Luce appeared at the doorway, looking like an angel.
The room was completely dark, so he could only see her outline. But as Luce came closer, he saw she was dressed in a skimpy negligee and a small pair of artificial wings which hung behind her shoulders.
"Do you like angels?" she asked.
"Sure," Steve said.
"Angels have made love to certain been known to make love to ordinary men, but only for the most deserving."
"Thank you for this honor," Steve said.
"You're welcome," Luce said, laughing, briefly breaking out of character. Then she became serious. "When angels visit, you cannot touch them. You can enjoy their physical presence, but if you touch them, they fly away."
"I see."
"But....you can still feel their bodies." Steve sat on the bed in his underwear, and she lay centimeters next to him, stroking the hairs on his leg. Luce bent over and kissed him, hovering over him without a single part of their bodies touching. An instant later, her lips met his; bodies and pleasures intertwined.
"Do you want to spend the evening with your angel?"
"Yes."
"You must ask me politely."
"Would you like to spend the evening with me?"
"Yes. Of course. Angels are kind and generous and totally devoted to love." In the dark Steve could see Luce smiling. This was amusing her greatly.
The music ended, and Luce went to her laptop. "Would you like to hear Beethoven?"
"Anything is fine," Steve said. Luce made some selections, and as she lay next to him again, a piano sonata began playing.
"Angels love music," Luce said. "It touches the deepest parts of their souls."
He bent over and kissed her, but she immediately caught him. "You can't do that," she rebuked. "Let an angel offer you a world of caresses, but the moment you make a single groping gesture, she has to leave."
"Sorry," he said with slight mockery. "I didn't know the rules."
A cell phone rang. Annoyed, Luce got off the bed and hunted for the phone in her purse. "It's Sharon," she said and turned the ringer off without answering it. "When an angel is alone with her lover, no interruptions are allowed."
"Wait, he said, "can you hand me my cell phone? I don’t remember if I turned mine off."
Luce handed him a second cell phone and he pushed a few buttons. "Okay," he said.
"Where were we?" Luce said.
"You were explaining the rules."
"Really there are no rules....except that angels cannot ever be touched. But angels are creatures of the flesh; they are intimately familiar with earthly pleasures, and enjoy it as much as any man. When an angel takes a fancy for a man, she will do everything to please him."
"And have you taken a fancy for me?" Steve said.
She bent down and let her chin touch Steve's face. Then she gave him a light kiss. "Yes," she whispered. "I know there are pleasures which you have always wanted and I can give." She put his arms around him. He could feel her small breasts underneath the negligee. "Am I right?"
"Sure," he said.
"When an angel and a man are alone together," Luce said, "any kind of sexual contact is possible...as long as the man never initiates. It is complicated, but men and angels have managed to have many passionate romances over the centuries." Luce rested her chin over his shoulder and gave him a simple kiss. "That is every angel's fear: an overeager man whose grasping forces her to leave."
"It is a small sacrifice to make," he said, leaning back and watching Luce kiss his stomach. "Will you... take off your clothes?"
"Of course," she said and quickly slipped out of her negligee, leaving on the strap with her small decorated wings. The wings were a sight to behold; as she bent over him, seeking the comfort of his embrace, he noticed their delicate patterns, specks of red with a glittery gold, a series of overlapping half-moons. They had brushed against his arm briefly and felt like silk; they looked as delicate as a butterfly's wings. He longed to touch them....
"Your wings – can I touch them?"
"You mean, feel them, not touch them." she said, smiling. She lowered her shoulder and brushed the wings against his arm. He knew it was ordinary fabric, but the way it brushed so lightly against his skin reminded me of her delicate feminine world.
"Can I feel your breasts?"
"Of course," she said, leaning over his chest. "Give me your hand."
She took his arm and wrapped her body around it. He could feel the soft curves of her skin.
"Do you like that?"
"Yes."
"Is there any part of me which your hand would like to feel?"
"Obviously."
"All you have to do is ask," she said.
"Your pussy. My hand would like to feel your pussy."
"No problem," she said, bringing his hand over her panties and pressing it against her. She closed her eyes and smiled as she opened it again.
"I want so badly to make love to you," he said. "It is driving me crazy!"
"It is still possible to make love....as long as we are careful...as long as you accept the limitations....as long as you don't make an accidental move."
"Oh, sure...." he said. "You talk as though you have a lot of experience. Have you played this game before?"
