In the clearing of a small wooded area, just beyond the pavilion, the two figures silently enacted their play. The audience was unsuspecting, infrequent and transient. Her golden body was glistening, and the silver chain she held shone in the cold winter sun. He knelt before her, the trousers of his work suit wearing through where the knees painfully met the loose gravel path. He faced obediently down towards her patent-booted feet, but his eyes strained upwards, reaching for a glimpse of her precious exposed breasts, and the corners of his eager mouth followed, betraying the hidden shadow of his smile.
As I looked on, recent memories jogged and I pulled the chain gently but dominantly towards me. But her expression had been too warm and her smile too relaxed, giving the impression of mocking my carefully set role play; I prefer my leading lady to perform with a cold edge…a cold edge is sharper, more responsive, easier to control.
But now I stood before a polarised scene: the cold girl in control, her icy blue eyes directing his every move. At that moment, it may be that my mind flashed back to the lift, when our eyes met so briefly, or it’s possible that she did look straight at me. Either way, I knew what her eyes were telling me, what they had instructed me to do. I had to obey…I already had obeyed.
So that was how I switched. The chain could mean something very different to me now, if only she will hold it.
