Satin Lover

(A Bittersweet Fantasy)

She lovingly gave down at the man stretched out before her. The blood within her began to stir, causing a pulsating at the base of her throat. She reached out to touch him—then changed her mind. She did not wish to disturb the peaceful slumber before her…she cocked her head. When he was so quiet…and distant such as now…she felt that she was only an imaginary plaything in his life. At times such as these, she created her own fantasy world, longing to be such a vital part of his life to him.

She met him at work. “Why don’t you come sit on my lap,” were his first [well, almost his first] words to her. She was rather stunned by such a forward statement. But the lightness of his tone of voice diminished any ‘evil intent’ in her own mind.

“He really is a likeable guy,” remarked one of her co-workers, “you just have not to get used to his sense of humor, that’s all.”

“Yes, but he comes across so abruptly sometimes,” she replied. “And sometimes he pisses me off…”

“Other times he has come close to making me cry,” she later told a friend.

‘Sometimes, he just plain moves me,’ she thought to herself.

They did not see each other very often—they worked in separate offices, miles apart, but for the same company.

“What do you need NOW?” he retorted one morning, upon answering the phone and discovering it was her.

“I-I-I-I need some advice on pricing this contract. C-c-can you get me special costs?” she stammered at his rudeness, hating that he always made her do that.

“Why call me?” he flipped at her, “you’ll do it your way regardless!”

“Don’t give me such a bad time, “ she snapped at him, “I’ve had a hard morning this morning!”

“I’ll give you something hard," he impulsively said, with a lightness of tone.

She had to be at headquarters for a meeting. She slipped into his office down the hall from the conference room. The kidding was in progress, as usual, when the talk took a serious turn.

“How about that drink? he innocently, yet seriously, asked her.

She quickly glanced at him—then down at her watch. She had quite a long drive home. She knew that he and his wife lived out in the suburbs.

“What about your being home for dinner?” she asked, hoping for an out. She fought with herself: shouldn’t she be heading home? ‘Oh, why not one drink,’ she asked herself, ‘maybe he really is a sensitive, quiet-type person.’ But she was very hesitant. There recently had been a lot of sexual undercurrents in most of the dialogue that took place. ‘What am I getting myself into?’ she asked herself.

“What tricks do we have up our sleeve today,” she slyly asked her soon-to-be drinking companion.

“After you, my dear,” he courteously replied, as he offered her his arm.

He was a real gentlemen…really. Almost courtly. But he was older than she, by almost twenty years. She found his company enjoyable that late afternoon…less bantering, to be sure.

“Tell me about your children,” he questioned. “They should be in…” he hesitated, “what grade would your oldest be in?”

She looked away, “I don’t have any children. You knew that!”

Up went his eyebrows, “I honestly forgot,” he apologized. More gently, with warmth, he said in a lower voice, “That’s a tender subject, isn’t it?” Their conversation yet took a more serious tone.

After a couple of hours she rose to leave. “I’ve got to be going---thanks so much,” she said with genuine sincerity. She turned to thank him again, and suddenly felt his suit jacket press against her, and felt an emotion and reaction come alive from within: he skillfully, yet brutally pressed his mouth against hers, gently parting her lips with his tongue. She backed away. Quickly, she searched her mind for a sharp retort.

“Is this your newest way of having the last word with me? was all she could come up with. She felt that she had suddenly responded to him…and rather intensely, at that. She did not know nor did she care to know him any more intimately than just sharing casual conversation…and camaraderie---that two co-workers could often share.

Her legs were weak as she climbed into her car. “It’s been one of life’s little pleasures this afternoon…and I mean little!” She waited for his sarcastic chuckle. It did not come.

“Good-bye,” were his only words. On her drive home, she was fuming.

“Who in the hell does he think he is?” she fussed to herself. But, she did not really feel all that offended by his forwardness, at least not as much as she would like to have let on.

In the next several weeks, as always in her job, there was rarely a seventy-two hour period when she didn’t have to speak to him about business.

“Oh, if a rose were called by any other name, it would smell just as sweet,” he smoothly spoke, when he heard her voice on the line.

She replied, ever so quickly, “And you, sir, are that rose’s thorn in my side.” And the bantering would begin. He was a very trying person. Just what was he trying to do to her? But, she still vitally needed him to effectively do her job. She still needed him, and wanted him…to kiss her again.

The opportunity presented itself for her to be at his location again. He was pleasant, and charming. His almost-wry sense of humor, intimidating attitude towards her, and his mocking voice were all starting to have new meaning to her. ‘He’s just being that way with me to cover up his real feelings towards me,’ she realized. He studied her now…purposefully. Intently. Waiting.

“Where?” she simply asked.

“Feeling a little frisky today, are we?” he queried in return.

“You are a son-of-a----!” she exploded, and turned to distance herself from him.

He gently caught her arm, and pulled her towards him. He was immediately, and sincerely sorry for his mocking mood. “I’ll meet you at the Carlton-Claridge at 5:15. Okay? No jokes---I promise.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

He was the tenderest, most skilled lover that she had been with in a long while…and the only lover that she had been with for two years. They talked, joked and kissed again ---and again and again. Ah yes, he was smooth. As smooth as silk. And yes, she wanted him. He had always told her in a ‘roundabout way that he was a very good lover, in a proud yet bashful kind of way.

