Needling to Be Ind

"Wicked man," she murmured, rubbing her arms as he untied the silken scarves, one by one. "It was not kind to leave me like that."

"Do I always need to be kind?"

"I suppose not, sir, but equally you do not need to be deliberately callous and neglectful," she pouted and sat up, watching as he moved to free her ankles.

"How did this bonding experience leave you?"

"Do you mean emotionally, spiritually or physically?

"I think all three," he paused and looked up at her frowning face, grinning: "why not, eh?"

"That's ambitious."

"Well, I am sometimes ambitious," he smiled. "There are worse sins in heaven and earth."

"I'm not going to tell you now, " she kicked him gently once he had loosened one ankle.

"There's gratitude for you," he sighed and caught her foot, tickling the sole until she squealed.

"I should be grateful for being left alone in a dark room, when I had hoped for fantastic lovemaking?"

She struggled lightly in his grip, as if barely suppressing a desire to kick him again.

"I did not want to disrupt your musing," he excused himself feebly, released her other foot and then held up the scarves teasingly. "Slip a kimono on and let us go and eat in the other room."

"I wish that you weren't quite so good at knowing just how far you can go," she complained. "Sometimes you almost seem to be overstepping my boundaries and then you bring me back just before my thoughts start to drift. Did you say something about eating, sir?"

"I have had something prepared. Now put this on like a good girl and come to the living room," he smiled and held up the white silk gown for her to slide her arms into. "There, that suits you. You can join me in a cocktail and enlighten me on your pernicious wandering thoughts, girl."

"I'm not thinking perniciously at all right now."

"Not frustrated at your recent experience?"

"No sir. I had a nice sleep."

"Well join me anyhow. I have a poured a rather nice vodka and cranberry juice over crushed ice that is calling your name."

"Can I just have the juice?"

"Good idea -- that way you will taste the fresh lime. By all means pour it virgin."

"Who are you calling virgin?"

"You are verging on forgiving my little tease, I hope?"

"I'll forgive you -- just this once mind."

"What will it take for you to forgive me forever?" He laughed and ushered her into the living room. She looked around and observed the crystal glassware on the dining table and the red cocktails that sat on a little table by the sofa.

"If you were a true gentleman, then I'd forgive you forever."

"Am I not a true gentleman?"

"If you were, you would have taken a rose and put it by my place setting, whatever you intend to serve me."

"Good lord, she wants star treatment from me as well as an alcohol free cocktail," he murmured as he poured the red juice over crushed ice and added to slithers of lime. "Will her demands never cease?"

"Is satisfying my requests such a frightening idea?"

"Requests might not work as well as demands."

"Not even when I am on my knees, begging," she grinned and sank down onto the fluffy white carpet, spreading her thighs and placing the flat of each palm on them to accentuate the apex between them, justas he had taught her.

"Now that works," he remarked and reached down to hand her the tall glass. "That works very well indeed. You really know how to position yourself, don't you?"

"I like to help you focus, sir, without having to suck everything out of your cerebrum."

"You'll do fine sucking other things."

"Then it's pasta night, tonight?"

"Only time will tell, but in the meantime your ignorance could be my bliss," he said, walking around her kneeling form and pulling a thin paperback off a bookshelf. "Ignorance is strength - George Orwell -- have you ever read 1984?"

"Yes and don't think me completely blissful sir."

"Love is hate."

"I shall note that later in my things to be noted book, when you let me have my handbag back."

"You look fine in my borrowed kimono without any accoutrements. Just commit it to memory for now, girl."

"As you wish sir, but I do like to use my notebook to make impressive swirls."

He chuckled and pausing as he walked across the thick rug, looked down at her kneeling before the sofa where he was soon to sit. Even from this angle, his mouth watered at the sight.

"How do this work? What is the principle behind this notebook?"

"You say something interesting and I record it in my book of days."

"Good show - well, there is more where that came from."

"I am all agog in anticipation, sir."

"Which is as it should be!"

"Then I am fulfilling your expectations nicely."

"Aren't you just. Now, tell me," he asked as he flopped down on the sofa in front of her. "Besides being utterly flippant and spreading yourself wider, when I instruct you to, what is your favourite thing to do?

"I like riding and no," she paused, observing him raising his eyebrow,"not just that kind right now. I meant horse riding."

