Trust (6 page)

I was dreading any response I might get. I was especially dreading a phone call. And so all day on Friday, I was worried and startled every time my phone rang.

But she didn't call, and she didn't write.

Saturday was much the same, and I was afraid she would show up at 6:00. I thought about not even being here, but in case she didn't get my email or something, I thought that would be even more rude than breaking up via email.

If you can call it breaking up after one date. Is that breaking up? I didn't know. I supposed it didn't really matter. Semantics.

But 6:00 came and went, and at 7:00 I made myself a little dinner and drank a half bottle of wine to wash it down. I was in bed by 10:00.

* * * *

On Sunday I decided it was time to start fresh. I got myself out of bed and showered, started laundry, puttered around the house, and wondered if I should call Josie. That relationship wasn't going to go anywhere, either, but we had fun together.

Then precisely at noon, the phone rang. I didn't even look at it before answering.

"Hello?"

"Sable, it's Georgia."

"Oh. Hi. Look, I'm sorry."

"I want you to come to dinner tonight."

"Georgia."

"Did you see Josie last night?"

I paused. I wasn't sure my life was any of her business anymore. "No. I wasn't sure if you got my email. Breaking things off via email was rude enough, but if you showed up, I wasn't going to be off hiding."

"If I'd replied and said I understood, would you have seen her last night?"

"I don't know. That relationship isn't going anywhere, either. I probably would have done just what I did: stayed home."

"Let me make dinner for you tonight."

"What's the point?"

"Why do you say that? Please, just talk to me."

"I don't think we're compatible, Georgia."

"You're looking for someone a little more, hmm. Take charge."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Sable, please. Come to dinner."

"I don't think so. I'm sorry."

"What would it hurt?" she asked. Her tone was gentle. "I'm a good cook. I promise I won't poison you. We have engaging conversations."

You never talk about anything important
, I wanted to say. I didn't.

"There's something I want to show you."

"What?"

"No. You have to see it. Come to dinner. 6 o'clock."

I sat quietly, not answering right away. Georgia said nothing. Finally I asked, "What should I bring."

"An open mind. Can you do that?"

"I'll try," I said.

"Good. This is a date, Sable. I am treating it like a date. I hope you do, too."

I sighed. "All right."

"You won't stand me up, right?"

"No. I'll be there. Six."

"Good."

* * * *

I was a few minutes late, but only a few. I dressed for a date, all the time wondering why I was bothering. Oh, I didn't go all out. It was dinner in, after all, so I wore a black knit dress, nylons, and low boots. I liked how I looked.

From her reaction when I opened the door, Georgia liked how I looked, too. She looked me up and down, smiling, then invited me in.

"I'm sorry I'm late."

"Only a few minutes. You promised you'd be here, and I know you keep your promises."

I didn't say anything, but I let her hang my coat up and accepted a second appraisal. Then, surprising me, she pulled me into her arms, grabbed the back of my head, and tipped me into a kiss. I waved my arms at her, finally settling them in place on her shoulders, and kissed her back.

"Wow," I said when she released me. In response, she only smirked. "Come on. Dinner will be ready soon." She led the way into her kitchen. She had a nice house, and the kitchen was fantastic.

"College professors do okay, hmm?" I asked.

She didn't say anything but simply gestured to a stool in front of the center island. I climbed up, finding a glass of wine waiting for me.

"Confident," I said.

"Like I said, I know you keep your promises."

I picked up the wine and sipped at it.

Georgia puttered over the stove. It smelled really good. I watched her. She seemed cool and confident, and the kiss had been amazing.

"What did you want to show me?"

"Later," she said. "You have to sit through a meal with me first."

"Georgia, I could have said 'no'."

She looked up at me. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too." I wasn't sure how glad, but she'd asked me to keep an open mind, so I'd try.

She was attractive, after all. Physically, she was my type. She was taller than I was, but only a little. I liked that. Her hair was soft, and she was in good shape. She dressed well, and she spoke even better. Her usable vocabulary was larger than mine, and I liked that.

I'm not stupid, but I decided she was probably smarter than I was. At least she was certainly more well-educated. That thought led me to another.

"Should I be calling you Doctor?"

