That Old, Familiar Feeling Ch. 01

She smiled back, glad that he wasn't offended by her questioning of his beliefs. At least he wasn't a fanatical nut-case. If he learned it from a young age then maybe he just didn't know any better. If anything it was his grandfather's fault for filling a child's head with such nonsense.

She sighed. "Okay, so your plan was to...what...observe me?" The tone of their conversation was still light so she figured she might as well indulge him. She treasured his company and wasn't ready for the evening to be over yet.

"I want to form a special kind of bond with you. It's a ritual. The Master-Familiar Pact. The name is a little bizarre, but basically we'd form a bond so you could consume my personal energy in order to supplement your Daemonic energy."

"What would be the point of that?"

"Well, I'd gain a greater understanding of how Daemonic energy works and I could design tests that would lead to greater knowledge and maybe breakthroughs. You'd gain access to my personal energies, and that might help banish your anxiety disorder. You could draw on greater power to overcome your weaknesses."

"And who would be the 'Master' in the Master-Familiar Pact?" she asked, raising one eyebrow pointedly.

"Uh...well, the term is a bit clumsy and doesn't really describe the true spirit of the bond. It's not really 'Master' in the way you're thinking of the word. But I suppose it would be...well...me."

"I see."

"It's kind of a clumsy term," he said again, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. She had to suppress a laugh at the idea of the mild young man being any kind of Master.

"And that would make me...your Familiar?"

"Yes."

"Well, I have to say Garnet, in fifty-two years on this earth, I've never heard a proposition like that. I fainted at the wrong time so now I'm not human and you want to be my Master." She couldn't help the smile as his blush grew deeper. Crazy ideas aside, he was a good, earnest kid.

"I guess, in so many words, yes," he said.

She eyed him for several long moments and he looked back into her eyes. She didn't read any guile there. No ill intent. Just a naïve youth whose grandfather had spun all sorts of tall tales.

"Well, I owe you for all the hard work, right? What's involved in this Pact?"

Even as the words left her mouth she was incredulous. Was she actually going to do this? Should she be encouraging him?

But why not? He had worked hard for her AND maybe saved her life. His company was welcome. Not just welcome -- cherished. So if the chance to 'observe her Daemonic energies' brought him around a couple times a week, that wouldn't be a burden to her. In fact, she'd enjoy it.

His face grew even redder and she wondered if she'd regret asking.

"Well...the Pact is a very...intimate...bond between us. There's a ritual involved. Nothing painful -- there's no blood or anything."

"That sounds...not reassuring."

His face grew serious and he sighed. "Okay, I'll tell you what," He pulled a folded paper from between the pages of one of his books, "I'll let you read the details of the ritual. It's...well, it's definitely out of the ordinary. You can digest it on your own. If I don't hear from you afterward, I'll figure it's a 'no' and I'll continue my search for Daemons. It's my life's work, as I said, and my grandfather's too, and I'm not going to quit. But if you're willing to go through with it, you have my number. Call me and we'll get it done."

"It's that bad?"

He gave her a half-smile. "Yeah. Kind of."

Garnet collected his books and left for home shortly afterward. Monica picked up the paper he'd left on the table, feeling curiosity, mild dread and, surprisingly, excitement at what might lay in store.

*

Those feelings didn't last.

Monica paced around her dimly-lit kitchen, muttering to herself and crushing the paper Garnet had given her in her fist. Her face felt hot and her heart raged in her chest. Master-Familiar Pact indeed! More like a poorly-concealed attempt at sexual conquest! Or maybe some gross, adolescent fantasy!

No way was she getting naked in front of him, and no way was she going to be kneeling in front of him, either! Who did he think she was? Who did he think HE was, making a proposal like this to a woman thirty years his senior? She hated herself for ever letting him in the door, and hated him for taking advantage of her kindheartedness. She couldn't believe she'd sat there and listened to his drivel about knights and daemons. What kind of 'holy order' would have a ceremony where everyone was naked?

She scrunched the paper into a little ball and slammed it down into the trash. It hurt that he thought so little of their emerging friendship that he'd sink to these depths. Part of her wanted to call him and scream at him over the phone, but in the end she couldn't be bothered to give him the satisfaction.

