“Bread crumbs”(perhaps how you got here)

Delfi and Robbie grew from a short story that is given below. The topic is really the decay of love, but I won’t say more at the moment.

The Thousandth and Second Tale

Delfi and Robbie met in college some decades ago, before there were iPods or terrorists or melting glaciers. So this story takes place in olden times. In those days, which were not all that long after dragons had ceased to roam the Earth, people often had to talk to each other, and boys were forbidden to visit girls in the dormitory rooms. But Robbie visited Delfi anyway and no one really minded.

One evening, Delfi said, “I want you to write a story for me. Make it one that will hold my interest.” Actually, Delfi was not her real name; that was Delphine, a French-style name.

Delfi, to be sure, looked French. She was small and slight, very merry, with dark hair and large brown eyes, and she had a face with a perpetually laughing expression, though her lips occasionally rounded into the most expressive and charming pout a person could ever see. She tanned naturally, but in the winter, as now, she was pale almost to the point of ghostliness , for her body and her temperament changed with the phases of the moon and the passing of the seasons, although she always remained the same Delfi in the most treasured places of her heart.

Robbie, lying on his stomach in her room, smiled indulgently. He was, by contrast to Delfi, heavy and tall, blond, with thick glasses. In the last six months, since he had met Delphine, he had transformed himself, at Delfi’s command, from a boy more flabby than attractive to a muscular, powerful young man. With the added muscle had come added confidence; where once he had felt unworthy of such a delicate, delightful creature as Delfi, now he felt boundless energy and eagerness to make Delfi happy - his beloved Delfi. And, as quick and mercurial as Delfi was, Robbie was patient, half wise and half besotted with his love for Delfi.

Delfi and Robbie were, on the whole, happy beyond almost all expression of happiness; they enjoyed each other’s company, rarely quarreling, and then only for sport. Robbie adored Delfi, and adored adoring her; Delfi liked being adored, and provided Robbie an infinite variety of entertainments, scarcely any of which he would predict, despite his own patient intelligence, for he forebore to predict delights.

In return for Robbie’s love, Delfi loved Robbie in her way, though there had, until now, seemed to be, on her part, something held back, something in reserve. It was as if she was waiting for some kind of signal, perhaps an oracle, something that would entirely and finally establish that he was hers, wholly hers. Whenever Robbie would try to kiss her, she would smile gently and pull away, whispering, “Wait, my dear, and I shall make you even happier than ever you can dream in that great, ponderous head of yours.”

And this night, this night when spring was just beginning, Delfi summoned forth the oracle that foretold their future.

For they spoke in that kind of old-fashioned, flowery language, not the rough, abrupt language of modern times; and, accordingly, their romance was all lace and flowers, with never yet a kiss, scarcely a touch, not even a soft and intimate caress stolen in the dark corner of a theater.

There was never really any question as to who was in charge. Although Robbie, particularly after he became so muscular, was far more powerful physically than Delfi and was almost three times as heavy, she was always morally ascendant, in the same way that the hummingbird, busy and incessantly active, leads the grave and sober owl on a merry chase. From his viewpoint, Robbie feared to damage that gorgeous creature with whom he was so madly in love; he dreaded the thought of accidentally, in a moment of passion, impairing her elfin beauty, saddening that laughing countenance. There was more than this unjustified fear, however: he was thrown into whole abysses, one after another, cascading like a waterfall of darkness in his emotions - dark caverns of despair provoked by the merest hint that she might deprive him of her smiles if he at all disappointed her. In this way, the spectre of his own failure to please teased him far more than his fears that one day Delfi might turn away from him.

Delfi, for her part, understood exactly what the situation was, and reveled in it. With the most infinitesimal gesture of her little finger she could command this imposing male figure to satisfy her whims, such as fetching a rare flavor of ice cream from a store so far away that it would take Robbie half the night to get the treasured sweet, only to discover when he returned that Delfi had decided the flavor was disgusting.

Delfi also knew that deep inside Robbie’s deferential, almost groveling exterior, lay a powerful current of passion, of longing, of animal desire; she recognized and admired Robbie’s intellect, and she truly wanted to keep him happy. Robbie himself, immersed in the surging sea of unsatisfied urges, did not understand this - or, rather, he did not admit out loud that he understood, for to do so might have shattered the frail lattice-work of their shared interests; he felt desire, burned with passion, yet he could scarcely ever disturb Delfi with his own thoughts, which were not merely the creatures of his eagerness, but also of his imagination, at once logical and playful, as if they were a mirror of Delfi’s joyous spirit.

