Erotica Readers & Writers Association Blog

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Don't Change a Thing

By: Craig Sorensen



As the end of 2011 approached, I had lived over sixteen years at the same address. The longest I had ever lived at any one address in my life. I had been working for the same company, and for thirteen years been in the same job. For a man who had lived through a lot of changes in his life before that, it was an unprecedented trend of consistency. It gave me time to really pour myself into my passion for writing.

I got nice and comfy.

Along came an offer to move on to a new company, new city, new business. It was an excellent offer, and yet I hesitated. I was in a good place, despite some concerns about the future in that current job.

Yes, I hesitated at an offer that was beyond tempting.

Sometimes we find we don’t want change. Sometimes, it seems, change wants us.




Don’t Change a Thing

I said not to change. I wanted you, loved you, married you, just as you are. Don’t change, I said.

Not one of the long blonde hairs on your head, perfectly coiffed. Not your clear face, totally unadorned by makeup. Don’t change those bright dresses that light up a room when you enter, bare legs extending from your short dresses to ever-present sandals. That big smile that warms me when I’m feeling down. Your round glasses, so out of the step with the current fashion, magnifying your brown eyes like precious gems, begging me to take you, but first a nice dinner you made. You rise, knees close together, hands cross at your lower back, nipples that could cut glass. I reach up your dress, your thighs widen. “I'm yours,” you whisper.

"Yes you are," and I lift you over my shoulder and haul you down the hall, toss you on the bed, your playful laugh at the urgency you so easily seduce.

But tonight, you suggested a restaurant where I've never been.

I wait.

I wait.

You have never been late. Someone turns my head as she walks into the room. Hair bobbed short, jet black and tousled. Meticulous makeup on her face. A conservative, dark dark dress with silk stockings extending from the low hem line. High heels clack slowly, and I can tell, despite competent grace, how unpracticed she is in them. I feel my brow lift higher and higher.

Your eyes suddenly a deep emerald green as you take the seat across from me, and act aloof. You don’t grab my hand the way you usually do.

How dare you.
How dare you!
Words fail me and my jaw falls slack.
I reach in my pants and turned the uninvited, uncomfortable thing to twelve o’clock.

Hardly a word spoken, we nibble on the appetizer you order. You suddenly hold up a key to a room in the hotel upstairs. I want to hesitate. You take my hand under the table and place it on your silk clad knee. I slide up and feel where the garter binds. You shove my hand away as if you didn’t invite me.

You pay for the half consumed appetizer. “No, there’s nothing wrong,” you say to the waiter, who can’t take his eyes off you. “My appetite just changed. A woman’s prerogative.” You nod my way and almost smile for the first time tonight. You stand up and wait.

Slowly, I rise.

On the elevator ride, I want to ask who you are, but I have some idea. I know there is a part of you that craves control, but rarely admits itself. I follow you. I worry. I am so hard as you unlock the door. I wonder what waits inside. You walk into the room and don’t turn on the light. “Come in. Get naked,” you command.

I hesitate. Briefly. "Yes, ma'am."

6 comments:

  1. Very nice. You've drawn me right in to the edge of an adventure for myself!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Fantastic, Craig!

    Once or twice I've had an experience something like this - not deliberate, but a spontaneous adoption of new roles.

    It was as magical as you portray.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Thank you Lisabet.

    The adoption of new roles truly can be magical, and is at its best with the element of surprise!

    ReplyDelete

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.