1Chance Encounter

       It was just a bit over two years since my divorce and I still hadn’t come completely to terms with it.  I was still looking for other answers.  Maybe I had dedicated too much time to advancing my career and not enough time to her, although my major goal there was always to be the best breadwinner I could be, and not aimed at feeding my ego with my success.  And I always tried to be very solicitous to her when we were together.  Maybe even over solicitous.  She had just never seemed to respond much to it, or to me.  Still, I continued to try to come up with any reason other than the one she so openly gave me on the night we sat down and she informed me that after ten years of marriage, while she had always been fond of me, she had never really loved me, and had now found the true love of her life and was leaving me for him.

       I was blind sided, shocked, but probably not very surprised.  Despite average looks, an average physique, perhaps a little better than average intelligence bolstered by an inner drive to work hard, and If I do admit so to myself, what I think is a nice sense of humor, I never had been very successful with women.  I always tended to put any and all of them up on a pedestal and never felt that I was good enough for them.  Most of them must have sensed that and tended to agree, and I was never able to establish much of a romantic relationship with any of them.  Thus my ecstacy when one such relationship did seem to progress with my now ex-wife, and somewhat surprisingly even on to a wedding.  And there were some good if not overly exciting times during the ten years, and I was happy that she seemed to be content, and maybe I didn’t work hard enough to have her be more than that.  No ... I had to finally face the hard fact that I had just been a way station in her life, the best that she could come up with at the time, and maybe would have stuck with longer if nothing better came along.  But something had, and she had grabbed it, and I was left holding ... what?

       For the first year following I devoted all of my energies to my job and none to myself.  This did have the advantage of accelerating my ascent up the corporate ladder even faster, such that I was now a senior vice president and Division Director with my firm.  By the second year however, my libido, long dormant and crushed, began to percolate up and rise.  But my confidence in the personal relationships realm, while never great, was now virtually non existent.  I just couldn’t summon up enough courage to make even a tentative attempt at a one on one approach.  Here I was, in my mid forties, already developing a bit of a paunch, and I had also already been rejected and tossed away in the starkest possible manner.

       But my urges grew more insistent, and I needed to deal with them in some way, so I turned to a place that hadn’t been as available or as readily utilized by me when I was younger ... the internet ... and the area where the web apparently receives its most widespread use ... cyber porn.

       Once I decided to dip my toes in these waters I didn’t just wade in, I dove in.  I was almost instantly astonished by not only the content and variety, but even more so by the graphic explicitness of it all, and I tried to sample and experience as much of it as I could as fast as I could.  Before long however I began to gravitate and spend my time almost exclusively in one specific area, which seemed to draw me like a magnet.  In retrospect it was not particularly surprising.  That area was female domination, or femdom as it’s popularly called.

       I quickly immersed myself in all of its forms, concepts and presentations, from stories to blogs to tubes, videos and movies.  I won’t deny the physical stimulation which I almost always derived, and how it helped to satisfy a hunger that had long been undiscovered, unacknowledged and buried within me.  Over time however I also had to admit how often, when finished, the emptiness I felt.  Communing exclusively with a computer screen just wasn’t fulfilling.

       I knew what I needed as well as what I wanted at that point, but I had no idea of how to attain it.  Using the services of a professional dominatrix held no appeal to me.  I just recoiled from the concept of someone playacting with me for money, with no real interest in me after except as a satisfied and possible return customer. Added to this was that I really didn’t yet know where I fit in the entire sphere.  So much of it all seemed to revolve around the giving and taking of pain, and it hadn’t taken me long to realize, as I now understood my nature, that I would be the one on the receiving end, and while I might get off by watching it on a monitor, I had no desire to actually experience it.  I was not a masochist, and pain for pain’s sake did not entice me.

       No, it was more the domination and submission, the willing exchange of power in femdom that entranced me.  But even here, so many if not most of such interactions as presented on the net appeared to involve the purposeful humiliation of the one submitting.  Again, I could at times become excited by this in the abstract, but I strongly doubted that I would much enjoy it for long in reality.  Affection and esteem may never be in the equation, but I didn’t believe that I could ever survive long in any such interaction without being offered at least some degree of respect.  What was I looking for and how could I find it?  So much of it engaged my mind and my groin, but nothing I had found had yet sung to my psyche or to my soul.

