My Muse

I sat at my desk, staring at the computer.  The blank white screen of my word processing program stared back, mocking me.

I ripped the glasses off my face and threw them on the desk.  Twelve hours before I had to have this story to my editor, and I hadn't written so much as a word, never mind the fifteen pages I was contracted for.  Another extension was out of the question; I'd had two already.  If this wasn't ready in the morning, I wasn't getting paid.

I reached for my tea cup.  Empty.  Figures.

Out of desperation, I popped the used teabag in my mouth and stared sucking on it.  My eyes squeezed shut as I tried to get any vestiges of liquid caffeine from the poor, abused leaves.

It probably would have been better if I'd just liked coffee.  Or espresso even.  No lack of caffeine there.

The taste in my mouth became bitter and I spit the bag back into the cup.  It was a very ladylike gesture, even if I do say so myself.  I tipped the teabag into the rubbish bin by my feet, where it joined forty-one of its brethren.  That was a lot of tea for one person to drink in two days.

Two days.  Had I really been sitting at my desk for two days?  And what did I have to show for it?  A blank screen, a bin full of teabag carcasses, and a possible case of tannin addiction.

I put my forehead on the desk in resignation.  It was over.

"Hey Lover."

I sat up straight in an instant and stared ahead, right over my computer screen.  It wasn't possible.  After all this time, he couldn't be here.  Not now.

I heard footsteps coming up behind me.  I closed my eyes, both hoping that he was here, and praying that it was all just an insane dream brought on by a tea overdose.

"Cal," I breathed.

My eyes popped open as his hands rested very gently on my shoulders.  I bit my bottom lip to stop any sound from coming out of my mouth.  He brought his head down to mine, his lips perilously close to my ear.  "You've got a problem, don't you?" he asked, his breath warm on my cheek.

"I...uh..."  Why couldn't I ever speak around him?

"Shh," he whispered.  "You don't have to say a word."  That was a good thing I guess, considering I could barely breathe.  "I know just what you need, and it isn't this."  He reached his hand forward and closed the laptop.  

I wanted to protest, but I still couldn't make words form in my throat.  Cal was in total control, and he knew it.  What's more, he made sure that I knew it as well.

His hands drifted up the sides of my face to my hair.  How did he manage to get the palms of his hands to feel like silk?  He massaged my temples with two fingertips.  "Just relax," he sighed.

Relax.  I didn't think that was even in the realms of possibility.  My skin was tingling, getting more intense with every passing second.

Cal's hands passed in front of my face.  "Close your eyes," he ordered, and I obeyed.   I knew what would come next.  I promised myself I would be ready for it this time.

And I knew I would never be able to keep that promise.

His hands retuned to my shoulders.  "What do you see?"  I didn't hear him; I felt the words in my head, in my heart, in my very soul.   The darkness behind my eyelids slowly faded, replaced by vivid flashes of colour.  A landscape formed.   A small pond was in the middle of it.  A couple, obviously in love, sat on its shore.  He was leaving for a while.  He had a quest.  She was begging him to stay.

My eyes flew open.  It was my story, played out for me.   I reached for my laptop, but Cal's hand was faster.  He held the lid closed and chuckled softly in my ear.  "You don't need that yet, do you?"

I wanted to say yes, I did.  I wanted to scream it.   Instead, I shook my head.  No, I wasn't going to need the computer yet.

He ran his hands down the length of my arms.  His chest pressed into my back.  I felt his warmth through my shirt.  I shouldn’t have wanted him to keep going; I knew he wasn't good for me.  

I gave in to Cal's will.

He turned my chair to the left, where a stack of blank paper laid waiting on the table.  He placed a pen in my right hand.  The grip was smooth and cool and comfortable.  I smoothed out the paper in front of me with my left hand, brought the pen to it, and began to write.

It started slow.  The pen glided over the paper effortlessly.  The words flowed from somewhere inside me, down my arm, through my fingers, and into the ink on the page.  The characters were being laid out, the setting, the conflict.  Everything was there.  Everything fit.

Cal's hands never left me.  He rubbed up and down my back, massaging my muscles.  His fingertips brushed over my bare skin, electrifying me.  At each touch, a new jolt coursed through me, and my pen sped up.  My breathing got heavier.  I started sweating.

The first page was finished almost before it had started.  I moved it to the side and started the second page.  It was finished faster than the first, and I kept writing as quickly as my hand allowed.

Hours went by, but I didn't notice.  In the whole world, there was me, my story, and Cal.

I put the pen down and shook out my hand; it was starting to cramp.  Cal stopped his massage.  "Everything alright?" he asked.  I nodded.  "You're almost done, aren't you?"  I nodded again.  His hands drifted from my shoulders and down my chest.  "Well then, let's bring this home," he whispered, and pressed his lips to my neck.

I arched my back into him.  I didn't bother trying to suppress the moan in my throat.  My breath was ragged as I picked the pen back up and wrote the ending.

Every sensation was heightened.  I felt the paper as it was absorbing the words.  I heard the scratching of the pen.  I could smell the clean crispness of the untouched pages, the ink on the finished ones.  My eyes refused to focus on anything but the story.  

And all the while, Cal's arms were wrapped around me, supporting me, urging me on.  His voice came to me in my head again, encouraging me.  I felt the end coming.  I leaned into his strength.  I wanted this.  I needed this.  With one final burst of energy, I wrote the last paragraph.

I placed the last word and I squeezed my eyes shut.  Light exploded behind my lids.  I tilted my head back into Cal's shoulder, unable to suppress myself any longer.  

I screamed.

He held me in his embrace, his lips dancing across my shoulders, up my neck, around my ear.  It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before.  I squirmed beneath him, unsure if I wanted to get away or simply melt into him so he would never be able to leave me again.

At last, it was over.  Paper was spread all around me, every page of it covered with my handwriting.  I leaned back in my chair, spent.

He kissed my temple.  "How do you feel now, Lover?"

I moaned some kind of answer.  At least I thought I did.  I wasn't sure what I'd said, but I made sure that it was positive.

I glanced at the digital clock.  I had four hours to get this to my editor.  "You know I have to go now," he said.  His hands left me for the first time that evening.  "I'm sure you can handle things from here."

"Please," I said.  "Don't go."  My breathing was haggard, my voice raw, but it was the first coherent thing I'd said to him all night.

He chuckled softly.  "You know I can't stay," he said.  I bent my head down, knowing the truth of it.  "But you know I'll be back."

"How do I know that?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

"Because."  He placed his hands on the sides of my face.  "As much as you may need me, I need you more."  He kissed the top of my head and let go of my face.

I turned around, trying to steal a glimpse of him.

He was gone.

I took a few deep breaths to steady my heart rate.  I still had a lot of work to do.  I picked up the papers and put them in order.  I may have had the story finished, but it still needed to be typed.  I turned back to my computer, and was greeted by a steaming cup of fresh tea.

"Cal," I murmured, a small smile forming on my lips.

He was gone again, and I still had never seen his face.  But he said he'd be back.  He said he needed me.

That was good enough for me.