Lights of Taormina

I took another sip for strength. "Last year, she suggested we take this trip. On my fifty-fourth birthday. I remember so clearly - I had been a mess. I was screaming in the bedroom, anguished that I was all alone, you at college, Rachel at summer school. Rebecca has been my rock, Els. My rock. She suggested it that night and we stayed up all night and planned it. I bought the tickets to go, rented the car."

I sipped again. "We've never met. Talked. It's only been through Second Life. But I know her so well. And all these little things, like...her phone number. I've thought about them constantly since I agreed to go on the trip. But," I said and firmly lifted my eyes and stared back hard into my daughter's, "I made a commitment to go, and I am going to go. With or without your approval."

Ellie's face fell, then softened. "Mother..." she said softly, her fingers rising to her lips, gracing them lightly. "Wh- I..."

I reached out and took one of Ellie's hands in mine. "You spoke of meeting people from around the globe. I have done the same. I have a once-weekly support seminar for lonely widows like me in Second Life. I do things, I have a house, I am part owner of a sim. It's a life for me, Els, one that...one that I've not been able to face here, in this world. I'm still..." I sighed raggedly.

"But...a trip? To Italy? What...what if she's crazy or something?" Ellie whispered. I heard the tone of horror.

"You don't think that I have thought of that? Or that she has harbored those same doubts about me?" I asked reasonably. "It's crazy, I know, but...maybe I need some crazy. Because I can't stop thinking about her, or the trip, or how I'm going to feel with her at my side."

Ellie's face suddenly went bright red. "Mother...are you...are you a lesbian?" she whispered.

"In Second Life, yes," I admitted. "Well, bi-sexual I suppose." The courage it took to answer that question left me shaking more than I cared to admit. "But I suppose that I will be learning whether I am bisexual in real life in about three weeks. Rebecca is my long-time lover in Second Life."

"Jesus," Ellie whispered. She sat back. "Have you...you've never...?"

"No. Have you?" I asked her bluntly back.

She shaded deeper. "This isn't about me," she muttered.

"Els, you're an adult. I know you're sexually active. In fact, both your father and I knew about Thomas," I added.

If Ellie could have turned purple, that phrase did it. Thomas had taken her virginity. While we did not approve, we did not interfere, either. She stared at me, slack-jawed for several moments as this knowledge sunk in. "Mother!" she snapped. "This is about you, not...not me!"

I smiled softly. "I know. I'm going on a trip of a lifetime, Ellie. With a woman I know intimately well. Yet barely at all." I shrugged. "What would you have me do?"

Ellie was the one who could no longer meet my gaze. Privately I thought of his look as my Mistress Look, the hard eyes and steely expression. I often wore it in real life when I was thoroughly dominating Rebecca; there were some secrets that were best left as secrets, and the D/s roles between Rebecca and I were to remain that - a secret.

"Just...just please. Please keep me posted," she said finally. "I can't believe this, though. It's out of character for you!" She made one final plea to my rationality.

One more I took her hand in mine, drawing her until she looked me into my eyes. "Maybe so, Ellie. But maybe I need crazy. Because this," I said, suddenly corrosive, releasing her hand and waving around at this empty house, "this is like a prison to me. Held by Roger's memories."

Her eyes dropped. "Don't tell Rachel any of this," she advised.

I nodded. "I had no intentions. She's barely asked me about it, anyway."

"Selfish," Ellie muttered softly.

"She's blossoming, like you did when you were a freshman. I cannot begrudge her that."

Ellie's head snapped up. "Please...please tell me that you do not frequent these sims?" She rattled off a list. None were familiar to me, although a couple I knew were heavily sexualized.

"None."

"Oh thank fuck," she said, sagging back in her chair. The thought had often crossed my mind that I might stumble upon a sexual interlude with my own daughter, but since I'd not had sex with anyone but Rebecca in two years, I no longer had such worries. But I decided not to tell her that, either.

"Watch your language, Els," I cautioned. "I still don't like hearing it out of you."

"Okay, mom," she said, and finally laughed. Laughed hard, throwing her head back.

"GOD I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU!" she said, her head shaking in mirth, and perhaps a little wonderment. "I wish I could go, actually," she said. She tapped the paper. "It sounds like the adventure of a lifetime."

I felt the sudden welling of tears in my eyes. "I fucking hope so, Ellie. Because I need it."

