Unable to Perform

She didn't like to be alone in old houses. Old houses always held ghosts; and ghosts always came to her. The room was tiny and cold despite it being July. Outside the wind rustled through the leaf laden trees, and the rain beat against the old metal gutters beneath the roof. She tried to cry but she couldn't. She took this as another sign of failure. When the tears didn't come, she began to envision their break up. She would have to make up some tears, some drama. Should she beg him to not leave? A hidden part of her spoke up, suggesting that him leaving her would not be a bad thing. Maybe she could go home with a bit of pride. Or she could stay here, and just not be with him. She quickly stuffed that voice down. Of course she would hate a break up, she loved him.

But does he love you? the voice whispered.

This was the first time she had ever been to his house. And she lay her alone. They had began well enough. He brought her to his bedroom upstairs, made her dress in some vintage nightdress with impossibly high heels. They played the usual games before he tied her up, clamped her, pierced her and then made love. Afterwards, he complained.

I like to go both ways. I need you to dominate me.

She tried but she was unable to perform. In these performances she was a bottom. He didn't understand that he intimated her with his age and knowledge. He was 18 years older than her, and he had been playing in these performances since he was 19. Everything she did felt silly and false. When she finally burst out laughing, he banished her from his room, his face dark and angry. His final words to her a threat: I don't know if I can be with someone who is only a bottom.

Maybe you can find someone else to top you. she suggested, paniced at his threat of leaving her.

No. he said. I don't do multiple partners.

Even now she snickered at the absurdity of it. Multiple partners? He was married. His wife's bedroom was directly across the hall. She wished she could go home. She had not wanted to come here in the first place. When they meet in Rochester, he would leave after a few hours. She would be able to read, write, do her own thing. But she knew that her it would be all at his mercy. And now she was alone with not even a book. Why did he have to control her? Why couldn't he just leave her a lone? Why couldn't he just accept what their relationship offered?

In the morning, they were both distance. He attempted little acts to break through her wall but she felt removed from him. He brought her to breakfast at a restaurant overlooking Niagara Falls. It was rainy and cold. The rain left blurred trials like slug tracts over the picture windows. After they ate, he brought her to the falls. Today, they did little to impress her. She felt far away from the world. He watched her, knowing that he had lost yet another piece of her.