Caught in the Cogs: Volume One

- Title Page

- Of Æther and Æon

- Zeppelin Dreams

- A Tall Order

- Final Word

- Poetry

- Relationship Articles

- Excerpt from Avalon Revisited

Caught in the Cogs

Volume One

A Collection of

Short Stories, Poetry, & Articles

by O. M. Grey

Blue Moose Press ~ Austin, TX

pen. produce. publish.

thebluemoosepress.com

These are works of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright 2011 by O. M. Grey. All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Catherine Somerlot

First Edition.

For more information, go to

thebluemoosepress.com

omgrey.wordpress.com

Caught in the Cogs

Volume One

A Collection of

Short Stories, Poetry, & Articles

by O. M. Grey

Table of Contents

Of Æther and Æon

Zeppelin Dreams

A Tall Order

Final Word

Poetry

Relationship Articles

Excerpt from Avalon Revisited

She watched him move across the deck as she had a thousand times before. Every day, just before muster, he walked this way. And every day, she watched from behind the main canon, peering around the cascabel, hoping that one day he would see her. Notice her. Love her. If only Jonah would look at her, he would see.

It was the middle of a very long war. It had begun before

Constance had even joined the RAN nearly a decade ago. She had served as the HMS Æther’s Chief Navigator for just over three years now. How time flies.

Jonah was above her in rank, but not by much. Lean and strong, his body moved with grace, and Constance felt clumsy. Even she, a woman, didn’t move with such grace and poise and confident purpose. He had dark brown hair, deep chestnut, that extended past his temples in cocoa colored mutton chops, following the curve of his strong jaw. The leather baldric that ran from his right shoulder to left hip accentuated the breadth of his muscular chest, even beneath both the shirt and regulation waistcoat.

“Connie,” a deep voice said. “Let’s go, we’ll be late to the morning muster and then there will be hell to pay.”

“Morning, Samuel,” Constance said without taking her eyes off Jonah, who was talking with another officer on the starboard side of the airship. He laughed, and Constance found herself catching her breath at the sight of his brilliant smile. His cheek held the slightest suggestion of a dimple when he smiled.

Although they worked in close proximity, he as the Chief Engineer and she as the Chief Navigator, she effectively hid her feelings for him while on the job. It was only in the few moments of the morning that she could let her guard down.

“Mornin’, Con. What’s got yer interest?” Samuel followed her gaze to the handsome officer across the way. “Ah. Of course. Shoulda known.”

Constance blushed and forced herself to look away. She turned to Sam and had to shade her eyes from the rising sun behind him. During the day, the great balloon that held the dirigible aloft blocked out most of the sun, but the during the early morning and the late evening, it shone between the great blimp and the top deck of the battleship. The movement felt too familiar.

“Déjà vu,” she said.

“Really?” Samuel responded. “Me, too. How odd.”

“Quite,” Constance agreed. “Let’s move.” She stepped out from behind the canon and, after a quick glance to check that the seams of her knee-high spats were running straight up the center of her shin, strode across the deck toward muster. She fell in and stood at parade rest, her feet shoulder width apart and hands folded at the small of her back over the lacing of her regulation steel-boned corset, just above the small bustle, a tie-on piece that covered the derriere and gave the appearance of the bustle sway that was so popular down below. It was a recent addition to all women’s uniforms, said to keep the men from being distracted. Although Constance felt that it did more to draw the eye.

If only it would draw his eye.

“Attention!” the first mate yelled, and the entire mustered block snapped to attention. Constance stood stiffly with the rest of her crew and listened to the Captain speak.

“At ease,” the Captain said, and the entire company returned to parade-rest, synchronized. “Today is an important day,” he continued. “Earlier this morning, the Communication Officer’s team intercepted a message from the enemy. I am confident that this piece of information might be just what we need to sway this war back into our favor. And it’s high time, too!”

Constance felt a wave of hope rush through her core. The energy of the entire muster changed, and she felt that, too. Out of the corner of her eye, she chanced a look at Jonah, and had to catch her breath when she saw that he was looking at her as well! She snapped her eyes back to the front and realized she had no idea what the Captain was saying anymore. The blood rushed into her cheeks, warming them against the cold air. The rising sunlight caught the lens Jonah’s goggles atop his flight cap, so she knew he was still looking back at her.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

“Dismissed” was the next thing that registered in her distracted mind. She took the opportunity to duck away in the opposite direction from Jonah, hoping that Samuel would tell her what she had missed. She took the long way around to the Chart House, past the great engine cogs that pierced the floor of the port-aft deck and up the back stairs past the Signal Bridge. The Chart House was empty. Samuel was not yet here, and the night watch, already off duty, had left for the day. Bending over a large map spread over the center table, she commenced work immediately.

“Interesting turn, no?” Samuel asked as he stepped inside the small room just above the main deck in which they both worked.

“Indeed,” she responded, not wanting to admit that she had missed most of what the Captain said. Surely it would come up in conversation.

Samuel moved a tarnished astrolabe off the counter left over from the night watch and picked up a brass sextant. While Samuel took the morning readings, Constance calculated their current location on the map. She adjusted the divider based upon their speed, air velocity, and cross wind readings set down by the night watch and then walked the divider across the map from the last recorded position to their current one.

“What did you think about the Captain’s lecture?” Constance asked as she wrote the new figures down in the navigational log, but Samuel didn’t answer. He stood at the front window looking through the sextant’s eyepiece, then readjusted its arm and looked through the eyepiece again.

“Sam?” Constance said.

“Somethin’ ain’t right,” he said. “According to these here readings, we are thirty-three degrees off course.

“That can’t be right,” Constance said dropping the divider and rechecking her figures. She pulled the brass compass out from the tiny pocket on the front of her corset. “Unless the night watch wrote down the wrong calculations again.” Sure enough. The compass confirmed it. She snapped it shut and placed it back into its pocket. Its long chain bounced against the steel boning as Constance moved over to Sam. Taking the sextant from him and looking through it herself, she confirmed it once again. “This is unacceptable,” she said, thrusting the sextant back into Samuel’s hands. “Sam, I think it’s time we split up. You will have to take the night shift with Airman Hannigan, and Sergeant Fredricks shall take the day shift with me. This is the third time this month, although it’s by far the worst.”

“Aye aye, Lieutenant Commander McCoy” Sam said with more than a hint of sarcasm. He obviously didn’t want the night shift, but since Constance outranked him, he knew he couldn’t argue.

“You know we cannot afford mistakes like this, especially not after what the Captain said this morning. This might be the turning point for the war,” she offered, as it was truly the only thing she heard, “and we do not want a navigational error to jeopardize this mission.”

Constance pulled her bound tablet out from a pocket in her belt and scribbled down some new headings. It always amazed Samuel just how fast she could calculate even the most complex formulas. She ripped the last page with the new headings out of her bound tablet and, handing them to Samuel, said, “Fix this. Fast.”

“Aye aye,” he said again, without the sarcasm.

Constance went over to the stock cabinet to get a new tablet, but before she could open the door, a deep, melodic voice said, “Lieutenant Commander McCoy, might I have a moment?”

It was Jonah. Her mind filled with a mixture of pleasure and fear. Perhaps he had come to berate her about the navigational error, although that would not be the responsibility of the Chief Engineer. She forced herself to be the officer she was and responded, “Of course, Commander Beaufort.” Then continuing to Samuel said, “Sergeant Whitford, please relay the new headings to engineering.” Samuel nodded in reply and moved over to the sound telegraph they used to communicate with other parts of the ship. Putting the flared earpiece to his ear and speaking into the similarly flared mouthpiece, he said, “Engine Room.”

Jonah stepped sideways out the doorway in which he had been standing and put his hand out, inviting her to go before him. She caught her breath, no matter how much she tried not to, when she passed so closely in front of him. The two walked down the front stairway and up toward the foremast, where he stopped her.

He just looked at her and after a moment, smiled.

“There was something you wanted to speak with me about, Commander Beaufort?” Constance said, folding her hands in front of her, as if she was a proper lady from the ton. She took very conscious deep breaths and reminded herself again that she was an officer in the Royal Air Navy.

“Of course, Constance. But, please call me Jonah. We have worked together for so long,” he started.

Breathe.

“Well,” he said rubbing his neck and looking out over the edge of the ship into the horizon. “In light of what the Captain said this morning, I seem to have new hope regarding this war and... life, I suppose.” He laughed a little here, and Constance felt her heart jump in her chest when the faint dimple appeared along with the joyous sound of his laughter. “I really should’ve done this long ago, but things have been quite dire with the war over the past months. Still, now with this new hope.” He shuffled his weight from foot to foot and laughed again.

Heart. Jump.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is–Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

His gaze turned down to her with the question, and he bit his lip, which only made to deepen the dimple, as he waited for her response.

Constance had not realized she had been holding her breath for the last several seconds until she let it out. Then she took another one and held it again.

Jonah must have taken her silence as offense, for the smile left his eyes, but still politely stayed on his lips as he said, “Forgive me, Lieutenant Commander McCoy. I have overstepped my bounds.” With a slight bow, he turned and began to walk away.

Constance forced herself out of h er shocked catatonia and yelled after him, “Yes!”

He turned back.

“Yes,” she said, breathing a little more rapidly now than normal. “Yes, Jonah, I would love to have dinner with you tonight.”

He smiled and then returned to her, sweeping her into his arms and stepping behind the great foremast to block them from view of the rest of the crew. She felt his taut body pressed up against hers, and it was a good thing his strong arm, wrapped tightly around her waist, held her against him, for her knees were weak. They most certainly would not have held her weight if he were to let her go. She prayed that he would never let her go.

His grey-blue eyes looked intently into her green ones for a moment before closing. She felt his soft lips press down over hers, and she met the kiss in kind. Her hand found the bristly chestnut chops along his jaw. His tongue brushed hers ever so slightly, and it sent a wave of longing down her entire body, settling heavy in her deepest part. He withdrew his lips, leaving her breathless.

“Until tonight,” he said. He touched her cheek and let his hand slowly trail along her jawline before removing it completely. Images of quenched longings filled her minds and she thought that there was too much time before now and dinner. Would this day were done!

He stepped out from behind the foremast and she followed, a little wobbly, but before he could get too far away, Samuel called down to her from the Chart House stoop.

“Lieutenant Commander McCoy, get up here quickly!” he shouted.

The edge of panic in his voice caused Jonah to stop as well.

“What is it, Sergeant,” Jonah said.

“The night watch,” he said. “You had better see for yerself.”

Constance and Jonah rushed back up the stairs to find Airman Hannigan and Sergeant Fredricks on the floor by the supply cabinet, as if they and tumbled out of it. Both their bodies were twisted in unnatural ways, and their empty eyes stared out from their strangely angled heads at nothing.

Constance stifled a scream, but she could not look away from the horrific sight.

“Sabotage,” Samuel said. “That’s why we’re off course.”

“I shall alert the Captain,” Jonah said, touching Constance’s shoulder to show his concern.

Jonah turned and went down the stairs and Constance followed. “I shall come with you,” she said. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she ran right into the back of Jonah who had stopped suddenly.

“Jonah, what is it?” she said. He stepped aside and, looking past him over the port side of the ship, she saw a vessel, smaller than their own but no less armed, rising to their altitude. “Where did that come from?”

“It must have been beneath us, hiding. Waiting.” Jonah took off in a run toward the bridge, and Constance followed. But by then, the entire ship had been alerted. A steam whistle sounded in alarm, piercing the quiet of the morning. The sound of panic shortly followed as the crew members crisscrossed the top deck.

They were not prepared for this. They had been miles from anyone last night.

“Battle stations!” the Master-at-Arms shouted into the increasing chaos of the crew. Men and women pulled their goggles from off their caps and covered their eyes as they manned their stations around the main deck’s peripheral cannons. Others rushed passed Constance and Jonah trying to get to the lower decks in time for the fire command.

“Get back into the Chart House, Connie,” Jonah looked back at her, and his goggles were already in place, covering his grey-blue eyes. He gently took hers from off her cap and placed them over her eyes as well. After a tender kiss, he turned to follow the others downstairs, heading to the engine room. She started back toward her station as well to await orders.

The enemy vessel had matched their altitude, and simultaneously, what seemed like every canon on their ship fired. Jonah and Constance had but a moment to catch each other’s terrified eyes before the HMS Æther was hit.

Great booming sounds in rapid succession accompanied by a blur of motion filled Constance’s mind, and she was thrown against the side of the ship. Catching herself from going over, she saw several of her crew mates falling through the sky towards the unforgiving ground below. Frantic, she turned to see if Jonah had been one of them, but all was chaos. She could not see him. The wounded cried out from all along the deck. Smoke billowed up from the lower decks through the new holes in the floorboards and from portholes on the side of the ship. Even the huge engine cogs had been broken. The largest one was broken in two, and two of the smaller ones, still larger than a man, had been forced up through the now fragmented deck. She looked around for Jonah, trying to force her brain to catch up with what had just happened. All was but a blur of blood and smoke and splintered wood. There, she finally saw him, laying against the large capstan, bleeding. He hadn’t gone over the side, but he was hurt. She rushed up to him just as she heard the command, “FIRE!”

The HMS Æther rocked back as its canon’s fired back at the enemy.

“Jonah!” Constance shouted above the din. She got to him and knelt by his side.

It was not good. Several shards of wood stuck out from various parts of his body. His leg. His arm. His shoulder. His neck. All were bleeding. By far the worse wound must only have been inches from his heart. It was a metal rod, like the main shaft from some engine gears, and it was deep.

“Jonah!” she shouted again. She lifted the goggles from his eyes, which rolled over to focus on her. She lifted off her own goggles so that she could see him more clearly.

“Connie,” he said weakly. He reached out and touched her cheek. She felt the wetness of blood, and she clapped her own hand over his, holding on. “I guess I really should have asked you to dinner sooner. So much time. Wasted.”

“Shhhhh,” she said. “I’ll get the medic.”

“No,” he said, putting his hand on her knee as she began to rise. “Stay with me.”

She tried not to cry at the sight of the bright red blood dripping down his face and into his mutton chops. He had a head wound as well as the rest, and his breath was quickly becoming raspy. Gurgling noises wafted out from his shallow breaths. The shaft must have punctured a lung.

“I can’t see you,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his uninjured hand. “There’s blood in my eye.” He laughed and then coughed, splattering more blood on his already darkened uniform.

