by Gabi Moore
“And I also notice, for instance, that whenever you’re telling a bit of a lie, you tighten your fists, just a little,” I said, holding eye contact. She quickly looked down at her hands and, shocked, released them and folded her arms.
“That’s just... that’s…”
“I notice that you’re very keen to say that nothing means anything.” I was standing very close to her now. I didn’t need to check the time. I knew she had only been here for six or seven minutes so far.
“Maybe it is ‘magic’ that you reached out to me, drove all the way out here and put on that dress just so you could stand in front of me right now, for no reason at all…”
She parted her lips.
I took a step away from her and pulled back just as she leaned in for a kiss.
She frowned. “By the way, I didn’t come here to see you. I seriously did want you to make a piece for me.”
I turned to look at her. Her hands were held arched open at her sides. She had a beautiful body. She was long and graceful, with the hips of a ballet dancer and thighs lean as a gazelle’s. The fabric of her green dress clung suggestively to the gentle curve of her lower belly.
She was perfect.
I took a step closer to her.
“I’d love to,” I said quietly, and before I could think about it, her lips were on mine.
She whimpered softly as her warm tongue folded into my lips. It was as though I could taste the tension melting off of her. We paused there with one another, eyes closed, delicately touching this new moment. There was no excuse she could make now. This is what she had really come here for.
To my surprise she kissed me passionately, her hand reaching up for the base of my neck and anchoring there to pull me deeper in. I found myself smiling as she sunk her greedy tongue further in, completely ravenous. And without thinking my body responded, my hands darting to her tight waist and pawing at the delicious curve where her flanks met her hipbones.
I leaned in deeper, my tongue caressing her, sending her staggering back and bumping into the wall behind her, tools clattering to the floor.
“Mark…” she breathed, but I kissed her all over, planting kiss after kiss on her opened lips, her little tongue, her neck and shoulders…
“Mark, I…”
“Fuck, you’re beautiful” I breathed into her neck. I was nearly dizzy with how quickly she was turning me on. Rock hard, I pressed my eager body into hers and her hips curled to meet mine instantly. Her hair smelled like cinnamon.
“Mark, I shouldn’t,” she moaned, but the way her little hands clutched desperately round my shoulders, the little shuddering breaths she drew as her hips started grinding into mine …they all told me that yes, she sure as hell should.
She pulled away and held up her hands.
“I can’t. I can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
She looked around, flustered, then soothed the lower half of her dress.
“I just can’t.” She cleared her throat and started scanning the room for her jacket. “I mean it, though. I really was curious about the furniture. I really do want you to make me something.”
“What should I make?” I said, suddenly feeling like someone had let all my air out.
“I don’t care,” she said with irritation. “Just make something. Anything.”
“Sure,” I said, and watched as she made for the door. “You’re the boss, after all.”
“What? I’m the boss?” she turned to look at me.
“Yeah, but you don’t want to be, do you?”
She shot me a fiery look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I casually looked at my fingernails and took my time answering her.
“You’re in charge. You’re the boss. You have everything under control. But I think you wish I’d take that all away from you.” I paused and caught her gaze, staring at her intently. “Force it from you, even.”
She fumed and turned on her heel for the door.
“I can’t believe I came here,” she muttered.
“Hey, Kat,” I said quickly. She turned to face me, hand on the doorknob.
“What?”
“I’m glad you came.”
She looked embarrassed.
“I was just curious. I don’t know what all your other weirdo clients want or whatever, and why they even come to you, but –”
“They come for the same reason you came.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“Because they need to. Because some part of them, even if it’s just a small part, wants to surrender.”
Before I knew it, she was out the door, slamming it behind her.
Chapter 8 - Kat
If there’s anything in the world I’m good at doing it’s deciding things. And I had decided I would never, ever go back to that stupid workshop and never, ever seek out that man and whatever immature ‘lifestyle’ he was peddling.
It was fine for some, sure, and I wasn’t going to be judgmental, but if I allowed myself to go down that path, who knows what dumb shit I’d do. After Jeff left I promised myself I was going to do things properly. And Mark and his elaborate toys were decidedly improper. A waste of time.
My phone pinged. It was Anthony.
Hope I haven’t been stood up ;)
I don’t know what had gotten into me, but I loathed that little winking face with everything in my heart. I hadn’t been myself all morning, and now I was running late (if there’s a second thing I’m good at in this world, it’s being on time …or so I thought) and couldn’t find a parking space on his busy street.
By the time I arrived flustered on his front doorstep, I was a full twenty minutes late. He opened the door, all pressed chinos and tight smile, and welcomed me in. He felt good to hug, but in a strange way. Oh God. I realized he smelled vaguely of my father.
“I’m so glad you finally made it,” he said politely. He guided me to the living room and thrust a drink in my hand.
His apartment was super tidy, the kind of clean a house gets when the person who lives there is mostly at work. All his furniture looked new and unused. Like a comfy but unassuming three-star hotel.
