The Gift (2 page)

I waited a few tense seconds for a reply. “Are you...” I said, with a slight tremor in my voice.

“Are you kinky, Natalia?”

My cell clattered to the ground because I was so jumpy to hear a response. It was a smooth voice. But anyone could have a smooth voice. The accent sounded American. But good actors are great at changing their voices, are they not?

“Well...”

Should I lie, and say something wild and all-out? Or be honest, like I usually was. “I’ve a kinky...side,” I said. I’d always wanted my sensual side to shine...without letting it take over my life.. “I haven’t explored it with anyone, though.”

I heard the person take a breath. I think he was thinking of what to say next. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. No one’s really...tapped into that side of me. Not that I’m blaming anyone. But it’d be nice if it could be... classy...and exciting...something special.”

I’d just told a complete stranger one of the intimate details of my personal life.

I heard the person breathe again, and sigh slightly this time. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right one.”

“And who’d that be?” I kept my fingers crossed.

“Oh...just someone who’ll make you feel like you want it so bad...that you won’t even
think
.”

While that didn’t bring me any closer to knowing the stranger’s identity — he did have a point.

“And, might you be, a suitable candidate?’ I asked, in a girlish, sincere, subtle way. There was something about the caller that was irresistible — I felt helplessly drawn in and attracted to his allure and mystery.

“I don’t mind giving it a shot.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

Then he gave an address for me to meet him at. “If you’d like...I’ll be at The Hotel Rocco, 10pm.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Don’t forget the package.” And he hung up.

For a few moments, I stared blankly into space. I thought of who it could possibly be. Maybe one of Hayashi Yu’s assistants, who had seen my entry. Maybe somebody online who had somehow discovered my address, along with my secret profile on an adult dating site. Maybe a secret admirer who looked me up.

I sent a text to the number:

(6.12pm): If you don’t mind me asking – who are you?

I had a reply in ten minutes.

(6.23pm): Meet me l8r & you might find out :)

It could be a deranged psychopath for all I knew. The Hotel Rocco was an elegant boutique hotel with a few funky themed rooms, that were inspired by pop culture and artful décor. I decided to trust my intuition — I’d dash out if I entered the place and got bad vibes. I could even bring along some pepper spray, just in case.

The stranger didn’t know that one of my sexual fantasies is to meet with someone at a hotel — no names asked — and we’d have the most mind-blowing sex ever. I already knew what outfit I’d want to appear in for an occasion such as this.

Yet, a part of me still felt like chickening out. These kinds of things just didn’t happen to people like me.

I spent a few minutes thinking of the mysterious caller. Who could it be? What did he look like? What would he do to me?

And what about Hayashi? Did he ever receive my entry for the contest? Did he even read any of the submissions himself? Did he already use eye masks — might one of them be of a particular zebra print I’d be able to recognize? 

My thoughts were fixated on Hayashi Yu for a while. What if the caller was him? What if it wasn’t? Anything could happen to me upon my arrival at the hotel — any, damn, thing.

I looked at the clock and it hit me that I’d wasted the entire past hour, getting lost in my own worrisome thoughts.

I spent the next couple of hours freshening up, relaxing, and pondering now and then on who it was I’d be meeting. In my room, I stood in front of my full-length mirror in a light pink sheer thong, with tie-up strings at the sides. I wondered if he’d know that was all I had underneath. I wondered what he’d do, if he’d chosen to meet at my or his place instead.

I wore a trench coat over: a DKNY mocha plaid coat that ended just above the knees. And I matched those with a pair of delectable black satin heels.

I didn’t wear too much make-up, just a little of the basic essentials. I let my kinky, frizzy hair down. I usually had it tied up during the day.

I got to the hotel five minutes early. The package was with me in a simple mini tote bag.

“I’m here,” I text messaged my anonymous tryst partner.

This time, I got a reply in two minutes.

(9.59pm): I’m on the 3
^rd
floor.

 In the elevator, I wondered if I’d really end up dead in the hotel room that night. But it was precisely that which gave me an undeniable rush — the thrill of flirting with death, risk and danger. A thrill that felt young and eternal.

I stepped out — another message came in.

(10.02pm): Room – ‘Passion Suite’

For a brief moment, I heard the chorus of my favorite song, “Passion,” blaring in my head. But I re-focused, and followed the arrows and directions on the wall. Passion Suite was the last room at the end of the right corridor.

I stood in front of the door, before lightly knocking three times on it. I got a call this time. I fumbled with the phone before answering it.

“Before you come in...please put on your blindfold.”

Right, the blindfold sash in the package.

“You’re looking at me now...aren’t you?” I said, expecting the person to hang up. I was looking at the peep hole at the door, imagining somebody viewing me from the other side. It was a line of defense, a barrier between what was safe, and what was unknown.

But he gave a reply instead. “I’m leaning back against the door...I can’t see you. I’ve just put on a blindfold too.”

“Why’d you want to do that?”

The stranger gave a soft, gentle sigh. “So that I can feel you better...”

I thought of Hayashi’s catchy song, “Can You Feel Me.”

And I thought of the plush zebra print blindfold — I’d feel it — feel the faux fur — that’d be one indication, wouldn’t it? — so I went along with the request. I opened the box, looked around behind me it was a reflex action to see that I wasn’t alone and even if I wasn’t it wouldn’t have made a difference the blindfold went over my eyes I couldn’t see through it not even a hint of a ray of light and I knocked three times on the door again.

 I prepared to bolt — just in case — and took a half-step back when the door opened. I strained to hear the slightest bit of sound — there was a footstep — and a hand took me by the wrist.  I left myself to my fate, whatever it would be.

