Masterpiece

Deanna and I had been at the party for about thirty minutes when I caught sight of the stunning, dark-haired beauty in the halter-top black dress. From that moment on, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her.

Eventually, through ebb and flow of the evening, we wound up standing next to one another. She leaned sideways toward me and whispered.

"You're staring at me." Her voice, what I could hear of it, was low and very soft with a lilt of an accent..

"I am," I admitted. "I can't take my eyes off you. You've enchanted me all evening."

"It makes me a little uncomfortable," she confided.

"Please," I begged her, "don't be.

"Your accent," I continued. "Are you British?"

"New Zealand," she smiled. "Stop staring."

"It's something I can't help. I appreciate a woman the way others appreciate art," I told her. "You are a masterpiece. If I'm staring, it's because I want to take in every element, every feature, each light, shadow and brush-stroke."

"Most masterpieces I've seen are old and somewhat wrinkled," she said, her voice just above a whisper, but still soft and low, with a humorous tinge.

"That's why you're marvelous," I said, smiling. "You're obviously vibrant and very alive."

"You are a flatterer," she said, her dark eyes looking straight into mine.

"Not so," I defended myself. "I speak only the truth."

"Then, please," she demanded with quiet urgency, "tell me the truth."

"Your eyes are dark and warm, yet sparkle with all the stars of a country night. Your hair forms the frame for your face, a face for the ages, the definition of classical beauty. Your voice is warm and low, like soft, sweet chocolate."

"You're very good at this," she said, her eyes dropping to my lips.

"Do you expect to find the indicator of truth where you're looking?" I asked. "The eyes, remember, tell much more of truth or lies than the lips can ever speak."

Her eyes flickered over my face, then back to make contact with my own.

"Your lips," I continued, "hold the promise of softness and passion. Each little crevice begs to be explored, tested, tasted."

"Oh, my!" she said, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "That sounds so very sensual."

I nodded. "It is taking every iota of my self-control not to touch you," I confided. "The contrast of skin on your naked shoulder to the dark of your dress screams to me for exploration. You're naked there; intentionally exposed and inviting."

"But," she said, "I have a husband."

"And I, a wife," I nodded in Deanna's direction, my eyes never leaving hers.

"The blonde? Tall, in the blue?" she asked.

I nodded. "Deanna."

"She is lovely," she said.

"Indeed. She has a unique appeal. As do you."

"What is hers?" she wanted to know.

"Fun, excitement, new territory," I answered. "She seeks constant diversion."

"And mine?"

"You are more serious. Your passion is more eloquent. She is a brilliant fire. You are smoldering embers yearning to break into flame."

"Tell me more," she whispered.

"Not here. On the deck, through the patio. I'll wait for you there."

Her eyes shifted to mine, then quickly looked away. She smiled the Mona Lisa smile of a knowing woman.

I eased my way through the crowd, picking up another flute of champagne as I went, nodding, grinning, an occasional wave to an acquaintance. With unhurried steps I wandered toward the French doors leading to the patio. Once outside, the air, damp with a recent rain, but fresh and cool, rested lightly on my skin. Tiki lanterns were carefully placed along the borders of the patio, then on either side of the three or four stairs leading to the deck. Tastefully strung Japanese lanterns outlined the deck, currently occupied by only three or four couples. A large shrub, or small tree, was potted close to the French doors providing a small amount of cover for anyone wishing to lurk unobserved. Various glasses balanced on the rail, the white napkins beneath them virtually glowed in the semi-darkness.

With no small effort I looked across the yard, deliberately denying myself a healthy stare at those French doors. A tinge of doubt assailed me as I waited. Would she, the center of so much well-deserved attention, throw it over to join me in the half-lit, partially private arena of this deck? My mind said she could not resist, but my reason interjected excuse after excuse.

The slightest noise from the direction of the doors drew my attention. I watched transfixed as she emerged from the golden lights of the main room into the subdued lighting of the exterior areas. She looked neither left nor right, but strode purposefully toward the stairs. I could even hear the rustle of her stockinged thighs as they swept past each other with every step. I watched appreciatively as her perfectly formed legs peeked through the slit on her skirt as she carefully negotiated the stairs. She stopped momentarily at the top, her eyes searching. Once she'd spotted me, she came directly toward me, her heels beating a delicate but deliberate tap-tap-tap as she stepped carefully across the decking, her left arm held strangely half-aloft.

