I lay alone in my bed, looking at the blank space where my sub would be if I had one. I imagine her there and reach out, running my hand over the Egyptian cotton sheets. I must be losing my mind because it feels warm, like she had been laying there all night and just got up to begin her day. I don’t sleep on that side of the bed. I never have. I leave it open, in preparation for the day when I share it with her.
Pulling my hand back, I rub up against something, but see nothing. My need to own her, control her, and be inside her mind, has shifted in the settling soil under its own weight. I pat around at the air, trying to figure out what it is. When I realize how dumb I must looked, I waved my hand in front of me, disgusted by my delusions. But then, it appears, a small patch of white hovering in midair. I poke it with a finger and it’s warm to the touch.
Sliding my palm over the fleshy strip of skin, I move along her invisible curves as my hand covers the blank canvas. When the canvass reemerges it’s no longer blank. In its place is the skin of a woman. At first she’s lacking any pigment and almost translucent, but the longer she’s exposed to the air the darker her skin becomes.
Moving my hand along her peaks and valleys, I expose her hips down to her thigh. Give me a pen and paper and I couldn’t draw a straight line, and yet here I am, painting this woman with my bare hands. At first she was just a curiosity, but the more of her I discover the more connected we are. This is why Leonardo carried the Mona Lisa with him wherever he went, telling people, “Look at what I have created. It’s my masterpiece.” Her smile tells us she’s happy he created her.
But what if when I am finished she doesn’t love me? It’s a risk I am willing to take. Now that her back is completely exposed I turn her half drawn body and place my hand where her chest would be. Unable to see her skin I cup an invisible breast, leaving my hand there as my heat mixes with her heat. The soft skin conforming to my hand while her taut nipple press against my palm.
Clearing away the nothing, and exposing her, bit by bit, everything from the neck down is now revealed to me except her pussy. How could I? I don’t know her yet. I haven’t even seen her face. Using a finger I swipe down the bridge of her nose. With a hand on each cheek I use my thumbs to coax the white under her eyes into perfect darkness. Once her face is revealed I see a hairless and pussiless young beautiful black woman, eyes closed, mouth closed, her chest still; no air entering her lungs yet; no blood rushing through the ventricles of her heart.
Touching the top of her head I feel soft thick braids. Grabbing from the roots, one at a time, I let my hand slide down, not reaching their tips until the backs of my hand skim over her breast. There are so many of them, but each just as important to me as the last. I am in no rush. I must not miss a thing. Her only imperfection would be my hastiness.
Once her hair is finished I think, maybe all I need to do is kiss her, like she is Sleeping Beauty. I press my lips to hers, half thinking she will awake and wrap her arms around me, thanking me for all I had given. But no, nothing. She is this beautiful woman and still lifeless to me. Wait, I forgot one part of her. “I don’t know if you can hear me yet. But I want to apologize, I’m sorry for having to touch you.”
I cup my hand over her pussy and it is already warmer than any other part of her. “Please show me that this is OK. If you can’t speak yet, please find a way to show me I have your consent.” And just then I feel her juices trickle out onto my fingers. Without thinking about it I slip one inside. This only makes her wetter. “Thank you. Now please come to life. I am dying to kiss you. I need you to see me.”
Rubbing her clit, her body begins to squirm against my hand, but she still isn’t breathing. I press my hand to her chest and there is still no heartbeat. “What am I missing? Please, tell me. I need to finish what I started.”
I climb on top of her and put my ear to her lips. “Just tell me, please. I’m begging you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve created you because I need you to be mine. I need to be yours.” Still nothing, and I collapse my head into her neck and feel tears well in my eyes. “I wish you could see me as I see you.”
It hits me. Her eyes. I peel back her lids and they aren’t there, just vacant holes of dark that seem bottomless. I almost run a finger over them, but realize I don’t want her first sight to be my thumb. Taking a deep breath I blow, and like everything else, her eyes are filled with white. In the center white turned to gray turned to dark gray. That turned to brown turned to dark brown. In the centers her pupils went black. After forming both eyes, her lids stayed open. “Please see me. Please be mine.”
She blinked and I felt her warm breath on my face as she exhaled. I felt our hearts beating against one another. “Thank you for creating me,” she said, her voice so soft it almost didn’t exist.
“I had no choice,” I answered. “You’re mine, now.”
She blinked and smiled as I leaned in to kiss her. As our lips were about to touch she whispered, “I am yours now. I will always be yours.”