I looked around for evidence of a toddler. I found none.
We chatted about the weather, about work, about every damn thing except what I really wanted to talk about: sex.
It was the one thing neither of us had mentioned, had hinted at or, possibly, even though about. And the longer we did, the stranger it felt. It started to feel like maybe under those beige chinos was just a flat bit of skin-colored plastic, like a Ken doll crotch. I tried to hide my smile. The whiskey he had given me was going straight to my head.
He sat on the sofa next to me and put his hand on my knee. We both looked down at it.
God, why was I being such a prudish baby about all this? Anthony was the perfect catch. I had already decided that I would accept his proposal. I had done it quietly, this morning, all by myself, because it was the obvious choice. It made sense. There was no reason not to. He was stable, family minded, responsible and mature. He had a clean apartment, was well educated and, not least of all, he wanted me.
So then why the hell did his hand feel like a chunk of concrete on my leg?
It was Mark.
He was getting under my skin.
I had thought about him all this morning, all last night… I was dropping things and bumping into tables and zoning out. It was ridiculous. I forced him out of my mind. The kiss was an accident. Nothing more than a mistake.
I smiled at Anthony.
“You know, you are allowed to kiss me,” I said, and tilted my head to the side. He seemed surprised.
“You want me to kiss you?”
I laughed.
“Don’t you want to kiss me?” I said, tilting my head to the other side.
He took my hand in his, the way you would to a dying woman, the way a priest takes your hand, and looked me earnestly in the eye.
“Kat, now�
�s probably a good time to mention how seriously I take the issue of consent.”
“Consent?”
“I think clear communication is vital. I don’t ever intend to overstep my bounds with you.”
I laughed out loud.
“Christ, it was just a kiss,” I said.
He frowned.
“Consent is consent. It doesn’t matter how small, wouldn’t you agree?”
I cleared my throat.
“Sure, yes, of course. It’s just …OK, you’re being so serious now,” I said and tried to laugh again. His hand was no longer on my leg.
“If we’re moving too fast, I’m happy to dial it back a bit, I totally understand if you’re not ready for anything physical just yet,” he said.
Now it was my turn to frown.
Moving too fast? It felt like I had to file an application in triplicate and wait six months just to mention the idea of kissing him. My nerve had anyway gone. The idea of kissing him now just left me cold.
“Can I get some more whiskey?” I said, and held up my glass.
He gave me a patronizing smile.
“Kat, are you using alcohol to avoid anything?” he asked.
I clanked my glass loudly on the table.
“Anthony, I’m sorry, I’m just …this is all so serious, you know? Can we just have fun?”
He looked pained. “You’re not having fun?”
I glared at him.
“Well, it’s just …I like to let things evolve organically. I suppose… we should just go with it when the moment feels right, you know?”
He didn’t seem to like this idea. He frowned a bit more, looked puzzled, then shook his head and gave me a strange look.
“Of course, I get that completely.” He smiled warmly at me. “It’s just …it’s been a long time since I’ve done this whole dating thing, you know, and I want to do things properly,” he said in earnest.
I leaned forward and hovered a little in front of him, holding his gaze. He had a gentle face, soft eyes and a small, thoughtful mouth.
I kissed him. Without thinking too much about it, I leaned forward and planted a sweet, brief kiss on his lips and drew back a little to see his reaction. His eyes were downcast, as though he was trying to decipher something I had just said to him in another language. After the longest time, his eyes still avoiding mine, he nodded and reached for my glass.
“You said you wanted a refill?” he asked casually.
I giggled.
“Now who’s avoiding?” I said playfully. He shot me a hurt look. God this was awkward.
“I’m sorry, should have I asked for consent?” I said and giggled again, trying to make light of how heavy everything suddenly felt.
“You’re making fun of me. How would you have liked it, if I just sprung that on you?” he said coldly.
“Um, like you sprung a whole marriage proposal on me?” In my head it had sounded like another playful jab. But once the words were on my lips I realized how irritated I sounded. “I’m sorry, we’re getting off on the wrong foot here. I just like a man to take some initiative, that’s all.”
It was beginning to seem like not even a second whiskey would save this train wreck of an evening.
“Initiative?”
“Yeah, you know. You don’t have to discuss every last detail, sometimes it’s sexy to just go for it you know?”
“Well, I have a more egalitarian understanding of relationships,” he said curtly.
“I’m not saying I don’t support being egalitarian. Look, we’re misunderstanding each other here…”
“I consider myself a feminist, Kat. I think cheap power plays between men and women are dangerous. And regressive. I don’t believe in ‘just going for it’.”
I laughed nervously.
“Hey, Anthony, you’re misunderstanding me, I completely agree. But I’m telling you I like a man to take some direction, you know. I’m telling you that. I’m not saying be like a caveman or something, just take the lead a little, you know, be a little bold.”
“I could never do that to a woman.”