But...as she lay in bed late that night, far from sleep, she conceded that maybe her assessment had been too harsh. Clearly it hadn't been Garnet that had devised that awful ritual -- not the earnest, mild, quick-to-blush young man that she'd come to know. Doubtless it had been his grandfather, and quite a dirty old man he must have been to plant such lewd ideas in his grandson's mind. Garnet may have been foolish to listen to such nonsense, but in the final analysis he was as much a victim as Monica in this situation. To blame him wasn't fair.

And as she did the vacuuming the following afternoon, she decided it wasn't the kneeling that upset her, either. After all, it was a holy order, right? People knelt in church all the time. Didn't knights kneel in front of the queen to receive their knighthoods? And Bill had knelt when he'd proposed to her, all those years ago. Lots of ceremonies involved kneeling. It wasn't so unusual, in the proper context.

It was the nudity - the thought of a fifty-something woman taking off her clothes in front of man who wasn't even twenty yet...the idea was indecent, even depraved. Without the nudity, Garnet's ritual wouldn't be so bad at all.

The matter weighed heavily on her mind; her crippling anxiety trapped her in the house and without Garnet's visits to build her day around, there wasn't much to do other than think on it.

Well...after all...it wasn't as if they'd be having sex, she thought the following day as she fished her clothes out of the dryer and folded them. And it wouldn't be just her -- he'd be naked too, so at least it would be 'fair' in that respect. They'd be on equal footing. And anyway, he was shy of twenty years old -- he certainly wouldn't be sexually attracted to someone old enough to be his mother.

Plus, this ritual was important to him -- he obviously took it seriously. He'd have to read the rites from a book, so it's not like he'd be sneaking peeks at her -- not that he was that sort of person in any case. He was very polite. She smiled at the memory of him blushing as he described the Master-Familiar pact to her. Doubtless he'd be more embarrassed than her!

After dinner she recovered the balled-up paper from the trash, smoothed it out on the table and re-read the details of the ritual. Really, it wasn't all that bad. It wouldn't take long -- maybe five or ten minutes total, and then it would be over forever. And it would just be the two of them -- no one else would even know it had happened.

He'd done a LOT of work for her, and hadn't asked anything in return except this one silly thing. And that didn't even consider that he might have saved her life after she fell and hit her head. She was in his debt, and it was always good to repay a debt.

The next morning she called him and left her name on his voice mail. He was probably working. He'd call her back in between deliveries, most likely. He might even swing by, if he was in the neighborhood. She dressed for him just in case -- nothing too fancy, just a knee-length skirt and a blue, silk blouse. Best to be prepared.

But there was no return phone call and no visit all morning. Monica grew restless and busied herself with small tasks -- nothing she couldn't put down if the doorbell or phone rang. The afternoon went by in silence, and later, as she washed her dinner dishes, she couldn't shake a growing fear.

She called him again and left a second voice mail, just in case something had happened to the first.

Late that night she paced through the empty house, too preoccupied to even think of sleep. He wasn't calling her back...was he upset with her? Well, of course he would be! He'd shared something personal -- his life's work -- and she'd left him hanging for almost three days without a word! He'd opened himself up to her and she'd rewarded him with a frosty silence. She chastised herself for treating him so poorly.

Her pacing became frantic and she wrung her hands as she confronted the possibility that Garnet might be out her life forever. He was so nice -- so easy to talk to. He was the only one she could get close to -- the only one from the outside who didn't terrify her. She'd never realized until she met him how lonely she'd been before. How isolated her anxiety disorder had made her.

What would she do without him in her life?

*

The ringing of her phone woke her and she was disoriented until she realized she'd fallen asleep on her couch. She scrambled about in a groggy panic looking for the cordless handset but by the time she found it the ringing had stopped. Her hands trembled as she hurried to dial Garnet's number. She gasped in relief when she heard his voice answer.

"Garnet! I was just calling about the ritual. The Master-Familiar pact?"

"Hey! I was hoping I'd hear from you," he said, and she could almost hear his easy smile. He didn't sound upset at all.

"I'm sorry it took a while. I was just doing some thinking."

"No problem -- I've been double-shifting at work the last couple of days anyway. So, does this mean you're in?"

