The car door slams shut in the driveway as I run the comb through my long black hair, completing the preparations on which I have spent hours as I await my benefactor’s return. It is ironic that even though I have spent all day primping, I am wearing almost nothing. To ensure that I remain free, my strategy will be to titillate him so that while I am his guest, his life will be one of ecstasy as he stands between me and the officers of the Department of Homeland Security whose task it is to arrest and confine every Jewish citizen of the United States of America to a ghetto or worse.

I run to the bedroom window and open the curtains a crack to peer out. A red Volvo S60 is parked in the driveway and my friend Daniel is walking from his car to the front door of his house, where I am now his involuntary house guest for an indefinite stay. After dashing out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the foyer, I stand before the door to await his arrival.

Standing almost at attention at the door, I feel like a lowly private during boot camp, awaiting inspection from the drill instructor, fretting that I will not measure up. The drill in which I imagine myself is the most important in my life, for failure might result in the forfeiture of my freedom.

Never having prepared to act so blatantly sexual in front of a man with whom I have not shared intimacy, my mouth is dry and my heart pounds in my chest. Despite not having smoked since college, I crave a cigarette. As I polished my nails, bleached my mustache, shaved my legs, and plucked the tiny whiskers from my chin that are the bane of the lives of women of Mediterranean ancestry, I devised something clever to say to him. But in the heat of the moment my mind is drawing a blank.

Waiting as he traverses the short distance from the driveway to where I stand to greet him, I take in a deep breath, hoping to have not overplayed my hand, wishing that he be pleased by the new look of his old friend who unexpectedly landed on his doorstep the night before and desires her to be his intimate companion.

Upon seeing Daniel’s silhouette through the translucent glass, I fling open the door. The young man into whose hands I have placed my fate is speechless as he regards me standing with my hands on my hips clad only in a black brassiere and matching bikini panties.


Just one week before we had been colleagues on the medical staff of the local hospital after having serendipitously found jobs in the city in which we had lived as adolescents. Daniel’s retired parents having just moved to Arizona, they took their house off the market upon their son’s recent return to town so he could take up residence in the home in which he grew up while deciding if the surroundings he knew as a youth would be to his liking in his adult years.


Our medical practice involved making daily rounds on the wards visiting patients whose own doctors chose to cede the responsibility of caring for of inpatient to physicians on site in the hospital, who would be available quickly for emergencies when the need arose. Not infrequently, lulls in the workload allowed a friendship that had lain dormant since our teen years to be rekindled.


Neither of us were particularly concerned that world events would ever affect the rhythm of our lives. My native Israel had recently overthrown the newly formed Islamist government of Jordan, which in its brief existence had abrogated the peace treaty signed by the wise King Hussein. The world was ready to accept the demise of another radical Middle Eastern regime and Israel’s military occupation of the country, but the deportation of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians from the Gaza Strip and West Bank into the newly conquered Arab lands made the Jewish state into a rogue nation.

The United Nations demanded that the refugees be returned to the encampments in which they had existed in squalor for more than a half century. Tough sanctions were imposed that made importation difficult for everything but food and medicine.

The nuclear armed Israelis refused to undo the ethnic cleansing of what had been known for decades as the Occupied Territories, having finally succeeded in realizing their longstanding ambition to incorporate the West Bank and Gaza into Eretz Israel. If sanctions were not lifted, the government in Jerusalem hinted that the oil rich Persian Gulf would be its next conquest.

To show the Zionists that the world meant business, the UN authorized the American air attack that crippled Israel’s nuclear reactor, interrupting that nation’s source of enriched uranium and decimating the brain trust that maintained the country’s atomic weapons. Israel retaliated by launching the first nuclear attack since the end of the Second World War. A cruise missile equipped with a nuclear warhead was launched from a submarine in the Mediterranean Sea and detonated over the air base in Turkey from which the strike on Israel’s reactor had been launched. Thousands of Americans and NATO personnel perished.

Some in the federal government had realized long before that the US and the ever more isolated state of Israel were on a collision course and that American Jews were a potential fifth column. At the behest of the FBI and Department of Homeland Security, over the years hackers had penetrated the computers of synagogues and major Jewish organizations, providing the names, addresses, and working places of virtually all Jewish Americans. Surreptitiously a plan had been formulated to confine Jews living in major cities within ghettos and collect those from the hinterlands into motels, tent cities, or prisons in the event of trouble between America and Israel.


Standing before him in my skivvies, I cannot tell whether his expression is one of surprise or disgust. After he regards me for several seconds without saying a word, I take his right hand and guide him across the threshold closing the door behind us. Breaking the ice, I let go of his hand and stand before him, finally asking, “Do you like the way I look?”

“Sh-, sh-, sure!” he stammers.

It is not the reply that I expected, having dreamt that he might take me into his arms and kiss me, just like in the movies. Caught off guard, I don’t know what to say next. Maybe he has become involved with somebody during the few days we have been apart. Or maybe it is just my fantasy that I turn him on. I suddenly feel self conscious.

“I don’t look fat, do I?” I blurt out and then feel my face turning crimson. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that. That was so stupid. I can’t believe I’m dressed this way. This was a dumb idea. I’ll put some clothes on.”

“You don’t look fat. You’re beautiful.”

His deep voice is soothing. He could have been a public radio announcer. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had next uttered, ‘And now we will hear the Adagio for Strings in D Minor.’ The words I had rehearsed in the hours before his appearance now come back to my memory.

“OK. It’s obvious how you feel about me. I’ve felt your eyes on me every time we’ve passed by one another, even back in high school. I was stupid for ignoring you then. You’ve been a wonderful friend. It’s time for me to return your generosity.”

I again take his hand and lead him up the steps. When I turn down the hall that leads to the master bedroom, he follows, but only reluctantly. We stop at the threshold and regard the king sized bed, made flawlessly by me earlier that day, which is beckoning us.

He turns to me and says, “That’s a strange site. I almost never make the bed.”

Onto my face shoot droplets of his saliva, the preternatural calm of a moment ago now gone.. Seeing that he has become even more nervous than I am, for an instant I regret choosing such a brazen way to broach the painful topic of our mutual attraction.

