Behind Every Great Man...

I’m not the only one, but it feels like I am. Writing is a supposedly lonely occupation but you’d think you’d get a bit of support from your own bloody wife! Sometimes I feel like a burden. A deadweight. A strange loner child whiling away my life in the pursuit of a stupid, childish fantasy.

She makes me feel like that.

She makes me feel bad and worthless.

She’s crushing my dream, even as I try to realise it.

I need someone to boost my belief. Mine alone is not enough. I’m only human after all. I am frail and have moments of weakness. I sometimes sit here at my desk and wonder what the hell I’m doing with my life. I’m writing make-believe. Living a fantasy. I’m supposed to be living the dream, but outside these four walls is a reality that seems to have it in for me. 

All I want is a friend. That’s not too much to ask for is it? Someone who gets me and knows that I’m going to make it come what may. I don’t want them standing on the side lines, cheering me on. They have to be there for me. Part of the team. 

I’d give anything for that one special person who raises me up. I couldn’t fail if I had them in my corner, whispering encouragement. Touching me with magical fingers that fill me with energy. 

I close my eyes, and I can feel Her. It’s as though she’s waiting nearby. All I need do is invite Her in. The words for that invitation elude me. Do I beg and plead until she hears me? That doesn’t feel right. I have to be bigger and bolder than that. There is an exchange in this though. A contract. There has to be something in it for Her. I have to give, in order to receive what it is that I truly desire.

Artists call Her their muse. I require a deep well from which I can draw my inspiration. I begin searching for Her, and as I do, I am reminded of how important words are. They are powerful when they are used in certain ways. 

Sitting in my room, I research the only way I know how. I trawl the internet for hours. My writing is gradually put to one side and rightly so. The words spilling out onto the page are lacklustre and dimmed by the dull life I am trapped in. I need more. I need Her.

Scrolling through image after image I know I will know Her when I see Her. My wife walks in with a mug of tea. The limit of her support for me. Asks how the writing is doing. The accusation does not sit well with me, but I do not feel guilty. She has let me down. Now I see that, I can feel her betrayal of me and it extends beyond this dream. We are going through the motions. That is the limit of our life together. I barely recall our early days together. The promises we made. The promises we were. I don’t want to revisit those times. The pain of them will be a distraction from that which I must do.

My thoughts darken. So too does the focus of my search. It tickles me that I am now looking for Her in the darkness. A Faustian deal to unlock my potential. Each image now has some allure, but not enough. I will know Her when I see Her. 

Then I find a website. A very select website that intrigues me. Not the usual flimflam. This isn’t people pretending to be something they are not. I know this from the off. The images here are even darker. I can barely make out what I am seeing. They thrill me and that thrill is the anticipation of danger. She has to be dangerous. She has to be in order to be powerful.

She makes me wait. We converse online. Then She leaves me hanging. I am delirious with desire for Her. I want Her to see me. To take me seriously. She tests me. I wait. I wait for as long as I can, and then I write to Her again. She can see my willingness. The devotion I am capable of. 

I think of Her all the time, but this is not yet what I had in mind. This is the preamble to the real deal. She haunts me, but She is not yet with me. I want more and She is manipulating me so that my desire for Her builds. I feel like a teenager again. The building anticipation leaves me breathless and intoxicated.

Then She sends me a short video clip.

This is what I am.

Do you want this?

I watch the clip several times. Dizzied by the images of Her. I see what She does. I know what She is. I want this. I want Her. I tell Her yes, I want this. 

I want you.

Then I tell Her what it is that I want. I’m not like the others. I want to be Her companion. I want to be with Her. She is everything I want and more. Now She is interested, and we talk. I sense Her intrigue and I smile at the reciprocation that is introduced into our dynamic.

There is no going back once you invite me in.

I read the words. I’ve already invited Her in. For me, there is already no going back. The thought of Her performing just for me. Only for me. I am beyond distraction now. I want to see Her in the flesh. I will be bound by the spell of Her presence. 

She is in my head all of the time now. I don’t need the images or the videos. They play in my mind. I fancy that my imaginings are real. That what I am playing out inside my head is what She is doing out there, not so very far away.

