I sighed, looking over the patio. So much for the dream of a normal life. Well, at least I wasn't crying anymore. I'd had such high hopes for the evening. New house, new neighbors, new beginning. Maybe I'd find friends here.
That was all gone now, my husband had made sure of that. The party started out very nicely. Most already knew each other from the neighborhood, so the mingling was easy, laughing, lightly teasing, sexual innuendoes after the drinks flowed. I'd asked Mark to go easy on the alcohol, and for the first hour or so everything was fine.
Like seeks like, as my grandfather was wont to say, and Mark found two guys from the neighborhood with similar interests. The alcohol consumption went up, along with the crudity of their language. It started falling apart when they found a couple of the wives that shared their interests, and they all disappeared.
They were found by a husband later. They hadn't got around to sex yet, but a lot of their clothes were missing and in disarray. Five more minutes and it would have been an entirely different scene.
One husband knocked the hell out of Mark, kicking him a few times in the ribs and crotch. There might have been more damage but cooler heads prevailed. The knife went through my heart when he looked up from the floor, bleeding, and grinned. "At least she was hot, not remotely like the cold fish you turned out to be."
I could have melted through the floor. Needless to say, the party was over. A few gave me sympathetic words, but most just avoided looking at me as they left. So much for the hope of friends. I'd be alone again, just as I was before.
This wasn't the first time it had happened. But Mark controlled the money, and wouldn't allow me to work. I had no family, no support group, and felt trapped. When he was sober, he was nice to me, and even when he drank, even though he shredded me with words, he was never physically abusive.
I walked around aimlessly, cleaning up, the residue mocking me. I got to the screened in back porch, the scene of the crime, and looked at Mark, wondering how I was going to get him in bed. The smell almost had me gagging. Apparently he had consumed so much he'd lost control of his bodily functions, soiling himself, and vomiting violently. I sobbed again.
"Leave him be."
The voice was so gentle I thought maybe it was just my inner thoughts manifesting. I reached down to move his head.
"Leave him be. He deserves to spend the night lying in his own juices. Maybe it'll teach him a little humility."
I could see him now, sitting on the bench under the huge cedar. The rustic bench had been there when we moved in, and it charmed me so much I left it. I often sat there in the afternoons with a book, enjoying the breezes.
He was huge, dwarfing me by a good foot of more. Even in the dark, I recognized him. He lived the next street over, and came at the insistence of his sister, who lived three doors down. He was at least forty, with curly brown hair that was frosted around the ears. You could get lost in his eyes, or at least I did, A soft pale gray, that seemed to have no end. His voice matched his size, a soft baritone, with a pronounced Southern accent. He shook my hand, closing it in both of his, and half bowed. "A pleasure," he said, giving a smile that lit up the area around them.
He moved through the crowd, stopping to speak to almost everyone. I noticed he had developed an entourage of the single ladies, but he seemed oblivious to their presence. I also noticed he wore no ring, so it was no wonder. His sister asked if he could come, and I'd had no problem. One more possible friend.
None of that explained his being in my backyard at midnight.
"Since you're here, will you help me get Mark to bed?"
"Absolutely not. After his behavior tonight, I'm surprised you're even considering letting him stay. If it were me, I'd go inside, try to get some sleep."
I was shocked. He was a total stranger, telling me to leave my husband outside, exposed to the elements. Well, not exactly outside, he was on the screened in porch, but still.
I had walked outside. I felt no danger in his presence, and I was annoyed.
"You don't know him! He can be..."
"A complete and utter ass, from what I've seen tonight. I evaluate people for a living, and this isn't new behavior for him, is it? Why do you stay with him? Surely if this has been going on any length of time, the love has to be gone, or greatly diminished."
I started making excuses, until he held up his hand. It was a full moon, and there was a little fog, making the scene almost mystical.
"Please. We don't know each other. Probably won't see each other again in any social situation. Let me make some guesses. You have no money, no support system. You're totally dependent on him. He's jealous, treats you like a possession, allows you no freedom. Am I right?"
It was a good thing all the light we had was the moon, or he would have seen my deep blush. How could he possibly know? I felt myself melting.
He was right. We didn't know each other. I could bare my soul, and deny it all later if it came to that. I whimpered a little.
