They never spoke. Not for the first twelve months, which actually covered one year and one month as one of them had to take December off as the third Saturday fell on an other world, as they called it in those circles, where obligations still did persist. He was less forgiving being the dom in the situation and when she wanted something she had to give up something spectacular at least in intent, in return.
There were high stakes at risk as time was unwoven when she was there and there were no words spoken and it was not like it was supposed to be and yet it was the most satisfying experience of her life, every time, as if all memory of prior pleasure were erased upon contact with some sublime being she only identified as pure light, and then it was over, in a trenchcoat, bare legs and pumps or in summer just a dress with a light sweater and gone in a puff of smoke, she’d be spirited away by the voice of some foreign language that slowly became audible and understandable, perfectly, it was as if the other side of her brain had been awakened, and it went on like this for years until she was no longer able to take the silence.
He disappeared. His Italian friend with the giant cock stayed on and they saw each other too much, twice a month and then sometimes more and it was good but then feelings would show up in a shadow or a mirror and one of them would know it was not right and the other would not know what had come over them and the inevitable drinking of wine like Michelangelo would take place, 2 days in Rome smelling the dust on old paintings, the masters, the studios, the way out, a tunnel beneath Neptune’s Lair.
If it was as she suspected, her eternal destiny to live out the goddess of desire’s fate, that would mean she would forever be Scherezade concubine to the saints and this feline plasir would come along once in a lifetime but like vampires or tragic figures, their souls were transmuted and her physical pleasure was a hologram of sorts after so many times in so many different bodies, different worlds, trying to feel human, trying to get humans to feel.
It’s nothing, nothing at all, she curls up the newspaper, continues in the rain, naked and dancing, while no one stares and no one walks away.