"Forgive my lecherous assumption, girl. Sometimes it takes a while to catch up."

"It does when you are on foot and I am on my horse."

"I always wanted to learn how to do that."

"First find yourself a horse, sir."

"Very clever girl. My aunt has some. I never got a chance to try them out."

"Your cruel aunt slaughtered them all for steak hearing of your equine aspirations?"

"No," he said briefly and shut her up by staring hard at her. Her face was suffused with a light blush and she lifted her glass to hide the vague sense of embarrassment at having gone one step too far in her banter.

"So, why is riding your favourite thing to do?" He asked and drank down the remnants of his own cocktail, before starting on the one he had originally intended for her.

"Because it is freedom personified."

"Are you attracted to the freedom that defines authority, or to what challenges authority?"

"I am attracted to the elements and nature - blowing the cobwebs from the mind."

"Answer my question specifically."

"Well, I like to push at the edges of authority to test the boundaries."

"I had noticed this. Do you do it to see if the authority in question is worthy of leading you?"

"I suppose so, but I notice that you are returning to your habitual imperialist mind-set."

"Wasn't that your destiny in the cards today?"

She shrugged.

"It was in mine," He determined and leant to one side to pick up a leather bound hardback from the table by the sofa. "Did you know that the Baroque period was the height of imperial mind-set?"

"No. I didn't."

"You can for example cite Thomas Hobbes or the actions of Louis the 14th."

"Was one of them the man who Baroque the bank at Monte Carlo?"

He stared at her, looking slightly puzzled and then frowning a little. It was not the light smile that she had hoped to encourage. In fact his regard flustered her a little. She bit her lip and remembered to remember her place next time.

"Do continue," she cajoled, kneeling up closer and resting her hand on his thigh. "Please ignore my facile quips."

"You always like to push at the edges, don't you, girl?"

"If I catch you napping, sir, I will bury inoffensive mines in your path."

"I shall try to avoid power naps then."

"What is a power nap sir?"

"I drink three shots of espresso. Then I sleep for 30 minutes and when I wake up..."

"...Your mouth tastes like a coffee grinder?"

"No. I have the benefits of 30 minutes of nap time plus caffeine. That's what I do if I am on the fly with no time to stop. It ensures I keep the pace up. Now let's dine."

"Is it linguini time, sir?"

"No, it's time to live well. Get up. I don't intend to feed you on the floor."

He clapped his hands and a man-servant swept into the room carrying aromatic and appetising foodstuffs on various plates.

"I would have done it myself," he shrugged and pulled out a chair for her.

"...but you were all out of pasta?"

"No, my cooking is crapulous. And will you give over with the pasta-quips."

She laughed at his honesty and settled down in her chair, smiling to see that the man-servant had deposited a red rose by her plate. She picked up the cutlery and began to carve the chicken a la creme before her.

"I have a question, girl."

"Feel free sir. You question. I shall eat."

"Tell me about a time when you really felt in love, or attracted to someone. What is it that you most remembered about this? What you saw, how you felt or the things you heard."

"Butterflies"

"Butterflies in your stomach or were they literal butterflies?"

"Both: we etymologised in the Lake District after the daffodils, but before the cornflowers."

"What is more emotional for you, the visual scene of butterflies, or the adrenaline in your stomach?"

"The latter of course - the butterflies in the air were a material realisation of feelings - to me - though I'm sure that they had a purpose of their own."

"So you would most remember the feeling first, then the visual scene next?"

"Yes," she confirmed, speared a final piece of asparagus, wiped it in the remains of the sauce and devoured it.

"And what thirdly?"

"The sounds," she paused and wiped her mouth. "I do so love real napkins, sir."

"You and your linen fetishes."

"You accommodate them well," she shrugged.

"What sounds?"

"The sounds of the breeze and the water slapping the banks."

"And what happened between you and this person?"

"I will tell you a tale of our lingering aound the lake of my dreams when you have provided the coffee to complete this delicious repast, sir," she grinned and pinched the skin on the back of his hand, "so you had better have your 'Passpartout' come back and do our bidding, if you want to discover all."

"You are a wicked and demanding woman," he murmured, taking hold of her hand and squeezing each finger, one by one. "It is not kind to leave me on the edge like this."

"Do I always need to be kind, sir?"