“I bet you make the bed when you think a girl might be coming over to spend the night,” I counter, smiling lasciviously, hoping to steer the conversation in the direction of our impending intimacy.

He is silent and his countenance is grim. He makes no effort to cross the threshold into his bedroom. Frolicking with me on that bed seems the farthest thing from his mind. I panic, thinking that his next words will be a request for me to leave, that I should turn myself in to the authorities or find another place to hide.


“It’s never happened. I’ve never had a woman over here. In fact, I’ve maybe had a half dozen dates in my whole life. That might even be an exaggeration. Friends of mine try to fix me up with blind dates, but they’ve all ended badly.

“For the first few years after I left home for college, it wasn’t too bad. I could always find guys like me who weren’t dating anyone and we’d go out and have a good time.

“But since coming back here, I’ve been lonely. In the last couple of years almost all of my friends have gotten married. The single guys my age are either losers or divorced. And the divorced ones have their kids to see on weekends. It’s weird going to a baseball game with your buddy and his little kid.

“I’m starting to think I belong in the category of the losers, because I don’t think I could even get laid in a morgue. Even when I’m at a convention in a big city and go to bars where the travel guides say eligible women who might want to meet a rich young doctor hang out, I don’t know what to say and never manage to connect. After I try to make small talk, the girl nods and then drifts away after I’ve bored her enough.”

“You don’t have to worry about that with me. We have a lot in common. You know I find you interesting.”

“Yes, you’ve been a friend going way back. But it’s funny that you’re showing an interest in me now. To put it delicately, I’ve never been with a woman. I’m thirty-one years old and still a virgin. And when it’s time for that to end, no matter how long it takes, I want it to be with a woman who loves me, not with someone who doesn’t feel she has a choice in the matter.”

I plant my lips on his and kiss them softly.

“Nothing would please me more than to be your lover.”

“Are you sure? Would you have said that if I weren’t providing you refuge in my home?”

“No. We surely wouldn’t be standing here like this on the threshold of your bedroom if events hadn’t thrown us together. But the terrible things that have happened to me have opened my eyes.

“The men I’ve dated, even the guy I was engaged to, thought I was just a Jewess with big tits and a nice ass. They all told me how interesting I was and how cool it was to be with a woman from a little country where girls learned to shoot machine guns in order to help kick the asses of the bad guys who are our neighbors.

“But when they realize that I need someone to tell my troubles to; that I need someone to hold me and tell me everything will be OK when I’m sad and that they still love me, they realize that I’m like any other girl. And then when someone else with better boobs or a nicer ass who doesn’t belong to an ill-starred religion that doesn’t celebrate Christmas comes along, the phone calls stop and yours truly is home digging into a container of chocolate ice cream on Saturday night.

“But you, who took long walks with me and listened as I blathered on about how hard it was to be a Jew on Christmas when we were growing up, I never gave a chance to. And now it’s time you had yours.”

I take his hand. I feel him trembling. He finally wraps his arms around me and plants his lips on mine. As our mouths open and our tongues dance together, I feel the tension leave his body.

Our lips part and he looks down on me, staring into my eyes, still puzzled by what is taking place.

I laugh when I notice splotches of my lipstick around his mouth. He regards me quizzically and still does not speak.

“You look funny with lipstick on your face.”

I break away from his embrace and dart into the bathroom, returning momentarily with a tissue that I use to erase the trace of our kiss.

The news that American Jews were being rounded up and confined to ghettos fortunately reached me while I was attending a medical convention across the country in San Diego.

The remarkable efficiency of the US government’s surveillance of me had resulted in an early morning knock on the door of the hotel room where I was a registered guest.

But I was not there to be found, having renewed the acquaintance of a fellow resident from my training program in a fleshpot a few blocks from the convention center and then doing what I had always wanted to do when he was my preceptor on the wards, which was to fuck his brains out. Our night of intimacy in his hotel room had put me one step ahead of my pursuers.

The news of the round up of America’s Jews blared from the television as my Adonis was showering in his hotel room that morning. Knowing that a little romp in the bedroom was unlikely to dissuade such a red-blooded American male from doing his duty and informing the authorities of my whereabouts, I hastily dressed, grabbed my purse, and after seeing the hotel corridors swarming with Homeland Security goons, I departed the premises..

I used a pay telephone to call my parents in Miami, and got no answer at home, work, or cell phone. Later I found that my suspicion they had been detained was correct. Not daring to even try to collect my possessions from my hotel, I set out cross country to reclaim the fortune that my parents had taught me to bury in case of such an eventuality. Four days later, I was at Daniel’s doorstep.


“This isn’t a dream?”

“No, Deborah Miller is here in the flesh, standing almost naked in the doorway to your bedroom, ready to ravish you.”

“I don’t know why.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Like I told you, I’ve never been with a woman. I don’t know what to do.”

“That kiss was really nice.”

“But what if I do the wrong thing next? Then you’ll think I’m a pervert.”

“Daniel, there is no wrong thing!”

“What if I touch the wrong place?”

I place his left hand on my right breast. He tries to draw it away, but I hold it there. “You’re touching my boob. And see, nothing bad has happened. I haven’t screamed or anything, have I?”

“You put my hand there.”

“You can touch my ass. You can touch me between the legs. Daniel, I’m a sure thing!”

“I don’t know if this is right.”

“We’re a man and a woman in the privacy of your home. It’s up to us to say what’s right and what’s wrong.”

“You might feel differently tomorrow.”

“OK, maybe we should start out slowly. Why don’t you rub my back?”

He takes his hand off my breast and begins stroking my back.

“That’s nice, but it would be even nicer if I could lie down on the bed.”

He says nothing. Making the bold assumption that this means yes, I stride into the bedroom and lie prone on the double bed on which his parents slept.

He sits next to me on the edge of the bed and begins kneading my shoulders. I sigh as the tension leaves my muscles.

“You have nice strong hands. They feel good. I’m sorry for what I’m putting you through.”

“It’s all right.”

“You must think I’m a slut.”

“No. I’d never think of you that way.”

“I’m sorry for being so forward. I shouldn’t have been so pushy.”

“I’m sorry it happened this way but I’m glad we’re here together.”

