Birdboy

I sighed. It's been days now since my phone message and my follow-up email. I looked at my Inbox again. Still nothing. The thing is, I'm not surprised. She had been getting more distant the last few times we spoke, and those last times I always wondered if each of them would be the last time. I know, I know. She's busy with her life. It's summertime, she's on vacation. She has a ton of correspondence to catch up on. There are a million good reasons why she hasn't gotten back to me, but I know they are all polite fictions. Some of my pooner friends, they've let the life get to them. It's all bullshit, they tell me. It's all an act. It's all fake. Who cares what the lady thinks, I'm not paying them to be my friend, or even to like me. Ug, me tough. Me? I don't agree. Oh, sure. There have been my moments when I roll my eyes at the fake moans, the overacted orgasms. The pasted-on smiles, the forced conversations that we've both suffered through. But I know it isn't always like this. I know that there have been moments between my lady and I. Moments of magic, when we truly become more than the sum of our parts. Moments when there is true mutual admiration, moments of real bliss that seem so improbable in this world of joy measured in dollars and hours. Still, all the same. The moment passes, we catch our breath. I shower and that feeling washes off of me, along with the sweet sweat of the most welcome of our exertions. I towel off and step out into the outside world, even though I'm still in her home. For our brush with grace is gone now. What we shared was real, but only momentary. I leave her home and those moments are fondly remembered, a pleasant shared dream too quickly forgotten in the rough and tumble out that door. The promise of that joy, that dopamine rush, was what had kept me coming back and her looking forward to my visits. But even those moments pass. Eventually the novelty disappears. And I've moved on, to the next rush. I've gotten those messages from the ladies asking how I've been. I've sensed the unspoken yet palpable disappointment that I had stopped coming by. And now it was my turn. I know I'm not really welcome back. I don't know why, but it doesn't matter. No, it's time for me to move on. I'll let her go. Go on to her next adventure. A good friend once told me that I should never pine for what was, but that I should be thankful that I had those experiences. She's was right, of course. And I will be. But first, I'll have a wistful look back and smile for what was. Then I'll pick up my phone and dial an unfamiliar number. And move on.

It's the witching hour. Midnight, a fat autumn moon overhead in the crisp fall air. I stood at the window, looking at the dry autumn leaves tumble listlessly in the light breeze outside. And I thought of her. I was with her, only a short time ago. I can still smell her scent on me, I can still feel her arms around me, her hands stroke my back. And I can still feel her lips on mine, her tongue teasing my tongue. But even more than the memory of her touch, I feel a dull ache. I remember those eyes. Sigh, those eyes, large, brown and lovely. But it was those eyes said without speaking that got my attention. They were the eyes of a child in an otherwise womanly face. Wide, innocent, and trusting, they were an unexpected delight in this business of ours. They were windows into her soul, showing me the beauty inside to go with the beauty outside. Showing me that sweet, caring heart that beamed even brighter than those incredible eyes. And now they're gone. ______________________________________________ Before we met, we flirted, she and I. But we flirted without flirting, unknowingly charming each other with our posts. I sent a little note of admiration. And then the flirting began in earnest, that familiar dance, that lighthearted tease. Then one last note. Could I come meet her? She very happily, joyously, deliciously agreed. The door swung open, and I stepped through. She appeared from behind the door, leaving me speechless. I saw her face for the first time, and I gasped. She was achingly, heart wrenchingly beautiful. I looked deeply into those rich brown doe eyes, saw the dazzling straight white teeth in her shy smile. A greeting. An embrace. A tender kiss hello. We small talked, our arms still around each other in her front hallway. One last gaze into those eyes, and she wordlessly took me by the hand and led me into her garden of delights. She showed me a little slice of paradise on earth there, that magnificent woman. She showed me first her flesh, then that passion for life that I will always remember her for. We played, her and I, in turns gentle and caring, wild and passionate, and everything in between. I lay back, satiated. She had been utterly wonderful. She lay on her stomach beside me, her chin propped up by her hand and we chatted. Small talk at first, but as we talked on, I discovered she had a beautiful mind. A big heart, overflowing with caring. My admiration for her grew quickly, in that long talk. I realized I was starting to care about her myself, despite our short acquaintance. I understood now that she was truly beautiful, both inside and out. But now it was time for me to go. A last lingering tender kiss, and I got up to dress. ______________________________________________ Yes, I ache. I ache because I won't be able to pass this way again. I ache because this will be our first, last and only time together. I ache because she will be leaving this life for her real life. She will be disappearing forever. I ache because she touched my heart, and I know I touched hers. I ache with the regret that I won't get to know her better. Perhaps knowing that this would be our only time together made it easier to let go. To live with wild abandon, to allow our hearts to peek out from the armored confinement that we maintain for this business that we are in. But know that this is our one time is also all the more cruel, for now that we have found each other, the doors must close. We must move on, because this business demands it. A friend is fond of telling me that we should be glad to have the chance to experience these feelings, to live fully, to breathe deeply. But it also means we open our hearts to longing, to aches, to hurt. She's gone, but her eyes haunt me still.

