A Weeend Irl

The drive was taking much longer than he expected. The high winds tried their best to push the truck off the road, and the clouds threatened rain. He was glad he had put his bags in the cab with him, rather then having thrown them in the back to get drenched if he didn't start making better time. He picked up his cell phone to give her a call. He just wanted to let her know he was running late and not to worry, but the display showed those two words no driver wants to see: NO SERVICE.

"Oh, well," he muttered. "Probably a sign to keep my eyes on the road anyway." He tried to concentrate on the road, he really did, but his mind wandered. It drifted to the beginnings of their relationship, a connection born in a chat room in cyberspace.

He hadn't really noticed her until she stood beside him at the bar. "Is there room for me here?" she'd asked.

"Sure," he replied as she took a seat next to him to watch the show going on in the room. She intrigued him. She was a dominant, a domme. He could hardly look at her screen name and not know that. For that matter, he could hardly look at her and not see it, either. Female dommes were a rarity there.

Their conversation was benign that night as they discovered their birthdays were only days apart. Both had been born under the sign of passion, and it quickly showed itself. Greetings went from hey there, to hello kindred, to hi sweetheart, deepening in meaning as their feelings deepened in intensity. He shook his head, laughing to himself. It usually took him a long time to get to know people, and for them to get to know him. With her it had been different. The connection happened so fast that it left both of them wondering.

He'd never actually met her face to face, but he felt like he'd touched her, held her, kissed her. Now he questioned himself, his decision to do this. He questioned the rationality of the meeting they had planned for so long. Would he be disappointed, would she? How would this change their bond? Could a friendship, although it was really much more than that, forged in a fantasy medium survive in the real world? He hoped so, but the questions left him uneasy.

Yet, with the questions haunting his mind and the tension growing in his shoulders, he drove on. He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the muscles in his back, and rocked from his head side to side to stretch out his neck.

"What I need," he thought, "is a good massage." A warm memory touched him, moved within him, and eased him as he felt her fingers working down his neck and along his shoulders.

*** she: you're tense tonight he: yeah . . . work's been rough lately she: you work too much. you need a break. I worry about you. he: I know she: here, take your shirt off and sit in front of me he: *taking shirt off . . . sitting down* she: *pouring sweet almond oil into palm* she: *begins to rub neck, working thumbs along your muscles* he: purrrrrrrrrrrrrr she: you're really tight *working down your neck and on to shoulders* he: I like she*continuing down thumbs kneading along spine between your shoulders* she:*adding more oil and beginning down your back* she:feel good? he:un-huh she:good *leans over to nibble your neck* she:take off your pants and lay down he:*laying down* she:*kneeling beside you...concentrating on the muscles in your sexy butt* she:you carry a lot of tension here, don't you? he:*loud purrrrrrr* yeah I do she:you need to relax ***

Lost in the fantasy, he didn't see the turn until he'd past it. Braking hard, he turned the truck around and started down the twists and curves of the road to the lodge office, visible only by the lights showing through the windows. He pulled into the small parking area in front of the building and fought the wind to open his door. As soon as his foot hit the ground, the razor sharp gusts sliced through the jeans and shirt he wore, invading the warmth of his jacket and driving him quickly into the shelter through the office door.

He breathed into his chilled hands to warm them as he entered the room, redolent with the scent of its rustic pine floors and walls. The registration clerk greeted him pleasantly.

"I think my companion is already here," he said to the man at the desk, and he gave his name.

"Yes, sir, she is," the clerk replied as he tried to control the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"From the look on your face, it seems perhaps you know something I don't," he said, his stare direct and his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, no," the man answered with a self-satisfied smile. "I'm sure you already know the whole shootin' match. Here's your key, sir. It's cabin 13." The clerk gave him brief directions, and pointed down the narrow lane. "It's not far, just down and around that curve to your left. Have a good weekend sir."

He took the key and started toward the door, but stopped. He turned back to catch the clerk's eye, holding the stare for an uncomfortably long time, until the poor man behind the desk hurried off to find something he could appear to be doing. Satisfied, he opened the door and made a dash back to his waiting truck and drove on toward his waiting lady.

The swirling leaves all but obscured the road in places. As the clerk had assured him, it wasn't far, only distant enough to be completely out of sight of the office and of the other units. The gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled up to the front door and parked. He grabbed his bag from the seat next to him, steeled himself against the cold, and once again opened the door.

He started to dart quickly toward the door of the cabin, but the light from the front window caught his attention. He stopped and looked in. This was it, the first time he'd ever truly seen her. Pictures didn't really count, he decided. She was curled into one of the big leather chairs by the warming fire. She had flooded the room with candles, and their dancing light cast a shimmering glow over the room and its occupant. He stood for a time, almost forgetting the cold, and watched. Her eyes closed and her lips parted. Softly, with one finger she traced them and smiled. He knew what she was doing, and the knowledge warmed him.

"Sometimes, when I'm alone," she'd told him, "I close my eyes, part my lips, and brush over them with one finger. When I do, I feel your kiss."

"I want to be your finger," he had answered.

"I want you to be."

Finally, the cold penetrated his consciousness. He pulled himself away from the window, walked to the door, and slid his key into the lock.