Luce smiled. "Angels play this game for an eternity. If not, they live a life of loneliness." "Here," she said, taking his hand and moving it to the lower part of her body. "Do you want to feel inside me too?"
"Yes," he said, and she pressed one of his fingers inside her little fold. He could feel her most sensitive parts against his finger. Then, before he realized what was happening, she giggled unexpectedly and said, "I didn't realize how excited I was."
"Or how excited I am."
"Don’t worry. Your turn will come soon enough." She bent over and gave him a small kiss.
"Is this the part where I ask for a blowjob and you say yes?"
"Maybe," she whispered, brushing her fingers down his legs. Without saying a word, she took his penis out of his underwear, cupping it in her hands and stroking it lightly. He tensed and sighed. She was playing with him, and he becoming weary of this angel game. He wanted just to fuck her, but was willing (for one night maybe) to play by her rules.
She started kissing down his chest. It relaxed him and made him want to bring her closer. But before he tried, she took his arm and placed it beneath his head. "It is better to keep your arms away from me so there are no accidental gestures."
"The only thing is....I can't give you pleasure."
"Of course you can," she said. "Pleasure is not something you can steal from a person. Pleasures are not given; they are taken. Even female pleasures are aggressive if you are patient enough. How do you want to give me pleasure?" she asked.
"Well, you know." he said. "Oral sex. I'd like to go down on you."
"Yes, I know," she said smiling. "You don't have to be embarrassed."
"I'm not embarrassed!"
"Yes, you are," she said. "Angels want these things too, only it's ... more complicated. Let me show you." Luce straddled him and slowly moved her hips towards his head. "Now stick out your tongue."
Steven stuck out his tongue (feeling like a goofy child). Luce advanced towards him and lowered herself down. He could smell her pussy on all sides, and he gladly kept his tongue in place while her hip jiggled around. "That's good. You see?"
"Well, yes," he said, disengaging himself. "Do you want me to lick here? Do your rules allow it?"
"Sure. As long as your tongue stays close to where you first made contact, you can move your tongue all you want. After all, your tongue has to move, no matter where it happens to be. The rules for angels are very reasonable....and they can be....." she shivered lightly as his tongue found another sensitive spot..."very relaxing." She looked down at him, smiling, lost in a daze, ready for any kind of pleasure.
"I'm getting excited," Stephen said. "Let's do it now or I'll go crazy."
"Okay, but don't use your hands," she whispered and settled back, lowering her pussy over his cock. As they got used to the sensation of being so close, he looked into her eyes and saw a girl eager to make him happy. Their needs were equal; she wanted to feel him deep inside of her; he wanted her to go faster. "Oh!" she said, wincing in surprise and giggling.
"Did you like that?" he said.
She laughed again.
"Wait," he said.
"What's wrong?" she said.
"Nothing... It's just hard to keep you in position if I can't use my hands."
"Oh, right," she said. She changed position and sat on his lap, grabbing his arms and wrapping them firmly at her hips. "Remember, your hands cannot move one centimeter unless I move them for you."
"Whatever," he said, wishing she'd stop talking and keep fucking.
His hands remained on her hips as Luce lowered onto him and started rocking. She seemed to be searching for a rhythm; when she found it, she sighed, tossed back her head and leaned away, laughing. She was so absorbed in the intricacies of sensation that she had almost forgotten about him. She breathed harder; her hair bounced up and down as she rode his penis, lost in her self-caresses. Moments later, Luce bent over to kiss his face, excited and anxious for more passion. Savoring the closeness, he embraced her, stroking her hair gently.
Everything stopped.
She immediately removed herself from him. Then she started to remove her wings and put them inside her bag.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She gazed sadly at him, almost afraid to talk.
"Wait – are you leaving?"
"You touched me...you said that you wouldn't."
"Come on," he said, laughing, "I've been playing the game like a good boy all night."
"You don't understand," she said. "The moment you touch me is the moment I have to leave. And we were so close."
"You're joking."
"No," she said. "Our love has failed tonight. The angel must do all the touching."
"I'm sorry," he said.
"And I'm sorry you do not understand," Luce said, now completely dressed.
"It was an accident," Steve said.
"I know," she said. "Maybe I should have explained more."
"Well, can we try again some other time?"
"Of course," Luce said. "Next time will be better."
"Are we still having breakfast tomorrow at Jim's?"