The river streamed past slowly, its grey-green water flowing with hardly a ripple. The odd bit of cottonwood tree fluff floated past. I smiled, amused, when a mother duck and her tiny ducklings appeared from out of the mist. They paddled past as the water steamed slightly in the cool July morning air. The river. I'm sitting right here on the bank watching it. This liquid ribbon defines my home, my river city. It twists and meanders through my home town, not a straight stretch in sight. I've grown up here, never ever very far from it. It moves slowly, implacably. I've known this river my whole life, and it will be here long after I'm gone from this earth. I take a little comfort from that, knowing that some things are forever. It's usually head clearing to be here, free from the rest of my crazy life, but today is different. Sitting under this tree today, my thoughts are doing some twisting and meandering of their own. It's a special day. I have a little time to kill. I'm going to meet Alicia, in a couple of hours. It seems like we met ages ago. I remember the day I first saw her. She was a thing of beauty. Elfin features and milky white skin, that tiny lightly freckled face, that long curly hair. She took my breath away, and I was speechless. At a loss for words, there was only one thing I could do. I reached forward and kissed her. Though her lips were as a butterfly alighting on my lips, her arms around me were the embrace of something wild. And when we got to her bedroom, oh, my.. I left her place that first time, in awe and a little in love. This young woman had well and truly rocked my world. No furies would be powerful enough to keep me away. I saw her again and again, and it would be the delight of my whole week when we could meet. Time streamed past, flowing slowly, inexorably. But she was a cipher to me. There are boundaries, there are limits in this game. No names. No personal details. And definitely no socializing outside of our times together. But sometimes, the river will change. Change ever so gradually, almost imperceptibly. You notice that a little of the shore is gone under the water, some of the gaps in my knowledge of her were filled. They were there, just a moment ago. Our budding friendship grew and grew until it eventually overflowed its banks. It made us realize that maybe, just maybe, we wanted to know each other just a little better. We met for the first time outside of her place, at this very spot beside the river. Under this very tree. I brought a picnic lunch for us in a wicker basket, spread a plaid blanket on the lush grass as I waited nervously for her to arrive. She appeared from behind the trees, smiling her enigmatic smile, a modern Mona Lisa made flesh. Our relationship was to round its first curve, settling naturally and gracefully into an easy friendship. I found we'd come from different worlds, she and I. I came from inauspicious beginnings. Many youthful hours at the public library brought me to a world where words were king, and I discovered they flowed from my pen with the ease of water flowing out a spout. Much hard work brought me success and a little fame, but I never forgot my humble roots. Not even now that my temples are graying, and crinkles appear at the corners of my eyes when I smile. And I, ever so serious, was as firmly rooted in life as the hard clay under my feet on this riverbank. I envied her childhood. She had lived her short life in comfort and ease, every whim waiting to be granted just for the asking. Her young heart was light and carefree in her world without strife. I marveled at her playfulness, her joy at life. I envied that, too, in my world of pressure, of deadlines, of words forced out in a rushed hurry. I admired her laughter, her smiles, sparkling bright as the midday sun on the river's waves. But we discovered something else, besides that we both thrilled to the touch of the other. We found that age can just be a number. That sometimes two minds can think as one. That completely different personalities, forged from experiences worlds apart, could find such common ground. And though we came together at first in silence, we found we could spend endless hours talking about everything under the sun as we sailed through our days together. My time with Alicia is coming to a close. She's moving on. She is about to drift out to sea, far away out of sight and off to parts unknown. But first, today, she's granting me the honor of being the last in this life. It's a nice little bit of symmetry. I was one of her first, you know. I know that we might never touch each other in that way again, after today. But I'm not sad. Because it is not goodbye today to Alicia, but so long. And a warm hello to my friend Jennifer.

