Still, I’d taught her to meditate, and she had some pretty good shields. It was possible they wouldn’t be able to get into her mind enough to bind
her
, either.
I brushed her hair away from her face and said, “But if you were to tell anyone what you’d seen, they wouldn’t believe you, would they?”
“No, it’d be like when I told Caroline we’d seen ghosts and stuff when we went camping. It was awful.” Her friend hadn’t believed her, and the girls hadn’t spoken for weeks because Lauren was so hurt at not being believed.
“Right, since Caroline can’t see them, they don’t exist in her world. And it’s not just her, that’s what her parents have taught her, too. You know you can talk to me about any of this, but if you talk to anyone else they may end up being mad at you because they won’t understand, right? And you know I won’t back you up on any of it. It’s dangerous in our society to talk about things other people can’t see, and I expect you to use your common sense and not say things to people who won’t understand.”
She whispered, “Yes, mom, I know. Are you still going to go out on a date with him?”
“You said he wants to be good, wants to choose to do good instead of bad, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts,” I interrupted. “If you say he’s a monster on the outside then I believe you, and I want you to trust whatever you saw — I don’t want you to second guess yourself. But I agree with you on the rest, too. I think he’s good, and not a monster on the inside, so I’m not going to judge the rest of it. “
She raised her voice, not believing I could still want to go on a date with him. “But he’s a MONSTER!!!!”
I used my mom voice to say. “Maybe so, but he’s a guest in our home and now you’re just being rude.”
She glared at me, and I smiled and spoke in what I hoped was a reassuring voice. “I’ll be fine. I see what you see, that his heart is good, and that’s what’s truly important.” I gave her another hug, and then herded us all out the front door.
We walked her to the truck, I gave her a hug and kiss, promised again to text when the plane landed, and watched her drive away.
I drive a BMW 3 Series Gran Turismo, but I also have a Toyota Tundra for use when I go to the woods. Lauren had learned to drive in the Tundra and it was now considered her vehicle. I planned to get her something else later, but for now I was happy having her in a large truck with tons of safety features.
As we headed towards Abbott’s car, he said, “I thought…”
He stopped and then started again. “She is adopted. I thought anything that passed from parent to child was genetic. How is this possible?”
“Yes, she
was
adopted, but now she
is
my child. The adoption is past tense, it happened seven years ago and was a legal proceeding that took place in a courthouse in China. Now she
is
my child — present tense. It may seem like a small detail, but words are important. As for how this kind of thing is passed down, I’m not so sure it’s all genetic. I mean, I remember all sorts of stuff from when I was little, things my parents insisted weren’t possible and even spanked me for insisting I saw, since I was
obviously
lying because they wanted to believe it was impossible for me to see what I claimed.” I shrugged. “Eventually, I believed them, in spite of what I could see and sense and feel. I think this happens too often with humans, where our religious teachings say anything we experience outside of our normal five senses is evil, even though much of what happened in the Bible is impossible by today’s standards. Burning bushes, turning water into wine, healing sick children, numerous visits from angels, and wives turning into pillars of salt? Anyway, all I’ve done is teach her to trust her instincts, and to trust the inner voice that talks to her. Where I have an inner voice, she tends to have inner sight. Different, but the same.”
He opened the passenger door of a sleek black Jaguar, and I got in. I knew he’d hear me as he walked around the car, so I didn’t wait for him to round the car and get in.
“To be honest, I had no idea she’d see what you were when she touched you, and I’m a bit freaked out about it. She won’t talk to anyone though, we had this... interesting... adventure with some ghosts when we camped out over the summer, and she tried to tell her friend about it and it didn’t turn out well. She won’t be sharing about strange things again, and even if she did, no one would believe her. Also, she’s learned over the years that I won’t talk to non-believers about it, not even to back her up. I needed to teach her a harsh lesson about how our society views such things, and it took.”
“Do you really believe all humans have some kind of latent ability that’s taught out of them as children?”
