gesture that says "you are mine" so very clearly.)

His eyes gleamed when he looked at me, full of humor and passion and love. He was waiting for me, as though I hadn't said yes ages ago. He was wanting as badly as I was but still, he was waiting for me.

"Please love," I whispered, letting him feel the words against his ear. "I want to be alone with you."

The words were greeted with a smile like sunrise. "Sure?" What did that word cost him?

"Very sure."

Leaning in a bit, he kissed the tip of my nose, making the seriousness of the moment disappear. I did what I'd known I would do. I threw back my head in laughter and the next kiss was below my ear. There in that one magic spot, no coincidence since I'd shown it to him long before. I felt his smile. There was nothing else to wait for.

My heart was racing like some virgin girl; my body was alive with expectation. The door had barely closed behind us when we were in each other's arms with nothing to come between us now. My back was against the closed door and his hands on my body pushed the fire in me even higher.

No waiting now. My hands were on his belt, my skirt high on my thighs and I knew what he didn't—that there was nothing there to get in the way. When the last button was undone and he was free my hand ran up the glorious hardness of him. For a moment I considered dropping to my knees and tasting him but my body was speaking for me. My leg was wrapped around him, he didn't need a second invitation.

Hard and fast, he was in me. It stole my breath even as I shook with pleasure, the first wave breaking at the first touch, crashing into and through me.

As if my cry made him think he'd hurt me he searched my face. He should have been able to see his answer but I spoke it nonetheless, "harder."

He took me—there are no other words for it. Talk of caution vanished, I wanted nothing between us, I wanted to be full of him. He would have pulled back in that last moment but I held him tight, still moving with him, still riding wave after wave of bliss. He came in me and I felt the heat of it—oh heaven! I felt his body spasm and then still.

I was still devouring him with kisses—lips, neck, ears where my whispers had urged him on. Now I traced his collarbone down to his chest. At last I did drop to my trembling knees. His indrawn breath was sharp as he felt me take him into my mouth, tasting both of us. My tongue moved to take all of it, to clean him like a cat, to tease out every drop.

I believe I surprised him, or maybe he surprised himself. He was rising again for me, for the long strokes of my tongue and my suckling mouth, for my questing fingers and hot grasping hands. I heard his rough breath as the tip of my tongue reached inside that tender opening—gently flickering, hot as flame. He was moving with me, pushing forward as I drew him deep swallowing every beautiful inch.

How long? I don't know. I only know that I meant to finish it, to have him again. I know his hands were braced on the wall I'd so recently been pressed against. He tried to quicken my pace but I kept moving slowly, savoring and I'll admit, tormenting him. In the end I let him go, let him move faster, one hand now in my hair. Just the feel of it had me shaking again. That more than anything I think pushed him over, the knowledge that I had come just from the feel and taste of him. I swallowed him deep as he released with a low moan. He had to feel my throat working to swallow every bit. In the end I was sucking hard to have it all.

So gently he pulled me to my feet. So sweetly he kissed me. Soon we were together on the big bed and still he kissed me, undressing me as he did. When his lips touched my bare breast I thought my heart would stop. Lingering there forever, leaving all too soon, he was kissing my stomach.

I was wriggling beneath him, reacting to each brush of his tongue as if it were the first. Kisses on my knees and thighs, I'd never felt anything like it. My fingers were clutching the coverlet so hard they hurt.

He so wanted to give me pleasure, took such delight in those kisses.

My body responded to him, heels digging into the bed so that I could push up against him. Once and again I shook, cried out as the waves broke through me. Heat and passion kept me trembling at his touch. Still my heart ached to have him in my arms, to feel his weight and taste his lips.

When he did come into my arms, it was my turn to undress him. To offer long slow kisses and the lightest touches, my long hair trailing across his chest. I kissed and caressed him only for the pleasure of it, to see his face when my eyes turned up to his. There was no expectation beyond it, simply touching for the sake of feeling close, for the thrill of fingertips against tender skin.

I held him in my hand, thumb gently rubbing the sensitive flesh at the tip and beneath it. That he would rise for me again was a sweet delight.