"You can assume that," Luce said before leaving.
"10:00?"
"Your angel will be there," Luce said, closing the door behind her. Seconds later, she poked her head in again. "Don’t forget: I want pancakes and bacon."
Steve and Luce had been sleeping together for only 2 weeks; it was good but slightly disappointing. Their first evening had been a special experience, but they were both incompetent at giving pleasures. They tried again, with better results.
Then, to mix things, she appeared at his door in a negligee and angel's outfit. The game had been fun but exasperating. He hadn't expected her to leave like that. But the next time was okay. He couldn't call it a master-slave relationship; she wasn't trying to enslave him, and he wasn't just being obedient. He loved her. This was a just a sweet and innocent game (even if it seemed strange). It was almost as if she were afraid of being alone with an aggressive male. When he surrendered his freedom of touch, she gave him everything: attention, secret kisses and all sorts of physical pleasures.
Another evening, they lay quietly on the bed, contemplating their happiness.
"You are amazing," he said.
"Steve. I hope love means more to you than a few orgasms."
"Of course," Steve said. "I'm a lucky man to be with you."
He tried kissing her, but she pushed back playfully. "No, no, no."
At first, he wanted to pursue it, but didn't want to spoil the moment. He wasn't mad, just frustrated.
"You've already given your virginity to me," he said. "Why are you so stubborn about not letting me touch you?!"
She laughed and put her finger gently around his penis. "Be patient."
"I have been," he said sternly.
"Are you disappointed with my caresses?"
"I didn't say that," he said. "I just wish we could both contribute to the game."
She took his hand and held it to her chest. "Eventually it will be easier to understand the needs of the other."
"What – you don't think I understand you now?"
She took his hand and kissed it. "It takes time. I don't want to rush too quickly."
"Then we'll dawdle. I don't mind dawdling... especially with a woman like you."
"Remember, I am an angel, not a woman."
"Sure you are," he said, laughing.
"If you try to touch me," she said, "you will lose what you seek."
He laughed. "That's feminism." But in fact he had no complaint. This game was pleasing him immensely. When a woman gave long luxurious blow jobs on request, he knew better than to freak out about a few eccentricities.
Luce kissed him. "You hate feminists, don't you?"
"Not if they are as fucking beautiful as you are," he said.
She broke up with him in September three months later.
It was his fault, totally his fault. He had cheated on her. It was dumb of him.
"What I can't understand," said a male friend, "is why you would cheat on Luce. Isn't she like perfect?"
"I know," he said. "It was a stupid fucking mistake."
(Later he learned that this same "friend" started dating her for a few months).
Because he and Luce had the same circle of friends at school, when the news of the breakup came, most people took sides (against him). He was treated like a social leper. For months after it happened, he hated Luce; he thought she was trying to humiliate him publicly in front of his friends. Later he realized that he was just imagining things; Luce had just ignored him and moved on to other boyfriends.
It wasn't the sexual infidelity itself that horrified her, but the fact he had even been tempted by another desire less beautiful and profound. Their love had been perfect – even he admitted that; there was lust and orgasms and thrills; how could he have found that inadequate? She had given her entire self to him. His cheating meant that he never took love seriously and never appreciated her devotion. She did not understand that sexual desire caused people to do stupid and risky things. If she acknowledged that love and sexual desire were not always the same, she would have to discard her romantic notions about life. And that was scary.
He had tried to explain to his friends the circumstances of his infidelity, but even his best friends were unsympathetic. Yes, he had loved Luce, but he didn't really know what love was. 80% of it was his fault, but 20% could be attributed to circumstances. During that summer, Luce went to Bologna to stay with her uncle, while he stayed at his parents' house in St. Louis. He found a restaurant job where (as luck would have it) he met a girl from high school. Not just any girl, but Rosalie Morales, the talented actress who had won an acting scholarship. She was two years ahead of him, and they had been on the same cast for their high school production of Grease. She played the lead character Sandy Dumbrowski, while he was a Kenickie gang member. It was funny; even though the production was three years ago and he had only a minor role, Rosalie could quote many of his lines. Amazing. She was so cute and talented; she still was. During high school, he had a crush on her and hung around her after rehearsals. But she treated him like a juvenile, which in fact he was.
