It had been exactly twenty-nine days, six hours and fifteen minutes since we had spent the evening alone. Each day, each hour pulled my consciousness to distraction and haunted me. Each minute made me want his touch more.
And then, suddenly, it was time.
He had told me before he left a month ago, that I would be receiving a letter in three days with my "orders". And in three days, the red envelope came. It looked like any other letter or birthday card, but this had his touch. The way he formed his letters was so graceful, holding the letter I could almost picture his hand holding the pen, putting to paper the beautiful torture his mind created.
My beautiful butterfly;
In 27 days, at ten minutes until midnight, I will see you again. Go to the tower on the hill, park your car in the last spot in the parking lot. Wear a red skirt and a black silk top. Wear no panties and your sheer black bra. Wear no shoes, and stand underneath the arch. I will find you there.
Until we meet next,
D.
That letter spent nights under my pillow, in my pocket. Five short sentences was my fuel for twenty-seven days. And then I was here. Twenty-Nine days, Six hours and sixteen minutes since I had seen him last. I resisted pacing to warm up: the fall nights got cold quickly, and I felt my nipples press against the sheer fabric of my bra. My teeth nibbled at my lower lip as I looked out over the city. It was so peaceful up here, and so... open. We could be caught, if someone else got it into their head to wander into the park this late in the season. The image of his arms around me, his body buried in mine, daring, in the open sent a flood of excitement over my bare pussy. The heat I had been looking for by pacing raced through my blood with a simple thought. The shudder that touched my core had little to do with the crisp wind, and everything to do with my anticipation.
Two more minutes. I could barely breathe and didn't know if that had something to do with the tightness of my breasts against my shirt and bra, or the electricity I felt all around my skin. The road leading up to the park was silent. No hint of a car, Slowly I closed my eyes, then reopened them. He would not be late. He was never late.
One more minute. even though I knew he would not be late, I still felt a familiar fear in the back of my mind. He had forgotten about me. He had found another girl, one more then I was, more than I could ever be. He was not coming, and the street was still dark.
