by Gina Kincade
The clerk handed her her package, change, receipt and a business card though not the one for the business as she would have presumed. The card was for Hawthorne DuFoe with his contact information. Flipping it over, she found a brief message.
My apologies for the abrupt departure, another time please.
Maggie smiled as she tucked the card with her change into her wallet, picked up her plain brown package, and left thinking to herself, perhaps so Thorne, perhaps so.
At the curb as she emerged was a beautiful black on black muscle car. She knew without knowing that he owned it. He did indeed have a very good eye.
Maggie moved quickly down the block and around the corner before hailing a cab. Originally she had planned to return to the small strip mall where she had started, but she didn’t want to linger about with her purchase. Two blocks from home she had the cab drop her at a Panera. She could walk the rest of the way after picking up some dinner.
She had not been hungry shopping and wandering in the store, but she found she was famished as she approached home. After picking up a loaf of French bread, a cup of soup, a sandwich and a couple cookies to go, she made the short trek to her building, climbed the stairs and locked herself inside.
She made herself take her time eating, staring at, but not touching, the cane the whole time. Her mind ran wild as she considered her purchase, the table from the store, and exactly what he meant about it being just her size. She had no idea how to use the cane or the equipment, how to take his comment, or how soon another time might be, but she knew it was only that, a matter of time.
‘I’m still a rock star...’
The loft came together quickly with only a couple of exceptions. She had decided the red leather would be perfect the first night as she’d stared at the cane over soup. The only challenge was color. She wanted everything to match. She found out that they would have to order as they didn’t have enough in stock of what she needed.
The wardrobes were six feet tall and nine feet wide unless she wanted to wrap around the end that was toward the kitchen area, which would make it eleven and a half wide. It would be a lot of leather either way. She found too, after taking in the curtain and one of the pillows, that the candy apple color she favored was too bright and contrast harshly. She ended up with a shade just brighter than a fire engine called Red Carpet.
Through the fabric shop she contracted for a seamstress. The leather only came in sixty inch bolts, so she had to have three pieces sewn together sideways to get the seventy-two inch height and the right width. Maggie knew how to sew, but not how to work with leather like this. Her thoughts wandered briefly at contracting someone for leather work for another little project she had in mind, but she tucked it away for another time.
The woman came over one afternoon after the material was in and had taken multiple measurements. She was confident it could be completed quickly. As far as Maggie was concerned, the sooner the better.
The job of recovering the wingbacks had been on hold as she had unpacked and staged her home as well. The mottled original green over grey print stood out badly. It was an eye sore against the room colors and everything else. Thankfully, they were a boxy style without too many curves to work around. She hauled the first one into the middle of the kitchen floor and got to work.
The first chair was retired to her bedroom after they were both completed, placing the better looking second try in the living area where it might be seen. Both shouted that they had not been professionally done, but for now it was an improvement and she could deal with them. The throw blanket might have to live on the one in the living area when not in use, but overall the difference was a dramatic improvement. The chair no longer jumped out as being wrong the second you entered the room. The small area of exposed light wood was not overly noticeable. It would have to stay as is.
She found a stippling spray paint at the hardware store and repainted the café set, the bookcase, her bedframe and the dresser as her next DIY project one weekend. The loft was toxic with fumes even with the slider open. By Monday, with the help of a floor fan she borrowed from work, the worst was over and she put everything back together and in place.
The hand mixer, placemats, glasses and candle sticks had all gone back. She had found a small set of six black art glass glasses to replace the clear Libby ones, and supplemented the remaining return money to get a microwave. Once the faux leather wall was done, so was she. Maggie determined that until she had more income, she wasn’t spending any more money except to eat and pay bills. She was determined to save every dime she could. The loft was shaping up beautifully, but this was not the dream. The future was still to come, and it had a hefty price tag.
‘Losing my religion...’
It was just under a month to her twenty-first birthday. Maggie had picked up extra hours at Wenstry’s and limited her spending for weeks. With all of her do-it-yourself projects done, and no hours to work, a dull Thursday afternoon yawned before her.
The urge struck quickly out of the blue. She had earned a return trip to Custom Helotry. She debated for all of thirty seconds before she slipped into clean jeans and grabbed her debit card out of the wardrobe drawer.
It was the decision of a moment too to drive there. She had to go around a block to change directions and park across the street, but found a metered spot on the same block without difficulty. She had a good feeling about the spur of a moment trip. She noted absently that unlike the last trip, her palms were dry as she grabbed the handle and walked in.
The floor arrangement had shifted a little since the last trip, but the stock appeared to be relatively stagnant otherwise. She passed the rack of videos that ran the length of the front wall as well as the magazines and manuals that came next. She moved to the doorway in the far wall intent to finish her perusal of the furniture area. Maggie thought briefly of Thorne as she entered and wondered how many pieces he actually had. Remembering her last visit, he obviously had a cross of some kind now. Was it the start or expansion of his collection?
