There it was again, the hot rush of wetness between my legs. I looked at him from under my lashes while my cheeks burned crimson. He wanted my body, wanted to do things to it. That man sitting there, virile and dangerous, he wanted
me
. I shivered and pressed my thighs together. Somehow I couldn’t phrase a response. I could barely draw breath.
“Is that something that might interest you, Lucy?”
I stared down at my hands twisting in my lap. “I don’t know.”
“No more
I don’t
know
‘s
,” he said.
“Yes or no?”
“Maybe!
I can’t say! I don’t know what you want to do to me.”
“I’ll do a lot of things to you. I’m only asking you if it’s something you’d like to try.”
My mind raced in circles, stimulated by horniness and caffeine. All around us, regular people talked and laughed casually, but my life had changed. I scrabbled for words, my thoughts in a tangle. I lifted my cup to take a slow drink, buying time.
“Is this how you pick up all your partners?” I asked. “You give them this tough little talking to?”
He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, as if he already owned me and I was already making him mad. “First of all, this is far from tough. And secondly, I haven’t picked up a partner in six years. I had a girlfriend and we recently broke up. I would have thought you knew that from your reading about me.”
“She was your submissive?”
“That’s really none of your business.”
“What happened? Why did she leave you after six years?”
He frowned down into his coffee,
then
looked back up at me with narrowed eyes.
“She didn’t enjoy it.
Power exchange.
I thought she did. But she did it for me, for my money, I guess.”
“All those years?”
“Yes, Lucy. Now you see why truth thrills me. I’ve lived without it for far too long.”
Truth.
He talked about it an awful lot.
“If you’re so rich, why don’t you just buy a hooker?”
“Because I don’t want a hooker.
I want you.”
“How do you know? You don’t even really know me.”
“I know enough. I know that your body turns me on. I know you’d get off on submitting to me.”
“That’s all you need in a girlfriend?”
“A girlfriend?”
He laughed. “Sorry, I don’t want another girlfriend. I just want a submissive to put through her paces. I’m giving you truth here, Lucy. I’m not saying that to hurt you.”
So it showed then, the hurt and humiliation I felt at his words. My face burned with it. I felt like I’d just been kicked.
“I want to use your body because I find it beautiful and perfect. I just want to play with you, but I think you’ll enjoy it all the same. And if you want,” he added as an afterthought, “I’ll pay you for your time.”
I made a nauseated face.
“Yes, I thought that’s how you’d feel. Anyway, the pleasure will be payment enough.”
My God.
My God.
My God.
My God.
“Okay,” I said. “Here’s some truth for you. I’ve never fucked someone I’m not in a relationship with.”
“Oh, we’d be in a relationship.
Just a non-traditional one.
Do you really want another boyfriend?
So soon?”
I thought for a minute.
God, no.
I didn’t.
“And it wouldn’t just be fucking, Lucy. Exchanging power is erotically charged, yes, and it can be deeply sexual, but it’s about much more than just getting off. It will meet needs you didn’t even realize you had. It will meet needs for you and me both. And it would be safe, of course. Everything we did together would be absolutely safe and consensual.”
“Consensual?”
“Yes, it would have to be. You know what I mean by consensual? You would be there because you want to be. And we would use safe words.”
“Safe words?”
No explanation was forthcoming. “What are safe words?” I was a little afraid to find out.
“Safe words are words that keep people like you safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“Safe from people like me.”
He leaned back then, stretching casually, as if we discussed nothing more unusual than the weather. I sat across from him and wrestled with my feelings.
Anger, indignation, shame, curiosity, lust.
Then his eyes returned to mine and he spoke to me with intensity in his voice.
“You know, I want to own you and I want to use you. I want your obedience and beauty. But what I really want is for you to find joy in it too.”
“Joy?”
“Yes, joy. And perhaps, at times, a little pain,” he said with a faint smile. “I’m not going to lie to you. There’s a good bit of the sadist in me. There will be times that I’ll purposely hurt you, times that I’ll try to make you cry. There will be ups and downs, and, well, a considerable amount of pain. But somehow I think you’ll enjoy it.”
My
God, that
I could even be sitting here considering it. But his warnings about pain didn’t frighten me at all. In fact, he was right. The idea was exciting me. What kind of pervert was I? He must have seen that I was weakening, that even in my fear, my uncertainty, I wanted to say yes.
“We could start slowly,” he said. “I would teach you and guide you. I know right now you’re afraid of the unknown. You barely know me, I realize that. I barely know you. But there are some very elemental desires you and I share. And if we get to know each other better and discover that we don’t suit each other, we’ll be truthful to one another, won’t we? Can you promise me that?”