"This is so very dangerous," she said, taking the glass from me, and sipping its contents, while she handed over one of the skewered, smoked oysters held in her left hand. Her eyes fixed firmly on mine as she delicately removed the treat between her teeth.

"Then why are you here," I asked, "bearing aphrodisiacs?"

Her eyes flickered to the side, focusing out into the night. "Because," she said. "Because there's a ball of something throbbing away deep down in here." She pressed her hand against her abdomen. "And I like it."

"I'm certain you've been approached before. You are a beautiful woman. This should be nothing new to you."

She nodded, the torchlight sparkling in her eyes. "Except that tonight I made a choice."

"Why this time?" I asked her.

She smiled. "So many reasons. So many circumstances. The time seems right. The will is there. What you've said. What I know."

"What do you know? Do you know something I don't?"

"Many things. I know many things you don't." Her eyes locked on mine. "I want you to touch me. Touch me here," her chin indicating her shoulder, "here, where you said. Where I am intentionally exposed to you."

My hand stretched toward her shoulder. The soft, warm skin felt like molten velvet. I grasped it gently. Her head fell in that direction and her cheek caressed my hand.

"Who would believe that a single touch in so innocent a place could cause such arousal," she mused dreamily.

"It's because you want it to be so."

"That," she whispered, turning her head and planting red mark on the base of my thumb with her lips, "is the truth. I want it to be."

Two hours later Deanna and I were seated in the spacious living room of the Carson residence. Our freshly made drinks came in glasses etched with a monogram and glinting with condensation The widely separated seating wasn't exactly conducive to intimate conversation. Rather it provided a pseudo theater-in-the-round atmosphere for our host to perform.

Nick stood in the middle of the room; glass in hand, pontificating on his own intelligence and cunning. I found him pompous. Deanna, on the other hand, was enthralled. As a corporate VP for some marketing firm, Nick claimed stories galore of misdeeds and miscalculations, all of which had been committed by his predecessors and superiors leading to his eventual meteoric rise. The man oozed power. That was, it seemed to me, Deanna's primary attraction to him.

Nick was robust, to say the least. He stood nearly six-feet, two-inches, and weighed close to 220 pounds. His hair, obviously styled and colored, was perfectly coifed. He had that tanned look of those who take vacations for weeks in the tropics, and his face virtually gleamed with good health. He was straight out of Gentleman's Quarterly, the middle-aged version. In his late thirties, Nick looked and spoke like everyman's candidate for the U.S. Senate.

The element of his personality that I noticed as he blustered along was his complete lack of compassion. It was obvious he reveled in the misfortune of his particular target. I wondered if his personal relationships were as devoid of human empathy as his professional associations. I tore my eyes away from the blustering braggart to gauge the reactions of his wife.

I was shocked to find Samantha staring, not at her husband, as I had supposed. Her eyes were fixed on me. As much I was interested in her perception of Nick's performance, Sam was apparently measuring mine. I smiled thinly toward her, and then dropped my eyes to my drink. I swirled it momentarily with my fingertip, then took a swallow. The ice-cold liquor burned down my throat, my eyes suffused with tears that threatened to spill over and run down my cheeks. I looked again at Sam, who had apparently never taken her eyes off me. Her look was focused; neither vacant, nor glassy, or incidental. She was, indeed, checking out my perception of her husband.

Once more, I smiled wanly toward her as sympathetically as I could manage, struck by the sadness of the situation. In return, Sam gave me a glittering grin and actually managed a quick wink. We had connected on another level.

"Put on some music," Sam ordered her husband when he paused momentarily for breath. "I want to dance."

Nick looked toward his wife. He shrugged. "Sure, sure," he said with his typical bombast, heading toward the stack of stereo components against one of the walls. He adroitly pressed a series of switches and a gentle jazz tune filled the room. "There," he said. He turned toward Deanna. "You like that?"

"Nice," Deanna told him. "You've got good taste in music, too."

Too? I thought. In addition to what, I wondered. I hadn't seen particularly good taste in much. Except for his taste in women, his own and mine. But still, the music was nice.

"Come on, William," Sam was saying to me. "Come dance with me."

