An exceptional Midsummer’s Eve! – entry no. 72

June 24th

Midsummer’s Eve was positively exceptional! And not at all like I had imagined!

It all started in the limousine. A man was already sitting inside when I got in. Before I could seriously start wondering who he was he bid me welcome, introduced himself as the evening’s butler and offered me a glass of chilled champagne and canapés. He put on some classical music and I thoroughly enjoyed driving through Copenhagen, on my way to a fairy tale to which I thought I knew the ending, but which was already surprising me.

A half an hour’s drive and almost a whole bottle of champagne later the car pulled up to Esplanaden and between the columns, stopping in front of the old toll building at Nordre Toldbod. The sun shone from a clear blue sky and a gentle breeze blew in from the ocean.

I was standing between the two pavilions with my back facing the water when Ruben came walking toward from the Museum of Danish Resistance. He looked like a man of the world, and I held my breath, waiting for him to catch sight of me there in a white wedding dress with its little train and a veil covering my bare shoulders, and with my small red suitcase standing next to me.

His eyes searched the area along the Toldkammer building and down to the harbour-bus stop. Then he spotted me, at first merely enjoying the sight of a woman and then coming closer and recognizing that woman. I smiled.

-          Elizabeth?

-          Welcome, I said, extending my hand. He took it and kissed it.

-          Come on, we’re going sailing, I said, holding his hand in mine.

In front of Nordre Toldbod was a handsome mahogany sloop with wooden boards and an ash deck. The captain stood at the stern and at the prow a sailor began to set off. Inside, the salon was furnished with silk-cushioned rosewood benches. On the matching rosewood table were canapés and a bottle of champagne. I asked Ruben to open the bottle and by the look in his eyes I could tell that I had pleasantly surprised him. He poured champagne in our glasses and we toasted. I kicked off one of my shoes and spread the wedding dress across the rosewood bench beneath me. With a smile I pulled the dress up so that I could gently stroke my bare foot. He looked at me. And at my hand on my foot. Then at my face again. He lifted his glass. I lifted mine. I put my glass down and let the veil and my hair fall delicately over my bare shoulders. He stood up, but I gestured to him with my hand to stay seated. I could see it frustrated him. I smiled.

-          To what do we owe the honour of your fine attire? He asked. I had a feeling that he was avoiding the words wedding dress.

-          Welcome to our symbolic wedding, I replied.

-          When did I say that I would marry you?

-          Don’t you know? I said, fingering the ankh around my neck.

-          Well, everyone wears an ankh in Severin’s World. We put them on when we’re searching and take them off when we’ve found what we’re looking for, and then put them on again when we’re searching.

-          And where is your ankh?

-          Right there, he said, pointing to the ankh around my neck.

-          Exactly. You took it off that night at the estate and gave it to me.

He looked at me. Clearly, we had just delved into a deeper dimension of our relationship. He filled our glasses again and stroked my cheek. I looked at the captain, who noticed nothing and continued to steer a steady course toward the Middelgrunds fort. The sea fort is more than a hundred years old and was built on seven metres of water, right where Kongedybet meets Hollænderdybet. Nowadays it’s a tourist attraction with its own restaurant.

-          And why should we get married now? He asked.

-          It’s important that the garb, the traditions and everything is right.

-          Okay, and why is that?

-          To exorcise the romantic dream from our relationship.

-          Why is that so important?

-          The dress and the ceremony are a symbol of two souls joining. And the dream is strong in me. Every time you say or do something I can’t help but trying to interpret it in terms of that dream – and then it grows bigger until it overshadows reality. By doing this, I’m hoping that we can fool my dream. Then we can focus on reality.

-          So the present is my wedding gift to you?

-          Exactly.

