Reaching Lily

by Vivacia K Ahwen

  This is where Dorian Holder was so frightening.

  I’d happily been a sub, but never felt any loss of control. This time I wasn’t so sure. While I lay on the bed, and my limbs began to feel as though they were pierced by needles and pins, my thoughts wandered to the last time I’d had anything resembling intimacy. Which hardly counted.

  For the record, I may be a bit flirty, but I am also shyer than I’d like. Though it sounds like I’m a girl who’s been around the block, that’s not entirely accurate. I’ve only been with six men altogether. Some of the things I’d done were hardly vanilla, but there weren’t many notches on my bedpost. I’d decided to cool my jets not just to make room in my life for something more real, more adult, more … just more, but also because I had a hard time looking at myself in the mirror. Or, when I did, it wasn’t my glasses, mousy hair or overgrown eyebrows that made me look away.

  So I’m not promiscuous by any means – not that there would be anything wrong with that. It’s just that, when you tell someone that you’ve had so few lovers and then demand some kink, it can be confusing. Since Dorian Holder appeared to have picked up on my subservient tendencies, and been drawn in, naturally he assumed I was falling into bed all over the place, say with random accountants and would-be rockers in the same night.

  Not my thing.

  But I was kinda lost, had been trying to find myself and was getting nowhere fast. I hoped that perhaps a new approach would be a gamechanger. Which meant leaving behind childish things.

  Poor old Jerry Fitz was the last straw.

  Let the record speak for itself.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Legend of Jerry Fitz

  Jerry Fitz and I always began our scenes the same way.

  ‘Bless me, Father Gerald, for I have sinned.’

  ‘When was your last confession?’ he would prompt from behind the screen.

  The confessional was dark, claustrophobic, and the wooden bench stung my knees.

  ‘My last confession was, uhm …’ I tried to think back, but this little game had become so familiar that they all kind of ran together. ‘My last confession was two or three weeks ago.’

  ‘It was three weeks ago,’ he corrected me. ‘And now, as you repent for your sins, you can add lying to the list.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘Did you mean, “I suppose you’re right, Father Gerald”?’

  ‘Yes.’ I sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right, Father Gerald.’

  ‘Because Father Gerald is always right.’ I heard his breath quickening on the other side of the partition. ‘Say it.’

  ‘Because Father Gerald is always right. Forgive me, Father.’

  ‘Perhaps I will, depending on how penitent you are.’ He waited.

  ‘OK. So, last week I swore seven times, took the name of the Lord in vain twice, lied to my mom and stole one of her cigarettes.’ I made my voice as shaky as possible.

  ‘Oh, come on, Lily.’ He sighed. ‘Can’t you do better than that?’

  ‘Jerry, don’t break character. You always break character. Those are three commandments I broke. Isn’t that good enough?’

  ‘No. You know what I want to hear.’

  ‘Fine. But ask me in that creepy priest voice you use, or I’m not playing.’ I straightened my new Catholic-schoolgirl miniskirt I bought that afternoon at Hubba Hubba in Cambridge Square. Super cute. I didn’t buy it for Jerry, even though he was my top. I bought it for me.

  I didn’t even like Jerry.

  But I did like dressing up.

  He cleared his throat. ‘My child, those are some serious sins, and I’m terribly disappointed in you. Though not half as saddened by your choices as Our Father In Heaven. Are you certain there isn’t anything else you have to tell me? Some trouble you may have fallen into over the past few weeks?’

  ‘Now that you mention it,’ I said, ‘I have been thinking about sex an awful lot lately.’

  ‘The thought is as good as the deed,’ he reminded me.

  ‘Yes, Father Gerald.’

  ‘Is there more to the story?’ he prompted.

  ‘Yes, Father Gerald.’

  I heard the rustle of him pulling up his vestments. Once I asked him how much he spent on a priest dress, and he told me that first off it wasn’t a ‘priest dress’, it was a robe, and secondly it was $800. Now that is some serious commitment right there. I also asked why he didn’t just go to Harvard Div so he could be a real live priest, but he said he preferred the fantasy. And then suggested I stop asking personal questions.