She laughed. "My students do. It's an awful affectation to expect your friends to use that title. After I earned my doctorate, it took me years to get my mother to stop introducing me to people as Doctor Georgia Hayes."

"She was proud of you."

"Yes, but everyone assumes if you're introduced as Doctor, you're a medical doctor. It's just a degree like any other."

"It's a lot of work."

"Being in the work force is a lot of work, but people don't suddenly don titles after they've worked hard for five years. The president of a company, who admittedly knows a lot more about his business than I knew about history when I was 27, isn't introduced as President So-and-so. Why does academia insist on conferring such a title?"

"Aren't you proud of it?"

"I am, but I deserve no more recognition than anyone else who works hard at her profession. Here. Can you reach this? I need you to stir."

I took over stirring a sauce. Georgia made sure I was catching the bottom before moving onto another dish.

"I prefer when my students call me Professor. Some like to use Doctor though, the sycophantic little shits." She laughed.

"Is that why they do it?"

"Some. I'm certain not all. Some hear other kids using that title, so they use it, too. I can usually tell the difference."

"How?"

"A lack of smarm."

It was my turn to laugh.

Georgia moved towards my end of the cooktop and took the whisk from me. She pulled the saucepan from the heat, whisking briskly, then poured the contents into another pan.

"Almost ready. The table is set. Can you bring the wine to the table then take a seat."

A minute later a steaming plate appeared in front of me. Georgia set her own into place and sat down. I inhaled deeply. "It smells wonderful."

Georgia lifted her wine glass. "Thank you. Did you come with an open mind?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then." She lifted the glass further. "To open minds."

"Open minds," I agreed, tapping my glass gently against hers.

Dinner conversation was casual. After the fuss she'd made to get me there, I was expecting something more, I don't know. Intense, perhaps. Deep.

But finally dinner was over, and I was wondering how quickly she could show me what she wanted to show me so I could go home. But I helped her clear the table then offered to wash dishes as she put things away then moved beside me to dry.

"I know you're anxious," she said to my back. I continued to wash dishes, but I slowed down, letting her know I was listening. "This little domestic scene was something I needed. All right?"

And so I nodded.

"If we have a third date, I'll explain."

"All right," I said quietly. I didn't think there'd be a third date.

But we finished dishes, and then I let her take my hand. She led me to the living room and asked me to sit in the center of the sofa. She pushed the coffee table away a little and sat on it, facing me, our knees almost but not quite touching.

"My ex- left me because she said I was too pushy."

I lowered my eyes, not saying anything.

"She used to like that," Georgia went on. "Or at least I thought she did. We were happy, at least for a while. I think she changed. I don't think I did."

I looked up. "You said she left you for a younger model."

"I don't think she cheated on me, but they were seen together less than a week after I moved out. But when she asked me to leave, we'd just had another fight that could basically be described as her angry because I was pushy."

"You were pushy this morning."

"I was. Did you hate it?"

I already knew the answer to that, but I waited, wondering what I wanted to say. "No," I finally said, keeping it simple. "I didn't mind."

"Good."

Her coffee table had a small drawer in it. She opened it and withdrew a black silk scarf. She held it in her hands for a moment then laid it across my knees. I stared at it.

"This is what I wanted to show you," she said.

I stared at it, not picking it up, but my heart began to pound in my chest, and my mouth became dry.

"Will you-" I licked my lips. "Will you hand me my wine?"

"Of course."

I took a sip, a deep sip, and she took the glass from me, setting it safely aside.

"It's a scarf," I said.

"It's a blindfold. Put it on."

"Georgia," I said, the name a whisper.

"Put it on, Sable."

I picked it up, stretching it across both hands. It was soft and smooth, and I ran it through my fingers for a moment. I never took my eyes from it.

"Put it on," Georgia said in a low voice.

I lifted it over my eyes, tied a knot at the side of my head, then spent a moment adjusting it.

"Good," she said. "Hands in your lap. Tell the truth. Can you see anything?"

"A little out the bottom. It's a scarf."

"Of course," she said. "I want you to keep your hands in your lap. We're going to talk."

I nodded. "Yes. All right."