The sloop struggled across the waves and I enjoyed just sitting and talking to Ruben. We can talk about many of the things I’ve read, learnt and experienced, and he sees, understands and expands on them. One of the things we can talk about is photography. For years, I’ve been fascinated by the technical and artistic aspects of photography, so I’ve read quite a few books on the subject. Among others, I read a great book about how photography came to be. It all started in the 1830’s with the invention of daguerreotypes, images produced by a process in which silvered plates were used as film. The plates were sensitised to light and then exposed to light in a camera, creating a latent image in the silver-halide coating. The images were developed using mercury vapour, creating a fine-grained layer of silver amalgam. The process actually resulted in a negative, but from a certain angle it looks like the mirror-image of a positive. And Ruben knew all about this process and how the development of this technology had affected art, slowly making photography a feasible alternative to portrait painting.

In particular I told Ruben about the American photographer Alfred Stieglitz, who spent hours outside in a bitter cold NYC winter to get a picture of the Flatiron Building in the snow. This was made possible by a new type of film developed by Kodak, with which light could be captured even in difficult conditions. Another Stieglitz masterpiece was his 1907 image The Steerage. The highlight of the photograph were the sailor’s braces, which were visible even though he was standing under the ship’s bridge. This would have been impossible before. I could tell that Ruben liked talking about photography, and he knew Ansel Adams’ work like the back of his hand, so he had a lot of input.

The boat had docked at Middelgrunden and we disembarked. In one of the underground passages were four large silver candelabras, each with seven candles. It was the only source of light and it provided us with the ideal ambience. Here champagne was served and Ruben raised his glass and toasted. When I put my glass down he handed me an envelope. Inside was a thick, crème-coloured card with a message in calligraphy:

GIFT CERTIFICATE

One entrepreneurial project

By Ruben Pontoppidan

This gift certificate is good for the solution of a large project in your home or garden.

The project may be completed with the assistance of man no.3,

provided his qualifications are sufficient.

I read it twice and blinked away the tears in my eyes.

-          How could you know that is exactly what I need? I asked him.

-          Didn’t you just inherit a place in the countryside?

I smiled and thanked him and raised my glass.

Although our conversation flowed freely and despite our laughter I could tell that Ruben was a little tense. When we poured our second glass of champagne he admitted that he was expecting a priest or a mayor to show up so that we could get married! I assured him that there was no need to take my dream that far. It’s all the rest that counts. After that he was more relaxed.

At that moment we could hear another boat close by. And sure enough, in came Rebekka and Karen! What a surprise.

-          Now we’re going someplace I want to go, and I thought you should have your friends with you, Ruben said.

Just then the crisp ring of a bell told us that the boat was ready to set sail.

We sailed back to Nordre Toldbod where the limousine was waiting. The four of us got in, and after about a half an hour we arrived at a large estate at the end of a long stone driveway. Before I knew it the butler had opened my door and was helping me out.

On each side of the large, green-painted wood door was a big white column. The green door opened and a servant stepped aside and bowed to Ruben. He went in first and the three of us followed.

The estate was as grand on the inside as on the outside. We entered a beautiful hallway with bordeaux-red walls with gilded edges, a black-and-white checked floor and a wide, winding, white painted staircase. My stomach jumped. The servant took our coats and I was almost ashamed that I wasn’t wearing fur! He led us to the stairs and just then the doorbell rang again. In came Frederik and Anton! I grinned from ear to ear. Ruben looked at them, then back at me with a smile.

-          Welcome, I said.

-          Thank you, they answered in unison.

-          This place is beautiful. Whose is it?

-          Tonight it’s ours. Come on, our dinner awaits, Ruben said.

-          The more open you are to it, the more you’ll get out of the evening, he said with a certain seriousness that made me keep my mouth shut. Apparently I was there as a receiver, so I decided to go along with it – after all, the conditions were very positive.

He extended his elbow toward me and together we entered the banquet hall with Frederik and Karen, Anton and Rebekka in tow.

In the banquet hall were four enormous pillars ornamented with gold. The walls were painted a luscious green and adorned with a gilded edge. In the middle of the room was a huge table, elegantly set for six despite its size. In the far end of the hall a string quartet was playing!

Champagne was served and Frederik and Anton came over to greet me.

