by Matt Doyle
“Only when I’m planning to go for a run,” I reply, and turn to look at Lori. She’s changed into a pair of boot-cut jeans and a loose-fitting black-and-red-striped jumper. It’s hard to tell whether the style of the jumper is making her look smaller or she’s lost weight over the last week and a half. “I let Jane know that you were changing out of Ink. She asked if you’d call her when you feel up to it.”
Lori nods. “I was going to anyway. You know, if you want to talk…”
I hold my hand up, and Lori stops talking. “I don’t want to talk, and I don’t want pity. I wouldn’t have brought any of it up at all if I didn’t think that you needed a kick in the ass.” I smile to show that I’m not angry, and Lori sighs in relief.
“I guess I was being pretty stupid, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah, you were. But hey. You came out the other end. That’s what matters.”
“Seriously, though, Cassie, thank you. I wouldn’t have…”
“Take me to dinner,” I blurt, cutting over Lori mid-sentence.
“Sorry?” she responds, unable to keep the shock out of her voice.
“Take me to dinner,” I repeat, and nod down to the food bowl. “You clearly haven’t been eating properly, and I haven’t eaten today either so…take me to dinner, and we’ll forget about the other five thousand that you owe me.”
Lori stares at me in disbelief, and a smile creeps up onto her face. She leans into the doorframe and tilts her head against the wood. “You know, you are absolutely adorable when you’re flustered.”
I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks. I want to say something back. Something funny or clever. But all I can do is stand here and stare like an idiot.
Lori laughs playfully and steps into the kitchen. She walks past me, and I’m certain that she’s exaggerating the sway of her hips on purpose. “So where do you wanna go?” she asks, leaning over to pick up the giant mouse toy.
Twenty-Nine
STANDING HERE, REPLAYING it all in my head, I can remember it all so clearly.
The night went by quickly.
Neither of us really wanted to go anywhere too fancy, so we opted for Tourniquet, a late-night café tucked behind the northern end of Main Street. I hadn’t heard of it, but Lori apparently likes to drop by every now and then and said that the food came highly recommended. It was surprisingly big; Lori explained that it had been built out of the remains of an alternative nightclub, and had retained a lot of the original clientele. What that meant was that the fancy black tables were all seating a mix of Tech Shifters, Metalheads, Retro Lifestylers, and a handful of the BDSM crowd, in full gear.
I did ask Lori if she picked this place because of familiarity to her or because she thought that it would make me feel uncomfortable. She just laughed and summoned a waiter. To her credit, she was right about the food. Even just the simple burger and fries that I ordered was immaculately prepared, and the beer seemed to be as never-ending as Lori’s mineral water. That’s one of the advantages of being a non-driver; in situations where I feel naturally out of my depth, such as first dates. I can ply myself with alcohol to loosen up.
The conversation was good and started with the usual stuff that you’d expect on a first date. For example, I learned that she’s twenty-four and shares my taste in film, and she learned that I’m twenty-seven and like to occasionally mix my love of jazz with old Wildhearts and Shinedown tracks. The more the beer hit me, though, the more I began to yammer on about anything and everything. Nerves and alcohol are not always the best of bedfellows. For the most part, I don’t think my behaviour was too bad, though a lot of my questions seemed to revolve around how Lori feels when she’s Ink and why such and such person was wearing whatever strap of leather. By the end of it, I was flushing. I’m not exactly prudish, but Lori knows a lot more about the kink scene than I ever thought possible. Whether that’s down to Lori being deeper into the scene than I thought or just my own naivety and lack of knowledge about such things remains to be seen.
But hey, she said she likes it when I ask questions, right? And it’s not like I was the only one learning things that were potentially uncomfortable. At one point, I even managed to blurt out something about Jane mentioning Lori dating assholes in the past and immediately went off on some sort of rant about what had happened with Charlie and why I felt the way I did. It took right up until I’d finished talking to start panicking that I’d just made myself look like I was either desperate or on a multiyear rebound. Cue manic babbling and apologising from me, and fits of hysterics from Lori.
After the meal, we considered hitting a nightclub, but I was a little unsteady on my feet so we decided against it. As a result, we headed back to mine a little early. I asked Lori in, and she said no. The repressed emotional side of me sank a little then, but the cold, logical side reminded me that I’m too drunk to stand up without the assistance of my shiny new door and that is hardly the most appealing sight in the world, let alone one that’s suited to dance floors or continued conversations. Lori having also had to half carry me the whole way probably didn’t help either. So, rather than pursue such a lost cause, I asked outright if she wanted to see me again. That was when things got strange for me.