How could I refuse? The appeal of this woman hadn't declined and iota over the course of the hours. She was still elegantly alluring. The exposed flesh of her shoulders beckoned to me. Deanna was already on her feet heading toward Nick's outstretched arms. I took it as a signal that my wife would have no qualms about my holding this enigmatic dark-haired beauty.

As Sam entered my embrace she seemed to melt into me. She kept no proper, discreet distance between us. Sam pressed herself into me, her arms snaking around my waist, her head burrowing into my shoulder. My own hands pressed into the smooth, soft skin of her back. I tried a few tentative steps in an effort to actually dance with Sam. She resisted.

"It's not the dancing that's important," she whispered. "It's being close."

We settled for a slow rocking motion only occasionally accented by a small step or two.

Deanna, I saw, had joined Nick. She had her forearms pressed against his chest. Her hips were molded into his. Her hands caressed his face, her head back to look at him, smiling dreamily as they swayed in loose time to the beat of the music.

"Remember what you said about being dangerous?" I asked Sam softly. I felt her head nod against my neck and shoulder. "Does this qualify? And, that?" I added, nodding in the direction of her husband and my wife.

"If not for that," she murmured, "this would. The danger passed when they found each other, too."

"She's enchanted with his power," I observed. "She perceives him a man of action."

Sam chuckled. "She won't be disappointed then. But, she's missed the point."

"How so?"

"His power is external, brought about by scheming, plotting, executing plans and designs. His power is achieved through fear and retribution. It is an ugly power.

"You have the power of commitment, the internal power that comes from strength of character, self-confidence, and self-awareness. Your power exists as an element of your being rather than an accoutrement of your actions. It's a power that commands respect instead of demanding it."

"You're good for my ego," I smiled at her. Her face was serious.

"Its not empty flattery," she told me. "I watched you tonight. I saw your self-confidence. Even now, with your wife a willing sacrifice to his bravado, you are serene."

"If I am serene it is because I hold in my arms a treasure well worth the ambiguity of her momentary affection."

"There is no ambiguity, William," she said in her low, soft voice. "He will have her."

"And she will go with him," I conceded, "willingly."

"And, in return?" she posed.

"In return I am granted my own liberty," I told her.

"But there is a price," she whispered.

"Open arms and a welcoming heart when she decides to return," I agreed. "And gratitude for whatever hours of liberty were granted."

"Therein lies your strength of character," she said. "Not everyone would be so accommodating."

"As is she, remember. Besides, it could be either a sign of strength or weakness. It depends on your perspective."

"I choose strength," she said.

"And what of you?" I asked her. "You apparently have a similar arrangement."

"An accommodation," she said simply. "It is in his nature to." she paused, "explore. This way, he doesn't have to sneak. I find that repugnant."

"Some would find your `accommodation' repugnant."

"It's none of their business," she said. "Do you?"

"Your accommodation is my opportunity," I observed. "I intend to cherish it."

"Thank you," she whispered, her arms tightening infinitesimally around me.

Nick and Deanna had disappeared. As Sam and I swayed, eyes closed, wrapped in our embrace they had apparently retired to one of the upstairs bedrooms. When I opened my eyes after the conclusion of a tune, I noticed their absence.

"They're gone," I whispered softly to Sam. She partially released her hold on me and looked around the room.

"They've left us alone," she commented. "How gracious." She tilted her face toward me.

When our lips met for the first time it was like sinking into warm quicksilver. There was motion, like small waves in a warm pool, but I felt myself sinking deep into the warm, moist cushion of her lips. When I felt her tongue press flatly against my lips I literally groaned with the sensation. I opened my mouth and applied gentle suction to draw her into me. She allowed herself to be pulled into me, and my own tongue pressed against hers, yearning for the sensation of complete contact.

"We will be downstairs in the master bedroom," she murmured. "Shall we go?"

"Please," I said.

Sam led me to the room. It was massive. At the center, against a wall, stood a king-sized bed with a maroon comforter. The dark-wood bureau stretched the full length of the opposing wall. I could see three doors in addition to the entrance. Two closets, I assumed, and a bath.

"There's a spa," Sam said, "for later. It's already running so it should be nice an warm."

I smiled and nodded.

"And the tree?' I asked, indicating what was apparently a banana tree along one wall. "You have a tree in your bedroom."