  ‘Well, I let a boy feel me up at the CYO dance,’ I told him, and remembered to add, ‘Since I’m eighteen years old and a senior in high school, I thought it would be time to experiment.’

  This is also part of the story we always had to do. He didn’t want to be a rapey, creepy priest, just a straight-up creepy priest. So we were always clear on the legality of our ‘confession session’, even though it was mere fantasy. I heard him unzip the fly of his black wool slacks, under the robe. How could he stand that get-up? Especially the white plastic collar.

  Jesus Christ. It was so dark in there.

  ‘No, my child.’ Jerry drew in a breath, and I heard a wet, squeaky sound. Oh, the lube bottle. He was getting ready to jerk off. ‘There is never a “good time” to sin. You need to remain a virgin until you die if you wish to enter the kingdom of heaven.’

  ‘It’s too late, Father Gerald,’ I replied, my voice somber. ‘I-I lost my virginity that very night.’

  ‘You mean to say,’ he said, fury creeping into his voice, ‘that you didn’t just stop at letting that little prick feel up your juicy tits, but you had to go and fuck him?’

  ‘Father Gerald?’ I was shocked! Truly!

  Ha. Kidding.

  ‘You took him out to the dugouts, I suppose. Where you play softball.’

  Hm. I forgot that Catholic schoolgirl Lily was a softball player. Kind of lesbian-ish for someone so femme.

  ‘No, Father Gerald. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t the boy.’

  ‘Who was it, Lily?’ I could hear the slick sounds of his hand on his penis, beginning to pleasure himself. Despite my growing boredom with this scene, I always loved it when he began to get angry and excited, and started to get a little tingly myself. ‘Who made you act like such a little whore?’

  ‘The devil?’ I suggested.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘But I meant, who was the man in question?’

  ‘The bus driver,’ I admitted, with a sigh. ‘I know it was wrong. But before I went into the dance, he told me that he’d be waiting on the bus for three hours. And if I wanted to have a real man show me how it’s done, that I should sneak out of the dance. Since we’d been flirting for so long, and I totally had a crush on him, that’s what I decided to do. So after the guy on the dancefloor got my pussy all wet from feeling my boobs …’

  I paused.

  ‘Go on,’ he ordered, his voice strained. ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘I forget,’ I said, and giggled.

  ‘You lying little whore,’ he shouted. ‘Tell the truth!’

  ‘I – I can’t remember, Father Gerald.’

  ‘Very well.’ He grunted, and I heard the slick sound speeding up. ‘If you won’t tell me the truth, then I’ll have to force it out of you. Walk over to me, on your knees. Do not stand up.’

  ‘Of course, Father Gerald.’ I clambered off the kneeler and, as ordered, kneeled my way around the partition to where Jerry sat in an antique chair. Though it was dark, I could see that his chasuble was indeed hiked up, and he was whacking off as though his life depended upon it.

  * * *

  Yeah, so I used to play sex games with a silver fox who was so into his role that he had a closet in his apartment turned into a confessional. I’ve wondered more than once how he explained that one to the home decorator. Though I learned very little about Jerry Fitz over those few months – we’d agreed to keep our ‘real
lives’ separate – and though I cared very little about him, there were these moments where I pictured him in his day-to-day life, and felt a twinge of sadness. I mean, he was just trying to get by in life as a lawyer, or doctor, butcher, baker, candlestick maker – whatever it was he did in the real world. And yet he had this secret life, which he had to extensively plan, buy and build for. This was where he felt most like himself. It must have been lonely.

  Maybe I’m wrong, but I believe it was different for me. If you’re 23 and feel like being a naughty schoolgirl, that’s not necessarily a lifestyle choice, it’s a cute costume.

  Though I actually did lose my virginity to the bus driver. That happened.

  But, just like in my games with ‘Father Gerald’, I was eighteen. So no pity, please.

  I’m a big girl.

  * * *

  Kneeling, I clasped my hands behind my back and lowered my head. ‘What is my penance, Father Gerald?’

  ‘Stand up,’ he ordered, and I did. ‘Now lie face-down across my lap.’

