Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. The Chair Theme "La Belle Dame Sans Merci * Sitting in my Dad's comfy recliner, enthralled in a novel Dianne has given me for Christmas, my concentration is shattered by flashes of light from outside. I am surprised, I've not intended to stay up this late. The book has captured me and time has crept by. It is midnight! The New Year has arrived. Setting down my book, I move over and sit on the window's alcove to watch the fireworks display. Sparkles of brilliance, radiantly bursting to life in the heavens. Orgies of vibrant colorful, flash bangs, fill my eyes. With childish awe, my mind silently ooh's and ahh's. Pressing my spread fingers against the freezing glass, mouth wide open, my eyes search the dark sky, expectantly watching, hoping, for yet another flash of soul warming light. After ten minutes of glorious spectacle, one last dazzling explosion of color turns the somber Washington skyline into day, then all is silent and dark, marking the end of the show. Stretching my arms above my head, I give a big yawn. Relaxed and pleased, I look around, wondering if I should resume reading or just tottle off to bed. The bed seems, so far away though, and Dad's old chair is so close. Last spring, when Dianne and I made our decision to find and share an apartment. I had pestered my mother for weeks before she finally allowed me to have it. Dad had passed away four years before and mom was finally starting to date again. I couldn't bear the image of any male, other than my father sitting in it . Sentimental and silly over an old chair, but that's me all over, I guess. It's no contest really, climbing in it, I cozy up once more, searching the chapters of the book for my place. I don't expect Dianne home till much later as she is out to a New Year party. We get along well but our interests are completely different. She is outgoing, loves the club scene and parties, while I prefer a more laid back, quieter lifestyle and I'm content most often to stay home and read. I don't know why we are so different but get along so well. She's a sales agent for a large brokerage firm and great with people. I am a number cruncher and a pretty darn good one too and enjoy my job as a financial consultant. We're happy , that's all that matters. We often go out to movies after long discussions/disagreements of what we want to see. We mostly ompromise and she puts up with my choices almost as often as I, her's,but our musical tastes differ too much for any such compromise, and to coexist we each have remote wireless earphones. Sometimes on weekends, we each wear them, sipping wine, dancing around, cleaning the apartment, both of us humming merrily away to completely different music. Her silent November Rain pleases her as my loved Nessum Dorma, soothes me. All in all, after moving in together, we're even better friends than previously. She's fun and lively, a joy to live and be with. She shares the housework and shopping as well as the laundry and always respects my need for privacy, as I do her's. Never has she once mentioned bringing home one of her beau's and she has a lot of them. Her dark blue eyes and sensuous smile, combined with a long slender frame, ensure her no shortage of men. They seem though to drift in and out of her life like the tide. I 'm happy living with her and truly dread the day the right Sir Galahad would ride off , carrying her to his castle. Still, I always help her get ready for outings, assisting with her hair, advising or selecting which outfit she should wear, even deciding on and setting out her shoes, to match our image creations. In perspective, she's my alter ego, living a lifestyle I deliberately avoid but encourage her to experience. I often sit and watch her as she stands in the full length mirror, inspecting her look , putting on the last touches, earrings, smoothing back mischievous locks of her long red hair She'll sometimes note me watching and smile, like earlier tonight, when she had asked . . . "Well?" "The hems too long, it needs to be taken up." "You think?" "Don't worry, it will do for tonight." "I can't take it back, I bought it in Boston!" "I'll do it, mom has a Singer, she'll help." The buzzer announced her date. "Shit he's here, gotta run. You gonna be okay?" "Go on, get, I've got two books to read, remember?" "K, kiss, Bye." "Bye, be good. "No!." And the door closed behind her and she was gone, although her perfume still lingered. Inhaling deeply I turned to find her other gift to me. Yes , I admit it , I selected her perfume also. The two novels she had given me, as a gift for Christmas were as different as her and I to each other. She had searched out and found a rare 1939 copy of Idylls of the King by Tennyson, knowing I loved the stories of King Arthur as well as epic poetry. For me the book was so appropriate, so thoughtful, I went all weepy, just holding it. The