She makes me feel so alive.

It’s like that scene out of Frankenstein. When the mad doctor throws the switch and the current surges through the creature’s body. Every neurone in my body crackles with electricity. I know we shouldn’t be together. But when something feels so right can it ever be wrong? My body yearns for her, and responds to her.

I touch the soft skin of her face and neck. My breathing deepens instantly. Like a life sustaining ventilator feeding vital oxygen into a body that craves every molecule for its very existence. My every muscle and sinew now dancing before her in wild raptures of excitement.

I behold her smile. Her smile that is for me and me alone. It makes my heart beat harder. Like a steam train reaching terminal velocity. The driver shovelling coal hard into the hungry boiler. Sweat streaming down his contorted face. His body aching from the effort. The whistle screaming out as steam explodes forth. Its payload destined for delivery. The faint pre-echo of full ecstasy convulses through my body, tantalising me. A taste of things to come.

The gentle feel of her tender body. Her hips. Her buttocks. Her legs. The warm sensuous inner surface of her thighs. I can feel a faint quiver running from her knee as a slender muscle dances to our sweet music. The electricity is coursing through her body too. I know she wants and needs me as much as I do her. 

I press against her. Fully excited. I urge her to touch me. To hold me. Yes. Now I feel her fingers. They tremble. She must feel it too.

The moment is intoxicating for me. My head spins like dancing top, whirling dervish. She laughs nervously. Unsure of which way to go next. So many options. I know she only wants to please. I am her master. She is my muse. She needs me to guide her through the intricacies of meeting my needs. What to do. What to say. When to start. When to stop. But just for now I close my eyes and press against her.

My power must be overwhelming. Her delicate balance is broken. She reaches back to steady herself and reaches for the keyboard behind her. A single note punctures the hypnotic silence. Again she strikes the keys. I know she wants to play for me. To please me no doubt. To show me what she has learnt. She is so willing to learn. Never ever does she say she’s had enough practice. Reluctantly I know what I must do. I reach for her hand and place it expertly and delicately on the black and white keys. Pleasure will have to wait. For now. I make my living from helping others to harness the power and majesty of music.

Time for me work. As soon enough her car will arrive to whisk her away from me. Her stupid father won’t let her walk home alone. He says her i-pod might get stolen. But soon she will be independent. My dreams are coming true. She is getting a bicycle for her tenth birthday.

This was written as the companion piece to my previous posting 'The Accused'. In that one I attempted to describe the emotions experienced by somebody falsely accused of abuse. In this piece clearly the offender still manages to hold a position of trust and respectability within the community. In my own clumsy way i was trying to say something about the ‘power’ of the human sexual drive (whether deviant or not) and the ‘power’ disparity between adults and children.