Song Lyrics

[freddie_clegg]

“On a morning from a Bogart movie, in a country where they turn back time, you go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre contemplating a crime. She comes out of the sun in a silk dress, running like a watercolour in the rain...”

It might have only been 8 a.m. but already the heat was stifling. The wind was in from the desert, driving sand between the buildings and in through every door. Ugarte stood on the corner of the Souk and tossed the remains of his cigarette into the street as the Chief of Police’s car sped past, scattering traders and squawking livestock. He turned towards the Blue Parrot edging his way through the throng. A cat sat inscrutably in the window of Mahmoud’s carpet shop. It reminded Ugarte of his problem. Somehow there had to be a way of obtaining the statue of Bast that the archaeologists had discovered in their excavations at the Egyptian New Kingdom tombs on the edge of town. The two foot high statue was reputed to be of solid gold, heaven only knew what it would fetch from some of Señor Ferrari’s associates.

He turned the corner, emerging from the shade of the shop canopies. As he squinted in the bright sunlight, he saw the girl hurrying towards him. He watched as she passed him by without stopping, rushing into the offices of the British Consulate. As he watched her blond hair streaming out behind her, he realised who it was. Dashing past, in a hurry, evidently late was Jacqueline, the daughter of Lord Segontium, sponsor of the excavations. He hadn’t recognised her in a dress – she invariably dressed in shorts and a shirt with her hair tied back and spent much of her time helping at the dig. Carrier, the chief archaeologist viewed her as a dilettante but she was keen to learn.

Suddenly Ugarte saw the solution to his problem. The Bast statue might be difficult to get hold of but Jacqueline might prove much easier to acquire. Then Lord Segontium could chose between his daughter and the statue. Ugarte smiled and stepped out towards the Blue Parrot, his problem solved. .

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“On the other side of town a boy is waiting, with fiery eyes and dreams no one could steal. She drives on through the night anticipating; 'cause he makes her feel the way she used to feel.”

The car stopped at the lights. She looked down at the passenger seat beside her. There were the two envelopes, each inscribed with her lover’s writing. “Meet Me” one said, it held a small card with the day’s date and 19:00 on it and a plastic key card for a motel room. “Wear Me”, said the other. Inside was a key from the lock of a suitcase. Meet Me, Wear Me. She felt like Alice in Wonderland. Actually that was exactly how she felt. That was what she loved, the sense of surprise and wonder at every encounter. The sense of exploring a world where every turn revealed a new sensation.. All she needed was the white rabbit.

Turning up at the Motel wasn’t a new sensation but it was one she hadn’t had for a long time. It was pretty seedy, the sort of place she’d been when she was first dating, when she’d first discovered… Yeah, well, appropriate really, she thought.

The room was at the end of a block, next to an ice machine that coughed, grunted and rattled as it tried to keep pace with the heat outside. The bed clothes were shabby but at least they were clean, better than she’d expected.

There was a suitcase standing in the closet. She didn’t need to try the key, of course it would fit. She looked around, switched on the room light and pulled the curtains. She turned on the TV. MTV was running an Eagles retrospective. That really took her back. She hung the “do not disturb” sign on the outside of the door and picked up the case.

She turned the key in the case. No surprises, she thought as she opened it. Handcuffs, a ball gag, a blindfold. She’d half expected some clothes but that was all there was. Did he want her naked? He would have said, wouldn’t he? How was she supposed to know? What if she ….?

She stopped and smiled at herself. This was all it took, she laughed, the absence of his command was as much of an order as any spoken word. Even the thought of his intent was enough to turn her inside out.

And there she was when he found her. Still in the suit she had worn to the office, still in the button through skirt, the pantyhose and heels that he had known she would have on. Sitting on the bed. He hadn’t told her but she had known. Handcuffed, gagged and blindfolded. The instruction had been explicit, “Wear Me” and she knew what this meant.

She heard him enter – at least she assumed it was him. He didn’t speak but she felt him sit beside her on the bed.

One finger. That was all. He traced her lips around the ball of her gag. He ran his finger across her forehead above her blindfold. He traced the line of her skirt hem around her thighs. He traced the v of the lapels of her shirt, the line of her breasts beneath her shirt,

She hardly moved but each single light touch seemed to propel her onward. His finger ran down the length of her arms, each in turn following the line of her fingers. Her excitement rose until she was sighing softly into her gag. He ran his finger up from her cleavage to her throat, stopping beneath her chin and exerting the slightest pressure. It was as if he lifted her bodily to her feet. Even though there had been the least pressure now she was standing.

What next? she thought. There was a click. She felt the sharp edge of a knife against her cheek. Then each fastening was cut from her clothes.. The buttons of her suit jacket, it fell open. The buttons at the front of her skirt, the fabric belt, the fastenings at the waist; each went in turn until the skirt fell around her legs. The buttons on her shirt and then those at the cuffs, each were sliced away in turn. The ankle straps of her shoes. The straps of her bra, her bra itself where the cups joined between her breasts. With each cut he touched the knife to another part of her body reminding her of the power she had given him, with each cut she became more aroused, her head was now held back, she was breathing erratically, sucking air around the edge of her gag as well as through her nose. She shuddered as she strove to remain still, fearful of the knife. Not fearful of him, just fearful that she might fall or stumble.

She felt him turn the knife and then, as he held it by the blade, he drew the handle between her legs, tracing the lines of her sex with its hard form. It brushed her lightly but now, after all she had experienced, it was enough to send her into an orgasmic shudder and then falling forward on her knees.

Another click, the sound of the blade snapping back into its hasp, and then the sense of her wrists being freed as her cuffs were unfastened. Still she did not move of her own free will, waiting for his command.

This time it did not come. She heard the click of the door as he left and felt the loneliness as she knew he had gone. Still she did not move. She stayed, kneeling for some time, holding her wrists behind her, not touching the gag or the blindfold, drowning in the desperate longing for his return and the certain knowledge that for now he had gone.