Thank you, Cato! :)

The door swung open, and I stepped through. I finally saw her face. She was cute. I would have turned for a second look if I had seen her in the street, in the market. Her large brown eyes opened wide as she saw me and she smiled her broad toothy grin, looking as if she was about to burst out in girlish giggles. She looked away as I gave her an appreciative gaze, but the smile remained. Shy, I thought. I introduced myself, said I was glad to meet her. She stood a few feet away and it gave me chance to look her over. Mmm, very nice. It was my turn to show my broad grin, and I swear I imagined seeing her blush in the dim light. She led me onto her sofa, where she sat far away. She was so formal. I smiled. She was cute already, but now the unexpected distance between us was endearing. Well, it was no matter. We were in no rush. We chatted lightly about the too-short Winnipeg summers and about the vagaries of fate that had brought us to this sofa, at this moment. Our conversation petered out quickly. I reached for her hand, small and delicate in my hands, like a tiny bird. I kissed her fingertips, stroked the soft skin on the back of her hand. She smiled, amused. I drew closer, put my hand gently on her cheek and brought her closer for a kiss. Sometimes an eternity can be in a moment, and this was one of those moments. Our lips parted, our tongues lightly dancing over each other's. Her breath was fresh, a spearmint pool that I wanted to dive into face first and immerse myself into. It was time. I stood up and she led me to her bed. We both shucked off our clothes as if they were on fire, then kissed again. This time, it was warm skin to warm skin, soft breasts against my chest. We collapsed onto the bed and she decided to take charge. She gave me a gentle nudge to lie back as she took me into her mouth. I gasped at the sudden warmth and wetness, and my breath grew heavy as she did her magic. I gently stroked the soft pale skin on the small of her back. I was getting close. I stood on the edge of that precipice, peering down into it, longing to swan-dive in to the inky depths. But she brought me close, pulled me back and brought be closer still, again and again. My head was still reeling when she looked up and climbed on top. Her shyness was gone, and I saw the predatory glitter in her eyes. She had me right where she wanted me, now. She straddled my hips in one smooth motion and in an instant I was inside her, her hair spilling over my face. Her lips were parted, showing her straight white teeth as she started to pant. Her eyes were closed as she started to thrust. I was her dream lover now, and I could feel her hot breath bare inches away from my own mouth. I took her hips in my hands and we settled into an easy lope. I watched her face, those full sensuous lips, those high cheekbones, as her expression drifted between a blissful smile and exquisite agony. Our bodies grew warm and sweaty, wrapping us up in the thinnest of cloaks with our shared dampness. She froze with a sharp intake of her breath, her brow knitting, her body tensing. A few more thrusts, and it was my turn now. My eyes closed as I followed her into bliss, white stars exploding behind clenched eyelids. It was the sweetest of releases, with this intimate stranger. I opened my eyes and she was suddenly shy again, not quite meeting my gaze. "Is everything OK?" I managed out between pants. "Oh yeah. Everything's great!" Her toothy grin returned, her still flushed face revealing all. Good. She settled easily into the crook of my arm, her face away from me. We spooned and though we couldn't see each other's faces, the warmth of our bodies, the closeness of our embrace said it all for us. I've known other shy women in this world, to be sure. In fact, it had happened so many times that I've referred to them as ladies who chose to speak through their craft. But these ladies were a cipher, an unknowable riddle that I knew I would never solve. Nor did I really want to. But this one was different. Her touch echoed mine. Her flesh felt as if it were my flesh, we spoke through our touch, our kisses. We had moved in time. In tune. As one. She intrigued me now, this shy woman. She had piqued my curiosity. I wanted to make her comfortable with me, to draw her from her shell. Our bodies spoke of the chemistry between us, and for that alone I could quickly grow to enjoy coming here. But I also saw intelligence behind those big brown eyes as we talked, and of course, I had been tipped off earlier by a glance at the book titles on the shelf just out of view. I had no idea whether she would let me solve her mysteries. But I saw the curiosity as well in her eyes as well about the tale-weaver, the feathered conundrum on her bed. Perhaps we could yet explore. Perhaps we could explore together. But my time was up, and I had to go. I wouldn't get to draw her out, discover the person behind the bashful smile. I looked at her wistfully as I got up from the bed and started to get dressed. For I knew I was going to dream later of her thrusting over me, hot breath on my face, electric tension as we drew close. No, I wouldn't find out any more about my shy beauty. At least, this time.

And I'll add my belated birthday wishes to you as well, Cindy. I hope you had a wonderful birthday.

