“To satisfy, one must imply,” read the words on the screen.
Samantha’s fingers hovered over the keyboard unsure as to her response. She sat bundled in a white turtle-neck sweater, ankle length corduroy brown skirt, flannel brown leggings and very wet panties. Her brow furrowed as she considered if this was the time to play the brat, but decided against it. Finally her fingers moved and tapped at the keys with clicks like one would hear an animal trainer beckoning their charge. “Imply what, sir?”
The cursor mocked her, blinking without words for a few moments.
Samantha felt flushed, not only at the words that she knew would come but at the fear that her boss or a colleague might walk in and find her in such a state. She always gave the impression of being a proper woman with class. Some of her colleagues had whispered phrases like “old maid” or words like “stiff” and even “lesbian”. Having heard them all, she just ignored and even laughed knowing much better.
A soft bing announced the arrival of the new message. It read, “I have a surprise for you.”
Her breath caught and her right hand lifted to her chest.
He had never said such a thing before. He always told her the way of things and what she should do. Never had he offered a surprise that she could recall in all their twenty years of correspondence.
Her fingers returned to the keys. “A surprise? What?”
Again, the cursor stood idly by awaiting the response.
“Can I really trust you?”
Her blue eyes rolled and she brushed one strand of curly brunette hair that was trying to escape from in front of her eyes and back to join its fraternity. “Markus, sir, you know you can.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
In 1994 Sheila had been fresh out of college with her administration studies and believed that she was finally ready to take a stab at this whole dating thing. Her first week at this office, behind the very same desk she now sat at almost twenty years later, she had logged on to the CompuServe connection after work and discovered the chat rooms. She joined groups that discussed episodes of The X-Files, knitting, and home decorating. One of the chat rooms listed was “Dating Older Men”…seemed pure and simple…and she believed that older men must be more mature than drunken college aged guys, so she logged in.
The first person she was messaged by was a 70-year-old from Los Angeles named Bert. The thought of a man 50 years older did not really appeal, and though she found it funny she did not bite. The second message she received, however, was from Markus.
She cocked her head as something about the tone of his messages was grabbing at her. Usually, by now, he would have instructed her to head to the ladies room and massage her clitoris to orgasm…but something was different. Today’s chat had started in its usual playful sexy way, but something had changed. It felt similar to the time, two years ago, when he had told her that his second wife had passed away. A real shock as cancer had only been diagnosed two weeks previous.
Sheila felt her heart jump at thoughts of what could be happening. “Please, Markus, tell me,” her fingers were lightning hitting the keys.
When they first began chatting, Markus was 29 and living in New York City. The nine year difference seemed more reasonable. The fact that, although he was still south of the border from her, he was at least in the same time zone helped as well. Since that time she had become his biggest fan, his confident, his confessor and his slave…and still had never actually met him. Due to a pharmaceutical based job, he had moved around the United States and would email, chat or even occasionally phone from who knows where…Colorado, Illinois, Texas. Sheila always found him to be the adventure in her life. She had, of course, seen pictures from his weddings, of his kids and of his travels.
After eons, the response slothed across her screen. “You will be done work at five? As normal?”
She blinked. He knew this answer but she would humour him. “Yes.”
“Good. At 5:15pm, you should go lounge at the Keg on Winston Churchill.”
Another eye roll. He had done this before. Markus had tried to set her up with many men over the years. He always meant for the best, but it never worked. Her expectations were always inflated by the fantasy of Markus, the one she would never have.
Again, she would humour him, but she knew the ending to this story. “Yes, sir.” Already her expectation was to be home and reading in bed by nine as was her usual Friday night activity.
“Sit at the bar and order a Merlot. Ask the bartender for Archie’s number.”
This was different. Normally he would give her a name of someone waiting for her. The name “Archie” gave her images of a pale chubby man with a big whining New York accent and racism in his blood. “As you wish.”
“Good girl. I want to hear about your evening later. I must run. TTYL.”
The biggest surprise in this last message was no instructions on any orgasm. “Something’s afoot,” she whispered to herself and logged off the chat.
December 7, 2012 – 17:15pm
“Do you have Archie’s number?” Sheila asked the bartender and took a sip of her Merlot.