“I am here, Jonah. I am here with you,” she said, and the tears came, blurring her vision as well. She wiped them angrily away, wanting to see him clearly. Knowing there were but moments left, even if she could have gotten to the medic, this was not a battle one walked away from. Any of them.

“I have loved you for so long,” he said. “I should have asked you out sooner.”

They had finally found each other, and now this. There was not enough time, but she would spend every last moment with him. She would hold on to every last moment with her life. There just was not enough time.

“I really should have asked you sooner.”

And with that, he died.

“Jonah?” she said, shaking him, but there was no response. “Jonah! Stay with me. I’m here now. Stay with me!” But his eyes, still eerily fixed on her, were empty. Dark.

“Jonah!” she cried. “NO!” His head lolled to the side, so she pulled it close to her breast, steadying it.

“I’m here now, Jonah. Don’t leave me.”

The commotion of the surrounding havoc crept back into her consciousness as she held her lover’s dead body. It was so surreal. Just moments ago he had been kissing her. She could still feel the softness of his lips, his tongue. His cologne still filled her nostrils. Only a short time ago.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and it made them sting in the cold morning air.

A frantic Airman rushed by screaming, “They’re aiming for the balloon! They’re aiming for the balloon!”

“No. The hydrogen,” Constance said to Jonah’s blank stare. There was no panic in her voice, for the pain she felt was too great. What she felt had surpassed pain. Surpassed numbness. There was no escape, but she would be with Jonah again soon. Forever.

She held him closely and accepted her fate. Letting everything else fall away, she felt the cool morning air sting the tears on her cheeks. She blocked out the screaming and chaos around her and just felt Jonah’s body pressed up against her. She looked down at his handsome, blood-stained face and brushed her hand over his jaw, feeling the roughness of his mutton chops, then with her finger she traced the place on his cheek where his dimple had been.

The blast came. It sounded faraway as if in a dream. Then she saw the cannonballs fly, and they appeared to be moving in slow motion. She saw them hit the great balloon, and she saw the beginning of the explosion. As the fireball rushed towards her, she felt as if she was being squeezed into a narrow tube. A horrible sensation of moving backwards, as if being yanked forcefully back into a room you had just left. A blur of brilliant lights filled her peripheral vision, forming a funnel around her and the entire ship.

Then she was standing on the deck looking into the sun rising in the East. She turned away from the brightness of it, blinking several times to clear the spots still flashing on the inside of her eyelids.

There he was.

She watched him move across the deck as she had a thousand times before. Every day, just before muster, he walked this way. And every day, she watched from behind the main canon, peering around the cascabel, hoping that one day he would see her. Notice her. Love her. If only Jonah would look at her, he would see.

Zeppelin Dreams

She lay on the floor, a zeppelin between her legs. That was what the ladies called it at tea parties, an inside joke, as in “My last zeppelin ride was quite the adventure.” It was code for sex, mostly, but it also referred to the machines doctors used to relieve a lady’s hysteria. Ever since a psychiatrist had first helped her ease her own hysteria with a zeppelin, she kept one around. They had greatly improved over the past twenty-years; the clockwork driven machine now lasted much longer. Lilah’s was the latest style of zeppelin, shaped more or less like its namesake. It was not for insertion, after all, just clitoral stimulation. Handy little gadgets, they were. Especially when one did not want to go through all the trouble of coitus. After twenty-five years of marriage, it was mostly just a mess to clean up. Her husband showed even less interested in sex than she did, if that was possible. And it must be, for if they ever made love, she went to him.

But she tired of that.

She wanted to be taken, dominated. She wanted to be longed for, desired.

She had rarely used her zeppelin of late. Her interest in such carnal delights had waned considerably over the past few years. That is, until she met him.

“Joshua.” His name passed through her lips in an after sigh as her hips rested back against the floor and her muscles relaxed. She could already feel a soreness in the back of her throat where she had screamed his name, moments earlier, into her handkerchief. She looked around, eyes wide, ensuring she was still alone in the darkened attic. Her husband had gone for his daily walk, so it had been the perfect opportunity to ride her zeppelin. Still, a servant could hear her, so she was careful not to be too loud, just in case.

The iron vibrator, cool against her heated thighs, slid out of her hands. As she lay there catching her breath, images of him on that night invaded her thoughts. She tried to push them out, but he haunted her. All these weeks later, she could still feel his nearness. The single kiss he had placed on her neck had kept her heated for days. His warm breath, body pressed close, the volumes left unsaid had sustained her, allowed her to go on, counting every moment until she could see him again. Longing to see his lips, wet with Scotch, and aching to taste them.

She had held on to every detail and used the lingering ardor when she pleasured herself. The unrequited desire between them to fueled her fantasies.

“Stop it.” She chided herself, knowing it was wrong. She pushed him from her thoughts once again, but he returned. Her every thought was consumed with him, perhaps because it was wrong.

She wanted more. More of him.

More. More. More.

More than he could give. More than she could give. The more attention he showed her, the more she wanted. The less attention he showed her, the more she wanted. It would never be enough. Not until their desire destroyed them both.

Her passion had become an obsession.

She sat up and pulled her skirts down over her knees in shame. From desire to shame. Back and forth.

Neither was ever far behind.

The silence of the early morning echoed her own emptiness. Middle-aged and aging further everyday. This entire business was far beneath her. She smoothed her skirts with trembling hands and sat up straight, feigning dignity for a moment before those hands covered her face. She wept. Her tears wet her cheeks and her palms, and she shook with her silent sobs. She longed to wilt into obscurity, fade from this world. Dissolve into a thin mist. Be as invisible as she felt.

She shrank back against the wall and hugged her knees close, willing herself to disappear into nothingness. Willing the pain to stop. Willing the desire to end. It had to end. She knew this in her fractured soul. Her very sanity was at stake.

What if her husband discovered her in such a position? Or the housekeeper?

Fear replaced the pain, as she pictured the look on her husband’s face. His astonishment confirming her pathos. His disappointment illuminating her worthlessness. She would be mortified beyond repair.

Yet her lust for Joshua engulfed her, again and again. She tried to keep it at bay. She tried to busy herself with needlepoint or reading or anything else, but the all-consuming need would not die. It overpowered her. Then she would return to the dark attic to take care of her needs. Alone.

She quite literally could not control herself.

The morning light, now well past dawn, filtered in from the solitary attic window at the opposite side of the room. After her eyes adjusted to the light, they caught sight of her hands resting on her knees. They were not the smooth, pale hands of her youth. They were her mother’s hands, perhaps even her grandmother’s. Thin skin hung too loosely over her fragile bones, and she swore even its brightness had faded over the years. Just as the rosiness in her cheeks had waned, except when she blushed from her own foolishness. Her shame colored her cheeks like that a rosy maid. It was less becoming on a woman her age.

Her thoughts retuned to Joshua, and she ran her withering hands down her body, trying to remember what it was like to be cherished by a lover, imagining him touching her. Her breasts, thought still full and relatively firm, were not what they had once been. They never would be again. Her hips and thighs, shapely, supple, and still quaking slightly from her phantom lover, were not those of a young woman. But they were not those of an old woman yet either.

By the time she caught her wits, her hands were again traveling up her inner thighs.

Back and forth.

“Stop it!” Her words sounded hollow in the empty room. After pulling her skirts down again, she tried to stand, but when she had risen halfway, the grief overcame her again and she collapsed back into herself against the wall. She muffled her agony by clamping her hands over her mouth. Reality, unforgiving and harsh, revealed her cell. The limbo of middle-age imprisoned her, for she would never be what she had once been. She would just continue to age, continue to become less and less appealing. A past full of promise and unrealized dreams haunted her. Her future...mediocrity, then death.

As images of Joshua returned, Lilah forcibly pushed them out, replacing them with that of her loving husband. She had been married at eighteen to a man twelve years her senior. She had been a maid, of course, and her husband was a good man. He had been a good father and provider, too. After three children and nearly twenty-five years of marriage, she certainly had thought the days of anyone yearning to touch her were long past.

Then Joshua came into her life, and now his lips haunted her every waking thought. They had only met a few times, but they had an indescribable connection between them that extended past basic lust. It was intellectual and soulful in addition to sexual desire, quite the dangerous mix. During the last soiree, he had found a way to get her alone. They had just been talking, enjoying the other’s company as they had in the past. Innocent. Just conversation. A meeting of minds and wits.

Until that night.

He had led her to a remote garden and embraced her there to say goodnight. Nothing else was spoken. No words of longing or love, just an embrace and a single kiss on her cheek.

Then another on her neck.

They said farewell and parted. Simple. Brief. Yet it was this restrained embrace that changed everything between them.

His kiss on her neck still burned her skin. She still felt the building heat between them on that cold evening, even all those long nights later.

“Joshua,” she breathed. His face once again filled her thoughts, replacing everything else in her world. She caressed every angle of it with her mind. Dark eyes. Dark hair extending down into long sideburns along a strong jaw. His bottom lip fuller than the top, begging to be tasted and licked and sucked between her own.

This was the last time she would ever feel desired, and the realization of that weighed heavy on her. At forty-three, she knew society would soon consider her an old crone. No one would see her anymore, not even Joshua. She would fade. Disappear. A single drop of rain in a storm. Invisible.

Only the faintest hint of her former beauty remained. But Joshua had seen it that night. She desperately held onto that, knowing he did feel something for her. Then her slipping mind went invariably back to his fevered kiss, to the torment of hope. Madness.

She looked to the light coming through the window and wiped the tears away and vowed that she would indulge in just a few more moments of the fantasy. When she thought of him, she felt like a young woman again. She felt beautiful and appealing for the first time in so very many years. She took far too much pleasure in getting lost in that feeling, slipping into the memory of ecstasy, bathing in the rain of desire. Even though it was only her fancy, just a fantasy, she held on to it as if it were her last breath of life.

“Joshua,” she whispered again, this time through her shameful tears, which were as unrelenting as her memory of that night. If he knew she was so distraught over a few shared moments, he would surely be done with her, as well he should be. Silly old woman.

“Enough foolishness for one morning,” she said to the empty attic, determined to pull herself together.

She set herself to rights, standing up and straightening her skirts. After tending to her mussed hair, she hid her zeppelin among some old boxes and left her secret behind.

The brightness of her bedchamber hurt her eyes, and she already longed for the darkness when she could be with him, if only in her delusions. She picked up her needlepoint and sat, like she did every day, on the settee near the front window across from the old grandfather clock. If someone came in, she would look busy with the needlepoint in her hands, like she had something else to do. Something other than just pining away.

She watched out the window, looking for any sign of his next communication. Searching the streets for just a glimpse of his face. Rushing below to see if a letter had come at every knock on the door.

She watched the grandfather clock’s pendulum swing back and forth. Back and forth.

She went from a rush of desire to feeling embarrassed and foolish in the span of a few moments. Then back again to desire. Back and forth. Her memory of the sensation of his closeness chased every other thought away. She could still feel his hands on her hips, his lips on her neck. Brushed. Just once.

Then goodbye.

She knew he was her last chance before age overcame her, so she clung to him too tightly. The few words of longing he had spoken in his letters she translated into volumes.

But that was just the beginning of her feelings. If she had not known better, she would call it love. But she was too old to be quite that foolish. This was not love. This was far more intense and dangerous than love.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Would the next message ever come?

He had claimed to feel a deep connection between them as well. He had told her in the letters that had followed that night, frequently at first. But the frequency of the letters decreased as the days passed. The few messages he did send lately were only in response to her own, and they were without words of longing. She feared she had already lost him. More than anything, even more than her husband finding out, she feared that Joshua’s passion for her had cooled. This terrified her.

By the end of the second week, his letters had lessened to the point of becoming nonexistent. She tried desperately not to contact him. Not to seek him out. But she failed every time.

She was a fool.

She had been too fervent. Too suffocating. Too obvious. It was not becoming of a lady, especially one of her age. and he had grown tired of her.

Yet, she could not let go.

“Ow!” She pulled her pricked finger to her lips and tasted the blood there. Her silly daydreams had once again injured her. A red dot of blood marred the floral pattern on which she had been working. She threw the needlepoint down in disgust and rose, pacing the floor. Back and forth in front of the window. Looking out every time she passed it to see if he was coming down the street, just seconds after the last look. Those seconds lasted lifetimes.

As she sucked on her injured finger, she thought of how every contact with him gave her a few more minutes of sanity. When she could talk with him or when she received a new letter or when they met briefly on the street and exchanged a secret glance, she believed again. She believed in the romance. She believed in the desire. After so long of feeling unseen, how could she not believe?

She drank in the attention and reveled in his seduction, imagining most of his desire for her, no doubt. Transferring her intense feelings for him, to him. Believing that he felt the same. But he was not free to do so. And neither was she.

“Foolish old woman.” Her breath fogged the window as she breathed the words, shocked to find herself absently gazing out of the window. How long had she been there? And so foolish to remain there. She knew he would not come. She had given him too much of herself, as always.

He had given too little…but then, it could never be enough to satiate her need for him. Plus, they could never be together. He was a decade younger if he was a day, and his young, bonny wife surely kept him most satisfied.

Intellectually she knew this, but she could not help dancing in front of the looking glass, in nothing more than her corset and pantaloons. Sometimes even without the pantaloons, when the house was dark and her husband asleep. Just the light of a nearby gaslight cast a soft glow across the room, softening the lines on her skin that had become too harsh with age. At least too harsh in her eyes.

Still she waited every day for the slightest communication or acknowledgment from him, and when she got it, however small the morsel, it was wonderful for a few moments. She felt satiated again, briefly, and she danced in front of the looking glass once more. But the hunger for more soon crept back in, more voracious than before.

Still, she thought of his lips.

Still, she thought of his hands on her waist.

Still, she thought of the embrace, full of unspoken desire.

But it had to end. Back to innocence. The way they had been before.

She had to be strong. She had to back off and wait, which, for her, meant that she had to forget him. It was never possible for her to linger in limbo for long.

Still, she waited. Still, she dreamed.

All the rest of the day and deep into the night she waited for him. She hardly ate. She hardly slept. She just waited.

The sound of her heart thumped, hollow and cold beneath her corset. The tick-tock tick-tock of the grandfather clock echoed her heart in a chaotic rhythm. The chaos began to work its way into her nerves and mix with the growing madness therein.

Just before dawn, she went to the looking glass to reprimand herself for being such a fool, just like she did every morning. She studied the lines on her face in her reflection.