I dream today about mythology. Oh, I don't mean the dusty mythology of Greek gods, Norse heroes, and Egyptian kings. Today I dream of lesser known heroes, that mean much more to me than those far-away long-gone tales. A personal mythology, of ladies whom I've had the pleasure of their company. There is one lady in particular that I've been dreaming about this morning. She brings a smile to my lips, when I think about her. Some things are so vast in scope that you only see them fully when you're some time and distance away, as a tall building is when you stand at its base. You only see little bits and pieces, depending on where you are standing. It is the same for her. I recall so many little snippets of her, so many small little vignettes, so many brief instants of sweet delight. I recall that first kiss. We slipped into each other's arms without exchanging a single word, our tongues speaking our greetings to each other in a sinuously slow slippery slide. Our lips, brushing ever so delicately over each other's. The warmth of her body against mine, her hands on my back, the smell of her perfume. The silent sound and wild confusion of my mind being blown. And not long afterwards, I remember the gleam in her eyes, the wide anticipatory grin as she led me to my own bedroom. I remember the soft skin, delicately scented, as I brushed my lips against her neck. The warmth of her skin, the cold metal of her dangly earring against my lips. I remember her smiley shiver as I gently breathed in her ear. As I nipped her earlobe with first my lips, then gently with my teeth. I remember the lust in those beautiful eyes, inches away, as she pulled me near. Maximum skin to skin at first, face to face, chest to chest, then into her without a moment's hesitation. I remember the first instant I was inside her, the excitement and wild pleasure. Then we were off at a gallop. Well along the little journey we took along the path to our pleasure, both alone and with each other. But most of all, I remember the sense of finally being at home when I was in her. Where I wanted to be, here, now, and forever. I never spoke of my feelings to her. It's just not done, and besides, there was no point. We would have both laughed off such foolishness, at least in any conversation outside of our own heads. We had only just met,we hardly knew each other. But I knew, deep inside, in my heart of hearts, that she felt the same way. This hobby is filled with moments such as these. Little moments of magic, little miracles that I try hard not to take for granted. Becoming jaded is a real danger, but I want to hold on and appreciate these moments whenever they come by. Enjoy them, marvel over them, then let go of them. Recall them on cold dark early mornings such as these. So I sit, with my morning coffee, and dream of her. She's already passed into mythology for me, and will live forever in my memories. I know my memories of her will become brighter everytime I think of her, she will become bigger, bolder, even more grand in her absence. Later today, I'll be with a wonderful lady. Beautiful, sweet, talented. I'll revel in the bliss that is her company, and I know I'll have a lovely time. I know I'll make new legends. But I still think of my mythical muse this morning, as I toast her with my coffee mug, where ever she is.

I'm not a particularly big fan of the Royals, but I loved this video!

I've posted this tale elsewhere here, but I think that it was getting missed by not being in the lounge. It's a little different from my usual sweet tales. Enjoy. bb ...............................................||........................................ It's a bittersweet day. We spoke today when I came to visit. You told me about your new career. I saw the excitement in your eyes, heard the enthusiasm in your voice. It's truly a great opportunity for you, and I know that this is what you always wanted. You're going to move on from this phase of your life. Pull that ad. Close that email address, change your cellphone number. Peel away that identity that you've worked to perfect all these years, like a snake shedding its old skin and past life. I'm happy for you, I truly am. But I can't help but feel a little sadness at this passing. We've shared a lot of time together, my favorite. We've known a lot of joy together. But beyond that joy and the commercial exchange, we have become friends after a fashion as well. But our friendship has nowhere to go, both literally and figuratively. I remember the day when we passed by each other in the street. We were both alone, and we could have spoken, I suppose. But discretion requires us to pass by without a word. If anyone was watching us, they would have seen me pass by, a half-smile on my face as I looked away the only clue that we knew each other. And without my coming by every so often to visit, that friendship will wither away from neglect. And I'm just going to let it go. I asked if I could stay in touch. And I saw the quickly passing flicker in your eyes that told me it wasn't to be, as your words assured me that we would. For I recognized that you were in character then, as the pliant and ever willing woman, eager to please, ready to do my bidding. The woman that I know is not really you, in other words. The woman that will be shed along with this identity. So we will be close by to each other, but miles apart. This is a strange business. Neither of us is supposed to care, outside that hour. That's not part of the bargain. But it's impossible not to, at least a little. And this change is wonderful for you. It's what you've dreamed about, your goal, your final payoff from your time spent with me and others. So yes, I feel glad for you. And I feel a little sad, for me.