His hands still haven’t moved off my shoulders, as if they are the one part of my body over which he is allowed free reign. It feels good to experience the touch of a man who, instead of putting his own carnal desires first, needs for me to gain something from intimacy with him. I become desperate to penetrate his veneer of shyness.

“You can unhook my bra and massage the rest of my back.” My voice is now heavy with sleep as the tribulations of the past few days fade into memory. For the first time since my people began being herded into ghettos and huge tent cities where they faced an uncertain fate, I am able to relax, secure in the knowledge that I am in the company of a true friend who will stand between me and the problems I now face.

He tentatively unfastens the two snaps on the back of my brassiere. The elastic fabric recoils and falls away, exposing all but my nipples, which are hidden away in the bedding.

His hands travel down my torso, delightfully releasing the tension from all the muscles for which we had learned the names, origins, and insertion points in the anatomy lab. His fingers isolate each muscle as if I am a laboratory specimen as he delicately realigns the forces that hold my skeleton together, restoring the harmony with which I’d come into the world.

I am not good enough to be this man’s lover, I then realize. Had he come to me in similar straits, I would have fretted over the obstacles that securing his safety posed, making the haven I would provide only marginally better than the uncertain fate he faced. But here I am, lying in his bed with no fear of being turned into the authorities, being made to again feel like a person rather than a burden on him and the world.

Thoughts of his body pressing against me as we embrace and then his lips meeting mine fill my mind. But relaxed by his gentle touch, the urge to sleep is too great. Instead of completing the seduction of my benefactor and thereby gaining power over him, I fall asleep.


That day in San Diego on which my life and those of all Jews in America changed, I wandered the streets in a panic, fearing that I would be cited for jaywalking, littering, or some other minor offense and then be revealed as a Jew, the new archenemy of America. I put on sunglasses and looked away from anyone wearing a uniform, even a postal worker. Fretting that my nose would betray me; I bought a floppy hat that I hoped would keep my facial features in shadow.

I decided that the best way to reach home anonymously was to hitch a ride with a trucker, but clad in the smart outfit I had chosen to look the part of a fun loving professional woman at leisure, I feared my get up might seem incongruous to the type of American willing to providing transportation to a damsel of modest means and questionable virtue. I thus swallowed my pride and purchased a tank top, jeans, and cheap open toed sandals at a second hand store.


The bedroom is dark when I awaken. The television set is tuned to a basketball game with the sound barely audible. A shadowy figure illuminated by the blue glow of a laptop computer screen is sitting in a chair next to the side of the bed opposite side of me, paying his seductress no heed while alternating glances between the computer monitor and television screen.

I look at the clock on the night stand. The time is one o’clock in the morning.

“Daniel, I must be keeping you up. I’ll go to the other bedroom now.”

“It’s OK. You can stay in here with me.”

“But you have to work tomorrow.”

“I’m sort of a night owl. And I want to see who wins the ball game.”

I turn toward him, hiding my bosom with the sheet, fearful that he does not yet find me worthy of being his lover. I fasten my brassiere back together, having given up on my plan to seduce my host.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep in here.”

“A person can’t help falling asleep. I’m sure traveling across the country and living by your wits just to get home was very stressful.”

“I guess what I’m saying is that I’m sorry for insinuating myself into your life the way I have. I thought that for me to become your lover would be a treat for you. It would have been for any other man I’ve ever known.

“But you’re a lot more complicated. You just want the real thing. I hope that someday I can be the real thing for you.”

“You’re no phony. I’ve always known that.”

“I feel silly now for trying to be a siren.”

“Don’t feel silly. I was very touched.”

“But to get dressed up in this get up and then fall asleep before the action starts is kind of embarrassing.”

“I’m glad you did it. No woman has ever wanted me before.”

“I’m sure lots of girls want you.”

“I’ve never seen any sign of it.”

“The women at the hospital find you unapproachable. They don’t understand half the things you tell them.”

“Or they don’t care.”

“Maybe that’s so, but I care about you and now it looks like I can’t have you.”

“Your offer is very tempting.”

“So was that high minding stuff you were spouting before about wanting to be with a woman who was giving herself freely to you just a bunch of baloney?”

“No, since you’ve been asleep in my bed, I’ve been thinking about how I used to feel about you before we went to college and the void it left in my life when we parted at the end of that last summer. I thought about how much I wanted to kiss you the night we stayed up until dawn talking before your mom and dad drove you off to Dartmouth.

“I realized that one of the reasons I’ve never done it with anybody is that I was in love with you back then and no other woman since has ever measured up to you. I’m still not sure about your feelings toward me. But this tragedy you’ve suffered is a chance for me to win your heart.”


Daniel’s memories of the last summer we spent here in our own town were incomplete, but it was a time that I vividly remember. The time we shared was just a few days, and it occurred after the boy with whom I had been in love left for his own school. The day after he departed I found out that I was pregnant with his child.

I turned to the one friend who unconditionally loved me. Daniel, unaware of my predicament, got me through that desperate time. We roamed our home town, by now devoid of our friends who had taken off for college, talking as young people do about our plans to remake the world.

When it was time for me to leave, I had resolved to accept the chore of motherhood. But I was spared that responsibility the next week when I suffered a miscarriage, and then absorbed in the excitement of life as a college freshman, I drifted away from Daniel.

The next time we saw each other was more than a dozen years later after we had both taken jobs at the hospital in our home town.


“Daniel, my heart is yours. Just tell me what I can do to please you.”

“Deborah, I don’t know. I’m so mixed up. I’m still not sure this is right. Your life depends on me. How can I not feel I’m raping you if we become intimate under these circumstances?”

I am not used to men during down an offer of sex from me. Perhaps I am not accustomed to being in the company of a man so principled.

“Every man has a secret fantasy. Tell me yours so I can be your fantasy girl!”

He smiles. It is a guilty smile. My face lights up when I realize I have found his weakness. The smile leaves his face when he realizes that I know.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something. I’ll bet that there’s something you really want to do with a girl and most girls would say no. But not me; I’ll do whatever it is just to prove that I love you.”

He gets up from his chair and lies down next to me on top of the covers. He folds his hands on his chest and turns his head toward me, as if I am his psychiatrist and he is to undergo analysis.