second book was very different though and puzzled me . A poem, hand written and composed by her in the accompanying card. explained. Something heavy, something light. Readings for a girlfriend bright. Something naughty, something nice Seasoned with a touch of spice. Merry Christmas Love Dianne The second book was Blue Velvet by Anonymous, an adult novel. I looked ather puzzled when I opened it. She simply smiled and waved her hand. "I just grabbed it off the shelf and have no idea what it's about; make sure you loan it to me after you've read it. It looks interesting." Interesting was hardly the word for it. I have been reading it all night and I have almost finished it and it's not exactly light reading. The inner perspective nature of the writing makes me feel that I am the heroine or victim; I'm not sure which she is. So passive in outlook, so compliant to another's desires. So perfectly in control but content to be controlled. To me, her thoughts, situations are exciting and sobering at the same time. Did I mention that it is hot? Oh yes, HOT, as am I. I just have to finish it before bed. But I doze off and wake up to the door announcer, buzzing madly away. Dianne is stuck in the lobby, Again, desperately trying to get in. I open the lobby door and wait, holding the apartment door open for her as well. She often forgets her keys and this has turned into a little ritual. I don't mind, it's only on the occasional weekend. However tonight she needs a little more help than that. Tonight she is slurring her words and in no uncertain terms, voicing her absolute disgust with her date who, it seems, has spent the entire evening flirting with another women. Until finally, he completely disappeared with "that bitch" at midnight. So Dianne has downed way too many shooters before grabbing a cab home, and she is now making some pretty graphic comments on the "asshole fat, pig, slob" cab driver who'd hit on her. I smile, listen with half an ear as I brush out the wrinkles as I hang up her coat, which she'd tossed on the couch back, then I pick up her pumps, she'd flicked haphazardly in the hallway, and line them up on the closet shoe rack. I like things neat and Dianne is often casual about things like that. But I don't mind tidying up. " Its honest work and the pay is good", my mom always said, as she constantly fussed around, straightening the house after my smart and loveable, but very messy father. I never thought much about what she meant by pay, at least not then. Dianne disappears into the bathroom and I turn off the apartment lights and go to my room. I read for a bit and am reaching to turn off my night light when I notice the hall light is still on and the bathroom door closed. Dianne has been in there a good 20 minutes. Worried, I knock and receiving no answer, open the door. My friend is pretty but the picture isn't. She is sitting on the potty, passed out, sound asleep. Her skirt is pulled back with her pretty ass exposed. Her sparkling silver colored panty hose is tucked down around her ankles and a bunch of toilette tissue remains clutched in her hand. She doesn't respond to my gentle or even rough shaking, but is breathing okay, she is just, out cold. Thank goodness she isn't a big girl, I at first try to pull up her hose then decide it makes more sense just to slip them off her. I can't lift her but manage to get her arm over my shoulder and staggering, carry her to her room. Flopping her tummy down on the bed, I reach to pull a blanket over her when I realize she is wearing her new evening gown. It's a delicate wisp of silk covered with intricate hand stitched designs and is so terribly expensive and she takes such pride in it. There is no way I can leave her sleeping in it and maybe ruin it. Carefully, so as not to snag or rip the fabric, I draw the tiny zipper slowly down her back to her hips. Sliding the thin straps off her shoulders, my hands are reaching under her to gently pull the dress down when they encounter her soft and very naked breasts. That startles me. Myself, I've never worn a dress without a bra and hadn't noticed that she wasn't. Tenderly, I pull at the fabric, but almost have to cup her breasts just to get the slinky material further down her body. When I get it to her hips, the dress fits her so tight that I have to tug, gentle and stoke on her hips, using both hands, until it finally comes free. At this time, I receive another surprise as, she is not, of course, wearing panties. Trying not to stare at her pretty bum which for some reason, my eyes, insist, on returning to. I struggle to get the gown down the last part of this, seemingly, endless journey, to her slender ankles. Even then the dress fights me and snags on her toes. I use my hands to smooth it over her feet. Emotionally, physically, exhausted and disturbed by the realization that I am for some strange reason, aroused. I am hanging the dress in her