Lights of Taormina

This is a work of fiction. It contains elements of light BDSM.

I sat in business class on the airline, my attention shifting between passengers shuffling onto the plane and my phone. I watched as the last came on, their expressions weary and relieved at the same time - tired of standing, happy to finally be nearing their destination of whatever middle seat they had awaiting them. The older man shuffling past me looked down and gave me a brief smile, but then was past. Besides, my phone buzzed in my hand, so I looked down.

Rebecca: Locked in yet?

I grinned. I looked up. The cabin was still open.

-I can escape!

Rebecca: Don't you fucking dare!

-I won't!

I chuckled as I lifted my head and looked at the window out into the darkness. Even though I have flown many times, I still find it amazing that I can be in another continent in a few short hours.

I watched as the crew closed and locked the doors. Looked down.

-Now...I am locked in.

Rebecca: No going back now.

-I was not going to anyway.

Rebecca: I know. I just like knowing that you have no choices left!

I chuckled aloud again. She loved her little teases - that little quip. I put the phone in my lap, as the bad thoughts came in again. I was locked in, and my eyes darted to the cabin door. I had been distracted for my last chance to escape this absolutely insane idea that she had.

Rebecca: Patricia?

-I am here.

Rebecca: Are you okay?

-Just thinking.

Rebecca: Worried?

-No. And yes.

Rebecca: Me too. Except I won't have your support when I board!

-*smiles* You always have my support, darling.

Rebecca: Yes, Mistress.

-Oops. The crew is announcing shut down times. I gotta go. Love you. See you on the island.

Rebecca: Love you too. xxx

I disconnected from the app and tried to relax in my chair. The crew was going through their normal startups, and I debated whether to take my little pill now, or wait until we were in the air. Fuck it, I thought. I'm taking it now. I took out the sleeping pill and dry-swallowed it, wincing as it made its way slowly down my throat. I had already taken the time to get comfortable, and I furthered that comfort. I allowed my mind to drift back to what brought me to this seat, and this trip, in the first place...

***

There had been no warning at all. None. Roger had sat across from me that night at dinner, as usual his head swiveling back and forth between Ellie and Rachel. He adored our two daughters, and both of them were complete and total Daddy's Girls. They had him wrapped around their fingers with ease, a trick I had never managed with him. He did look a little peaked during supper.

"Roger, are you all right?"

"Yeah, hon, I am. Just not feeling tip-top is all," he said.

"Seriously. Are you okay?"

"Come on Patricia," he told me in that exasperated tone that so often infuriated me. "I am fine. Just a little off."

"I worry is all," I replied softly. I did. He was fifty-three and he'd spent the past year getting in shape and losing a lot of weight. But it did not have all the benefits that we had hoped he would receive, and his frequent tiredness in the evenings had become quite noticeable. I had not thought much of it - maybe that he was actually working out too hard. So after we cleared the table with the help of the girls, Roger kissed me, and kissed the girls, telling all three of us that he loved us. He went up to our bedroom and got into bed.

In the morning I awoke to discover that at some point during the night, Roger had died. Whether I have no actual memory of those moments, or my brain is defensively attempting to keep me from them, I have no clear picture. A blur, of course, of my panic and horror, my gut-wrenching sense of loss. The girls' screaming and crying and the chaos of the EMTs who knew that my Roger was gone from the moment they walked in. The funeral was well-attended because he was a popular man, at our country club and through his sales job. Roger had never met a person he had not instantly befriended, and many - including me - were in awe of his salesmanship skills. If there was anyone who could have sold ice to an eskimo, it was Roger.

I all too clearly recall the year after his passing. The hollowness that I felt, how I was a shell of myself. I functioned. My heart still beat steadily in my chest, and my leg muscles moved when I needed to walk. The girls were attentive to me, but I missed our intimacy more than anything I had ever felt in my life. It was not the sexual intimacy, necessarily - though yes, I missed that too. It was the privacy that we had, our shared history, what made us laugh or annoyed. How he would walk past me as I sat on my vanity stool and press his hand into my back until it noisily cracked, or how he would give me a side-long look and nod his head at a woman he found pretty, wanting to know my opinion. I would smack his arm, but usually with humor; most of the women he found pretty I also found attractive.

