by Liz Crowe
“I’m fifty-one.”
“And I’m forty-eight.” He’s right – I guess he’s not as much younger than me as I thought. Then he says something that surprises me. “By the way, you don’t need pain the way you think you do.”
I can feel my brow wrinkle. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’ll see.” He grins. “Now, let’s get these leathers fitted and then I have something to tell you.”
“Okay.” I climb up out of his lap and he stands too, then heads toward the dressing room. In just a couple of minutes I hear him call out, and I grab my tape, pencil, and note pad, along with one of the pairs of leathers, and head in to find him in his polo and briefs again. I hand him the pants through the doorway. “Put them on wrong side out, just like I’ve got them.”
“Gotcha.” Seconds later he says, “Okay. Got ‘em.”
They look great. I don’t have to do much to get them ready for the final seams. When they’re all marked and clipped, I have him pull them down to his thighs, then sit while I pull them the rest of the way off, careful not to disturb the clips. He reaches for his slacks and, before he can grab them, I snatch them and hang on. “Kimmie, what are you doing?”
“Don’t put them on yet. Please?” I manage to get them out of his hands and toss them to the floor, then spread his knees and crawl between them. Kneeling there on the floor, I reach up and put a hand on each of his cheeks, then draw his face down to mine and kiss him. Once I’ve got him locked into the kiss, I run my hands on down his neck, down his chest, down his abs, and they’re headed toward the promised land when he grabs them and holds them. “What?”
“Not yet. Not for awhile. Give me my pants.” When I reach for them, he snatches them again, and I won’t let go. “Give me my pants, Kimmie. Now.” He almost sounds angry, so I let go. What is it with him? I rock back and sit down on my ass to watch him pull them on. When he’s finished, he stands and reaches down for my hand. I hesitate until he says, “Don’t sit there and pout like a little bitch. There’s a reason for everything I do, so know that up front. Now, get up and come out here with me. We need to talk for a second before I go.”
I let him help me up and then follow him out to the door. He’s leaving. I knew he would. And he tells me he’ll never hurt me, but he’s in a hurry to away. He turns there and looks down into my face. “Listen, I’ve got to go out of town on business for the next few days. I think I’ll be back on Saturday, but I’m not sure. There’s something I’d like for you to do while I’m gone.”
Finish his leathers? Walk his dog? At this moment, I think I’d do anything he asked. What the hell is wrong with me? “Okay, what is it?”
He clasps my chin in his hand. “I want you to think about everything that’s been said between us. I want you to think about scening with me. Think about the fact that I’m a Dominant and you’re a submissive, and what that should mean for us. Think about these kisses. And think about the way I stopped you from going too fast.” His eyes lock with mine. “Do you want me to call you while I’m gone?”
A little squeaky “Uh-huh” comes from my lips.
“Okay. I will. It’ll be late at night because I’m going west, so what’s late for you will still be early for me. Maybe we’ll have a little phone sex. Maybe we won’t. But know this.” My heart is thumping wildly while I wait to hear what he’s going to say next. “Kimberly Hendricks, I’m as sure as I’m standing here that we were meant to be together. I don’t know how I know – I just know. And I think if you’re honest with yourself, you know it too. We’ve got to find a way to meet in the middle and trust each other but, once we do, we’re going to be amazing together. Believe it.” He wraps both arms around my waist. “Kiss me goodbye?”
I do. It’s a kiss I won’t soon forget, our tongues stroking each other’s, and then he breaks it and gives me that look I still can’t decipher. “I’m going home to pack. I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
“Okay.” Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “But I’m scared.”
I’m shocked right out of my shoes when he says, “I’m scared too.” Opening the door, he steps out, then looks at me again and smiles. “Bye, baby. I’ll talk to you tomorrow night.”
“Bye.” I watch him close the door and hear the ding of the elevator. Everything inside me is jumbled and confused. Even though I have a client coming later, I sit down right there in the floor and cry my eyes out for fifteen minutes. What’s happening to me? Who is this guy? And why do I even care?