-          Bonsoir ma chérie, said Frederik, kissing me on both cheeks in true French style.

-          Buonasera signorina, said Anton, giving me an Italian-style hand kiss.

-          Won’t you tell my friends a little about yourselves? I prompted.

-          We’ve known each other for 25 years, Ruben took over.

-          I’m Anton, I’m an architect. First I did building and construction management, then architecture school.

-          And you’re the idealistic Godfather? I asked Frederik rhetorically.

-          Idealistic yes, but I’m not much of a Godfather.

-          Oh yes you are, said Ruben – you’ve helped me many times.

-          I don’t know if I’d say that.

-          Well, I’m saying it.

-          If I’ve been able to help, I’m happy.

I looked at the three of them and felt like a princess. This was far more than I had expected.

-          Won’t you introduce your friends? Ruben asked.

-          Of course. This is Rebekka – we’ve known each other since kindergarten. She’s the sales executive of an engineering firm. And this is Karen. We’ve known each other for 20 years. She has a company that sells strategic advice.

-          I want to show you the paintings before we sit down, Frederik said.

All three of us followed him and he presented some of the masterpieces of the Danish Golden Age. Hammershøj’s Sunlight; a charming self-portrait of Wilhelm Marstand at five years of age; two Christian Købke tableaus from Frederiksstaden and one Eckersberg tableau called ”Møns Klint ¾ of a Mile from the Coast and a Sailing Corvette”. Frederik pointed out unique details in each of the paintings – in Hammerhøj’s painting it was the light that fell through the windows, thick yet so delicate that you could almost feel the dust tickling your eyes. Or the skin of the five year-old Marstrand that made you feel he was there in the room with you and about to turn around. It was the poetic nature of one of Eckersberg’s landscapes, the character precision in Købke’s representation of Frederiksstaden and its residents, or the common elements of these very different artists from that period in Danish history. It was inspiring and lifted our spirits even higher.

And in some magical way, it felt like the three of us women were being attended by three cavaliers. They made certain that we were well positioned to see what Frederik was showing us. Ruben was especially attentive and held me lightly around the waist, took my hand and kissed it before letting go. He gave me all of the attention a woman could wish for. A few times I saw Frederik catch a glimpse of it and he was clearly pleased – he was just as attentive to my two girlfriends.

- Shall we sit down? Frederik said when he had finished his tales of the adult Marstrand who had painted his self-portrait as a five year-old.

There were place cards on the table. I was seated next to Ruben on the side of the table closest to the fireplace, in which a warm and crackling fire burned. Frederik sat on my other side, and across from us Anton sat between Rebekka and Karen.

The butler announced the evening’s menu: potato-leek soup with cream, smoked wild salmon, turbot carpaccio with red onions and Russian beluga, braised venison with morel compote and new potatoes with balsamic stock, tableau de fromage, beetroot ice cream with slices of Tahitian mango, white and dark chocolate mousse with passionfruit coulis.

Riesling was to be served with the soup, followed by a lively Piesporter Michelsberg to accompany the salmon. Chateau Batailley, a divine Pauillac Grand Cru with the main course and the cheese and a Muscat de Beaumes-de-Venise with dessert.

All the while, the string quartet played.

Then our male companions started talking – it was like a tennis match at Wimbledon or a ballet at the Bolshoi Theatre.

-          Venice was at the pinnacle for centuries, but then they started letting the weaker members of society steer the gondola, so to speak, and it all went down-canal from there, Frederik said, raising the first mouthful of potato-leek soup to his lips.

-          Why was that? Anton asked, and suddenly I felt his foot caressing mine under the table. I peeked discretely under the tablecloth to make certain that it was his foot and not some stray dog. It seemed like anything was possible. But it was indeed his foot, running up and down my leg. I ate a few extra mouthfuls of soup and took a sip of wine.

-          Because when society doesn’t take care of its weaker members, things become unsettled, which in turn scares off businesses. Money is conservative – that’s why it’s invested where profit is most probable and loss is least probable.