       Still, it was becoming readily apparent to me that I couldn’t go on much longer like this.  My lack of any personal life was starting to affect my professional one.  There I was liked, respected, and to some even possibly somewhat esteemed.  I was always before a model of politeness and affability while still being an effective boss.  Now I found myself at times being short and even testy.  I just couldn’t afford to jeopardize the genial and successful person whom I was felt to be at work.  It was really all that I had left.  At the same time it would be a disaster if anyone there ever came to know me as the person I now understood myself to truly be.  And yet that person needed more, needed some form of direct contact and interaction.  The dilemma remained unsolved as to how to achieve it with some continued security and anonymity.

       I first saw the ad on a website that I went to often.  As with most internet ads I immediately ignored and deleted it.  Yet it kept popping up on that and other sites I frequented, and I was finally intrigued enough to give it a look.  It was for, as it billed itself, ‘An Alternative Lifestyle Club’, Club O, that was in the city outside of which I lived, where, as the ad read, “Doms and Dommes, subs and slaves, can meet and mingle, play and explore, or just watch and learn, in a safe, sane and comfortable environment.  Come join us” it concluded, “in the adventure you’ve always been seeking.”

       This was enough of a come on for me to click onto the Club’s own website, where along with many enticing pictures, further information was provided.  The Club was open to the public every Friday and Saturday evenings.  All interactions there were to be consensual.  Corporeal activities were allowed and even encouraged, but drawn blood and physical injury were forbidden and this would be monitored and enforced by discreet club personnel.  Overt sexual acts and water sports and their like were not allowed in public areas, but private rooms were readily available for more intimate interactions.  While virtually anything goes in public or in private, it was proclaimed, safety and sanity was the code, and would be strictly observed by all.

       My excitement was profound.  Could this be the opportunity for me to delve beyond text, flickering electronic images, or the recesses of my mind, to discover what I was and what I actually wanted.  In a setting where I could observe in the flesh without being actively involved.  And I had no doubt that I would remain apart, venturing there only to, as was offered,  watch and learn.  Most especially about myself.

       Despite this resolve it took me over a month to work up the courage to proceed, but one Saturday evening I finally went. Intensely desiring not to draw any attention to myself, I dressed in as nondescript a way as I could, a plain collared shirt, tan slacks and black shoes.  I made my way down to the city.

        I had been pleased to note that the club was not located in the red light district, bu rather situated in the artsy and still somewhat ‘bohemian’ part of town.  The entrance was off on a side street, but there was a fair amount of traffic going in.  The outside door opened up into a long hallway within which two lines of patrons were moving, a much shorter and faster line for Dominants on the right, and a much longer and slower line for submissives on the left.  From the website I had known that there was a $30 cover/entrance charge for submissives, and $5 for Dominants, and they processed and collected from any Dominant who approached before turning to the sub line.  All of this was to begin to create the ambience before even entering, and I seriously doubted that any submissive ever posed as a Dominant for the better rate and faster service.  When my turn on line came I dutifully paid my $30 and entered.

       

       I was instantly taken by the cavernous size of the place.  It must have been an old warehouse.    It was huge, with very high ceilings and multiple distinct sections.  There were at least six long oval bars scattered around the floor space, each near a step up platform/stage, each of which had a whipping post, and all were surrounded by groupings of easy chairs and tables.  Interspersed were larger open areas, one of which contained steel cages of various sizes, another with a variety of stocks, winches and other bondage paraphernalia, and at the far end of the club a mud filled pit within which certain patrons were being ‘encouraged’ to wrestle for the amusement and betting pleasures of others watching, after which the combatants were unceremoniously hosed off, to further laughter.

       On each side of the near end of the club there were dressing rooms with lockers, one for Dominants and one for subs.  From the one for the latter many, both male and female, emerged virtually naked.  Most of these had on some type of collar, and a number were also fitted with chastity belts or cages.  Many were further adorned with a variety of piercings and nipple clamps, many of which were weighted.  A sizable segment of the Dominants wore leather in a wide variety of styles, but in actuality more than half of the patrons of either persuasion did not change at all and were dressed casually, and the only way to distinguish orientation among them was by attitude, usually quite easy to discern.