Out of those who worked at the restaurant, most were older or went to different high schools; Steve was the only familiar face to Rosalie. During work she made no secret about how she despised this job; she danced gleefully through the restaurant, making funny faces, singing random lines from Grease, imitating customers behind their backs. The two of them spent slow days swapping college stories and reminiscing about high school. Finally, he asked her out. Originally he had suggested a movie, but they ended up going to a play which her friend had free tickets for. The play was a bore (it was a series of comic pieces about the myth of Michael Jackson); Rosalie's eyes rolled in mockery several times; clearly she shared his opinion. Afterwards, the friend who obtained the free tickets invited them to the cast party across the street. Five minutes after arriving, Steve felt out of place, but Rosalie seemed perfectly at home, chatting about acting classes and making polite remarks about the play to the director. Rosalie had this natural ability to charm people; she began singing some famous Broadway melody, and two cast members joined in.
It was easy to kiss Rosalie at the end of the night. She was very affectionate. On later dates, they went to all kinds of crazy places around St. Louis, a city he had always thought boring. They went dancing in Grand Center several times (something he never did). But Rosalie was a natural. He knew she was just performing in front of others and loved being the center of attention. But it was gratifying to know that the hottest girl in the club was with him. It wasn't love, but simply lust and excitement. Outside of the club, he kissed her several times, a little more intensely each time. In the car, he groped all over her. They were like noisy animals. Finally, after he made her sigh and laugh, she held him back for a moment to catch her breath. Then, in an exaggerated Southern accent, she said, "Well I do declare! It is getting hot in here! I could use a tall glass of lemonade!"
The next time they saw each other, she invited him to his house. Her parents were out of town for the weekend and he was ready to take full advantage of that opportunity. Twenty minutes later, he was in her bedroom, removing clothes, taking out condoms, putting it in and feeling her squirm. Even though it didn't last long, all the time he thought, I can't believe I'm doing with it Rosalie Morales ... Sandy Dumbrowksi, god, it was like fucking a porn star. After he came, they told a few jokes, ordered a pizza and went in the living room to watch TV. Two hours later, they did it again, but it was getting late, and he had to leave. He drove him thinking, I can't believe I got a chance to fuck Sandy Dumbrowksi! He remembered how she looked with her eyes closed, twisting her shoulders and holding his head while he licked around her clitoris. Her orgasms were a series of melodramatic sighs, followed by helpless laughter.
The next few times at work, she acted coolly towards him. Affectionate, but leaving no sign they were romantic. He was dying to tell somebody (and to brag), so he told his best friend Tom who didn't believe him. Once Tom stopped by the restaurant, so Steve introduced him to Rosalie. "Tom doesn't actually believe I'm your boyfriend." he said to her.
"Don't put words into my mouth," Tom said.
"Steve's a good guy," Rosalie said.
"And boyfriend," he added helpfully.
"Well," she said, pretending to think about it. "It depends on what you mean by boyfriend."
"Ouch!" Tom said. "That has to hurt."
"No, I didn't mean that," she said, laughing. "Steven is a good boyfriend. And yesterday Carlos was my boyfriend. And tomorrow it will be Mark and the day after tomorrow it may be Tom."
"Whatever," Tom said, whirling his finger in the air to indicate her craziness. After his friend left, Rosalie snapped, "Steven you are such a wiener. What we do in private is nobody's business."
"But I thought –"
"I told you about Danny at Carnegie-Mellon. You can't seriously expect me to give him up just because of a summer fling."
"A summer fling?"
"And you have that Italian girlfriend, what's her name?"
"Luce."
"You and me; we were just having fun. Deep in your heart, you know that. This ain't love." Then she started singing, "Summer dreams ripped at the seams, But oh, those summer nights..."
After that, Rosalie hung around him less often; she even seemed to make a point to talk to other men. She wasn't really trying to make him jealous; she just wanted to demonstrate the point that they were not an exclusive couple. She didn't want to mislead him.
They went out once or twice more, but it wasn't like before. He kept recalling her phrase "just because of a summer fling." His heart went back to Luce. He had not forgotten about her... just put her out of his mind. She had been writing semi-regular emails. She and her uncle had been travelling around Eastern Europe and so she was always on the run, mentioning random details... mountains he had never heard of, food he had never tried. He wasn't much of an email writer, but when he wrote, he avoided saying too much about his summer. It is best to explain certain things in person. He looked forward to seeing Luce again ... none of those mind games, just a good sweet girl with traditional views about romance.