-          I’d like to change the subject, Ruben said, looking at Frederik. – Is there an elite in Denmark?

-          No, they’ve all emigrated to England, Anton said with a laugh.

His two friends smiled at him. The waiters cleared away the soup bowls and began serving the salmon.

-          Is there? Ruben asked, his gaze resting on Frederik.

-          Can the masses be the elite? Frederik replied in question.

-          The elite is made up of a small fraction of the population who are endowed with a greater intellect, if you need a definition.

-          I don’t think that definition is valid anymore. And it hasn’t been for a long time. The co-operative movement is one of Denmark’s central concepts, and over the past 100 years we’ve seen the concept spread more and more throughout our society.

-          Isn’t the co-operative movement the antithesis of elite?

-          The co-operative idea operates on the premise that each and every one of us makes a contribution to create results. That’s why we should all have a share in the values that we create, Ruben said, stroking my thigh.

An electric shock ran through my body. The current that had shot through me when I got into the limousine earlier was getting stronger. I noticed that I couldn’t eat as much as I usually can – my body felt tautened to capacity. Which irked me, because the food was sublime.

-          I don’t see how that has anything to do with the elite, Ruben said.

-          For me, ’elite’ is the ability to identify how to create value. That kind of elite can demand respect. I think what you’re talking about is more upper-class than elite – the people with means at their disposal to allow them to choose to do things outside of their own interests, but who rarely do. To my mind, an elite must be able to extend beyond their own interests. I find that the people who found the co-operative movement did that.

-          That may very well be, said Ruben, but I’m uneasy about nanotechnology and the co-operative movement. Do you think they’re compatible?

-          What about creating some kind of co-operative-innovation? People interested in stimulating development in a certain area can team up and make it happen, then share the booty afterward, I suggested.

Ruben took my hand and caressed my fingers as if to say – interesting thought. And it looked like he meant it.

-          I think defining the good life is more important, Karen said. I felt Anton’s foot rubbing against mine. I had taken off my shoes and was enjoying being a cherished guest.

-          What do you mean by “the good life”? Ruben asked.

-          What is a good life for you? Anton countered.

-          For me? Sitting with my best friends and three beautiful women, eating and drinking and talking about the good life., Ruben answered.

-          Can we all accept that definition?

-          I think so.

-          Good, then we’ve defined the good life and don’t need to talk about it anymore, said Ruben and smiled. He raised his glass and clinked it against Anton’s.

Anton drank a toast with him, but it was obvious that the conversation wasn’t exhausted for him yet. As soon as he had set down his glass he said – well, there are other aspects of the good life, too.

-          Aha, which would those be? Ruben inquired.

-          A good job, for example.

-          Are you sure? Would you work if you didn’t have to? If your grandfather had left you 100 million euro when he died would you still go to work?

-          Yes, but I would work differently than I do now.

-          Please elaborate.

-          I would use the money to make a difference, Anton replied.

-          Or buy a castle and a yacht and enjoy your life by eating and drinking with your best friends and a beautiful woman on an estate somewhere, said Ruben with a smile.

-          That too, but it’s not enough. I want to make my mark.

-          Men always want to make their mark, I said.

-          Only men? Frederik looked at me inquisitively.

-          I think it’s more important for men than for women. Maybe because woman make their marks with their children.

-          They’re also the children of men!

-          Of course, but they seldom feel that making a mark on their children is enough, I replied. I wondered to myself if I wanted to have children with Ruben. I had never thought of him as a father and there was something about him that made the thought somewhat unnatural. Oh, we’re not a couple and I don’t want to have more children, so I don’t need to worry about it.

It was as if Ruben were invisibly conducting the evening, as if he imperceptibly nodded assent to a topic before we began discussing it. He kept the conversation moving, and he did so elegantly. There was no doubt that this was his element. We talked freely and easily for hours, interrupted only by the arrival of another course or a new wine to sample and appreciate through a series of toasts and deep, lingering gazes between Rebekka, Karen and I and the other three.