Walking in, the table that had caught her attention before was gone. Shame too, it had been beautiful once she had gotten around to actually seeing it. Not that she came to buy furniture, just to look, but that had been a striking piece and now a fond memory. Another table held the space, but not her interest. It was similar in design but just not the same.
A bit further into the room she stopped. What in the world is a saddle stand doing here? Circling the piece, it reminded her of the Murray’s barn in Iowa minus the English saddle. They had never had horses on the Donald farm, but she had been allowed to visit the Murray’s animals whenever she wished. Coming around the far side, she noticed the tag marked ‘Spanking Bench’ and a price that made her giggle. If the boys back home had only known.
Her giggle had echoed and gotten to the back. The same woman from her last trip emerged from the far end of the room with a broad smile.
“I didn’t realize anyone had come in. Can I help you?”
Busted.
“I was just looking.”
Gesturing to the stand Maggie continued though she couldn’t fathom why. “This piece reminded me of something similar in a friend’s barn back home. Good memories.”
With a broad smile the woman managed not to join the giggling. “Ah, I see. Not many from here in the city would make that connection. Where are you from?”
“Originally Iowa, now Chicago.”
“Welcome to Custom Helotry. You seem so familiar, do I know you?”
“No. I’ve seen you in here before though. I’m Margaret.”
The clerk snapped her fingers then, pointing at Maggie’s chest. “You’re Mr. DuFoe’s friend. I’m Ava.”
Maggie blushed hard. “Uhhh no. Mr. DuFoe and I met here.”
Ava’s lips mashed together in mild embarrassment, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I assumed you knew one another.”
Maggie smiled wide. “Nope, only met.”
“You must be quite a lucky lady, always
on a mission that one. I’ve seldom seen him stop long enough to notice there are others in the room, never mind actually talk to someone.”
Maggie blushed again. “I guess I am. We were admiring the same table. I’m sure it was him being polite.”
Ava’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Table? You mean the fragmented tilt table that was near the door?”
Maggie could only guess having no idea the name of the table. “Yes, I suppose that’s the one.”
“You both have excellent taste. It is one of a kind. Only one of you can own that piece however.”
Before she could stop them, Maggie’s eyes flew wide and her jaw dropped. “He bought it?” she said astonished.
Ava smiled wide. “I cannot disclose the purchases of others. I can only say that only one of you will own that table.”
“Wow!”
“Yes, wow indeed. Now, how can I help you? Do you have something special in mind?”
“Actually Ava I’m window shopping to see what grabs me but got caught giggling in the barn before I got far.”
“I see. Forgive my bluntness, but I do get the impression that you are fairly novice in this lifestyle. Perhaps I can aid you elsewise, and down the road I will become your furnishings person when you are ready to outfit your needs?
Maggie was too grateful to be offended. Pursing her lips, she eyed Ava carefully. The woman seemed genuine and her proposal could help them both in time. “You are quite astute in your observation. What gave me away?”
Ava nodded to the saddle stand. “There are extremely few in the lifestyle that would see that and think of a saddle post, never mind comment on it as such. It was an innocent slip, but one that someone who understands that piece would not make. There is a purpose to, and a reverence for, each of the items here. The appreciation of them comes with great commitment to learning them or time, and you are too young yet to have time on your side for that.
I can see clearly you desire to learn and understand. I do not say you are young to offend. The combination is what gave you away. Will you allow me to help?”
Maggie was many things; stubborn, resourceful and proud, but not so proud to walk away from such an offer as this.
“I think that would be a good decision don’t you?”
Ava smiled. “Good. Come with me then Margaret.”
“Maggie.”
Ava escorted Maggie through the far door, down a small hallway and into an alcove office with a glass wall. Through the wall she spied the table from her last visit. There were changes being made. She immediately thought of Thorne’s ‘custom’ comment. She could still hardly believe he’d bought the piece and she didn’t know him in the slightest. Ava pulled a chair out from the desk.
“Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
Maggie watched the work being done while she waited. Each movement was careful and orchestrated like a dancer’s recital. No movement too big or too small, each was just enough to make the piece come together specifically. As though handling fine china, the pieces of furniture were treated delicately, reverently as though they might shatter. Looking at the heavy pieces, it hardly seemed necessary. Yes, she had a great deal to learn.
Ava returned with her arms full and unloaded them onto the desk. Looking at the pile, it was a mad conflagration of books, videos, and assorted boxes. Ava pulled out a chair and sat down before beginning.
“Firstly, let’s define what you interests are shall we? I know you like the furniture, I’ve seen you here twice. Is it curiosity or for future use?”
Maggie was stumped.
“I honestly don’t know. I never thought much about it.”
“Okay, let’s back up a step then. Are you looking for something to use alone or with someone else?”
Still stumped. “Again, I cannot say I know that either.”