The lovemaking was just icing on the cake to her. Her feelings had grown for him in the last month---since the first kiss. She lavished in all of his warmth and tenderness. She was so hungry for his attention, and she wanted to please him, in any way that she could.

He smoothly entered her. She felt his presence deep within her. Probing. Like his conversations. Hunting for her soul from deep within her being. He murmured close to her face, “You are so soft…like satin….inside. And warm….so warm….like satin drapes covering a sun-filled window. Do you know how warm, and soft that can feel to a man’s touch. His voice trailed off, as a soft growl came from his throat.

She was mesmerized by his low, velvety voice---it gently tickled her consciousness. His words were hypnotic. He made her feel so utterly cherished. She wanted to feel that way. Again. It had been so long. She had walled herself in for over two years, closing out any chance of warmth and intimacy with anyone. Since her boyfriend of five years left her for another woman. Until now.

There was mist in her eyes as she arched her back, and was momentarily delivered to another existence at the peak of all of the physical tension. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He smiled his twisted grim at her. “Was it good?” he asked, with tenderness.

“The best,” she answered with all of her heart.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

She needed to speak with him two days later, and dialed his office. A somewhat close co-worker of hers, also known as the company gossip answered his phone. She asked for him, suddenly self-conscious of her intimacy with him. She had not spoken a work about their encounter. There was a long pause. The Gossip lowered her voice, and explained to her that he had had a heart attack the night before…and had died in the middle of the night. The Gossip apologized for the abruptness of the conversation, but went on to explain in a whisper.

“Apparently, he was in bed when he had the heart attack—and his wife was not the one who was with him! some young blonde, barely twenty-two was the company he was keeping. Less than half his age. It was a shame, really. His wife thought that he was a faithful husband all of their married years,” the Gossip finished her explanation.

Though her silent tears, she inquired about the calling hours at the funeral home. She would leave after work to make the trip to pay her respect to his widow. And to see him one last time. She knew her friend was telling her the truth. She transmitted company gossip with amazing accuracy; But the twenty-two year old blond? She couldn’t feel the pain for the numbness in her heart.

Hours later, when she reached the funeral home, she was greeted by a rather odd assortment of people in the parlor…but she couldn’t quite put her finger on her mixed reaction. There were people milling about…about forty-five or fifty people. She raised her eyes from her tissue, and peered around the room. Randomly sandwiched among the people in middle-aged years, were a few young girls, in their mid-twenties or younger. A couple of them were crying silently, yet emotionally-filled with grief at the death of their “friend.”

She walked up to one of the young women, who was exquisitely beautiful, even with a red face and puffy eyes. She sat down next to the girl, who was probably about ten years her junior. She hesitantly put her arm about the girl. “Did you know him well? Was he family?” she asked this girl, a sense of un-foretold dread creeping over her.

The weeping girl wiped her eyes, and leaned towards her. “No, we were lovers,” she confided, “and we felt so strongly about each other. He loved ME, not his wife. I knew that from the tender way he had of making love to me,” she went on to clarify.

The young girl’s words cut into her like stinging needles of sleet. She looked around. Was he really making it with all these girls, and breaking their hearts in the process? Making each feel like she was the only one in his life? The freezing sleet was traveling rapidly in her veins, moving closer to her tender, beating heart.

She stood up and walked over to the open casket for the first time since her arrival at he funeral home. As she inched closer to him, the strong, sweet scent of flowers almost sickened her. She stood there, unnoticed by the others in the room. She lovingly gazed down at the man resting before her. Her blood of ice began to thaw. She reached out to touch him…then changed her mind. She did not wish to disturb the permanent peaceful slumber before her. When he usually was so quiet, such as now, she was at a loss for what to say to him; halfway fearing the slicing retort that he may fling at her.

Tears slowly fell down her cheeks. No. This time he was not lying next to her, napping. The soft, shiny fabric all around him was not the peach satin sheets of the hotel where they rendezvoused. It was a brighter, pink satin…that which really was the lining of the casket. Not a hair on his head was out of place; his shirt was freshly starched. There he lie, so unruffled—unaffected by the broken hearts he had left behind.

Her blood returned to the chilly temperature; her heart was now icy. She turned to leave the parlor. There were only about twenty people left in the room, all quietly murmuring to the deceased’s family members. She turned back around, and bent close towards his body, as thought she wished to speak to him—privately—to whisper intimately into his ear.

Instead, she coldly hissed, “I bet that satin feels pretty cold long about now---and I will not be keeping it warm. In my dreams, or ever! Not tonight.” But—she changed her mind, and pushed herself up to the casket again. She had more to say.

“…and there isn’t sunshine to warm that satin next to you---not where you’ll be resting tonight! Sleep tight, my Love.”

She turned from the casket for the last time, and hesitated. She chilled at the thought: had she detected a faint glimmer of a grimace cross the artificially placid face? With that thought in mind, she lightly descended the stairs with a spring in her step….out of his life and out into the warm night air.

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