The moment I heard the phone ring I picked it up — something I don’t usually do. I always examine caller ID to see if I recognize the caller first; but I had a good feeling about this one. After hearing the caller’s voice I knew I was right. I begin the story from this point because of a promise I made to her later…
After a brief greeting, and before letting me say anything, she invited me to dinner at her house.
Stunned by her invitation, I enthusiastically responded, “I’d love to.”
“So you’ll come?”
“Certainly, I’ll bring a bottle of Shiraz to perfect the evening.”
“Papers too. I want you to write our night.”
“Start from the moment you picked up the phone and how surprised you were hearing my voice again.
“I will be elaborate and explicit.”
“Yes. Be thorough. I won’t leave anything to your imagination”
I knocked on her door at 7 .00 sharp as the host had demanded. When she opened the door, I was mesmerized by her beauty and captivated in her lustful eyes. As I observed every curve of her body through her sateen blouse, I was convinced she would keep her promise of not leaving anything to my imagination. I didn’t need to imagine her in bed as I was feeling it already. She embraced me affectionately and welcomed me in. Her scent would stay on my skin until I died.
I followed her into the dining room silently. The table was set for two with a bouquet of roses in the center and two lit candles. In the kitchen the tantalizing aroma of roasted beef filled the air as she gently opened the oven door. I wrestled open the wine bottle and poured two glasses and then handed her a glass of wine. Overwhelmed by her call, her invitation, and the warm reception, I had no words and she said nothing, which made it easier for me not to say anything. As we sipped the wine, she touched my cold fingers with her warm ones to comfort me. I had much to say and didn’t know where to start and she didn’t show any signs indicating I should. I wished all women could be that understanding.
In a matter of minutes, the roast garnished with mushrooms, baby carrots, and potatoes was on the table. We sat and she served me salad.
“The wine is perfect. Thank you.”
“I would trust you write everything, won’t you?”
“So far, every detail of our evening is registered.”
She pleaded, “But please don’t write our past. Let’s start the story from tonight, write our new beginning. I have gone through a lot to prepare for tonight. Let’s not ruin it with the past, let’s cherish it for the future.”
I quickly jotted notes about the roast. She sighed with content and continued, “Can you really capture your ecstasy and … pain?”
“I’ll perpetuate these moments.” I responded while fantasizing the instant of my complete surrender.
She poured more wine, but it had already performed its magic. I felt warm and safe, feeling the sweet moment of my submission.
She reached for the carving knife as I watched her every move affectionately. She raised the blade and paused as if she had doubts about cutting. Suddenly she raised the knife much higher and twisted her wrist to shift the direction of the blade toward me. Her dark eyes flickered as she brought the knife down through my throat with no hesitation. Hot blood spewed out; she must’ve severed the main artery. Her eyes were fixed on mine, recording my pain. She finally let go of the knife; it stuck securely in the thick tissues of my throat. I still had the pen in the grip of my fingers. She sensed my worry of getting bloodstain on the paper and gently tapped on my hand and softly removed the pen. She then moved the notepad to the opposite end of the table as blood was raining on the plate.
She silently finished her dinner as I gurgled and gasped for air before my head sunk to my chest. She poured the remainder of the wine for each of us and savored hers and delicately removed a piece of meat from between her teeth with a toothpick, politely covering her mouth with napkin as she did so. When she pulled the knife from my throat she just couldn’t resist downing the remainder of my wine.
An old carpet was rolled up in the corner of the room just for this occasion. She spread it next to my chair and gently knocked my over. I obligingly fell right onto the carpet. She straightened my feet and rolled me up. My head stuck out. She seemed a little surprised to learn I was taller than the length of the carpet. It had been almost two years since we’d last seen each other. She gnawed her wine-stained lips but shrugged her shoulders signifying “So what?” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with ropes, expertly looped them around the carpet and, tugged me into the hall.
She could have grabbed my big ears and used them as perfect handles but didn’t. She knew how much I hated it when my teachers pulled and twisted my ears to punish me. They turned red and hot and I felt that shameful heat for the entire day. Instead, she seized the other end of the carpet and pulled me toward the basement until I reached to the first step. She then sat down, positioned her feet on my shoulders and used the wall behind her for support, and gently shoved me down the dark stairs. She took a deep breath as I safely reached the ground. The ground was already dug for me with the dirt mounted neatly along one side and the shovel stuck into dirt ready to finish the job. She guided me into the grave and began to refill. I was properly buried in a matter of minutes and a beautiful Old Persian rug covered the entire basement floor. She then placed the same antique desk that I had given her as a gift right in the center.
After she finished tending to me, she went upstairs and cleaned up the dining room. She couldn’t sleep soundly if she hadn’t cleaned everything properly. The carving knife she washed by hand. She would never put such a sharp item in the dishwasher! It was approaching 11 o’clock when she finally finished cleaning up the mess and the dishes.
After taking a scorching hot shower and methodically brushing her teeth, she tucked herself into bed with my notepad. She put a period at the end of the last sentence and snapped off the lamp
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