At least it was still dark, for the dim glow of the candle light softened the lines on her face if she turned just right. With a little stretch of her imagination, she could look as young as she felt when she thought of him. And at the thought of him, the embarrassment was once again replaced with desire.

And so it was thus.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Shame and lust.

The torment of true passion.

Nothing could satiate such intense desire except giving into it, she decided at last. She must have him or go mad. She would risk everything for one night with him, just a few hours. She would give up her marriage, her life, her very soul.

She would go to him tonight. He would likely think her the fool she was, but she prayed that he did not see that truth. She prayed that he would only see her desire.

That evening, she donned her cloak and slipped out into the darkness. Three weeks to the day from the brief moments they shared on that moonlight night in the garden. Three tormented, wondrous weeks.

But tonight it would end. Either her fears would be confirmed and she would be broken, or he would take her in his arms and she would finally taste his lips.

She pulled the hood of her velvet cloak far over her face as she stepped into the night, hiding her shame in its shadows. She hailed a hansom once she was far enough from her place, for she did not want to be recognized. Social ridicule on top of this most certain humiliation she could not bear.

“Kensington,” she said to the driver and climbed inside.

The journey, but just a few miles, seemed to take an eternity. And she fought with herself the entire way, vacillating back and forth, back and forth in her nervous anticipation.

Upon arrival just a block from Joshua’s home, she asked the driver to wait. She stepped out onto the cobblestone street and looked around beneath the shadow of her hood until she caught sight of a young boy cuddled up in an alley.

“Boy,” Lilah said, but the child was asleep. She placed her black-gloved hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. “Boy. Wake up!” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

The boy awoke and sleepy-eyed looked up at her.

“All-righ’, gov?” he said.

“Would you like to earn a shilling, young man?” The question did more to wake the child than her shaking had. In an instant, his eyes were bright and she had his full attention.

“Yes, mum. Please, mum!”

“Very well.” She took a coin from her reticule and placed it along with a note in his small hand. “You see that door there? The red one?”

“Yes, mum.”

“Go knock on that door. When the butler answers, give this letter to him and tell him that it is to be placed directly into Mr. Godfrey’s hand. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mum. I’ll be quick, mum!”

“Wait. Repeat that, please.”

“This letter is for Mr. Godfrey and is to be placed in his hands directly.”

“Good boy. Now run along.”

As she watched the boy dash toward Joshua’s house, her stomach became heavy with fear. It was done. There was no turning back now.

The door opened, and she pulled her hood more tightly around her face, peering out from a small hole near the top. Silly, really. As she would never be recognized from this distance. When she saw the butler nod and the boy skip off with his easy earnings, she climbed back in the carriage to wait.

She would give Joshua ten minutes, she told herself, determined to save some dignity. But she knew the truth. She would wait all night if she must, just to be sure. But he came in just over five.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he climbed into the hansom and sat opposite her, sounding rather cross.

“I had to see you, Joshua.” She swallowed hard, knowing this entire business was too bold. Knowing she had crossed a line with this stunt, but part of her did not care. Seeing him again, this close, was worth it all.

His face twisted, as if his inner struggle matched her own.

She held her breath, waiting for the words that would save her or destroy her.

“Oh, Lilah. Curse you! I had been trying to put you out of my mind for the sake of my sanity and my marriage, but I could not.”

Lilah caught her breath. A rush of joy and fear and excitement swept through her very core. She felt nauseous and wondrous at the same time. Then her stomach felt suddenly light, because all the weight that had been filling her with dread, actually all the weight of her body, had settled most determinately between her hips. She felt herself swell for him, moisten for him.

“I have been consumed by you.” Lilah’s breath started coming fast and shallow, constrained by her corset. Her eyes fixed on his lips. Those lips. She had memorized every curve. She had imagined tasting them a thousand times, running her tongue along the fullness of his bottom lip. Now she was so close.

“Driver, Hyde Park,” Joshua called out of the window.

The carriage started to move.

“What about your wife?”

“She is asleep.”

“That is not what I meant.” The words sounded more like whispers, gasping whispers as her breath came faster and faster. Her eyes fixed on his lips, watching them form the words.

Joshua slid into the seat next to her.

“I know. What about your husband?” He did not speak the words, but rather breathed them.

His closeness robbed her of the ability to answer the question or to speak at all. The world fell away, and the only thing she saw in that darkened carriage was the passing gaslights reflect against the moistness of his lips.

The carriage swayed back and forth, back and forth as it clattered over the cobblestones. The rocking of the carriage further served to heighten her desire for him.

She must kiss him or die.

Joshua quickly closed the distance between them, but it was not fast enough for Lilah.

She met him halfway.

Their mouths came together and she tasted him at last. He tasted of honey and wildflowers, of desire incarnate. She drank him in and sucked on his lower lip, taking it between her teeth for but a moment before devouring him again. It was never soft or tender or caressing. It was ravenous from the start.

His hand moved to cradle her jaw.

A flood of desire washed over them both. His lips tasted of it.

His hand burned her face.

She took a desperate breath and kissed him even more deeply. Their eager tongues twisted together, eager for more, more, more. She had not been kissed like this in so long, so it felt completely new. His desire for her filled her nagging emptiness, but then the void just got bigger, needing more, more, more.

The heat of his mouth did nothing to satiate her need. It heightened it. All her blood rushed southward, making her pelvis feel heavier and her head light. Her hips responded by tilting, causing an arch in her back. This small movement sent Joshua into a fever, for he threw his arms around her and pressed pressed his body tightly against hers.

Weeks of building hunger would be satiated, finally. Tonight.

She tugged at his ascot, gasping for breath and cursing the need to breath. She could not bear even one moment apart from his earnest lips.

After assisting her with the removal of his ascot, Joshua put one hand on her side while the other, placed firmly in the small of her back, held her pressed tightly to him. She felt as if they would devour each other body and soul, and she did not care. For they could not be close enough without becoming one. She longed to crawl inside his skin, be consumed by him.

Then he slowed down, pulling his mouth away from hers.

A soft cry from the depth of her soul escaped her empty lips, suddenly cold without his to warm them. She looked into his eyes searching for a reason, and they smiled back at her.

“I want to savor this,” he whispered into her ear then kissed her softly, barely brushing his lips across hers. It brought back the memory of his lips brushing her neck on that night. She had replayed every moment of that night in her mind so often that it was impossible to ever chase it from her thoughts completely.

His hand moved up her bodice and cupped her full, surging breast. He kissed her neck again, much in the way he did on their night, as if he had replayed every move as well. But tonight, that same kiss burned even hotter on her flesh, and she hungered desperately for more, more, more.

And he did not stop there. He kissed the length of her collarbone. Tiny, soft kisses. Each one drove her to madness. Each one made her catch her breath and sent quivers down her body. When his lips reached the top of her breasts, an ample amount pressed up out of her corset, her gasps turned to a soft moan.

Embarrassed, she blushed. But he smiled wide, looking up at her for a moment before meeting her lips once again, hungrier than before. With his body against hers again, he eased her back against the hansom seat in a partially reclined position. Now she felt his firm excitement pressing through her skirts and it drove her mad.

His kisses once again found their way down her decolletage and continued to the swell of her breasts. She helped him pull down one side of her dress, enabling him access to her hardened nipple. She gasped as his tongue swirled around it. He took it gently between his teeth and then sucked slowly as he withdrew, then rimmed it once again with his tongue.

Her hands, trembling, began unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled its tail out of his trousers and started unbuttoning it from the bottom up, helping her. When he met her quaking hands, he took them in his own and brought them up to his lips. His eyes locked with hers, as the carriage clattered down the cobblestone streets in the darkened carriage, rocking back and forth, back and forth.

Then something broke. They collided simultaneously into each other. Mouth, tongues, arms intertwined. She felt the heat inside spread throughout her pelvis again, moistening her lower lips. She felt them swell between her legs, ready for him. Hungry for him.

And he was ready for her. Without breaking from the passionate kiss, he parted her legs with his body then reached one hand up under her skirts and found the wetness within.

His cheeks pulled back from their kiss in his delight for a just a moment before enveloping her mouth again in a deeper kiss.

He slid his finger up into her wet darkness then withdrew to encircle her clitoris, applying slight pressure. She squirmed and moaned into his open mouth, which just made him smile again. This time, he did not come back in for another kiss, instead he pulled back from her and disappeared beneath her skirts. As his finger, then two, found her hungry opening, his tongue tasted her swollen clitoris. Round and round. In and out. Her hips swayed in time, back and forth, back and forth.

She writhed in pleasure, trying to push him away, as the intensity was so great. She had not felt such pleasure before, but it was him. It was her Joshua, so she let herself go and gave into it. His tongue licked and flicked and swirled around her clitoris as his fingers slid in and out of her more and more rapidly, curling up as he withdrew to stimulate that special place inside. She grabbed a fistful of hair as she cried out in her pleasure.

Her orgasm exploded from her, drenching his chin and hands. Yet he did not stop. His tongue moved faster and faster, alternating pressure. His fingers slowed, but did not stop. He ran his other hand down her thigh, raking it gently with his fingernails, pulling the stockings down. He abandoned her clitoris to nibble down the inside of her thighs, which proved to be even more effective than the clitoral stimulation, for she came again when his teeth reached the back of her knee.

His mouth, wet with her joy, covered hers. The taste of her own excitement made her climax again. She arched her body against his and held him desperately to her as she cried out in her ecstasy. Her entire body was on fire.

He pulled back from her, and the look on his face was one of pure delight.

She breathlessly grappled towards him with flailing hands, ripping off her gloves as she sat up, then reached for his trousers. She unbuttoned them and took his engorged penis in her bare hands. She stroked its shaft while she looked deeply into his dark eyes, reveling in the sensation of the silky soft skin of his manhood in her grasp. Then leaning forward, she took his erection into her mouth, encircling it with her swirling tongue.

Joshua moaned deep in his throat.

Lilah licked all the way down and around it, ensuring that it was well lubricated, and then hungrily stroked his cock with her wet, warm mouth. She clasped her hands around his shaft while she worked it with her mouth so that every part of it was covered in her heat and motion.

Joshua moaned again, and she had to be careful that her teeth did not nick him as she smiled. She wanted to bring him just as he had brought her to orgasm. She wanted to feel his hot semen exploding into her mouth, filling her with his delicious agony.

But he had other plans.

“Come here,” he said, lifting her up and placing her back on the rocking carriage seat.

She lifted her skirts and spread her legs, welcoming him inside.

He knelt in front of her and brushed the tip of himself up and down her wet vulva, teasing her. Lilah moaned and reached for him, trying to pull him inside of her. She had waited so long; she could not wait another moment. Yet he teased until she begged him.

“Please,” she whined. “Please, my love.”

With this, he plunged inside her, filling her up. The ecstasy of their union shot up her torso and filled her, mind and body, with pleasure. He pumped into her, the rocking of the carriage back and forth, back and forth, heightening her stimulation. As he continued to thrust deeper and deeper into her, his mouth again closed over hers, swallowing her cries of pleasure. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, vowing to never let him go. As her excitement mounted, her narrow walls tightened around him. She felt his ridged head glide across the special spot inside, moving in and out, in and out and over it at a perfect pace. She clasped to him more tightly, pressing into him as he drove into her.

Tormented desire washed over her in waves, and when she could no longer contain herself, she cried out, screaming in delight and digging her nails into his shoulders. Still he did not stop, but he slowed down as her orgasm waned. Exaggerated slow movements enabled her to feel every delicious inch of him. She relaxed for a moment, catching her breath and enjoying the delightful sensation of him, swollen inside her.

Slowly, the pressure built again, and she opened herself to him even more, if that were possible. She kissed him hungrily, pressing herself against him, bathing in his desire. Meeting each slow, deliberate thrust with the rhythm of her hips. Their kisses stopped, but their love mounted. As he moved inside her, he looked into her very soul and she looked into his. Never before had she shared such a moment of truth with anyone.

The scent of sex and sweat mingled with the dank carriage interior. His musk filled her nostrils as his tongue filled her mouth and his undulating passion filled the rest of her. The only sound was the clattering of the carriage wheels upon the cobblestones and the beating of their hearts.

Without taking his eyes off of her, he began moving faster and faster again. He grabbed onto her hips and crashed into her. Each thrust more determined, striving to go deeper than the last.

Waves of their mingled passion washed over Lilah. She held onto the carriage seat to steady herself, and he held onto her. Together their passion turned to anguish and then back to passion again. Back and forth, back and forth with the sway of the carriage. The pressure rose and her eyes saw her salvation in his. Together, their desire erupted as one.

He collapsed against her, spent. She squeezed him to her with her arms and her legs, encircling him with her love.

And the carriage rocked back and forth, back and forth.

She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face against his neck, kissing it as he had kissed hers. For that moment, she lay against him. Warm. Content. Fulfilled. The rocking of the carriage back and forth, back and forth soothed her.

Then she was cold as if the London night forced its way between their hot bodies. When she opened her eyes, she was alone in her darkened attic.

The zeppelin fell from her forgotten hands and slid down her thigh as a tear slid down her blushing cheek.

A Tall Order

The whirring sounds of grinding espresso beans and of baristas foaming milk filled the darkened room. People sat in comfy chairs and at cafe tables sipping lattes and cappuccinos. Most were alone. Some read a book or the newspaper. Others worked on laptops. The only couple spoke in hushed tones over their cardboard-cradled cups.

The woman popped off the white plastic lid and lined up the drink opening with the green, circular logo on the front of the white paperboard cup before snapping the lid back in place. Then she turned the cardboard sleeve until its logo lined up with the logo on the cup. She took a sip and moaned in delight.

“That good?” The man smiled at her euphoric reaction, but something extra shone in his eyes as he looked at her. He had watched her little ritual with great joy, while tapping the side of his own smaller cup.

“Mmmm. Always. This is ambrosia to me. Almost orgasmic.”

“That was quite a tall order.”

“Venti decaf non-fat no-whip mocha with foam,” she rattled off before taking another sip. The smile in her eyes never faltered, and neither did the gaze she held with him. “And you,” she continued. “Just a tall black coffee?”

“With two Sweet’n Lows.”

“How do they ever keep that straight?”

The man sipped his coffee, the joy of her company radiated from his every pore. But something in his countenance changed as he placed the cup back onto the table. His eyes shot downward. It was the first time he looked away from her. His smile faded and a look of sadness shrouded his face.

Her cheeks relaxed as well.

“This would be too easy.”

“It’s anything but easy,” she sighed, betraying a slight catch in her throat.

