Can i join you?

I received her first package earlier than i expected. What a pleasant surprise. I turned the box over and over in my hand, looking at it as i walked into my kitchen. I dropped it with the rest of the mail on the counter, and forgot about it for the remainder of the evening. Right before i turned in for the night, the package popped back into my head.

-----------------

We'd met one evening, on one of my endless series of business trips. She approached me in a bar, she said, struck by my solitude yet not looking at all alone. I was ravishing my glass of whiskey, letting the auburn liquid swirl around, splashing up the side. Our eyes met, and instantly i approved of her gesture. She was stunning, but beyond that, i could see an immediate hunger in her qualities. She wore it like a tight-fitting dress. More importantly, it wore her. I told her that i didn't require her company. She rebutted.

"I didn't require your permission to sit next to you."

"Oh no?"

-----------------

When i opened the box, a waft of flowery fragrance immediately splashed against my nose. My fingers swam through the brittle cloud of shredded paper stuffed into the box for shipping, finally landing on a mound of soft, silky fabric. Clenching onto my prize, i retracted my hand from the package. Draped in my fingers were a lavender pair of satin panties - the conduit for the perfume. But i detected a different note than just designer perfume, a bolder, richer, hungrier scent. Opening up the lingerie, a white, texturous trail filleted the crotch which was the evidence showing, as asked, that she'd sent a used pair. I pressed this girlish output to my face, crushing it into my nostrils. I swam in the gorgeous contrast of sweet and dirty, inhaling deeply for several minutes.

-----------------

"What exactly do you mean you wouldn't phrase it that way?"

"Well, i'm a man for whom permission is a requirement."

"You can rest assured that i won't seek your permission for anything."

"Well, then, it was nice speaking with you." I turned my body away from her and resumed my position, hovering over my drink.

"Excuse me? You've got to be kidding..." A few seconds of pure silence passed, enough for me to tilt back the rest of my drink and to motion to the bartender for another one.

"You have GOT to be kidding!" My former companion huffily lifted herself from her chair and stomped out of the bar into the hotel lobby. I watched after her. I loved watching the angry protests of women. She'd come back. I took out a pen and grabbed a cocktail napkin, writing down something in preparation for when she did.

-----------------

She'd sent the panties, but it seemed she'd forgotten something else. Tipping the box upside down, i allowed the stuffing to fall to the floor. I was pleased to see the loose note flutter out. I bent down to pick it up, chuckling immediately when i read its pointed brevity.

"you're such a bastard."

Over the course of the next few months, i had the privilege of receiving similar presents in the mail. As agreed, each arrived by a certain date, containing the exact items i'd detailed to her. I enjoyed each delivery because they conjured immediate images of her and the lengths she went to satisfy my requirements. It was many months before i was able to make it back to her city.

-----------------

"You have some serious nerve."

"Why hello there." I looked at her with the side of my eye. Apparently, the hotel lobby wasn't as interesting as she'd hoped it would be. "You're back?"

"I had to let you know how ridiculous you are to insist that a woman ask permission to sit down and give you her company."

"Well are you going to ask?" The ice cubes in my drink broke apart from eachother, creating a little jingle sound. This musical interlude was interrupted by her heavy sigh.

"Would you," she shook her head, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. "Would you mind if i sat down?"

"I would love it." I pulled the chair next to me out, guiding her in with my open hand. "Can i get you a drink?"

She ordered a glass of Chardonnay. As the bartender was pouring her drink, i slid over the folded napkin i'd earlier written on.

"What's this?"

"Read it."

Her eyebrows curled in perplexion as she unfolded the note and read.

A week following our conversation, you'll buy a brand new pair of satin panties. One evening when you're by yourself, you'll put them on, and wear only them all night. Before you go to bed, i want you to remove them and the next morning send them to me. I want you to include a note that details your thoughts as you slide the panties off.

The bartender placed her wine in front of her. She looked at the glass, then shot me with her eyes, "You know, on second thought, i think i'll pass on the drink." She pushed herself up from the table and charged out of the bar. I grabbed another napkin, and jotted down my next few demands.

Sly old fox

She couldn't have been more than 20 years old, and even then, it was obvious her manner of dress was chosen to add maturity to her age. I saw that she was lost in her magazine, and didn't catch me stepping up to her register. I relished moments like this - this game.

In my head, i contemplate every move and gesture i need to make in order to fluster and catch a girl off guard. I will first surprise her with a firm, low-register greeting. Immediately following that, i will find her eyes, and stare right into them. Once i know she has realized we've locked eyes, a smile will break out the side of my mouth baiting her, as i wait for her to act upon my transaction.

This one seemed perfectly ripe and a virtual lock as a target.

"Hi, there."

She saw me smiling at her, quickly putting her magazine on the counter behind her.

"Uh...hi." She smiled back at me. "Hiya..."

She looked down at the items i'd placed on the conveyor belt, and began to scan each one. Following the beeping response of the scanner, she gazed up at me, right into my stare that hadn't moved from her. And each time she looked, her eyes bubbled and she smiled.