I worked. I ate. I worked out. I slept. I maintained the house and the bills and did the taxes - the things I had always done. The girls did laundry and the remaining household chores I hated doing - like the laundry and the dishes. We three were a good team, but then Ellie turned eighteen and headed off to college. Rachel had a boyfriend and she was always with him, and on those Friday nights when I was utterly alone, the loneliness of it would hit with the force of a hammer.

One day, home from college, Ellie was all bubbling about this virtual world that she and her friends had found called Second Life. I clearly got the sense that there was a heavy sexual nature to it, but hearing Ellie discuss how she had friends from Spain, France and Australia sounded delightful.

So the next time I was alone, I perched my laptop on my lap and Googled Second Life. An hour later I was "in world." I had no idea what to "name" myself so I chose Patricia - my real name. That was it - I soon saw how many people only had first names. Patricia. Natalie. Katya. Katrina.

I stared at the women - and the men. They looked so...good. I could not believe it. I could click on a name and see if they had a profile, and if that profile held any interest to me.

In life, I was more stoic, quiet, introverted. But I immediately discovered that being silent in the world meant that I was simply that - silent. No interaction. So I forced myself to ask questions, which I actually found more easily done. All I had to do was type a question and hit enter. I did not have to worry about viewing a facial expression or seeing someone recoil at my question. It was all text. There was nothing to worry about.

It was only a couple of days later that I fished a credit card out of my purse and added some of the in-world currency. I had things to buy, things that people told me about. Bodies. Heads. Skins. Clothing. Clothing upon clothing upon clothing. I bought a house. Began to decorate it. Hosted someone in it and had virtual sex for the first time.

Like a virgin who never forgets her first lover (Timmy, in my case), I never forgot Warhammer. Now I never went back to him, but I never forgot him! But it began to answer some questions as to why the world was so heavily skewed towards sex. And the deeper I investigated sex, I came to see that it seemed like everyone was into BDSM.

I'd seen the movies; I read the books. I did not come away feeling like I knew anything, so I hung around this sim I discovered and got hooked up with a Mistress. I was made to do things - sex things. I made love to a woman in-world for my first "lesbian" experience. Erotic and thrilling though it was, it turned out that I had not the best Mistress. So I fled her, and found another. Then another. My third Mistress was the most loving and wonderful person I had met yet in the world.

She taught me a great many things. But over time, I came to realize that kneeling before her was no longer bringing me joy. I wanted to be the one standing. And as it turned out, my "Mistress" had a deep yearning to be the one on her knees. So we began visiting other sims, where I learned how to dominate after being submissive for so long.

I learned that I enjoyed domination. My god, did I enjoy it. Hearing a girl address me as Mistress or Miss Patricia. Seeing her kneel in greeting. Holding her leash. Making her do things - pushing her, testing her limits.

The next thing I knew I was celebrating my fifty-fourth birthday - with Rachel and her boyfriend - and later that night, fucking a new girl I had met with my strap-on as I neared my two-year mark. I was enthralled with this new girl - who was almost as fast of a thinker and typist as I was and our sex was hot and fast and raw. And I soon discovered that her avatar also sported male sex organs. It was not the first time that I'd gotten fucked by a shemale in the world, but it was the first time that I had truly enjoyed it. It did not make me want to run out and get my own. But it opened my eyes to the possibilities - a woman's touch with a man's organ.

That's what led me to trolling a few rather questionable shemale sex sims. I would hang around, not my usual ebullient self, but more of a wall-flower, observing. I had a pretty detailed profile by this time, indicating what I wanted and what I most definitely did not like.

I saw her once, at this sim. Rebecca. She was a pretty girl, and her profile indicated a heavy role play preference. A lot of people liked to engage in detailed role plays that involved some specific character with a detailed back history. This Rebecca's was that of a hacker and cybersecurity expert who had been captured and turned into a slave, and thus becoming addicted to BDSM. I saw her a second night, and then a third. It was on the third night that, as I studied her, and noted that she was studying me, that I said "fuck it" and reached out.

Patricia: So, I am having a devil of a time trying to figure out what to say to a cybersecurity expert who lounges here. So I won't - I will say hello instead. I'm Patricia.