       The club was crowded but not overly packed and movement was free and easy.  I slowly ventured forth.  On the first platform stage that I approached, a naked and blindfolded young woman was tied to the whipping post, her hands affixed to it above her, and a flogger hung from the chain wrapped around her back at the waist to the pole.  A sign next to her read ‘Punish me if you please’.  As I passed, a normally clad Dom picked up the flogger and gave three good swats to her behind, after which she murmured ‘Thank you’ as he replaced the flogger and walked away.  This apparently was how she would be spending her evening.

       I made my way over to the area of cages, a number of which were occupied, and a sign there read ‘Feel free to feed the animals’, which more that a few people did, tossing in pieces of doggie treats from large bowls outside the cages, hooting as those inside scrambled to gobble them down.

The bondage areas were also very popular, with all the stocks fully in use, and at the winches, bondage chairs and benches, a fair number of Dominants took turns demonstrating, to the passing or sitting crowd, their own specialized techniques on their willing subjects.

       For the most part however the majority of Dommes and Doms weren’t actively taking part in the many varied activities, but rather were sitting around in groups, some larger, some smaller, socializing together, while their own subs or those recruited for the evening generally knelt close by, silently waiting to attend to any of their needs, such as fetching or holding drinks, carrying messages to others, or performing ordered tricks for the entertainment and amusement of the seated Dominants.  I saw one, a male, being used as footstool by his Domme, her black booted feet upon his back as she chatted with her friends, and every now and then a Dominant would get up and take his or her sub to participate in one of the nearby activities, or upstairs to one of the private rooms for more intimate action.

       I wandered slowly throughout the club absorbing it all.  At all times I tried my best to avoid direct eye, or any, contact, but soon it all became overwhelming anyway, and not in a good way.  While I could not deny the stimulating allure of the concepts that had drawn me here, I found that when directly exposed like this, it all left me hollow deep inside, and even somewhat repulsed.  It just all seemed so degrading and demeaning.  I fully understood that everyone here was a willing participant, and that this all might help them to define themselves, and that many of them may even take some of it outside of this playground. But it all seemed so unreal, a game, and I came to the depressing realization that it was not for me.  That I didn’t belong.

       This of course led to the even more devastating concern.  Just where did I belong?  I had had some high hopes coming here, even as I knew that at first it would only be as a voyeur.  That I would find not only myself, but  something here that I could embrace, and that would embrace me. But there was nothing here that I could see that would do that.  Nothing that I  would want to do.  The implications staggered me.  I was still so alone.  There was nothing for me, nowhere that I belonged.  I felt dizzy and nauseous, and I knew that I had to leave as rapidly as I could.

       It was as I stumbled my way toward the front to exit that I saw her.  I wasn’t sure at first and had to stop and stare.  And then I was certain.  It was her.  Lara  Kelly, a young junior executive with my company.  I knew her to be about in her early 30s, a good dozen years or so younger than I. She didn’t work in my division, but had recently been assigned to a project that I was directing.  I had found her to be extremely intelligent, engaging and very professional.  As well as undeniably attractive.  I had even at times fantasized about being with her in a social setting, not that any such fantasies in that realm would ever come to anything for me any more.  And I certainly always believed that it shouldn’t even be considered with someone from the workplace.  She had done very good work on the project and I had given her a very positive review at its completion.

       She was sitting by herself in an easy chair with three other empty easy chairs surrounding her.  I had not immediately recognized her because unlike at work when she was always very smartly attired, now she was dressed in a way as to almost make herself appear dowdy.  She was wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt  with non matching navy blue sweat pants, a pair of old cross trainer running shoes, and her dark auburn hair, usually flowing gracefully to her shoulders, was now pulled up and back with a band, not into a ponytail, but just up and back.  She was not wearing any make up, although I remembered that at work she wore very little as well.  Nor did she ever need to.  The final disorienting touch was that she was wearing a pair of fairly unattractive owl shaped eyeglasses that may have been some kind of prop, as I had never know her to need any eye wear at all.

       Once I was positive that it was her I knew that I had to get away as fast as I could.  But I had stared too long. She had glanced up and our eyes had met, and it was clear that she had recognized me as well, as a small smile graced her lips.  I had an instant decision to make.  I could run and pretend that it hadn’t occurred, but this then would always be there, unspoken, festering and unlanced.  Or I could approach her and try to make the best of potentially disastrous situation.  Dressed as she was it appeared apparent that she was of the same orientation as myself, and as unhinged as I now felt perhaps we could find some connection and understanding through that.  I made my way over to her.

