Queen's Knight

What I noticed most was the way his fingers held the microphone before he spoke. It was a firm grip, and he placed it into the position that he wanted without hesitation. After that, when his hands moved, I was captivated by his caressing of the notebook pages when he recited his poetry. Then his fingertips stroked the paper, and I caught my breath. No, no, he wasn't caressing them, I imagined it, wanted to think of him gently touching...me. Now, all four fingers on the mic stand, slightly splayed, his entire hand visible. Strong hands, and I knew he was speaking, pouring words over the audience, yet all I could see and feel was his hands. My own hand had been barely resting against my throat, and dropped to the front of my blouse, my thumb grazing my erect nipple. I bit back the moan, and held my breath, and his gaze rested on me as he ended the second poem. His face lit up, and he strode towards me, never breaking eye contact. My heart hammered, and I felt a rush of arousal when I saw the way he looked at me. The vibe washed over me like a tidal wave, but I told myself I must be projecting. I must. “You came,” he said, “just as you said you would.” 

Ismiled, “I hope you'll forgive me. It was a long drive, and I checked in at the hotel, but there wasn't time for a shower...I didn't want to miss you, Jackson.” 

There was a pause. It was not uncomfortable, and I tried to look into his eyes now that he was this close, but they promised to consume me. I suddenly knew that sensuality I sensed was not only me; it was both of us; the need to touch and explore. Jackson took my hand, and leaned in to me, “Do you have an extra towel? I just got off work before coming here, and I haven't showered either. I know you must be tired, so we could...” 

I interrupted him, “Not that tired.” 

“Good girl.” 

We stopped on the way to my car, and he smoothed his hand over my long, soft curls, then drew me to his body firmly. We didn't kiss, but I snuggled my face into his neck, inhaling and sighing, allowing his strength to support me. I softly said he felt good, and his arms and hands roamed over me, and then his voice, articulate and sure, told me I felt better. I was here for this, for him, for the story that had to be experienced before it could be written, though no woman could ever know a man through my words, could they? I was here for him, and to have the taste of him on my lips. But more than that... “I want you,” I said simply. 

“I figured,” he said as he squeezed my hand, and I looked in his eyes now, letting him see me inside, see my need. We exchanged the hotel information, though he planned to follow me, and now he kissed me, before walking away. I began to cry, and he held the sides of my face,“It will be alright. Don't be afraid.” 

“I'm not, it's just...” 

“Shhh, you ARE tired, Lara. Let me take care of you tonight.” 

Weariness was trying to take over, and I nodded. It had taken about 14 hours to get there, and most of the driving had been done that day. I nodded my head, and he kissed me again. “You're still my good girl, “ he said. The drive to the hotel seemed long, and the walk to our room, too. After we got in, he nodded and raised his eyebrows, “Nice.”

I just smiled, suddenly feeling every mile of the drive, and began to get what I needed to shower. He turned and led me to the bathroom as I quietly protested, seating me at the dressing table before he turned on the water for the jetted tub. Then, as we waited, he rubbed my neck and shoulders. There were no words from this man that was full of poems and creativity, only the pounding of water into the tub, and a few quiet moans when he would hit the sore spots again. When the tub was close to full, Jackson leaned over and placed a soft kiss on my neck, and whispered that he would wait in the room while I soaked if I wished. It was so nice to have his company, I really didn't want him to go, and at the same time, we had only just met. He turned on the bubbles. “You can call me when you are in with bubbles on, maybe?”

He grinned. I nodded, hoping he was not disappointed by my reluctance. I felt unappealing and exhausted, but as soon as the water was bubbling around my body, I knew he had the right idea getting me to plant my fatigued self in that hot, invigorating bath.

