| "Dear Nicholas"
by Adhara Law
(c) 1998 Adhara Law. All rights reserved. May not be reproduced
without express written permission by the author.
As I write, the blue sky succumbs to black clouds that eat the horizon in slow,
necessary death. They remind me of you.
Sabine putters. Her mood is one of barely constrained sadness, a calmness tinged
with the reminder of underlying memories since she found the picture. It was
buried behind boots and shoes, forgotten in the closet until we did some spring
cleaning. Would you remember when it was taken if you could see it? The day the
three of us had gone hiking in the mountains and braced the on a tree
branch in order to capture the moment forever? The freshness of your face, your
beautifully smiling face, so happy in the last moment in which we would remember
you that way...how long has it been? Four years? Five years? Have you forgiven me?
I wonder if you have repressed the memories of when we first met. They are still
as fresh to me now as they were that first night. Yours was the first face I'd
ever looked into that eradicated the need for words. The people, music, food,
drink at a party that neither of us really wanted to be at. The almost
undetectable flitting of your eyes from my face to my body. The conversation
without words. I remember it all.
I remember the silent ride in the car to the motel room, my eyes tracing the
ragged edge of the dark pavement under the heartbeat of streetlights as my hand
slithered to your thigh and further. The telling presence of your hard cock under
the wool of your suit. The warm wetness that left an indelible mark on the insides
of my thighs when you shut off the engine and we got out of the car.
I remember the moist heat of your hands as they shook against me, popping the
buttons of my dress in rapid succession to each breath you rasped against my ear.
A thin sliver of dirty, yellow light from the motel sign draped your right
shoulder as you pulled me to the unfamiliar bed, the bedspread -- never turned
down in the acceleration of the moment -- smelling of chemicals and the bodies of
strangers. I inhaled the heady scent, breathing in your body under me. Still there
were no words. I slid down your chest and tasted the thin veneer of saltiness and
cologne that enveloped you in a miniscule sheen, gorging on the meal that was you.
I slipped your cock past my lips and listened to you moan in desperate
supplication. We fucked, my legs straddling your hips as you locked yourself
against me, my fingertips raking the meaty bars of your ribs as my body pushed you
further into the bed. And the motel sign bathed us in its light, an unholy aura of
Somehow without saying so, we both knew it would not be the only time. We did away
with the safety and anonymity of sterile motel rooms, opting instead to violate
the hermetic sanctuary of your bedroom while Sabine was away on business. It was
impious, profane, throwing my clothes on the floor and kneeling before you as you
sat on the edge of the bed, the sacred altar of your marriage. And the irreverence
of it all intoxicated me, empowered me as I felt you hard behind me, my arms
resting on the wall, my hips pushing forward and back to fuck you further into
There were the expected games -- the whisper of "wrong number" when I called and
got Sabine instead of you. The cryptic messages left with coworkers as if we were
forgotten spies trying to get home.
And then it happened -- I met her. Do you remember, Nicholas? I can't imagine
you'd forget. We were at a party thrown by mutual employers, forced to network and
to promise to do lunch, and you had brought her. I even remember what she wore --
black silk pants and jacket, with a sapphire blue linen shirt. Her ears were
conservatively studded with pearls. I believed, at that moment, that I had never
seen a woman until I saw Sabine. And I thought: does she know? Does she taste the
traces of me, the heady musk of my pussy, when she sucks your cock in the warm
cocoon of the bedroom you fucked me in? Can she feel the grooves my fingernails
engrave along your spine as I beg you to go deeper, faster?
I was angry, Nicholas. I watched from across the room the way your hand settled
comfortably in the small of her back as you erupted in deep laughter. I wanted to
feel your hand in the small of my back as you forgot that you were putting it
there. But as I stood and watched, I realized at that moment that I would never
feel your hand rest casually on my thigh or your fingers press lovingly against
my arm. I realized that the only way I could feel you, would ever feel you, was
when your body pushed mine hard up against a wall in lecherous desperation while
your cock slid into me and you whispered salacious suggestions hoarsely into my
ear, or when you twisted my long hair around your hand and pulled not quite
so gently as you entered me from behind, making me moan and rock against you. I
wanted these, Nicholas, but I also wanted more. I was jealous.
