The house next door has seen four, five tenants move in in the years since old Mrs H died. Mrs H had been there since the day my folks moved in - a very long time - and her passing left the property perpetually vacant, as if the house didn't like the pretenders who'd dared to set up their homes there, not realising that Mrs H was never coming back from the hospital.
The first couple did not last long - six months, as a matter of fact. He was supposedly some sort of an engineer from Poland, and his wife Magdalene was a stay-at-home. They were both in their thirties. Neither of them had kids.
Yes, I know what I am saying. It's the modern world. You can have kids together, but a lot of couples nowadays start with kids from previous relationships already in tow. Go deal or go fish.
I always liked talking to Magdalene. She'd pop out whenever I was visiting my folks. She was a pretty woman, with short curly dark hair. Not particularly tall, average build. She had this delightful smile. I never saw her greet me without that magnificent smile. She had this habit of wearing just a white tank top and tight white shorts in the garden, even on cold, rainy days, particularly when I was around.
Then there was the morning she dropped in on me unexpectedly.
I was visiting Mum and Dad that day. I'd been up since about 9am, and they wanted to go shopping so they left me alone in the house while Dad took the car. I had no idea that Magdalene had been watching, because five minutes after they'd gone the doorbell rang and there she was. White tank top under a short cardigan, and incredibly tight white shorts. Slippers on her feet.
I asked her what she wanted. She said "You," and asked me if I could help her. Then she turned her face and that smile to me, and told me that she wanted to know what it was like to be hypnotised. She knew that I hypnotise people, and she just wanted to know what it was like so she could feel confident in going in for hypnotherapy to stop smoking.
I brought her in, and asked her if she was okay with my hypnotising her. She looked a little nervous, but curiosity was getting the better of her so she consented. I showed her the chair that I normally use, the one that faces a lovely blank wall, and told her that if she chooses to sit there in that seat, she was not only agreeing to enter a trance - she would be starting to enter a trance already.
She sat in the chair, leaned back and relaxed as I guided her through a meditation in preparation for entering a trance state. She began breathing more slowly and deeply as she focused her gaze on the wall opposite, at a fixed spot close to the ceiling.
Pretty soon her eyes were closed, she was focusing her mind on listening to my voice and she was on her way into trance. I told her that I was going to to the arm test to check for depth of trance; by the way her arm just hung in the air, I could tell she was already in a deep trance. So I deepened it further, let her go as deep as possible into a trance state and just touched her on the forehead, telling her that when I did so, she would slump into the chair and the trance would be complete.
Once I was satisfied that she was fully in a trance, I began to ask her some questions. And the first thing I learned was a big surprise.
Magdalene did not smoke. She's never smoked.
I asked her this next question. 'What is the purpose of your coming here to see me?'
That was when I got my next big surprise. Her reply was 'I came here to sleep with you.'
I asked her next 'How long have you wanted to sleep with me?' Her reply: 'Since I first met you.'
Which explained why she always seemed to be popping out whenever I was around, to greet me and to chat.
Next, I asked her 'Why have you come to me now?'
Her heartbreaking reply was 'My husband is moving house in a week. This is my last chance.'
'Your last chance to do what?'
'To have you.'
There was little else for me to do at that point. I told her that she would remember what it felt like to enter a trance, but that she would not remember anything of the trance itself. Specifically, I told her that she would have no idea that I had interrogated her, and that she had no idea that I knew the real reason for her coming over.
I did, however, encourage in her conscious mind the urge to confess her true motives for coming over, and to seize the opportunity while it was there; and with that, I brought her back to waking consciousness.
When her conscious mind came back to me, she smiled that magnificent smile of hers again and thanked me. She told me she'd never experienced anything like that before, and her body still felt oddly heavy for some reason.
On the way back to the front door, she wobbled a bit and fell right into my arms.
'I have something to confess to you,' she said to me, pressing her body against mine. 'I didn't really come here because I want to quit smoking.' She pressed her body harder against me. 'I think you know what I want.'
I held her close and felt her grind her hips against me, her breath shallow and rapid. Her face was hot under my fingers. I stroked the side of her neck with my index finger, and she moaned softly, burying her face in my shoulder.
'Where do you want me?' I asked.
She whispered 'Here.'
I took her back into the living room, where we took our time together. Despite the urgency of the moment, neither of us wanted to rush. It was as if, paradoxically, we had all the time in the world and yet no time at all.
Under my gentle caresses, light finger strokes of her neck, her ears, her sides, her shoulders, Magdalene slowly opened up to me. Her ears, in particular, were her hottest erogenous zone; and she moaned whenever I caressed her earlobes or ran my fingers over her ears.
It all seemed so clinical, so anatomical. I could name the parts of her delicate ear that I was touching. Helix. Antihelix. Scaphoid fossa. Lobule. But my fingertip touches along the outer rim, across the interior, set Magdalene on fire.
'Does your husband do this?' I asked, even as she was pulling off her top.
'We don't even have sex any more,' she whispered, as she lay me down on the sofa. I watched as she removed those incredibly tight shorts and climbed onto me, straddling me, pressing the warm flesh of her thighs against me.
I raked my fingers along the underside of those thighs, a gentle stroke. I was not prepared for Magdalene to shudder and moan, rolling her eyes.
The rest of our time together, we did not speak. We did not need to say a word. We just looked into one another's eyes, and my fingers did the talking against her skin, seeking out her most responsive areas - beneath her breasts, the sides of her neck, that little spot at the nape of the neck just about an inch below the hairline ...
It was two hours later that we finally finished. We dressed, taking our time to enjoy looking at our flushed, exposed skin one last time. At the doorstep, we parted company with a deep, passionate kiss from her and a last glance back, halfway down the drive. One last blast of her exquisitely beautiful smile, a sadness in her eyes, and she was gone. That was the last time I saw her.
Within a few days, she and her husband were gone. The house next door was empty. I never saw her again.
Neither of us regret what we did. It was passionate; it was fun; to some people, it was wrong. But the opportunity had arisen, and the madness had come upon us; and when we arrived at that fork in the road, we chose to seize the opportunity rather than live our lives full of regret.
Pic is unrelated.
No comments:
Post a Comment