I was excited. Today is the day I was finally seeing her. This is an Occasion, with a capital O. One that called for just a little more trouble than usual. For you see, she's a classy lady. An educated and cultured woman. I know she enjoys the finer things. I know she would notice. I slipped on a crisp white shirt, teased cufflinks into the cuffs. I reached into my closet and pulled out my fine soft-shouldered suit, the pride of my favorite Napoli tailor. It was a soft charcoal grey. I had joked that it was woven from the inner thigh fuzz of Italian virgins, it was so soft to the touch, the weave so fine. I pulled on my pants, wove a cordovan leather belt into the loops. I reached again into the back of my closet and pulled out a box with my oxblood monk strap shoes, burnished to a dull gleam. I shoehorned them on and buckled them closed. I carefully slipped the suit jacket off of its hanger and gingerly put it on. I looked at my selection of ties. Which one? I thought for a moment, then reached into a small drawer. A pocket square it is. I fussed over cramming it in my breast pocket. I smiled. It's funny how so much effort there is in looking casually careless. I looked in the mirror. I'm looking good. I was dressed to kill. And I was going to knock her dead today. ''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''-||''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''- I fidgeted nervously with my cufflinks. It's almost time. Finally, there was a soft knock at the door. I opened it and she swept into the room. I bid her a polite greeting and took her coat. I was finally face to face with her, under the hallway light. She stood before me at last. Or rather, towered over me, tall in her heels. She wore a gauzy white blouse, perfectly fitted. It was unbuttoned, just the top couple of buttons. The blouse would still be demure, except for the edges of a lacy bra just visible inside. A string of pearls trailed down and between her breasts. I knew her tight, just-above-knee length skirt would be concealing a lacy garter holding her dark stockings and black heels. Her long wavy brown hair was pinned up in a bun, and she peered coolly down at me through thick black plastic framed glasses. She opened an expensive looking purse, and took out a pen and a pad of paper. She interrupted my silent grinning appreciation. "The agency sent me." She peered over her glasses at me, a half-smile at the corners of her mouth. I was momentarily confused. I thought she was an independent? But before I could say anything, she stepped forward and put her hand on the front of my pants. She said breathily, "I'm ready to take dictation." And with that, her half smile became a smirk, and she opened my fly. She reached in, her smirk becoming a leer, and she knelt before me. She looked up at me over her glasses and I felt the wet warmness as she took me in her mouth. I closed my eyes and took a long deep breath. She took me in, slow and deep. I could feel her hot breath on me. Time stood still at that moment, my world shrunk to her mouth on me. She was slow, she was sensual. But she soon picked up the pace, those slow wet, warm, deep thrusts becoming quicker and harder. I was losing my composure. I had been planning to show her my gentlemanly side. But I could sense the hungry red-eyed monster in me starting to stir. I had only let a few ladies ever see that side of me. The red-eyed monster would want me to take her. And take her *now*. I wasn't going to last long between those skilled lips. But the red-eyed monster had other plans for us. I opened my eyes and with a growl, I reached down and pulled her up. I pushed her back and lifted her onto the hallway table, where she landed with a thump. I hiked up her skirt and pushed her lacy black thong to one side and entered her with one deep thrust, pushing her back against the wall. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes as I began to thrust hard, thumping the table and her back against the wall, the sound echoing in that narrow hallway. One of her hair pins fell out, and her hair slowly uncoiled, one bounce at a time. Her glorious long chestnut hair fell in a cascade across her shoulders and fell over her breasts with a puff of clean fragrance. Her purse fell off the table and feel to the floor with a thump, a lipstick rolling away. Her pad and paper were forgotten on the floor. But we barely noticed. Her hands gripped my shoulders and her legs wrapped around my waist, her heels linking together and drawing me in tighter. My thrusts sped up, her hips matching me stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust. Her glasses came astrew, and she clawed at them and brushed them off her face and onto the floor. She came hard, her body freezing, her chest thrust forward, her face twisted in an agonized grimace. It was too much. I joined her leap off of the precipice and into the fiery abyss, my tiny spurts a feeble attempt to extinguish the flames of our passion. I opened my eyes and caught my breath. Wow. This was not what quite I had expected, not that I was complaining. I thought she would be sweet, gentle, a master of the elegant art of seduction. With a start, I realized that she had probably thought the same about me. Still breathing heavily, I reached down to pick her glasses off the floor. I held them to her with a smile. "I'm Birdboy. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." We both laughed at my formality. I gave her a warm hug, and kissed her dewy forehead. I reached down, and kissed her on the lips. And there was my second revelation of the evening. We were both sweaty and her hair was still tousled, but time stood still when we kissed. Our tongues caressed and probed, tender slick embraces betraying our gentle natures. I broke the kiss, put my arm around her waist and led her to my bedroom without another word. ''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''-||''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''- We lay coiled together on the bed, a tangle of bare limbs and satiated flesh. We small talked, I about her visit to her city and she about her drive into town. We talked about our love for clothes, the weather, the boards. She suddenly fell quiet. "Is something wrong?" She hesitated. It was none of my business. I was about to change the subject when she said quietly, "It's my son." Her son wasn't well. He was sick again, and this time it was bad. I could see the worry on her face, sense the tears about to start. I reached for a tissue and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes and apologized for her unprofessionalism. I smiled a crinkled Charlie Brown smile and kissed her again. "It's all right." Our clothes lay scattered beside the bed. Those clothes were part of the persona we showed to the world, armor for the modern age, what we wanted the other to think we were. But we were naked now, skin to skin. The personas were gone. We were naked to each other in more than one sense now. I held her close, and listened on as she talked. Her fancy, expensive looking handbag was in the hallway just outside the bedroom. But sometimes baggage can't be just be left behind. And sometimes the best soft shoulder is not on any handmade Italian suit, but is offered by a friend to cry on. There is a line to be respected, in this business of ours. We're not supposed to care. She's not a friend, this intimate stranger, but I lent her my shoulder anyway. I should say she's not a friend. Yet.

