The odd thing about Delphine was how it happened. And the name. Yeah, the name is weird, too--- Delphine. Some kind of old aristocratic name if I had to guess.
But that's not what I want to talk about. The weird thing about how it happened was how natural it was. Delphine wasn't anyone I would typically spend any time with. The only reason we met is because I rented a room in her apartment for a night on business. It was one of those online thing--- AirVnV or something.
The odd thing was how we hit it off. Even though in a lot of ways we were very different, we just clicked. I would say it didn't really come together until the third night, the last night I was there. I had gone out a bit with some work friends for a few drinks. She stayed home having a few glasses of wine. When we come together, a bit bored, a bit lonely, and a bit giddy from alcohol, all the ingredients were in place.
She was sitting on her couch. We had already gotten past the pleasant part, where you're nice and smile and comment about the weather or how much you like the town. She was sitting down, watching television, in a loose sweatshirt and sweat pants cut off below the knee. She sat cross legged, with a glass held on one knee.
I don't know why, but when she looked at me and smiled, a sort of slow sleepy smile, I couldn't resist. "What are you watching?"
"I don't know," shrugging. Her sweatshirt was loose around the neck, and her shoulder bare and exposed. Something about it, about the shoulder without so much as a tan line or a bra strap, started to wake me up. "Some old movie."
We watched for a while, talking about the movie, work, making ends meet. The usual stuff, but a bit more relaxed now. She offered me some of her wine, took some more herself.
Now this was an old movie, one I would say was from the 1950's, but may have been early 1960's. We were talking about it, the look, the style and so on. At one point, the heroine, in a prim dress and Jackie Kennedy cropped hair, was trying to leave. But the hero, clean shaven with a square jaw, wasn't letting her. At one point, he grabbed her by the arms and kissed her full on the mouth.
"Well," I said, "Times have changed."
"What do you mean?" she said.
"Well, what where's the consent? I mean, that guy is just going after her, whether she wants it or not."
She nodded, as if to agree. In an alternate dimension, I could us watching the movie, the alcohol giddiness giving way to tiredness, and we'd go off to bed. But that's not what happened. She was about to agree, when suddenly she said, "I think it's kind of hot."
"Really?" I said, my face a little flush with embarrassment. I mean, this is one of those things you definitely don't say, in this day and age.
"Well, in this case, she is interested in him. It's her role as a woman--- a woman in the 1950's-- that's holding her back. Publicly, women weren't supposed to be sexual, you know?" She relaxed into the corner of the couch. Her chest was soft, relaxed, obviously braless.
"Yeah?" I said.
"With the right guy, the right limits," she looked at me when she said this, "I think I could really get into it."
At that point, my mind was saying "No, no, that's not right," but between my legs I was hard as an iron rod. I shifted a little bit, trying to hide it. "Really?" I said. "What are your limits?"
"I mean," she said, "You would have to be into it. And the guy would have to respect your boundaries--- not too hard, but not too soft." At this point she was looking down at her feet, her French pedicure shining in the light. "But strong. Forceful. I could see myself getting into that."
At this point, the cut of my slacks wasn't doing it. I could feel myself pressing hard against my underwear, that soft pleasant ache of arousal.
"Like spanking?" I said.
"Sure," she said. "Slapping."
"Hair pulling," I said.
"Holding me down," she said.
I looked at her. She held my eyes, unafraid. "So how would you set your limits?"
"It would be like traffic," she said. "Red means stop. Green means go. Yellow means slow it down. Anything else is..."
"Good to go," I finished.
"Hmmm," I said. I could already see it unfolding, even before it happened. I could see that naked spot between her breasts. Definitely no bra. Probably no panties. My head and chest felt hot. "I think you're right."
She shrugged again, standing up. She put the glass down on the table, and in an instant, I could see her nipple between the folds of her sweatshirt, hard as gemstones.
All of it, all of it was too much. I was filled with it, with a sudden intensity. I had to have her. I had to have her now. Nothing else mattered. Today didn't matter. Yesterday didn't matter. Tomorrow didn't matter. It was just right here, right now, her and I.
I got up and grabbed her, light on the elbow. I was going to pull her in, and kiss her like that guy in the movies. But she pulled her arm free. "What are you doing?"
I grabbed her again, a bit firmer. She pulled back.
