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Memories
© 1999 by Lynne den Hartog

She looked in her diary and she'd been right. It was exactly a year ago today that they'd slept together. Not that she really needed confirmation as the date was burned into her brain with laser precision. How could she ever forget it? "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." A tale of two cities indeed, but not exactly as Dickens had imagined it. She from London, he from New York. Different backgrounds, different cultures.. He, born in the Bronx, having to fight for everything he had ever achieved in life. She, a pampered child of wealthy parents, only having to raise a finger to get whatever she desired presented to her. Their ages, their lifestyles, even the colour of their skins, nothing about them gelled. Perhaps the only thing they had in common was the computer world that had brought them together, yet somehow they had fallen in love. Though, looking back with the wisdom of time, maybe fallen in infatuation might be a better way of putting it.

To her, he personified danger, the forbidden fruit. He was everything her parents disapproved of, and that made her even more determined to possess him. The tale she wove, across the computer lines, of a poor little rich girl, suffocating in the blanket of conventionality was an artful one. He was soon caught in her web of words and nothing could have stopped him crossing the Atlantic to save her from her prison. He had no idea then, that the stretch of water that separated their bodies was nowhere near as deep as the ocean of differences that isolated their souls.

They met, they kissed, and he was besotted by her. She was so tiny and looked so helpless that he felt unbelievably large and clumsy in comparison. Her classic beauty, her timeless elegance, her deceptive innocence - all called out to the protector deep in his being. He realized he was already hopelessly addicted to this image of perfection. How was he to know that images can deceive?

She had made all the arrangements. A discreet hotel room, champagne on ice, the sheets turned seductively back to beckon them into their folds. He was confused. Things were moving too fast. Although he desperately desired her body he needed to talk to her, discuss what they were about to do - consider their future. Yet she did not seem interested in anything more than the moment. His instincts told him this was wrong but, as he watched her undress in front of him, his thoughts disintegrated in a flood of lust. For the first time in his life he let himself be led by another.

Two minutes later their naked bodies were intertwined between the cool white sheets, his calloused hands caressing her warm, soft skin. She was so delicate that he was afraid of hurting her and his touch was gentle, caring... loving. But that isn't what she wanted. Suddenly she began struggling, and yelling, her hands pummeling his back, her nails scraping across his skin, making him wince. Shocked he pulled away from her, thinking she wanted him to stop, until he realized that stopping was the last thing on her mind. Gone was the sweet sophisticated lover. No gentle angel this, but a craving, desperate, frustrated woman - yearning for hard emotionless sex.

The sudden onslaught on his senses made him hesitate. This wasn't what he had been expecting at all. He had wanted to protect her, worship her, seduce her with softness, yet somehow he had been cast in the character of predator. It was not a role he was happy with, yet she was the one making the rules here, and he knew he would play her game.

He began kneading her breasts, squeezing her nipples between his strong fingers. At first he was wary of hurting her, but the more pressure he exerted the more she seemed to enjoy it. Her hips bucked against his and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. For such a small woman she had amazing strength. He was also astonished by her verbal outpourings. Gone were the genteel, cultivated tones, to be replaced by a strident demanding voice, using words that he could never have imagined that she would know. All remnants of gentility were ripped away as she screamed,"Fuck me, you bastard. I want to feel your cock inside me now!"

They were not the words he wanted to hear, yet he was aroused in spite of himself. No gentle foreplay then, no romantic kissing. Just pure animal lust. Well, if that is what she wanted, that was what she was going to get - and, grasping her wrists, he plunged into her. No love, no sensitivity, just an unbridled passion that took complete control of him. Consumed by the overpowering urge to deposit his seed inside her, he thundered into her body, not caring any more if he hurt her or not. He needn't have worried. This had been what she wanted from the moment she had chosen him. At first she had thought that she had made a mistake and that he was no different from any of the other insipid lovers she had known. Yet now, as she felt him thumping into her, she felt more alive than she ever had. His animal groans excited her beyond belief and soon she was climaxing as she had never done before.

Yes - that has been a year before and she knew now how shamelessly she had used him. She could still remember the expression on his face when she had said, "Thank-you - and goodbye." Had explained that she was engaged to be married to a man her parents had picked out for her. An ideal husband, able to support her and give her everything she needed. A gentle, kind man - though unable to fully fulfil her sexually. She had needed to "get it out of her system" before settling down. Her Internet lover had been the means to an end - and only that.

It wasn't until now that she realized how untrue that was. For the only thing in her "perfect life" that really meant anything to her were her memories of that special day one year before. The day when her own shallowness and selfishness had condemned her to a living hell - a life bereft of love.

©1999 by Lynne den Hartog. All rights reserved.

[Filigrie]



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