My time spent with J was both sweet and explosive. He had a beautiful apartment in an old historical building in downtown Indianapolis, with huge windows that looked out over downtown, as well as his neighbor's bedroom. It was furnished simply, but so elegantly with finds he collected from his travels all over the world, including an antique iron bed from Bordeaux almost 400 years old, huge throne-like chairs from an abandoned cathedral, and a chandelier with ruby crystal votives that floated over his rustic dining room table like magic fireflies in the night.
Whenever I went to visit him, we would sit quietly in his tiny living room, gazing at the fire and sipping port, while listening to opera. He had his chair, and I had mine. J was easy to please, and we loved each other's company. His only requirement was that I either wore one of the many enormous, heavily embroidered vintage Japanese kimonos he kept in a large old trunk, over black lace panties and bra - or nothing at all.
But the magic came with his strength; the way he held me, arranged me, took me. He had a powerful body for a man his age, and with him I felt totally secure, protected, beloved and possessed by him. His energy never drained as he wielded his large leather belt across my throbbing behind for 20, 30, 40 minute sessions, only stopping long enough for me to catch my breath. Bent over that iron bed, standing on my toes, exposed and vulnerable, my agony took me to places I never knew, and if J felt I had stayed there too long, he would soothingly bring me back, rocking me into the night.
J was never arrogant, rude or aloof; he was perfectly wonderfully suited to me, and I was soon in love. He felt love for me as well, but our relationship was fragile. Some nights I would wake to find those steely blue eyes staring off into the distance, his long, elegant index finger resting on his top lip, deep in thought. When I inquired what was wrong, he would just pull me close and kiss me gently. His great fear in life was of being/living alone at his age. He had been ill over the years, and his health was actually quite fragile, and his children led lives of their own that did not include him unless they wanted something. His other fear was being a burden, particularly to me, who was 54 at the time; 18 years his junior. I didn't see it that way at all, but he worried about it a lot. I told him it was silly; I could find a 30 year old man tomorrow, and he could have a debilitating accident, and I would have to care for him for the rest of his or my life. But, J was determined not to have me hurt that way, and soon severed our ties.
Tearfully, I have attempted more than once to call him, write him, or just show up at his door, knowing he'd never turn me away. But, one thing my relationship with him taught me was respect. And, those were my J's wishes. Yes, I loved him.