She sends me live feeds now. I write to Her and She looks directly into the camera as I watch Her. Again and again, She asks how much I want Her. I tell Her I want Her so much it hurts. I tell Her I am obsessed with Her.

What will you give in order to be with me?

I do not hesitate.

Anything.

Everything.

There is an unbearable pause.

Then it will happen.

I wonder when it will happen. I feel a strange elation, but it is tinged with sadness and frustration at the prospect of yet another wait. I hope She will not make me linger for too long.

A strange thing happens as I enter this period of approaching certainty encased in the uncertain wait for Her. My wife responds to my mood and I cannot help but respond to her. She sees me anew, and as she opens up to me, I remember the woman I met. The woman I once knew. There is a freshness and vitality to her, and as I respond to her, our sex life is rekindled.

She becomes a welcome distraction and as we flirt and indulge in a gradual build up towards our nights together I desire her more and more. We are both effortlessly making an effort. Dressing for each other. Talking freely. Taking the time to embrace. Kiss. Touch each other with the promise of more. 

She tells me what she would like to do, and we do it. She listens to my wants and they become a part of what we both do. We meet in the middle of our desires and find a way of being we never knew existed. 

I feel young again. I dare to experience a happiness I thought was long gone. In the midst of this surprise development, I start writing again. I smile often, realising the fantasy I have indulged online has paved the way for the change occurring in my life.

Now, as the door opens and I am handed a fresh mug of tea. I take it and feel a tingle of anticipation as our fingers touch. I put the brew down and beckon her closer. We kiss. Tentatively at first, but quickly, our lips are pressed together and we are in an embrace of longing that signals our need for each other. Breaking away, I am dizzied by her. How did I miss what I had right before me? I resolve never to take her for granted again.

“Blindfold tonight?” I suggest.

She smiles wickedly, “I’d like that. And you can tie me up too.”

I return the smile, “my pleasure.”

She nods, it will be her pleasure too. This is the fantasy she has been building up to. She has talked about it more often of late. The powerlessness of being tied down and the disorientation of being blindfolded. Knowing I am there. Feeling my presence. The anticipation of my touch. Of what I will do to give her pleasure. Her heightening arousal.

I should struggle to pay attention to my writing, but the opposite is true. I am working to a deadline and the words flow from me with a casual desperation to bridge the here and now with the coming night. I can almost taste my wife as I tap away at the keyboard, and as I pause to take stock and then head further on into the story, I have a little moment of inspiration.

That night, I head upstairs and find her on the bed. She has dressed up for herself and for me. She wears black and it contrasts with her flawless pale skin. High heels accentuating the curve of her calves. Stockings ending at a tantalising expanse of inner thigh. See through black underwear revealing a little of what is in store for me. Her breasts rise and fall as she watches me taking her all in.

I don’t say anything. Here and now, words are superfluous. She can see my reaction and reads me well. My appreciation of her is obvious and it is only just beginning. I slip my shirt off and kick my trousers away. Barely registering what I am doing. Never taking my eyes from her. Then I remember myself and reach into the pocket of my trousers, handing her two small objects.

“Ear plugs…” she smiles that wicked smile of hers, “I like your thinking.”

She puts them in and I gently tie her up, watching her reaction so that I don’t make her bonds too tight. I kiss her slowly and deeply before slipping on her blindfold. I nearly ask her whether she can see, but then I remember she would barely hear me.

I hear her well though and I am rewarded with a sigh of pleasure as I stroke her thigh with a trembling finger. My whole body is thrumming with desire for her. I have a moment, as I look down upon her. A bittersweet moment of loss. Why did we not do more of this? How did we lose our way? There was so much more for us to enjoy of each other. A large expanse of middle ground. So many ways to connect.

I feel like crying and I realise that in this moment of intimacy and adoration, I love this woman more than I ever have. This is a love that I can barely understand and it threatens to overwhelm me. Suddenly, I want to pause what we are doing, unbind her, take her blindfold off and pull her to me in an embrace that tells her everything she needs to know and more. That I love her more than anything. I love her more than I love myself. I love her in a way that I never knew possible and I will never let her go.