“Of course, I mean with you. It’s so natural.”

“I know.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just one minute everything changed.”

“Sure felt that way.”

“Can’t we just go back?”

“We have to, I suppose.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Neither do I.”

“Look. They’ve got their Christmas Blend in. Two for one, the lady said.”

“Really? And they have decaf. Sometimes they don’t have decaf in the special blends.”

“You only drink decaf?”

“Yep.”

“That’s just not human.”

“I go rather nuts with caffeine. Literally. It’s a thing.”

“And non-fat, you said. Are you on a diet?”

“Always.”

“You don’t need to be. You look amazing.” His eyes again held the heat from before.

“Kevin,” she breathed.

“Right. Sorry.” For the next few moments, he looked around the cafe. His eyes fell on one person typing away on their laptop, then another reading a book, before they came back to his companion. But he did not look at her for long, just momentarily meeting her gaze before looking down again.

“But what about last week? Do I just put your seduction out of my mind. Wipe it from my memory?”

“We didn’t...” His words slipped across the table so silently they almost did not exist.

“I know we didn’t. I was there. But it was close enough.”

He took a sip of his coffee and watched the laptop guy put his computer in his brown satchel and fasten it.

“What? That didn’t count? Don’t kid yourself.” She crossed her arms and fixed her eyes on the tiers of pastries behind the glass.

“Their coffee is really rich.”

“It is. I have to get it watered down when I get just regular decaf. I tell them to fill it three-quarters and then the rest with hot water. When I get it iced, the hot coffee melting over the ice makes it perfect. Then the best part is watching the half and half swirl down between the ice cubes. I always try to take a picture of it, but it never comes out just right.”

“My god, you’re adorable.”

A blush flashed across her cheek and she tried not to smile. But she glowed with love, and it seemed to meet with the joy emanating from him. Their eyes locked, and for a moment they were the brightest spot in the dark cafe. But the sadness quickly returned.

“I can’t do this dishonestly.” His voice was barely audible over the recorded music and whirring machines. “Those are the rules, right?”

“Yes, so you said last week, too. Then...”

After looking around as if he expected a PI to be taking photos, he leaned in closer across the small cafe table, lowering his voice even further, his words desperate. “What do you want from me?”

“Something you are unwilling to give, or even try for.”

“I asked you to please have patience. It’s going to take a long time.”

“So you keep saying, and I can be patient, too. These feelings just don’t go away, after all. But are you even trying? Does she even know I exist?”

“Of course she does. It’s just...delicate.”

“Why did you do this to us? We were fine before. Perfect as friends. Colleagues. Now you haunt me. Every minute. Every fucking minute, Kevin.”

“It can’t be like that.”

“Well it is like that! It’s not something I can control or I would. Believe me. I would.” The tip of the woman’s nose started turning red and her eyes became glassy. She bit her lip and looked anywhere but at him. Her eyes fell on the rows of reusable cups along the wall and flicked from one to the next down the row, counting them. Red ones dominated the bulk of the display, as it was close to the holidays. Everything was either red or green or blue or white.

The man was silent for a moment. His face held a look of confusion, as if he was trying to think of just the right words. Tears formed in his eyes as well, but the sadness quickly turned to shame. He covered his face with his hands, slowly drawing them down his cheeks, then picked up his coffee for another sip.

She visibly softened, then broke the silence. Yet her voice was cold. “Still no word from my agent. It’s been months. I think she’s forgotten about me.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case.” He forced a smile.

“When will we run lines together again? I miss that.”

“I do, too.”

“Then we should start doing that again. Supporting each other in our work. That seemed to work well for us both last time. We can do this. We can go back.”

“I don’t want to lose you from my life,” he said softly. “I don’t know what to do.”

She reached out to his face but stopped just as her hand was about to touch his square jaw. She pulled back and crossed her arms again, looking away.

“I don’t want to lose you from my life either. And I know we can’t do this dishonestly. It was my rule from the beginning, remember? This just all sideswiped me and now my heart is overpowering my reason. Thank you for the reminder.”

“You saved my marriage. I’m just trying to return the favor.”

“My marriage is fine. My husband knows, remember? We have an agreement.”

“My marriage isn’t.”

“Yes. I know.”

“I love my wife.”

“Yes. I know. I love my husband, and I...” Her thumb worked the drops of mocha into the lipstick on the lid, smearing it. “Don’t you see, love breeds more love. Desire, more desire. There is no loss here, as long as it’s honest.”

“She’ll never go for it.”

“You can’t know that unless you try.”

“I know my wife.”

“Then what are we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

The woman put both hands around her coffee cup, as if to warm them. She looked down intently at the lipstick stained plastic lid before taking another long sip, then continued smearing the lipstick stain into a blurry mess across the plastic top.

The man watched her for a moment, the look in his eyes evolving from pain to love back to pain again.

“Friends, then,” she finally said after taking a deep breath and a deeper swig of her mocha.

“Of course. Always.”

“Just deny this.”

“We either betray ourselves or we betray them, so we betray ourselves.”

“Agreed.”

Tears filled the woman’s eyes. For several seconds, she squeezed her eyes tightly as if willing the tears to stop from flowing.

“What is it, my darling?”

“Darling. You are the only man to ever call me that. And when you say it, I catch my breath.”

“You are my darling, my love. But this situation, it’s impossible.”

“Do I just keep fantasizing then? That’s all this relationship has been, one fantasy after another. You did this to me.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

“You started something you couldn’t finish.”

“I know.”

“Look at me, Kevin. I’m getting older by the day. And you, your career is on the verge of taking off. Film after film, and I can’t even get a commercial. You become more influential and more powerful and just better every day.”

“I wouldn’t have any of it without your help. Without what you have been to me. My friend. My confidant. My muse. I found an agent thanks to you. And nonsense about you getting older. You’re beautiful.”

“I have a decade on you.”

“But you look younger than I do.”

“I’m just so afraid you’re leaving me behind. You’ll forget about me.”

“You should know better than that.”

“Should I?” She dabbed the brown napkin to the corner of her eye, catching the tear before it streaked her black eyeliner down her face. “Look at me. Fucking school girl. I’m just a fool.”

“Julie.”

“Just stop. Just stop talking for a minute.”

The sound of a bell, a single dong, clipped the air.

The man picked up his iPhone and looked.

“They need me back on the set.”

“Of course.”

“You know I don’t want this. Not this way.”

“I know.”

“But I just.... There’s just.... There’s just no other option.”

“I know.”

“I don’t really know what else to say.”

“Say whatever you like, just as long as it’s not goodbye.”

“Until later, then.”

“Of course. Later.”

She watched him leave, never blinking until he was out of sight.

Final Word

A note on the pillow read: I warned you.

The sounds of the new day silenced, as if she had been sealed in a coffin. No birds, no traffic, nothing. Just silence. Then the pounding of her heart and her quickening breath invaded her ears from the inside. She sat up, and he trickled out of her, wetting the sheets.

Images from the previous night flooded her mind. Pleasure. Passion...and fear. She could feel his hands grasping her hair, holding her face close as he said, “If anyone finds out about this, it’s over.”

She had known him forever, it seemed, but in reality it had been less than a year. Theirs has been one of those connections, indescribable. Close. Fast friends. When it turned more, she fell hard. He had told her how he married after the army. But even with a wife and a three-year-old son, his need for her remained, and hers for him. Although she had tried to keep things platonic, she had been unable to resist when he had pushed toward seduction.

Life had damaged him, but then it hadn’t left her unscathed either. The scars on her arms and legs, self-inflicted, spoke to that. But she nor anyone but another soldier could grasp the depth of his internal injuries. As former sniper who had served in Iraq, he struggled with normal life. She could see the pain behind his eyes because it mirrored her own. Although she hadn’t known him before, she sensed the war had changed him. Still, they understood each other’s insanities. Both broken. Both scrambling to survive in a world they didn’t understand, and more importantly, one that didn’t understand them.

A buzzing pulled her out of her thoughts, and she looked over at her phone vibrating on the night stand, a reminder of an unread text from her best friend.

He must have seen it.

That’s how he knew she had told. She must have slept through the first alert, dreaming. Content in her satisfaction. His senses, honed from his experience overseas, enabled him to hear the quiet vibration in the night.

Now he knew. Now it was over.

She collapsed to the floor, holding herself in a fetal position. The fear that consumed her wouldn’t even allow tears to come. Gasping for breath, she tried to grasp this new reality.

He was gone. It was over. Surely he couldn’t throw their love away so easily. But the fear of hurting his family mixed with the unstable nature of PTSD made him unpredictable. She had seen it, his personality change from charming and witty one moment to dark and brooding and harsh the next. She had often wondered if he was reliving something from the war, remembering things that he quickly pushed back down deep inside the darkness of his mind. Despite horrors of war, tragedy and loss and savagery beyond comprehension, his greatest fear now was losing his family. He would stop at nothing to protect his place with them. He would never talk of them. She had asked repeatedly to see a picture of his wife, hoping that seeing her as a person, instead of just a intangible concept, would help her resist him. She would not do anything to hurt him or his family, but he always made an excuse. Perhaps his fear of losing them, of being discovered, had turned dangerous and triggered something primal inside him.

A new horror came to mind.

What if he meant over over. Like, over for her. Completely, not just the relationship?

“Get up,” her subconscious screamed at her.

But she couldn’t move.

“Get up! Get up!” The words burst from her mouth and echoed against the walls in the silent apartment.

Forcing herself to her feet, her instinct took over. Naked and alone, she ran to the front door and turned the two deadbolts, locked the doorknob, and shoved a chair beneath the handle. She stepped back, pulling her hands to her mouth, and trembled. Listening. But the silence remained. The whole world quiet, save for the pounding of her heart and her ever-quickening breath.

Her mind drifted back to a few weeks ago. She could still see him watching her with admiration. No, adoration. The heat in his eyes had startled her. No one had looked at her like that in quite some time, and she had thought she imagined it. An artist, like her, they had gone to an opening together. An excuse to see each other, of course, in a professional setting without suspicion, although there had been nothing to suspect at the time. They had just been colleagues, friends, supporting each other in a tough business. Keeping each other’s spirits up so that they could continue to create. But his wife was the jealous type. Older than he, on her third marriage, a scientist with little interest in the visual arts.

That night everything had changed. She had felt him watching her, and she didn’t quite know what to think. They had embraced, as always, but this time he kissed her. Just on the cheek. Rather innocent, really; but she had felt something new in that moment. For her, anyway. The look on his face as they parted made it clear that he had been taken with her for some time, and that night he had made his move, subtle as it was.

A door slammed in the hall, making her jump then realize she stood alone, naked and scared. Lost in her memories. Had she been more aware, could she have seen the danger that lay just beneath his surface?

Voices drifted through her closed door. She stared at the chair forced beneath the handle and listened.

“Why are you so grumpy this morning?” It was Mr. White, her neighbor.

“As if you didn’t know. I hardly slept with all that screaming and pounding last night.”

They must be on their way to church.

“Ah, to be young again,” he responded, his voice fading as they moved down the hall.

Then again, silence. Deafening, the kind that muffles every sense. The kind that fills the entire room with dread.

She still trembled, but the goosebumps on her flesh awakened her to the cold.

“You’re overreacting.” Her voice broke the silence. “Get a grip.”

Leaving the chair propped under the door, she retuned to the bedroom and began gathering her clothes strewn about the room. She picked up the purple panties and the matching bra, bought especially for him, his favorite color, and slid them on, remembering how he had coaxed them off last night. The soft fabric of her favorite sweatshirt dried her cheeks as she pulled it over her head, its folds warming her body and comforting her. She stepped into her PJ bottoms and slid her feet into her fuzzy slippers.

The phone on the nightstand buzzed again, causing the adrenaline to rush to her brain. She picked up the phone to turn it off, but dropped it. Its face cracked as it hit the side of the nightstand before crashing to the floor. Frantic, she looked around then ran toward the window. After she jerked the curtains closed, she pressed herself against the wall next to it. Her pounding heart filled her ears, and she could see it moving the material of her thick sweatshirt. Her breath came faster and more shallow. She slid down the wall and hugged her knees, trying to consciously slow her breath. Breath in, one-two-three-four, and out, one-two-three-four. In, one-two-three-four, and out, one-two-three-four.

It wasn’t helping.

She crawled along the floor, fighting to breathe, toward the bathroom. Grasping the edge of the sink, she pulled herself up and reached for her bottle of Xanax. After gulping one of the tiny pills down with a handful of water, she took comfort in the fact that the attack would soon pass. Her face in the mirror seemed old, tired. She turned the shower knob to hot, knowing the hot water would calm her until the pills kicked in. It always did, but as the room steamed up she saw it again.

I warned you written on the glass shower door. Screaming, she wiped the words off then dashed around the apartment, jerking the curtains closed over the windows and ensuring all the lights were off. Although, that didn’t matter in the daylight. Her thoughts bounced around in her head, obsessive and frantic.

She rushed into the kitchen, opened the silverware drawer, and pulled out the biggest knife. Then she resumed her position on the floor, in a corner, with her knees pulled close. She kept her wide eyes trained on the front door and waited.

It’s not enough, her brain screamed at her. You haven’t done enough. Pile boxes in front of the windows! Call the police, for Christ’s sake!

“The Police,” she said aloud. “Fuck!”

Clutching the knife in one hand and forcing herself to take deep, controlled breaths, she crawled back into the bedroom to her shattered phone. She pushed the home button and saw the familiar picture pop up. Thank God! It still worked! She slid the arrow to unlock it and pressed the green phone button. Dr. Ray’s name filled the top three slots of her recent call list.

She pressed the top one.

“Hello,” the tired voice on the other end said.

“Dr. Ray?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry to wake you. It’s Marla.”

Following a heavy sigh, he said, “Yes, Marla. How can I help you?”

“I’m in danger!” she managed between rapid breaths.

“Calm down. Are you doing your breathing exercises?”

“Yes, but they’re not working! He’s coming! He’s coming for me!”

“You are having a panic attack again. Keep taking deep breaths. Try a hot shower until it passes. That always seems to help, right?”

“No! You don’t understand! On the shower--” But her pleas went unheard on the dropped call.

“Fucking AT&T!” she shrieked and hurled the phone across the room, hitting the far wall and denting the sheetrock. There goes the security deposit.