       “Good evening Miss Kelly.”

       I always addressed those subordinate to me at work formally.  It might have made me seem aloof to some but I always considered it as my sign of respect.

       “Mr. Post.” she acknowledged.

       “May I join you?” I asked, a bit too tentatively.

       She glanced around at the empty chairs surrounding her, then smiled. “Be my guest.” she offered.

       I sat down in one of the chairs angled toward her.  A prolonged and awkward silence followed.  Finally I fumbled forth with the first thing that came to my mind.

       “I’ve never been here before.”

       “I know.” she responded.

       “How so?” I inquired somewhat anxiously

       “Well, it doesn’t appear that you’re aware of the unwritten protocol on how to approach someone unattached here.” she replied.

       “Protocol?” I asked with a panicky sinking feeling.

       She smiled at me reassuringly, which calmed me a bit.

       “Yes, when an unattached submissive approaches a Dominant, even within a group of them, he or she is expected to kneel down silently before him or her and wait to be acknowledged.  If the Dominant isn’t interested the submissive is dismissed and shooed away.  Sometimes though they can be made to wait quite a while, but if the Dominant does finally deign to accept service, the submissive is then given some menial task to perform and the connection is established for the evening.”

       

       She paused for a moment and then continued.

       “If a Dominant approaches an apparently unattached sub, they generally just come up and say ‘Follow me’.  The subs then have their one and only choice in the interaction, to humbly demur, or to get up and follow and be in service for the rest of the night.”

       I took this all in, and then I felt that I just had to acknowledge.

       “I guess I’m a submissive.”

       “No guess about it.” she said matter of factly

       “Am I that obvious?”

       “I guess.”

       At that we both then laughed, which served greatly to break some of the unspoken tension that was present.  I then felt comfortable enough to ask.

       “Can I take it that you’re also of a submissive leaning yourself?”

       She abruptly laughed again, then looked at my flustered face and stopped.

       “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you Mr. Post, although I suppose that being a Domme should mean never having to say that you’re sorry.  But I don’t believe that.  I believe that everyone should be treated with respect, so I am sorry.  Please forgive me.”

       I was startled and stunned by the implication.  “You’re a Domme?” I stuttered out.  “But the way you’re ...”

       “Dressed?” she completed.  She continued very seriously.  “I don’t come here to be anyone’s fantasy, Mr. Post.  I come here now and then purely to take in the vibe, to refresh the mindset so to speak, not to playact with anyone.”

       She stopped again and then looked at me and smiled again. “Please also forgive my mini rant.”  She then went on, “I do think it would be nice to continue our pleasant conversation, but if we’re going to, I would like something to drink to accompany it.  Do you think you could go get me a glass of White Zinfandel from the bar?”

       “Yes of course.” I responded eagerly

       “And get something for yourself as well.” she offered.

       “Thank you.” I replied.

       I made my way over to the nearby bar and ordered two glasses of the wine.  As the bartender poured them for me he said, “Nice work over there.” nodding his head toward where she sat.  “I’ve never seen anyone even get to first base with that one before.  Good luck with the rest.”

       I paid the tab and as I carried the drinks back I wondered ...was I at first base?  And did I even want to be?  No, I resolved, it was just a chance for, as she had said, a pleasant conversation, which I desperately needed at the moment, albeit in very unusual and strange circumstances.  There could and should never be anything more than that.

       After handing her her wine and sitting down with mine, our attention was suddenly diverted by the swish of a cane from the adjacent stage and the subsequent following thwack on the buttocks of a naked male bound to the whipping post there.  The cane was wielded by a normally dressed young woman and the blow was accompanied by an involuntary yelp from the male, and a red linear welt was already forming on his struck behind.  As if wanting to achieve some form of symmetry the young lady swung again as we watched, and then the male had a matching set of stripes on his butt cheeks.

       “Is that the type of thing that you like, Mr. Post?” Miss Kelly asked, drawing my attention back to her.

       

       “Absolutely not” I answered her truthfully, as I shuddered.

       At that moment another naked male was being paraded past us.  His hands were held on top of his head as he was being led about by a leather clad Domme by a leash wrapped tightly around his genitals.

       “How about that then?” she inquired as they traveled on.

       I shook my head as I said  “No.”

       Her lips again curved up in a half smile.