Foreigner squawked in the restaurant speakers claiming to be “waiting for a girl like you…”
He was tall with short black hair and dark brown eyes. His black uniform did little to hide his muscular physique beneath. “Yes, I have it.” He was obviously expecting the question, but was surprised it was Sheila that had asked. “I expected you to be younger,” he said and handed her a tiny folder he had kept under the bar.
“What’s this for?” Opening the folder it held a room key-card and the number 217 was scribbled inside.
“Motel 6, across the street.”
Sheila had no response to this. Her eyes searched the black quartz bar-top in front of her. “Thanks.” She downed her Merlot and reached for her purse.
The bartender held up his hand and shook his head. “Archie covered it.”
“Oh, thanks again.”
Outside she climbed into her Toyota Yaris just as snow began drifting from the dark sky in the typical Toronto December weather with shorter and colder days.
Shifting the car into drive, she considered just heading for home. Markus’ voice, however…her master, whispered that she should go to the motel. The lights of the Wal-Mart beside the restaurant lit her path as she pulled on to Argentia Rd eastbound and drove across Winston Churchill Blvd. A quick right and she was parked at the Motel 6. Walking from the car, her breath puffed white and made the snow flakes disappear. She went inside to the check in desk.
“Can I help you?” The woman was young, large and sweaty. Her face was annoyed that someone would dare come in and take her away from her daily observation of Two and A-Half Men.
“Yes, could you tell me who is in room 217?”
The annoyance turned to a grin and she looked at the counter in front of her. “Your licence plate is B-B-C-L oh nine three? Red Yaris?”
A shudder of surprise. “Yes.”
“Go on ahead then.”
“I…” Sheila stopped herself. “Thanks.”
“Elevator is around the corner, and stairs are beside it if you prefer.”
She took the stairs with her flats slapping each of the twelve steps in turn. Room 217 was half way down the long hallway and her fist rapped at it twice.
Inside, sounds of rustling were followed by the mechanics of the door being opened.
Sheila’s eyes widened as she took in Markus, living and breathing, with them for the first time.
He stood tall over her with a single finger at his lips for quiet. He wore a black suit with white shirt and black tie. Taking her hand, he pulled her inside.
The nondescript room was lit by two candles, one on each bed side table.
Slipping her purse from her shoulder, he lay it on the small table. Pulling her coat off her shoulders, without words still, he hung it. He then led her to sit on the bed and slowly pushed her skirt up. His own suit jacket was draped over the chair.
He quickly snapped his finger back to his lips to silence her. His smile was what finally disarmed her as his fingers found the waistband of her tights and panties and began tugging them down.
She did accidentally allow two words to slip out as she felt the sensation of a tongue on her clit for the first time, “Holy fuck.” Her body collapsed and lay back on the bed.
Without any effort, Markus’ hands slipped beneath her turtleneck and freed her breasts from their captor. His tongue slipped between her pussy lips inciting another moan. Leaving one hand massaging each of her breasts in turn, the other joined his tongue and his fingers went in to her wet.
The orgasm ripped through her lick a quick ferocious whip snap. Her alto voice hit a note she had never been brought to by a man before.
Markus’ wet face came closer as he climbed on top of her, pushing her back on the bed as though he were chasing. Somehow, during the cunnilingus, he had divested himself of shirt and tie. His right hand propped him above her while his left worked at opening his own pants.
Her eyes widened as she got one brief glance at his cock between her legs before she felt his flesh enter her.
December 8, 2012 – 8:15am
Sheila awoke with a jump from the siren passing close outside.
A couple of blinks and she recognized her apartment. Her book lay splayed across her chest and she sat in her recliner. Her mind began trying to remember how she got back here. Her last memory was of falling asleep in Markus’ arms with the taste of his cum in her mouth.
Walking to the door, she picked up the newspaper
December 1, 2012 – 8:15am
The date on the newspaper screamed at her.
“No,” she whispered. “That can’t be.” Her feet padded to the kitchen softly and dropped the paper on the kitchen table.
Coffee. Must have coffee.
The pill bottle sat beside the coffee maker. White paper beneath the plastic white bottle had the single line note from Markus reading:
“Take this, and it will be as though I am with you. I doubt it will ever get passed by the health boards, but it is completely safe.”
Slumping into the kitchen chair, the full realization sank in.