"Of course I'm in!" she said, eager to convey her sincerity, to make up for any unspoken bad feelings he might be hiding from her. "If this is important to you than I want to do whatever I can."

"It's kind of weird, I know. I hope you don't think-"

"Nonsense! I feel bad that I didn't get back to you sooner."

"So, how about tomorrow? I work a day shift, and I could grab what I need from home and be at your place around seven. Would that work?"

"Will you want dinner first?"

"I'll grab something on the way."

"I'll see you at seven then."

Monica breathed a loud sigh as she hung up. She'd been prepared for much worse than that, and it would have served her right if he'd been unhappy with her callous treatment of his beliefs. She'd be careful not to make the same mistake again.

*

She stood naked in front of her full-length bedroom mirror, trying to see herself the way she imagined he would be seeing her in just a few hours. She'd showered, washed her hair and shaved her armpits and legs. Not trying to make herself attractive to him, of course, but she felt she should at least do the minimum. Now she was struggling with what to do with her pubic hair -- or if she should do anything at all.

With Bill it had never been an issue, but a quick browse on the internet caused her to re-think her careless attitude about it. She hadn't much need for grooming in the eighteen months since Bill died and she'd grown an expansive, unruly bush. So much so that she felt it might be off-putting to someone from Garnet's generation.

She'd read online that sixty percent of men wanted it shaved off completely. But if she did that, Garnet would know she'd done it expressly for him, and that sent the wrong message. She wasn't trying to look sexy for him, but she didn't want to gross him out, either. She was hoping for a middle ground, where somehow he wouldn't take any particular notice of her nether regions at all.

Monica sighed. At least her breasts were worry-free. When she was younger she's been self-conscious about their small size, but in her later years they'd repaid her by exhibiting almost no sag. It didn't matter, of course -- she certainly didn't care what Garnet thought of her breasts -- but at least they'd aged well. Combine that with a flat stomach and slim figure and she didn't look too bad. She felt a stubborn, almost defiant pride in her appearance.

Not that she was trying to impress anyone. Not at all.

She gazed down again at her thick patch of pubes. Maybe a trim? Just enough to look like she was maintaining it in some vague, non-specific state of good grooming? Yes, that was the way to go.

She wondered if Garnet was agonizing over his privates in the same way she was. Monica quickly banished the improper thought, but somehow it crept back in. His arms and torso were impressive but she could only guess at the rest. "As above, so below", she once heard. Despite herself, she hoped it was true.

In any case, her curiosity would be satisfied in just a few hours.

*

She met him at the door wearing a pink terri-cloth bathrobe, white socks and nothing else. Deciding what to wear had been a struggle -- would it be more awkward to meet him fully dressed and then have to excuse herself to a different room for the express purpose of stripping, or more awkward to meet him in a robe and then gracefully disrobe in front of him at the appropriate moment? She'd waffled back and forth a few times before going with the robe.

Judging by the look of surprise on his face -- and maybe just a hint of something more? - she figured she'd chosen well.

He'd dressed in his usual jeans and t-shirt, and lugged a duffel bag through the door with him.

"Moving in?" she joked, and was immediately rewarded with his smile.

"Yeah, there's a bunch of stuff we need. I hope I didn't forget anything." He took off his shoes and she led him into the living room where she turned to face him.

"So? How did you want to do this?"

He set the bag down gently and met her eyes. "Are you sure you're okay with all this? I can only imagine what you must think."

She breathed a resigned sigh. "I'm sure, although I can assure you I'm not a Daemon. I hope you won't be disappointed when this doesn't work."

"I get that you're not convinced. What made you decide to make the Pact, then?"

"Well," A flush slowly crept up her neck, "I'm doing it for you. You feel it's important, and it's little enough to ask after all you're done for me."

His eyes still held her and his expression grew sober. "Thanks. I really mean it. I can't express how important this is for me. This will be my first time performing the ritual, and I'm glad it's with someone I feel so comfortable with."

She couldn't think of how to respond to the warm sentiment and the silence grew. Somehow, it didn't feel oppressive.

"So? Where do you want me?"

"I was thinking here," he gestured to an open space of hardwood floor near the middle of the room. "Shall I get set up?"

