The car began to go faster and faster into this eternal black hole, and I could see nothing but darkness. The splash of icy water came in a blast and pain splintered through me. I pushed away from the steel machine that threatened to take me under and my mother was in the water above me, but she wasn’t alone. There was someone else there. Someone she was fighting with. They blocked my way to the surface and I tried to swim around them, but something grabbed my legs and sucked me deeper.
I sat up in the bed screaming bloody murder and he was there, holding me, telling me I was safe, that he was there for me. The hard man who’d ordered me to suck him and fuck him was now gentle and caring, a total contrast to the night before. I’ve never in my life felt safe because of anyone except my mother, but I felt safe in his arms. I felt right there. And it terrified me almost as much as the nightmare.
I can’t be with him. I can’t need someone else as much as I think I will come to need him. I just . . . can’t. I haven’t told him. He didn’t ask. I’m not sure why. Because he changed his mind? Because he didn’t like what he thought my answer would be? And if I don’t want to enter into this agreement with him, why do I care?
Monday, February 7, 2011
The day that started out with me fretting over my would-be “Master” was made better when I got a call from a local retiree I’d been trying to buy a painting from. He was willing to sell. Mark was beyond impressed when I told him I had landed a Georgia O’Nay for the Riptide auction. We drove out together to pick it up, and my day ended with a promotion, thanks to the small fortune Riptide will make when the painting sells.
I am now in charge of all Riptide auctions for the gallery, and Mary will now go through me for approval. I will get 10 percent of every sale I organize. She wasn’t happy. I’m ecstatic. My life is changing. I don’t need someone’s protection. I don’t need someone to control me. So why does the absence of any attempt at an agreement send me to bed tonight feeling so very alone?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Once again it’s Valentine’s Day.
Josh and Ricco both sent me roses. Ricco attached a nice note about celebrating my new career. Josh signed his “your friendly fuck buddy.” I cringed. Mark didn’t give me anything. He was just Mark, forever sexy and enthralling, and judgmental, and too many other things to list. Mary gave me the cold shoulder. Ralph stole two roses from me for his desk. I worked late and locked up the gallery. When I exited, a car was waiting for me. To my surprise when I got inside, he was there. He fucked me right there, in front of the gallery, with the driver inside. I let the man in the front seat watch. I let him hear me moan. I just . . . did. I don’t even talk about my sex life, but I let a stranger watch me fuck another man.
And when it was over and I was delivered to my door, my “Master” handed me a package that is now sitting in front of me on my bed. Inside, I found a contract. I’d be submissive to my “Master.” He’d control me. There is a long list of things he’d expect of me. The note inside promised that we’d negotiate details, but it also said that I have to instigate the next meeting, so that he knows I really want this. And when I do, I should wear the gift included in my package. It’s a gorgeous rose-shaped gold ring I found nestled in a velvet box. The note attached to it read, “Wearing it means you belong to me.”
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how I feel, and I have no one to talk to. Even if I did, how do I talk to someone about this? I’ve sat here doing internet searches on BDSM relationships, but I’ve done this many times before.
Now, I’m sitting here listening to the Dr. Kat Sex Talk show as callers ask her questions about sex and relationships, and I am actually tempted to call. But I can’t. I don’t talk to people about my private life. And I sure don’t talk on public radio.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011