I knew I'd see you again.  But still, you managed to surprise me.  "Hello, my friend,” I said, maintaining unreadable eyes.  I refused to let you know the joy I felt at your presence.  "Hello, yourself," you answered. 

We walked awhile ~ talked about the kids, the weather, work, life, love.  You were your mildly paternalistic, but caring self.  And I was drawn, astonished at the transformation.  Where was my dark, dying, poetic companion of old?  Gone with the wind, you explained.  "Ahhh, that is good," I said.  I looked down and smiled, truly pleased. 

You suggested we continue catching up over a meal.  "Sure,” I said. "As a matter of fact, I hear the hotel on the corner has a nice restaurant."  Lusty friends had told me tales of pleasant dinners there, before wild romps.  I had to giggle to myself when I considered how little you knew of me now.  There was a piece of me that truly wanted to show you, but I bit back the desire.  What good could come of it? 

As the meal flew by, and you told me stories of your world, I noticed you looking at me more deeply.  The mixed drink and intensity of your interest brought a flush to my cheeks.  Some looks are universal, but I honestly never thought I'd see that look in your eyes.  A year of neglect had convinced me of it.  I diverted my own eyes and came to some resolve.   "Do you have a place to stay?" I asked.  "No.  I only came to see you," you answered.  Amazing, I thought.  "Let's check you in," I suggested, "I can afford it, and you must be tired."  You began to hem and haw about how you hated the thought of taking advantage of me.  "Don't be silly,” I answered.  "After all, what are friends for?"

To your room we went.  You invited me in.  Ahhhh, I thought, as I realized how long I had been waiting for this.  You hugged me suddenly, with all the energy of our first exchanges.  I was taken off guard by the passion, but perhaps should not have been.  One more drink and I knew I would be ready.  I sat on the sofa and downed my kamikaze.  As I went to place the glass upon the desk, you reached for me and pulled me to you on the bed.  Sensually your hands slid over me.  Again I was surprised that you should feel so comfortable, but this time I was prepared.  "Close your eyes," I whispered.  As you did, I rose from the couch and grabbed my scarf.  I gently blindfolded you and noted, with delight, your indrawn breath.  I grabbed the curtain ties then ~ how convenient ~ and bound your hands and feet to the bedposts.  You breathed heavily and whispered my name.  "Soon," I answered.

I walked to the desk, wrested pen from my purse, and found the hotel stationery.  With a satisfied smile, I wrote, "And now you know better, my friend, than to FUCK with ME."  I gently placed my note on the desk, gathered my things, and slammed the door shut on my way out.

I sometimes wonder how long it took for you to be freed, but then I think, "Not nearly long enough."