It was a warm reunion at school. Steve listened quietly while Luce showed him photos from her Europe trip. He couldn't concentrate; he couldn't get his hands off her. No sex games, just a simple fuck which lasted no more than 20 minutes. Luce was the same, just as sweet and passionate. Looking back, he realized that he never should have told Luce about the summer fling (even though he felt obligated to do so). When he started talking, Luce looked shocked. She began crying. He had never meant to hurt her...just to come clean with her.
"And you had the nerve to sleep with me again as though nothing were wrong!"
"I'm sorry," he said. He tried to explain, but she wouldn't let him finish. She was disgusted. She didn't even want to hear his apologies. "What bothers me most is that you let me go through the summer believing nothing was wrong. Don't you think you owed that to me?" She laughed cynically. "It’s obvious that you never took our love seriously... To think, I had been in Bologna happily talking about you to my family when you had already abandoned me."
"I didn't abandon you. I just made a mistake ... a big mistake. "
"Am I supposed to look the other way?"
"I said I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't do it again."
"Oh, wonderful, "she said. "Now that you're sorry, everything is ok."
"I understand your anger. I did not appreciate the consequences of my actions. But now I do. If I could go back in time and erase that action from my life, believe me, I would. Just give me a second chance. Luce, you're my angel...."
"Don't say that," she snapped. "Please ... I don't know how to deal with this. I need time to think. I don't think I should see you anymore. I'm not even sure I could love you anymore."
"But –"
"You need to live with the consequences of your actions," she said and walked away. He called after her, but she continued walking. Later he tried several times to have a civilized conversation with her. But the wounds were too deep. When he tried to talk to her again, she would say politely (but firmly), "I just don't feel comfortable talking about it anymore," and walk away.
They had made love exactly seven times. Six times before the summer, and once on the night of the breakup (which didn't really count). In retrospect, their love had been perfect, if only he had realized it ...
The rest of the school year had been horrible. Yes, he graduated and found a job. Luce had moved on, but had he? All he had to remember her by was a single photograph. On the night the photograph was taken, she was wearing her angel's wings and lying beside him, saying silly things into his ear. Then, on a whim, she jumped out of bed, grabbed her camera and started taking random photos using the night mode. She took a photograph of his penis (with her hand over it), another of his face while she caressed his penis. The camera continued clicking through the night; while they were fucking and she was rocking back and forth, she snapped random photos of their bodies in motion. He begged her to let him take a few photographs of her. At first, she said no, but after some cajoling, she lay on the bed next to him while he started snapping away.
"Can I take a picture of you sucking my dick?" he asked.
He had expected her to say no, but she happily put her mouth on his penis, while he snapped multiple photos. Then they switched; she lay over his head and took a picture of his head between her legs, smiling up at her as he wiggled his tongue in front of her pussy. Laughing, she took more pictures. Afterwards, when passion was spent, she lay next to him and they reviewed the pictures through the camera's viewfinder. The photos were embarrassing and hilarious. Most were out of focus. Even the photos of her beautiful nude body looked slightly awful. In one photo, Luce had a contemplative frown; in another he made a frown that reminded Luce of her grandmother. When they came to the shots of Luce's reclining body, she groaned. "Oh, my god! I look awful!"
"Please," he said weakly, kissing her mouth. "You look gorgeous."
Silence.
"You kissed me," she said.
"So?"
"You kissed me! You broke the rules!" she laughed hysterically.
"Oh, that," he said, remembering the rules of angels. "I was paying you a complement. Doesn't that merit an exception?"
"You broke the rules!" she sang, "You broke the rules!" Luce started gathering her clothes and quickly dressed.
"Sorry about that," he said. "I won't do it again. By the way, did you want to go to the classical music concert tomorrow?"
"An angel never reveals her plans," she whispered and left the room.
The next day, a sealed envelope was slipped under his door. Inside was a single photograph, one of Luce's head taken from below. The photo was cropped so you saw only her shoulders, part of her wing and a sly smile. Along with the photograph was a handwritten note, saying, "An angel always loves you."
He still had the photo and the note. He still remembers that night.
A decade later, he was alone again. Martha and he had been married for three years, but it just fell apart. They argued too much; Martha wouldn't tolerate disagreement; he was always in the wrong apparently. The more Martha scolded him, the more obvious their incompatibility seemed. The marriage started with a wonderful honeymoon in the Bahamas, and they played all kinds of sex games – even the angel game he played with Luce. But with Luce it had been a game of teasing. Martha used it as a way to exert her control, and even to punish him. Nothing was fun anymore. The love had already died early in the marriage, leaving a constant feeling of irritation.