Three hours later we were satiated, both physically and spiritually. I was giddy from the wine and the excellent company. We rose from our chairs and Ruben clapped his hands once. Immediately there was a waiter at each chair. They had been there the whole time, but they were so discreet that I hadn’t noticed them earlier.

We left the banquet hall and retired to the library, which was slightly smaller than the banquet hall but no less grand. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling and an elegant wooden sliding ladder allowed access to the highest shelves. Vivacious music played but from which source remained invisible to us.

In the middle of the room was a lovely Chesterfield sofa with matching chairs arranged around a low mahogany table which was set with coffee and petits fours. To the right of the sofa was a globe in a polished mahogany stand. The globe was half open and inside were bottles of cognac, calvados, marc and other liqueurs.

- Have a seat, Frederik said, pointing to the sofa. Ruben and I sat on the sofa and the butler served coffee and petits fours. Frederik and Ruben studied the bottles, trying to decide what to taste first. They recommended a Marc d’Auvergne, but the Calvados was also unrivalled, they said. I asked for a Calvados and they discussed whether or not marc could be considered a waste product or a noble dissolution.

- Muscat de Beaumes-de-Venise is a noble dissolution, said Frederik indignantly. Marc is made of twigs and branches that have already been used in the wine-making process.

-          Exactly. A waste product, Ruben replied with a smile.

-          Mais quel ordure! Answered Frederik, and the two laughed and poured themselves a marc.

Anton was busy with the books, and after a short time he brought three to the coffee table.

-          Anton, what can I offer you? Ruben asked.

-          The oldest cognac in the globe.

-          I’ll have the same, Rebekka and Karen said in unison.

-          But of course, Ruben said. – Here you are. What have you brought us, Anton?

-          Well, it’s difficult to choose in a library filled with masterpieces, but we can’t do without The Importance of Being Earnest.

The men laughed and I smiled politely.

-          And then I came across this – it’s been a long time since I’ve had it in my hands, but it’s perfect for our lovely guests, he said, looking over the top of his glasses –A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf. And it’s a first edition from 1929, signed by Ms. Woolf herself. He leaned over to the sofa and showed me the signed book.

I smiled and was impressed – not only by the signed first edition, but by how well he had understood what I like.

-          And we’ll wrap it up with a little pearl: Chapter 9 of Madame Bovary, where Rodolphe Boulanger has been gone for six weeks without giving a sign of life. He comes to visit Madame and convinces Monsieur le Docteur that his wife needs a ride in the forest, and that he would be willing to assist… a stunning piece of literature, and you are fortunate enough to hear it from the rare original edition of Revue de Paris in which it was published before the book came out, he said, pointing to the magazine beside him.

The first chapter came out on October 1st, 1856, and it was published in increments until the last chapter was published on December 15th. The book came out in April of 1857 and was quickly a bestseller, doubtlessly due in part to the lawsuit against Gustave Flaubert for distributing indecent documents.

-          Sounds promising. Cheers, said Frederik.

We toasted, and Anton took off his tasteful dark blue suit jacket, perched on the arm of a Chesterfield chair and began reading animatedly from The Importance of Being Earnest.

It was to the great amusement of his two friends, who knew the book by heart and chimed in enthusiastically from time to time, especially Ruben. My affection for him glowed strongly. On the other side of me, Frederik drew patterns with his finger on my stocking in plain sight of the others. I looked at him and he flashed me a smile. I smiled back, feeling that his attention intensified my feelings for Ruben and for the entire evening. Ruben looked at Frederik’s hand on my thigh and smiled. Anton sat between Rebekka and Karen, a hand on each of their thighs. I smiled, thinking: what’s going on here? But not for long, because then Anton began reading from the next book, A Room of One’s Own. He proceeded to read the book’s pivotal passage – where the heroine gets a room of her own and can refuse to participate in the ongoings of the house. It was great listening to a man reading that passage. Afterwards Ruben pointed out how essential it is for people to have a room of their own, a place where they can be alone with themselves and their soul.

By the time he had finished the excerpt from Madame Bovary I wanted them to leave so that Ruben and I could be alone and unleash our desire.

