Exorcism

She didn't know why she couldn't talk to men. Didn't know why she couldn't even look at them. Yes, she had led a sheltered life. She had spent almost all of it in a Catholic school; first as a student, then as a teacher. But it wasn't as if she had never had any contact with them. There were plenty in her family with whom she had no problem interacting: father, brothers, cousins, brothers-in-law. She had never had any bad experiences. It wasn't even as if she was still a virgin. She had been engaged once, to a loving man to whom she had given herself, knowing that they would become husband and wife. His death in a car crash 15 years ago had been a shock, for certain. She had felt as if she had been punished for such impure behaviour. Her grief had mingled with her guilt, and perhaps she had shut herself off from any more temptation. She didn't know.

As she walked down the street, she wondered if she was missing out. She didn't feel unhappy. She looked at other women in their mid thirties as she walked past them, and she didn't think they looked any happier than she felt. Of course, she'd had offers. By all accounts she wasn't unattractive, even if, according to her friends, she didn't make the most of herself. But what was the point? She'd even let some 'suitors' take her out for awkward and, invariably, short dinners, but she had never found anyone who could inspire anything in her, enough to bring her out of her shell.

One evening, she was invited to celebrate a friend's birthday at one of those restaurants where you dine in the dark. She found the thought rather exciting: The idea of not being able to rely on your visual sense, of having to trust to your body's automated movements to find and cut your food, to raise it to your mouth. The idea that your sense of taste was concentrated by your lack of sight.

Apparently, the wait staff were all visually challenged, most of them legally blind. The server that took charge of their group took hold of her hand and placed it on his shoulder to guide them to their table. Her immediate reaction was to pull her hand away, and she had to exert some self-control not to. Her friends stood in line behind her, each with their hand on the shoulder of the person in front, as they slipped through the blackout curtain and into the dining room. Here in the dark, she became acutely aware of the server's strong shoulder under her hand, of his soft touch holding her hand in place. In the dark, she found the sensations amplified, in fact, that she was unable to block them out as she usually did. She thought she should feel uneasy about it, but in fact, she found the experience strangely liberating, and she wondered at the butterflies she had begun to feel in her stomach.

Reaching the table, the server told her group to stop, and then took her hand in his to help her seat herself. This new touch, more intimate than the last, caused the butterflies to flutter more agitatedly, and she found herself breathing harder. As she sat and moved her chair closer to the table, she felt his warm breath on her neck, smelt his clean, soapy scent and heard his velvety voice asking if she was all right. The butterflies had turned into flying fish doing somersaults, but she managed to stammer that she was okay. He squeezed her shoulder gently before helping the rest of her party to their seats, and she closed her eyes and quivered at his touch.

As she waited, she tried to remember what he looked like. It wasn't something she normally paid attention to. She could usually say roughly what colour someone's hair was, or how tall they were, but she never usually paid attention to physiognomical details. She had always been glad that no crime had been committed against her because she was sure she would never be able to provide the police with any particulars. This man was average height, maybe 5'9". His hair was dark, short – that was all she remembered. She couldn't say whether he was attractive or not. But then she realized that it didn't really matter. If she was thinking along these lines, it was because she already found him attractive, and what had attracted her were his touch, his smell and his voice. These thoughts surprised her.

Thereafter, she found she seemed to be more aware of his presence than her dining companions. Each time he poured more wine or brought a new dish, her breathing increased. After the next couple of times, she felt his breath against her neck again, solicitously enquiring whether she needed to get some air, explaining that some people found the total darkness oppressive, claustrophobic. She assured him that she was all right and was certain she heard him smile when he told her to just let him know if there was anything he could do for her, anything at all.

This last statement replayed in her mind, and she found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation around her. In some way she was panicked, her old reflexes fighting the new feelings that had stirred in her. She tried to rationalize, telling herself that she had imagined any intentions he might have, that she was simply disorientated from the darkness. But the guilt and the fear continued to war with what she realized now was her arousal.

