All stories have two sides. Each of us sees what we want to see from our own moral and motivational perspective, and this telling of our time together is his, and his alone...
I've always been the one to take other's choices away. My obsession if you will, this iron fist of mine. I never thought in my wildest imaginings I would be the one who sits here in this hellish world diminished by my own choices. Incarcerated by one of my own, my brother my betrayer. The will of Danish law enforced by concrete walls, bars of steel, and the drugs they ply me with.
I've long been troubled, but admissions of that nature would only constitute an inexcusable weakness, and I will not stoop to such a confession here. For I am in no way at all remorseful for any of the things I have done. In fact, I am very proud.
Women, delicate, young, and untried. I shake my head, yes especially her, she was my madness, my muse, she led me to this. Yes, you know the ones, the ones we all look at when we go about in public. The ones we pretend we are not looking at. Well, at least some of us do, but really it's just natural isn't it? The forbidden daughters of friends, the ones we pass in the streets, nubile, gorgeous women, most irresistible to me. I look at these four walls, blank, clinical, devoid. What I would not give that I could just behold her again.
A fleeting resurgence of my old never-sated lust, slight hardness beginning down below, accompanied by the trace of a wanting ache, a deepening of breath. I smile a self-satisfied gesture, cruel lips curling, and my hand seeks you out.
They cannot take her from me, even here behind bars. I still hear your plaintive cries for my mercy, the ones I do not heed as you cower at my feet. The ones that never fail to arouse me. They have not killed you yet in the annals of my mind, though they try. I close my eyes and I can if I concentrate very hard, over the screaming coming from the adjoining cell, I feel you, I taste you, I smell you. You become mine.
I first lay eyes on her entertaining my serious thoughts on a bright, humid, July summer's day. The kind we complain of in my cold homeland of Denmark, for me much too warm. I was thinking of the sea and a cool swim I would soon enjoy, and as I gazed on her I was even warmer and more troubled still. She would be mine I had already decided. However I was not daunted, very little stopped me from fulfilling my desires. Life is too short. Seize the day I thought, and that is exactly what I did.
She was not a complete stranger. I knew her name, Lidia Dubois, and yet I wanted it from her lips. Her father Michael and my stepfather Kai were close mutual friends. Two Europeans in this land of strange rules, and sometimes even stranger people, it was no wonder they sought one another's friendship. My father was his boss, my family was tendering a strip of condos here, and I was his foreman.
It always gave me endless pleasure at only twenty-nine to walk about the building site knowing men many years senior to myself were under my hand. I enjoyed it even more when I sensed they resented me. It fed me, it goaded my sadistic ego.
Yes, I had watched her from afar for some time. Something I wanted, something I would have. I know she saw, and she in her youth would smile nervously and hurry away. Ah but not before she gave me the come-on, all the girls here did. Redneck American sluts, they were everywhere, cheap and easy whores. They all desired a man like myself, a worldly capable man, a man with my family's wealth and influence.
I smiled at her and even though I knew her name I asked it. It was part of the game. She was helping her mother with the food, the older woman looked at me I saw mixed things there behind her eyes, fear, uncertainty, and possibly desire. Yes, her marriage I knew was far from a happy one. Possibly I may have been interested, but not today. It was her young daughter who held my eye and other parts of me as well.
"Lidia." She responded in the tiniest sweetest voice. I could barely hear her she was so hesitant, so very shy, and so exciting to me. She met my eyes for the briefest instant, lovely eyes neither gray nor blue. She inflamed me further with her unwillingness to maintain further eye contact. She was a natural-born slave.
"A very beautiful name," I replied not bothering to temper my lust. I did not care if her mother heard it. I had never cared what any woman's opinion of me was, they simply did not matter.
Her cheeks were unmistakably coloring at my attention, though I was unsure if she understood my heavy accent. Her mother looked at me conveying a diluted challenge, and called her daughter away. Later, I thought, later.
I had watched her from a distance throughout the day in between eating well and drinking even more. Clearly, the most desirable woman at her family gathering, though I cannot lie there were others I was furtively assessing as I lingered over my drink. I thanked my good fortune for just being here.
The water had felt good, it was in summer here on the gulf too hot for me. I was very fit but the temperatures still bothered me. I languished in the shade of the trees looking out at the distant waves lapping at the white sands, still relishing in the residual cool from my swim.
Movement and a splash of vivid rose on the dirt track behind me. I turned, I smiled, it was her, my Lidia. She had not seen me, I could see she was looking at the ground, lost in her own world. I could see her hair parted in the center on the crown of her lovely head. I flicked my towel over my shoulder and slowly sauntered up the path. My long wheat-colored hair, still dripping wet on my shoulders.
"I never got the chance to tell you my name." She stared up at me wide-eyed, would she run. I hoped not, I was ready to stay her. I leaned close she was intoxicating. "My name Lidia, is Master."
