Dark Lady

Steve Harvey's journey into darkness began with the simplest of looks. Only later, alone with the truth, would he understand the irony of remembering it as an Innocent glance. A meeting of the eyes between a man who wore his hunger like a Wound and a woman who wore her power like a mask.

Just before lunch he decided to take a walk. It had been a wasted morning. He was on the main floor of Bergdorf's, one of his favorite routes during rotten weather, when something caught his eye. Something, someone, descending the escalator. It was like the first hint of an approaching storm. An exquisite darkness. A woman, dressed in a black leather suit, exquisitely tailored. Designer stuff, probably from Milan. The skirt hugged her legs and descended to mid calf, the jacket was snug and accessorized with fragile gold chains and matching buttons. The jacket collar was turned high with significant attitude. Tasteful black high heels, not quite spikes, accented her calves and a matching gold ankle chain balanced the picture. Soft looking black gloves, one on, one off and carried in the same hand that held the strap of her bag.

A sensation washed over him, a palpable and familiar physical awareness that was part adrenaline, part testosterone. The rush, the familiar buzz. It was accompanied by an old anxiety, wondering what to do with the moment. Simple appreciation struggled for mind share with hopeless temptation. The paradox was diabolical and, in his world, very female in nature…being male to want what you cannot have, the torment of someone else's reality passing so tantalizingly close, reminding you of your weakness and your need.

It was an all consuming mind-fuck, one he had learned…like an addict who learns to love the sting of the needle…to simply appreciate for what it was: a moment of fantasy, the dark poetry of desire, with roots too deeply imbedded to be understood.

The woman was so beautiful that it was hard not to stare at her. She was the Dark Lady.

All of this registered in a heartbeat or two, long enough for the escalator to deposit her into the aisle in front of a cosmetics counter. She looked away from him as if he wasn't there at all.

He moved to a position behind a pillar and watched. A clerk was staring at him, waiting. He could walk away, find another position, and continue the dance. But nowhere else would he be this close, and in this game proximity was everything.

The Dark Lady was drifting toward the jewelry department, her eyes touching every case and display along the way. This was certainly a rich man's woman.

His breath was short, his skin sensitized with a prickly clamminess. While this was perhaps the best and most electric visualization of his fantasy that he'd ever seen in the flesh, he's seen others and knew this was a transitory high. The drug usually came in freeze-frames and flashes; this had been an entire short feature. It only took seconds for his mind and his heartbeat to begin its descent to reality, thankful for the hit like a jolt of cocaine, committing it to memory.

He turned and began to walk away and at that moment, the Dark Lady stepped into his path.

This could be no accident. She was looking directly at him. Then again, perhaps it was but their eyes locked and the electricity returned with a wave he could feel throughout his body.

She was removing the other glove as she looked at him quizzically, plucking at each finger deliberately, finally pulling it off. Her hands were slender, with long French-manicured nails and several expensive gold rings. Hands of privilege.

'You've been watching me.' Her voice was low, breathy, almost hard to hear. An appropriate smirk acknowledged the awkwardness of the moment.

This was to perfect. The nearness of the woman only confirmed his perceptions…there were no flaws, no compromises. Her eyes were virtually ablaze with dark secrets. She was made up of every dark thought he'd ever allowed himself, packaged within the boundaries of elegance and taste. Sharply angled cheekbones and an ever-so-slightly arched nose gave her a regal air, a look of majesty that was impossible not to notice. She was too beautiful to be over forty and too sophisticated to be younger, creating an enigma that was as mysterious as it was fascinating. Her sly grin was an all too inescapable acknowledgement of what was true between them. Somehow she knew everything. And this, in an instant made her all the more dangerous.

'I'm sorry…I didn't mean to be rude, I just…'

'I don't imagine that you were.' The grin was deepening now, the eyes full of something beyond intelligence, something almost intimidating. She was on to him. And from the look of it, if nothing else, it amused her.

The energy of the moment forced his eyes away, and there was nowhere to go with them other than a full scan of her profile. It was tunnel vision, and at the end of the tunnel was the epitome of his fascination, bathed in a soft glow.

She was expecting him to continue. Testing his next move. There were volumes and years of comprehension in the way she looked at him. Or maybe she was just sticking it in his face, this moment of acknowledging the truth. He had no idea.

