Fan Fiction ❯ Quicky Written ❯ Quickly Written ( One-Shot )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

I was 13 then, but the glitz of the costume and the magic of the cosmetics hid that youth from the world. The shambles of my innocence was concealed behind the pale application of face powder and the hopeful naivety I somehow clung to never got past the painted lips. My body was, as far as the causual observer was concerned, faintly female. Only the men who had enough curiousity to investigate that charming laugh and those bewitching eyes so full of soul found my maleness. They also found it to be a delightful contrast to the rest of me. Oh how they revelled in that, for hours at a time I would be the fascination of a man's touch.
I was treated better than any of the girls in that house, my men asked me what felt best. They wanted to explore this new landscape without losing their way. My body and mind was to these men as the New World was to Columbus, exotic in every aspect of existence.
I remember one man, he came every weekend to see me. I remember his mouth most, his lips and his smile most of all. When we first met we played our parts, I was the cordial and seductive coquette who would eventually "let" him "have his way" with me. He was the equally formal gentleman who carried a knowing smile with him like a favourite and battered old coat that his wife had tried to throw out, but he had faithfully retreived and cleaned.
We played the same game that is always played between a whore and her customer, cheap innuendos and seductive smirks smoothly mixed with our polite conversastion.
When the pleasantries ended and he was free to let his passions loose, he surprised me. He asked me no questions, but was skilled all the same. Unbidden came the thought that he had seduced a thousand before me, just like me, and a thousand would follow. Those sort of thoughts never last long in the throes of passion, and as it was for me. I found that he loved to tease me, bringing me to the razor edge and then letting me softly back down. He did not seem to want to pleasure himself, he appeared to be quite content to erotically torture me for periods of time that were forgotten by the clocks and myself.
In the middle of the night, after once again relaxing against the mattress of the ornate four-poster, canopied bed with its heavy damask hangings dyed a brooding scarlet, I felt his thin but impossibly sturdy arms encircle my waist. I felt through my dreamy the pleasure of his kisses upon my neck and my collarbone. I heard his whispers of adoration as though they were a light breeze moving through the weeping willow outside. I felt, abruptly, his intense arousal.
My eyes opened slowly, and they were reflected in his firey blue ones. Those short, wavy brown locks of his were stringy with sweat and they fell in a charming way across his brow. His eyes danced in the light of the two wall candles behind eyes, like twin flames shining through shades made of ice or exquisite glass. I smiled, in his eyes I could see my hair had fallen from its seemingly careless bun and I saw it straight, and limply it formed an almost ludicrous circle of light around my head. He startled me then, he spoke. His voice was a bit hoarse from his passion but I heard every word as clear as the sounds of a tap-dancer's shoes at work.
"You are my diamond, the only real jewel that I own." My mind and heart rebelled together, I was no one's property despite my work. All thoughts ceased, though, because his talented mouth that had been titillating my bodily senses for a better part of the night was pressed to mine. I tasted passion in that kiss, passion and caring as I had never known. I knew that he was right, with that kiss I had become his.