by Frankie Love
I’m not saying this paper is my motivation for this list of resolutions.
But it does contribute to my willingness to make it happen.
I also want it to happen because New Year’s Eve was a low point. It was an in-my-face-can’t-ignore-it-anymore moment.
Later in the week, Bridget stops by on Saturday afternoon asking if I want to go out with her and a friend–some guy named Juan DeMarco who does installation art–I look at her with so much confusion she asks what my problem is.
For the second time in as many weeks, I almost tell her about the list. But then she launches into a story about the guy she met last night and how he had “a massive ding-a-ling” (her words, not mine) and I remember why I haven’t told her.
She’d be all over this Kinky list ... but I also think she’d make it her thing instead of mine.
“Sometimes I just wonder why we’re friends,” I tell her as we walk into my kitchen. “I mean, I love you, Bridget ... it’s just ... don’t you think we are really different?”
She opens my fridge, grabbing a bottle of Chardonnay. Unscrewing it–because I’m classy like that –she pours half the bottle in a wine glass. “We’re friends because without me you wouldn’t have any anecdotes to share when you go home to Connecticut and sit around your daddy’s dinner table. I’m the comic relief you need in your life.”
“Then what am I to you?” I ask, watching her taking a massive chug of wine.
She licks her lips and laughs. “You are my constant. My compass. You’re the person who reminds me that we have to go to class or to get a flu shot.”
Bridget and I were roommate’s freshman year–which is the only way the two of us would have ever come together. And I’ve always been the parent in our relationship.
“I just wonder what would happen if I wasn’t playing the role of your mother anymore.”
“Whoa,” she says setting down my glass, without a coaster. “Where is all this coming from?”
I shrug, knowing exactly where it’s coming from. I am tense as hell. It’s been two weeks since I heard from Cooper and I’m ready to get this show on the road.
“Sorry. I’m PMS’ing.”
“Bullshit. You hate it when women use that line. You’ve told me about four thousand times that every time a woman blames her mood on her biology it’s giving men the upper hand in gender politics.”
I purse my lips together knowing she is totally right. Just when I’m about to confess my New Year’s Resolutions–because what kind of friendship is this if I can’t be honest ––there’s a knock on the door.
“Who’s that?” Bridget frowns. She knows my social calendar revolves around her, Netflix, my Kindle Unlimited subscription, the library on campus, and my weekly manicure appointment.
Don’t judge. We don’t all need to be social butterflies to be happy.
A small, uncomplicated life is also perfectly acceptable.
Just with, you know, hopefully, some sex at some point. Soon.
“I have no idea.”
Before I can make my way to the front door, Cooper is in my living room.
“Oh, hey,” I say.
He grins, his hair falling in his face. “You should lock the door, you know this is New York City, right?” He runs his hand over his jaw and eyes Bridget. “You on your way out?”
“Uh, hello, Cooper. Good to see you too.” Bridget drains her wine glass and sets it on the counter. She turns to me. “Since when did Cooper start letting himself into your place?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess since he fixed my leaky sink?”
Satisfied, Bridget sidles up to him in a way only a woman who exudes sexual confidence can. “So, what are your plans tonight, Cooper?”
He steps away from her, which doesn’t surprise me. He has never, in three years, taken Bridget up on her advances. Much to her chagrin.
Once she knocked on his door in nothing but a bra and panties and asked for a cup of sugar.
On Halloween one year she dressed up as a baseball player and asked if he wanted to run her bases. He looked past her, straight at me, and asked if she was serious. When I nodded, he only smiled politely and offered to introduce her to a buddy of his who wanted a home run.
She took him up on that offer of course because the idea of dating a pro baseball player is appealing for most women.
Of course, it didn’t last long. Bridget’s attention span is awfully short, though she claims that wasn’t the only short thing in the relationship.
“I was hanging out with Gracie tonight.”
My belly instantly flip-flops. This is really happening.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bridget asks.
“It’s the first I’m hearing about it,” I say, wondering why Cooper didn’t text earlier. “I could have plans, Coop. Or a date.”
Bridget smirks, grabbing her purse from the dining room table and slinging it over her shoulder. “A date? You’re all talk, Gracie.” She shakes her head. “Cooper, if you can get this girl to go out and find a man who will sleep with her, I’ll pay you one hundred bucks.”
Cooper laughs. “Wow, selling out your best friend, isn’t that like against girl code?”
“She needs to get laid. The past two weeks she has been this freaked out ball of anxiety. She hasn’t even started her research paper. That’s a Gracie-sized-red flag right there.”
Cooper's eyes narrow, watching me react. I feel my cheeks redden under his gaze.
“What?” I say defensively crossing my arms. “I have writer’s block.”
Cooper hides a smile as if he has me all figured out.
“Thanks for the hundred-dollar offer, Bridget, but I think Gracie and I are just gonna order pizza and chill out. No big night on the town for us. Before I left for Missouri I told her that when I got back we were gonna hang.”
“Is hang code word for something? Because if so, I need details. Gracie’s my best friend, you know.” Bridget purses her lips at Cooper, suddenly protective of me.