"You have to guess what i'm making for dinner."

She chuckled while arching her eyebrows. She gandered at me while biting her bottom lip, to gauge my seriousness.

"I'm serious...i'll give you three guesses."

She scanned the items, assembling them in a list in her head. She squinted at me contemplatively from the side of her head, trying to figure out what my appetites might be, what lay in my background and my biography. The only thing she had to go off was what stood before her.

"Do you give up?"

"Nooooo! Give me a - "

She stopped mid-sentence, and a disembodied thought that had been boiling in her mind finally formed together.

"You have really beautiful eyes."

Caught off guard a little by the change in subject, i didn't know exactly how to react, so i just offered a simple thanks.

"They are like looking into a bright Summer sky. I could stare at them all day."

I swallowed any words that were on deck in my mouth. She completely turned things around with this comment, taking the advantage in the conversation. I smiled, a little embarrassed by the fluidity of her compliment. As she finished scanning the rest of my groceries, i didn't say much. I didn't have much to say. I continued to hold the corners of my mouth upwards as i paid my bill, and gathered my bags.

As i walked away, i thought about how one should not overestimate the prowess of one even as young as that. Just as i reached the exit door, i heard her cheery voice call after me.

"Tacos! You're making tacos."

I smiled as the sun of the beautiful Summer day hit my face. She was right.

Halcyon

Awhile back, i opened the forum up for readers to ask questions either through my comments or privately through e-mail. Frankly, i was quite touched and overwhelmed by the number of questions that landed in my deviant inbox. Because they took the route of personally reaching out, i personally replied to their inquiries through private e-mail conversations. Some of the questions made me smile over the bashfulness in the questioner. Others stunned me for their sheer bluntness. And still a select few touched me for the amount of thought and reflection they caused me to undergo in order to properly address the inquiry. I present the following as the initial entry into a series of posts i hope to author that exhibit the stimulation i experienced from those of you who were curious enough to send me a list of questions (and if there are those of you who still would like to ask me something, please don't be shy, the window is still open).

"When did you realize that you had a desire to both adore and reduce a female?"

Oh boy, that was an early one. I remember having the biggest infatuation with this daughter of a family friend, and we would often play privately together. Off on our own, she would try to direct the narrative of our play, and i would firmly take it back in my hand. Many times, she would pout, and i would scold her for pouting, and even withhold my attention until she did what i wanted her to do. Lord, that seems so long ago. I think i'll expand on this in a post.

I've written about Muffy before. But i don't think i've ever thought about my attraction to her in such a duality as the gal who asked me this question phrased it. To both adore AND reduce. Is that what i was doing with her? I most certainly adored her. I remember when i first developed a crush on her, i was all of the age of seven, and after we'd returned from one of our visits to Muffy's family cabin in the mountains, i just sat for hours on the edge of my bed thinking of her. I couldn't bring myself to do anything else (including eating - i famously went three days without a single visit from my appetite after one of those visits), i absolutely had to consume every inch of her visage in my head. From the way she looked up at me through her arsenal of fluttery eyelashes, to the statement her bouncy pigtails made - everything about her was greater than the biggest bowl of ice cream or newest toy.

But, with all of my evident infatuation, it would be expected that when we found ourselves in eachother's company again, that i would spend all of my time pawing over her gentle flavor. As i dipped deeper into my memory cache to satisfy this reader's commission, i realized that was not the case. In fact, the currency i chose to demonstrate my attachment was cruelty, persecution and sadism. I pulled on her glorious pigtails, to the point of her wailing that summoned each of our parents. I would thoughtlessly knock over her tea set that she had so delicately prepared for us, snickering as she scattered to gather the fallen decolletage. Many a times, i held her favorite stuffed, yellow kitten hostage promising to do untold tortures to it only to watch her beg and plead that i release her plush friend. I was a terror. And yet, what made me so much more infatuated with her is that she took everything i dealt. We greeted eachother with equal amounts of glee and excitement, even though she knew what was to happen during our playtime.

It didn't occur to me what magical being i'd found until one day, after once again tossing her baby blue plastic china set to the floor, i had grown bored with her immediately responding by picking up the cups and saucers, and instead of watching, i lept to the floor and pressed my body onto her. I didn't want her to pick up my detritus. We struggled for a few minutes, her writhing under me as i reached for each of her arms in order to hold them still. After a moment or so, we looked at eachother - me on top, her beneath me - breathing heavily from the skirmish, and for whatever reason, we remained in that position. It felt so perfectly wonderful, yet odd and foreign as well, as if we'd glimpsed for a moment our mutual destinies. Excited that we might've seen where we'd end up, but also awkward in the moment of its newness.