It was, in any event, unnecessary for him to say much to Delfi, since she knew his thoughts better than he himself.

Of course, Delfi cultivated Robbie’s lusts, and shaped them, turned them into her own playthings. In return, Robbie remained steadfast and attentive to Delfi’s every word.

So, that night, Robbie began to write a story that would captivate Delfi. He thought for a while about what Delfi liked, and eventually realized that what really pleased her was exactly what they had: she wanted a story about a love in which the beautiful princess shamelessly, yet quite affectionately, extracts the last ounce of love from a suitor.

Robbie lay on Delfi’s bed, while she sat at her desk, writing a letter, for it was a time when people still wrote letters, using pens and paper. As he thought about the story, after selecting the general theme, he described the two major characters, who were remarkably like himself and Delfi, though with minor details changed in such a way that one could, if one desired, slightly modify the story so that it was entirely accurate and clear about the two of them.

Next, Robbie sought a situation that needed resolution, and the means by which it would be resolved. He remembered from a few other stories that he knew that unrequited love must eventually give way either to despair or to some form of satisfaction, so he began to sketch a story in which the ardent courtier eventually wins the lady’s assent, and she finally admits the long-suffering fellow to her bed.

He then set about the resolution in greater detail, leading eventually to the point of consummation. As he wrote this, he looked fondly upon the back of Delfi’s neck, revealed by her short hair, its skin so fair that it almost seemed to be that of a porcelain doll. Delfi seemed to sense his gaze, and turned, bestowing upon Robbie one of her purest and most exciting smiles. “Are you done, yet, Robbie?”

Robbie quickly covered the pages he had written. He stammered slightly, then said, “Not quite, Delfi. Almost.”

Delfi batted her eyelashes at him, then did something she had never done: she unbuttoned a button on her blouse, disclosing a small expanse of her soft, flawless bosom. Robbie’s eyes widened, and he grinned at her. Delfi whispered across the room, “Finish up, and I’ll reward you, poor little boy.”

Robbie bent to his work, erasing much of what he had written. This time, he made the story be one in which the princess exacts total submission from her suitor, then eventually rewards his ardor by giving him, out of her own supremacy, exactly what he had otherwise set out to gain. Once more, as he was writing the most vivid possible description of the physical satisfaction of the shared desires, Delfi attended to Robbie.

This time, she rose from the desk, walked the few steps to the bed in a languid, sensual manner, her hips swaying, and reached down, caressing his face, then putting her hand beneath his shirt, softly brushing the light hair that was beginning to grow on his chest. She said very, very softly, “Can I see now?”

Robbie suddenly felt that the story he had written was too perverted, too bizarre, and he covered the pad on which he had been writing, saying, “Ah-ah. No, no, no, Delfi. Only when it’s done.”

Delfi pouted one of her most appealing pouts. Then her hands began to wander into places they had never been, causing Robbie to shift uncomfortably on the bed; he had all he could do to restrain himself from reaching up, pulling the tiny Delfi down to him, and kissing her madly. Instead, his heart filled with his devotion to the playful apparition that was almost prancing right before him, he simply removed her hands, kissed them lightly, and said, “Wait ‘till it’s finished.”

Delfi sighed as if she were suffering and said, “Well, Robbie, I’m almost done with my letter. You’d better have it done by then, or I’ll be so unhappy.”

Robbie only grinned and went back to writing. Delfi paused, then said, “You know, it’s so very warm in here! It must be all your heavy breathing ...”

She then removed all her clothing except her underwear, which consisted of a tiny pair of orange panties and a black, lacy brassiere that in no way matched the panties. Robbie stared, open-mouthed, at this entrancing sight, squirmed on the bed, then returned to the writing.

All through the next phase, he kept letting his eyes wander to Delfi’s back, which he had never before seen. From time to time he would speculate to himself on her front, which he had only glimpsed for a second or two as she had undressed; all that he could remember was the image of the definite but small bosom, the smooth, flat abdomen, and the slender, almost boyish hips. Robbie swallowed and returned to the story.

This time, he made the story into a tale about how a beautiful princess taunts her lover into writing a story to please her. As he writes, she gradually makes more and more enticing moves, eventually distracting him to the point that he is unable to finish the story, with the result that the seductress is displeased and decides to punish the devoted but cheerfully downtrodden boy who pursues her.

The story ends with the princess, flaunting the splendor of her beauty, almost entirely undressed, hesitating before decreeing the punishment that her victim will endure.

As he finished these lines, Robbie noticed that Delfi was standing above him, reading over his shoulder, smiling. At his pleading glance upwards, she reached up and unhooked the bra, exposing for the first time her breasts. She bent down, placing the tips right against his upturned mouth, lightly grazing his lips.