Her reply came shortly thereafter, and we chatted easily at first. But she was smart, witty and inventive, and that first initial conversation turned into something much deeper indeed. Within a week, we were lovers. And things got progressively hotter and more pleasurable as time went by. In a first for me, I "partnered" with her, where I was married (though by mutual consent it was an open marriage) and pretty much shed all of the hangers-on in my life to concentrate on Rebecca.

One of our common plays was to find a sex-and-travel themed sim. Pretending that we were meeting for the first time in a bar in Prague, or Rio, or Johannesburg. Of course the sex would be hot, since we were playacting discovering one another for the first time. Equally of course, we would fall into our normal roles pretty quickly.

While it was not purely BDSM between us, there was always a tinge of it. Rebecca had her moments where she wanted to dominate, and her domination was often public and resulted in me screaming orgasmically as others watched, listened in and commented. There was something powerfully erotic in my opinion to that, and often when Rebecca was in such a mood, I would have to run and get a towel from the closet and put it under my naked body. I had given up wearing clothing when entering the world - Rachel was already gone to her first semester at college's summer-school offerings, and Ellie was also staying at school working that summer.

So I would get nude, and protect my furniture with towels, because inevitably if the sex was good (and with Rebecca it was always good), I would get wet and leak, and more often than not play with myself. It might sound insane that a fifty-four year old woman masturbated as often as an eighteen year old...but I managed to pull it off. I was about as sexually satisfied as I could be; yes, it was my own body touching myself and not another human, but another human was behind that keyboard, with her own body, mind, ideas and directions. And an orgasm was an orgasm; the nature of how it was brought about was not important.

On my fifty-fourth birthday, we were snuggling in bed after love. She knew it was my birthday and was very bossy with me. I had loved it, every minute of it. It was one of those nights where I was thrilled to give up control, to sink and fall and experience her ideas. Almost like she knew what I needed, she took control and put me into the bed and had her way with me. I went down, pretty deep, and the rise from subspace and the general loneliness of celebrating a birthday alone soon had me weeping and shaking both in my chair and with my virtual lover. It ended up being a torrent, a raging screaming fist-at-the-ceiling "why the fuck did you leave me Roger!" kind of moment.

Once I regained some semblance of control, and was able to speak coherently again - and after wiping my face from tears and blowing my nose - I sat down and just chatted with Rebecca. We had been enjoying one of our role plays at a little roadside hotel on a lonely stretch along the Pacific. Neither of us had ever been there, her being a subject of the crown, and me being a simple American woman. But the idea of having an affair and ending it on a balcony overlooking the cold but gorgeous Pacific ocean had fired both of our imaginations.

Rebecca: Did you ever listen to that song I asked you to? Mark Knopfler's Lights of Taormina?

-I did. It's on my favorites now.

Rebecca: Did you Google it?

-*Laughs* Yes

Rebecca: Will you come with me for a two-week girls' vacation next year, starting there? Just the two of us?

I read that. And read it again. And a third time. Fourth. Fifth.

-That's a lovely idea, Becca

Rebecca: It's not a joke, Patty. I am serious. I've been wanting to ask you for a while now... but with Roger... I did not want to press.

I sat up in my chair. My heart thudded heavily in my chest.

-Hold on a second.

I opened several websites. Checking my finances. In truth I knew them by memory, but there's that moment of panic - what if I was wrong? No, I had....no outstanding balances. Plenty in checking. I tried to think when my next tuition bill was coming due and what it was going to be, and I already knew the answer.

The real question was, did I have the courage?

Rebecca: Patricia?

-I am here. You are serious, please tell me that this is not a joke, Becca. Are you serious?

Rebecca: I've been researching hotels. I have an itinerary planned.

-Show me!

I read, Googled, read and shook my head. We chatted back and forth about the trip. Time fell away; I knew it was well past midnight for her. Nearing it for me. We had been together all night, a feat of strength for her.

Rebecca: All I have to do is click, Patricia.

On my screen were the flight reservations, using her dates. A second tab had the car rental that I would get. She would get the hotels, I would get the car. We'd settle up later.

-Rebecca?

