Imitation

Imitation

A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride -
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision of my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my worldly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it passed on:
I care not though it perish
With a thought I then did cherish

imitation
edgar allen poe

She felt him, naked and cold under the light blanket that was covering her. He scooted up to her body and enfolded his arms around her.

“pourriez-vous m'aiment pour toujours?” he whispered in her ear. Little did he know, she already loved him forever. Forever and a day, before this lifetime and into the next, she would love him. This was all new to her, his mood that he was in, loving no doubt he always was. He always called her his little angel, but he had never asked her that question before.

His hand went under her shirt to hold her tight. She could feel his breath upon her neck, hot, his lips beckoning to be kissed. His hand went a little higher, cupping her breast in it, playing with it, rubbing the nipple till it got hard.

She moaned, as her arousal grew, so she could feel him grow also. She wanted to turn around and kiss him, but he held her in place, as his other hand moved her hair over, and kissed behind her ear. His lips trailed down to the place under her hair that so excited her. She couldn’t speak, her voice lost in the silence of the night. The only thing that could be heard was his words upon her skin.

“si je pourrais je vous garder pour toujours, si je pourrais je vous tenir cette voie
si je pourrais je faire tout cela mieux, si je pourrais je vous aimer pour toujours”

it was part of a song he had been working on. She had heard him say those lines, not knowing exactly what they meant, only knowing a few lines of french from school. She loved it when he talked to her in french. It was just the way he said things to her, the passion he put behind the inflections and tones he used. He could have told her she was cow dung, but it would have sounded so much better in french. She breathed deeply, letting his cold body feel hers.

He must have taken a cold shower before he got in bed. He loved doing that at times, saying that when he did get into bed with her, he loved the feeling of her hotness warming him. She could feel his taught muscles through her shirt, as he took his free hand, grabbed the bottom of it, and pulled it over her head. Next to go were her shorts, both laying in a pile on the floor. She was naked, exposed to him, and him to her. She loved it.

She could feel his hardness on her legs, pushing for her to open them somewhat. As she did, she felt his hand go down to her crotch. She sighed deeply, her breathing already quick and shallow from him just lying there next to her. He had that effect on her. She became so backward and clumsy when she was around him, always self conscious and afraid to say the wrong things. It seemed that she never did, and had she, he never said.

This was supposed to be his night though, she had it all planned with things. But now, he was in total control, not letting her turn around, kissing her body from behind, going down her back with his hot lips, down to the dimples of her butt cheeks. She felt his hands on her legs, spreading them wider.

He gently nudged her on her stomach, her head turned toward the right, eyes closed. She felt him, his hands on her back, gently rubbing her, kissing her, caressing her behind. She could feel his lips, wet now, in her crack, licking downward toward her crotch. She raised up a little, and felt his hand come down on her back to push her on the bed.

He had gotten off her, grabbed her legs, and pulled her down farther on the bed. He was apparently on the floor, as her legs were dangling from the bed, her still on her stomach.

“Do you love me, ma belle?” he whispered.

She swallowed deep. He had never asked her those words before. Love was something that had never came up. Of course she did, but to tell him? To hear those words come out of her mouth? To speak what was in her heart, she had not.
.......................................................................................................................................................
He had been her life saver that day. It had been a bad one for her, for sure. Things had been said, done, and she was in no mood for any more. Fighting, arguing with them had taken a toll on her. She was fighting what seemed to be (as the rolling stones so aptly put it) her nineteenth nervous breakdown and nobody seemed to notice. Nobody actually seemed to care really. And there she was. The phone had rang and she was the one to get it. A stranger asking for someone who was supposed to live there. A wrong name. She said everything that she could think of to that person that day. He called back, and she let him have it again. Did it make her feel better? No. But she didn’t care. It was who ever was in her path that day that got it.

A few days later the third call came. Third times charm they always say, and for her, it was. It seemed that the stranger just called back to calmly apologize to the crazy lady who bawled him out. She apologized instead to him, explaining just that it was a really bad day. She took it out on everything and everyone. She never elaborated above that, and never prodded. If she wanted to say she would.

Did she feel better today he wanted to know? She smiled, wearily. Here was a perfect stranger to her life, wanting to know how she was. No one else cared, why should he? Because, he had told her. Because some things were meant, and it was meant that he ask about her. She sighed. Same shit different day. Not really he had told her. It wasn’t the same, because she was talking to him.
He had her there. He said his good byes, and hung up. A few days later, he called her again.
And it started from there, this stranger that she had no clue as to what he looked like, who he was, what he did, where he came from, she began to talk to.

One day as the kids were screaming (teens: gods gift for the ones who had been wicked), nobody could find anything, don’t touch my stuff, get off my side of the couch, watch the dog, leave me alone days...he called.

She knew it was him unknown caller came up. She just stood there, phone in hand. It rang about nine times before she said hello. He could hear them in the background still going at it, and could hear the giving up in her voice.

Check your e mail for me he had told her. Okay she had said. She hung up with him and got online. E mail. Lets see she thought. There’s a strange one, nope. They wanted money. Ah! There it was. She opened it up, and there he was, staring back at her smiling. She quickly hid it, a smile still on her face.

He called her the next day, and she had told him thanks for it, it made her day. Now, he had said. When you get lonely, when things are getting bad, pop it up, and know that you are thought about. She at that point, cried, but wouldn’t let him hear it in her voice.

Months later, he called her again, anxious, she could tell. He had a day free, would she consider meeting him for lunch? She thought for a second and said yes. What the hell. What would it hurt? Lunch was harmless. People were around. Sounded good to her.....

And that left her with more mixed feelings about things than anything. She was starting to like this, this attention from someone who wasn’t her husband, her children, brothers or sisters or mother. This was a man who actually liked her for her. He intently listened when she talked, respected her opinion on things, and treated her as an equal and not a servant.

She slowly began to care for this man, who had issues as well. Wife. Not wanting the same as he. Pulling in two different directions. Him feeling out of place with her and things. He was up for junior partner at his law firm, and she could care less. It was her career that was the most important to her. It was her friends, her way, her life. He was just along for the ride.

He found his enjoyment in music. He loved to play at the pub where he had a cult following by now. She would sneak out of the house for a while, and go to listen to him play. She loved to close her eyes and just feel the beat go through her body. His wife never knew he was down here. Had she, she probably would have been ashamed of him. It wasn’t her forte’ as she would no doubt say...

And then the day came that he asked her for a picnic...the day that changed things completely for the both of them. That, lead to all of this, what was happening now....