  This was awkward, as his stiff dick was shoved up against my ribs, but the part I liked the best was about to happen. He hiked up my tiny plaid skirt and snapped the lacy elastic bands at the tops of my thigh-highs. ‘How many spanks until I am forgiven?’ I asked in my meekest voice.

  ‘We’ll start with ten.’

  ‘Why ten?’

  ‘One for each sin.’

  ‘There were twelve sins.’ I always kept a better tally than he.

  ‘There were ten naughty sins. There was one more serious sin, and you’ll need more than a spanking to learn your lesson. And finally there was a mortal sin. Your brazen besmirchment with the bus driver.’

  ‘Brazen besmirchment?’ I repeated.

  There was a loud crack as he smacked my ass, hard. Oh, he’s upset tonight.

  ‘Did that hurt, Lily?’ His voice was quaking.

  ‘Hardly,’ I taunted, because that’s what Father Gerald liked. And he smacked me nine more times, a little harder each time, until I whimpered, because it was starting to sting.

  In the best possible way.

  ‘Now what?’ I whispered.

  He was out of breath, poor ol’ guy. ‘Now you can suck me off.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For letting some football player feel your tits.’ Jerry shoved me off his lap and I thumped down on the hard floor.

  Hey! I never said Danny was a football player, even though he was. ‘Yes, Father Gerald.’

  Back on my knees, I opened my mouth, wide, and he pushed me down to his penis, gripping my hair and pumping my head up and down. Until at last I could taste a little salty metal. Knowing Father Gerald, he didn’t want to come yet. Nope. He let go of me, and I looked up at him.

  ‘Let me see something,’ he said, leaning forward, and swiftly wiped his hand between my legs. ‘Wet. You’re a dirty girl, Lily.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘You’re right about that, Father Gerald.’

  ‘Are you mocking me?’

  ‘What’s my final penance?’ I asked, knowing the answer full well.

  ‘Stand up and turn around.’ He licked his lips.

  I obeyed and turned my back to him.

  ‘Spread your legs.’

  I did.

  ‘Slut.’ He grabbed my hips, yanked me back and shoved himself inside me, while bouncing me up and down.

  I squirmed hard.

  ‘Fuck, cunt, fuck, cunt,’ he chanted, every time he entered me.

  Out of nowhere, I came. It was unspectacular, but worked.

  He followed, with a moan, and I felt his heat inside me. He was soaked in sweat and panting. I was glad my back was facing him; I didn’t want to see his face just then. Gingerly, I climbed off his lap. But the scene wasn’t over.

  ‘Now,’ he grunted, ‘your penance is not complete, since with your evil seductive ways you made me partake in the gravest of sins. Go back to the kneeler and wait in here until I come get you.’

  ‘Yes, Father Gerald.’ I followed his instructions exactly.

  He closed the door behind him. Now was when he’d go take a shower, and I would masturbate for a few minutes until he returned.

  But not that time.

  As soon as I heard the squeak of the pipes and the water running, I rose to my feet, because it was simply time to go.

  I wonder if he could tell that this was the last time he’d see me.

  Probably not.

  Bad Priest is the only role Jerry could ever play. It was harmless, but for him I believe it was the only game in town. Ever since he and I ‘found’ each other at some weird Cinco De Mayo costume party at Silly’s in Alston, he only wanted to be mean old Father Gerald, while I was the bad student. Once I asked him if I could be a dirty nun instead and he was offended.

  It must be hard to find someone who understands, which is why it comes down to odd gatherings and online searches.

  Which made it even harder to leave. I just felt so sorry for him, but I was so bored. Though what Jerry and I had was hardly real, my taking off was still a rejection. He wasn’t a bad guy, really. I mean, Father Gerald was an asshole, but Jerry Fitz is a mild-mannered golfer. Truly – I saw a bag of clubs on my way in one night. Judging from his digs, he was upper-middle-class, seemed fairly educated and, as previously mentioned, was a total Silver Fox. His house was meticulously clean, and all the ‘artwork’ on the walls looked like it was from a dentist’s office.

  Maybe he was a dentist. Who knows?

  Jerry Fitz just was not enough for me.