Robbie, only half believing his good fortune, kissed the proffered bosom, his tongue lightly dancing upon the nipples. He said in a husky voice, “Did you like the story, Delfi?”

Delfi stood up, as if stretching, her hands locked behind her head for an instant, thus displaying her gymnast’s body to its greatest advantage. “Oh, yes, Robbie. I loved it. But ...”

Robbie, his hands scarcely held in check, said, “Yes, but what?”

Delfi gave a malicious grin. “Oh, my dearest Robbie, wouldn’t you like to enjoy me tonight?”

For a fraction of a second, Robbie was aware of the piquant way in which Delfi’s submissive language actually confirmed her rule over him. The capacity to award infinite pleasure, he realized, was the power of overwhelming control - and the ability to deny supreme pleasure was majesty more absolute than that wielded by any monarch of history.

Then Delfi, humming softly to herself, occasionally stealing a flirtatious glance at Robbie, slowly slid her panties down her legs, so that she stood entirely nude in front of him, lightly caressing herself, moving seductively. Robbie’s eyes bulged at the site of her elegant curves, and he began to undo his own clothing. But Delfi reached over, took his hand, and said, “No, no; my Robbie. It’s not over yet. After all, the princess must still decide how her lover is to be punished for displeasing her.”

Robbie turned his head away, biting his lip, wondering if somehow he really had displeased Delfi. He felt Delfi brushing her charming breasts against the side of his face, the hardened points touching very lightly against the slight stubble of his cheek, like some errant butterfly in the height of springtime, one that bumps against the newly opened flowers, distracting them in their hours of ecstasy. He turned and tried to kiss a breast, but Delfi danced away, saying in a mocking tone, “Ah-ah, not yet, Robbie. I haven’t yet decided what your punishment is to be .”

Robbie, beside himself with ardor, although he remained fully clothed, whispered, “Well, Delfi, then decide. You know I’d do anything at all for you, endure anything for you. I love you so much!”

Delfi, kneeling beside him on the bed, legs apart just enough so that he could see her sex, let her forearm slightly push aside a breast, put her index finger to her lower lip, then rolled her eyes, then said, coyly, “Okay, I’ve decided.” As she said this, her hands fell to her knees, and she somehow contrived to make her bosom jiggle a bit, a mockery of the heavy movements of a much bigger, more mature woman.

Robbie once more was fumbling with his belt, thinking that the time had come to rid himself of his pants. But Delfi merely shook her head and said, “No, Robbie, not yet; what I’ve decided is that the punishment shall be that I shall not decide for a very long time what the punishment is.”

Robbie felt the room rise and sink, and he fell back, his massive body making the bed rock with his despair.

Delfi nimbly bounced onto the bed and leaned over him, no part of her lovely body touching him, and she said, with a most fetching wink, moistening two fingers with her lively tongue, then, grinning pressing the same fingers against his mouth, “Isn’t it delicious? And you must be very, very good for me until I decide, or the punishment will be so terrible that no one shall ever put pen to paper to describe it.”

This threat, of course, was an idle one, for it never occurred to Robbie in any way to displease Delfi.

Robbie turned to admire the apparition that was so close, and he longed to touch Delfi as she writhed above his head, but he knew that to touch her now would be to shrivel the bud whose hidden beauty was almost at hand; so Robbie kept himself in check, and he smiled back at Delfi, whispering, “You are always so delightful, Delfi. May I kiss you?”

Delfi beamed and brought her lips to his; the kiss was peaceful and gentle, like the moon rising in late spring, warm and full of promise, fragrant with the scent of the flowers that have finally blossomed in all their glory. Then Delfi sprang from the bed, Robbie laughing to watch her agile form, so enticing, every minute more alluring as she invented new images of grace.

Some days later, still unsatisfied in one way, yet entirely happy in another, Robbie wrote another ending to his story, one in which the princess ruled a mighty and prosperous kingdom by continuing forever to dangle the promise of her embrace, always coming closer and closer to love, but never actually indulging in it.

And this was not so terrible, for Robbie continued from this time onwards to love Delfi with a passion that ever increased, for certain pleasant old stories, stories that both he and Delfi knew well, tell us that the unsatisfied love of one is more exquisite than the sated lusts of two, and that the truly romantic conspiracy of two easily withstands all the storms and darkness of this Earth. And so they stayed, loving each other ever more intensely and creatively, the pair of them entwined in the antique fretwork of their games, until the end of this story, the end that has never been written, at least not yet.

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