       “Well, I think that if we’re going to sit here and converse we should at least pay some deference to the atmosphere and dynamic of the place, don’t you think Mr. Post?”  She continued.  “My feet are very sore and tired after walking around in high heels all day at work.”  I winced internally at the reference to our other connection.  “Do you think that you might indulge me with a nice foot massage as we talk?”

       “It would be my great pleasure” I responded, and absolutely knew it to be true.

       “Excellent.” she purred and promptly lifted her legs up and placed her feet upon my lap.  I stared down at them for a moment and then carefully untied and removed her shoes and then her white anklet socks.  Her feet were slender and soft, with straight, perfectly pedicured toes.  I began to work my thumbs into her soles and arches.

       We started again to talk, first about anything and everything.  She told me how much she had enjoyed working with me, and how everyone in the company felt the same way, and that she hoped to be able to do so again with me in the future, a wish with which I fervently agreed.  After a while I tried some witticisms and when she genuinely laughed I grew more comfortable and tried some more, garnering more of her laughter, a sound I was beginning to become intoxicated with.  She also proved to be quite funny, and we laughed often as we continued chattering away, now seemingly oblivious to our surroundings, as I continued kneading and pressing firmly into her feet.

       She then began to ask me more about myself, where I grew up, went to school, and how I began with the company.  She knew about my divorce but thankfully didn’t delve into it too deeply.  At first I stuck to the official statistics of my life, but before long, as her interest seemed very real, I started to tell her more and more, soon revealing more about myself than I ever had done  with anyone else before, and to my very great surprise, some things I didn’t even know about myself, or had been afraid to consciously admit.  It was just that she was so easy to talk to, and I was so starved.  I felt that we had to change course soon before I went too far.

       So I asked her about herself.  She also was very superficial at first, relating that she originally come from the mid west and had come to the big city to make her mark.  She still had a large and close family back home, and she really enjoyed having them come visit her here so that she could show them the sights.  She volunteered very little more about her personal life though.

       Our conversation had continued on for well over an hour, and the time had moved far too swiftly.  She sipped the last bit of her wine, mine remained untouched as my hands had been otherwise occupied, and she put down her glass and looked back over at me.

       “So Mr. Post, this has indeed been very nice, and I have enjoyed it immensely.” a sentiment with which I wholeheartedly concurred.  “But now that we’ve gotten to know each other a little better, I’d like to ask again ... just what is it that you were looking for here tonight?”

       I had not been expecting this question, but for some reason I felt that I had to give some answer.  It was just that I still didn’t have any answer.  “I don’t know” I finally replied quietly, but honestly.

       She nodded. Such was the level of comfort that I believed we had developed over the evening, I felt emboldened enough then to ask in return.

       “What about you, Miss Kelly.  What is it that you most want?”

       She actually flushed, as if she also had not been anticipating such a question.  It took her a moment but then, “No, Mr. Post.  That is something I rarely discuss with anyone.  The few that have heard even a small part in the past wasted little time taking off for the hills.”  She frowned slightly and shook her head.  “And I doubt you would be very much interested anyway.”

       “But I truly am.” I proclaimed with all sincerity.

       She regarded me intently, as if for the first time.  After many long seconds she reached over and picked up my full glass of wine.  “May I?” she asked.  I nodded, my mouth dry but not from lack of drink.  She took a large swallow.

       “Why not.” she finally concluded.  “You’ve been fairly forthcoming with me Mr. Post, I guess I owe you some of the same.  But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

       She took another sip, glanced down at her lap and then back up and directly at me, but also seemingly beyond.

       “I want it all, Mr. Post” she started slowly and deliberately, but grew more animated and emphatic as she proceeded.  “I want someone who will give up his entire being for me.  Whose primary purpose in life will be to see to my every want, my every need, and my every desire, and be obedient to my every whim.”

       She stopped to take another sip.

       “But I don’t want some servile wimp.” she then continued.  “I want a man, a strong man, a man whom everyone else would want, or want to be.  A man who will conquer his part of the world for me and then , though only he and I will know it, lay it and himself at my feet for my use.”

       Her eyes took on a dreamy quality as she smiled.

       “A man strong enough to sate my voracious sexual appetites, while surrendering his own sexuality to me totally, to only be used  whenever, however, and if ever I so deem.  And this will not be enforced by some artificial mechanical contrivance, but instead he will demonstrate his ongoing devotion with a firm and upright physical manifestation of his continual desire, which he will never allow to come to culmination or climax without my explicit leave.  Such strength in all things will make his all encompassing submission a value beyond calculation, and worthy of my possession.