She nodded and stood to the side as he begin to unpack his bag. Three wide, white candles and a lighter. Several thick, leather-bound books. A glass jar with a screw-cap, filled with an anonymous red substance. Finally, a plush white beach towel, which he carefully folded double before laying it out on the floor. He tossed the empty duffel aside, lit the candles and set them in a triangle formation, with the folded towel in the middle. After that he turned off all the lights, so the candles were the only source of illumination.

He stood and faced her. "So, that's everything..." He trailed off and they looked at one another quietly for a few moments. Monica realized the next move was hers.

"Will you be able to read in this light?" she asked, trying to delay the inevitable.

"I've memorized everything. The books are just in case you have questions or I forget something."

"Ah." She hesitated a moment longer, then bent to remove her socks and tossed them out of the way. She slowly undid the tie on her robe, took a quiet breath and slid the robe off her shoulders, then turned and took a few steps to fold it over the back of a nearby chair. She faced him again.

For the first time in thirty years she was naked in front of a man who wasn't Bill. She could feel the air against her bare skin, her most intimate parts. Her face was hot and she was glad the dim lighting would conceal her blush.

Then she became aware of other sensations. Her pounding heartbeat. Her breath coming faster. The tingle of nipples hardening, tightening; the muscles in her stomach quivering. And lower, between her legs, a long-dormant but familiar throb.

He didn't move, didn't speak. His dark eyes held her rooted to the spot. There was no mistaking the hunger in them.

There were so many emotions, all at once, strobing so quickly she couldn't fixate on any one of them. Lust and shame battered her. Embarrassment and a sudden, reckless abandon fought for supremacy. Disbelief and eagerness. Anxiety and anticipation. Indecision, and then a certainty that was almost frightening.

It was impossible to say how long they stood in the near-dark. Somehow, she was the first one to find her voice.

"So...this is me," she said in a quiet, low voice that seemed to belong to someone else.

His eyes widened as he realized he'd been staring. "Oh...uh...I'm VERY sorry. That was...it's just I didn't expect...I...uh...didn't mean to..." Suddenly he laughed and put his palm over his face. He took a deep breath and tried again, keeping his eyes on hers. "I didn't mean to stare. It's just you're...you look good. Caught me off guard."

His laugh dispelled a bit of the tension and she smiled and raised an eyebrow. "You weren't expecting me to look good?"

"What? No...I mean, that's not what I meant."

She laughed, suddenly wishing there was enough light to see the blush on HIS face. It would be a lovely crimson, for sure!

"Where do you want me?" she asked, reluctantly letting him off the hook.

He took a moment to recover his wits, then cleared his throat. "Please kneel, with your knees on the folded towel.

She moved to comply. As she lowered herself to her knees the tempest of emotion inside her blew harder. She tried to make herself as comfortable as possible on the towel, then looked up at him expectantly.

He stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head, treating her to a view of his well-muscled chest, not yet thick with hair but with light growth above and between his pecs.

"You work out," she said, not proud of the admiring tone that snuck into her voice. He was three decades her junior -- what was she thinking? Even she couldn't be sure anymore.

"Uh...well, one of our sacred vows is to be strong in body, mind and spirit. So I try to get to the gym a few times a week."

He started to remove his jeans, then paused as he was lowering the zipper. She saw the problem immediately -- the prominent bulge in his pants. There would be no concealing THAT.

He noticed her noticing.

"Um..." he started, then ran out of words. Apparently a rampant erection was tricky to explain away. His discomfort was almost a tangible thing.

"It's okay," she said, giving him a supportive wink, "I'm sure I've seen worse in my day."

He nodded, then pulled off his jeans. "This isn't what the ritual is about but...some things I can't control."

"I understand."

His underwear came off in a hurry and he retrieved the jar from the floor and unscrewed the cap. Finally, he stepped inside the triangle of candles and stood in front of her.

She tried not to stare directly at 'it', despite the fact that 'it' was immediately in front of her face and pointing right at her. She alternated between staring at the floor, closing her eyes and -- to her great shame and delight -- taking frequent peeks at it without being too obvious. It was magnificent and young and powerful and...and so, SO wrong of her to be thinking this way. Her heart hammered so hard her body shook.