At some point, she became aware that she needed to use the bathroom and mentioned it, embarrassed, to the server. He asked whether anyone else needed to go but, worryingly, she found she was alone. He took her by the hand once more, placing it again on his shoulder, and she let him lead her. The bathroom, lit with a dim, reddish light, was hidden from the main dining area by a well-placed wall. As she washed her hands, she used the meagre luminosity to examine the server quickly. Yes, an attractive man by any standard. He asked her if she was ready to return to the table and she acquiesced. As he took her hand again, he raised his other one to her face, tracing gently the contours on one side, brushing the edge of her hair with his fingertips. Her breath caught and his hand dropped away as he apologized. She caught it up again with her own hand, unable to speak, but squeezing his hand gently to let him know that she was not averse to him getting to know her better. He asked her for her phone number, and repeated it twice when she gave it to him, memorizing the digits.

***

In the several weeks that followed, she dined with him at the restaurant on his nights off. He had invited her elsewhere, but it was only here that she felt comfortable. It was only here that she could manage to stave off her demons and allow her new feelings to rise to the surface. They always sat next to each other, not opposite, which allowed them to hear each other better above the ambient noise, but also to touch hands, to feel each other's bodies in close proximity.

As the weeks passed, she began to feel more comfortable in his presence, and to find her thoughts turning to him in the privacy of her own bedroom. At first she thought of their conversations, forming a more complete picture of him in her mind. But lately, she found herself thinking of the caress of his voice, the way his fingertips felt on the back of her hand, the scent of his body and the heat that radiated from it as he sat next to her.

One night, in the darkest hour before the sun rises, she awoke from a dream that she vaguely recollected was about him, to find her hand between her legs, coated like the tops of her thighs in a slick wetness. Her immediate and gut reaction was of guilt, closely followed by fear of the feelings he could inspire in her. But then she realized that her body felt strangely at peace; in fact, that she was more aware of her body than she had been in many, many years. Succumbing to these new feelings, she drifted off to sleep.

The next time they met, she was aware that her attitude towards him had changed. She felt closer to him, more connected to him, more responsive to him. The darkness accentuated the feelings once more. She knew he felt it too. She could sense it. And when, for the first time, she felt his fingertips caress her neck and shoulder, it confirmed her thoughts as well as igniting her senses. She felt her body relax in a way that she had not consciously felt in a long time. She knew then that she was ready to go that step further, ready to know him more intimately. But the thought still filled her with anxiety.

The backs of his fingers gently stroked her cheek and then she felt his forefinger slide under her chin and his thumb come to rest below her bottom lip. He turned her face towards him and she felt his lips brush hers once. As they passed a second time, she opened her own ever so slightly, making firmer contact with his mouth. His hands cupped her face and, as he pulled her closer to him, she found her hand on his knee, her fingers squeezing it just as her lips squeezed his. Some part of her brain railed against the contact, against its implications, but she tore free of its grip and took a step further towards emancipation.

The tips of their tongues met and a rush of energy invaded every corner of her body. She wanted to melt into him, to become one with him, and her arms embraced him as her mouth opened more fully. Some minutes later, his mouth pulled gently away from hers and moved across her cheek and up and down her neck, his tongue finally trailing up to her ear where he whispered to her that he wanted her, that he wanted to feel her skin against his, to discover every inch of her body with his hands and his tongue and his lips, to savour the scent and the taste of her, to make her feel alive and to experience the pleasure of her pleasure. As she absorbed his words into the depths of her being, she moaned softly into his ear.

She would have preferred the known territory of her own place, but she understood that he needed his own environment more. As they entered his apartment, his hand went automatically for the light switch but she stopped him. The dark made her feel safe. He led her into his bedroom and she realized that there was only a thin lace curtain at the window, the lights from the city streaming in. Of course, he didn't need to block the light, only indiscreet eyes. Suddenly, she was uncomfortable, and the demons threatened to engulf her again. Total darkness was what she needed. She had to recreate the security of the restaurant, the ambience that made her feel closer to him.

