The Princess

I threaded my way around the fire pit and took the chair next to her because a beautiful lady I knew was getting out of it and wanted me to continue her video recording of the fire dancers.

“Just hold my phone. Like that. You know how. I have to go pee.”

I propped the little rectangle on my knee and aimed it at the dancers and looked at the beauty I had been invited to sit next to. Sitting next to her hadn’t been the intention, of course, but it was the result, and since she was talking to the hostess one chair further down, and I knew the hostess, an introduction seemed appropriate.

"Hi, I'm--"

"You," our hostess L said, to me, "spanked me really wimpy."

"What? I would never do that."

"You did. I hardly felt it."

“Where was this?”

“M’s party.”

“Are you sure it was me?” Suddenly I felt a reputation that I had been oblivious to needed defending.

“Are you a Dom?” This from the beauty next to me, who sat between us.

“Because usually,” I said across her to L, “I handle the flogger pretty well. I can’t believe I’d hit you all weak.”

“Yeah, well,” said L.

“Are you a Dom?” asked the girl.

“I mean, I almost made M cry. Not that I ever want to make a man cry. But he asked for it, and, you know.”

L shrugged and smiled and I realized I protested altogether too much.

“Are you a Dom?” The girl wore a tight blue dress in something of a 1940s fashion and sat erect in her chair, her attention fully on my face. “I love how you keep ignoring my question.”

“I do, don't I,” I said, because I had been ignoring it. “I am, in my way. I’m a Dom in development.”

The conversation went on, and I would have to invent it to recreate it, but there were some interesting points to it. In the firelight, D looked like a beautiful black woman you might find at a cocktail party shortly after the War, with straightened hair at one end and garters at the other. However she turned out to be Hawaiian, and not just any Hawaiian, I gathered; for when a child she had served tea at religious ceremonies where they spoke the language only known by priests and kings. She herself was a spiritual healer and was able to read something of the future in people, in particular the gender of their child before they knew they were going to have one. It will be interesting to see if our friends C and A, who just announced their engagement and have no intention of becoming parents, soon have the boy she says they will.

After asking me my age (56), D said that was interesting, the man she hopes to marry just turned 51. She said he was really a very vanilla lover but she loved him and wanted to have children with him. She said she was discovering things about herself that needed to be brought out, that needed expression. She said she was a natural Sub and entered that space very easily, and needed a Dom who could bring her to that central place. There was something there she needed to understand so she could move forward. She said she felt I was a Dom, and she’d like to play with me.

I took all of this politely as I do, very interested on the one hand and very intimidated on the other. I’m not an experienced hand at such directness and was unsure what missteps I was at risk of taking. I was also very conscious of the fact that not an hour before, I had taken my lovely and very tired lady home and said goodnight by way of stripping her naked and ravishing her without even removing my fedora much less loosening my tie, and I therefore was not exactly in the right place physically or mentally to take a similar path with someone new.

My lady later speculated that D detected something of what we had just done, and that was why she read me as she did. I would agree, but that does not make it an inaccurate reading.

In time, our conversation retreated from these subjects, and the evening went on as at a normal party. We had a great conversation later under the tree outside, where she stood tall and erect in her heels and split skirt, but about spirituality rather than sex; and later on -– I left the event at about an hour before sunrise -- I never had the chance to say goodbye or ask about further contact. Well, we have Facebook. But she lives in a city I never happen to go to, and I’m a busy, busy little boy. (Not with that, but with work / house / family.) I know some wonderfully interesting people who know wonderfully interesting people, but I'm sad to report I have no idea when or if I'll ever see D again. And maybe it's because I'm entering late middle age, but I don't really care. I would give her my all for a few hours, given the chance; but not given the chance, I have plenty else to fill my hours with, and a woman, a true princess, who fills me more with every passing day.