So I formulated the seeds of a plan that began with introducing myself to her. And
yes, I saw the slow transformation of the expression on your face from one of
hidden edginess to near maniacal panic as I crossed the room, clearly intent on
Sabine. Seconds stretched to infinity between eye contact with Sabine and eye
contact with you, and in those infinite seconds, I did not know what I was going
to say. Are you surprised? Did you think I held the entire course of the rest of
your life in a poisonous gift box deep inside my imagination, and that I would
hand that box over to your with gracious humility?
No; I was as ignorant as you were. I sat beside her and started a journey that
would lead me here. We talked, not stopping except to refill our drinks. Did you
know that what was happening was real, that on that night what began as
transformed into friendship, and into love?
It was then that Sabine and I began spending time together. I can still see the
look in your eyes when I showed up at your front door to get Sabine so she and I
could do our Christmas shopping together. The pain of your hurtful eyes shot
through me, and I couldn't explain the idea, the process, the result, and where it
all went wrong. And yet, there was still you and I. I remember that even that
night we met at a motel, the same one as the first time, and you pulled me into
the deafening, inky darkness of the room, pressing your mouth against mine in
anger and lust. You nearly ripped the clothes from my body and pushed me down onto
the bed with the same carnal fury as you had all the times before, but this time
with a defiant, dangerous edge. I remember it -- on my hands and knees, hair
falling forward and pooling in a golden, angelic halo over my hands and arms as
you fucked me, crashing into me with each movement of your hips as if to fuck me
away from Sabine. Is that why we continued, Nicholas? So that you could try, with
every thrust of your cock, to distance me from your wife?
It may have been, Nicholas, but she knew. Although I never told her, there was an
unspoken-of haze of sex that surrounded the three of us. And even though I didn't
know it at the time, the further you tried to take me, the closer we became. It
culminated the last night we fucked in your bedroom. It was fitting, really. Did
you ever know, Nicholas?
We were on the bed, the darkness of the room surrounding us except for the
razor-sharp sliver of hallway light that crept in. The door was open slightly. You
had said Sabine was going to be out of town until the next day. You lay under me
as I took you in my mouth and began a slow rhythm that timed your breathing. Your
fingers tangled with the strands of my hair as they undulated along your stomach,
your head tipping back with closed eyes in ecstatic epiphany. And then I saw her.
She stood in the doorway, silent, the backlighting of the hallway preventing any
glimpse of her expression. But I didn't need to see it. In that moment, the
connection between her and I took control of what I was doing. With your head
toward the doorway, you were unaware of her presence. I slid your cock from out of
my mouth and straddled you, in one movement sliding you past the lips of my
and as deep into me as I could make you could go. I saw Sabine's hand go to the
doorframe as if to steady herself, and as I ground my hips against yours,
listening to your moans, I locked eyes with her, refusing to let her go. I was
fucking her through you. I felt it, and I knew she did too, and that was when I
grabbed a handful of your short, and, pulling your head back, sunk my
teeth into your neck, at the skin like a thirsting woman. I watched as
Sabine's fingertips involuntarily traced a hardened nipple through the thin silk
of her shirt, saw her lips part slowly to let uneven breath escape. Again I locked
eyes with her, moving my hips against yours to a faster rhythm and gripping your
shoulders with my fingernails. I watched her breathing time itself to mine. I
fucked you and made love to her, and, without taking my eyes from hers, came in a
violent and shattering explosion that I knew she could feel.
She turned into the light enough for me to see her smile.
Since that night, I have wondered many things. Why Sabine? Woman was never
anything more to me before her than something in the mirror. And what was it that
drove you from us? Sabine and I both watched you walk the halls of our lives like
a restless ghost, an elusive shadow that faded further and further from our grasp.
You could have stayed, you know. You were a catalyst for a reaction that none of
us understood but felt all the same. Was it the night you saw Sabine and I in your
bedroom, profaning in the same way you and I did the sanctity of that stark, holy
chamber? The way her hands moved over me in blessing, her voice whispering prayers
against my neck while her fingers took holy water from inside me and, in a
baptismal rite, traced the peaks of my nipples and then licked it from my skin?
Was it your relegation to the role of altar boy?
I can live without the answers, Nicholas; we are happy. But I have often wondered
one thing: can you forgive her for being happy with me?
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