“Ooohh...,”I closed my eyes and leaned to the side, “Jackson...?” He entered calmly, with a knowing expression. He was tired, too. He had worked all day. I smiled. “There is room for one more, and it feels like heaven...” I began. His shirt was off already, and we kind of laughed. In no time, he sank into the tub with me, and we both leaned back quietly, looking at one another, contemplating. He put his arms out, and I turned so my back was to his front, and there we stayed. I touched his hands as they held me, watching the bubbling water dancing around us, and in between fingers as we moved them in the wanna-be fury of heated water. We were quiet, and every time I thought to speak, something stopped me, and I remained in the space in which we were existing a little longer. When we stood, it was as though we had both heard in our minds it was time. I wanted to wash, and as I thought it, he reached over for the hotel-provided shower gel, and placed the curtain in the tub edge. I turned on the shower, and we lathered up and washed in a perfunctory manner. He washed my back, and I washed his. The sensuality from earlier had faded, and I appreciated when he rinsed my hair so my arms could fall limp at my sides. It really did feel as though he was taking care of me. I glanced at his penis. He was only the slightest fraction...okay, no, he wasn't visibly turned-on, and I had a pang of guilt at disappointing him. My excitement was gone. I chided myself because I knew there was only one chance to make that first impression, and I did not think I would be nominated for any 'Sexy New Friend' awards. As I finished drying, I began laughing, and couldn't stop. Jackson gave me this look, and I would try to explain, then fall into another fit of laughter. Tears ran down my cheeks. It was the tension, and then I stopped, still gasping and fighting laughs, but telling him how I had wondered if I should put on a nightgown. We looked at our naked bodies, and then he started laughing, too. It felt wonderful. He shook his head, “No, all you need to do is get some rest,” and chuckled some more.

I sighed. It would have been cool to get into his arms and go to sleep. Yeah, really cool. I got up and brought a small case from next to my luggage. I calmly set up my BiPap machine as he watched and waited. “I never told you I have sleep apnea. I use a BiPap to help me breathe correctly when I am sleeping. Not very alluring, I know.” 

He grinned and shook his head, “Is that all? I saw you unpacking and thought maybe you were bringing out some kind of kinky with which I am not yet acquainted.” 

I bit my lip. “Aw, I don't know, I might be...” 

We shared the sandwiches and grapes I had brought with me so I could take my medications, our own little naked picnic. We both joked about the strangeness of our first date; bath, shower, naked picnicking. “I really don't mind, Lara. I love it, love seeing you live and in person after all these months of on again, off again chatting and flirting. I'll be honest, though, when you said you would drive here to see me, I didn't put much stock in that. So, now here you are, and I do wonder if you are happy you made the trip. I know you are pretty tired, and I get this sense of, of hesitation, too. My question is 'what now?', and 'how long are you here?'” 

We looked into each other's eyes as I finished chewing a grape, and took a sip of water. All I could think was how much I wanted him to understand my perspective, and keep this good feeling going. I started speaking slowly, considering my words, “I have wanted to meet you since day one, when I realized you are a writer, and a good writer. Then, finding out you are living in the city of my birth, plus raised in a city over 2000 miles from here where I spent a good deal of my developing years, and your clear, concise diction, smooth voice, beautiful hands,” I took his hand now, taking a big breath, “My polyamorous heart did half the driving to reach you, Jackson. I wanted this.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “But...?” 

“The man I live with is not poly, and we are not a couple, not really, yet we're close. It is exactly as though we are girlfriend/ boyfriend, because we love one another deeply, figure things out, spend all our free time hanging out together, cook and clean together or for one another, share a bank account, and more. The commitment we have is chosen, unspoken, and the bond is real. I never worry about his place in my life, and it's the same for him. Nothing is going to change what we are to one another. Nothing, and I haven't gone out with or seen anyone in well over a year. If you want to know the truth, I feel like I am cheating by being here. Polyamory is truth-dependent. I should and need to tell, or more like, discuss with him, anyone I would be seeing.”

I finished up awkwardly, and looked down at our hands. Jackson moved closer to me, clearing his throat. I looked at him, and he was shaking his head slowly from side to side. “Lara, he doesn't even touch you. That is not romantic relationship. He doesn't even touch you, and you know you need to be touched. How long now has it been since he gave you any physical attention?”

My voice was small, “A hug on my birthday.” 

Jackson held me then, and it felt good to have his solid strength so close, and he was so sure of himself. Had I driven all this way for hugs, bubble baths, and cold sandwich picnics in hotels? What was I doing here? I wanted what I knew he could give me, and for about the millionth time, an aching flutter surged in my heart, because I had someone so special at home. I had someone I loved and trusted, yet they had no desire for physical affection from me, or anyone else, it seemed. Tears slid down my face and hit Jackson's leg. He used his thumb to wipe the streaks of water from my face, and encouraged me to lie down on the pillow. He went into the bathroom, and brought a warm cloth, washing my face. He handed my BiPap mask to me, and put the wet cloth in the bathroom before returning to get in bed with me. I quietly said, “Goodnight,” and strapped the mask to my face and got into a comfortable position. Jackson got behind me, cradling me, and asked if it was okay. I nodded my head and squeezed his arm. Seconds later, I was sleeping. In my dreams, I returned home, and my apartment was empty, the one I loved so deeply was gone, with no explanations. He had left the chess set on which he had taught me to play, the king and queen knocked over. Knocked over in haste, or to leave a message? I had created this nightmare, and didn't know. I sank into my chair next to the chess set, sobs ripping up from ancient frustrations I had experienced since the beginning of the relationship. I sobbed so hard, I couldn't breathe, and I didn't know what was the worst part, but now there was nothing, no one, except emptiness. My fear made real. How many would I lose in death and life? What happened to not worrying? Help me, help me, help me.