I *love* this tale, on so many levels. It is a tale well written and compelling to be sure, and I would enjoy it for that sake alone. But the activities with Z are reminiscent of experiments I've had, with a certain lady at a certain time. It brought me back, and realized that it had been too long. Bravo, Samantha! May there be many more.

My thanks, Mutau, once again. But surely you are no stranger to wordsmithery as well- are you not? You're polite, erudite, about your lavish praise, never contrite. ;) Ah, my pretty young fan... thank you. A happy belated Valentine's day to you as well!

I turn to look out the hotel room window. It's gloriously sunny and warm out there, and I squint out into the bright sunshine. It's a marvel to see that the winter is receding, spring lurking around every corner. Tendrils of green poke out and greet the February sun. I'm alone here. It's quiet, no sound in the room except the humming of my computer, the occasional hoot of the pigeons as they contemplate their spring courtship. I'm far from home, and a little lonely. It would be so easy to change that little bit of loneliness, and yet it would be so hard at the same time. Oh, finding willing company would be easy. All it would take would be a phone call, an email, a text message to my old playmate here. And truth be told, it would be nice to see her again, to catch up with our worlds, to feel her skin again and taste those lips. But this is a different world now. And I'm a different man than the one who first strode through her door. My lady here would leave my room, or I would leave her home, and I know now that loneliness would rush back into my life as soon as the door clicked shut. Her brief absence would leave a vacuum, my loneliness redoubled, knowing that I had no business calling her unless the prospect of a transaction was involved. That loneliness would be the harsh hangover after the night before, the subtle price that would have to be paid but never to be whispered about. I want to fill these lonely hours. But I want to fill them with a lady far away, far out of my fingertips' reach but never far from my mind. I met her as Birdboy, gentle poetry from my heart whispered into her ear. Words for her and her alone. And she met me as her alter ego as well. Gentle, loving, a laugh as light as the spring air, a twinkle in those blue eyes like light sparkling off of a newly thawed brook. I got to know her well. And I found that behind that soft voice and warm lips lay passion and heat befitting her strawberry red hair. And she found my playful wisecracking side and we laughed and played well into the night on many a winter's eve. And as time went on, we became friends. And the thing I marvel over is that even after we had shed our alter egos, felt free to be ourselves, that we were more like them than I had ever imagined. I had poetry in my heart and it spilled out my fingertips as I wrote to her. I whispered soft words of affection befitting my feathered alter ego as I nuzzled her ear. And she held me in her warm embrace, brashness and fury gone, as she took away my loneliness in a way that only satisfied. Leaving me wanting only for the next time. She brings a smile to my face as I think of her now. And though she is miles away, her memory brings her close to me. And on today, the day of lovers, the day of greeting cards, roses and chocolates, I want to wish her a heartfelt Valentine's day. For those commercial things, those hackneyed trappings don't come close to what I want to say to her as I brush back her hair and bring my lips to her ear. I'm a very lucky man indeed. And I wish all of you a sincere Valentine, my friends, my fans. I wish you all the warmth that I feel from her. May you all find happiness in this business that can be so lonely, so shallow. And may my lady read my words and smile.

Thank you, Cindy and Cato. This is one of my favorite places to post! Ah, Mutau. Your eloquence so wonderfully expresses the depth of appreciation you have for my tales, yet again. Thank you! :icon_cool:

(originally posted 31 Jan 2009) We finally meet, my pretty one. You met me at your door, clad in your best and most diaphanous. Your eyes opened wide, it was finally, finally your turn to meet me. I can see at a glance that your hair is just so, your makeup is perfect as you grin at me. You chirp cheerfully as you take my coat and offer me a drink. You gush on, how glad you are that I am finally here. Your rich chestnut eyes glitter up at me, your smile gleams. My goodness, you really are pretty. We sip our drinks as we settle on the sofa. You chat. In a few minutes, a trace of puzzlement crosses your eyes. I'm a little shyer and quieter than you had expected. Well, you've seen shy before. Your hand strokes my chest as you ask how my day was. I look down at my feet. I'm not shy, pretty one. Quite the contrary, in fact. But I've come here because I've saved you as a special treat for a day like today. I'm in a funk. This is one of those days where a shadow is over my soul, a dark cloud above me. The dark cloud isn't just the leaden winter sky, but life itself casting its shadow over me as it is deals me a losing hand. But I can't tell you that. I can't burden just any stranger with the way I really feel, least of all you. I can see concern starting to flicker across your pretty face. You want so badly to impress me. You don't know that you already have, my pretty, or I wouldn't be here right now. You want so much to please me. You want to make me feel good. Maybe you even hope that I'll smile on you with my words later. I can see that you are trying harder now. I can see that you're just about ready to try anything, to say anything to bring me to the world of sunshine and blue skies. You can't, my pretty. I already know that you're going to be wonderful, but I also know that you can't perform miracles. You can't clear up the mess that is my life, you can't straighten this twisted and rutted road that I'm on. And more than anything else, you can't become her. All you can do is help me forget for a little while. To take my mind off of. And perhaps I can even close my eyes and imagine for just a moment that I'm with her. You open your mouth, and I know you'll say something foolish in a moment. I kiss you then, before you can say more. I rise, and take your hand. Let's go, pretty one.

I would order whatever was on the menu for the day at The French Laundry in Yountville, California. It's one of the finest restaurants in the US. The last time I looked, it was 18 courses (the courses are about the size of a golf ball) and it was a prix fixe at $270. Oh yes, and whatever wines struck my fancy. I would die a happy man, for I will have tasted heaven on earth.

I've never been good at goodbyes. I know, though, that today I'm going to have to say a goodbye. But before I do that, I have some time to kill. I'm comfortably seated at my favorite seat at the counter at my favorite cafe. I warm my hands on my cup, its dark contents steaming slightly. I tip the creamer and watch clouds billow through the black liquid, clouds in my coffee echoing the mixed feelings I have. I think about her, as I've already been doing all morning. She's so beautiful. I can close my eyes and imagine her silky smooth skin, I can almost feel my fingers running through her curly hair. Patience, my little friend. My hands, my mouth will be on her soon enough. We had hit it off well, that day we first met. Very, very, well. For a long while we had a certain little infatuation going for each other. We romped for hours in those long-ago early days. They say that the flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long. Our flame had burned bright, so very bright indeed. But all good things, no matter how strong, how delightful, must eventually come to an end. I started to notice that she would be a little distracted when I was around. Then I started to get the feeling that I was boring her, that there was someplace else she'd rather be. Her chatty emails slowed, then stopped. Soon all that was left was the contact of our skin, but not the gentle touch of our minds and hearts. I'm sure that she'd let me keep coming by. But there's no point now. None at all. I've tasted more than just the touch of her flesh, and I won't settle for less now with her. But I know I can't fill her heart with excitement anymore. I can't thrill her, any more than I can stop the tides. Any more than I can keep the sun from rising tomorrow. No, it's time. Time to move on. We all know this world has different rules than the outside world. We'll never make plans to meet each other's families. We're never going to have that talk about where our relationship is going. We're never going to talk about what it all means. We know the answer to those questions. We've known them from the very beginning. I don't have to say goodbye. In fact, I don't have to say anything. All I have to do is just stop calling and that would be the end of it. I'm going to see her one last time. It's going to be different, today. I'm going to pour my heart and soul out in every kiss, in every caress. I'm going to be gentler than I ever was, more caring than I've ever been. Today, it's going to be all about her. That will be my parting gift to her. That will be my wordless goodbye. I'll close the door behind me as I leave her home, a last look back over my shoulder as I walk away with bittersweet memories. She'll realize soon enough that I've moved on. But she won't know that I'll wish her well, and a happy, healthy and long life. Until she reads this, anyway. In time, I'll call another. Someone who I hope I can thrill like I thrilled her, once. I look at my watch. It's time to go. I fumble in my pocket, and put a few coins on the counter as a tip. I pull my coat on, and push open the glass door into the street.

Damn. That Pliny gave me a bum steer! Sorry for confusing you with granddad.

Few words but powerful words, Cato. But I expected no less from an orator such as yourself. Thank you for the praise. There is a wide difference between true courage and mere contempt of life, you know. ;) :D

Thanks, Alexis! To paraphrase dear old Mr Wilde, work is indeed the bane of the pooning classes. As it is a pleasure to have you read my stories, Elizabeth. Thank you! You're too kind, Andy. Thanks!