“Deep breaths. Deep breaths.” She rocked back and forth, covering her head with her arms. The knife rested against her back. God! The Xanax should kick in soon. I’ll be fine. I’ll be just fine. In, one-two-three-four, and out, one-two-three-four. In, one-two-three-four, and out one-two-three-four.

Dr. Ray was probably right; an anxiety attack had caused the paranoia because she already felt better. How ridiculous for her to be so freaked.

“I mean really, Marla? He’s just trying to scare you. Abusive SOB.”

She was definitely overreacting.

“Just do what you would normally do in the morning. No need to freak out.”

She laughed at herself as she made her coffee, and soon percolating sounds and delicious, fresh aroma of brewed java filled the room. Her eyelids drooped a little as she poured her first cup. The Xanax kicked into full gear. She felt relaxed and rather tired. It had been a long, exciting night after all. Was it really over? She couldn’t fathom never seeing him again, watching him smile, making her laugh, kissing those soft lips. But the comfortable chemical-induced calm allowed her momentary peace.

“Don’t jump to any conclusions, Marla.” Talking to herself often soothed her, allowing the thoughts to come out rather than bounce around in her brain driving her crazier. “I’m sure everything is fine. Just be glad he didn’t see that level of crazy. Don’t panic. Not yet. No need to panic yet.”

She sipped her coffee again and moved over to the large, living room window. At first, she just parted the curtains a sliver, peeking through them into the morning. It had snowed during the night, and a beautiful white blanket covered everything. It was Sunday, so many cars were still on the streets as all their owners slept in. Only a few tire treads marred the otherwise pristine white. It was a perfect morning.

“I love Xanax,” she sighed.

After sliding the curtains all the way open to let in the sunshine, she settled down on the sofa, pulled her lap blanket over her legs, and gazed out the window. Across the street some children were up playing in the snow. They had already formed the bottom of a snowman and were working together to roll the middle. A blue bird settled on a tree limb just outside. He held a worm in his beak. A car turned the corner and slid a little, but regained control before hitting the curb. On the top of the adjacent building, a glint caught her eye, like sun reflecting off glass.

Poetry

You belong in the darkness with me.

You belong in the darkness with me.

Steal away to the darkness with me.

Together we will banish all light

And hold each other through the pain.

Together we will kindle the fire

To illuminate the darkness

Within and around and throughout us.

You belong in the darkness with me.

Steal away to the darkness with me.

Kiss me there, when I cannot see you,

When I can only feel your lips,

When I can only feel your hands

Caress me, tease me, and taunt me.

Whisper that it’s only a dream.

You belong in the darkness with me.

Steal away to the darkness with me.

Let’s slip away out of this time,

To one where you can breathe my name,

To one where you can whisper ‘My Darling,’

Where our secret passion may prevail,

Where we revel in our darkest dreams.

You belong in the darkness with me.

All I See Is Your Absence

When I awake each morning,

I do not see the sunrise.

I do not see autumn leaves

Swirling around in the breeze.

All I see is your absence.

My ears, deaf to the birds’ song,

Deaf to the wind in the trees.

They cannot hear the music

Of the life surrounding me.

All they hear is your silence.

My mind returns to your lips,

But I no longer feel them.

My skin, longing for your touch,

Has forgotten your caress.

All it feels is your distance.

I start a new empty day

Hoping to fill it with you

Hoping to find a way back

To see the heat in your eyes,

But all I see is your absence.

If I Had Known...

If I had known it would be the last

I would have held you longer,

Slipping my arms around you,

Pulling you close to me, too,

Placing my cheek on your chest,

Stroking your hair, watching you rest.

If I had only known.

If I had known it would fade so fast

I would have kissed you deeper,

Absorbing your lips’ softness,

Losing myself in your kiss.

Drinking in all your desire,

Refusing to quench the fire.

If I had only known.

If I had known it would be the last

I would have stayed through the night,

Holding on to every breath

As if it would mean my death

To let you go.

If I had only known.

Reality.

No more dreams.

This is my reality now.

Alone. In the dark

Crouching in the driveway

Night after night at 3am

With only a cigarette and the cold wind

To keep me company.

The loss consumes me.

This is my reality now.

No note or text or email or message

To say “I miss you” or “Let’s find a way.”

Nothing but the dark and the cold,

Nothing but my shame and regret

To keep me company.

He has been over me for weeks

Cuddled up, asleep with her

But I cannot sleep.

My pain wakes me

Night after night at 3am.

This is my reality.

Love’s Unrelenting Claw

Love’s unrelenting claw

Gripped tightly around my heart

Squeezing out the life

Suffocating

Pounding

Ripping

Tearing

Its fervent fingers refusing to let go,

Forcing my weakened heart to beat & pulse within its grasp

Bulging out between bony knuckles

Struggling to survive

Bleeding

Weeping

Begging to be released.

The Pain You Caused

Do you feel the pain you caused?

Do you cry. Do you crumple into a ball?

Grasping at the wall?

Shaking, shivering, cutting?

Remember how you said

To get used to being pleased by you?

To get used to catching my breath?

No pleasure. Only pain, emptiness, gasping for breath.

Breakdown.

After Breakdown.

After Breakdown.

Remember my thighs?

The ones you said you would kill for?

The ones you lay between to taste me?

Their longing is now revealed in long, bloody cuts.

Do you feel the pain you caused?

Relationship Articles

These articles were originally posted on O. M. Grey’s blog “Caught in the Cogs” at http://omgrey.wordpress.com. More relationship articles can be found there.

Polyamory as an Alternative to Infidelity

“That doesn’t work.”

No doubt, if you have heard someone talk about “polyamory,” or any of the terms describing open marriage or non-monogamous relationships, and especially if you have suggested it to your spouse or girlfriend, you likely heard those words.

“That doesn’t work.”

Discussion over. Next.

The harsh truth about marriages in today’s society is that nearly 50% of them end in divorce, largely due to infidelity. Second marriages, in which one would thought they had avoided the pitfalls that ended their first marriage, have a 60% divorce rate. Third marriages? 75% divorce rate.1

Perhaps monogamy doesn’t work. Certainly not for everybody. That said, alternative lifestyles like Polyamory don’t work for everyone either. Couples are like snowflakes: no two are alike. What works for one couple may not work for another. There is not a magic tool that will fix all marriages, but it helps to have as many tools in your toolbox as possible; that is, if your goal is to have a healthy, happy marriage.

As a society, we pride ourselves on our “family values.” We fall in love and get married. We buy a house. We have kids. We build our career. We join a church or social group. We are living the American Dream... until it turns into a nightmare.

“Love,” that euphoric feeling and rush of desire so common at the beginning of a new relationship, always fades. It. Always. Fades. There are no exceptions to this. You may be reading this saying to yourself, “Not my marriage, because I still feel a rush when my wife kisses me! Not my relationship! It won’t fade.”

It will.

The average length of time for that “in love” feeling to last in a primary relationship is two years.2 Which means you may be in your fifth year of wedded bliss, still getting excited watching your wife get dressed in the morning, but someone else has lost it in their first year. Perhaps even before their first year.

It fades. It’s a fact of life. That feeling of euphoria fades, and there is nothing wrong with that. Too many couples think that the “honeymoon is over” when that fades or that it must not have been true love, but that is not the case. It was very real, but it was just the first step. A deeper connection and a more beautiful love come after that. Something real. Something that lasts. Something that is not just based on brain chemicals and hormones. True intimacy, if you are willing to do the work to establish that.

Recently, when discussing polyamory with a friend, he said to me, “But it’s just so much easier to cheat and lie about it.” We had a conversation about polyamory years ago when my husband and I first were experimenting with an open marriage. This friend said his wife would never go for it, but he did bring it up in passing one day. Her response was: “That doesn’t work.”

End of discussion.

Two years later, he had an affair. His wife is blissfully ignorant of it, but if and when she finds out--and let’s face it, they usually do--she will feel devastated and betrayed. And she should, because he betrayed her trust. He betrayed their vows. He lied to her, and the greatest pain is in the deception, not the sex. He adores his wife. I know it doesn’t seem like it, because he did cheat on her, but he does.

Perhaps the greatest problem with the monogamy model is that it does not leave room for personal growth and personal satisfaction. The monogamy model shows us that once you are married you stay married...or you get divorced. Or, of course, you cheat. But then, you are no longer monogamous.

Desire happens. Even love sometimes just happens. Usually when you least expect it and even if you don’t want it. Another fact of life. We are sexual beings. Sex to most men and many, many women (more than you’d think!) is as essential a need as food, water, and shelter. Sex, after several years of marriage, can fall to the wayside because the comfort and security are there. The kids. PTA meetings. Career. Day care. Housekeeping. After all the maintenance of life, sex falls to the side. Where once you had sex daily or at least weekly, now weeks or even months may go by without sex.

Then one day it happens. You’re off on a business trip, or at the office, and you notice someone in that way. She notices you, too. You feel seen. You feel attractive and interesting and desirable, all those things that your wife truly knows but no longer seems to notice. Is this woman better? Younger? Sexier? More beautiful than your wife? Not necessarily. In fact, unlikely. She’s merely different. New.

So. What are your choices? Deny your own desires, or worse, your heart if you’ve fallen “in love”? This can mean to emotionally castrate yourself, which can actually cause physical ailments.3 Your other choice, the one that has become far too common in our society, is to cheat on your wife, jeopardizing your marriage and family, if you have children. All for what? To feel good. Not attractive options. Especially because this new “in love” euphoria, too, will fade over time. As many people find out in their second and third marriages. It always does. It is biology.

Here is a third option: Polyamory.

Polyamory is many things, but it is not a license to have sex with whomever or whenever you want. Not necessarily. Not unless that is what you and your spouse decide. Polyamory cannot really be defined, as it means different things to different people. In fact, polyamory might not mean having sex with anyone but your wife. Polyamory is about open and honest relationships, which first and foremost must happen in your primary relationship.

For starters, you can use this new office attraction as “borrowed desire,” sparking things at home, but not deceptively. Tell your wife about it. I know this sounds terrifying, but this is how one develops true intimacy and a deeper relationship with one’s spouse: by sharing fears.

You must start and end the conversation with reassurances on how much you love her and how you would never leave her. Tell her that revealing this is scary to you because you are afraid she will think something is going on, but that is precisely WHY you are telling her, to reassure her that there isn’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t be telling her.

This conversation can be extremely powerful. By telling her about this attraction you are 1) at least partially diffusing the situation at work (by hiding it, you’re only fueling the excitement and the desire for this new woman, and, worse, deceiving your wife) and, 2) making yourself vulnerable before your wife. Tell her that you don’t want to feel this attraction, but you do. Tell her that you aren’t going to act on it, but it feels great to be seen again. Tell her that it has inspired you to want to make her feel desired and loved and cherished again, because you would never do anything to hurt her or your family.

Ask if she feels threatened. If she does, then address that by reassuring her again. There is no place for anger here. If she get’s angry, then it is likely because she is scared of abandonment, too. Listen to your wife’s fears. Likely, her fear is that you are going to leave her. Abandonment is one of the greatest fears in any marriage. The tragedy is that this overwhelming fear of abandonment keeps couples from opening up to each other, which ironically and ultimately pushes them further and further apart making an indiscretion, separation, or divorce all that more likely.

In my next article, I will be addressing 5 myths about polyamory:

Casual sex with whomever/whenever

Something must be wrong with your marriage to want to open it up

It’s only about sex or It’s only about love

My spouse isn’t enough for me, so I must look elsewhere

It doesn’t work

Dispelling 5 Myths about Polyamory

Polyamory is not just about sex.

Polyamory is not just about love, although it is more about love than it is about sex.

Polyamory is not Swinging.

Polyamory is about being in an emotionally (and possibly sexual) open and honest relationship. It’s about knowing who you are. It’s about knowing who your spouse or significant other (SO) is. Completely. Intimately.

It’s about facing your fears and listening to your SO’s fears.

It’s about building true intimacy. And that in itself can be terrifying. To build true intimacy, you have to remove all masks, and we all wear masks to one degree or another out in the world. We are often many people. We play the role of employee or professional. We play the role of parent. We play the role of church or society member. We play the role of friend or acquaintance. But with our intimate relationship(s), we must find the courage to remove those masks and show our SO who we truly are. That’s terrifying.

Utterly and completely terrifying.

But the rewards are well worth the risk, and the alternative is living a lie in constant fear of your SO finding out who you truly are. That is no way to live, but it is most certainly a way to ensure you create, at best, a loveless marriage where you grow further and further apart over the years, and at worst, infidelity, divorce, abandonment, and loss.

Five Prevalent Myths about Polyamory:

1. Polyamory = Swinging: Casual sex with whomever, whenever.

Many people think of swinging when they hear the word polyamory or “open marriage,” and that is not necessarily true. Swinging, also a valid lifestyle choice, is about sex. It’s about a lot of sex with a lot of different people. Sometimes together as a couple, sometimes on your own. Normally, people who are swingers have a free pass from their spouse/SO to have sex with whomever/whenever they want, as long as it’s just sex. Swinging is like polyamory in the way that they both rely on openness and honesty in the primary relationship.

Polyamory, as I’ve stated in my first article, can mean many different things, depending on the couple. The foundation for it is an open and honest relationship. (In my next article, I’ll show you some techniques on how to open a discussion with your SO, so you can create open and honest intimacy.) Mostly, it’s about love in all forms. It’s about embracing love. It’s about acknowledging love and desire. It’s about loving yourself and loving your SO, and maybe loving others as well. It’s a firm belief that *love breeds more love* and *desire breeds more desire.* There is no such thing as loving too much. There is no such thing as loving one person less so you can love another more. Love breeds love.

Take the example from my first article: a special someone in the workplace enters your life and you find the courage to talk with your SO about it, building trust and intimacy for doing so. Just think how wonderful and *loved* you will feel when your SO accepts you for who you are. After the shock and jealousy and fear is worked through, there is love beneath. And you will love your SO more for accepting you. They will love you more for being honest and trusting them with your heart.

More about this in the next article.

2. Something must be wrong with your marriage to want to open it.

Quite the contrary, actually. Something must be very *right* with your marriage to feel safe enough to explore other options. It means you both are mature enough to understand that one person cannot fulfill your every need, every day for the rest of your life...and you are secure enough in your relationship to own that and not to be threatened by it. It’s understanding that you do not own each other. You have chosen to build a life and family together. You do not have to jeopardize either to be true to yourself.