Martha was gone. He was adept at keeping her out of his mind. His thoughts reached further back into his past ... to Luce. That was a more innocent time. He still had the photograph; any stranger who looked at it might have thought it the work of an unremarkable and pretentious artist. But when he stared at the photo again, he remembered the night in question, the giggles, the sensual freedoms. Luce had been a treasure, and he had squandered it without appreciating his loss. He managed to forgive himself (he hoped that by now Luce had forgiven him too). They were young, and young people make mistakes. Painful mistakes.
Sex was no longer about woman or love. It was about porn and strip clubs and lonely people. Love was too enormous to think about.
At the time he knew Luce, he just wanted orgasms and fun, but as he replayed those six night in his mind, he realized it was as close to love as he would get. Luce had been his angel of love.
Sometimes she visited him in the darkness, standing at the door again, dressed in that same angel outfit.
"It's good to see you again," he said.
"Is it really ... good?" she replied. Her voice had no joy or eagerness. She looked older and wiser; her body had matured; it was no longer the body of a girl who played volleyball or visited discos on Saturdays. But it was just as radiant, just as seductive.
"Still, I appreciate it," he said. "You are always welcome here."
"You always say that."
"Let's not be angry," he said. "I've always loved you. A part of you must still love me too."
"An angel's love never dies; it only withers away," Luce said.
What's the best way to love an angel?" he asked.
"There is no best way," she whispered. "All human love is imperfect and selfish."
"But if you are an angel," he said. "how can you really know what humans feel?"
"Angels know many things..." she said.
"If you do not abandon me, I can show you what human love is capable of."
"I have never abandoned you," she said. Luce said that casually, but her voice had an air of contempt. She removed her negligee and stood naked before him. "Do you have an erection yet?"
"No, not yet," he said. "Come here. Be with me. Put on some music. I've been waiting a long time for you."
"No music," she whispered. "Not tonight."
She slipped into his bed and curled her body around his, moving her fingers over his stomach. She did not look at him, but just rested her head against his shoulder. Their eyes met for a moment. He smiled, but she looked away and methodically began kissing his chest.
He felt totally passive before Luce. He could not initiate any touch – those were the rules; that seemed fine for a quirky college romance, but now that they were older, he longed for ordinary sex – no games. Letting another woman control the direction of his sexual passions seemed humiliating and almost perverse. Time was short, and they had already missed many opportunities for love. He wanted her to stay; he wanted to touch her, to assert his control over her and take her like any man took any woman. But he caught himself. Luce seemed to be looking for an excuse to break it off; all she needed was a single inappropriate touch. But in fact, these encounters had been giving Luce satisfaction too. For every orgasm he experienced, she had experienced several. Her hiccups of pleasure were small and undramatic and not particularly joyful; when she came, she looked into his eyes and seemed to be crying. Moments later, she bent over and gave him a soulful kiss; it was as though they had achieved a tearful reconciliation.
She relaxed, and he could feel his penis slip out of her pussy again. The feathers of her wings brushed lightly against his shoulders as she bent down to kiss his cheek. He had not come yet, but that was okay; they were sharing a gentle rhythm and heading inexorably towards release; she looked into his eyes and moaned; it was the sound of innocence and joy and forgiveness. It was the Luce of his memories, the Luce of his dreams. Then – he didn't know why he did it – he held the back of her head and stroked her hair – it was only a second or two, but he immediately jerked his arm back. In that moment her body froze and her face contorted – as though a lightning bolt had electrocuted her heart.
– scurrying from the bed ...
–grabbing himself and resuming the masturbation –
cameras clicking –
– rapidly dressing –
Stroke, stroke, release.
Alone on the bed, he saw himself: a lonely, desperate man.
"It was a mistake," he called out to the shadowy figure dressing at the other end of the room. "I never wanted you to leave. I didn't know your rules."
"The rules are things I cannot change," she said.
"There's no way I can obey them!"
"That's the problem," he heard her say before disappearing. In the darkness he could still feel the curves of her breast on his skin, the feathery wings against his arm, the shudders of a woman weeping.
Before he wished for her return, the naked man remembered Luce's gentle face, feeling only hatred.
Written July 2009
