The Abstract Tattoo

Chapter Four-1

Chapter Four

After breakfast, like a mass of others on the weekend, I decided to visit Central Park. The walk was quieting. It was like a black and white celluloid blur with a collage of faces and bodies. Passers by seeking to connect, un-connect, be alone. The idea of Micah colored my senses. Can such a man become cardinal to a goddesses’ vision? I savored the thought.

As I walked into the park a warm wind blew the morning clouds away. I felt the heat of sun against my skin. I could sense the moisture of expectation between my legs as I strolled near the Belvedere Castle looking for sight of him. The sky was now clear. The temperature encouraged people to remove any extra layers of clothing they might be wearing. Perhaps I would see him. The weatherman’s prediction of a descending cool air mass was off by a significant number of degrees. My feet ache so I decided to take off my sandals and carry them as I cut across a grassy knoll near a pond when I noticed Micah standing near some trees talking to a couple of young people. The youths were carrying backpacks and may have been his students. Dr. Sheila was correct. I rationalized it was a matter of applied serendipity.

As I walked across the grass he looked over toward me and his eyes appeared to measure my long, shapely legs, extending below my short, blue jean skirt and bare feet. I was wearing a black tank top with the outline of my breasts visible from underneath the tank top. Being braless gives me a sense of empowerment. People walk partially naked here. In fact, semi-naked in Central Park is choreographic and legal. There was a Shakespeare play, The Tempest, performed naked in the park and more than a few women sunbathe topless under the caressing brightness of a warm day. I was surprised by a cool breeze brushing against my areolae. They were waiting for my lover’s mouth. “Micah, Micah,” I whispered.

I ascribe to the poetic wisdom about human nakedness, found in ancient Greek, Egyptian and Hindu papyri. I have immersed myself in the nourishing taste of another woman’s n*****s and massaging her breasts with a greedy, impassioned tongue. And to kneel, grasping the firmness of her thighs, and nestling my face in her wetness for the ultimate kiss of intimacy. I am a s****l soul.

I glanced at the women sunbathing with a knowing grin and yet given my s****l nature the import of my walk was to somehow capture Micah’s attention. I could see as he looked in my direction he appeared confident and engaged. His eyes seemed to smile even from a distance. I wanted him as my captive, and to immerse himself in my presence. I know that’s immodest. He struck me as a maverick, and though I’m confident, my heart is a jealous lover. He was someone my heart didn’t want to become a mere passerby in my existence. I lusted for his c**k, his lips, his tongue - his undivided attention. I sought his adoration.

As I approached, I noted the movement of his eyes down to my feet and legs. I didn’t know if he noticed the bruises on my toes. And I didn’t know how much it mattered for a foot fetishist like Micah. He might like caring for them.

It was in the midst of the sensory moment I could see his lips tremble. I wanted to taste and feel his lips and imagined him kneeling before me. I would hike up my skirt. “Devour my p***y,” my imagination requested his obedience savoring his tongue in front of onlookers. I wanted to press the back of his head and hold his face against my essence and then lay him on the ground and sit on his face and rub my p***y back and forth feeling his nose and tongue and lips. My flesh wanted to embrace his lust. Instinctually I knew our chemistry was real. He didn’t have to say it. Neither did I. Chemistry doesn’t need words. I could feel him inside me, in my head.

Micah may have liked to consider himself independent. Dr. Sheila indicated such was the case. Uncertainty and certainty are part of the same human patchwork. Who is truly independent of their internal wiring, culture or environment? Decisions are modified by the emotional and physical nature of our birth and environment. Existence has a deterministic quality like being dominant to Micah’s humble nature.

I noticed Micah pick up a piece of newspaper that blew out of an old man’s hands. Micah ran after the newspaper and retrieved it for the man who nodded and afterwards walked over to me. I smiled. “Hey. That was nice of you.”

“Thanks. My good deed for the day. And, hello again. Fancy meeting you here.” He said with his lips stretched in a wide smile across his face.

“Do you believe in applied serendipity or perhaps synchronicity?”

“I do.” Micah said with sigh and a delighted countenance somewhere between a question and perhaps a hope. He was open and wanting and happy. It was a hopeful and desirous face. And most of all a confident and humble countenance. He was honest. He knew that he didn’t know. No fences to climb.

We both involuntarily smiled at each other. There was no pretense. Each moment was fresh, a physical and emotional connection. I envisioned sitting on the edge of my desk crossing my legs and dangling my heels from my toes while he begged me to allow him to kiss my feet and give them his personal attention. I placed my hands on the sides of my lower back and contemplated the strain on my lower hips and thought of allowing him to massage me. I was hoping his desire to lick the soles of my feet and suck my toes would be emotionally overwhelming and his desire to massage me with his lascivious tongue would move him to find his inner truth. As we talked I noticed his eyes blink as he adjusted his crotch. I hid my internal grin from being exposed. I wanted to be a participant in his voyeurism. With a degree of aplomb I inquired, “May I ask your feelings about certain preferences or fetishes?

“Fetishes?”

“A woman’s feet and high heels?”

“I was hoping it wasn’t so visible.”