“I can’t help it. I’ve had the fantasy as long as I can remember, even before I went to kindergarten, and I’ve never spoken of it to anyone.”

“What is it?”

“I’m afraid that if I tell you you’ll be scared of me.”

“Nothing about you could ever frighten me. Please tell me.”

I sit up a little in bed and place my face close to Daniel’s. He regards me with silence for a long time. Twice he opens his mouth to speak, but no words emerge. I kiss his lips.

He sighs and finally divulges his secret in an inaudible voice. “Bondage.”


“Now you think I’m a pervert!”

“Daniel, I didn’t understand what you said!”

“I don’t want to say it again. Forget we ever talked about this. If you want to make love, I’ll do it with you now. There’s no use pretending that we’re not a man and a woman who desire each other.”

“Daniel, you had something important to say and I want to hear what it was.”

“No you won’t.”

“Since you’ve made such a big deal of it, I won’t be able to rest until I know!”

“OK. I like bondage. I fantasize about tying women up. But don’t worry. I won’t try to make you do it.”

“But Daniel, if it’s such a big thing for you, you should be able to do it with someone whom you love. I can’t imagine you hurting anyone.”

“You don’t know the real me.”

“You’re gentle and empathetic. You couldn’t hurt a fly. Please tell me about your fantasy.”

“My fantasy girl has been condemned to be executed for murder but has convinced me of her innocence. When the day comes, my job will be to get her ready for execution-you know, tie her up and everything. But in the days leading up to the execution date, the prisoner and I have fallen in love. So I have hatched a plot to rescue her.”

“And do you live happily ever after with her in the end?”

Daniel shakes his head yes.

“I guess I can play along with you. Would I being the damsel in distress fit in with your fantasy?”

“Kind of, especially since you’re already technically an outlaw.”

“What kind of kinky things would you like to do with me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do too know!”

“All right. I guess I’d like to tie your hands together behind your back.”

“And then what?”

“Maybe rub your shoulders.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad. In fact, I think it would feel good, but is that all?”

“What do you mean?”

“How about acting out the part in which you save me from execution?”

“It can’t be acted out. We’d have to be in a real prison with a death chamber. And there would have to be a warden and the rest of the team that carries out the execution.”

“I’m sure we could improvise.”

“You’d really help me do this?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Everyone thinks bondage is awful and degrading.”

“The way you treat people in real life reveals your true nature. Daniel, I know that you’re a kind and gentle human being. Knowing that, nothing you could possibly do to me would be awful or degrading.”

“Then why is it so embarrassing to go to adult book stores and look at bondage pictures in magazines? Even if I’m a thousand miles away from here at a convention, I worry that someone who knows me will see me come out of one of those places.

“There’s stuff on the internet, but you have to pay a lot of money for the really good pictures. And I’m not sure that it’s a good idea to give out your credit card to the people who run those kinds of businesses. So it’s ironic that I’ve just stayed in the closet, since being gay is so well accepted today.”

“Well, now you have me.”

“How can I be sure I’m not just dreaming?”

“Why should this be only a dream? You’re risking your own freedom by letting me stay here and instead of being put in a camp or ghetto, not to mention giving me emotional support, food, and shelter. And now that I realize I like you in more than a platonic way, it makes perfect sense that I should want to please you.”

He lies frozen on the bed, looking straight ahead, as if I, lying next to him, am just a figment of his imagination, the virtual presence from his dream. I gently touch his right shoulder. He finally turns and looks at me, but still utters not a word. His eyes plead for me to love him, but he will not take the next step.

The buzzer goes off. The basketball game he has been watching is over.

“I guess the Lakers won.”

He sighs and then reaches over and turns off the television set with the remote control. The TV screen is suddenly black, and we are awash in the weird illumination provided by the screen saver on his laptop. Triangles and a host of other geometric shapes materialize and fade into oblivion, making us appear to one another as chameleons in his dimly lit chamber.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with your shirt and pants off?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He is wearing a blue long sleeve shirt, the one he wore to work this morning. A pen and a pocket flashlight are still in the pocket over his left breast. I empty the tools of his trade from his shirt pocket and then unfasten the top button of his shirt.

He smiles a little, and I smile too. But the meanings of the expressions on our faces differ. His smile is that of a child who finally receives a long awaited gift, while mine is an appreciation of the irony of my performance as the seductress of the man who has every reason to seize my virtue against my will.

I unbutton Daniel’s shirt to his waist. From his armpits emanates the manly aroma of a guy who has done a day’s work. His chest is muscular and his stomach flat and taut. His loneliness over the years has allowed him to cultivate an excellent physique.

“You have a nice body,” I whisper and lie my head upon his naked chest.

“Your hair smells good.”

“It’s just your shampoo.”

“Maybe it’s just good to smell your hair.”

Emboldened, deftly using my right hand, I unbuckle his belt and unfasten the button on his trousers, and pull down the zipper. I reach under the elastic band of his Jockey shorts and wrap my hand around his rigid cock, which is wet with his semen. As I have done for my other lovers, I begin to lightly stroke him, making sure I brush across the sensitive spot below the meatus on the underside of his cock.

“I guess you like me a little bit,” I muse.

“More than a little bit.”

“I’m sorry it took so long to get to this point.”

“We had to realize that despite our differences, we were meant for one another.”

“It was nice of you to say ‘we’, but what you said applies only to me. I was the one who blinded herself to the love we share.”

“Did you really think of me during all those years we were apart?”

“I didn’t think of you as a lover, but I remembered you fondly and hoped that you had met a nice girl and settled down.”

Our lips meet and we exchange another passionate kiss as I fondle his member.

“You feel so good. I don’t want this to end.”

“It doesn’t have to. As long as I’m here, I’ll do anything you want.”

“The business about bondage, just forget about that.”


“It’s not a normal thing. After all you’ve been through, it wouldn’t be right for you to have to indulge my pathologic fantasies.”

“But you’re a better person than anyone else I’ve ever known. You deserve to have your dreams come true.”

I then bend over and slip his cock into my mouth. He runs his fingers through my hair as my tongue slithers over his rigid phallus. When I sense that he is about to cum, I expel him and resume stroking his dick with my hand.

“We can have intercourse if you want. I just finished my time of the month, so I don’t think I’ll get pregnant,” I whisper into his ear as I lie at his side.