I glanced out the window. It's dark now. Snow is falling, slowly fluttering glints of white sailing by the streetlight. I rubbed my eyes and felt my five-o-clock shadow. Make that my eight-o-clock shadow. I'm at the office way too late, yet again. I'm the only one left here. It's quiet, not a single noise except for the low humming of my computer. I loosen my tie and undo the top button on my shirt. I'm working long hours these days, on this crazy project of mine. I'm stoking the star-maker machinery behind the popular word, to paraphrase Joni. It keeps me out of trouble. But I'm almost done for the day and I'm going to go home, eat a quick supper and then it's off to bed till the madness starts again tomorrow morning. This is my life now, such as it is. Still, I can't help but think of her. It's been a while. I'd go see her in the blink of an eye if I had the time, the freedom, the opportunity. I stretch my back, sitting in my chair. If I had the energy. But I can still dream. I close my eyes and imagine my lips skimming the soft skin stretched taut on her neck. Her head is thrown back and her eyes are closed, a soft smile the crowning glory on her face. I can smell her subtle scent. It always drives me wild, and I would softly nibble her neck if I didn't have to worry about leaving marks. I take her hands in mine, intertwining fingers, as I move down to her breasts. Her breath starts to get heavy as I delicately suck on her nipples. Her lips part, showing the coral pink inside and her small white teeth. I start to kiss further down... I open my eyes. This fantasy is all too real. I'm just going to get myself all worked up with nowhere to go. Or am I? Perhaps this article can wait until tomorrow. I look around and see the darkened office around me. Everyone else is home now, eating dinner with their families. Playing with their kids. Shopping. Or whatever it is they do in their off hours. All I know is, they aren't here. And perhaps, neither should I be. I smile wryly as I think about that old saw. The one about how no one ever lay on their deathbed wishing that they spent more time at work. I look at my watch, and see it's not that late. Not too late for her, anyway. I pick up my phone and dial. She answers. It's good to hear her voice again. Yes, she's free. Yes, she'd love to see me again. When? Sure, see you then! I get up and turn off my computer. I'm out the door with my coat, even before the glow fades on my cell phone. I gotta go. Diems have gotta be carpe'd. There's a whole world out there. There's a life to be lived. And there's a lady to be loved. Later, everyone.

The snow glitters as it swirls around the streetlights in the wintry evening air. It's the holiday season again. It's a busy time of year for most, and I'm no exception. It's the season for partying, for shopping, for catching up with old friends. Seeing family. Putting up decorations, Christmas cooking and baking. I'm so busy that barely have time to think, in this season of eggnog and giftgiving. It's a delight to get a warm hug from a friend I haven't seen in months, a tipsy kiss under the mistletoe. To find that perfect little gift. I have a sappy happiness I just don't find the rest of the year. Life is good. I know I have everything this life has to offer, and then some. But still, I don't have quite everything. I've been thinking about my favorite lady. I haven't seen her in a while, for our lives are both busy. I know that she's as filled with preparations for the holidays as I am, with hardly a moment to catch her breath. Still, she creeps into my thoughts in the oddest moments. I think of a long ago moment with her, laughing from a joke, eyes glittering, white teeth flashing, as I'm walking through the mall. I have a small revery of her smile just before our mouths first met and we fell into each other's arms. And I half-wake in the middle of the night, emerging reluctantly from a dream of our tangled sweaty limbs and probing tongues. I'm not foolish. I know what we have. But I still can't help but think of her, those thoughts and memories warming my heart and my loins. I know I'll see her again soon, and I can't wait. I know we'll have our own little celebration of life, our own small song of joy. Soon. But for today, I'll just let her know that I'm thinking of her. It's my own little gift to her for now. It pleases me to warm her heart like this, even from a distance. I want to wish her my sincerest holiday greetings. The turn of the year will be on us soon. And I smile to think that with it will be new times with her. New memories. New caresses of her body and my heart. New tales, new fantasies. I watch the snow swirl outside as I type these words on a blustery winter's evening. My work is almost done here. It's almost time to go, meet my friends and family. But first, I'll wish that my treasured fans all get their heart's fondest desires, whether they be wrapped up under the tree or smiling back at them as they lounge in silk and lace. Or perhaps it's seeing the smile of a child, as they have their own fondest wish fulfilled. I'll wish all of you a happy holiday season. Till my words caress you next.

Wow Alexis.. I've been told that I can paint vivid images with my words but I do believe that I have met my match and then some. The entire Haven't Met series have been compelling, provocative, and stimulating but this particular part stands out in a class of its own. Bravo! And if you still haven't met this man yet, I can only barely fathom the incredible time you'll show him when the two of you do meet. Oh, to be in Alberta. Oh, to have a booking with you. Oh, to be him.

And I just love the delicious appreciation you give my tales, Alexis. Thank *you* for making me feel so welcome here at CERB.

I don't really want to take this thread off-topic, but I once helped put out a pillowcase that caught fire because it got flung over a burning candle. We both smelled smoke at the same time. We both laughed over it later... much, much later.