But god help me, I do.
*****
The first night, I really don’t expect him to call, but he does. It’s a fairly benign conversation, mostly a how-are-you and what-did-you-do-today kind of thing. Not much to say. I find it sort of awkward, really. But to my surprise, I also find it comforting to hear his voice. I keep reminding myself that I really don’t know this man, but that doesn’t seem to matter. He ends the conversation with the exact same thing he said as he walked out the door yesterday: “Bye, baby. I’ll talk to you tomorrow night.”
But on the second night, something amazing happens. I’m standing at the sink when the phone rings, and I answer, “Hello, sir.”
He doesn’t say hello back, just says, “Do you want me to be your sir?”
I’m taken completely aback. “Well, I, uh . . .”
“You don’t have to answer right now. Just think about it. Oh, and hello. You doing okay?”
I fumble around verbally, trying to find things to say to fill in the space so I don’t have to think about his question. Five minutes in, he says, “Kimmie, just put the phone down and go do it. I’ll wait.”
“Huh? What? What are you talking about?”
“You know full well what I’m talking about. Just go do it. I’ll wait.”
“Do what?”
There’s an exasperated sigh on the other end. “Sweetie, I can hear it in your voice. Want to call me back?” I’m so glad he can’t see me because I’m blushing the color of the Red Delicious apple on the counter. And then he adds, “Or I can stay on the phone and listen if that’ll help you get off.”
I’m trying to make myself sound incensed, but it’s pretty feeble. “What makes you think I’m . . .”
“I told you. I can hear it in your voice. When was the last time you had an orgasm?”
Oh, shit. I can’t believe this. How can he possibly tell? I decide I should probably be truthful because if he can tell how I feel just from my voice, he’ll be able to tell if I’m lying. “Um, let’s see . . . this morning about five o’clock.”
“So you’re about due.”
“About due? Am I some kind of nymphomaniac or something?” I spit back. Who does this guy think he is?
“You haven’t told me everything. Something happened today and you’re really tense. What happened?”
Now I’m rattled. Is he really that perceptive? I stew for a little bit and finally say, “I, um, I got a bill from the doctor’s office. Apparently my insurance didn’t cover everything I had done there, and I just don’t have the money for it.”
“That would make anyone tense. We’ll talk about it when I get back, but for now, you need to relieve the tension. Just do it, Kimmie. I’ll wait.”
I snarl, “Maybe I should put you on speaker.”
I hear him snicker. “Maybe so. I’d like that very much.”
Well, damn it, he should have to suffer, so that’s exactly what I do. “Can you hear me?”
“Yep. Go for it.”
I’m too mad now to be embarrassed. I unzip my jeans and push them down around my thighs, then my panties go with them. I lean back against the counter and run my hands down my belly, straight down past my shaved mound, and into my slit to find that I’m soaked and ready. I start to tease and tickle, and I hear him say, “Hard?”
My aroused brain answers, “Um-hmmmm.”
“Wet?”
“Um-hmmmm.”
“I bet you taste good.”
That does it, a
nd I shudder and come, my hips thrusting against my hand. Every effort is made on my part to make not one sound, but I must because I hear him say, “Good girl. Very nice. You have good self-control, Kimmie.”
I want to scream, Not where you’re concerned!, but I don’t. I just mutter, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. If I were there, would you want me to do that for you?”
“Maybe.”
“Fair enough.”
“Um, sir?”
“Yes?”
“Did you get off too?”
“Nope.” Before I have a chance to feel offended, he adds, “I don’t tend to do that. I try to hold off so I’m very, very frustrated. It’s a point of self-control for me. Makes everything more intense when I’m actually with someone later.”
The question I’ve been wanting to ask is right there and I can’t hold it back anymore. “So when did you last scene with someone?”
I hear him chuckle. “Ah, questions, questions. All in good time, baby girl. Tell me something: Did you eat today?”