She shifted closer, our knees touching now. She slipped one leg between mine, and then her hands rested on my thighs, the fingers just under the hem of my dress. "I want you," she said. Hearing her words, my voice caught, and I gave a little gasp. "I want you like this. And more. I think you understand what more means, don't you."

"Yes," I whispered, the word almost strangled in my throat.

"You look so hot already, Sable, sitting there, your eyes covered. I'm barely touching you, and you're beginning to pant."

"Georgia," I whispered. I lifted my hands to my cheeks, trying to push the blush away.

"Hands down," she ordered. "Right now."

I dropped them slowly, clasping them together in my lap.

"Better. I want you, Sable, and I'm going to have you. In another few minutes, you are going to cross your wrists in front of yourself. I have another scarf. And then I am going to take you upstairs, remove this lovely dress, and tie you to the bed. I am then going to spend hours tormenting you before finally I let you come. You will be gasping my name long before I'm done with you."

"Georgia," I whined. "Slow down."

"You don't want me to slow down." She reached forward and caressed a thumb across my lips. "I'm going to take you, and claim you, and make you mine."

By now my heart was pounding, just pounding so hard it hurt, and I couldn't seem to catch my breath.

"Slow down," I said. "Georgia, slow down. You have to let me catch up. You've been thinking about this, but I need to catch up. Let me catch up."

She didn't say anything, and so I leaned away from her a little, trying to get my breathing under control. It took a minute, but my brain reengaged, and I started thinking. I took several deep breaths, and as I appeared to calm down, Georgia began talking.

"This is what you want," she said. "This is what you mean when you say you don't like to lead. Isn't it?"

I wasn't ready to admit it. I found myself trying to peek at her from under the scarf, and I realized I could see more than I should. I reached up to adjust it better.

But Georgia snapped, "I told you to leave your hands in your lap!" She clasped them and shoved them down. "Don't make me tell you again."

"Don't bark at me!" I said back. I wrested my hands from her and tore the scarf from over my eyes. I was back on the edge of hyperventilating again, but this time it wasn't from anticipation.

It was from fear.

I stared at her, my breathing out of control, my heart out of control. "You're rushing me. You're asking- No. You're demanding I trust you. You're demanding I trust you with my life, with my
sanity
. And you suck at convincing me I'm safe."

She reared back.

"We're supposed to talk. We barely know each other. You spring this on me, and we barely know each other. Torment. You want to torment me. I don't know what that means! Maybe you really meant tease me, but I don't know that. Maybe you really meant torment."

"Oh god," she said.

"We're supposed to talk!" I yelled, falling out of control. "You're supposed to know me better. You're supposed to know what I like and what I don't. Oh god!" I turned sideways on the sofa and drew my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and rocking back and forth a little. I began to keen in my throat.

It was a miracle I wasn't running from the house. I'm not sure why I wasn't. Instead I sat on the couch, curled into a ball, trying to make myself look small.

"Oh god, Sable," Georgia said. She moved onto the sofa, taking the place at my back.

"Don't touch me!"

"I'm sorry. Sable. I'm sorry." She moved further away on the sofa as I continued to rock and whimper, my thoughts a jumble.

Fear.

Memories.

More fear.

"We're supposed to talk," I said in a whisper. "You're supposed to know me." I looked over my shoulder. She was curled into her own ball, looking miserable. "We're supposed to
talk
!"

"I'm sorry, Sable, I'm sorry. I thought this is what you wanted."

"It is!" I wailed, turning away and hunching over further. "It is."

After that, neither of us said anything for a long time. I think she cried. I didn't cry, but I whimpered. But when I felt her at my back, I didn't drive her away this time. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

I stopped rocking for a moment then nodded, just once. After that, I felt a hand on my back. I didn't say anything, but slowly I calmed down.

"I've never done this before," she said quietly.

"Blindfolded someone?"

"Well, um. Like this. I guess I've experimented, but only with women I'd been dating a while."

"What were you going to tie me with?"

"I bought rope. It was a little embarrassing, actually. Someone caught me with different rope wrapped around my wrists. I was trying to figure out which I'd rather have on my wrists."

"Nylon is bad."

"What's wrong with nylon?"

"It stretches, and then the knots get too tight to untie. Is that what you bought?"