'I was just…I mean I was admiring…' He grinned, an intuitive self-deprecation that he knew disarmed any contrivance or perceived ego. He noticed that his nervousness seemed to please her, to change her smile to one of satisfaction. He took a breath as if to signal that he was starting over.

'You look very…'

She interrupted him with a perfectly arched eyebrow. 'I know.'

The smile faded as she brushed by him, her sleeve barely touching his arm, her perfume rising to confound his senses. What had been so sweet, this toying with his innermost desire, now hung in doubt. She had dangled a moment of fantasy before him, and as his guard began to drop she snatched it away, all for the pleasure of watching the confusion in his eyes.

She had won. And yet, she had left him with something.

This was a woman with the promise of a very palpable and unmanageable danger. A woman with a curtain. An evil woman in a way that men found irrestible. A woman who dressed and acted the part, perhaps because it was the color of her nature, perhaps to lure the attention of her prey. Nothing was certain, nothing could be known. The realization gave him an incredible amount of satisfaction, the private pleasure that he'd never been able to satisfactorily explain and that no woman in his life had ever understood.

Except, perhaps, this Dark Lady herself. He followed her out of the store to a small café around the corner. This was a dark and quiet bar, filled with a few couples waiting for their table, the usual ladies 'who lunch and a few stag suits tossing down their first tranquilizers of the day. Elegant, brass accented antique lamps on each cocktail table cast a warm glow throughout the room.

She was sitting in a corner, her eyes downcast, enveloped in a reflective mood. She looked up at him and smiled, the effect of which created a diametrically opposite impression from the wicked woman he'd just been with in Bergdorf's. He was sure he saw a genuine pleasure in her eyes, not a role being played. Her smile revealed impossibly white teeth framed by pouting lips, painted the color of a fine Merlot. Her raven hair fell perfectly straight on either side of her face, tucked slightly inward at the jaw line, very chic with a gothic essence.

She offered her right hand up to him with an unashamedly royal air. Her skin was startlingly warm and scented, and he found himself simply holding her hand instead of returning her handshake. He was tempted to bend and kiss the back of it, a winking gesture of romantic humor with a serious intent, but decided better of it. Cool was always the wiser default posture, especially this early in the dance. She wore a gold cocktail ring that was tastefully surrounded with tiny brilliant diamonds; not so showy but definitely uptown. Her long fingernails were a deep and dangerous burgundy matching the richness of her lips.

As he sat across from her she said, 'I ordered you a drink…a martini…you look like a martini man.' Her own drink was a martini.

He tried to combine a smile and an expression of bemusement. She read the look and smiled broadly.

'Are we a teensie bit nervous?' she asked.

'A teensie.' He took a sip. 'Maybe even a tad.'

He watched her hands as she reached for her purse. Pulling out a pack of Virginia Slims. Shaking one out. Holding it in one hand while digging in the purse with the other, withdrawing a lighter and handing it to him.

His stomach ignited with the flame. His fear was that his hand would be trembling when he held it for her. It did tremble, ever so slightly, and as she cocked her head slightly to the side as she leaned in, he could tell that she noticed.

As she exhaled toward the ceiling, all style and femininity, she asked, 'Do you mind if I smoke?'

He shook his head, trying for nonchalance as he lit up and handed the lighter back to her.

He was writhing now. He could feel the familiar old chaos beginning to kick in. Her eyes and her smile were both fixed and distant, as if she were contemplating an abstract painting. As if she had pressed his start button just to see what would happen.

He shifted in his seat. 'What do I call you?'

'You don't. I call you.

'I mean your name.'

Her grin widened. 'I know what you mean.'

He nodded appreciatively. 'You like to mess with men, don't you?' He said more as a compliment than an accusation.

'So why are you here?' she asked.

He shifted in his seat before answering, letting his eyes drift for a moment.

'I see a woman who takes my breath away. I make a fool of myself and she sticks it in my face. Then she makes contact and sets my brain on fire…like she knows me. But she can't possibly know me. I find myself fascinated by her, asking myself questions, making up little movies in my head…all in a space of minutes. I wonder what else she knows, what scary little secrets of mine are secrets of hers, too.'