“Mm. As a matter of fact. And thank you. I enjoy a man with…at least one fetish. In fact, I relish certain fetishes…especially…from a man like you.”

“Mm…thank you, that’s good to hear.” He said appearing almost to blush.

I was awakened to the fact years earlier as a nurse. I knew the s*x life of a woman’s foot and high heels had a history of its own. My high heels could be viewed as symbolic of a woman’s v****a and the foot symbolic of a man’s p***s as he slips it into the women’s receptacle. And, so I courted the idea of him being a high heel while my foot served as an instrument of pleasure which I dipped into the sacred flower of desire. I would be male to his female. My mind wanted him to be my ethical slut. I wanted to lean him over a bench and enter his imagination with a strap-on and then reach under, and grasp and milk him. My lust was becoming unbearable and delightful.

My wanton thoughts were wet. I crave the smell and taste of my nectar. I occasionally dip from fingers into my well to see how it tastes on a given day. I loved the thought of him savoring it, as I do. And, I too am a voyeur. We are both living in a spectator culture where the cuisine of carnal passion is equal to the fetish accorded to the most decadent and licentious of gourmet chefs.

I smiled at his pleading gaze. “Let’s walk.” I said, reaching over and taking hold of his arm and squeezing it. “If he only knew,” I thought myself.

He nodded. We walked together in quiet as if we were old lovers. I touched his shoulder, then brushed my fingers against his face before lightly kissing his lips. I couldn’t help it. I leaned over again and kissed him firmly on the lips pressing my body against his. As we shared the wetness of our lips it was as if we couldn’t get enough. And then, my cellular phone sounded. “Sorry Micah, I want to reply to this text.”

“No problem.” He said.

Vera, my assistant was texting me. “Did you see him?”

I text her. “I’m with him now. Talk to you later.”

I turned to Micah. “Thank you. You know I lived in Morningside when I was a student at Columbia and graduated from nursing school with honors and subsequently worked at a hospital becoming a head nurse in the emergency room and later the psychiatric floor and was identified for my savvy and presence of mind and trust. The experience drained my fortitude and soul.”

“Not easy. Takes a lot of dedication.” He said.

“Dedication is a prerequisite. A dose of…insanity is helpful.”

We both stopped, looked at each other and kissed again. I found it difficult walking next to him and not kissing him. “You know as a nurse I grew anxious with my marriage. The endless changing work schedule was overwhelming though I loved my patients. I reached my limit when it came to the endless wounded and bleeding. The more I did, the harder I worked the more was expected of me. There were times when I began to break down at the sight of a helpless person. My skin didn’t thicken. Aging and experience doesn’t thicken the skin. I had enough and went about planning my future options including a divorce. I told Dr. Sheila in confidence about my marriage at the time. My husband’s overwrought competitive games were vain. I loathed what he loved. Especially sports. So, I opted out.”

“Good for you. I feel the same way about sports. I’m not very well-versed in athletic contests.”

“I’m glad to hear, Micah.”

We walked for another hour. Our conversation was punctuated with French kissing, hugging and holding hands. Each touch sent a vibration though my body. There was so much more to learn, to taste and to reveal. And there were things yet to be revealed to me.

We approached Central Park West Avenue. “Micah I need to get back home to finish some business. My life of late has been a balancing act. I have some unfinished business in Canada.”

He nodded with understanding. “I come with an adaptor kit.” He laughed.

“We’ll meet again.” I said.

“I would like that!” Micah replied.

“We will. Are you anxious?” I asked.

“Would it help?” He queried.

“No.”

I looked at him, smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m going to have him,” I said to myself in a whisper as I hailed down a taxi. I looked at Micah standing near the curb and then rushing to hold the taxi door open for me. “Micah, I am going away for a week or so. It’s business. I’ll find you when I return.”

He stood looking at me with a question in his eyes. I smiled. “Keep me in your thoughts.” I then got into the taxi. As the taxi sped away, I knew it was a matter of poise. My mother said to me, “Impatience is a veil that hides the face of truth. The veil is removed with patience…and the face is revealed.”

***

Two weeks later Micah stopped by the office of his colleague Dr. Sheila. He told her about seeing me at the museum and the park. Dr. Sheila already knew and explained to him that I was now back at her home in Tarrytown. “She had some business dealings in Canada where she also owns a second home…wants to meet you again but isn’t sure of your schedule,” Dr. Sheila said.

Micah nodded. “I look forward to seeing her again.”

Dr. Sheila told Micah that she and I spoke to each other the previous night at length about him and much has happened in my life in a relatively short amount of time. Dr. Sheila reflected how uncanny it was that Micah and I were alike in our pursuits.

Micah observed, “I’m an easy read. Transparency can complicate. Though easier on the person being transparent. Disclosing yourself to yourself is an ambiguous affair.”

“Hmm. I understand. Dr. Sheila said and added, “I believe she’s coming into the city today or tomorrow. She’ll be calling me. I’ll let her know where you might be at a meeting with a colleague and friend, Randall, who asked to meet with him, probably at their old haunt, the bookstore. By the way, how’s Randall doing?” Dr. Sheila asked.