January 23rd, 

Manhattan New York, USA. 

He came like an angel sent by God. 

He moved with grace, a man so big, swaying across the floor. 

Floating across her tiles like a cloud floats across the blue sky. 

So powerful, so strong.

Yet his presence only emits security. 

James McVocay. 

Her obsession. 

He titillates her. His smile strokes a fire beneath her breast. 

His gaze weakens her.

But he gives her strength. 

Hold her eyes, refuses to let her bend, submit. 

Queens do not cower, Empresses do not bend he says 

and then he left. 

Gone like the wind, but not forgotten. 

She lives him, breathes him. 

Three weeks and she has become addicted to him. 

She took regular visits to the supermarket, her eyes tried to find him

and one day they did. 

Her leeches had not accompanied her. She forbade it. 

They obeyed. 

She has gotten stronger. 

He took her hand and gently led her to the back. 

Down a hall, through doors, and into a room. 

 He did not speak. She did not speak 

He touched her pulse. It beats for him. 

His imperial hands kissed her flesh. 

She whimpered. How her soul wept, how her thighs creaked as they opened. 

She throbbed, he rubbed. 

He stripped away her costume, disrobed the queen, confiscate her refuge. 

She laid bare before him. 

He tasted her pain. 

Took it all in and gave nothing but hedonism in return. 

She trapped him with her legs. 

He was apart of her, he pushed himself into her soul. 

She will not deny him. 

He held her eyes, they sparkled like stars. 

She sunk her nails into his spine. He hissed, he thrust. 

She gave him her pain, her anguish. 

He gave her life, gave her meaning, gave her a new person. 

He made love to her like a man makes move to his wife. 

She was not a padrona in his arms. Never a padrona. 

He undid her.