I stutter out, “Uhhhhh, like a horse.”
“Very good. Just make sure it’s healthy. And now I guess I’d better go so you can finish fixing your dinner.”
I’m shocked. “How did you know that’s what I was doing?”
He laughs. “Because you’re obviously in your kitchen. The sound echoes more there than any other room in a house. Not as much soft surface to absorb it. What are you making?”
I harummph into the phone, “Tortellini with lemon pesto sauce.”
“Sounds excellent. Enjoy it and I’ll talk to you tomorrow night, baby.”
“Okay.” As an afterthought, I add, “Thank you, sir.”
“For what?”
“You know.”
“You’re thanking me for you masturbating? No. Thank you for trusting me enough to do that with me over the phone. I promise you won’t be sorry.”
I have no idea what that means, but my entire body zings with that promise. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Kimmie. Sweet dreams.” And the phone goes silent.
I’m very, very confused. This man is invading my every thought, and I barely know him, but for some reason, I trust him completely. Something about him tells me that he’d never hurt me.
Two more nights pass with phone calls that are, like the first night, pretty simple. On the fifth night, however, he doesn’t call at the usual time. I start to get fidgety and then downright worried. He’s been right on the mark every time until now. Finally, at eleven thirty, I can’t stand it anymore and I call his number. He answers with a soft, “Hello?”
“Hi, sir. I’m sorry for calling you.”
“Why? I’m glad you did.”
“You are?” I was just sure he’d pop a blood vessel.
“Yeah, of course. I wanted to call you, but by the time I got up here to the room, I was afraid I’d wake you. You okay?”
I can feel my bottom lip begin to tremble. “Yeah. I was just, it was just that, before tonight . . .” I want to ask, but it’s none of my business.
“I know. I’m sorry. The manager of the office here wanted to take me to dinner. I kept trying to get away, but god, that guy can talk. Did you have a good day?”
“Yes, sir. It was okay.” For reasons I’m not quite sure of, I feel like I’m about to cry. I kind of hiccup a sob, and I hope he doesn’t notice.
Fat chance.
“Kimmie, you okay?” When I don’t respond, he asks again, “You okay, babe? Something wrong?”
I try to get my quivering voice under control. “No, nothing’s wrong, sir. I was just, um, I was worried. That’s all.” Another little sob escapes.
His voice is warm as honey. “Oh, baby girl, it’s okay. I’m fine. I’m sorry I worried you. I never dreamed you’d even notice. Kimmie?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’ll be home tomorrow night, but it’ll probably be late. I’ll call if I can, but if I can’t, please don’t be afraid. I’ll catch up with you the next morning, okay?”
“Sure, sir. But please, don’t worry about it being late. Just let me know you’ve made it home okay, please? Text me or something?”
“All right. I’ll do that. I’ll call if it’s before eleven and text if it’s not. How’s that?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“No. Thank you for caring. I’ll talk to you or text you tomorrow night. Get some sleep – it’s late.”
“Yes, sir. Night, sir.”
“Night, little one.”
I throw down my phone and sob into my pillow. I feel like something foreign is living in my body, making me do things I don’t usually do, and it all revolves around him. I go to the bathroom, splash water on my face, then go and lie back down to think.
Yes, he’s good looking. Yes, he genuinely seems to care about me; I’m not sure why, but he does. It’s so weird, though. We haven’t even had sex, and yet I feel closer to him than any man I’ve been near since Phil. I don’t understand it. Has he hypnotized me or something and I’m unaware of it? None of it makes sense, but I am sure of one thing.
Do I want to scene with him? Yes. I absolutely do.
Chapter Four
I get a big surprise the next day – Phil’s sister, Leona, is in town and calls to ask if we can have lunch. I’ve always liked Leona. She never did anything to me, and there’s really no reason why I shouldn’t see her. We make arrangements to meet at Amelia’s Bakery. They have some of the best craft sandwiches in the world.