“No funny business. Promise. We were just going to work on our New Year’s Resolutions,” he tells her as if it is the most mundane thing in the world.
Bridget buys it, “Lucky for you, Cooper, Gracie is the queen of resolutions and lists. If you want to stop eating sugar and starch–she’ll make you a meal plan. You want to run a marathon by spring, she’ll send you a spreadsheet with your training schedule.”
I walk her to the door and follow her into the hall, suddenly wanting her to know everything–but for real this time. I need a best friend pep talk. That list of seven resolutions is terrifying now that Cooper is in my apartment, ready to make good on one of them. I swallow. By the end of the night i may no longer be a virgin.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, pressing the elevator button. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly. You can ask me anything.” The elevator doors open and she steps in. I press my palm against the door to stop them from closing.
“Do you think Cooper––”
She interrupts “Has the hots for you? Uh, yes, Gracie, I do.”
“That’s not what I was going to as–”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s the truth. Now go order some pizza and ask for extra sausage.” She laughs at her twelve-year-old boy sense of humor.
I let go of the elevator door and wave goodbye. “Love you,” I tell her, stepping back toward my apartment, wondering if she is right.
I hope she isn’t.
This Kinky List would be daunting if there are actual feelings involved.
In fact, it would ruin it for me. I’d get all insecure and jealous and weird.
I don’t want any of that.
This year, I just want sex.
Of course, Cooper is dreamy and all man –but he is also a player. A man-whore even; his apartment is a revolving door. And I have never felt intimidated because I have no reason to be.
If we�
��re keeping with the baseball analogies, I’m not even getting drafted for the minors. Cooper literally plays for the Yankees. We’re not in the same league, not now, not ever.
And that hard truth has kept this deal doable in my mind.
Bridget is wrong. She’s just trying to get under my skin and it’s working.
I force away the thoughts of Cooper seeing me as something beyond teacher and student. He’s the one who said he would be my guru. He didn’t say anything about a girlfriend.
Bridget’s being stupid. I have nothing to worry about.
I mean, except for the fact that tonight could entail role-playing or a porno.
It’s time to get double fudged, Gracie.
Resolved, I step into my apartment.
The lights are low and 90’s R&B is playing.
“Cooper?” I ask, not seeing him.
Before I can take another step, I feel his hot breath on my neck, in my ear, covering my skin.
He presses a blindfold to my eyes and the room goes dark.
4
Ball Gag Me with A Spoon
January
“Cooper?” I manage. “What’s going on?”
“Do you trust me?” he asks, securing the blindfold to my head, taking my hands in his, leading me somewhere ... out of the apartment?
“Uhh. Um.”
“Gracie ... this isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me.”
“The thing is, though, Coop, I have literally no idea what I’m walking into here. You kinda disappeared for over two weeks and then you show up and just assume––”
He cuts me off by pressing a finger to my lips. “Gracie. I’m here now.”
I can’t speak because his finger on my lips feels so completely intimate. So utterly sexual.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Across the hall,” he tells me.
“To your apartment?”
“Yes, Gracie, my apartment.”
It’s probably good I can’t see his face ... I’m already a complete ball of nervous energy, have been all week. With my eyes covered, it’s easier to pretend this is a dream.
“And what are we doing in your apartment?” I ask, knowing I’m already here. Cooper’s place smells different, cedar and coffee to my rosemary and vanilla. His place is a lower temperature, and the floors are all hardwood here, whereas my apartment is covered in area rugs.
“We are going to start your list, Gracie.” His hands are on my face, cupping my cheeks, his mouth so close to mine. I feel his words as they brush against my lips and I inhale sharply realizing this is it.
Cooper is going to kiss me.
The list is real. NYE wasn’t a dream. And he is in control.
“Do you still want to do this?” he asks. His hands move from my cheeks to the base of my neck, and he somehow manages to lift my chin as I sink into his hold.
“What do you think?” I say breathless and hot. Realizing I want this so badly. In ways I have never expressed to anyone because how exactly do you tell someone you are horny as hell without looking a little bit crazy?
But I am.
“I think you’ve been waiting for me to show up for two weeks straight. I think you’ve been staring at the little list of yours, fantasizing about what we would do first.”
“And did you decide?” I ask, swallowing, my chest pounding and my heart whole.
“Yes. I thought long and hard, Gracie.”
“How hard?” I tease, the corners of my mouth upturned and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, even though they are covered because it is insane to think that I am here making sexual innuendos with the Cooper Bentley.
“So very hard.” He presses his body against mine and I feel exactly how hard he is.
Very.
“But I don’t want to scare you,” he whispers in my ear. “Things are going to get hot tonight ... and we’re going from zero to one-hundred very fast. But I figure going all-in is the best way to handle your virginity. Can you handle that, Gracie?”
“Yes, Cooper. I can handle you,” I say with false bravado. Though willing, I am terrified.
He growls, ready. He presses his arms around my waist, lifts me up ever so slightly, and then I am against a wall. A door? All I know is my back is against something and his lips are on mine.