“Thank you for coming.” Same voice. Same accent. I picked up the person’s nice, sexy, natural scent. It was enough to make me wet.

He pressed me against the door I was dying in agony to know if this
was
Hayashi Yu, or not — but a part of me suddenly didn’t really care, because this person, whoever he was, obviously knew what he was doing.

“I brought your gift,” I said. “It’s in my bag.”

I handed it over to him — bag, package (cell, pepper-spray) — he placed it on the floor. I think it was somewhere over to the left.

He ran the back of his beautiful slender fingers against my neck, and then down my arms, feeling the fabric of the sleeves. “What are you wearing?” he asked softly, in a voice dripping with anticipation.

I wondered if he could hear my heart pumping. “A...a plaid coat.”

I thought of feeling his blindfold — but not just then — so I felt his lower back instead...he was in a t-shirt that wasn’t too snug...and jeans...I hooked my thumbs into the belt loops at the back, for a few moments. I liked how unafraid I felt with him.

His hands stalled when they reached my thighs — the end of the coat — which he slowly lifted up, and then his hands went underneath — I slipped my hands under his shirt to feel his back and torso, a torso that was taut, lean and supple.

“What’s underneath?...” he asked, in the same tone as before.

I kept quiet. My chest felt tighter — I gave a grin — eager for him to find out for himself soon enough.

“Your coat must be super-cute,” he said, as he skillfully maneuvered the bow on the front, as the belt was tied as such. I mentally counted the number of buttons he undid —
1, 2, 3, 4, 5
— I never knew how many buttons that coat had, ever.

With the coat still on me, his hands went over my exposed skin and body. “Mmm,” he said, upon discovery that I didn’t have anything more underneath, apart from the sheer thong. “Very sexy” — as his fingers dragged across the surface of the tie-up strings at the sides. Then he brought a hand down, lightly massaging between my legs, with my knees feeling completely strength-less, and my legs quivering at the same time too at his mind-blowing touch.

I helped him remove his shirt — I heard him swipe against his face when his shirt was off —
he’s making sure the blindfold is secure!
, I thought to myself —  my heart was a lump in my mouth as I remembered the faux fur and ran my fingers over his eye mask, in pretense of checking that it was still in place.

To my dismay, the material was satiny and smooth...a different texture from the luxury zebra print piece I got for Mr. Hayashi Yu.

Maybe he has another blindfold
, I thought to myself. Before remembering that I still did not know who I was with. Did it really matter anymore? Oh hell.

I kicked off my heels so I could use one foot to go up and down the length of his calf muscle. We felt each other’s hair — his hair wasn’t too long or too short...it was a nice length to tug and lightly pull. I scrunched up the ends — “I’ve gotta do that sometimes,” he said — “Huh?” I uttered, sounding breathless. “When I style my hair,” he replied, and I saw a montage of random current pop stars in my mind’s eye.

His hands were on my collarbone, then shoulders. The trench coat came off and I let it drop to the ground. My lips parted in a faint sigh — I thought he was leaning in to kiss me — but maybe he was stalling for time, as I waited for his next move. I guessed it might be a move that was swift yet soft at the same time, and I was right.

He started kissing me on the lips, alternating with very delicate tongue and mouthwork on my lower lip. Then he explored my neck with feathery light kisses. He moved with me, as I writhed around in agonizing pleasure, my arms draped around his body.

He lifted me, swept me up in his arms (I was thankful for being petite), and it seemed as if he could see where he was going, because he didn’t hesitate or fall over anything. His arms felt so nice on the underside of my thighs and shoulders. Then we were on a huge bed, where I lay, wrapped up in his warm embrace.

He got off the bed and I heard some movement — then the opening of a box — and the sound of Velcro, as he lightly, but firmly, tied my wrists and ankles down.

“Are you going to be...violent?” I asked in a hushed tone. I was having visions of fierce criss-cross whip lash marks against a human back, or being flipped and being hit so hard it’d have left deep, red marks on my ass. I personally would have found being in such a situation quite stressful — theoretically, that is — but I couldn’t really do much then, could I.

I felt his breath, close to the side of my face. “I won’t be rough,” he said.

He untied one side of the strings on my underwear. He treated the material as if it was fragile as glass. I felt even more exposed than just bare naked, but my body cried out for more, more, more, from this lovely, lovely man.

Suddenly, I felt his tongue seeking and tasting me — the feeling was so intense, I gasped and my legs kicked out in reflex — held back by the ankle cuffs from going too far or high up — his hands grabbed my thighs, and then my butt cheeks as he continued working his divine magic, his tongue, hands, fingers, running up and down the surface of my skin all over. Did he know how much I enjoyed being submissive?

I wanted him — I wanted him so badly my whole body was on fire and I’d combust if I didn’t go along with what I was yearning for — “Let me feel you,” I begged I was going to pass out soon if this kept up — the teasing while I was temporarily blind, in the warmth of the darkness...

And then his mouth was on my throat, and he was sliding his smooth body against mine and I kept from screaming at the top of my lungs though I was tugging against the four bonds with full-force — “Please, please, I have to feel you” — “I know, I know” — and he moved up, zeroing in on my breasts, teasing the nipples the same way that I’ve always done on my own solo.

“I’ll die if I don’t feel you...” I muttered, feeling half-conscious, yet all the more conscious of the explosive force being forced to lie dormant in me. I tilted my neck out to the side, the only form of languid compensation I could give myself in my current position, as I breathed through my parted lips...

“Why me?” The question escaped from me.