“Hmmm. Let’s try a different question, what brought you in then, today or before?”
This one Maggie knew and blurted without hesitation. “Red leather.”
Ava’s eyes shot wide then narrowed in question. “Red leather? Can you be more specific?”
Maggie blushed before she found her voice. “A red leather suit like Catwoman.”
Maggie had expected Ava to roar with laughter and kick her out. She didn’t. Instead, Ava flipped through the pile and pulled out a catalog. She fanned the pages, turned back a couple and set it open on the table.
“Like this?”
It wasn’t exactly like it, but it was pretty similar.
“That’s pretty close.”
Ava was watching her look at the suit on the page.
“I can honestly say that this is the first time I’ve ever gotten this as an answer. You are full of surprises Maggie.”
Maggie twitched in her seat.
“Tell me that’s a good thing.”
Ava’s smile was wide and genuine.
“It makes you unique. Tell me why the suit interests you. I take it you have seen one before.”
“I have.”
For all her blunt and direct, Ava was too polite to press for more details on where Maggie had seen a Dominatrix suit, but her curiosity was obviously piqued.
“I am going to go out on a limb and guess it is not or was not your suit. What is your interest in one?”
“I believe I want one.”
“For?”
Maggie hedged. She didn’t really know how to respond exactly, skirting the edges of her thoughts, she tried to verbalize it.
“I’ve put on the glove and the hat.”
“Hood.”
“What?”
“The hat is called a hood.”
“Oh. I’ve put on a glove and the hood and there is a power to the feeling. I want to wear the whole thing.”
“For?”
Maggie was doing her best but felt like she was flailing. She tried humor.
“Well, I think I’m too old for trick-or-treat if that’s what you’re asking. Beyond that I don’t know.”
Ava was quiet and still considering how to ask her next questions. Before she could form them Maggie spat out a nervous string that answered them all.
“Okay Ava, here’s the deal; you’re gorgeous. I’m not. I’m no one’s first choice, never have been. I’m not even a distant second. I’m not sexy but I am sexual. I want an outlet, but not the face of let-down staring back at me. I want to be wanted, desired, mysterious and the first choice for a change.
I know enough about human sexuality to know there is power in being pursued and I want it. The red suit, when I first saw it was the answer, so I want one that is my very own, not a borrowed glove and moment of glory. I don’t know the ‘lifestyle’ you referred to, but maybe that’s what I’m looking for too.
I’m my father’s first son and that’s what everyone sees. I want to be feminine without having to be the ‘little lady’. But at the same time, I don’t want to be needy; I want to be needed, which probably makes no sense at all to you. As I said, you are gorgeous, and I can’t imagine have experienced my challenges.”
Ava grinned so wide it made Maggie’s face hurt.
“Oh Maggie, I couldn’t have gotten you to say half of that with the next dozen questions I was trying to figure out how to ask. It makes perfect sense to me. You are mistaken, but I thank you for your compliments.
While I think I understand the role you want for yourself, I’m not going to define it for you. I will however help you figure it out. And, I will help you get your red leather suit.”
Maggie sagged a bit in her seat not sure what she had said, or what she was wrong about. It didn’t matter. Ava seemed to understand and that would be enough for now. They left the office and moved to a closed room with solid walls on all sides.
“Strip down to your underwear.”
Maggie didn’t balk. She had seen Ava grab the measuring tape on their way out.
“You do know the suits are custom fit right Maggie?”
“I assumed so.”
“W
e need to determine how much give will be needed.”
“Give?”
“Yes. Does your weight fluctuate, do you bloat often, are you prone to large swings because you stress eat, that kind of thing.”
Maggie got it now. “Oh, that kind of ‘give.’”
“Yes. That kind of give. These suits are meant to be fitted. They really look awful if they sag and worse if the seams pull.”
“I understand.”
Ava continued talking as she took more measurements then Maggie could remember ever having had done before. All the usual dress measurements plus wrists, ankles, thighs, upper arms, the knee to ankle, elbows to wrists and more.
“For the record Maggie, gorgeous is perspective, taste and preference. You haven’t been someone’s gorgeous, that doesn’t mean you aren’t. As for choices, it only takes one to make you their first choice and the rest don’t count. You’re right about the power, but you have to understand how to use it and when not to use it to truly have it.
How loose are your hips?”
Maggie snapped out of listening at the last. “How what are my what?”
“I’m going to assume that you haven’t had children.”
“Safe assumption.”
“Have you had sex?”
Maggie had. She would call the experience more one of mad groping and impaling, but sex was as close to right as was probably appropriate to say.
“Why does that matter?”
“Your skeleton shifts to adjust with certain events. If your hips have not loosened a little and may yet, we need to plan for it in the give of that measurement.”
Maggie would not claim to completely understand that, but maybe one day it would make sense.
“Yes, I’ve had sex.”