He waited for a reaction and was rewarded by that dazzling smile, inviting him to continue. They locked eyes. Whatever awkwardness had been there was now gone. A barrier had been crushed under the admission of attraction and the acknowledgement of hope. The air was warm once again, the game afoot once more.

Steve spoke. 'I've been walking away from opportunities like this all my life. You…' he searched for the words, letting her feel his sincerity…'are too incredible to just let go by.'

'Why risk it now, if you've been a spectator all your life?'

'I have the feeling you're the personification of risk. I also have the feeling you're absolutely worth it.'

This pleased her. He saw a genuine interest fighting for equal time with a sense of victory, as if this was just the response she had hoped for.

'Not worried about moving too fast, are you,' she said. But a glimmer in her eyes told him he hadn't crossed any lines…yet.

It lasted another thirty minutes or so. It was a conversation unique to the sexual joust, spiced with veiled hints and body language. Every eye movement and every expression was a riddle. Anyone watching would have known this was a first encounter, seen the energy colliding between them. She was a mistress of the dual art of listening and provocation.

The Dark Lady's eyes were hypnotic as she listened, burning into him with a stimulating combination of empathy and fascination. Almost as if she were studying the sincerity of his words. She'd shift position slightly, holding her chin one minute, toying with her hair the next, always with what seemed to be an attentive look and an occasional nod.

He looked away. Every time he did, he found himself noticing how the soft light played off the smooth and buttery ripples of her leather skirt. It was a dark and dangerous place for his mind to hide.

She reached around and pulled her leather coat into her lap. She suggested he meet her in the parking lot across the street from the restaurant after he had settled the check. The better to witness her exit, he assumed.

She stood against the side of the car, arms crossed, enjoying his approach. The Mercedes Sl500 was jet black, like her coat, both of which were bright with reflections from the parking lot's fluorescent lights.

He was all too conscious of his bulging penis when he reached her, his hands deep in his pockets. His stomach was twisting, pulling at his throat from below. He just stood there, waiting for something; a word, a movement. For a moment all pretense was gone, the game no longer a casual amusement. He was tempted for just an instant to pull her to him, kiss her with abandon, a Hollywood kiss. Instead he grinned sheepishly and moved to her side. He ran his finger along the hood of the car and whistled.

'Very nice.'

'Very expensive,' she countered.

Her gloved hand covered his. He looked at her. The smile was gone and she was looking right into him, all pretense cast aside.

She turned, put her hands on his shoulders, locking, locking eyes as she pulled him towards herself. He leaned in, very close, when she suddenly raised a hand and put her leather-clad forefinger on his mouth. She toyed with his lips a moment, her eyes darting between his lips and his eyes. He inhaled her scent, the essence of her proximity. Then, very deliberately she took a firm grasp of his chin and pulled his mouth to hers.

It wasn't the pounding kiss he had fantasized but a slow dance of lips and tongue-tips. He tried to penetrate more assertively, but she bit his tongue playfully, and he could feel her giggling. He never closed his eyes, not wanting to miss a moment of her. She tasted of martini, smoke, of woman. He realized she'd freshened her lipstick, and it was at this moment when the electricity of the kiss set his libido ablaze.

Now she kissed him again, deeply this time. Her tongue was quick and probing and delicious, and then it was gone.

'I think maybe we should go,' she whispered.

She pecked his cheek with a playful and concluding kiss, then pulled away, her expression smug and confident. Without another word she opened her car door He watched her curl into the deep leather seat, pulling the tail of her coat in behind her, her eyes inviting him to sit alongside of her.

She didn't look over at him as the door closed and the engine fired with the sweet music of German precision and soon we were speeding uptown toward her pied d'terre on Central Park West.

She lived in a large apartment high enough to overlook the park and the city. I did not notice much; I was too absorbed in myself. The interiors seemed like a setting of some kind. A setting for what? Lisa, the Dark Lady, showed me the bar and suggested I open a bottle of champagne. She said she'd need some time to freshen up. 'Amuse yourself,' she said.

I opened the wine. I looked at the lights of the city through the broad window. Then Lisa was in the room again. She wore a black brocade gown, with slits almost to the hips on both sides. Legs in dark nylon flashed as her black high-heeled sandals crossed the white rug. She sat down and began sipping her wine. I remained standing. She looked at the front of my pants and told me she wanted me to expose myself. 'You look to confined,' she said in measured tons. 'I want to see you unconfined!'

