"You are the only person I have ever trusted." I replied, kissing the back of her palms. "You are the only one." It was no lie to placate the dear girl, she held my soul and my fate in her every choice; a fact that no longer frightened me. She used the opportunity of our joined fingers to as her chance to lead me through her own desires, to those singular thoughts and motions that were wholly of her devising Yes, I trusted the temptress-woman-child, even as she pulled me from the warm, solitary comfort of the library.
"It is far too late in the evening for you to be reading, Erik. I am sure that you would benefit from rest, on dare I say, at least three evenings a week." I thought to counter her remark with a witticism in the defense of my nocturnal activities, but when she briefly turned to me, the most unassuming, beautiful plea had formed upon her winsome face. And, once again, I was still a man, not immune to the adorable pout of a curious young lady.
She pulled me into her bedchamber, illuminated by four wide, wax-dripping candles placed, one to each corner of the room. Normally, I only entered the Louis-Phillipe room in Christine's absence, to store some new fine frocks and silks in the bureau, or to leave some sweet-smelling satchet of Gardenia and Lavendar for her enjoyment upon her return. But, the evening before us, as I stood, one silent foot poised on the threshold of the door, was not to be classified in the manner of a friendly respectful and understanding companionship that marked our evenings of music lessons, followed by dinner in which the lessons were discussed, then, when all food had been consumed, ending the evening with a selection from the library, before finally settling in to our own private silences in separate rooms.
I had waited all my life to surrender myself to the overwhelming forces of love, but had never been granted the opportunity to lay myself at the mercy of its power. It was impossible to conceal the trembling of my hand, as she held my shaking fingers firmly in her grip, never faltering in her step as we approached the bed.
It had been my mother's own bed. . .the bed in which I had been delivered, and it would be the same in which I would leave the world. A world, which for the first time, I could see without the shadows of hostility that had accompanied me every moment, hostility the constant companion. But, I began to seek the comfort of another, one I might one day call 'lover' and 'wife'. All the shadows faded into the light that was Christine, as poetically indulgent as it sounded. "Are you very certain that you wish for me to stay with you tonight?"
My innocent seductress did not reply in words, but guided my fingers to the soft flesh right above the top of her corset. The pleasure of simply running my fingertips over the sensitive skin, tracing the curve of the supple flesh. I was lost to sensation, a curious explorer in unknown, and tempting territory. A woman's structure, the delicate lines of the collarbone, and the unbelievable softness of her mouth- I wanted to learn her complexities as a foreigner acquiring the intricacies of an unfamiliar language.
Christine smiled at me, as if letting me know that my touch was not unwanted, though her body flinched instinctively as my caresses grew bolder.
"You are so perfect," I crooned, unable to stop myself from sounding like a besotted young dandy. "So incredibly lovely, Christine."
"Don't tell me with words, Erik," she intoned, her breath coming fast, her own hands moving to the tiny white buttons of my shirt, fumbling with one or two of them in her haste.
"Then let us not speak another word," I answered sotto voce before moving in to kiss the skin behind her ears, the nape of her neck, the back of her wrist. But, I was frightened of what was to come, even in an hour's passage. I was all but ignorant of the affection between men and women, and a stranger to the ecstacy that was a woman's ultimate embrace. I had lived so long and never taken a lover, not even a whore, but there was Christine. I swore to myself, while plucking at the lacings of her corset, that I would not shame her, would not make her feel as if she were simply an instrument of my own pleasure. True, I was only aware of the basic fundamentals of intimacy, but I would endeavor to make her happy, to quench her desires to the best of my ability.