3. It’s only about sex, or it’s only about love.

Polyamory is about honesty and emotional openness. It is about knowing each other completely. Forget mystery. I once had a friend who thought the key to a successful relationship was maintaining mystery. Balderdash. Mystery is great for attraction and building initial desire, etc.; but that is only in the first stage of love. If you choose to, you can find a deeper love and understanding through truly knowing each other, deeply. Completely.

Trying to keep mystery in a primary, long term relationship is a perfect way to wake up to a stranger in another five years, if not sooner.

As far as the rules for sex and/or love with people outside your marriage (SO2, SO3, etc.), that is entirely up to each individual couple. It will come down to what each couple is comfortable with. Likely, you will start slow and experiment with desire. For instance, the “get your appetite worked up elsewhere but eat at home” idea. Go out. Flirt. Toy...perhaps even kiss. It’s up to you and your spouse to see just how far you want to play at first. Then come back home and devour each other with renewed fervor.

It might be where one spouse says “do what you want, but I don’t want to know the details.” It might be kissing only. It might be no sexual contact at all. It might be anything except intercourse. There are dozens and dozens of scenarios. It’s up to you and your spouse to decide what is okay and what is not.

This will all come down to how each couple defines sex (i.e. actual intercourse=sex, oral sex, sexual situations, kissing, etc. I’ll cover this in a future article). Whatever you decide in your primary relationship, then experiment. All the while checking in with your spouse often to ensure s/he does not feel threatened or jealous. If they do, address that. Reassure them again that you are not going to leave. Reassure them that they and your family mean more to you than anything and they always always always come first. Let them know how much you appreciate and love them for allowing you to satisfy your own needs without judgment. Find a safe place to be together. The love you find there will be unlike that you have ever known. And that is not scary. It’s beautiful.

4. Your spouse isn’t enough for you, so you must look elsewhere.

There are countless reasons to open your marriage/primary relationship. Just a few off the top of my head: you have different appetites, you have different levels of need, you have different styles. One polycouple I know opened up because the wife had tendencies toward the BDSM spectrum, but the husband did not. She did not love him less because of it. He did not love her less because of it. They just have different needs. They recognized it. They loved each other despite it. They opened up and learned that not only did their love and desire for each other grow, but they were both getting their own needs met as well. Love breeds love. Desire breeds desire.

Compare it to something undeniably biological, like diabetes. A person with diabetes needs insulin injections for their body to work properly. Do they fault their SO for not needing insulin injections? No. Their biological needs are different.

The same is true with emotional issues, which unfortunately still carry too much of a stigma in our society. The truth is, most emotional/mental disorders are in fact *biological,* but instead of the need being elsewhere in the body, it’s in the brain. Say your spouse is clinically depressed. They have an imbalance of serotonin in their brain, and they must be medicated to correct the imbalance. Does your spouse fault you for not needing medication? No.

Biological difference.

Sexual need is extremely biological, and it also takes place in the brain, in the levels of hormones and other chemicals. (Again, Sex at Dawn is a brilliant resource for the biological ties to human sexuality.) Some men, especially, have unbelievably high amounts of testosterone. This can act like a drug. While they’re “high” on testosterone, all reason goes out the window. They are not themselves. Similarly in women, there can be hormonal fluctuations that cause them to behave differently as well. It’s biology. It’s not one’s fault. It’s not something they choose. It just is.

This brings us to libido. Perhaps you and your spouse have different libidinal needs. Perhaps your drive is much higher than theirs. Perhaps theirs is much higher than yours. Perhaps you need more variety or more adventure or are just *freakier* than your spouse. No blame. It just is. It’s biology.

Polyamory is understanding these differences and loving each other despite them. It’s about understanding that you don’t own each other, but rather you each have chosen to build a life and family together. Consider how much more love you would feel for your spouse if they understood this about you and allowed you to satisfy your needs, without jeopardizing your marriage and family. Because they are two very different things.

5. It doesn’t work.

It can work, at least as well as monogamy works if not better. It works when you can be honest with yourself and honest with your SO(s). It works for thousands of couples, triads, and quads. It is not easy, but then no relationship worth having is ever easy. Relationships are work. Your primary relationship is work, and if you decide to have a secondary or tertiary relationship, they are also work. But love and relationships with other people are what make this life worth living. Throughout this series, I’m going to be interviewing polyamorous couples, triads, and quads to see how they make it work for them.

In my next article, I will talk about what to expect if you decide to bring the subject up with your SO, and how to handle their possible responses. Ultimately, all this is about being true to yourself and being true to your SO. If you live in denial and fear, you will end up resenting your SO and destroying your relationship. Isn’t it worth the risk to face your fears and build a marriage strong enough to withstand anything? Do yourself, your SO, and your marriage a favor and find the courage to build true intimacy. Don’t become another divorce statistic.

Talking to Your SO About Polyamory

Let’s first cover how not to talk to your Significant Other (SO).

“Honey, I’m home! By the way, what do you think about opening our marriage?”

“I’ve decided that I want to fuck other people. Whaddya think?”

“I’m just not getting what I need from you, so I’m going to join a Swingers club.”

“Ever hear of Polyamory? It’s where I can have sex with other people. No, you can’t, just I can. Pass the potatoes please?”

Etcetera.

Yesterday on Facebook an old friend that I hadn’t seen in years contacted me. It was really great to reconnect with him. Nice guy. Mid-twenties. Volunteering in Africa. I didn’t even bring up the subject of relationships, but I think it’s a rather lonely existence for him there. He went on to tell me how he watches relationships begin and end down there with the other volunteers, and they mostly end because of communication problems and fear. Then he said something very profound. Simple, but profound.

“If you can’t say ‘hey, let’s try this’ to your partner, who can you say it to?”

Bingo.

Your partner. Your husband or wife. Your SO. They are the closest person to you on this planet, or at least they should be. That’s the whole point.

Lover. Confidant. Best Friend. Your SO is your everything. Your SO is your world. They are with whom you share your joys and your sorrows, your hopes and your fears. They are the person you can trust most in this world.

That’s what make relationships work well. Closeness.

If you are so afraid of them leaving to even bring up a suggestion, then you truly need to take a long, hard look at your relationship. A suggestion, broached tenderly and lovingly, will not ever be the trigger for abandonment in an honest and trusting relationship. If you are in this place, where something cannot even be suggested without fear of abandonment and divorce, then other steps have to take place first. I will cover this in my next article “Healing Your Relationship.”

If you aren’t willing to do this, if you just say “cheating and lying is so much easier,” then you are headed down a path that will not only destroy your marriage, it will also destroy you, your spouse, your children, and any one with whom you get involved. It’s a world of pain that can be avoided with a little introspection and work, both of which will lead you to a more fulfilling and loving relationship with your spouse/SO and your family.

Please don’t be in denial about your needs. You increase the chances of destroying your marriage/relationship by living in denial and telling yourself “It can’t happen to me.”

It can happen to you.

Now, back to the subject at hand: talking to your SO about Polyamory.

Expect suspicion.

Expect fear.

Expect tears.

This is not an easy subject to broach; however, if it is something you feel is for you, then it has to be discussed. If you find yourself cheating, wanting to cheat, trying to cheat, or just truly unfulfilled, then you owe it to yourself and your spouse to come clean and bridge the ever-widening gap that’s growing between you.

If approached lovingly and consciously, there is no reason why there should be tears or the rest, but expect them anyway. Expect the worst and be prepared to deal with it. It will likely bring up a lot of your SO’s own abandonment fears, and they are valid fears! It will likely bring up jealousy and possibly even rage. These, too, are valid emotions that are not to be dismissed. They must be worked through.

Do not get defensive.

Do not get angry.

Do not get accusatory.

Be calm. Be loving. Be reassuring. Be gentle.

Start by creating a space where you and your SO can talk without interruptions.

There are many ways to start. For example, if this is your or your spouses 2nd or 3rd marriage, and the previous ones ended because of infidelity, that is a perfect place to start: your fears of failing at marriage.

“I know things ended badly with <1st spouse’s name>, and I don’t want to see that happen to us. I love you more than anything, and I want to be closer to you. I want to be able to say anything to you without fear of judgment or abandonment, and I want you to be able to say anything to me. So many marriages end in divorce because of infidelity, and every time I hear another story, I hear things like ‘it just happened’ or ‘one day everything was fine, the next it wasn’t.’ I just want to be proactive about this, and instead of being in denial and saying that it can’t happen to us, I want to take steps to ensure that it doesn’t happen to us.”

If you know someone whose marriage has recently ended because of this, or you know someone having an affair, this is also a great way of starting that conversation.

If you have had a recent scare with illness or an accident in your family, either you, your SO, or one of your children, refer to that and express your fears about losing your family or doing something to screw things up. Emphasize that you need to be able to talk with your SO and be open so as things don’t fester inside.

Another possibility:

“Lately I feel like we’ve been growing apart, and I don’t want that to happen. You mean everything to me, and I want us to be close again. I want you to tell me something very scary to you, and no matter what it is, I promise to listen without judgment. Because I’m committed to making this work between us, so you can tell me anything without fear. Then, I will tell you something, and I hope you will listen without judgment, too.”

If you mention the fact that you’ve been attracted to another, or if they do, then you take that in stride. If you feel angry or sad or hurt or scared, then say that instead of acting out.

Do not say: “How dare you! How can you do this to me?”

Say: “I feel hurt by what you just said, and I don’t really understand. Could you please explain it further?”

If they say to you: “How dare you! You want to fuck this other wo/man! After all I’ve done for you!”

Don’t react in anger back. Hold them, if they’ll let you, and reassure them that you are not leaving them. This doesn’t mean that you’re going to act on these thoughts, but you wanted to express them in order to diffuse them, in order to be open and honest because you respect them.

Say: “I hear that you are hurt, and it is very understandable as this must be shocking. Just know that I love you. You are my world. You are my wife/husband, and I would never cheat on you. But those feelings/urges (whatever) are there, and I want to be open with you about them.”

The goal here is to communicate fully. To know each other completely.

Stay away from accusatory language like “you did this,” and try to stick with lovingly expressing how you feel. Because you only know how you feel.

This will be the first of many, many, many conversations. This isn’t a one time thing. This is opening up a new world and a new level of intimacy for you and your SO. There will be a lot of talking. Learn to communicate with each other. If sharing your fears worked, then do that every week. Plan a time to sit together, even something romantic like a bubble bath surrounded by candles, and just talk about very scary, very deep things.

If you found the courage to bring up your attraction this time and your spouse took it in stride, then tell them *how much more you love them because they allowed you to be you without judgment.* As you get closer, you can take the suggestion to the next level, experimenting.

As you go down this path, there is only more love waiting for you.

I recently read a book titled: The Journey from Abandonment to Healing by Susan Anderson. In it, she claims that most people only use a fraction of their capacity to give and receive love, and I tend to agree.

I am an extremely emotionally intense person with a great capacity to give and receive love. I have such a capacity to love that I can fill my husband’s “love tank,”* then fill up an SO2’s “love tank,” and still have love left over for more. This is frightening to some people, but I have never understood being afraid of love. A dear friend recently gifted me a Star Sapphire Ring because of my special powers of love. :) Thanks, Dr. Q!

Remember:

Love breeds love. Desire breeds desire. <83

You have everything to gain if you can find the courage to take the next step.

-_Q

*“Love Tank” is a term used in The 5 Languages of Love, highly recommended book to learn how to most effectively show love to your SO(s).

Healing Your Relationship

You may be thinking that your relationship with your spouse, significant other (SO), lover, potential lover, or special friend is too far gone. It’s not. The staying power of love is profound. If you love someone, then it’s never too late to express that. If you love someone, step up and do the scary thing. Face rejection. Face pain. Bare your soul and show them who you really are. A deep connection happens too rarely to bury it and deny it.

First a few words of wisdom from Dr. Phil (I know. I know. But it’s relevant.)

Dr. Phil: “There’s a 50/50 chance a marriage is going to work if both people are head over heels in love, passionate and willing to climb the mountain, swim the river and slay the dragon to get to each other. That’s with everybody crazy in love and running toward each other in that field that we see in the commercials. The problem you’ve got here is he’s running the other way in the field! So if it’s 50/50 when you’re running toward each other, what do you think it is when the other person is running out of the field and hiding in the woods?”

First thing to ask yourself is whether you are running toward your SO and intimacy or whether you are running away and/or hiding in the woods. If it’s the former, is your SO also running towards you, or do you feel like they’re running away/hiding? If it’s the latter, then stop, turn around, and head back toward your SO. Or don’t. But it is up to you to heal your relationship. No one else can, especially if you have either been the one running away or *perceived* by your beloved as running away.

As I mentioned in a previous post, you can use your fears to get closer to your SO. Everyone has fears, and the most basic fear for anyone in a loving relationship, whether that is a marriage or just a special friend with whom you feel that indescribable connection, is abandonment. We are all afraid of being left, the horrible feeling of being tossed to the side as if one never mattered. This is the fear that must be quelled again and again. In a broken relationship, the smallest thing can feel like an abandonment, like silence for a few days or not returning phone calls or texts or just living around each other instead of really talking. When I’m feeling particularly vulnerable and hormonal, something as silly as my husband falling asleep while we’re watching a movie can stir up fears of abandonment, and this is after 12 years. Now I am quite confident my husband would not truly abandon me, as we are quite close; but fears are not rational. They are very irrational, but they are also very real to the person that has them.

I know my intense fear of abandonment is irrational. It’s embarrassing, really; but it doesn’t change the fact that it is my greatest fear. It doesn’t change the panic that arises when that is triggered.

Discover your SO’s deepest fears and share yours with them as well. This will create a deep bond of trust between you. Baring your soul to your beloved(s) is the most powerful way to create intimacy. You are showing them that you trust them not to mock you or laugh at you or think your fears are silly, because they are not silly. They are very real. There is no such thing as “it’s all in your head,” because to the one feeling those fears, that is their reality. When you embark on a romantic relationship, you take partial responsibility for your beloved’s heart. Don’t take that responsibility lightly.

CREATE A SAFE SPACE

You must create a space in which you and your SO feel safe to talk with each other without judgment. Your SO might hold their feelings inside because of their fears. This is a recipe for disaster. Feelings bottled up and pushed down fester there. The ultimate result of this practice is to wake up one morning next to a stranger or to hear the dreaded words “I’m leaving. This is over, and it has been over for me for a long time.” It sounds like it comes from nowhere, out of the blue; but it doesn’t. It has built up over weeks, months, or even years.

