A Gift

My thanks to ieditor and to RaspberryDelight for assisting me on this piece. In addition to Cyn, thank you for asking me the question and inspiring me to answer. You know who you are.

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I write stories, it's what I do. I take other people's fantasies and I bring them to life. It's easy - they give me the basic plot and I let my imagination do the rest. It's like being handed a jigsaw puzzle with the border already in place. All I have to do is fill in the missing pieces.

A standard question I ask is whether they want me to play a role in their story. Most are kind enough to say yes; a few, however, have specific characters in mind, though I am still able to get into that character as I write. The good guys are fun to to write about, the bad guys even more so. The truly evil ones are a bit of a stretch but I do my best to portray them according to specifications. After all it is someone else's fantasy, someone else's tale.

The interesting bit happens when I'm finished - when the person whose fantasy I brought to life tells me I got it right, that my writing managed to capture their dream. Every once in awhile, I get a response telling me that my story fell short of their expectations. That my tale failed to match their imagination. As a writer, you take the good with the bad and just hope that the former outweighs the latter.

I had finished writing a story for one individual the night before, doing the final proofreading before sending it off, waiting as always for the obligatory reply, hoping as I often put it, "that my words find favor in your eyes". I'd had people comment; I wrote as if I belonged in a different time, a different century, perhaps they're right but it was simply me being me.

This time when I received my response to my latest work it was like nothing I had ever read before. I opened the email and read, "Dear Fantasywriter. Your words as always speak to me in a special way, never more so than your latest tale, the one I asked you to pen. You brought my dream to life and I will always be thankful. I often wonder though, has anyone ever done the same for you?"

The question, though a logical one was something I had never considered. Don't get me wrong, I had written many a tale based on my own desires but never had another offered to do so for me. I answered the email, stating just that and to my surprise I got an instant response saying, "Then tell me, in your story, what is your fantasy, what is your desire Fantasywriter?"

I sat back, lost in the question. As I said, I had written of many of my own personal desires in the form of a story before. This time though, it seemed different. There were quite a few things that came to mind but to my own amazement, a rather simple one ended being what I selected as I answered this particular readers request. I couldn't help but smile thinking how kind it was of her to ask.

The next day I still had heard nothing back from my reply so I just thought it had been someone offering a gesture, trying to make me feel special as I tried to do for anyone who requested me to write for them. It was that evening when I was doing some research for my latest work when in the corner of the computer screen, I saw I had new mail.

I opened it, a bit confused as the individual's name didn't ring any sort of bell, the body of the email appearing just as mine normally did, the story simply began. I was curious as I began to read.

It was Saturday night, normally a quiet time for him. He usually spent most of his time behind his computer, diligently typing away. But tonight, it was different. He had decided to treat himself. His last work had been finished and luckily his words had indeed found favor in someone's eyes.

As he got dressed, he smiled. Thinking how he would enjoy a good meal, perhaps a glass of wine to celebrate at a fine steakhouse in Chicago, the downtown section, being the perfect location for the evening. A reservation had been made in advance, the time 7 p.m. and as he looked at his watch, he knew he was cutting it close.

I couldn't help but smile, the writing style a bit awkward but a genuine effort put forth to draw the readers' interest in. Though what captured more than my interest were the lines written next.

(If you desire to see what happens in the next chapter you will find it waiting at your destination on the evening described above...don't be late.)

I read the words with a puzzled expression on my face, trying to ascertain the meaning but it wasn't until Saturday afternoon that things became a bit clearer. The phone rang and when I answered it I heard a woman's voice say.

"Yes Mr. Samuel's, this is Gibson's Steakhouse and Bar, we are confirming your dinner reservation for seven p.m. this evening. We hope you will arrive a bit early and take advantage of the bar and all it has to offer." The woman said, an with that the line disconnected.

Now my interest was truly piqued. I called the location and indeed they did have my name at the appointed time though I had certainly not placed the call. I took a shower, taking a look in the mirror the visage as always not exactly to my liking but such is life. Long auburn hair, blue eyes, a very forgettable face, neither handsome, nor repulsive.

Simply me.

I arrived roughly a half hour early, the hostess telling me they were running a little behind so I did as per the instructions. Going to the bar, I sat down, ordered a drink and looked around. Being a Saturday night there were people everywhere, though I wondered if one of them might stand out. My people skills were not one of my more endearing qualities.

One reader asked me once how I could come across in the manner I did, in not only my stories but in the on line chat that I enjoyed with those who sampled my words. I told them it was easy to play a character. The individual could be as bold as the words I typed on the screen, the same way in chat. In the real world though, there was no keyboard to type on, no crutch to lean on. My words usually failing me if I wished to converse with any woman, the shy, quiet man always stepping forth.

As the appointed time drew near I let out a soft sigh, thinking someone simply enjoyed a good joke, or found it humorous to put me through my paces like some kind of show pony. I was almost ready to get up from the bar, contemplating simply making my way home, the evening of yet another solitary meal not that appealing, when the bartender appeared. "I'm sorry sir, are you Jonathan Samuels?"

I knew it wasn't my fame as a writer that would have him ask such a question but I nodded my head in reply. He simply handed me an envelope, a single script J on the front and when I inquired as to whom it came from he simply shrugged, going back to him normal duties. Opening it I saw the familiar verbiage, the continuation of the short tale as I read.

He sat at the bar, enjoying his drink as he heard a soft sound, a woman's voice asking, "I'm sorry, is this seat taken?"