***

"I hope you know what the fuck you are doing, Patricia." I sat in the rental car, a convertible. The sky was light blue, sunny, cloudless. My sunglasses were on and the sun felt hot and absolutely wonderful on my bare shoulders. My dress, a simple sundress with spaghetti straps, felt like the perfect choice for this first meeting. It showed off my slim body and long legs to good effect, and still made me look pretty. I hoped.

My fingers tapped on the wheel. I was waiting for the GPS to find the route. I had plenty of cash with me, my credit cards, and my small, well-packed suitcase was stowed in the boot. It was funny how many British words I'd adopted since meeting Rebecca. I even thought of my own ass as an arse more often than not!

Finally the route configured, and I was an hour's drive away. I turned on the radio, listening to Italian pop music, and with the top down, drove out of the busy lot and immediately learned that Italian drivers were the worst I'd ever encountered. So what should have been a relaxing drive along the coast turned into a white-knuckle affair where each moment I felt fear for my own life. Or maybe it lasted ten minutes and I adopted to their flow, entranced already by the sights, sounds and smells of this nation.

The road was narrow, busy and a little windy. The rental car was an upgrade, and it hugged to the road in a way that left me grinning, wishing suddenly that I could depress the gas to the floor and go tearing along at high speeds - if only for a moment or two. The precision of the steering and the road feel was far better than my boring Lexus sedan back home. I'm trading that in the moment I get home, I decided.

Finally. Taormina. The traffic reduced speed to a crawl, and I still nearly wrecked the car twice, agog at the pristine shopping districts. I knew that I would want to spend time at an outdoor table, at a bistro, simply sitting and watching people. And each hesitant move forward I took in the car brought me closer to that first meeting with Rebecca, and now with it mere moments away....I was a wreck.

My mouth was parched, arid, devoid of any saliva. My heart thundered nervously in my chest, like I could feel each beat in my neck, pumping blood through me. The adrenaline rush was unlike any I had experienced - not the fast dump but a constant low-level pumping. The mixture of excitement and fear and anxiety was nearly strangling me.

The hotel. I'd seen the pictures. I fought the welling of tears as I gazed upon it with my own eyes; it was even more beautiful in person. The stone, the small windows, the rising dominance of it perched up upon the bluff overlooking the sea. The scent of the sea, of the people, of the sunscreens in heavy use. The wind whipping my hair around my face. The heat of the sun. It was impossible to process it all at once, yet I was doing it. The sense of being overwhelmed utterly was nearly complete.

I pulled in and a handsome young man with black hair and olive skin and a gorgeous face rushed around to handle the valet. I handed him a Euro and he smiled at me, and for a moment I felt my loins explode. In halting Italian I explained that my luggage was in the boot, and another valet arrived to take it. I told the second gorgeous man the name I was staying under, and he nodded and thanked me in Italian.

The entrance was spectacular, with a high ceilinged atrium and opened to the air. The breeze inside was refreshing. Rebecca had already texted me where she was; upon landing we had finally used an app on our phones that allowed for texting and did not incur international charges.

I stood in the center of the atrium, my hand at my chest. Take a deep breath, Patricia. You know this woman. I patted my sternum lightly, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. My legs worked, propelling me forward. The soft Tieks I wore on my feet silent as I padded across the stone floor towards the outdoor bistro in the back.

The transition from the shaded interior to the sunny exterior once more blinded me. But there was a single woman, sitting alone, along the railing. Her head was turned, her expression expectant. The way her hand rose, swift, then a hesitation, then a full wave. Asking.

I nodded. My hand rose to my mouth, covering it. I watched as she did the same thing. There was a glass of wine in front of her. She looked at it, sipped it with shaky fingers, then set it down. Stood, and walked over to me. Both hands out in front of her, spread wide.

I joined hands. Apart from her. Holding her hands. Staring into the real face of a woman I'd only known through virtual reality. She was gorgeous. Her in-world face was not all that different from her real face. Round, almost cherub, an enormous grin that bespoke of her humor. Her cheeks burned brightly red, as mine were. We stared. Seconds passed. One...two...three.

"You're even prettier in person," she said softly.

It broke the spell. I yanked and pulled this woman into my arms. How many times had I tightly embraced her in our virtual world, and now this flesh and blood woman was actually in my arms. There was no stopping the emotion now; the tears flooded my eyes, running down my face.