I thought about six years of deception, the toll it would take on someone’s trust. “Yes, I would be truthful to you,” I said with conviction. “I would always tell you the truth.”
His expression deepened as he looked at me. “You have no idea how those words make me feel.
Because I believe you, little girl.”
Little girl.
He had no idea how
those
words made me feel, the tingle that raced across my skin. I desperately wanted to be his little girl, his lover, his toy, whatever he wanted me to be. But he’d warned me I couldn’t be his girlfriend. Would everything else be enough?
“What do you think?” he asked.
“You drive a hard bargain.”
He
laughed,
an exhalation of nervous energy. “I’m trying. I really am. I suppose this isn’t what you expected.”
“You planned all along to ask me this when you invited me here?”
“I started putting words together the very second I laid eyes on you.”
That made me shiver
a little. All that time, he’d been thinking of doing these things to me. “When was that? When you first laid eyes on me?”
He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “It was a while ago.”
I just stared into my coffee, overwhelmed by the moment, by the decision. It seemed to me that the next words I chose to say would alter my life in a significant way, whether they were
yes
or
no
.
“I know that I’ve shocked you,” he said. “Why don’t you take some time to think it over? Really think about what I’ve said, think about what you want to do. Next Saturday night I’ll be sitting right here. If you want to give it a try, take a cab here and meet me. If you don’t, then stay away and I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
I nodded. Yes. I needed time to think. Time to come to terms with the decision I knew I’d eventually make, but wasn’t quite ready to make yet, not out loud.
“But Lucy,” he warned, “
if
you show up here, I’ll take it to mean that you’re ready to begin. You’ll need to bring your overnight bag. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Answer me out loud.”
“Yes, I understand,” I said, blushing hot. “But I can’t get here before 10:45, after the show.”
“Okay then,” he said, nodding. “I’ll meet you here at 10:45. At eleven o’clock, if you haven’t shown up, we’ll understand each other.”
He reached out to me and cradled my face in one of his hands. His fingers felt cool and firm against my flushed skin. He looked right into my eyes. I felt a strange feeling of closeness to him, I suppose because he understood me so well. “Either way, I’ve really enjoyed this hour with you.
Tears and all.
I think you’re ridiculously beautiful and sweet. Well, maybe not sweet,” he said with a wry smile. “But honest. I appreciate your truthfulness. You have no idea how much.”
He released me and I held his gaze, awed and confused. “I’ve never been so truthful to anyone in my life.”
“Neither have I, in quite some time.” He turned away, looking out at the crowd around us. “I hate to ask it, but in these matters discretion is very important. I’d appreciate very much if you wouldn’t share our...truth telling with anyone who doesn’t need to know.”
“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” I promised.
“Although my mother told me never to keep secrets for strangers.”
He looked at me very directly. “We aren’t strangers anymore.”
He drove me home then, and watched from his car until he saw my light come on. I looked from the window but I didn’t wave. I watched him pull back into traffic and wondered what he was thinking at that moment, because my own thoughts were wild. It was 3:45 when I finally laid down, but sleep wouldn’t come. I fantasized instead of his hands on me doing vulgar things. My fantasies were vague and salacious, because I had no idea what he would actually do to me.
And yes, I was quite certain that he was going to do something to me. Before we’d even left the coffee house, when he’d helped me from my chair and guided me to the door with his hand pressed to the small of my back, I had known. I had made up my mind. The words were right on the tip of my tongue, the words to plead with him to take me, that I wanted to be his, that I wanted him to use me, that I wanted him to take me right home. That I wanted him to hurt me with his big, strong
hands, that
I knew I would enjoy it, that I wanted to try. I didn’t tell him though because he’d told me to think it
over,
and already I was anxious to obey. So I would think it over until Saturday, as he’d asked me to do, and then I’d go to him at the coffee house, and then...
Then what? What would go on between us? How would it feel? Would he hurt me? How much? Would I enjoy it? Would I feel, as he had suggested,
joy
? Finally, too tired to keep my eyes open, I started to drift into dreams. The strange fantasies subsided, replaced by one single word.
Matthew. Matthew. Matthew. Matthew.
I was already gone for him, totally gone. I was naively, desperately crushed on Matthew Norris even though he’d told me very bluntly he didn’t want a girlfriend. And I believed he meant it when he said that to me, but I thought that would change. I was sure if I was good enough, I could change his mind.
* * *
Oh, my fucking back. It was just ridiculous. I looked up at
Pietro
toiling away at his canvas and I could tell he was in that zone, that place that he went to sometimes. There was no way I could stop him now, although my muscles ached for relief. What kind of art model would I be, to interrupt him in his moments of genius? A less sore art model, I thought dismally.