He turned, his eyes taking in the vision before him. It would best be described as the traditional little black dress but it was one that molded to her features, the promise within that it held, that captured him. Hair as dark as midnight, eyes of brown which seemed to regard him with a bit of a sparkle as he as always found himself at a loss for words, simply shaking his head no.

I had just finished reading it when I heard, you guessed it. "I'm sorry, is this seat taken?" I turned my head slowly, the young woman who stood there dressed as in the tale, her eyes sparkling as I remained true to the script, shaking my head no as I stood to hold the chair out for her.

Her smile was my reward as I sat back down and the bartender came over and asked the young lady what her pleasure might be. She ordered a glass of white wine as I tried my best not to openly stare. She was beautiful, stunning in fact and though I had an idea this was my mystery author I knew that surely she wouldn't be willing to go as far as the fantasy she had asked me went.

"So, do you come here often?" Her voice almost musical in tone as once again I shook my head to the negative and she laughed, her eyes still twinkling as she said, "A man of few words it seems. Here, let me try and get one of you if I can. I'm Cyn and you are?"

I managed to stammer out, "Jonathan, Jonathan Samuel's Miss." Once again I got the full smile as she held her hand out, my own trembling though she seemed to pay it little mind as her drink was delivered and she raised her glass, proposing a toast.

She touched the edge of her wineglass against my own drink, the soft sound like that of her voice saying, "Here's to tonight and the possibilities it may hold." I took a nervous sip of my drink, my name being called, the table ready as I tried to work up the courage to ask, almost afraid of what the young lady might say.

Instead, she simply smiled, taking my arm as we went to our table and once again I held the chair out for her to sit. I saw the looks of many, the open stares at the breathtaking vision who accompanied me.

I'm sure the meal was wonderful, though for the life of me I can't remember a single thing about it. I was too captivated by my company. I remembered the answer I'd gave her when she asked about my fantasy and the words kept echoing over and over again in my mind.

I'm the type of man that every beautiful woman looks past to see who is standing behind him, neither repulsive nor repugnant, neither handsome or dashing. I'm ordinary, plain, easily forgettable. Just once I'd like to be the man who a lovely woman picks up in a bar. Who would desire his company. It sounds silly but please remember you asked.

I sat there at the table, my after dinner drink going untouched as I felt like a fool. It had been a stupid thing to ask and I felt my eyes look downward, fighting my emotions as I heard the young woman say, "I feel like a bit of walk Jonathan, would you care to join me?"

Sitting there, I felt myself tremble but I also felt a hand slip over. I looked down to see her hand, looked up to see her smile and she said softly, "It's okay, honest. Walk with me, please Jonathan?

I managed to nod, paying the bill as she stood beside me. I opened the door for her, another smile as I walked with my head down, though she reached over, putting her hand in mine as we walked quietly down the street.

We'd gone a couple of blocks when I noticed we were at one of the finer hotels, The Hyatt as Cyn smiled at me saying, "Well, this is my stop. Would you care to join me for a nightcap perhaps?"

Once again her hand squeezed mine as she pulled me gently in, heading toward the elevator. By the time we got to her room my heart was pounding as she let us in, locking it before saying, "I need a minute to freshen up. Fix us something to drink, won't you?"

The door to the bathroom closed quietly as I walked over, the lights of the city twinkling through the open curtains. I found the mini bar, poured her a glass of wine and thought it best I not partake. I was beginning to feel like I was an object of pity more than desire. She had done nothing to cause me to feel that way, I did it to myself.

I almost had decided that it would be best if I were to simply slip out the door, getting ready to turn from the panoramic view, when one even more breathtaking caught my eye. She was dressed as a vision of lace, walking slowly toward where I stood, my eyes seeing her reflection, unable to look away.

I stood frozen to the spot as she drew closer and closer, unaware of the silent tears which had begun to fall from my eyes. It had been seven years since my wife had passed. Seven long years without the touch of a woman and as I saw the beautiful creature draw near to my surprise she simply walked up, smiling, touching my face gently then pulling me into her arms.

Her voice was soft as a whisper, like that of an angel, saying, "There is no shame in crying Jonathan Samuels. Sometimes we all need to let our emotions help us heal in order to find happiness once again." She leaned her head into my chest, simply holding me as the dam burst and the tears fell unabated.

The one thing I had missed more than anything during that length of time was to be held, to feel safe, to feel desired and as she took my hand, she pulled me gently over to the bed. She smiled, pushing tenderly on my shoulders, making me lie down as she once again went into my arms, her scent as intoxicating as her presence.

I felt the warmth of her breath on my neck as she spoke soothingly to me. "We have all the time in the world Jonathan. You're alright, you're safe here I promise." I tried to answer but words failed me. Luckily words weren't what the beautiful lady desired. Her hands tenderly undressing me, her eyes warm, her smile inviting as I couldn't help but be aroused by her touch.

In the stories I wrote, I always could be so poetic, using the terms that would arouse both the readers' libido and their minds. Words could not describe though what the evening was like from that point forward. The only way to properly express it would be to say that Cyn made love to me. I know it sounds simple but there was nothing simple about it. She took a heart held dormant and for a brief period of time allowed it to feel loved again.

I remember having this lovely creature in my arms, the hour having drawn late and feeling my body, my mind as it began to slip away. I looked at her and was once again rewarded with the smile which made her eyes light up, the reflection of my own shining in them as she said softly, "Rest dear man, rest well." I surrendered to the darkness and when next I awoke, I was alone.

THE END

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Thank you for reading, please take the time to vote and I hope comment. As always, it is appreciated.