Was I trembling? I unzipped my trousers and brought my cock out. It was swollen, the tip dripping. Lisa beckoned to me and I moved forward. She ran her fingertips along its underside. Then over the knob. Red lacquered fingernails fluttered over the knob of my swollen cock as her face remained impassive.

Then she sat back. Her eyes meeting mine, she pulled at her gown, pulled it along her legs, her knees, her thighs.

Her legs were long and slender encased in dark nylon. 'So what can you do with your mouth?' she said slowly.

I could look at nothing but her now exposed crotch. Her pubic bush was full and dark but her lips were naked; the outer lips shaved bare, the inner lips thick and protruding. I caught myself gaping and swallowing involuntarily as she opened her thighs, the lips parting to show her tumescent clitoris.

'Bring it down here,' she said. 'Lips open! Kiss my legs!'

I worked my lips along her ankles and calves, first one and then the other. Then her thighs, the insides of her thighs covered in sexy nylon. She stopped me when I moved to kiss her pubis. She pushed me away and laughed at my surprise.

'Much too fast,' she said. Another push, this time with her foot, and I sprawled on the rug.

She rose and turned, then standing spread legged began to slowly pull the white gown up to her waist. The dark opera length nylons covered all of her thighs to the crease under each buttock. I gazed at the perfectly formed white half-moons of her buttocks, at the dark lips protruding from the pouch of her sex. And above that, constricted into itself, the neat puckered ring of her asshole.

Nothing had to be said. I crawled forward. I kissed the cheeks of her ass. I planted wet kisses on her warm smooth skin, a brief lick up and down her crack, then back and forth again, finally to stay. Now I feverishly licked her asshole, probing the dark ring with my slavish tongue.

'Inside,' she said. Nothing but the one word. The ring opened to accept my tongue, opened and then constricted, opened again as I probed and stroked, my tongue and face sliding into the asphyxiating dark heat.

Laughing softly, Lisa finally twisted away from my face. She turned and looked at me. Her eyes were amused. She said I was a novice but not a disappointment and perhaps with the proper training…. Her voice trailed off as she sat down and faced me. She opened her legs again and parted her thighs to expose her now dripping sex. Using both hands, she pulled her cunt lips apart.

'Do it now! she said. 'Suck my cunt!!!'

The words made me shiver. My cock was still out of my pants, erect and swollen. I wondered how many others had dripped like this on Lisa's white rug. Never mid the others; I had my own hunger. I crawled forward and lost myself in the scent and taste of her sex, its soft, lush wetness. Using her fingers she bared her clitoris. It was bloated now. I licked the tiny knob. I licked the shaft. I liked below to gather her juices. Then upward again to her clit, my tongue fluttering on the tip.

Lisa came. Long spasms shook her body. She moaned and pulled my mouth more firmly against her flesh. A long shudder and this time a gushing, a taste of cum on my lips. I held fast; I kept my mouth open and held fast. Then finally she sighed and pushed me away.

'My dear boy, you have real possibilities', she said. 'Go wash your face.'

In a daze I rose to find the bathroom. I stared at the mirror above the sink and wondered what was happening to me. What did I want? Did I know? Lisa seemed to know everything.

When I returned to her, Lisa told me to bring my balls out of my fly. I brought them out so that my heavy sac dangled beneath my stiff, wavering cock. She said she approved, that I was nicely hung. She had me step forward. She teased my cock, trailed her fingers over my balls, and lifted the sac on her fingertips to test its weight. Then she told me to drop my trousers and my underwear. She watched as my fingers fumbled. When I had everything down at my ankles, she touched me again. She had me turn as she fondled my buttocks slapping me playfully. She probed between my cheeks. Her fingertip probed at my tight hole, pushed and pushed again until it slid inside. I thought about the red lacquered fingernail inside of me. She turned her finger, twisted it from side to side and then withdrew it.

Then she rose. Approaching me, she curled her fingers around the shaft of my cock. No more than a few strokes were required. I shuddered, I closed my eyes. A long groan came out of my throat as the pent up sperm squirted out of my cock.