We looked at each other. I got up, walked over to the counter and poured us both another whiskey.
“I haven’t been myself these last few days,” I said lamely. “Can we just start again?”
For some stupid reason, I thought of Massooma Tavawalla. She popped into my head, wearing the same frown Anthony had just given me. He was right, of course. I couldn’t hold some principles dear but then throw them out the window when they were inconvenient. I had built my whole life around empowering women. I had spent more than a decade teaching women to value their own voices, to demand respect, to earn their way in the world and to question the burdens placed on them by the cultures they were born into.
And now here I was, play-acting some cheesy Fifty Shades style nonsense and asking this kind, sincere man to communicate less with me, and to show me less respect.
I took a big swig of whiskey.
I was crazy for sure. I had already decided that Anthony was the right man for me, and here he was, proving exactly why he would be so good for me. He’d hold me accountable. He wouldn’t put up with my bullshit. He’d take me seriously. Didn’t I say I was done dealing with immature boys, and that I wanted a mature man in my life? Well, here he was.
I walked over to the sofa again.
“Anthony, if you’re OK with it, I’d like to kiss you,” I said plainly. I put my glass down on the side table. He looked up at me, fingers interlaced over his knees.
“I’d like to kiss you too,” he said.
I knelt down in front of him and gingerly placed my lips on his. They pushed back a little, and we kissed awkwardly. He pulled away and smiled at me, then placed his hands on my shoulders.
It would be fine. I didn’t even care about sex that much anyway. And things would get better. Chemistry was overrated. It’s not what ultimately mattered. Not really.
Chapter 9 - Mark
I always knew she’d come back. Just not this soon.
She pitched up in a boring pair of work slacks and a blousy, loose shirt that gave no hint of her killer curves underneath. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and when she buzzed to come in for her second ‘consult’, she had a look on her face that …well, let’s just say I decided to play along with her claim that she had only come to chat about her piece, which, she was quick to remind me, she was only getting in the first place because she was curious. Just curious.
She carelessly tossed a briefcase onto the floor and took off her jacket.
“So, what have you come up with for me?” she asked.
Without her copper mane, her cheekbones looked even more fragile than usual. In my fantasies of her, her hair was always loose. Always streaming around her face, falling into her half closed eyes as her head thrashed from side to side… But pulled back was also a good look, I guess.
I went over to the shelf and pulled off a big leather bound book and started to show her some sketches and photographs from previous pieces. I had spent the better part of the week thinking about this woman. It wasn’t often that a client just gave me a blank slate and told me to build something for them from scratch, but I relished the idea.
What would such a woman need? What would she want? Did she scream out and throw back her head at the moment of orgasm or was she the kind to curl up tightly and shake and whimper when her body couldn’t handle anymore? How much pain could a woman with such a delicate body really take? Or was it just the threat of pain that she’d enjoy? Dark wood or steel for this elfin creature? Chain restraints or velvet?
When I pushed the leather bound book towards her, the expression on her face remained stony.
“This is it?” she said. She pored over the sketches, then took a look at the diagrams with crudely sketched people using it. “Oh, I see…”
I found a loose jump ring on the table and twirled it in my fingertips. I was seldom wrong about people. Sometimes you can tell what peo
ple are into just by looking at them. You can tell by the particular flavor of hunger in their eyes what they’re really all about. But she took long enough to reply that I briefly wondered if I had overstepped. The drawings I had shown her were …obscene. I watched the effort it took her to maintain a straight face.
She pushed the book back to me.
“No. No this isn’t want I had in mind at all.”
“It isn’t?”
“I don’t know what gave you the impression that I’d like to …to have that done to me, but no.”
“Oh. My apologies then. To be fair, though, you haven’t actually asked for anything specific,” I ventured.
She sighed loudly and trilled her fingers on the leather cover.
“You’re right, I didn’t. That’s my fault. So I should say that …well, I don’t want something so …violent. I won’t want to be …well, to be…”
“Paddled?” I said and grinned. She shot me a fierce look.
“Fine, if that’s what they call it, then no, I would not like to be ‘paddled’.”
“Caned, then?”
“What? No.”
“Whipped, maybe?”
“Oh my god, none of that. No, of course not!”
I laughed.
“Kind of like going to the ice cream shop and being angry they only sell ice cream, huh?”
She didn’t look impressed.
“Mark, do you have any idea of just how widespread the problem of violence towards women really is?”
“I’m, I’m sorry, what?”
“Violence towards women. I have just spent the morning working with a young woman who has endured unbelievable violence done to her. She’s been abused in ways you couldn’t even possibly imagine…”
“What has that got to do with—”
“Do you ever even think about that? About how unethical it is to go and deliberately promote more violence, more gender imbalance, more sexism?” she said, raising her voice.
“Woah woah woah, Kat, just calm down for a second. None of this is violence, don’t be ridiculous.”
She was on her feet again and looking agitated.