“I don’t have any condoms.”

“I’m not worried about catching anything, unless you’re worried about getting something from me.”

“No, I’m sure you’re OK.”

“You’ve never had a woman go down on you, have you?”

“I told you. I’ve never been with anyone.”

I straddle his hips, holding myself upright to let him gaze upon the nearly naked body of his soon-to-be lover, his rigid cock sandwiched in the groove between my labia. Already wet and ready to be penetrated, I begin rocking my pelvis, dry humping my old buddy as we take another step in the direction of making the platonic aspect of our friendship a relic of the past.

“I’m glad I’m your first. You relax. Don’t worry about anything. We’ll be fine.”

“I, I don’t want to cum too fast. I want it to be good for you.”

“It’s a miracle that we found each other and that we’re together tonight this way. That’s pleasure enough for me. You can cum anytime you want and anywhere you want with me. You can cum in my pussy, you can cum up my ass, you can cum on my face; you can do anything you want with me.”

“But I want it to feel as good for you as it does for me.”

“It’s not all about just having some body part rubbed or penetrated for women. Just being gently touched by a man who loves you and feeling safe in his arms is the greatest pleasure a girl can have.”

He begins caressing my breasts through the black brassiere. I guide his hand to the clasp between the cups and he unfastens it. The cups fly away from my chest, exposing my bosom to my lover. I shake my torso and the brassiere falls off my shoulders, down my arms, and then onto the bed.

His jaw drops and his eyes widen as he beholds my naked chest. I giggle at the transformation of the serious young man whom I have grown to love into a gawking teenager.

“I’m, I’m sorry!”

I lean forward, pressing my naked torso against his chest. I place my lips onto his and force my tongue into his mouth. The tension that I feel in his muscles dissipates and he wraps his arms around me. I feel his hips rocking in tandem with mine. Our lips part, and as I feel my excitement build, I start moaning softly.

“Daniel, I love you!” I whisper.

“I love you, too!”

“I want this to be special to you. I want to indulge your fantasy.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I love you. I want this to be perfect.”

“It’ll feel weird.”

“I want to be your fantasy girl.”

He stops rocking his pelvis. I lift myself up and look into his eyes. His expression has become mischievous.

“I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never even thought how to do it. I always assumed it would just be a dream.”

“You’re thirty-one years old. Before tonight you said you’d never been with a woman. Just think of it as making up for lost time.”

He pushes me off his hips and sits up.

“Anytime you want me to stop, just let me know. I realize this isn’t for anybody.”

“Don’t worry. I think it will be kind of neat.”

“I think I have some clothesline in the garage. I’ll go get it.”

He gets out of bed, pulls up his pants, and zippers them. I flop back on the bed and lie supine in the warmth of the spot he has just vacated.

I hear him bounding down the steps to the foyer and then down to the family room of the house in which he had grown up that now lacked a family. I now hope with all my heart that I have not waited too long to have children, that my womb is not barren, and that soon my troubles will disappear and I will be able to let his seed enter me when I am ripe to conceive.

The door to the garage opens and in what just seems like an instant later, slams shut again. I then hear the bounding steps of my lover on the stairs, returning to me with adolescent enthusiasm.

He enters his bedroom with a smile plastered on his face, all the trepidations of the last half hour gone. His breathing is rapid and shallow, as much from anticipation of what lies next as from his jaunt on the steps. A spool of clothesline is in his right hand, which he throws onto the bed. The rope hits me on the thigh and comes to rest.

I am lying with my hands behind cupped behind my neck, dreaming of being the lady of the house, raising his children. He regards me silently and then sits next to me on the bed.

“I’m all yours. Just tell me what to do.”

He leans over and kisses me.

“I just want your love. This thing about bondage-it’s just a silly fantasy. You don’t need to be part of it if you don’t want to.”

“Dreams and fantasies are what make life worth living. You deserve to live your dream. Your fantasy girl should look her best. Do you mind if I go freshen my makeup?”

He nods yes. I wrap my arms around my executioner and our lips meet. We exchange a long open mouthed kiss as I grind my pelvis against his.

I retrieve my purse and go into the bathroom as Daniel follows like a puppy dog, panting with excitement as he revels in his dream. He stands behind me as I take my place in front of the mirror in bathroom of the master bedroom. I feel triumphant having penetrated his boudoir, having attained the position of lady of the house.

I quickly redo my eyes, first encircling my orbs with eyeliner and then applying purple eye shadow to the upper lids. Daniel watches intently as I coat my lips with purple lipstick and then disappears from the bathroom as I run my comb through my hair.

After taking a minute to cover up a few blemishes, I turn to leave the bathroom and find Daniel blocking the door. He is holding a cell phone and his eyes are in the viewer as he prepares to record my image.

“You look hot!”

“Thank you, Daniel.”

I look at myself in the mirror above the dresser-naked from the waist up, my soon-to-be lover standing behind me, his expression solemn, completely immersed in his fantasy. I can almost read his mind.

I am the innocent woman of his dream, unjustly condemned to die, whom he is preparing for execution. There is no choice for me but utter submission, for my end will be even worse if I mount a futile resistance.

I know the man who is preparing me to die loves me, so if he cannot save me, I am certain that my imminent demise will be painless. But maybe he has concocted a plan to rescue me at the very last moment, even after the machinery of death has started to act upon its helpless victim.

It pleases me to help Daniel realize his dream. I hope that the slight smile on my face is not spoiling the moment for him.

He places his hands on my shoulders and begins kneading my muscles. I close my eyes, regretting only that I am not free to wrap my arms around him.

“Daniel, do I have a chance? Will I ever feel you inside me?”

I use my most alluring voice to tease out a hint about the fate of the prisoner whose life is in the hands of the man who loves her.

“After today, nothing will keep us apart.”

“Are you going to be my executioner?”

“You’re an innocent woman about to be hanged for a crime you didn’t commit.”

“What did I do?”

“You tell me. It’ll be more fun if you contribute to the plot.”

“Let’s see. I’m an exotic dancer. An old dude becomes obsessed with me and makes me the beneficiary of his life insurance policy. He has a bad ticker and drops dead while I’m doing a lap dance for him.