       She stopped looking at me directly, her eyes now  with a faraway gaze, and it was as if she was speaking only to herself.

       “Such service will not be without its rewards, of course.  I could never allow harm or hurt, unwarranted, to come to one that I own. The one whom I choose, and there will only ever be one, will know that I care unreservedly.  I will be as committed to him as he is to me.  We will fit together perfectly, a top and a bottom, to form a whole that neither of us will ever allow to be broken.”

       “Oh !!!” she exclaimed, not too loudly but enough to break the reverie, as she looked back at me.  “You do give quite the vigorous foot rub Mr. Post.”

       I immediately looked down at my hands, and realized that my kneading had become vice- like as I had been swept up into her spell.  I quickly released my hold.

       “I’m so sorry ...” I began to sputter

       “Oh, don’t be.” she said with a smile.  “I think you’ve taken care of every knot and ache that my feet have ever had.  They’ve never felt so ... refreshed.”

       Her smile grew even broader.  “So Mr. Post, you are now the first to ever hear the whole of my grand exposition.” she said lightly.  “Quite a tall order, don’t you think?  And one that I suspect virtually everyone would think is ridiculous and impossible.”  Her smile now faded.  “But I will never give up the search.  And I will never settle.”

       She took a few moments as if to compose herself, and then smiled again.  “And I really think that after all of that, you owe me at least one last attempt. What is it that YOU most dearly want, Mr. Post?”

       And I suddenly knew, without any doubt.  I just needed to work up the resolve to say.  Finally ...

       “My wish is far more humble than yours, Miss Kelly.” I simply stated.  “What I want more than anything in the world, is that you find, fulfill and live your dream.”

       She regarded me quizzically.

       “But that is about me and my dream, Mr. Post.” she eventually responded.  “And it would also imply that someone else shares it.”

       “I know.”

       She took off her glasses and laid them on her lap.  Her gaze bore down on me long and searchingly, and I struggled but found the strength to meet and hold it.  For the first time of the entire night I saw flickers of uncertainty and doubt in her eyes.  But then, after what seemed an eternity, her lips once again curved up in her half smile.

       “Ask me, Ray.” she said softly.  “Get down on your knees, kiss my foot, and ask me.”

       I slid off my chair onto my knees.  I placed one of her feet on the floor and held the other in my hands, and brought my lips down to place them worshipfully on the top at the base of her toes.

       “Please Miss Kelly.” I began

       “Miss Lara, Ray” she interjected gently.

       I kissed her foot again.

       “Please Miss Lara ...”

       “Let me be the one to see to your every want, your every need, and your every desire.”

       “Let me conquer the world for you and lay it, and myself at your feet to use however you will.”

       “Let me be the one to fulfill your dream, and any other dream you may ever have.” 

       Once again I brought my lips down, now to caress the tips of her toes, kissing each one by itself singly between each part of my final beseech.

       “Pleas Miss Lara ...”

       “... accept me ...”

       “... take me ...”

       “... use me ...”

       “... own me ...”

       And in a much lower voice, so low that I didn’t know if she heard me after I kissed her littlest toe, I added my last, desperate plea.

       “... love me ...”

       I put her foot down onto the floor and bowed my head to silently await her judgement.  The silence stretched on for well over a minute and likely into two before she finally broke it.

       “Put my shoes and socks back on, Ray.”

       I hastened to do as she bid, and after I had finished tying her second shoe she placed both of her feet firmly on the floor in front of her chair.

       “I cannot accept, Ray.”

       Her rejection washed over and threatened to drown me.

       After an agonizing few moments she continued.

       “After one chance encounter I cannot know whether this is all just fantasy for you, or reality.  And for me it is, and has to be, very, very real.”

       She stood up

       “I’m going to go home now.  Suddenly the fantasy in this place no longer interests me tonight.” 

       With that, and without another word , she walked by and away from me, leaving me behind, on my knees, bereft and desolate.

************

       

       After three paces she stopped and turned back to face me.

       “Of course, if you want to try to prove to me that you’re real, you’ll get up and follow me.”

       I rose and I did.

       And I have spent every day and every night of the so many since, joyously striving to do so.