  It wasn’t personal. I was tired. And, believe it or not, I wanted to fall in love.

  As long as I got caught up in these predicaments, I never would.

  See, Jerry was not my first Jerry. But he would be my last.

  I tiptoed out of the closet, grabbed my jeans off the floor and pulled them on under my miniskirt, because there was no time to change and no room for discussion. Jerry would know what happened when he found me gone.

  Why’d I have to wear my Danskos that night? Only the clunkiest shoes ever. Oh, well. I tiptoed down the hall, and froze by the bathroom door. He was singing falsetto in the shower. ‘If you like pina coladas … and getting caught in the rain …’

  Aw. Rupert Holmes. Jerry was so fiftysomething. And he was so happy right then. Our bit of naughty business gave him that, and now I had to go and take it away. Why was I feeling guilty? And were my eyes stinging? I never stayed over here anyway.

  That was another one of our rules.

  ‘Goodbye, Jerry,’ I said. My voice was soft, though of course he could not hear me over the rushing water. ‘It was fun, huh?’

  I headed back down the hall, closed the door behind me and never looked back.

  * * *

  Jerry Fitz was no Dorian Holder, to say the least.

  ‘Father Gerald’ believed he had the power, when I was the strong one all along. Though I had no evil intentions, in retrospect I played that poor golfer like a fiddle.

  With Dorian, I knew playing him would be impossible. Playing with him could be thrilling. Being played by him was inevitable; it’s what men like Dorian Holder always did, always do and always will do.

  Or was it? I wondered. What if he was the exception to That Guy, and it was all a glossy veneer? How often had his steely features softened, appearing sweet, gentle and young … only for him to raise the mask seconds later? What if I was the exception, different enough from the other women he had in the past, and he would show me that vulnerable side? But somehow he would maintain that alpha-male thing that made me feel such a delicious combination of safe and fearful. There had to be that.

  Of course, what I sought was a phantom. Dorian Holder never tried to hide his darkness.

  But my curiosity, newly found vanity, twitterpated state and the slow burn between my legs were more compelling than honesty.

  Even if it all goes sour, I told myself, Dorian will be an adventure worth embarking on. A risk worth taking. Your heart is worth
breaking, if only to see that it still beats.

  So I squirmed and tugged my wrists against the hand towels, but did not break loose, though freedom was a mere two twists away.

  I had made my choice.

  Chapter Twelve

  Time and Tide

  Perhaps it was the Smashed Gardens I had enjoyed with my dinner, or the weight of rich food in my belly, but at some point I dozed off, despite my bonds. When I awoke, my arms remained sleeping.

  How long had I lain in waiting?

  ‘I don’t believe I gave you permission to sleep, Ms Dewitt.’

  Startled, I sucked in my breath, and my eyes fluttered open. Dorian stood by the bed, his head tilted. The expression on his face was something between curiosity and amusement. Yawning, I stretched my arms, flexing as much as I could without freeing myself.

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘A bit. How long have I been tied up?’

  ‘Maybe an hour or so.’ He tugged at each binding, and my wrists were instantly freed. ‘You’re a very patient girl. I’m impressed.’

  ‘How’d you learn to be so tricky with knots? Boy scout?’

  ‘I may have a boat or two.’

  ‘Ahh.’ I rubbed my wrists, and sat up too quickly. The room spun, and I felt bile rising in my throat.

  ‘Lily?’ Dorian’s voice was concerned, and he caught me before I fell forward. ‘No, sweetheart. Here, let me.’

  ‘No.’ I needed to get to the bathroom, and fast, before I yacked all over the silken quilt.

  ‘Yes, you’re staying put. Work with me here.’ He shoved my knees up to my chest and guided my head forward. ‘Hold your legs still, drop your head between your knees a minute, and take a couple deep breaths.’

  I followed his instructions, and began to feel better in two seconds. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘Take ten more breaths. Then lie back, slowly. OK?’ He put an arm around my shoulders. ‘Good. Now lean. I’ve got you.’

  ‘Lie down with me?’ I asked. My voice was small.

  ‘Of course.’

  We lay together in silence.