"Oh my god Becca," I said thickly, my voice breaking. "Oh my god!"

I felt that squeeze, her arms strong. Crushing me against her, and I felt warmth and the swell of her firm breasts that were much larger than mine. "Patricia, honey," she said in a voice just as thick.

We broke the embrace and immediately laughed as we were both actively crying. We retreated to the table, grabbing napkins to dab our eyes and struggled to regain control over our emotions. The third simply gorgeous man came up, seeing our tears, and hesitated, but I waved him over. I ordered a white wine, and he nodded and withdrew.

We stared at each other again. "How...how was your flight?" she asked, again hesitant.

Like telling me that I was pretty, this question was like removing the core central piece of a dam. The conversation exploded, back and forth, and soon we were laughing wildly at one another's anecdotes about the trip. The same humor that I so cherished in Second Life was there in person, and with each word, each passing second, I found myself settling into a very familiar comfort with her. This was my Becca, my lover and best friend in Second Life. And it was amazing, beyond amazing, that I was there with her.

The one lingering doubt I had long held would have to be resolved later - would I like lesbian sex? But as I slipped into comfort with her, the person, I had a suspicion that Rebecca the lover would be every bit as perfect in person as she was in Second Life. Our lunch took nearly two hours because we talked constantly. The food was delicious, but the conversation better. I realized that I felt better than I had in years. Many years.

We stood and left the hotel, heading into the town for shopping. It was pure delight. "Patricia, look," she would say. My fingers on some silken top that would feel incredibly sensual on me, my fingers remaining on it as I looked over and saw her modeling something. Some great, others less so. A smile or a nod, or a quick head shake. I would do the same: "Becca?" and her gaze would drift over, and the same thing would occur.

I did have a few things in mind, and got a few things that I would need later. I do not think that I've had a better time shopping with someone. We stopped here and there, a cup of coffee or tea, and more casual chat.

It was crazy, if I thought deeply about it. I knew all about her sexual proclivities, but very little about her regular life. That was the opposite of the usual relationships, where I would know all there was to know about my friend's life, her family and family drama, her work and work drama, her likes and dislikes. I would know about those little conversational hitches, how she would go "erm" or "um" when thinking, or the recurring use of words. I was immersed in learning all about Rebecca the person, not Rebecca the lover. It was hard to reconcile in my own mind, and I could not help but wondering if Rebecca the person was as enamored of Patricia the person. I hoped so.

Towards late evening, we selected an outdoor bistro for our repast; it offered a view of the ocean and one of the most glorious sunsets I have ever viewed. Our bags were piled by our feet, and we did not miss a beat in our conversations. I had some things in my bags - purchased out of sight of her - that I was already anticipating would be incredible to use later.

She kept going, a regular chatterbox. At one point, I propped my elbow on the table, my hand curled into a fist. I rested my chin on the prop, and simply sat mutely, watching and listening. It took her maybe two minutes before her voice trailed off.

"WHAT are you staring at?" she demanded, her British accent suddenly quite pronounced.

"You," I replied softly.

"Oh." Her face blushed slightly. "D'you mind stopping?" she asked, a little haltingly. "You're making me nervous, Patricia!"

"I could, I suppose," I replied gently. But I made no move.

I saw it then; the flash in her eyes. Those same, dark, pretty eyes met mine for a moment, then dropped. "Am I addressing my Mistress?" she asked softly, so softly that only I could hear. Thankfully she could not see how my lower body clenched HARD hearing her address me as such.

"You are," I agreed softly.

"Oh...oh fuck," she whispered back. "I was...I was okay...and now..."

"Wet, darling?"

"Fucking dripping," she groaned this reply.

I could not wait to say it. So I did, as my loins went from merely warm to roaring. "Good girl."

She shuddered. Actually shuddered. "Yes...miss," she whispered.

"That's a brilliant top," I told her. "But entirely too conservative. Unbutton your top button. Now."

"H-here?" she stammered, looking around.

"Yes, here," I ordered quietly.

"Oh god..." she groaned, yet her fingers moved up. Her head swiveled, looking, watching, and her fingers deftly unbuttoned the top button.

"Oh that's simply not enough. The next one, too," I said.

