Candle light, every time I invite him over.
Carefully chosen underwear, always lace. I like them in beige, skin color, maybe with golden details. Or black.
Body washed in water. Private parts with scentless soap, hair with scentless shampoo. I like to smell like myself.
I am careful to clip my nails so as not to injure him, or leave marks.
I let my hair fall free and wear very little and light fabric. Mostly silk and simple cotton, clean cut.
Sometimes I will put a flower in my hair.
Martini Bianco, served on rocks with lime on the balcony, during hot summer nights, such as this one.
Bathtub is ready, lukewarm water to cool us down.
I sit on the balcony, the moon is full, it’s close to midnight, he will soon be here, I am ready. I put a record on, old tunes from the 30s, 40s and 50s. This is my favorite music. Etta James, for example, and her voice perfect in the combination with the small cracking sounds produced by the record player, singing At Last. The music is under my skin, my body already in the mood. I am closing my eyes. Light breeze is caressing me. I can almost feel the fairies sing and hear them fly, dance and feast. My shirt, silk, skin color, with a golden lace collar, is held on with a single button at the bottom of the back of my neck. It is there that I feel his warm breath. The little hairs are highly attentive when the button comes undone and my nipples are met with the fresh summer breeze, instantly eager to cooperate. I am being lifted from my chair, the air around me is changing and then, still with my eyes closed, I am being lowered into water. I lie there, in clear water, protected by black lace of my underwear, lit by the candlelight. I can feel him watching me. My breathing is heavier by the second. My skin calling for attention, yearning for his touch.
Two large hands are gently stripping me free of the lace.
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