"You're right! I've got no money, no transportation, no friends. I'm well and truly trapped."
"NO, you're not!" The words, though spoken quietly, held force. "There are agencies, shelters, support groups. You can get away if you want to badly enough. My advice, get away now, while you still have enough of yourself left to start over."
"Easy to say from where you sit. I don't know if I can do it."
"Well, carry on then. Lose yourself, and it won't hurt as much when he starts treating you like an object instead of a person, when he starts hitting you, making you do things that disgusts you. Have a good life."
He started to rise. For some reason I wanted him to stay. He felt my hand on his arm and stopped.
"May I sit with you for awhile?"
I could feel his eyes in the darkness.
"Yes."
So I sat down. We must have sat for fifteen minutes, enjoying the solitude, before he put his arm around me, drawing me to him. I started out small, little sniffles, but soon I was crying my eyes out, bawling into his shirt. He smelled so good! Clean, but with just enough musk to realize he was a man.
I don't know how long I cried. Long enough to run out of tears. I drew back, and he let me go, reaching up to play with a lock of my hair.
"Let me tell you some more about yourself, Angel." My name was Joan, but Angel sounded really good to me.
"You're quite the attractive woman. I bet you would be a hell of a lover, if your husband hasn't ground your sexuality out of you. But you've been trained to ignore your own pleasure for so long you've forgotten how. Stand up."
I rose, instantly. "I also think for the right man you would be a perfect mate. He'd have to be strong, willing to lead you, to let you discover yourself again, to be able to share your whole being with."
He paused, rubbing my arm almost absently. It felt like a heating pad going across my flesh.
"I also think you're an instinctive submissive. Too bad you gave yourself to a man who can't appreciate it."
I found my voice. "I'm not a piece of meat. I..,"
He stopped me with just a hand motion.
"Exactly. You're much more, yet that's how your husband treats you, like a piece of meat."
I suddenly had nothing to say. He looked at me, a little smile playing across his lips before he spoke again.
"There's nothing wrong with being submissive, Angel, if it for the right person. Someone who understands your needs and respects your boundaries. It could be a very happy life. I just think that you can't achieve it with the man you're married to. Looks like you have some decisions to make in the near future."
His voice changed abruptly. It became deeper, a timbre to it that brought chills to me. "Angel, I got a glimpse of your bra tonight when you bent over a couple of times. Describe it to me."
"What?"
"You heard me. Describe it."
"Well, uh, it's new. A Soma, if that means anything to you."
"That doesn't describe a thing to me, Angel. Try again."
"It's, um, it's a pushup. I thought it would look good with this top. It's black, with silver thread going through it, forming a design."
"See, now. That wasn't hard, was it? Now, show it to me."
"What?!"
"You heard me. I'm sure I was specific. I wish to see your bra. Rather, I wish to see you in your bra. Now, slide that top off and let me see it."
His voice was a little more forceful this time, but I felt no fear. Suddenly my hands were drawing my top up. My God, was I really doing this, with my husband passed out twenty feet away?
He gently took my top from my hands and lay it on the bench beside him.
"There, that wasn't so hard, now was it? That's a very pretty bra, Angel. The silver shines in the moonlight, making the whole vision more sensual. Doesn't the breeze feel good? Your nipples think so."
I blushed again. My nipples were as hard as I've ever felt them, straining against the almost sheer lace. I started to cover myself, but a shake of his head stopped me.
"Arms down, Angel. Don't spoil the vision. Let a man who can appreciate you take in your beauty. Do your panties match?"
I had on a skirt, a light weight colorful peasant type that I loved. Plus I thought it showed off my bottom very nicely. Not trusting my voice, I nodded.
"Show me."
It wasn't said with force or malice, just a simple command. With shaking hands I slid the skirt down and stepped out of it, showing the panties, cheekies, black with the same silver stitching. I heard his breath draw in.
"You are a stunningly beautiful woman, Angel. I'll never forget this night. A goddess in the moonlight. Now, put your hands over your head and turn, slowly. Let me enjoy this gift you've given me."
Trembling, I raised my arms, twirling like a ballerina in slow motion, baring my body to a total stranger. He let me twirl twice before he gave me another command.