And Cooper is kissing me.
Hard, our mouths part and his tongue finds mine.
My legs wrap around him as he lifts me up, my ass in his hands and my pussy ... the sometimes wet–but never dripping–lady part that is freshly waxed. Well, let’s just say it’s on fire. Or has become a fire hydrant.
I don’t know.
All I know is Cooper’s mouth tastes like apple pie a la mode. Warm and melting and familiar. His mouth tastes like home.
“Gracie,” he says, planting kisses on my neck. “Do you want to see what we are doing tonight?”
For a second I forget that this isn’t just a hardcore make out session. I forget this is the intro to an act that is going to rock my world.
To be honest, I’d be okay with just kissing this man’s face all night ... but this KINKY list wasn’t about making out. It was about getting down. And dirty. Filthy.
“I wanna see,” I tell him.
“Then let me strip you down first.”
He sets me to the ground, stepping out of my reach. “Strip me down?”
“I don’t think we can do any of that list fully clothed.” I hear his buckle slide from his jeans, clank against his hardwood floor. There’s a whoosh, things dropping, but then his hands are on me again. This time with more urgency. I want to graze my hands over his body, but I can’t. He takes them in his and leads me somewhere in his apartment.
Then cold metal cuffs are put on my wrists, and he pulls me to the center of a bed. My arms are raised as he locks me to a headboard.
That just happened. He fifty shaded me when I literally wasn’t looking.
“Cooper,” I start ... knowing he’s taken off his clothes and knowing that he’s about to take off mine has me feeling vulnerable.
He’s crawled up on the bed, I know because I feel him close to me. Oh, Lordy, this is real.
“It’s okay. We’re going to take this slow, Gracie.”
He lifts the hem of my shirt, and I inhale sharply, his hands are now on my skin. He pushes up the tee shirt I’m wearing and his mouth presses to my breasts. His arms wrap around me, his palms on my back, he pulls me to him.
All of him. I feel his hard cock against me, and my pussy tightens as he touches me. His hands cup my breasts. They are size C and Cooper’s big hands hold them while pulling down the cups of my bra, his tongue on my hard nipple.
“Oh, my god, Cooper,” I moan, as he slides my leggings down past my ass.
“Shit.” Cooper’s hands are under the waistband of my panties, and I feel my body move to be closer to him.
“What?”
“I can’t—” Cooper laughs. “Fuck.”
“What?” I ask again, feeling self-conscious. “Am I?”
“You are perfect, Grace. I’m just an idiot. You’re sitting on your knees and with your hands cuffed over your head. I don’t think I can get you out of these clothes. I should have stripped you first.”
“Why did you want to cuff and blindfold me right out of the gate?”
“I thought you would be more comfortable if we weren’t looking into one another’s eyes.”
My stomach flutters with something warm and sweet and good. Cooper thought this through. And with my eyes closed this totally submissive situation has felt less … intimidating.
“I fucked it up,” he says, his hands on my head, untying the blindfold.
He pulls it off, and my eyes lock on his. He’s kneeling right in front of me, and his golden eyes are different than they’ve ever been before. Cooper looks nervous.
I smile, relaxing under his gaze. Cooper doesn’t scare me, in fact, he seems to calm me. “Is this your first BDSM-light experience, Cooper?”
>
“Who said this night was going to be light?”
I laugh. “I don’t know. I just. I mean, were you really going to pull out the ball gag during my first sexual encounter.”
His eyes dart over to his dresser.
Yup.
A ball gag, the leather strap with the rubber ball in the middle is right there waiting for me.
“Nipple clamps too?” I ask, eyeing the other items on his dresser. I’ve never been in Cooper’s bedroom before and I’m taking it in. Soft wood, framed photos, and I’m kneeling on flannel sheets. I look down to confirm that ... only to see something else entirely.
My mouth opens.
Cooper is naked. Totally naked. Like. Completely.
“Ohh.” My mouth falls into an O.
“See, I knew this was going to be too much at once, Gracie.”
I shake my head, my body turned on in inexplicable ways. Cooper is mine, ready and willing. I’m tied up to his freaking bed, and he has plans to spank me.
I’m not missing out on this night, and my body is practically begging for him to make good on our deal.
I may be a virgin, but turns out, I’m a kinky one.
His kinky virgin.
“Not too much. I want this.” I bite my bottom lip, blinking as I make out what I want to say. Really want to say. I want to say exactly what I mean. “I want you to somehow get me out of these pants and take off my panties. Then I want you to ... I want you to see how much I want you.”
Cooper’s eyes are on me, taking in my words. “That would only be fair,” he says, a smile on his perfectly kissable lips. “Considering you can already see how badly I want you.”
Our eyes lower, and I see his hard-on. It’s raging like that orange-pleather-guy from NYE, but his presentation is so much better. His chest is chiseled, a ladder of muscles leading to a deep V that aims straight at his cock. His shoulders are broad, his arms covered in geometric tattoos that I want to trace with my fingers.
And I would if I weren’t tied to this headboard.