Asking him to wait, she fished her silk scarf from her purse. She placed it in his hands and told him what she wanted. He knotted it carefully around her eyes, asking if it was comfortable and whether she could still see. She relaxed again as she found herself in darkness once more.

Still behind her, he began to run his hands across the tops of her shoulders, then over her shoulder blades and down her back to her waist, coming to rest on her hips. His touch was firmer than she had expected, but she realized that his hands were also his eyes. The touch of his tongue on the back of her neck was softer though, intended not to visualise but to taste. And to arouse. Her breath caught. A shiver ran down her spine. A wave swelled under her ribcage, rolling down her abdomen inside and out. And like the ocean, it left a dampness to mark its passage.

As he continued to massage her neck with his lips and tongue, his hands rose to her shoulders once more and traced down her upper arms, slipping beneath them at her waist. They danced across her belly and rose up to cup her breasts. Her back arched and her breathing made her chest swell beneath his palms. He pressed her against him, crushing her breasts, and her head fell back against his shoulder. His mouth began to work its magic on her throat as his fingers started to undo the buttons of her shirt. She took in breath sharply when she felt his fingers slide beneath its fabric and into her bra, searching for her nipple. His tongue trailed up the side of her face to her ear, and he whispered to her how soft her skin was, how good she smelled, how beautiful she was.

He clasped her firmly by the shoulders and turned her to face him, pulling her into a strong embrace and kissing her deeply. She was surprised again by the strength of her response, how her need for him overwhelmed her, making her hands roam his back and pull him closer to her, pressing him against her so she could feel the firmness of his desire. Breathless, she pulled away from him so she could unbutton his shirt and feel his skin beneath her hands. As she pulled the garment from his pants, she felt her own blouse fall away from her stomach and his hands against the skin of her waist and then the small of her back, now wandering higher to unclasp her bra. She pushed his shirt from his shoulders then allowed him to remove her own clothes quickly so that, finally, their naked torsos could come into contact. She sighed forcefully as her nipples and breasts squashed against his chest and her stomach touched his, their mouths locking again in a passionate kiss.

The touch of his bare skin against her own had crumbled another wall. At this moment in time, she felt as if she had left her demons struggling in some swamp as she lightly tripped over the stepping-stones he laid before her. She was ready now to take that final jump and reach solid ground. His fingers unbuttoned and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She stepped out of her shoes and clothing, carefully kicked them to the side where they would be no danger, and lay back on the bed as he had asked her to do. She heard rustling and assumed he was removing his pants, and then she felt his knee press between hers and the weight of his body come to bear on her own, his cock hard against her thigh, the fabric of his shorts damp from his own anticipation.

His lips and tongue began to trace every contour of her face, her neck, her collarbone, her chest and breasts and nipples and abdomen, from the middle to the edge, from the outside working in – scanning her body completely. He sank to the floor and worked down the outer thigh of her left leg, raising it up to continue kissing and licking down her calf to her ankle, her heel, her foot, her toes, before ascending once more, circling her knee, discovering the crease behind it, and slowly moving up her inner thigh. As he approached the top, nearing her most sensitive parts, her breathing became more rapid and her muscles clenched. She felt him blow a stream of air across the crotch of her panties, her hands gripping the bedcovers and her hips rising upwards, wanting him, needing him to lick her there. But he continued to her right leg, repeating his exploration from top to bottom and from toe to thigh.

Finally, finally, she felt his mouth encircle the moist fabric where her thighs met. She gasped and arched her back. His fingers felt beneath the elastic, hooking upwards, and he began to pull her panties down her legs, taking his time to remove them completely. She had almost stopped breathing with the expectation. And then she felt him place his hands upon her knees, pushing them apart and up, sliding down the backs of her thighs to raise her buttocks slightly from the bed, and then his warm breath approaching the hottest part of her own body. She moaned long and loud as his tongue stroked the entire length from bottom to top, and she heard him moan too. Her hearing was somewhat impaired by the sounds of her own breathing coming hard and fast, but she still heard him tell her how wet she was, how amazing she tasted, and how he couldn't get enough of her.

