Pooner Diaries: Swan

Birdboy · November 24, 2010

I think of her as my swan. She was so beautiful, so graceful. I'd always thought she was so terribly elegant. She had creamy pale skin, and a long ballerina's neck. She just glided through life, as serenely as can be, with class and distinction. So of course, I had to meet someone so lovely.

But when I finally met her, I became the Leda to her Zeus in swan's clothing. Her facade lifted, I was a willing participant in her violation of me, her seduction carried out hungrily, forcefully. I was shocked, then relented, then delighted. I left with a grin on my face and scratches on my back. I ached for days, and thought of her with a smile everytime I felt a twinge.

And every time I saw her afterwards, I marvelled at her smooth skin and her smooth manner as she greeted me. I would arrive, and we would often share a glass of wine and chat, politely, elegantly. And then she would take me by the hand and lead me to her lair, where she would part the heavens and appear in her true form, always leaving me thunderstruck.

I came to know her well over time. And I eventually found that she was like a swan in ways that I hadn't foreseen. She still appeared to glide through life, effortlessly, noiselessly. But now, I see that below the surface she was paddling like mad, desperately trying to stay afloat. For her outward calm was a facade for the world, an adopted persona. Her magnificent dignity didn't allow her to show the pain in her life, the dire circumstances which she lived and loved in.

I couldn't help her very much. All I could do was offer my words of comfort, and hope that I could give her a few minutes of pleasure and distraction from the rest of her tortured existence. She never ever really needed my envelopes, her troubles went beyond anything mere money could set right.

She glided out of my life, one cold winter's day. She left quietly, without a whisper of goodbye, leaving no visible ripples except for the ones in my memories.