“Kimberly! It’s so good to see you!” Leona rushes me and hugs me, and I hug her back. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed his family until this moment, but I have. It’s been three years since I’ve seen any of them. It’s not that they don’t care about me. My guess is that they just felt like hanging onto me would keep me from moving forward, so they walked away and gave me space. But it really is good to see her after all the years I was in their family.
“You’re looking good, Leona! How’s James?” Her husband was always a good guy, and I hope he’s doing well.
“Ah, okay. He had heart surgery last year and . . .”
“No! I had no idea. Is he all right?”
“He’s well enough. You know how it is. When you get to be a certain age . . .” I listen as Leona drones on about getting older and having heart problems and eating healthy. I was always afraid of all of that for Phil, but he just didn’t care. I had always hoped he’d take good care of himself for me. He didn’t care about me, so he didn’t bother – until he had a chance to snag a young girl, and then he started in with going to the gym and flexing his muscles and all of that crap.
She finishes abruptly and then blurts out, “I suppose you want to know how Phil is.”
I shrug. “Hadn’t occurred to me to ask, frankly.”
“Now, Kimberly, after all the years you two were . . .”
“After all the years we two were together, he told me he’d never loved me. I really don’t care what he’s up to.”
“Okay, then, want some juicy gossip?”
Not really, I think, but I say, “Sure. Go for it.”
“Well, he’s got a new wife. He moved to California. She works out there.”
That news hits me in the gut. “Is that so?”
“Yes. And she’s a doozie. They’ve been together since, well . . . sometime last year.” She stops for a minute like she doesn’t quite know what to say. When she notices that I don’t look at all surprised, she adds, “She’s got a criminal record, according to Davis.” That’s their other brother.
“Criminal record?” Now she’s got my full attention.
“Yeah. He did some looking around and checking up. I don’t know what it was.”
“That’s interesting. What did she do?”
“No one really knows. Phil won’t talk about it, so we really don’t know what that was about. But we also know she spent some time in a mental ward.”
“He’s with a woman wh
o’s got a diagnosed mental defect. Nice. So he’s managed to find himself a young woman who’s a nut job and a criminal. Very nice.”
“She’s not that young.” At first, I think I’ve heard wrong, but then she says, “She’s in her mid-forties. We’re not talking a kid here.”
“Really? I thought this was all about young women. What happened to the young girl?”
Leona snorts. “Seriously? She didn’t want him. When she found out he wasn’t loaded, she didn’t want any more to do with him. And how he found this nut job, I have no idea. She’s really something. She’s come to a couple of family functions and we all watch the little kids and our purses. And no one wants to make her mad. Who knows what she’d do?”
“Yeah. Wow. That’s just, um, wow.” I think about that for a few seconds. What the hell is wrong with Phil? It may have been a long eight years since he left, but right now I think I’m glad he’s gone. If this is what he wanted instead of me, well, good for him. Sounds like he got himself quite the life.
“So what about you, Kim? Seeing anyone?”
How do I answer that? I’m seeing him, but I’m not seeing him. I’m talking to him. So does that constitute “seeing?” What exactly are we doing? I’m confused. The only thing we’ve actually done is kiss. That doesn’t constitute a relationship. No wonder I’m confused. I just answer with, “No.”
“Well, you should. You’re pretty and smart and nice. There’s someone out there for you. You should look around,” Leona declares, sipping her cup of tea. I just gaze out the nearest window. There’s no point in trying to explain what’s going on with me and Jaz. Even I don’t know what to think.
We finish lunch and chat about her kids and grandkids, the brothers and sisters, Phil’s mother, who’s still in a nursing home, and we part ways after promising to stay in touch. I know we won’t. That’s just one of those things you do and never follow up on. As I walk away, I think about what she told me.
Phil’s married a woman who’s certifiably crazy. Good for him. At least I’m not the only crazy one.
Not even back to my car yet, I stop and blink at my phone screen as a text comes in.