“Probably not all of them, but I believe there are some with abilities their parents teach out of them. I remember being able to see the air as a child, and it was thicker around people, plants, and animals. I remember seeing it heavier at times and lighter at times. Now I know I was seeing energy and auras. I’ve been able to do it a few times again as an adult, usually after spending a long time in a meditative state, or after participating in a sweat lodge. I’m still a bit ticked at my parents for beating that ability out of me, to be honest.”
“Beating it out of you?”
“Uh, yeah. There was no sparing the rod for them. They weren’t very inventive with their discipline, it was all about the spanking, the only difference in severity was whether I’d be clothed or naked. Clothed was for minor transgressions like looking at them the wrong way, naked was for everything else. They’ve both apologized to me, back in my mid-twenties when I confronted them about it, and they don’t spank Lauren. Really, when I see them with her I’m a bit jealous that these aren’t the people who raised me. But, I guess they were young, and there were no books to read about other ways to teach consequences.” I shrugged again, and looked out the window. I’d mostly forgiven my parents for the way they raised me, so I added, “Other than not being able to enjoy sex unless it involves pain, I guess their abuse didn’t mess me up too bad.”
“Do you think this is why you’re a sexual submissive?”
How had we gotten into this conversation, anyway? Oh yeah, I brought it up.
Shit
. “I don’t know. It’s just the way I’m wired and there’s no rewiring me at this point, but I’m okay with it. Maybe I’d be this way even if they’d never spanked me. I don’t blame them for it, most of the time. Though, I do blame them for making me grow up without my connection to
Source
, without the connection to
All That Is
. I know I had it as a child, and then I had to fight so hard as an adult to get it back. So, yeah, I do blame them for that, but, not for my twisted sex life. I can’t blame them for
everything
.”
And then I blushed, because there’s one part to my being a sexual submissive that my mom has made quite complicated, and no way was I going to talk to him about that. Not tonight, anyway.
“Oh, there’s something more,” he said, “something I’m guessing is quite interesting. What did you just think of?”
Crap
. Fucking vampire senses. He’d likely smelled something.
“Another time,” I said, trying to be casual. “It looks like we’re at the airport, anyway.”
The Chattanooga airport isn’t big, but he parked in a small lot down the road, in front of a large airplane hangar.
I soon discovered it’s super-cool to step out of your car, walk twenty yards, and climb the stairs onto the plane. No security, no parking hassle. I hadn’t brought any weapons, but it turned out I could’ve. Maybe not my gun because we were headed to Chicago, after all, but I’d have been fine with a well-placed knife. However, this was a date and I shouldn’t need anything. Plus, Abbott was apparently quite powerful in his own right, so he should be able to handle anything that came up. Not to mention, I have a few other weapons, the kind airport security is never going to pick up on.
The jet wasn’t over-the-top extravagant, but gave the feel of simple luxury and it made me like Abbott that much more. I was introduced to Paul the pilot and Steve the attendant, there was some polite small talk, and then we took our seats and put our seatbelts on.
I’d expected luxurious first class seats, but these seemed more like your basic business class seats, but with more leg room than you find on a commercial flight. However, I figured we were seeing less than half of the plane, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was in the back half. Maybe there were beds, which would make sense for why the seats up here didn’t need to fully recline, but I didn’t ask.
Lauren had texted me on the way to the airport to let me know she’d arrived at her friend’s house, and I texted her now to tell her we were on the plane and about to take off. “Sorry,” I told Abbott, as I explained why I was texting during a date. “As an adopted child who’s already lost one family, she worries about me more than most children worry for their parents.”
His smile let me know he truly didn’t mind. “No need to apologize. I heard the negotiations about her texting you to let you know she was okay as we walked her to the truck, and find it amusing it goes both ways with the two of you.”
We had a smooth take off, and once we were cruising Abbott took his seatbelt off and then mine, and told me to come with him. We went through the door in the back and into a room set up with a table and chairs, and a single place setting. Steve brought me a grilled Portobello mushroom that had been marinated in something scrumptious. There were also mashed potatoes, and a side dish of vegetables that had my mouth watering. For desert there was key lime cheesecake.