"Patricia..." she moaned. Yet her fingers moved.

"Open, a little. Just for me. You've got such lovely breasts," I said.

Her face was wracked with passion and fear, as she adjusted her shirt so that I was given a view of her cleavage. It was really nice cleavage, I thought.

"Good girl," I praised her again, and her face blushed brightly, almost glowing; it matched the fading colors of the horizon.

"Hearing you say that...oh god...it's making me so wet."

"You know how I love to know about your real," I said.

"You are seeing it!" she said, not snapping, but with a fervency that rang beautifully in my ears. I would never again be able to separate her voice from her words in Second Life.

The server came, and brought with him the bill. He was not a gorgeous creature like so many of the others we'd seen that day, but an older gentleman, round in the belly, bald atop his head but with such excited good nature that it was simply impossible not to be in love with him instantly. He chatted us up, and I noted how his eyes were drawn to Rebecca's slightly exposed chest. I gave him my Amex, and he returned as we gathered up our bags.

"Your hand, darling," I said. My bags in my right, hers in her left, and our hands clasped together. I had never felt so comfortable, holding hands with a woman, in public. I did not care how we were seen; I saw eyes darting our way. Evaluating and smiling, appraising positively. We did not speak a word. We walked along a rising road towards the hotel, an ancient stone wall to our left. I stopped us, and we turned to watch the last vestige of the sun fall below the horizon.

I turned, turning her. "I want to kiss you so badly," I said. "But I am going to wait."

"Why?" she mewled, disappointment in her tone.

"Because that first kiss is going to be a scorcher and I don't think ripping your clothes from your body here along the street would be viewed appropriately by the passers by," I said softly, lust the dominant thread in my tone.

Her eyes grew large and round. "Yes, Mistress," she said as she squeezed my hand hard.

We walked. My pace was deliberately slow. Each step building the anticipation of pleasure, of touching. The worries I'd felt for the past year about making love to this woman in person were gone. I knew that I would adore her body, her taste and scent, and be enthralled by hearing her cries of pleasure. I prayed for maybe the first time in twenty years that she was feeling the same way. I had all of the right signals...but I had no real knowledge.

We entered our hotel. The staff saw us, our hands held, and they smiled. We rode the elevator to our spacious suite in silence. The tension between us rising exponentially. My breath fast, light, shallow. My breasts rising and falling in the small sundress. Her fingers in my hand hot. Like a direct line to my pussy. An organ that was leaking profusely; I could feel how wet my skimpy panties were....I could feel wetness trickling down my bare inner thigh.

Our fingers disengaged while she fished the key from her purse, and opened the door. She entered and I closed it behind us. The room was spacious, the windows open. Curtains wafted in the breeze; the sound of conversation below us at the hotel's bistro audible. The sound of rapid-fire Italian almost musical.

"Sit," I said. My finger pointed to the edge of the bed. I had not yet been in the room.

"Yes, Mistress," she whispered. She set her bags down, and perched herself at the foot of the bed, her legs primly held together, hands clasped on her lap. I walked through the room, and walked out onto the patio. "Dear god, Becca," I said in utter astonishment at the view. "Have you seen this view?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Not with me. Come here," I said, twisting and holding out my hand. She rose and approached, her hand slipping into mine and then standing next to me. Hands held, we stood. I let the sense of awe settle over me, and as I had before...felt a crushing wave of emotion. My tears escaped again, and it was only my sniffle that gave her a clue that I was once again crying.

"Oh shit, Becca..." I said, and my legs were suddenly watery and incapable of holding me. There was a chair, and my shaking hand reached out for it. Falling into it. I was blindly grasping at her, and suddenly had my head cradled against her body, her stomach, her warm, protective hands wrapping around me as I gave up the fight against the torrent and let it take me.

Her hand stroked my hair, her embrace strong and tight. My arms encircled her waist and I held on for dear life. My rock, standing strong and tall, allowing me to wail against her. The torrent, though severe, was short-lived, and soon I was looking for a tissue and extracting myself.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"Don't be," she said, her voice soft, yet simple. "I'm honored that I can support you."

The emotional wave was not done, it seemed. My eyes rose to see her, through ripples as tears swelled in my eyes once again. I wiped them away, sniffing deeply, willing myself to regain control. "You are an amazing woman," I told her, as I had nearly every night since we met long ago.