Before I had a chance to finish my thought, Ruben stood up and clapped his hands. The doors opened. Frederik gave Karen his arm, Anton gave Rebekka his, and together they left the room.

Ruben extended his hand to me. I stood up, shaky on my feet from the Calvados and the sensual literature. We left the room and ascended the wide staircase in the foyer, passing by many doors on the first floor and proceeding up the next flight of stairs. He held my hand in his and I stroked his arm. I imagined that we’d find an enormous bed in a room where the walls were adorned with gilded edges, with a row of small sashed windows through which the sun would shine in the morning. We would make love all night. I felt my arousal mounting.

We arrived at a room that seemed to be used for storage. I didn’t understand why he had stopped there with a perplexed look on his face, and I was about to pull on his arm to get him out.

-          Come here, he said, opening the door of an armoire. The armoire wasn’t an armoire at all: inside was a graceful wooden staircase leading up. He went up first. At the top of the stairs was a large room, and in the middle was a platform. On the platform was a four-poster mahogany bed with a velour roofspread in various shades of gold. On one side of the room was a large, white porcelain fireplace, over which hung a gold-framed mirror. A fire was burning in the hearth, which meant that someone had prepared the room for us. I had to pinch my arm to be sure that this wasn’t my wedding night – all of the ingredients were there!

The bed was covered by a thick white silk bed spread and a lot of cushions in beautiful red, orange and golden shades. Ruben stopped at the top of the staircase, pulled me toward him and kissed me deeply.

-          You are a beautiful woman, he said to me.

-          Thank you for a lovely evening! I said. – My plans were somewhat different. But this is wonderful.

-          It’s not over yet. You’ll have your chance, he replied, leading me deeper into the room.

We glided through the room, kissing and caressing each other. He loosened his tie and tossed it aside. Slowly and without touching his skin I undid the first button of his shirt, then the second and third. At the fourth I let my fingers skim across his chest and kept unbuttoning him. When the shirt was completely open I grabbed it by the collar and pulled it over his shoulders and down his arms, letting it fall to the floor. I looked at him standing there and a warm feeling spread throughout my body. The sight of his naked torso over the waistband of his dark trousers turned me on and I began running my fingers along the inside of his waistline.

Our breath became heavy and uneven as our arousal grew. We approached the bed. When we reached the platform he stopped. He grabbed my shoulders and led me onto the platform where he began to undress me. My clothing fell to the floor piece by piece. When I was nude he took a step back and looked at me, his eyes glowing with desire. I sizzled under his gaze. I wanted him; I wanted him now. I stretched my arms toward him but he was faster. He wrapped his arms around me and swung me in the air. I grabbed his head with both hands, but he said

- Let go.

So I let go. And the next thing I knew I was flying through the air and landed on the pillows. He smiled and stood on the platform at the end of the bed, slowly unbuttoning his trousers.

He took them off slowly and sensually. Watching him from my reclining position opened my floodgates.

Ruben stood nude at the far end of the bed, his lance proud and straight and so full of lust that it was almost trembling. He looked at me and smiled, revelling in his own nudity and me lying there watching him. He stood for a few seconds, then bent and kissed my feet. He kissed me up and down my entire body, sending waves of pleasure throughout.

He took me in his arms and kissed me passionately. Then he held me at arm’s length and took in my naked body and I became aware of my love handles and my round belly and my thighs, but I don’t think that was what he saw. He burst out – your body is even more splendid than I could have imagined. You are so sensual, so womanly. I’ve dreamt of making love to you since I met you at the estate.

-          Why did it take you such a long time?

-          I just came out of a relationship and I was looking forward to being alone for a while.

-          Okay, then I’m leaving, I said, and began to get up.