“Hey...”Jackson was eyeing me with concern as he removed my mask, waking me. He sat it aside. “You're not resting easy,” he said. 

I snorted, “No shit.” 

For some reason, this made him laugh, and I did, too. He suggested that we go for a ride, maybe score a cup of coffee, and I agreed, dressing quickly. We drove around, the hum of the car helping me to relax. Jackson recited poetry he had memorized, and we listened to some of my music. We parked awhile, holding hands and chatting, and as the sky became lighter, he suggested we should find an all night diner. I liked him, and thought how I had fantasized he would ravish me as soon as I had arrived, but instead, he had been more like Mr. Rogers. The diner had bagels and vegan spreads. Jackson knew all the good spots to go, which was his proclamation. Biting into the soft, chewy bagel, and tasty spread, I could only agree. We strolled through the neighborhoods I knew from years ago, in the city where both my father and I had attended high school, and my parents had lived after marrying, and when I was born. It was so much the same in the residential, and surprisingly, much of the area was the same, but had grown significantly beyond previous borders. I asked Jackson if his wife knew I was there, and if he had talked about me with her. “Yes, she does know you are here, and that nothing was decided, and really, that I had no idea if you would come, or what might happen between us. I still don't know, or even if you know, though I have imagined many times what could be,” he paused, facing me as he took my hands, and in a sing-song voice, ”Whatever will you do, with me, with you? Will you go, or will you stay, and let Jackson play with you today?” 

I laughed and hugged him, a spontaneous reaction that wouldn't have been alright at home, inducing hours of discussion to secure our status as NOT boyfriend and girlfriend. I hugged Jackson harder, and he said, “I'm liking this,” and kissed me. It was magic to feel my body respond, defying the barricade in a rush of passionate hunger. He playfully growled and rubbed his chin against my neck, sending tingles everywhere when the hairs brushed roughly on the tender skin. His kissing became more fevered, or to be fair, I was soaking up this attention, and the heat was too much. I pulled away.

“Don't stop now, it's getting good,” he said.

I swallowed, and nodded, said we should go back to the hotel. On the drive back, he rubbed and held my hand, which I knew was meant to reassure me. I grabbed his hand and held it firmly, and when he squeezed back, not letting go, his grip was tight, so tight, almost painful. This pain, and the knowledge he could make me, take me, have me any way he wished, and that he DID wish to have me, THIS reassured me. My heart and mind briefly stopped racing and searching for something right or wrong. I was shaking when we were in the room. Jackson asked me why, and I recounted a conversation in which I had been told my quasi-boyfriend knew every step in advance, everything I was going to do, and things that would be said as we knew one another, like the  strategies of an elaborate chess game. Jackson asked, “Did he say that to you?”

I nodded, “I feel as though he can see right through me at times.”

He asked, “Where did you tell him you were going?”

“I told him I was going to see a brother,” I grinned.

We both laughed. “Really?!” he asked.

“Yeah...”

“Because I'm Black?” he teased me.

“Um, NO, I actually have brothers that live close to here, Jackson! I'm going there after here!” I was laughing, because it was true.

“Shhhh,”he said, “it's alright, it's alright. It's kinda funny you didn't think of it, though. Or did you?”

He began tickling me as we rolled on the bed laughing. When we got still, facing each other, I told him I liked him. “Well, I sure hope so! You are too much, hmm, better take a little off the top...”

As he spoke, he moved my blouse aside, nuzzling, kissing, playfully biting, licking my neck, breasts, sides, and belly. I squirmed, panting and moaning. I was crying a little, and not because it hurt, just overwhelmed emotionally. I fought it, willing myself to hold on, to wait. When his hands pulled at the tie on my pants, I tensed up, sitting up and swinging my legs to the side of the bed. “Lara,” he said firmly, “come here.”