"No. I got a few kinds though. I wasn't sure."

I nodded.

"Sable, I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." That was a lie, but it wasn't her problem to fix. I looked over my shoulder. She looked like shit. Yep. She'd been crying. "Go sit over there." I gestured to her end of the couch. I moved to my end then turned around to face her. She was sitting primly, not looking at me, but I said, "Look at me."

She looked over, saw how I was sitting, then mirrored me.

"Do you want me to go?" I asked.

"No."

"Why did you decide to do this?"

"I knew it was what you wanted. Or at least I was pretty sure."

"All right, that leads to two questions. How did you guess, and is this about what you think I want, or what you want?"

"I snooped."

"Excuse me?"

"Your bedroom. I snooped. Last weekend."

"Snooped?"

"Not much. I wanted to see what you keep in your end table next to your bed."

"Oh." I thought about it. "There wasn't anything all that incriminating."

"No, but I added the other parts. You don't like to lead. And I remembered your ad and what you wrote. I put it together."

"All right. And the other question?"

"Well, I envisioned you wearing a blindfold. I. um."

I offered a wan smile. "You got off while thinking about it."

She began to blush, which I thought was fair. "Yeah." She paused. "I did some reading. About. Um. Ropes and stuff. For sex."

If I weren't as upset as I was, I probably would have laughed. "You know, if we're going to talk about this, you have to use the right words. Bondage. Say it."

She began to blush again. "Bondage. There. Happy?"

"Dominance. Submission."

"I know about BDSM."

"Yeah, well, you see. I don't do the SM part."

"The what?"

"Do you even know what BDSM stands for?"

"Um."

"Bondage, domination-" I provided.

"Submission, and what's the M?"

"No. SM is sadomasochism."

She stared. "I didn't know that. Should I have known that?"

"Before I let you tie me up? Yeah, I think so."

"Oh, god. I really fucked this up, didn't I?"

I took a breath. "Maybe. The question now is simple. Do you want to recover it, or are you too embarrassed, and I should just go home?"

"I don't want you to go home."

"All right. Then I think you should invite me over there with you."

She opened her arms. I decided that was enough invitation. I crawled across the couch and basically draped myself in her lap, lying across her on my back with my head against her further shoulder. She cradled me in one arm. I closed my eyes and enjoyed being held.

"This is nice," she whispered. "Sable, I'm so sorry."

I still wasn't sure what I wanted to do. "We have interesting conversations," I said. "About ideas. And things. You're a brilliant woman."

"Thank you," she replied. "And my brilliance suggests there's a 'but' coming."

"We don't talk about feelings, and desires. I asked you what your dreams were, and you said life was perfect. If life is already perfect, then you don't need me in it."

"Sable, I-"

"And you didn't ask me what my dreams are." Thinking about this, I wasn't quite sure why I was cuddling with her. I was back to just wanting to go home.

"I didn't want to jinx it. I didn't want to scare you off."

I closed my mouth, waiting to see if there was more to say.

"And..." she trailed off.

"Go on. If you can't trust me with words and with being a little emotionally vulnerable, how can you expect me to trust you?"

She sighed. "You're right. My mother always drummed into my head how I should stand on my own two feet. Get a good education. Get a good job. Don't be dependent on a man-"

I barked a short laugh at that.

"Yeah, I know. She pushed at me it was weakness to need someone else."

"It seems you learned that lesson well." I started to get up, but she tightened her arms.

"Wait, Sable. Please. What I learned was not to voice my needs or desires lest I be judged as weak."

"Let go of me, Georgia. I should go."

"Please, Sable." She tightened her arms further. "Please. I feel lost. It will kill me if you leave."

"You're a strong woman. You don't need anyone." I pushed away and climbed to my feet. "I'm going to go."

Georgia stood up and moved in front of me, blocking the path. "Please, Sable. We'd be good together."

"I don't think so. You need someone who stands on her own two feet. I want someone I can lean against."

"I'm a good woman."

I considered that for a moment. "Yes."

"Smart. Successful."

"Yes, but-"

"Strong." She stepped closer. "And I've never encountered something I couldn't learn." I stood frozen as she took another step. "Including your needs." When she pulled me into her arms, I let her. When she pulled me back to the sofa, I let her.

