​“It’s Open”. His stout voice reverberated through the solid door

Brooke’s hand rested on the antique knob. She remained motionless. An electrifying question had surfaced within her, tripping her internal pause circuit. “Would this be as good as she imagined?”

She’d already dubbed this to be a “swipe right” relationship. Brooke and David had been texting for well over a week, enriching the initial attraction through their photos and flirts. But, she also knew that she was not immune to the alluring ideas of romance and fantasy that her mind could project. She had a history of consistently overplaying reality.

David’s digital correspondence had been sweet. Attractively direct. Complimentary when need be, but justifiably abrasive if she crossed a line. Boundaries are attractive. Their messages brimmed with authenticity. His conversational contributions percolated with masculine energy, filling Brooke’s emotional mug with curiosity. Now, she stood on the other side of his door with that curiosity cup running over. But, for some reason, hesitation loomed.

When they spoke and joked, he was void of crudeness. Never demanding nudes, and never replying with the like. In a word, he was simply “forthright”, which was refreshing. Their play evolved from each person being extraordinarily competitive. But her attraction to David stemmed from the idea that Brooke did not need to guess with him. He seemed to possess a rare intellect. One that could track down her femininity, making it impossible for her to hide. Her competitive constitution despised his skill, but her authentic self craved such artistry. It kept her out of her head. Drips of emotional interference can often cloud the onset of such relationships, but until now, there had not been a single drop of that potion.

David had passed every test that Brooke subconsciously slung through their chats. He succeeded by never taking her bait. And, then received bonus points by never calling her out for such social violations. It was as if he understood that women need to test men. Brooke felt embarrassed each time she had attempted any such misdemeanor. Game playing was never in her operational handbook. But, interactions with previous suitors, boys disguised as men, had taught her that such social heists were necessary in order to get to the truth of their being.

Brooke hadn’t felt those nervous tensions from a new relationship in years. Those rosy sentiments had been buried under years of false hopes, betrayals, and downright lies. Twice the accumulating flutters, and warm fuzzy feelings from her exchanges with David had grown into a lusty heap. And now, they settled into a mass of pure want from Brooke. The exchanges began innocently. A playful joke. The blossoming of a flirty response. Intensity would grow with each reply until their messages were rooted in naughty phrases like, “If I were there, I’d…”.

One evening, Brooke reviewed a previous chat. The temperature of their exchange had grown warmer and warmer until her fingertips were persuaded to finally extinguish her flames. Later, Brooke daringly revealed this truth to David. His acceptance and appreciation of her openness, immediately quenched any potential embarrassment and ignited another equally hot conversation. Only this time, each revealed personal fantasies. Brooke exposed her thirst for domination. She never understood why any woman would despise feeling tamed. It was simply a matter of being conquered by the right guy. Who wouldn’t want to be lusted after by someone that you lusted after? And with David, she could feel those seeds of lust being bedded in the fertile soils of her fantasies.

Outside his door, she stood on that embankment, where the cliff of reality met her sea of inspiration. If she jumped, would the two ideas actually merge? What would that look like? The struggle of this moment had been gripping her for days, and she wondered if she’d hesitate at his doorstep. If hesitation persisted, he would have to come to the door, and then he would have to calm her. Her power and independence would be lost, and with that loss, the fantasy would dissolve too. She would simply be some “needy, emotional girl” and, not the “potent femme”, she knew resided within her.

A draft stirred through the hall corridor. A blend of soothing warmth swirled with elegant coolness, then rushed over her ankles, washed over her legs, and glided up her hips. The comforting air current dissipated once it reached her breasts. But, a wake trailed behind the motion creating small waves that crashed against her torso. With them, Brooke heard an echo. An awakening. A voice. The sound of her authentic self. The lusty, feminine expressionist, whispered, “Ennnchaaaannnntresss…”, but said nothing more, leaving the door open for what may arise. Brooke remained motionless as the voice trailed into the echoes with the remnants of the warm draft.

A moment passed before Brooke was swelled by a rush of vibrancy. The impression cascaded over her like a bath, washing away any concepts of who she was not, stripping away doubts. Revealing her native vibrance. Her femininity was a gift. She understood the potency of her charms and she appreciated the realization that she could use them however she saw fit. What emotions might be lurking on the other side of that door, she did not know, but she intended to find out, and with that, she completed the turn of the knob.