Of course she did, she said, but when depended on me. She told me that, as I’d shown such an interest in the nice people in Tourniquet and why they got their kicks the way they did, she was going to teach me a little about obedience and rewards. Of course, genuinely forcing someone to do something against their will went against the rules of the scene, so if I didn’t want to play along, then she’d be happy to call me when I’m sober and arrange a date the old-fashioned way.
Right now, part of me thinks that I should have gone old-school, but so many things stopped me. For one, I didn’t want to disappoint Lori at all, and I was worried that not playing along would have done just that after I’d spent the whole evening throwing out what were, when I look back on them, pretty invasive questions. Two, I really was interested in what she was going to have me do. Most importantly, though, I trusted Lori. After all the openness she showed at Tourniquet, I had a fair idea of how things worked, and I knew that she wouldn’t try to push me into something that I wouldn’t enjoy. So I asked what she wanted me to do to earn my second date.
“Tomorrow, you are going to take yourself to 16 Fenchurch Street, you are going to knock on the door, and you are going to talk to Charlie. You will tell her everything about why you’ve avoided visiting her, you will apologise for being so silly, and you will try to repair your friendship. If you want to talk about the awesome attractive younger lady that’s made this all possible for you too, then you get bonus points.” That was what she said, word for word.
I asked why she picked that task in particular, and she replied, “Because BDSM is based on trust, and trust goes two ways. In this case, you have to trust me not to make you do something that you don’t want to, and I need to show you that I trust that what you told me was true and that you’re not still interested in Charlie in the way you’re interested in me. Plus, I don’t want to see you isolating yourself, especially from someone that you seem to genuinely want to remain connected to. Whether you want to keep doing things like this is up to you, and if you decide that it’s too much, you can say so at any time. So. Will you accept your task?”
My heart was pounding then, and I said that I’d play.
“Good,” she replied, and kissed me. I expected something forceful, suffocating, but Lori was gentle. Our lips pressed together, parted slowly, and our tongues met, slipping softly over each other and twisting together in a tentative dance. And just like that, she pulled back, and it was over. “Good night, Cassie,” she said, and then she left.
And so, here I am outside number 16 Fenchurch Street. I’ve been standing here far too long now, and probably look like some sort of weird stalker to the neighbours. I’ll look worse to Charlie if she’s noticed. I could call Lori, apologise, and say that I couldn’t do it, but what would that prove? That
I can face down people with guns but that I can’t handle polite conversation? Okay, so that’s sort of true, but I like my various pits of denial, so I’ll just have to pretend I’m not that person.
I sigh and walk up the path to the door, give the bell a couple of rings, and step back. Lori told me to knock, not to ring the bell. Does that count as a failure? Maybe I should turn back…No, now I’m just looking for excuses. Ugh. I hate being such a wuss.
After a moment, the locks click and the door opens. “Caz?” Charlie says, not even attempting to hide her surprise.
“Hi, Charlie,” I reply, confidently owning the short sentence of greeting. Unfortunately, I then immediately launch into a barely coherent babble. “So, I figured that it’s been a while since I just dropped by, and since I don’t have any work on at the moment and you’re probably done with your dealing shift by now, I thought that…” I shake my head to clear away the panic, and try again. “Look, I’ve kinda wanted to come and catch up for a while, but I haven’t because I’m a complete idiot. Do you mind if I come in?”
Charlie smiles softly, relief creasing the corners of her face, and her eyes take on a warm, welcoming glow. “Of course,” she says, and steps to the side.
About the Author
Matt Doyle lives in the South East of England and shares his home with a wide variety of people and animals, as well as a fine selection of teas. He has spent his life chasing dreams, a habit which has seen him gain success in a great number of fields. To date, this has included spending ten years as a professional wrestler, completing a range of cosplay projects, and publishing multiple works of fiction.
These days, Matt can be found working on far too many novels at once, blogging about anime, comics, and games, and plotting and planning what other things he’ll be doing to take up what little free time he has.
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Twitter: @mattdoylemedia
Website: www.mattdoylemedia.com
Email: [email protected]
Also Available from NineStar Press
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