Sam chuckled. "A hint of the jungle," she said, "for those occasions when only wild abandon will suffice."

"What do you do with it?"

"It's just an image, William," she told me. "It sets a mood. That's all. Now, help me turn back the bed," she directed, walking to the far side of the room.

We folded the comforter back to the foot, then turned down the sheet and blanket. We met again at the foot of the bed. I took her in my arms and kissed her with all the warmth I could muster. In the process, Sam pushed my jacket off my shoulders and began working at the buttons on my shirt. As she twisted each one through the fabric I kissed her forehead, her temples, her cheeks and her neck. I shrugged out of my jacket and let it fall to the floor.

"Help me, please," Sam said, urgency tingeing her voice. "I can't seem to get these."

"It's all right," I said. "I'll finish them." I quickly unbuttoned the rest of my shirt, then twisted the cufflinks out. I slid them in my trouser pocket and pulled off the shirt.

Sam stepped back and reached behind her neck. She unsnapped or unhooked the neck of her dress then pulled it down in front revealing her breasts to me. The nipples were slightly erect at the center of brown areolas. Her breasts were full, with only a very slight sag, wonderfully rounded and soft.

Each of us raced to remove the remainder of our clothing. I stripped off my T-shirt then attacked the buckle of my belt, at the same time shucking my shoes. I sat on the bed and yank off my black socks, then stood to unclasp my trousers.

Sam had slipped off her dress. She stood in black panties and a black garter belt attached to her dark nylons. She looked questioningly at me.

"All of it," I said. "I want there to be nothing between us."

Sam unsnapped each of the four catches, then slid the garter belt and her panties down her legs. Her stockings along remained. Her dark pubic hair was trimmed close and neatly. A thin white line on her otherwise almond skin betrayed the use of a thong in sunbathing. She peeled the stockings down her legs as I shed my boxers. Then, as if embarrassed by our nakedness, we clutched each others bodies to our own.

"I want this," Sam said, holding me to her. "I want this so badly."

"And I have wanted you since I laid eyes on you," I confirmed.

Sam led me to the bed. She sat down, then scooted backwards. I followed her. My eyes were full of her glorious frame. I drank down the sight of her, then leaned in to kiss her again. Our joining this time was more urgent. Her arms wrapped around my neck and pulled me hard into her. As our tongues parried and thrust against each other, her hands traveled into my hair, not pulling, but simply tousling and caressing.

When we released, I gazed into her eyes. I could see the glowing embers of that inner fire waiting to be stoked into a full blaze. A small light in the corner allowed me the luxury of soaking in the view of her beauty. Her sensuality overwhelmed me, flooding our space with an aroma like a freshly cut lawn. I picked out a point on her face, the outside corner of her eye and aimed my lips there. I kissed her softly for a second or two, pulling back and selecting a new site. As my lips traveled down her warm, firm body, various reactions emanated from my new lover.

At first, I heard a gentle sigh, a sign of relaxation, perhaps of surrender to the moment. When I kissed the join between her neck and shoulder, there was a sharper intake of breath, a tightening of her grip on me, and a general shift of her body position. While my lips traveled across to her shoulder, my hand caressed her waist and slid effortlessly down to the top of her hip. Her own hand covered mine.

"These are the shoulders," I told her softly, "that have enticed me so, all evening long." I kissed one softly, my finger tracing the outline, then the ridge of the collarbone underneath her resilient, smooth flesh.

"You know what shoulders are?" I asked her, as I continued to caress the rounded area.

"What?" she whispered, with obvious anticipation.

"They're indicators, sign-posts, portents of these," I said, my hand cupping the curve of her breast from underneath. Sam pushed her breast into my hand, arching her back with another sharp gasp as my fingers slid across the erect tissue of her nipple.

I bent my head down and planted a warm kiss on the dark skin. My tongue teased the tiny nub gently, moistening it, then lapping up the moisture. Sam groaned.

"I can't believe this," she moaned.

"Already?" I asked.

"I think so. It felt like it. Just a little one."

"You may have as many as you like," I told her. "Your pleasure is mine."

"But how?" she asked. "I mean, it's never been so easy before."

"Because you want them," I assured her. "It's all in the mind, dear one. It's because you will it to happen."