Subsequent visits found us expanding on what we discovered that afternoon. She assumed the role of my puppet, i the puppeteer. And we flourished in this dynamic. Ask anyone outside of our relationship, and Muffy was the bossy, pushy girl who told others what to do and had wildly boundless ambitions. But in our little space that we safely discovered together, she relished the idea of me manipulating her limbs, restricting her speech and even withholding my attention only to give it back in tiny, delicious morsels.

As we grew up, that clumsy bigot known as puberty interrupted our fun. She became quite self-conscious of her reaction to our interaction, and i began to recognize the uncomfortable lower erotic undertone that it alluded to. Sadly, in order to preserve ourselves, we turned our once harmonic energy into an unhealthy competition where our scholastic and athletic achievements supplanted the acreage that our secretive choreography once occupied. What once existed between us would disappear by our teens, fluttering away like the last smoldering fumes of an extinguished campfire in the morning following.

In a pinch

I asked my girl. She confessed she'd never heard of it before.

When i turned to my work colleagues for further insight, they looked at me baffled.

Had i honestly made up the tradition as a kid to satisfy my young sadistic mind?

So i did what any self respecting modern citizen would do. I took my query to the Interfog. The only thing that remotely served as an answer was this entry on WikiAnswers:

"Ireland is known as the Emerald Isle. Green is traditionally worn on St. Patrick's day to honor the Emerald Isle. Tradition holds that on that day, people who do not wear green are pinched as a reminder to wear green to honor the Emerald Isle. "

To be honest, that answer hardly cleared up whether i'd fashioned my own response to those young girls in elementary school who didn't show up wearing green on March 17th. I turn to you readers to avail me of your own experiences with the day of emeraldization.

Growing up, i looked forward to two days more than any others for going to school: St. Patty's day and April Fool's. I spent the majority of the four months leading up to the First of April planning my cavalcade of pranks, whereas i ran around all day on the Seventeenth of March pinching every little girl in sight (and yes, for the record, i'd pinch even if they were wearing green, and feign that i was color blind). And to think what trouble i'd get in now if i reinstated that rule...

Slainte, everyone.

What lies behind door number three?

She'd been complaining earlier that day that her breath was labored. Sometimes, she felt a sudden need to take a very big gulp of air, and when she inhaled, her lungs never felt satisfied. At one point, she stopped in mid-sentence, just to breathe in. Seeing this, i decided to alter the designs i had on the evening, tossing out revisiting the new hood or dipping into our rope supply. Instead, i decided to play a game with my girl.

I'd been out with a friend, going for a 4-mile run, then celebrating our well-winded constitutions with hot wings and a pint. I returned home to a checked-off list of completed chores, finding her seated on our couch, knitting. When i sat next to her, i noticed she'd slid on the thigh-high striped socks i'd purchased for her from American Apparel. This sent a very distinct signal that i happily received.

"What motivated you to wear those?"

"These? Oh, i was cold, and i knew you wouldn't like me wearing pants."

Grrr. Correct answer. She must've known what this was doing to me. She'd gone to the hair salon earlier where she re-dyed her hair a deep, oily black and got it fashionably styled. After such pampering, she always felt frisky. Without much internal discussion, as she purred against my chest, i decided to take the bait.

"Do you like games?"

"Absolutely."

"Would you like to play a game right now?"

"Yes. I would."

"Sit tight, i'll be right back."

I hopped up from my seat and moved to the rear of the apartment where i gathered the necessary game pieces, strewing them about strategically. Memorizing the location of all implements, i returned to the living room and my patiently purring girl.

"Congratulations! You've advanced to the final round. Come with me."

I grabbed her hand and led her into my study. I extended a finger in the direction of my closet door.

"This is Door #1."

I then pointed at the built-in drawer beneath my semi-closet.

"This is Door #2."

I shuffled us into the hallway and pointed at our closed bathroom door.

"And this is Door #3."

Walking her back to my study, i continued:

"Behind each door, there are three separate* implements with which i will use to swat your behind. Now, which door will you choose!"

She gave it some thought, pausing, letting the moment effervesce into the air.

"Well, for posterity sakes, i think i'll choose...i'll choose door number 3."

Now, before i showed my girl her fate, i knew as i was setting up this stratagem that she would choose "Door #3", so that she had fulfilled my expectations made me incredibly giddy. With great excitement, i anticipated the reaction she would provide once i swung open her chosen portal. I knew imbued with her choice was a sense of victory, but because i'd rigged the game, victory was not hers. Victory was mine.

"Are you ready to see your selection?"

"uh-huh."

I grasped the brass door knob and twisted it open to reveal the device that would be slashed across her naked flesh. The expected gasp came shortly after.

"Ahhhh! I hate that thing."

I of course knew this. Despite the fact that i'd called it a game, it really was a con, and she was the mark. I grabbed the three meter dowel rod, and moved the game's finale to the bedroom.

*I emphasize "separate". Because my girl reads this site and because i intend on engaging in this game again, i will not divulge the exact weaponry i had laid out. Just know that the deck was stacked heavily in my favor, and that she was certainly not going to 'win' no matter which door she chose. I know...at least i gave her a "choice".