I shook my head, trying to tell him he didn't understand, but I had been faithful and hopeful, that possibly the day would come that the one I love would look at me with some stirring in his heart that would cause him to want me in every way. Day after week after month, now going on years, so happy and fulfilled in nearly every way. “Jackson, I don't want to use you. It hurts. I like you, really like you, yet when I leave here and go back, will he know I was here because he knows me so well? If I keep going with you, will a hunger for him be reawakened? I mean, it's been calm within me, as though it's dormant. Then you do everything you do, and we have not even done EVERYTHING, but it feels so good, and I want it. I do. I wanted him, though, and I live without. Perhaps...I should not...”

I stopped, frustrated. Jackson moved up to sit by me, and had me face him.

“Lara...Lara, you have something special, yet you said yourself, not all you want. You have become closer, yes, entangled with someone that messes with your head and heart to keep you loyal. He is literally coercing or extorting you to be as he wants,” Jackson held up a hand as I tried to speak, “and you have the power to live without what you want, and you are strong enough to leave here without THIS, something you want. You can keep saying 'No' to what you want, sure. BUT, I do not think you should leave without getting what you need.”

We looked at each other.

“You NEED this,” he said, simply. The crush of his lips was fast, and powerful arms pulled me, pressed around me. I instantly became his, my defenses gone. The firmness of his body no longer caused alarm of whether or not it should be happening, but now reacted with my own heat,  and both of us burned hotter. I let go.

“Go slow,” I said.

He made a deep whimpering sound, but slowed down, and his body rocked ever so slightly as he repeatedly kissed me deeply, and long, stopping to look in my eyes sometimes. I let go a little more. I let go and I let myself enjoy dedicated hands moving to hold me and rub me, undressing me, yet slowly, as I'd said. I reached to feel him, knowing he would be hard, and he took my hand, kissed it, and shook his head.

“This is all you right now.”

By now, his chest was bare, and I couldn't get enough of his skin warming mine, the smooth strength of it under my hands as I held him. I caressed him, my hands moving everywhere as we kissed. I had missed kissing so much. Everything, I had missed everything, yet especially kissing and being held like I would always be wanted and secure. I knew I was moaning and sighing, but each time it was too late to stop it, because I was unshackled, released, a Queen on the loose without a king. I was ready to be claimed, protected, even worshiped. Out of nowhere, I heard my voice, dark and raspy, “Don't let me go.”

He held me close, and the cuddling was luxurious after so much time without. This was truly what I needed, was for someone to take their time. He looked in my eyes and let me see him, unguarded and sensuous, full of desire, yet caring and patient. A tear slipped from my eye, and he smiled a little as he wiped it away, then hugged me. I know he might feel the trembling in me, though it was not fear of what my life would be when I left here, only gratitude. He kissed me once more, and as he carefully devoured my proffered moans, his fingers sought the velvety etness between my legs. My pelvis instinctively moved when the tips of his fingers stroked the outer edge of my pudenda, and clearly he knew the power of this. The magnificence of stimulation from gentle provocation, teasing of this edge, expanding to climaxes so powerful, and yet, not many seemed to know this science that presents like magic. My legs opened wider, and I nearly missed the smug look that passed over his features, but I smiled when I saw it. I couldn't stop my hips from moving, sensitive skin chasing the end of his hand, pleading. Rather than give me more touch at my core, he moved to lightly go back and forth on my thighs, kissing me again, my breath now stuttering out from my heightened lust. Mid-kiss, a single finger dipped into my slick, salty sweetness, passing close to my clit. I clung to Jackson. He repeated the movement.

“Augh-oOohh-oh...” I couldn't stop myself.

The noise I made was not really sexy, more like someone caught off balance, or about to fall. Jackson held back a laugh. He went lightly, and after only a few swishes, I told him I was close. He popped his hand and fingertips up and down a few more times, and was looking in my face as I came to orgasm, kissing me as his hand continued to move. I came a couple more times, crying, almost barking. The only words I heard myself saying were 'Oh, yes,' over and over. Jackson kept moving, his voice reaching through my climactic haze, “That's my good girl, Lara. Cum for me, cum for me...good girl.”

He slowed, making me wait breathlessly, too proud to beg him or reach for myself. I knew he wanted to make every orgasm happen, and I wanted that, too. I wanted him to give me that which no one else was giving. I wanted what I needed and did not have with the man I loved.“I need...” I began to say.

He nodded, moving faster, then another kiss, OH, so close...For the first time, he pushed two fingers inside of me, bumping softly near my clit and alternately popping and stroking my G-spot. I came hard, arching and screaming as he lost himself in watching me, still moving his hand as I exploded repeatedly under such tender pressures. I let everything go, a bereft Queen sacrificing herself to her own knight.