Each stroke of his tongue, each nibble of his teeth, each suck of his mouth made her writhe more and more. He gripped her hips, holding her in place, as her feet struggled to gain purchase on the bed and push her pelvis closer to him. She invoked the names of her entire divine pantheon, not caring about the consequences as she climbed higher, higher, higher, higher and peaked, screaming the name of her lover and clamping her thighs to his ears.

***

He lay across her once more and they kissed tenderly. She became aware that the silk covering her eyes was damp against her cheek. Confused, her brain searched for what it meant, and slowly it dawned on her that she was crying. She was crying for her lost love, for her lost youth, but they were also tears of joy for the redemption of her very being, for her rebirth. She clasped him to her with arms and legs and began to sob. The release of her orgasm had punched out the keystone of the final wall, and now the dam was bursting.

Alarmed, he stroked her face and asked her what was wrong, begged her to tell him how he could help her. She managed to sob that he should hold her, and he did until the waters quieted once more. Lying there, nestled in the safe embrace of her lover, she revealed to him the demons that had haunted her for 15 years and confessed that meeting him in the restaurant had opened up the possibility of defeating them. He listened carefully, attentively, kissed her lightly on the cheek when she had finished, and apologized. She was puzzled, not sure whether he was commiserating with the loss of her fiancé, the anguish she had been through, or something else. But he was thinking of their first meeting and had realized that he had most certainly scared her with his forwardness. He expressed his happiness that she had told him and, tentatively, not wishing to over-emphasize his role, he told her that he was glad that he had played a part in her new awakening and that she had been able to break free.

She caught his head in her hands and kissed him hard. Her emotions were overwhelming her again. Here was this man who had not only inspired her to enfranchise herself, but was supporting her through her struggle. He held her close, stroking her head, and their embrace continued until, overcome by the late hour and the exhaustion the flood of her emotions had left in its wake, she succumbed to sleep.

She woke again some hours later. The silk had slipped from her eyes and she could see that day was breaking. Wrapped in her lover's arms, she felt more secure, capable of going yet another step further. She raised her hand and removed the scarf, letting it drop to the floor beside the bed. She was ready now to confront her final fears, to look into the face of the man who had made it all possible. She turned in his arms and began to stroke his cheek. She could not say that she felt love for him, but she certainly felt affection, warmth and gratitude, as well as a need to be closer to him, to join with him.

She placed her lips on the tip of his nose, brushing her fingers down his neck, tracing his upper arm, his side and his hip. She saw his eyelids flutter, heard him breathe in more deeply, felt his fingertips begin to slightly caress her back. She kissed him gently on the lips, felt them respond to her, lazily at first, and then more firmly. He clasped her tightly to him, the length of their bodies coming into contact, his need for her already growing. His fingers began to trace her body also; a feather's touch enlivening her nerve-endings, intensifying her desire for him. As his hand stroked down the curve of her buttock, raising her thigh across his hip, she breathed in deeply and pleaded with him to make love to her.

Closing her eyes, she let her body dominate her mind, the sensations drowning out thought. She saw – no, felt – her aura merging with his in the places where their bodies met: where his lips touched her areola, where his fingers stroked her leg, where his abdomen pressed against her own and against her inner thigh. His weight pushed against her, rolling her onto her back, and she raised her other leg to wrap it round his waist. His fingers softly stroked her pussy, spreading the moistness all over, bringing her to a heightened state of arousal. She surprised herself again when she heard her voice plead with him to enter her. Then she felt him shift and the head of his cock push gently against her opening. As he slid a little inside her, she moaned. He held himself there, enquiring after her comfort, and she begged him for more.