Online to Real Life

Nervous, anxious, the door before me.
Knock? Flee? Quietly slide inside?
The confusion almost overcomes the anticipation
as I stand there upon your steps.

I raise my hand and gently knock,
Almost as though I don’t want to be discovered
I look at my feet, and when the door opens,
I raise my eyes to see you.

Tentative is the smile on my lips,
Inquisitive is the look in my eyes as I see you,
Face to face, unfiltered by bits and bytes,
For the first time since we’ve met.

The door opens wide, and with a gesture
You motion me in to your home. Cool, shadow-filled,
It looks and feels much as I had imagined
And I find comfort in familiar things.

There is the chair I have seen in the frame
When you’ve shared your smiles with me.
Over there, the table you described often
In our early morning conversations.

Even so, your closeness is palpable, your warmth intense,
And I can feel you as you pass by me with my small bag,
So I turn and follow you into what will be my room,
My small private place if you are not pleased with me.

I stand in the door and watch as you place it on the bed
And open it. You talk to me of dinner on the stove
As you remove my clothing from the bag and lay it,
Smooth and unfolded upon the bed.

You tell me of your plans for wine and marshmallows
By a fire late tonight, and set my toiletries out.
You ask of my trip, of my uneventful drive
As one by one each item is placed and the bag emptied.

I back up to let you leave the room,
And as you do, you bend ever so slightly
To kiss the top of my head. You take my hand in yours
And silently lead me down the hallway.

Warm water flows slowly into a large, old bathtub.
Soap, a razor, shampoo lie along its hard, white edge,
And next to it a pile of thick, white, comfortable towels
Takes its place like cotton slaves to pleasure.

“Stand there,” in a voice both soft and firm,
So soft it does not even echo on the tiles and porcelain.
I can do nothing but comply, and you liberate my body
From the crumpled, stale, road-weary clothes.

Again, my hand is in yours, and I follow its lead.
One foot, then the other enters the water,
A baby re-entering the luxuries of the womb,
Warm, comforting, and so very deep.

I watch as you, too, begin to disrobe,
And it is pleasing. Our clothes now atumble on the tiles,
You turn and smile a smile I cannot but return
As you take your place on the edge of the tub.

Your hands slowly build a lather, and you gently touch.
My shoulders, my neck, my back… all sore from the road
Relax with your massage. My breasts ache as you soap them
And I shiver with the touches.

The water rinses over me, and I close my eyes
And sigh with the pleasure. “I want this to never stop,”
I say, and you smile again. “Ah but little one, it must,
As all things eventually do.”

My hair, my face, all tingle at your touches.
“Now, stand,” you request, and a third time you take my hand
And bid me rise from the watery cocoon,
Shining, renewed and warm.

Again you lather your hands, and again you touch me,
Cleaning every fold, every dimple, every hidden place,
And I stand there, my hands against the cool slick wall,
Relishing and savoring each sensation.

Again, my hand is taken, and I sit in the warmth again
Feeling the soap leave, feeling my skin fresh and new,
Remembering your sweet hands and firm fingertips
In dark, intriguing places within.

The soap again is taken, and its thick offering placed
Upon my softness. The razor in hand, skillful from years
Of ardent practice, you denude me and reveal
What has forever been hidden from all eyes before.

The warm cloth slowly strokes upon its freshly shorn skin
And its heat travels through it, into it, beyond it,
Deep into my belly, my heart, my soul.
And with my hand in yours, I step from this place of delight.

I have never been rubbed so deliciously with a towel before
And if I could purr, it would echo in the small room.
Even the bottoms of my feet feel the softness of them
And soon I am dry and relaxed enough to sleep.

We do not dress, but instead go to your room.
“This is where you will be tonight, but first, we will eat
And talk about your trip.” Disappointment crosses my eyes,
But when you leave the room, I follow quietly.

You have been Master to me for what feels like my life,
A sad trick of fate, as this is our first meeting.
I want so to please, I want so to share myself with you,
Yet I wait until You say it is time.

Dinner is light, cool, and refreshing, products of your toil,
Gifts from your garden. We talk, and you recite,
And we laugh across the table in the growing shadows,
Evening befalling both outside and in.

You bid me take a place on your couch,
And when you join me it is with a cool glass of sweet wine,
Dessert in a smooth cool glass.
And we sip, and talk, and wordlessly begin to touch.

Hugs, caresses, kisses both deeply passionate and
Childishly light, intoxicating as the wine,
More tender than the bath, more fulfilling than dinner,
And yet still no move to join deeply with me.

But I cannot complain, for there is no complaint.
None has been so attentive, so deeply in my soul
As you are right now. Friends, lovers, Master and submissive,
Playmates and more, gaining knowledge on your couch.

I look at you, and watch the animation
As you gift me with your words, your poems, now mine.
Silently, I place my hands upon your leg,
And lower myself from the couch.

My knees protest, but my heart wills it,
And I kneel quietly at your feet. Surprise, then approval,
Your eyes tell me all I need to know,
And once again you bend down and kiss my lips.

You help me rise, and I stand there before you,
Naked, vulnerable, so very wanting,
“Sit, sweet one,” you request,
And shakily I comply, a complete and satisfied being.

My gift for you accepted, I am already fulfilled,
Knowing anything and everything that comes now
Is true and honest. There is no greater gift I could give,
And I know it is now in your heart.