Rebecca: Yes, Patricia?

-*click*

I clicked. Approved.

Rebecca: omg omg omg omg I clicked I clicked I clicked!

-ME TOO ME TOO

Not six hours later, I found myself at my work computer. Three cups of coffee had not made a dent in my exhaustion I felt, and my brain had been completely awhirl with fury and regret. This was stupid. Utterly stupid. I had never met the woman. We fucked - virtually. What if she was crazy? What if? What if?

But there was an equally loud, strong voice in this internal argument. YOU KNOW HER SO WELL. YOU WILL REGRET BACKING OUT FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

Something curious happened. We did not forget our rash decision to book a trip together, but we...avoided it. We danced around the subject, elliptical references to that still far-off trip. Truth be told, I had been at that cancellation site probably once a week since that first day. Each and every time waging the mental war with myself, over the wisdom of taking the trip. But each time, two thoughts stopped me cold from clicking. First, knowing that I really would never forgive myself if I backed out. And second, letting Rebecca down. I simply could not do that. I...I just could not.

I knew how stupid that thought was, not letting down someone whom I'd never met in person. Who was merely the driver of a virtual avatar. But I did know that woman's mind, and I knew it well. How many times had I stated in the virtual world that the brain was the largest and most important sex organ - that without the spark of interest through creative play, that it was just cartoon sex, and bad cartoon sex at that? So I did know her - maybe not all of her hopes and dreams and her day to day or how she wore her hair or what her fingernails looked like. But I knew that woman. And I could not bring myself to let her down.

Months passed. I worked out harder each day, watching my food intake carefully. Each day brought me one day closer to the departure date. I did the right things, taking the time off, updating various records and information. We began talking about it when together, laying out ideas. I always detected a hesitation to discuss it, like each time we were entering this forbidden zone, and putting that first toe over the line felt fraught with risk. The conversations were usually short.

Three weeks before my departure date, I had the pleasure of having Ellie home for the weekend. Rachel was far too busy living her freshman year of college life; Rachel had always kept me more at arm's length. Ellie, especially after Roger died, had adopted a much maternal attitude towards me. We shopped on Saturday afternoon, and I was in the kitchen chopping vegetables for the supper I had planned for the night.

"Mom, this big trip, to Italy?" she asked.

One of the two moments I had been dreading had arrived; luckily I did not change my practiced swipe of the carving knife. "Yes, what about it?" I asked. I felt only relief that my voice emerged strong and confident.

"Who are you going with?"

"A friend, a girlfriend," I added.

"Who?"

"Oh, you don't know her, honey," I said casually.

"What's her name!" Ellie demanded.

"Rebecca," I said.

"Where does she live?"

"What does it matter, Els?" I replied. I knew I was on unstable ground; I should have had an immediate answer. I did not dare look over. Ellie had mastered her father's stern gaze, and I had always withered under it on those rare occasions that Roger had been really angry with me. I feared that if I looked at Ellie and saw that identical expression, I would buckle. So I avoided it.

"Mother!" she snapped. The itinerary was printed. "None, and I mean, none, of these places on this itinerary are places you've ever once mentioned going! What happened to Rome, or Zurich, or London?"

"It was Rebecca's idea. She thought this tour would be much better than going to tourist traps," I explained.

"What's her number, so I can have it for emergencies."

Finally, the knife stopped. I laid it down, putting two hands on the counter. Staring at the cupboards, I felt the hot pit of fear. My head dropped. "I don't know it."

"What do you mean - you don't know it?!" Ellie demanded hotly. Furiously.

I had poured myself a glass of wine, and picked it up and walked to the table. I sat heavily, and finally looked at Ellie. The expression I feared seeing was on her face, and of course I quailed before it.

"Don't interrupt me," I warned softly. "Let me tell it my way."

"Fine," she barked, sitting back in the chair, her arms crossed tightly under her breasts. She radiated anger and hurt.

I sipped the wine. "You came home from college a few years ago and one night told me about this virtual world - your Second Life. Well, I was still despondent after your daddy died, and I logged on that night. First time ever. Long story short, I came to meet a woman - Rebecca. We have been lovers in Second Life for over two years now. We are partnered and everything."