“The tabloids find out that my sugar daddy’s passing has made me a million bucks richer. The town’s outraged; they think I got the codger all steamed up on purpose so he’ll kick off and I’ll get the insurance money. I’m arrested for murder.

“I take the stand and insist I knew nothing about an insurance policy, but the jury doesn’t buy it and finds me guilty of first degree murder. The judge condemns me to death, so here I am!”

“The governor announces there will be no reprieve. The Supreme Court has rejected your appeal. So will you be ready to die, or will you be hoping for a miracle?”

“You’ve offered to help me escape, but I’m afraid the plan will backfire and you’ll just be taken down with me. So I want it to be your loving hands that bind me and place the rope around my neck. I want it to be you who pulls the lever that opens the trapdoor through which I will fall to my death. And I want my last human touch to be from you.”

“But I can’t let you die!”

“But there’s no way out of prison for me except in a coffin! And I’m tired of waiting for the sentence to be carried out. I’m innocent. I want to be set free or go on to oblivion or my eternal reward.”

“But I’m your executioner. I’ll make your drop through the trapdoor shorter so your neck won’t break when the noose catches it. If the warden asks what happened, I’ll say you requested that your head not be ripped from your body during the execution.

“The noose tightens around your neck, slowly strangling you. That’s how I imagine you, I mean the girl in my fantasies, when I’m aroused-choking to death at the end of the rope, fighting against the restraints I’ve applied so she can free her hands, tear the noose off her neck, and draw in a breath of sweet air.”

His slip reveals that I am his fantasy girl, the one he rescues in his dream as he masturbates.

“But as the end nears, she feels abandoned, for no rescuer has come forth. And she is bitter as her awareness fades, as for the one time a man has done as he has been told, her demise is the result.

“But with the end of your struggles end comes your chance to escape death. The prison doctor is senile and deaf. He can’t hear heart tones through his stethoscope anymore. If you don’t move, he’ll pronounce you dead,” Daniel finishes.

He takes the end of the rope and I watch as he ties it into a noose. When he finishes, he places it around my neck and lets go of the rope. The knot falls into my cleavage.

“So how will you get me out?”

“You’ve put me in charge of your funeral. I ride out with you in the hearse. I open the coffin when nobody’s looking and let you out, and they bury an empty box.”

“And then what do we do?”

“We have to hide until things cool down. So you spend your time thinking up ways to keep me excited so I don’t get bored and decide you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“You’ll never have that problem in real life.”

He takes hold of the rope and leads me by the neck through the bedroom, stopping at the threshold. He then drops the rope, hurries into the kitchen, and emerges moments later pushing a chair on the wooden floor, positioning it beneath a hook on the ceiling. He beckons me to stand on the seat, and I mount the improvised scaffold without hesitation.

He closes the bedroom door and mounts the chair. Standing next to me, he takes the free end of the rope that is attached to my neck, swings it over the hook, and ties it to the knob on the bedroom door and jumps to the floor. If he pulls the chair out from under me, I will be left hanging by my neck.

“No need for underwear now,” I announce.

I pull my panties down. The rope catches my neck as I bend over, so I wiggle my hips and bend my legs to get them all the way off. In a few seconds they are around my ankles. I step out of the opening on the left side and toss them onto the floor with a kick from my right leg. When I look up, I see him recording the scene with his cell phone.

Daniel stares at the naked woman who is in his power. I beckon him to join me on the scaffold and wrap my arms around him and bury my head in his chest when he returns to my side.

“We’re done,” he whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re done acting out the scene.”

“The scene’s not over. I haven’t fought for my life at the end of the rope. And you haven’t rescued me.”

“You didn’t think that I was actually going to hang you, did you?”

“Well, one end of the rope is tied around the doorknob and the other end is tied around my neck, isn’t it?”

“But you could die!”

“You’re risking your career by hiding me. I don’t have anything of value in my possession except for my body and my mind.

“Please let me do something for you in return. Your fantasy girl has been condemned to death. Someone else will end her life if you don’t. She would rather die by the hand of the one who loves her.”

I then stand on my tiptoes and our lips meet. Our mouths open, forming one great chamber, and our tongues dance together.

“I’ve ruined your lipstick,” he tells me when our lips part.

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply.

“I want you to look, you know, hot, while we, I mean, I do this thing with you.”

“Am I such a hag that I need to cover all my blemishes and wrinkles for you to desire me?”

“No, you’re real nice looking. You’ve always turned me on. It’s just that for the scene there needs to be more color in your face. Oh shit, you probably think I’m gay for talking about makeup. It’s just that I, I want you to look like the girls in magazines. Yeah, that’s it. That’s what I’d like.”

“You want me to look like a porn star?”

“No, not a slut, just like you-at your very best.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Daniel’s face turns a shade of crimson.

“You want to take pictures of me while we’re doing this, don’t you?” I demand.

“No, I, I mean yes,”

I gaze back at Daniel as he studies my face. On his visage is written mortification, he having unintentionally provided further evidence that I am the woman of his fantasies, the one he pictures in his mind’s eye as he wanks in the dark, living a bounteous life with me in his dream world, but destined never to have his love requited.

“I wanted to have a picture of you standing there naked with the noose around your neck. You’re going to leave this house someday when all this craziness is over. If we’re forced apart, I want to have something to remember this night with. But I won’t take any pictures if you don’t want me to. Just forget it. It was a bad idea.”

“You’re risking everything for me. Of course you can take pictures of me. And I’ll fix my face if you’ll get my purse for me.”

He jumps down to the floor, and I watch with my hands on my hips and noose around my neck as my executioner departs to retrieve his condemned lover’s purse so she can prepare her face for the climax of the scene in which she is the leading lady.

A moment later he presents me with the black leather satchel that contains almost all of my earthly trappings. He opens my purse as if he is my acolyte and I, the high priestess. I reach in and pull out a tube of lipstick and my compact. He watches adoringly as I recoat my lips with purple lipstick, again becoming the alluring siren for whom he is about to exchange his life as a law abiding citizen for that of an outlaw in an overlap of fantasy and reality.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” I muse, breaking character.

“I’ve dreamed about being with you ever since we were parted. You’re even more beautiful in real life than in my dreams.”