Gently but firmly, he laid me on the bed and began caressing my breasts, whispering – I’m sorry, I think you’re wonderful and I want make you squeal with delight. You’re a gorgeous and intelligent woman, he said, and we made love for hours in every thinkable and unthinkable position. He gave me twelve orgasms and when the thirteenth began spreading in my body it was like an explosion that catapulted me into my subconscious, to a place where I had never been, where pleasure was different – intense, almost too intense. I was disarmed, all rules were broken. I wasn’t in charge of what was happening in the room, but there was no doubt that I was at the centre of it. Ruben was giving me that feeling and at that moment I felt a deep love for him. He sent me travelling in my inner room; colours, forms and figures flew and merged with one another. Suddenly a dream from my childhood came back to me. In the dream I am standing in a flock of imaginary animals, all of them with round bodies. They move in a circle around me, all of them constantly changing size, going from tiny to gigantic – so big that they smash me and I feel like I’m being strangled. When I’m about to die they go back to being tiny and harmless and I am overjoyed. Sometimes there was only one animal and sometimes there were many, which was worst of all: they encircled me like an ocean and one of the animals was always swelling.

Suddenly there were many. I reached out for Ruben – I needed him to hold on to me so I wouldn’t get smashed, but I couldn’t explain it to him. My body was sputtering with desire and he was pushing his giant member further into me. He came just as I hollered with the intensity of my orgasm.

Ruben held me in his arms and the imaginary animals disappeared as I slowly came back.

A while later, or maybe it was much later, we opened our eyes at the same moment. Great waves of happiness rose in me and I remembered how different the evening was than I had imagined.

There was still something I needed to do, and it was important. I decided to carry out my plan despite the new situation and said – Thank you for everything you’ve given me.

-          It’s not over yet, he said.

I looked at him and he noticed the change.

-          We’ve gotten symbolically married, I said. – And that moves me so deeply; I understand that marriage is a big part of my psyche. You’ve also given me a gift that greets me where I am. And you’ve opened that place for me and my friends, making new meetings possible.

He smiled.

-          And now you want more?

-          I want to give more. I had planned on all of this happening someplace else, and you changed the parameters. And that only makes it more wonderful. It also makes my plan more… essential.

He looked at me expectantly, so I went on – You satisfied me deeply and the power of my orgasm sent me to another dimension. That’s rare.

-          I’ve heard of that, he said.

-          I want to send you to that dimension. Get comfortable on the bed and watch me.

I started my iPod and Owl City’s Vanilla Twilight filled the room. I stood just outside of his field of vision and opened my little red suitcase, taking out a few things and laying them on a little table. I turned my back, opened the hidden velcro band at the front of the wedding dress and sheathed my body in a pink bridal corset. I pulled off my knickers and put on a pair of black thigh-high stockings. Then I carefully closed the wedding dress again.

I put on I Gotta Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas and started dancing slowly, swinging the skirt of the dress around me. I leaned over the bed, showing my cleavage and briefly caressed one of my breasts. Our eyes met and Ruben smiled. With a smile I continued my dance, into the room and back to the bed to stroke him lovingly.

As the end of the song neared I loosened the velcro at the front of the dress, and at the last beat I let it fall to the floor and turned around. My bridal corset and thigh highs were clearly having a positive effect on him. I told Ruben to lie down and close his eyes.

I approached the bed and began caressing him, whispering hot words into his ear and stroking him all over. The ebb and flow of energy was palpable. I had him tell me one of his sexual fantasies and then we acted it out, stopping right before the climax. For two hours I stimulated him without letting him come too close, always stopping just before his release.

Finally I asked him to stand by the door. Reluctantly he left the bed and I reclined where he had been, presenting my body to him from the best angle. I began caressing my throat and without being asked he complimented my body. The curve of my breasts, he said, was like the roundness of the softest silk pillow. He longed to rest his head on it, my skin was aglow with life and energy, the elevation of vulva was fertile and inviting. Every time he mentioned a part of my body I moved my hands there. Slowly and without ceasing his adorations, he drew nearer to the bed. I trembled with longing. When he finally reached the bed, slinking toward me like a panther, and we exploded rainbows together, we were both hurled into another dimension. It was as if we were flying through infinity, unified with each other and everything around us.