"You don't want me," I muttered.

"I want you a great deal," Georgia replied. "Sit with me. Let me hold you, Sable. You feel so good." She pulled me back across her lap, and I found myself draped against her. I wasn't entirely sure why I wasn't running out the door.

"You feel good," she repeated. She kissed the top of my head. The gentle gesture softened me a little, and I let myself cuddle a little closer. "Tell me about your dreams."

"You don't care about my dreams."

"I do. I just didn't realize I should let you know I cared."

"How could you not know that?"

"See previous comments about lessons from my mother."

I sat quietly for a minute. "Like you, I'm happy professionally. I'll continue to earn raises and promotions. My material needs are simple and easily covered." I smiled. "I should tell you about the car I want to buy."

"Oh?"

"Someone I briefly dated has a BMW Roadster. It's really cute."

"Oh, I like those, too," Georgia said. "So you're happy professionally."

"And I like my house. I wish I were a better decorator. But I wouldn't want it any bigger than it is."

"It's a cute house," Georgia said. "And you seem comfortable there."

"Exactly."

I trailed off to see if she'd prompt for more. She gave me a few seconds before she gently said, "You're not done, Sable. Tell me."

"I have issues," I said. "Everyone has issues, right? I'm not like you. I'm..." I sighed. "Needy."

"You don't seem that needy."

"You barely know me. I'm not a lunatic." Then I laughed. "Well, maybe I am. But I'm not a raving bitch about it or anything. I don't fall to pieces if my girl doesn't have time for me for a day or two. But I need to know she doesn't like it any more than I do. I don't need us to be joined at the hip, but I need to know..." I trailed off again. I was going to sound pathetic.

Maybe I was pathetic.

I buried my face against Georgia's shoulder.

"You want to be cherished." I didn't say anything, but I was listening. "You want to know she wants you, that she desires you." I nodded my head. "Sable, everyone wants those things."

I pulled my face away enough to speak. "Yeah, but most people can hear her partner tell her she's cherished. I'm sort of deaf that way. It's like if she doesn't..."

"Blindfold you?"

"Yeah, and the rest. If she doesn't do that, I don't believe her. I know that's stupid."

"Is this why you don't like to lead?"

"Yeah. If I lead, then how do I know she's not just going along because it's easy? Or something. If she leads, then I know we're doing what she really wants to do."

"Or what she thinks you want."

"Yeah. That muddies the water, doesn't it?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. "I'm a mess."

"You're not that big of a mess, unless you go all Fatal Attraction when things don't go right."

"No. I just run away."

Georgia reached up and tipped my head back, continuing to cradle me in her arms. We stared into each other's eyes. Then she brushed my face with her hand, caressing my cheek and then brushing across my eyelashes. I closed them reflexively. When she leaned down and kissed each eyelid, I sighed. Then she lowered her lips to mine and offered a sweet, gentle, lingering kiss.

When she lifted away, she asked softly, "Do you know what I want?"

"No."

"I want you. I want this." She caressed my face again. "I want you to know you can count on me. I want you here with me." She kissed the corner of my mouth, and then I felt her grin. "I want to know it's okay to be playful with someone. I want to laugh and to giggle. Tell me. Are you ticklish?"

"Yes, but not all the time."

She began stroking my side. It felt good. At other times, it would tickle.

"Like I said. Not all the time. But that feels nice. I like being touched."

After that, I didn't have to tell her again. She continued to touch me, soft, gentle touches, exactly the kind I liked.

We stayed like that for a while, neither of us talking. My eyes were closed, but when I occasionally peeked, she was watching me. The third time, she smiled. "I like watching your expressions. You smile a little when I change where I'm touching."

"You know I'd let you do that for hours." I closed my eyes again. "You've been warned."

She laughed. "Good."

"Good that I'm greedy?"

"Good that you're letting me do what I want instead of running for the exit."

"Does that mean if you knew I wasn't going to run, you wouldn't be doing this?"

"I'm doing this because I enjoy touching you." She bent down and kissed my forehead. "Although to be honest, I'd rather you were wearing less clothing.

"Not yet."

"I know."

And so she continued to touch me, to caress me, to soothe me. And I let her.