My finger is still absently tracing the curve of her stocking clad leg and she is responding. Her breathing heavy and punctuated by sighs. I find myself responding to those sounds. They encourage me on. I am always turned on by her pleasure. I want to give and give until she can take no more and then I want to carry on as we go further and explore aspects of each other we have yet to find. She arches her back and I want to give her more pleasure. I need to satisfy her. That is my kink. That is my thing. She is what I need in order to find fulfilment. I am not satisfied until she is, and then I am in a place of exquisite pleasure and every fibre of my being is on fire with desire for her.

Loving her takes me to places that mere sex never could. She is the altar I worship at. She is my world. I am becoming more and more aroused and now I cannot stop. Afterwards, when we are both sated and warmed by our love for each other, I will hold her in my arms and try to find the words for at least some of this. I don’t think I can express how I truly feel, but I realise that I should try. 

This is my blank page. I have had writer’s block all along, I just didn’t see the page for what it was. I have so much I need to express now. A build-up of longing and need that we are sharing right now. There are so many ways I can fill this page and I will. I lower myself so that I am beside her and I kiss her wrist gently, paying it some attention as I vary my touch. My fingers finding her side. Stroking her breast. Sliding along the curve of her hip. In this helpless state, she is alive with the anticipation of my touch and I intend to worship every inch of her. 

Now she is groaning and biting her lower lip as I kiss along her arm. I pause at the crook of her elbow and she lets out another low grown. My fingers are rising up her stocking on the inside of her leg and she quivers as I near her bare flesh. I can barely contain myself. I want her so much. What keeps me in check are all the possible ways I could proceed. I want them all. I want all of her. I want to consume her. She writhes beside me and I want this to go on and on. I wish it could, but I know that each moment like this sustains us and in itself is a promise of so much more.

We share ourselves in the most intimate of ways and this spills out into our lives. We will become one tonight. Fitting together in way that is meant to be. This is so right. I found the person I was always meant to find and she found me. We are lucky in our love and our celebration of our love binds us together.

Then I sense a presence in the room and everything changes. She emerges from the darkness. Her dark eyes probing mine. She draws near to my helpless wife and glances at her with undisguised hunger. 

I whisper a “no,” but I know it will do no good.

“You’ve done well,” She whispers back to me as she slips the strap of my wife’s bra down and reveals her breast. 

“Oh!” my wife sighs as she realises there are now two people in the room with her. She smiles. This is another fantasy of hers and she’s going with it. Enjoying the moment. Unaware that the moment is no longer what she thinks it is. 

I try to protest again, but She reaches out and takes me in her hand. I should be ashamed at my response to Her, but I am not. She is dangerous and that danger arouses me further and my body betrays me. My eyes glaze over with lust, but I see Her well enough as she lowers Her head and teases the soft flesh of my wife’s breast with Her mouth. Teasing me as She looks at me knowingly. 

I can’t help myself, I mirror Her and take my wife’s other breast hungrily in my mouth. I know what is going to happen and I can’t help myself. My wife is panting with pleasure. More aroused than I have ever known her to be, and as She bites down, I cannot contain myself. I am lost as my wife cries out and in the next instant she is arching her back and quivering with pleasure. 

Then She raises Her head, staring down at my wife, She pulls the blindfold off. My wife gasps in momentary panic and then smiles a wanton smile. Her body submitting entirely. She returns the smile and then Her mouth finds my wife’s neck. There’s a moment of exquisite pain and then my wife is encouraging the devil I brought into her life. I can only watch as She feeds and pleasures the woman I had fallen in love with all over again.

She takes Her time. There is no rush. I am Hers now. So is my wife. She possesses my wife more and more, taking her away from me and leaving me only with the dark being I said I would do anything for.

When She is finished feeding for now. My wife sighing contentedly. She smiles a bloodied smile, “You’re mine now. And you’ve got what you want. You’ll write about me. People will invite me into their dreams. I will select the worthy and feed while you watch.”

She leans forward and kisses me. My dark muse. She has eclipsed the light in my life. The loving muse I took for granted. Now I am damned. But still I respond to Her kiss.