Work at creating that safe space in which you and your SO can talk openly…

COMMUNICATION IS KEY

You must talk and talk and talk with your SO. It can never be too much, although that can also bring up insecurities and feelings of being “needy.” If your SO is showing signs of neediness, then it’s because they feel you pulling away and they are trying to hold on. You may not think you are pulling away, but they do. This is what’s important. Find the root of their fears and what you can do about it. It’s normally a very small daily loving gesture that will help them feel more secure until trust can be built or rebuilt. Remember, a lapse in that daily gesture, even for a few days, can bring up those fears all over again. Isn’t a few moments a day worth saving your special relationship?

Learn how to not only say what you feel but ensure that your beloved heard what you really said and what you really meant. We all have emotional triggers stemming back from childhood. We all have insecurities, especially when it comes to romance because we feel particularly vulnerable in these situations. You may say “I need some time to think,” and you may mean you need a few hours to clear your head, but your SO might hear “I’m trying to get away from you.” Those aren’t the words you said, but those are the words they heard.

Take extra care to ensure that what you said is actually what they heard. The same goes for you. If your SO says something that activates an emotional trigger, and you will know because it will hurt or make your angry or some other strong emotion, then say that. “When you said _____, I heard _____. Is this what you meant?”

Allow them to clarify. And then you clarify what you’re feeling/thinking as well. Leave anger out of it. This is a loving, safe space, and anger has no place here. If you or your SO feels angry, remember that anger is a reaction of fear. Find that fear and soothe it.

As you’re rebuilding a relationship, take the time to say things in great detail. Don’t assume they can read your mind. They can’t. Even if you’ve been together for years or decades, your SO cannot read your mind. Say what you mean. Mean what you say, then act in a manner that backs up your words.

For example, say instead: “I need a few hours to clear my head and get my thoughts straight, but then I will come back and we can talk some more. I love you, and I will come back.”

Then do that, which brings us to…

BUILDING TRUST

Trust is likely the most important part of any relationship. Building trust is quite simple, really. We are all familiar with the old cliche “Actions speak louder than words,” and that is true; however, words have their own power and are very important as well.

The way to build trust is to say you’re going to do something and then do it. Over and over again. If you have lost trust in your relationship, it might take awhile to regain it, especially if you have the ability to say pretty things and then not do them. You must do them. This is the key.

Set a reminder on your phone if you are absentminded or busy. Just be true to your word. This is the greatest indication of integrity. Say what you mean/feel. Do what you say.

Let us remember the Four Agreements*:

Be impeccable with your word

Always do your best

Don’t make assumptions

Don’t take anything personally

No matter how bad you think it is in your broken relationship, it’s not too late. The staying power of love is profound. Never underestimate the strength of a small, loving gesture. Pick up the phone. Send a text. Apologize. Apologize again. Take your lover into your arms, if not physically then metaphorically. Open up. Share your fears. Tell them how you feel.

Reach out today. You will be so glad you did.

Love is too precious to just let it fade away.

Healing Yourself

Over 15 million people in the United States alone suffer from depression. (http://www.depressionstatistics.org/) Often along with this distressing illness come other issues like anxiety and panic disorders, excessive thoughts of death or suicide, and self-harming behaviors that range from physical self-harm to eating disorders to substance abuse.

Although I’ve spoken in previous posts about being there for your significant other (SO) and helping soothe their fears, ultimately our own emotional state is our own responsibility. A supportive and understanding SO can only do so much. If you are unwilling to help yourself, then no one else can help you either. Find the courage to look deep within yourself and discover your own issues and how those might be affecting your relationships.

When I’m in intense emotional pain, I often listen to Eckhart Tolle read his fantastic book A New Earth. This almost always relieves some of my agitation. I struggle with a crippling emotional disorder that sometimes gets the better of me, especially during times of hormonal or chemical imbalance, or during times of heavy stress. My husband, the most understanding and support man I’ve ever known, will stop everything else if necessary to help me through it, and I sometimes lean on him too much before I find my own footing again. But ultimately I must stant on my own or else I become a burden to myself, and I feel like a burden to my husband, although he constantly reassures me that I am not. He is a saint.

Back to my point, we all need some guidance and grounding from time to time, and if you or your SO struggle with depression or another mental disorder, then it can be more challenging for you and your relationship. It can also be more rewarding, as such issues only serve to bring the two of you closer together.

Tolle talks about something he calls the “pain body,” and his explanation of it as a construct of the ego is quite profound. When we are in the grips of our “pain body,” we may say or do things that we wouldn’t do under normal circumstances. We all have this “pain body,” although some people’s “pain body” is more dense than others. I call this state of mind my crazy space. When I’m in the grips of the crazy space, or “pain body,” it is like I am on a drug. I see the world differently, as if through a haze. I make irrational decisions. Once I am on the other side again, this becomes very clear, and I’m usually terribly embarrassed about it. Everyone has times like this, when stress or hormones or brain chemicals make you angry or irrational, and it is important to understand your SO’s crazy space, as well as your own, and learn how to deal with it. It is always temporary. Supporting your So through this will only serve to strengthen your relationship and bring you closer together. Plus, when your SO is in their crazy space, they are not thinking clearly. If you are able to remain calm and objective, you can help them out of it. You can lovingly remind them that it is just temporary and it will pass. You can remind them to breathe or meditate or exercise or listen to Tolle or whatever it is that helps them through it.

Their love will deepen for you because of your patience and understanding, and yours, in turn, will deepen for them.

In order to do this and be there in this way for your spouse, you must ensure that you, too, are emotionally healthy and aware. If you can remain in a place of peace when your SO is suffering, then you will not get triggered into your own crazy space, something that happens far too often and results in arguing and saying hurtful things you don’t really mean.

As I’ve said before, relationships are hard work. The idea of finding someone without “emotional baggage” is a fantasy. Everyone has emotional baggage. We start accumulating it when we are just a child, before we even reach 2-years-old. At this age, our brains are like a sponge. Although a 2-year-old is hardly able to speak, they are absorbing everything that goes on around them. They are looking to their parents and forming ideas about relationships. If they fight, the child thinks that’s normal. If they don’t fight but feel hostile towards each other, the child senses that as well.

Everyone has issues to varying degrees, and it is essential to acknowledge this and learn to work through it for your own health, your SO’s health, your children’s health, and the health of your family/relationship. Aren’t they worth it? Aren’t you worth it?

You may also try things like Tai Chi; daily walks to clear your head; exercises to bring you in the present moment, the only time that ever exists; and these things to find peace within. After all, it is what we’re all looking for, and we are not going to find it outside ourselves.

Many people say something like this: “When I get that promotion, book deal, break, <fill in the blank>, everything will be better.” It won’t be. Healing yourself and healing your relationship must come from the inside out. Find the courage to discover what you need to stop living in fear.

“In the stillness of presence, you can sense the formless essence of yourself and in the other, as one. Knowing the oneness of yourself and the other is true love, true care, true compassion.” ~Eckhart Tolle

Read more articles on relationships on O. M. Grey’s Blog

Caught in the Cogs.

http://omgrey.wordpress.com

Recommended & Cited Books

Chapman, Gary. The 5 Love Languages: The Secret to Love That Lasts. Chicago: Northfield Publishing, 2004.

*Ruiz, Don Miguel. The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom, A Toltec Wisdom Book. San Rafael: Amber-Allen Publishing, 2001.

Ruiz, Don Miguel. The Mastery of Love: A Practical Guide to the Art of Relationship, A Toltec Wisdom Book. San Rafael: Amber-Allen Publishing, 1999.

Ryan, Christopher, Ph.D. and Cacilda Jetha, M.D. Sex at Dawn: The Prehistoric Origins of Modern Sexuality. New York: Harper, 2010.

Tolle, Eckhart. A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose. New Yorth: Penguin, 2008.

Excerpt from Avalon Revisited

Excerpt from Avalon Revisited

Excerpt from Avalon Revisited

“I was to be the King of England.”

Before I died.

Of course, I didn’t say the latter aloud. Not yet. That would give too much away too soon. No need to cause alarm yet. After all, I did enjoy watching the looks on their faces when I tell them I was to be king. It was true, of course, but they never believed it.

“King,” she said with a twinkle of humor in her eye. Her perfectly lined lips curled up slightly in one corner. She was taking the bait. She was amused, but more importantly, she was intrigued.

In a candlelit library we sat together on a white French Provincial sofa, a little too close for polite company, but then, I wasn’t polite company.

“You. Were to be king.” It wasn’t a question. It was merely a statement of complete disbelief. After all, I did look like a quite young, but the truth was much more complicated than that. Wasn’t it always?

I smiled and moved in closer, sliding slowly along the silk cushions towards her. She watched me close the distance between us and smiled a little wider, despite herself. I leaned in as if for a kiss, but instead brushed my nose softly along her jawline. “I was.” I breathed the words into her ear, letting my lips graze the pearl dangling from her earlobe. This one looked even more delicious than she smelled. That was a rarity. Especially for a woman her age. Normally, these middle-aged women had let their looks go. But not this one. She was still quite the beauty in her gown of deep scarlet, lined with black lace. The collar was wide, stretching from shoulder to shoulder, allowing me complete access to her neck, save for a choker: three strings of pearls clamped tight around her throat with a cameo adorning its center. She had a tiny hat embellished with an even tinier sailboat, pearls, and black lace, all perched purposefully crooked on top of her perfectly coiffed hair. Each copper curl shone in the candlelight, and I was entranced. She smelled of freshly picked heather on a warm Scottish evening. I wanted to roll and play in that heather. I wanted to pluck the blooms from its stems. I wanted to bury my nose in that heather and breathe in its luxurious scent.

I wanted her. But I kept my head and didn’t move too fast, lest I would’ve given myself away.

She didn’t recoil at my closeness, but rather seemed humored by it.

“You can’t be a day over twenty, lad, and you were to be king? Do tell, whatever happened to joust you from the royal line?” The dark lady turned her head cooly away from me and sipped the wine held by her black satin gloved hand. I softly traced my fingers along the hairline at the nape of her neck, and I saw her suppress a shiver. Good. She turned back and slightly leaned into me, playing my game.

The candlelight emphasized the smile lines around her eyes. She was forty if she was a day, and she felt flattered by the attentions of a younger man. Especially when said attention was offered by one as handsome and charming as I, at least, seemed. Her husband was nearly thirty years her senior, so she welcomed passion.

“I’m a little older than twenty,” I said as I brushed my lips up the curve of her delicate ear, exhaling warm air as I did so. I felt her shudder beneath my touch. She didn’t even try to conceal it. We both knew where this was heading.

I had her now. She was not only intrigued; she was open to being seduced. Obvious, really, since she thought I was joking about being king, as Victoria had been on the throne for well over sixty years, but she didn’t scoff at the game. She reveled in it. She likely hadn’t felt the thrill of seduction in well over a decade or two. However the kind of seduction she had in mind was quite different than what I had planned for her tonight.

The music played loudly in the adjoining room as the rest of the gala attendees danced or spoke to each other in raised voices, competing with the music. Still, it wasn’t so loud that they wouldn’t hear a scream, even back in this dimly lit library. No. Had to continue to move slowly.

The smell of musty books filled the air, and I was reminded of my father. Always reading. Always urging Henry and I to read and learn. We had had private tutors who taught us foreign languages and told stories of faraway lands. We learned about history and philosophy and theology and mathematics. It was all essential for our destiny. Me, future king, and Henry being groomed to be Archbishop. He had said we were the future of the kingdom. Well, he was half right. Henry had been the future, but now he was just the past.

“I died,” I sighed an answer to her question then nuzzled my cold nose in the nape of her warm, pulsing neck. Not yet.

She didn’t recoil at this dark disclosure, as she likely thought it was all part of this decadent game. Rather, she welcomed the soft kisses I placed on her neck. She shivered at the touch of my cold lips but moved in closer still. She was ready. Dare I say even earnest. She didn’t stop my hand exploring her thigh hidden beneath layers of satin. A soft moan escaped her lips, and I knew I had her. I continued teasing this dark lady, drawing out her desire. She caught her breath as I traced my tongue up the side of her throat to her white earlobe, circling around the pearl drop that hung delicately from it.

Then something across the room caught my eye. In the pale candlelight, an image on the far wall mocked me. A corpulent man stared back at me with black eyes. His gold doublet and fur-trimmed coat framed the fleshy jowls that held a smirking mouth. A replica of a painting, for even the sumptuous hosts of this opulent gala couldn’t afford the original Holbein. This painting I knew far too well. I had been forced to look at this likeness for centuries, and it always made me think about the road not taken, as if I had had a choice in the matter. Feelings similar to but not quite nostalgia filled my mind and ached in my chest. Perhaps it was more like sentimentality. If my heart still beat, it would be the rhythm to a sad song. But that’s part of my lament: my hollow chest. Every time I see that blasted painting of my fat, arrogant brother, I’d think, that should have been me.

But it wasn’t me. It was not my fate to be king. That was his fate. My little, immature brother.

My fate was to die, but I should’ve stayed dead. Over three-hundred years later, and I finally understood. I should have stayed dead.

“Why ever did you stop, dear boy?” The woman leaned into me, caressing my pale cheek with the back of her black satin hand. I hadn’t realized that I had pulled away from her while I had been caught up in my own remorse. She must have seen the sadness in my eyes, for she was becoming maternal. Mustn’t allow that. Time for a bolder move. Shaking off the past, I turned towards her and kissed her gently at first. But as she welcomed me with parted lips, I deepened the kiss. As my tongue swirled with hers, I drank in the warmth of her mouth, of her being. She didn’t seem put off by my coldness, but then few did when I had progressed this far. She ran her hand up my thigh, sending a spark through my core. My own roaming hand found her breast and cupped the soft flesh peeking out from the hard corset beneath.

I wanted to rip that corset off. Perhaps we had the same seduction in mind after all.

“Arthur,” she breathed. I couldn’t remember her name, but it didn’t matter. She was Catherine. They were all Catherine.

As I caressed her nipple over her evening gown, a small sound escaped from her pouty mouth. It was the sound of pure pleasure. No one had touched her like this in quite some time, and she was hungry for more. Then I slipped my thumb under the top ridge of her corset, grazing the nipple nestled beneath. Her hips moved involuntarily, and she arched her back in longing.

“Let us move to more private quarters,” she whispered, breathless.

Fine with me.

She stood and properly smoothed out her skirts. Years of social training didn’t just disappear, even in a rush of desire. With a coy glance, she reached back for my hand and guided me out of the library’s side door.

