Sex and the Stranger 2: A Mischief Erotica Collection. Justine Elyot
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should. He was going to have to drive.
We made a little light conversation. About the weather, about the beauty of Big Sur.
‘We used to play Monterey a few times,’ he said. ‘And Carmel, for more exclusive gigs …’ Oh yes, right. He said he used to be involved with the music industry.
The food came. It was excellent.
‘I’m a kitchen hand,’ I said. It wasn’t entirely true, but true enough for the moment.
He nodded. I invited him to share the gourmet avocado squares on my plate.
Extra points for not exclaiming that he couldn’t believe there was no meat in them. On the contrary, he made some knowledgeable comments about the flavour combinations. He could cook, he said. I believed it.
All Along the Watchtower
Of course we had met before, only just not in person. We met on the famous website that had become my home from home. I found most of my best lovers there, all over the world.
‘I feel lucky,’ he said. ‘It used to be so hard to meet a great woman who was into kink.’
‘Or anyone at all,’ I said. ‘I wish there had been a site like this ten years ago.’
Simon raised his shapely eyebrows. ‘Make that twenty, for me.’
We shared the ensuing silence. And the sadness about years lost to shame and exclusion. Simon was fragile, like me. We were not just suitors and hunters, we were members of a secret tribe.
And I liked the fact that he refrained from forcing his personal history on me. We listened to how the wind rattled the big trees and flew over the roof of Nepenthe.
For a while, that site had a very elegant lady in a green and white outfit on the landing page. She looked like everything I wanted to be. I dived with gusto into long, exciting conversations and noted with relief, again and again, how sexy it is to speak without fear. Some of these conversations had been going on for months. I didn’t plan to be in California for ever.
Simon and I, however, had only been writing to each other for a few days. One fine night, moon shining high over the Esalen Internet Hut, he just popped up. He was bold and light-hearted. He peppered his messages with unabashed philosophy. He quoted poetry. Real, complicated poetry. And he was free tonight.
He used to be a roadie for some band that was famous in America, he said. And now he was a surveyor of land. The dream didn’t pay. But he wasn’t giving up on other dreams. Like me?
Me? At that time, I was all dream. California dreaming all right.
People Are Strange When You’re a Stranger
‘So,’ he said. He hesitated for a moment, coughed, then forged ahead, ‘so we’ve already chatted, of course, but – can we talk a little more about what you – like?’
I didn’t answer immediately. I was wondering about his tone. It sounded a little slick. How often did he pick up women and did he care about who he picked up?
Without noticing, I had moved a few inches away on the bench.
Simon moved away, too.
‘I – is this too much?’ he said. ‘Too soon?’
‘No, no,’ I said. There was some awkwardness.
I felt foolish, then I felt lost. Was I really the proud, self-assured woman confidently selecting lovers that I had thought I was?
Simon looked away into the darkness.
‘I don’t do this sort of thing very often,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know what to expect. I thought maybe you wouldn’t be there. I thought, OK, in that case I’ll just have a glass of wine and enjoy the view. It’s a long time since I last came to Nepenthe.’
‘I am here,’ I said. I laid my hand on the table but he didn’t touch it.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You are here. I must say you are – so much more than I expected.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Although – can I ask? What did you expect?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m not exactly doing very well at this, am I?’
‘You’re honest,’ I said. ‘That’s good.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I thought – you’re a stranger.’
‘So are you.’
We looked at each other as the shadows shivered.
Nights in White Satin
Simon speared the last-but-one avocado square.
‘So,’ he said, after some waves crashed into the rocks down by the shore, ‘so what DO you like?’
He leaned back and pointed the delicately constructed vegetable arrangement at me. It really looked very refined from all angles.
‘I like – I like being passive,’ I said, looking straight into his eyes. ‘Or, maybe, receptive is better.’
‘That sounds very good to me,’ he said. ‘I like to be the one who moves.’
‘Ah!’ I said, crossing my legs the other way.
‘What’s your favourite?’ he asked. ‘Really?’
He sucked the food off its stem.
‘I love – I love – bondage,’ I said.
There was music on the terrace, but it too was subdued and designed not to overwhelm nature. As if anything could overwhelm that Big Sur night.
Had I said the B-word a little too loudly, in my enthusiasm?
Bondage is a word that makes me flush with happiness whenever I get to say it. Bondage. I want to say it now. Join me if you like.
Simon had heard it, for sure. He automatically looked around, like that prey animal again. No one at the surrounding tables paid any attention. The waiter didn’t hover. Nepenthe had good staff.
I relaxed. Simon leaned forward. ‘Me too,’ he said, a little more quietly. ‘I love bondage too.’ He lingered sweetly on the word. And now he laid his hand on top of mine. His was cool and soft.
I relished the sensation. And, true to my word, I let him be the one who moved.
I closed my eyes so I could feel him better. He ran his fingers over the back of my hand. Delicate lines of investigation, following the shape of tissue and muscle. And the bone underneath.
‘I like soft wide bonds, around my wrists and my ankles,’ I said. ‘Not too tight, but certainly, certainly not too soft. I love that pressure.’ So much easier to speak with my eyes closed.
‘All sorts of ideas spring to mind,’ Simon said. ‘Let’s see what I can create. Improvise, like the guys did on stage.’
‘Oh, yes, right,’ I said, ‘you used to be a roadie.’
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘In my wild youth.’
‘So you should know about ropes.’
He smiled. ‘But, like you, I prefer silk.’
Not to Touch the Earth
The stars were shining brightly over the Big Sur when we walked down the slightly dangerous Nepenthe stairs. More dangerous in four-inch heels of course. Which made it only practical that Simon should catch me when I wobbled on the steps about half way down, and wind his arms