I felt his body atop mine, looked up into his eyes and held his gaze as he slipped slowly inside me, as my hips came up to meet him. This time moving together, the rhythm slow, lips meeting or eyes locked. My fingers touched his face and brushed through his hair.

No fireworks, just a long enduring flame—pleasure as intoxicating as wine.

He spent himself deep inside me again and then I held him. His heartbeat against me filled me with its vibration so that one last wave rushed through me.

I woke with my head on his chest, his arm snug around me as he slept. I could have moved but no part of me wanted to. I snuggled closer and closed my eyes.

How much later did I feel him stroking my hair, fingers running down my back?

For the longest time we stayed there, not speaking, knowing that it had all been said for the moment.

Eventually we spoke, talked of small things that meant so very much. We laughed together over our afternoon, made a plan for dinner out that neither of us wanted or meant to keep. We showered together, washing one another clean. We ordered pizza and ate it in bed.

I sent the messages that should have shamed me but didn't.

We slept, naked and curled together.

He's still sleeping but soon I'll wake him. These things were too precious not to capture even if I know I'll never forget them.

We have today and tonight. The thought brings tears to my eyes that I don't mean to let him see. He is mine for today and tonight, this man I love.

After that comes more waiting, more distance that will be even harder to bear. We'll go back to our careful conversations and stolen moments.

Thursday (in flight)

If these people see me crying then I don't give a damn. I have to cry now, I won't be able to at home. How would I explain it?

There was so little time.

I don't know when or where the next will be.

I am allowed to cry.

Yesterday I woke him with my body, on my knees above him. One long kiss as I nestled his cock between my legs—not inside but cradled in the warmth there. Slowly sliding along the length of him, dear god he made me shake just stroking him that way. His eyes opened then closed again at the feel of it.

"Good morning, love" I said to him.

He smiled at me, "You do mean to kill me, don't you?" Despite his words his hands were on my hips to lift me, move me so that he could finish what I had started. I put my hands over his and stayed where I was, moved a little faster until I was biting my lip and moaning.

"You should have woken up first, if you wanted to be in charge." I said it with a small laugh and with what he calls my "maniacal glee."

I'd lifted his hands to my lips as I spoke, such a tender gesture—until he noticed the long length of black silk draped around my neck. The loops were already tied, slipping them over his wrists? Nothing.

Bright eyed and curious he let me lift his hands above his head. The headboard was slatted and (thank god!) bolted to the wall.

The first time his eyes widened in surprise was when I rose and walked across the room.

He watched while I dressed—I say dressed, not for going out. Silky black stockings and garter belt, carefully smoothed into place. The seams up the back were perfectly straight.

One of my little trinkets—the black thong with the beaded, silver metal running between my legs went on next. Did he see me suck in my breath at the touch of cold?

Then came the shiny black boots, rising well above my knees and with heels that dwarfed the suede ones I'd traveled in. Anyone looking at them would have sworn they laced up but the laces had been pulled tight already, a sneaky little zipper let them go on easily.

I'd brought my black velvet corset (a joy to get through airport security with its steel boning!) Weeks of practice and I was finally able to put it on myself.

The matching black velvet ribbon I tied around my neck wouldn't be staying there long. So much time spent online learning the different ways to tie it, the loops and slip knots that would fall away at the right tug but hold tight until then. So much practice to know I had it just right. That would be a surprise. Letting my fingers trace the ribbon where it looked so pretty as an ornament gave me a secret thrill.

The black velvet box had been a lucky find. Its size was mostly for show since not much remained in it. I carried it to the bed and set it so that the inside wouldn't show when I tipped back the lid.

Astride his body once more, yet tantalizingly out of reach, I searched his eyes. "Shall we play?"

So much of this was show, a tease that was more mental than physical—that much I'd sorted out right away. Still, there was no game unless everyone wanted to play.

His smile and the light in his eyes said what I needed to know, but it had to be said. "Oh yes," he moved beneath me and I gripped hard with my knees, let my heels touch him the smallest bit. "Someone's been planning," he laughed with delight.