closet when her sleepy voice speaks, behind me. "That, was kinda nice." "For you maybe, you're a pain to undress." "Perhaps you need more practice?" "What?" "Just kidding, Thanks Anne, Sorry." "It's okay, get some sleep." Averting my eyes, I pull the covers over her naked form. "Anne, will you stay?" "It's time for sleep, honey. You're going to feel like heck in the morning and . . ." "Anne, please, he was such a prick; I've been alone all night." Not sure, how I feel about my feelings, I hesitate. "Please." "Okay, for a bit, till you nod off." I turn off the light, slide off my housecoat and slip into the bed, trying not to touch her. I'm wearing a long flannel night dress but remain very aware of her nakedness, inches from me. "Cuddle." "Go to sleep, Dianne," "I'm cold." Thinking to myself: of course you're cold, you're naked. But not wanting to think on that at all. I reach out and draw her into my arms. Her head lies against my chest, her nose snuggles between my breasts. Wispy locks of hair and her perfume, tickle my face and tease my nose. I reach and brush it away. "That feels nice." "It tickles." "Feels nice." So I continue, smoothing, stoking her tresses, her lovely long natural auburn hair. Contently, I wait for her to fall asleep so I can slip to my own bed and relieve this aching in my loins. But during her little nap in the washroom she has recharged her batteries and is in the same state as I, only with a very different plan. She says . . . "What did you do?" "Read." "What?" "The book you got me . . . the "Blue Velvet" one." "Did you like it?" "It's . . . interesting." "Would you like to be her?" "I thought you hadn't read it." "I looked it over, some . . . well?" "What?" "You know, be like her?" "I guess . . . I don't know, she . . .!!!" I go silent, stunned!! Her little hands are fumbling under my night dress, probing into my slippery heat! "Oh! You did like it! I knew you would. You're soaking wet." "Dianne, stop that! You've had way too much to drink." "Be Quiet. Lie Still." And I do as she directs, or at least try to, while her clever little fingers set off a series of sparkling fireworks though my body and mind. Starting a New Year, a new life, a new beginning, for us. Nothing outwardly seems to have changed. Dianne doesn't go out as much anymore, just occasionally, for appearances. She still dresses up though, for me, while I watch and admire. When done she smiles, that knowing smile, then often moves to my dad's old chair, and sits, legs up, no panties, waiting. Perhaps motioning with a finger, pointing to where she wants me, as usual, on the floor, in front of her, on my knees. Her finger will beckon me closer, much closer, until her hands can guide my head on its path between her nyloned legs, until my lips are snuggled into her fiery wetness. No words are spoken, still, my tongue wags and wiggles, matches her motions, causes her motions, until finally she cries out, as do I. Her bliss, a small demand of me, my bliss, her small demands. All of which, I love and adore, along with my poetry. My Lady Dianne I met a Lady in the Meads Full beautiful, a faery child Her hair is long, her foot is light And how her eyes, do sparkle wild She sits, I kneel, my head in bow My Guinevere, fair lass in need. I worship as she takes my vow. Her knight am I? No, just her steed I set her on my pacing steed And nothing else, see all day long Though blinded, still I hear her sing In joys delight, her faery's song My face, She rides to Camelot. Her mount, her mound, so close entwined The journeys end. Her willful plot. Of ecstasy , and bliss Devine. And after ridden hard, I rest, And at her playful feet, recline. Till passion her's, renews again, And I am called, once more to dine. And carry her along the trail, Of passion's music, sighs and moans. Her beast, her mule, her steed of lust My body which, she knows she owns. I hear pale Kings cry out to me Pale warriors too and they say all La belle dame sans merci, take heed I knowest this, but I'm in thrall *** Your Lady's Maid - Anne "But let my words, the words of one so small. Who knowing nothing, knows but to obey. And if I do not, there is penance given." ** - Tennyson SafeWord 2004 Copyrite 2003 All rights reserved. ============================================================== Below here: references and authors notes ** [the little maid speaking to her Lady Guinevere - page 260: line 6 ) {Idylls of the King - Alfred Lord Tennyson}- The Heritage Club - private printing 1939 Blue Velvet - anonymous - Blue Moon Books Inc. 1990 Poem - My Lady Dianne - SafeWord - 2003 For this humble piece, I have blended, slashed and mutilated small portions of John Keats Immortal Poem - "La Belle Dame sans Merci" and incorporated them into this story. I apologize to all who love great poetry, for stealing another's bay-wreath crown and lastly ask, John Keat's Immortal Spirt, forgiveness with this apology .