Transformations (c)

She was never sure later how long she stared up at him, lost for a time in his intensely green eyes. In her right hand, the cup of steaming coffee, the other, palm against his chest.

He was frozen into the tableau as well, his chest bare millimeters from hers, his mouth poised above her face. His arm curled around her back holding them hip to thigh, his other hand grasping the rake that had tripped her into his arms.

A totally modern American Gothic, she thought later, tapping his business card against her lower lip, smiling to herself.

He had released her, unmolested, balancing the rake against the tree, and helping her bag up the last bit of the leaf pile at their feet.

And invited her to dinner.

Which she had accepted.

It was so unlike her. She’d determined to be careful pursuing any further relationships. Whether vanilla-based, or D/s, she never got “connected” with anyone. She hadn’t had sex with another person since David had died, since she had lost her partner, her Dom, her Master. He had known her inside and out, and she had felt ripped, and raw for so long.

Jeff was…she sighed. There was the rub. She knew nothing about him. He’d been  a virtual hermit in the months he’d lived across the street; she didn’t really recall seeing him but once or twice as their cars passed on the street.  She’d heard he traveled a lot for his work. She looked again at the card in her hand. What man used a Monarch Butterfly on his business  card?

A very confident one, obviously.

Then again, what greater symbol of strength than the fragile butterfly, who could fly for 2,000 miles to winter hibernation grounds? It was fucking sneaky, that’s what it was. She couldn’t stop thinking about him! The butterfly, with all its metaphors, and about His fucking green eyes!

She was both embarrassed and disconcerted when she went inside later, and discovered exactly  how much he had effected her when she went to the bathroom.

Her panties were soaked.

More than soaked, actually.


She’d not been this wet and horny in … well, she couldn’t really remember. Since David, to be sure.  There was something absolutely magnetic about Jeff. Something in him that called to her inner self.

“hellya, something that calls out to your  inner slut,” her shoulder-devil said quietly in her ear.

“He wants you, you heard  it loud and clear. You saw that bump in the front of his jeans and it wasn’t his car keys. You know what *that* means…first date sex!!”

That fucking devil was tormenting her already.

“Don’t listen to her,” responded her shoulder-angel. “she’s just a wanton slut. You know how to get to know a guy, to feel him out..”

“Feel him UP you mean,” interrupted the devil, leering.

OMG, she thought, i’m arguing with my imaginary devil/angel about this. She was laughing, cringing, exasperated. She was going nuts over nothing, really. And she had so much else to think about. Taxes. Fixing her front porch light.

And most importantly, what the fuck was she going to wear?


The restaurant was in-town,  a place she’d never been to before. It was fairly new, and very exclusive. The tables were discreetly placed around upscale wooden cubicles, effectively hiding the diners from each other. The music was soft, classical jazz. The lighting was muted.

Her black dress had been the perfect choice.

So what if it was something she had just bought today. She refused to think of the 17 dresses she had tried on over the last few hours,  finally finding this gem in a little out-of-the-way boutique. The top was all crisscrossed strapping, sexy, but subtle. The bottom fell in overlapping sections, so that they fluttered when she moved. The underskirt came just to her upper thigh, but the petals moved around her knees.

Until she sat down and realized that not one petal covered her legs. He noticed, the Man. He said not a word out loud, but the barely suppressed grin spoke volumes.

She could hardly believe how much she blushed with Him. It was like being a virgin all over again, wanting to catch his eye, but nervous about it, too.

The waitress came to their table, filling their water goblets, and proffering menu’s. He reached out and took hers away before she opened it, handing it back to the waitress.

“We’ll have a steak, with the new potatoes in rosemary butter, asparagus, and the ’99 Winton Cabernet  Sauvignon. That’s one meal, two plates, please.”

She was blushing by the time he finished, his eyes keeping contact with hers the entire time he ordered. She felt the tightening of her internal muscles, the leaking of her pussy. Gawd.  This was something that her husband had never done. He was much more into physical bondage.

“I know your secret,” he spoke quietly. “I first saw you some months ago at the Independence Day munch. I know some of your story, but not all. If this works between us, if W/we click, I will eventually learn all that from you.”

Her eyes widened, and her breath deepened. He knew.

“You’re a…” she couldn’t say it, not here, not out loud.

“I’m …” He paused, looking deeply into her. She felt like the only woman on the planet when He looked at her this way.

“…interested in you. I find you remarkably lovely, and very sexual.”

“I’m not…” He cut her off with a raised eyebrow, and continued.

“even raking leaves you exuded a sensuality. It is endemic to your very nature, little one.”

She wondered if everyone thought that way, decided it didn’t really matter to her if they did.

All that seemed to matter just now was Him.

Their meal arrived, and he passed the plate to her.

“Serve me,” he said.

She looked down at the steak steaming in front of her, then her gaze flew up to his eyes. Those intense, incredible eyes, that just drew her in.

‘Was that a double entendre?’  she wondered.