“Thank you, Daniel. That makes me feel good.”

“I shouldn’t make you do this.”

“No, it’s fine. If you’ve dreamed about me all this time, after what you’re doing for me, the least I can do is make your dream come true.”

He pulls my right wrist behind my back. After I willingly place my left wrist next to it to be restrained, he grabs hold of my hands, turning my wrists so that the backs are apposed to one another. I then feel two strands of clothesline encircling my wrists as I stand frozen like an action figure, offering no resistance as he pulls the ligature tight. He then separates the strands and threads them between my wrists in opposing directions, pulls them tight, and ties the ends together, securing my hands behind my back.

He then pats my rump and before retaking his place in front of me. He descends to his knees as if kneeling before a figure in prayer, but instead of paying me homage, seizes my ankles. I reflexly move my legs together and watch as he encircles my ankles with clothesline, wincing as he pulls the double strands tight before wrapping each strand separately between my legs and then tying the ends together.

Completely helpless, I imagine what it must feel like to strangle under one’s own weight. He then mounts the scaffold from which my body is to drop and stands next to me. As I tremble, my soon-to-be takes me in his arms. I look down to the floor, wondering how far my feet will be from the floor once the chair has been pulled out from under me.

“You feel good,” he says softly.

“Daniel, I’m not going to fall too far, am I?”

“Getting a little scared?”

I shake my head yes.

“Do you want a blindfold?”

I shake my head no.

“I’m going to take you at your word. You said that you wanted to indulge my fantasy.”

“I owe it to you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I want to be the one girl who gives herself completely to you.”

“You know how dangerous this is.”

“It’s OK.” I insist, while unable to eliminate the reluctance from my voice.

“Do you have a last request?”

“Does that mean you’re going to kill me?”

“Anything can happen.”

“I understand now. You want me to be scared.”

He nods in the affirmative. I manage a smile. He smiles back.

“Something to drink then. I’d like a glass of wine.”

He disappears into the kitchen. During the few moments he is gone, I fret that I might lose my balance and strangle to death before his return, but my feet remain firmly planted on the seat of the chair when he comes back with two glasses of Merlot and a camera dangling from a strap around his neck.

He mounts the chair and holds the goblet to my lips as he stands beside me. I take a sip. It tastes smooth, unlike the cheap stuff that I had in my house.

“Is it good?”

“It’s wonderful.”

“It was a gift from my uncle. He brought it back from a winery in Napa Valley. He fancies himself as a wine connoisseur.”

“Let me have some more, please.”

He lifts the vessel to my lips and pours more Merlot into my mouth. I savor it, letting it stay in my mouth for a few seconds instead of gulping it down to get drunk.

“I’m sorry you’re so frightened.”

“Isn’t that part of the game? Does it turn you on?”

He shakes his head yes.

“Then I can play along,” I assure him.

“You don’t have to anymore. This has gone far enough. I can’t believe that you were about to let me hang you.”

“I work out. I think I have a strong neck. And I don’t weigh too much.”

“But you could die!”

“Right now, my people seem like such a goddamn nuisance to the world that they’d probably give you a medal.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

“But don’t you like seeing how terrified this is making me? Wouldn’t you like to see me choking to death at the end of this rope, wondering if you’ll save me?”

“I’m sorry, but I do!”

“Don’t be sorry; feel instead lucky to have the chance! Now take a sip of that wine. That should strengthen your resolve.”

He takes a big gulp of wine and then holds my glass to my lips and pours some more into my mouth. Growing tipsier, I lean against him, no longer concerned that the ligature around my neck will strangle me to death if I lose my balance.

He wraps his arms around his victim and I realize that there is no place on earth that I’d rather be. I strain against my bonds, but they hold secure. My lover is reveling in his fantasy, and it is my honor to be a willing participant.

“It’s time.”

“Time for me to hang?”

He nods yes.

“Don’t cry for me if anything bad happens. It’s better this way.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be blindfolded?”

Changing my mind, I acquiesce.

An instant later, my sight is obscured by a black strip of cloth that he then knots behind my head. The chair shifts and the heat of my lover’s body fades away as he steps down to the floor.

“Daniel, where are you?”

“I’m right here.”

“Oh, god, this is so scary. Where are you? Please, touch me!”

He wraps his right hand around mine.

“Thank you. That feels good.”

I start to sob uncontrollably. My limbs tremble and I strain against the ligatures around my wrists and ankles. All I am rewarded with is pain as the clothesline digs into my flesh.

“Do it now!” I shriek. “Let me hang for you!”

He lets go of my hand. For a few seconds, nothing happens. My heart pounds and I hyperventilate.

Just as I conclude he has lost his nerve, that I will not be the victim of his demented fantasy as I had wished, the chair begins to move beneath my feet.

“Oh shit!” I cry out.

The right side of the platform on which I am standing rises and I stagger. The noose catches my neck and tightens as my body slides off the chair. I make a guttural sound as I try to regain my balance, but an instant later, there is nothing beneath my feet but air.

The rope holds fast and my neck suddenly bears the entire weight of my body. The ligature around my neck has closed off my throat so that I can draw in no air. I struggle to free my hands to tear the noose off my neck, but unable to loosen the restraints my restraints, my hands remain securely fastened behind my back. I strain against the bonds on my ankles but they too hold fast, and I can do nothing but writhe and squirm as my body twists in the air.

The muscles of my neck and shoulders and back contract as they struggle to keep my head attached to my body, aching under the unnatural load they are forced to bear, making me fret I will be decapitated. But the drop of only a few inches has not been sufficient to disrupt the ligaments that hold my skeleton and body parts together, leaving me instead to strangle under my own weight to the delight of the author of the scene. As my lungs hunger for sweet air, I pray to lose consciousness so that my torment will end.

The ligature unable to overcome the vigorous contractions of my left ventricle, my skull fill to capacity with blood with no means of escape, increasing the pressure in my head, and stretching the walls of the arteries that course through my brain. The neurons in the walls of these arteries go awry, sending urgent messages to my cerebral cortex that are expressed in my consciousness as unrelenting agony. Time is running out and my death will ensue if whatever plan my executioner has concocted to save the innocent woman he bas been charged with putting to death is not put into place immediately.