I felt a bit self-conscious eating in front of Abbott at first, since he wasn’t eating, but he put me at ease fairly quickly.
I mostly let Abbott lead our conversation, and he kept it to mundane topics. I expected him to lead into a discussion of power exchange at some point, but while he flirted and dropped a few well-placed double entendres, he kept true to his word about not pushing for a scene until I was ready.
Oddly enough, his not pushing kind of made me ready.
When we landed in Chicago it was not O’Hare, but a smaller airport. I texted Lauren as we taxied to the hangar, and Abbott kissed the side of my forehead with a smile when I put my phone away.
We deplaned, and within a dozen steps the back door of a limo was held open for us. As we got in I asked, “When do you tell me what play we’re going to see? Is it a secret because it’s an underground BDSM play, or maybe it’s a historical play that’ll tell me something of your past?”
“You’ve put some thought into this, haven’t you?” he asked with a gentle smile. “Nothing so meaningful, I’m afraid. We have tickets to see
Wicked
, which tells the events that happen before the story picks up with
The Wizard of Oz
. It’s the background of the Wicked Witch of the West, her life story.”
I took a moment to process this, but came up with nothing. A little disappointed, I said, “For some reason I thought you’d only bother flying me to Chicago for a play if it were something meaningful you wanted to share with me, I guess.”
“Let’s watch the play and then we’ll talk about it, okay?”
“Of course.”
It was nice to have the limo pull up and drop us in front of the door, and not have to worry about parking. When we went into the theater I was in awe. Our Tivoli Theater at home is a monument to the days when theaters were architectural works of art, and this building must be from the same time period. I didn’t want to look like a country bumpkin, staring at the ceiling, the walls, and the staircases, but I probably did. Abbott didn’t say anything, but let me take my time looking everything over.
“You were once a performer,” he commented. “I imagine you see live performances through a slightly different lens than the rest of us.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed. “In some ways it’s probably taken a little of the magic out of it, but I can see and appreciate the work that goes into preparing and practicing, so it all works out, I think.”
The play was quite thought provoking. The idea being that the woman who would eventually become the wicked witch was born green, and put up with a lot of teasing and taunting because of it. Without telling the whole story, she wasn’t bad, she was just,
errr
, drawn that way. She was really big for animal rights, which put her on the bad side of the Wizard of Oz. She was railroaded — bad PR made her the Wicked Witch.
Okay, so maybe Abbott
had
been trying to tell me something with this play. Had bad PR made vampires evil? It wouldn’t exactly be hard — it’s kind of difficult to put a good spin on beings who must drink human blood in order to live. They’re the predator and we’re the prey. I was comfortable around Abbott because of Aaron’s assurance I’d be safe around him, but I wasn’t sure I’d have agreed to a date alone with him, otherwise. However, he’d been a perfect gentleman, and if he wanted to drink my blood he wasn’t giving me any indications.
Or, maybe he just has a thing for The Wizard of Oz and wanted to see this play. No way to find out but to ask. We were standing outside the theater, my arm in his, and I was wondering how we’d know which limo was ours. I leaned into him and asked, “So, are you a huge
Wizard of Oz
fan?”
“Not really. I mean, the original story was nice, but then the movie messed it up, and now all of the books pretty much say what the movie does.”
“How was the original story different?”
“It’s been so long since I read it, I’m not even sure. I just remember how upset I was when the movie wasn’t true to the book. However, that has nothing to do with why I wanted to come see this play. I’m always intrigued by the idea of what made someone evil. Almost always, when you hear the story, you end up feeling sorry for the person. Even Darth Vader, right?”
“Is that because so many people assume you’re evil? Not bothering to get to know you, just assuming if you’re a vampire, you must be bad?”
“Possibly, but if I’d wanted to be analyzed I’d have made an appointment with you. This is a date, the last I checked.” His voice wasn’t snippy, but he was obviously unhappy with my point.