The other guests were still busy with merrymaking and gossip, so no one saw us steal away. For how could they, as each couple were but interested in their own lives. Each man wanting to do what I was about to do, and each lady pretending that they didn’t. They danced and drank and held up the pretense of civility, but I knew the truth. Beneath the facade we were all carnal beasts, hungry for the flesh.

As we climbed the grand staircase to the bedchambers above, I watched her bustled hips sway, and I hardened. I knew I would have her. I knew I’d be buried in the warmth beneath that bustle within the hour. I stiffened further, then adjusted myself with my free hand, never taking my eyes off that swaying bustle.

After all, I deserved some pleasure now and again. I deserved lifetimes of pleasure after watching my brother take my throne and then take my wife all those years ago. I had watched it all from the shadows of darkness. I had watched him cast my Catherine aside and make time with strumpet after strumpet, marrying some, but using more. He had made the throne of England a mockery. Then, with some delight, I had watched him get old and fat and eventually die. I had watched his children fight for the throne and kill those around them to secure their position.

That I didn’t mind too much. Especially Mary, the daughter of my beloved Catherine, she had a thirst for blood that rivaled even mine! Unfortunately she didn’t last too long. Bitterness hardened her heart, making it all that much easier to irreparably shatter when her husband had abandoned her. Elizabeth had followed and surprised us all, setting England back to rights. The country’s savior in skirts. They had called her Gloriana. Regina. The Virgin Queen. It was then I chose to leave England in search of new blood, as it were.

Now I returned to another hard woman on the throne. This one was not near as attractive as my niece had been. Women. Not one had heated my blood the way Catherine did. Not in these long centuries, but she betrayed me after I died. Denying our love to secure her place as Queen.

Politics over love.

I never understood it.

I would have been a foolish king.

Now I took a page from my brother’s book. Love them and leave them. Well, in my case, kill them.

Come to think of it, he killed a few himself. Bravo, brother.

“In here,” she said, still in hushed tones as she led me into a vacant bedchamber, pulling my attention out of the dead past into the present. There was much more pleasure to be had here.

She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room and fiddled with her hands, then straightened her skirts again. She looked everywhere but at me, and there was a slight blush to her cheek. What had happened to the seductive mistress from downstairs? Now a demure damsel stood in her place. It was obvious she hadn’t done this in quite a while. She seemed so innocent in her nervousness. It was rather sweet, but not as sweet as her blood would taste.

I leaned back against the door, snapping it shut, and surveyed the room. Frilly lace dripped off every surface. Heavy taupe curtains draped the edges of the four poster bed sitting in the center of the room on a raised platform. The walls were lined with fine art framed in gold, and the chairs were all properly skirted. London High Society. How droll.

Gathering her courage, my prey sat on the edge of the large bed and gingerly patted the spot next to her, inviting me over.

Didn’t have to ask me twice.

I forced myself to move slowly, as my natural speed would startle her. Sitting closely beside her, I took her hand into mine and kissed it. She giggled, as if all this reminded her of younger days. She turned away as if suddenly bashful.

“Are you blushing, my sweet,” I whispered into her ear, before I traced my tongue down the side of her neck. “Certainly this isn’t your first time. A woman of your age?”

She cleared her throat, leaned away, and looked at me nonplussed. It was not proper to speak of a woman’s age. That question threw her off, just as I had hoped. I did like to toy with them, like a cat playing with a mouse.

“Well!” she said exasperated, snatching her hand away from mine.

Ah yes. Time to feign offense.

I just ignored her, even though the temperature of the room had dropped to colder than my own body temperature. I could feel the chill in the air, but a specific part of me was generating enough heat for the both of us. I resumed kissing her neck as if nothing had happened, and after a moment or two she once again softened beside me. She wasn’t about to give up the only chance she had for such a romp. Perhaps my faux pas would at least help her drop the pretense of innocence.

She turned into me and lifted my head, eager for more. She kissed me full on the lips, parting them with her aggressive, soft tongue.

Pretense dropped!

As the kiss deepened I lifted her to a standing position, striving to press against her. My excitement drove through her layers of clothes, and she felt my hardness pressed up against her leg. To my great surprise, she smiled, breaking the kiss. She ran her gloved hand up my inseam, and now it was I who gasped.

Certainly not her first time.

She massaged my shaft through my trousers and started kissing me again. I ran my hands up and down her body, trying to figure out how to get inside that corset. Sometimes they were inside, sometimes out. Sometimes laced in front, others in back. Her gown was so exquisitely crafted, however, that I could not discern where to begin. Her caressing hand was urging me on. Even one as experienced as I could only take so much stimulation and this woman was indeed stimulating. My desire for her flesh mounted, and the desire for her blood wasn’t far behind. The need began to consume me. That all-encompassing need. The hunger. The darkness that kept me dead yet alive. The thirst, but I had to keep it at bay. Just a little longer. After all, there were two needs to satisfy tonight.

I spun her around, holding her close with one arm while kissing her neck. With the other hand, I freed myself from the burden of my trousers. Grinding myself against her hips, I nibbled gently down her neck until she moaned. That small sound was all I could stand.

In a blur of movement that surprised even me, I bent her over the bed and hiked up her crimson skirts. She gasped, knowing what was to follow. That beautiful bustle stared up at me. But I slowed down, wanting her to need me inside her more than she needed to breathe. I took my time and savored the vision before me. White stockings stretched from her white-heeled, laced-up boots, its seam perfectly straight, guiding me up the back of her legs to her thighs. I ran a hand up each seam from her delicate ankles up to the top of her stockings. Then, flesh.

Velvety white flesh that was as pale as my own hands. At the apex, a pink blossom, covered in dew. My hands caressed between her thighs and then softly between her petals, just once, causing her to squirm, her breath coming faster. Standing, I grazed something else between those rosy gates, feeling her wetness on my tip. I teased her at first, barely nudging the head inside her. She tried to thrust back into me, but I wouldn’t let her. Not yet.

She grabbed at the lacy off-white bed covering frantically, taking handfuls of Venetian lace in her fists. She rested her shoulders and cheek on the bed. Her delicate features were twisted in a mixture of agony and pleasure. Yearning and suspense.

“Ask me,” I said to her, sliding my tip up and down her moist nook.

But she couldn’t speak. She was too hungry for words.

“Ask me,” I repeated.

“Please,” she managed between shallow breaths. One of her hands began grabbing desperately at her corset, trying to relieve the pressure.

I increased the pace of gliding up and down her misty petals, pressing harder against her. Her breath coming faster and faster until I brought her. She cried out in delight as her body drenched me with its pleasure.

It was all I could take. I plunged inside her, giving her what we both wanted. Grabbing her hips with both hands, I crashed into her repeatedly, watching her scarlet bustle dance along with us. She came again and again, singing her exultation into the night, but I held out.

I withdrew from her, still throbbing, and threw her up onto the bed. She turned over and looked at me, face flush. She grabbed at her bodice again, probably unable to breathe in her restraints. I didn’t care about how to carefully get into her dress anymore, so I ripped it open to the corset and then ripped that down the seams. No time for unlacing. Her breasts, now free, swelled in her excitement. I gripped one, teasing her nipple with my tongue before moving on to the other.

She took a deep breath and pulled me on top of her, kissing me deeply. She angled her hips toward me, and I slid back inside her, more gently this time, allowing her to kiss me as I rocked against her. She met each thrust in kind.

I had always been amazed at the passion of these High Society London women. All the stuffiness and etiquette that had been strapped so tightly inside their corset was unleashed in the bedroom. Good for me.

We moved together faster and harder, until she came again. She threw her head back and cried out, loudly. Surely the party below had to be able to hear us, but I didn’t care about that. Not now. For now it was my turn. I bore down on her, grabbing her shoulders as I thrust deeper and deeper inside her. Her head was still thrown back in ecstasy, giving me the perfect opportunity. I ripped the pearl choker from her throat. My fangs descended and I plunged them into her neck while still thrusting inside her. She screamed, but not in terror, in euphoria again.

I exploded inside her just as her blood began to gush into my mouth. I held her beneath me as she began to squirm. She was shouting something, but I didn’t hear words. I was too engulfed in the rapture of her blood. I drank deep, and I heard her heartbeat begin to slow. Before I could bring myself to pull away, it had stopped all together.

I had lost control in my passion and killed her. I had only intended to feed and then wipe her memory of it.

Oh well.

I withdrew from her and redressed. Her blood, the little I had left, trickled down the side of her throat and stained the ivory bed, coloring it to match her fine gown. I ripped some lace off the canopy and wiped my mouth clean.

There she lay. Legs spread wide. Breasts lolled out. Glassy eyes of death: a vision.

Still, must allow her some dignity, I thought, so I straightened her legs and covered her up with her skirts. She probably wouldn’t be found until morning or perhaps afternoon. Not until the chambermaid did her rounds. This was a guest room, so it was low priority without a guest present.

I pulled my watch out of the small pocket in my waistcoat and looked at the time.

I still had hours before dawn.

Perhaps a dance or two before I retire.

###

Thank you for taking time to read Caught in the Cogs, Volume One. If you enjoyed it, please tell your friends & family about it! Read more of O. M. Grey’s poetry and articles on her blog “Caught in the Cogs” http://omgrey.wordpress.com.

Also discover other Blue Moose Press titles at Smashwords.com

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/rowanofthewood

About the Author

O. M. Grey dreams of the dark streets of London and the decadent deeds that occur after sunset. She dons a tight corset, a fluffy bustle, and a teeny-tiny top hat for fantasy conventions where she enjoys meeting fans and participating on panels. Olivia prefers to live in the cobwebbed corners of her dark mind writing paranormal romance with a Steampunk twist.

Her premiere Steampunk Paranormal Romance novel, Avalon Revisited, remained on Amazon’s Top 40 Gothic Romance list for over four months. She also writes short stories, relationship articles, and angsty poetry.

Ms. Grey is represented by the fabulous Louise Fury of the L. Perkins Agency.

When she’s not writing, she’s reading, tending the garden, or drinking a hot cup of tea.

Just two drops, please.

Connect with O. M. Grey online!

Website/Blog: http://omgrey.wordpress.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/omgrey

Facebook Fan Page: http://tinyurl.com/OMG-FB

O. M. Grey is the pen name of YA author Christine Rose. For more magical adventure and paranormal romance set in a story appropriate for all ages, read Christine and Ethan Rose's YA crossover series ROWAN OF THE WOOD, winner of the 2009 Indie Excellence award. Currently three books in the series: ROWAN OF THE WOOD, WITCH ON THE WATER, & FIRE OF THE FEY. All available on the KINDLE, also at Smashwords, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, the author's website, and wherever books are sold. http://www.christineandethanrose.com

other blue moose press titles

Rowan of the Wood

Winner of the 2009 Indie Excellence Award

9780981994925 $12.95 trade paperback

978-0-9819949-1-8 KINDLE

After a millennium of imprisonment in his magic wand, an ancient wizard possesses the young boy who released him. When danger is nigh, he emerges from the frightened child to set things right. Both he and the boy try to grasp what has happened to them only to discover a deeper problem. Somehow the wizard’s bride from the ancient past has survived and become something evil.

http://www.rowanofthewood.com

Witch on the Water

Rowan of the Wood: Book Two

9780981994925 $12.95 trade paperback

978-0-9819949-3-2 KINDLE

Cullen thought he had enough trouble surviving school, dealing with his miserable home life, and being possessed by Rowan, a 1400-year-old wizard. But when Rowan's wife, the sadistic vampire Fiana, comes back seeking revenge, Cullen and his band of misfits must do what they can to stop her. This time Cullen's favorite teacher is Fiana's first target.

Fire of the Fey

Rowan of the Wood: Book Three

9780981994963 $12.95 trade paperback

978-0-9819949-9-4 KINDLE

Adventures continue for Cullen Knight and his band of misfits in this third installment of the Rowan of the Wood fantasy series. Still possessed by the wizard Rowan, Cullen settles into his new home with his fire elemental sister, Aidan, and their fey uncle, Moody Marlin. But all is not well. A series of fires raging through the redwoods puts Aidan in the hot seat, as the group looks to her for an explanation.

Maddy's mother discovers a dark and disturbing secret, Ralph and Max are off to a rocky start, and Rex adopts a holy crusade with a mysterious angel as his guide.

Avalon Revisited

978-0-9819949-5-6 $12.95 trade paperback

978-0-9819949-8-7 KINDLE

Arthur Tudor has made his existence as a vampire bearable for over three hundred years by immersing himself in blood and debauchery. Aboard an airship gala, he meets Avalon, an aspiring vampire slayer who sparks fire into Arthur’s shriveled heart. Together they try to solve the mystery of several horrendous murders on the dark streets of London. Cultures clash and pressures rise in this sexy Steampunk Romance.

http://omgrey.wordpress.com

Prelude to a Change of Mind

Hidden Lands of Nod: Book One

978-0-9827426-0-0 $9.95 trade paperback

Also available in eBook format via Kindle and Smashwords

Meg Christmas is found sick unto death in a remote mountain camp. Beings out of legend arrive to save her, emerging from an alternate realm where they live in exile. Before the tale is told, it is Meg who must rise to save another. A quiet, intimate adventure, Prelude to a Change of Mind boasts dire peril and brave feats, but also lots of tea with Ekaterina Rigidstick, poems by Jack Plenty, and talks with both about the nature of reality and conditions of being.

Entranscing

Hidden Lands of Nod: Book Two

978-0-9827426-2-4 $9.95 trade paperback

Also available in eBook format via Kindle and Smashwords

The second book in The Hidden Lands of Nod revisits Meg and her friends from the exile realms of the Dvarsh–the metamathemage, Ekaterina Rigidstick, and her cousin, the part-human poet, Jackanapes Plenty–in a vastly different reality twenty years on. Peril and possibility are equally afoot as Meg seeks to resolve lingering issues from her season on the mountain. This fast-moving follow-on to Prelude to a Change of Mind picks up and enlarges the tale of Meg, the Dvarsh, the Thrm, and their collective struggle to save both love and the planet.

http://www.robertstikmanz.com

All Blue Moose Press titles are also available in Kindle and other eReader versions. For more information on our current titles, as well as other exciting titles on the horizon, visit http://thebluemoosepress.com

Table of Contents

Title Page

Of Æther and Æon

Zeppelin Dreams

A Tall Order

Final Word

Poetry

Relationship Articles

Excerpt from Avalon Revisited