I am aware of camera flashes as I twist at the end of the rope. My soon-to-be lover is creating a photographic record of the vignette in which I am starring, a role in which I hope any accolades I may garner will not be posthumous.

As my consciousness fades, I feel my torso being lifted and the soles of my feet touching cold metal. I lean back and realize that I am standing on a stepladder. My neck is no longer forced to bear an unnatural load, but as I attempt to breathe, the noose remains tight around my throat and I can still draw in no air.

I lean against the ladder, prohibited from imbibing sweet air by the cruel ligature that is still wound tightly around my throat. My legs are barely able to support me as I hunger for a just a single breath to force the stale gas out of my chest and replace it with the pure air in which I am bathed.

I feel Daniel’s fingers pressing against my neck as he struggles to loosen the ligature around my throat. The rope finally gives way, and my chest heaves as I first exhale and then drew a breath of fresh air into my lungs.

“Are you OK?”

I nod in the affirmative.

“I’m sorry.”

He then pulls off my blindfold. I am rewarded by the sight of Daniel’s gentle face, brimming with satisfaction.

“It’s OK. I said you could whatever you wanted to me.”

“I’ll never hurt you again.”

“I’m fine. And when I told you that you could do anything you wanted with me, I meant it. And the offer’s still good.”

“I can’t believe that I did it! I hanged you!”

“How did it feel to see your dream come alive?”


I turn my head and give him a peck on the lips. “I love you, Daniel. Thanks for letting your fantasy girl be me.”

“Shit! You’re still tied up. Your wrists and ankles must hurt”

“It’s OK. I can stay posed this way for as long as you’d like.”

He unties the knots that secure the ligatures around my wrists and ankles. The strands loosen and I extract my wrists from their grasp, placing my hands in front of me. I massage the tender flesh the cord has bitten into.

“I hope the rope doesn’t leave marks.”

“It doesn’t matter. No one is going to be seeing me anyway. Or so I hope.”

“You’re safe here.”

“We’re no match against the power of the U.S. government. If they come for me, I don’t want you to try to be a hero. I’ll go peacefully, and hope that you’ll be waiting for me when they let me out.”

I am still standing on the second rung of the ladder with the noose hanging loosely around my neck. Daniel is at my feet, savoring the spectacle. In his eyes is the look of a man who is beholding a goddess.

“May I have another sip of wine?” I ask.

He holds the goblet to my lips by the stem and pours a little into my mouth. I wrap my hands around the bowl and invert it, filling my mouth with the smooth Merlot, and swallow it quickly to gain the effect.

“Don’t you want to come down?”

I am perched on the ladder, a head higher than my lover. He takes the noose off my neck and I step down gingerly as inebriation sets in. Daniel takes me in his arms, and our lips meet. Our mouths open, and inhibitions cast away, our tongues wrestle to ensnare the other and meld two bodies into one.

Our lips locked, he pushes me backwards, pinning me against the wall of the narrow hallway in which minutes before I had almost died. I dig my fingertips into his muscular back, wishing only that he will soon enter me so we both can be satisfied.

His rigid member presses against my pubis. I squirm, rubbing my pudenda against the mass between his legs, pleasuring myself even while sandwiched against the wall.

“Daniel, are the witnesses who came to see me hang disappointed? Did they want to see me die?”

“Half of them hate you and are disappointed and the other half are glad you’re still alive.”

“Has my death sentence been set aside or have I only gotten a reprieve?” I whisper into his ear.

“There has been no reprieve for you. After claiming to see a witness brandish a gun, the warden commanded me to cut you down and move you to a secure location.

“Having never witnessed a hanging before, I think the warden could not stomach watching you die in such a cruel manner, fighting for your breath, strangling under your own weight. So he put an end to your suffering, in defiance of the courts and the governor. But you are still under the death warrant.”

“So I may be hanged again?”

“I’m sure the court and the governor will insist.”

“But what if next time the drop again doesn’t break my neck? Must I strangle to death at the end of the rope?”

“The law says you must hang by the neck until you are dead but says nothing about whether death should come quickly or be agonizing.”

“Will you be my executioner again?”

“Do you want me to?”

“If I must die, I insist that it be by your hand.”

Our lips meet again and only reluctantly part when we need air. He rocks his pelvis, dry humping me as I am pinned against the wall. I wrap my thighs around him, drawing him even closer to me, using all my strength to keep us together.

“I may receive a command at any time to end your life.”

“I am the most dangerous of living creatures. Faced with imminent death, I may use deadly force to preserve my life, even against the one I love.”

We again kiss passionately; I, overcome by being alive and free, and he reveling in passion held in check for more than a decade after falling in love with a woman who had just conceived another man’s child. Our lips part and we look into each other’s eyes, knowing what we must do to consummate our love but fearing that by leaving one another’s embrace the magic in which we are ensconced will dissipate and cause us to revert into the two brilliant people who had foolishly lost one another.

“Then you must be restrained,” his eyes widen as he schemes to further use me as an object to indulge his fantasy.

He walks briskly into the bedroom with me in tow. He lets go of my hand, scoops me up in his arms, and tosses me onto the bed, on which I land supine. An instant later I am pinned helplessly beneath his body; our pelvises flush against one another, our pudenda grinding in synchrony.

He produces a rope from his pocket and wraps it around my right wrist. He ties a slipknot and I wince as the rope tightens and digs into my skin. I watch as he wraps the free end of the rope around the post at the corner of the bed and see my arm dragged across the sheets as he pulls it tight. A smile lights up his visage and I wonder what his mind’s eye is seeing as he secures the rope to the post with two half hitches. He then repeats the process with my left arm.

He lifts himself off me, and as I pout, deprived of feeling my soon to be lover’s body against mine, he takes my left leg and extends it toward the corner of the bed. I tug against the restraints on my wrists and try to flex my limbs, but Daniel is sitting on my legs, pinning my lower extremities to the bed. I lie before him naked, helpless to prevent him from tying a slipknot around my left ankle. He hops off the bed, pulls on the free end of the rope, tightening the ligature as he drags my leg across the sheets, and then attaches the free end to the post at the corner of the bed with two half hitches. After he repeats the process with my right leg, I am spread-eagled on the bed.

May 2018
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