“Ready for?” I said. “Okay, I guess we can start there. What do you mean?”
Rita lounged back, and I realized that the confident look that she had worn in the hallway as she sashayed away the day before was really her and not an act. She was powerful and strong, compelling in her own way. “Just asking that tells me you have a long way to go. First off, the world of BDSM is deep. There are a lot of couples—I’d say most couples, most likely—who have played around with it a bit. A bit of light spanking, stuff like that. Then on the other end are people who are not happy unless they’re dominating or submitting to the point of stuff that would make most people nauseous. And so many people have a misconception of what it is anyway. Fifty Shades and such. Tell me, from what you know, who’s in charge in a BDSM relationship?”
Rita filled me in with all the details, about the exchange of power and the use of safe words if I ever wanted to end the experience.
I thought deeply. “If I do this, what sort of things can I expect? I mean, what do you two do?”
Rita leaned back and laughed again, and I felt both shy and drawn to her. Despite the fact we were talking about Kade and their sexual history, I thought I’d like to get to know Rita better, make her a friend, even. “Kiss and tell, huh? Listen, he’s not going to yank your hair or arm lock you, and he’s definitely not into erotic asphyxiation. For him, it’s more about the control than the pain, although he’s pushed my pain buttons a few times, but only when I’ve asked him to.”
“You . . . you ask for the pain?” I said, astounded.
“To test my limits, to see if I can take it, of course. It’s an endorphin rush, like the guy who decided it would be fun to do Ironman triathlons, or the first weightlifter who said it might be a good idea to put half a ton of iron on their back and see if they could stand up with it or if it would break them in half. There are times, and Kade knows that line better than any person I sub for, that I’m quivering on the edge, pain and pleasure and everything mixing, and it’s powerful, more powerful than any drug you can think of. I’m like this far from saying our safe word, and then he rides that line right up until the point that my body explodes in the biggest orgasm I’ve ever had. I guess that isn’t quite what you want to hear, but I think you deserve honesty. But you’ll have the power, and he has his control. If you’re strong enough, you’ll see what I mean. I will tell you one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Who knows, Alix? Maybe you can be the one who can show him the levels that he’s shown me.”
I shook my head in wonderment. “I have a lot to think about. I mean, I haven’t even seen him naked yet, and we’ve only kissed once.”
* * *
After leaving Rita, I went to the bank, and after showing them two forms of picture ID as well as signing a document declaring that I understood I was taking out such a large sum in pure cash, I walked away just before the close of business with sixty thousand dollars in cash. The bank was nice enough to give me a complimentary tote bag to carry it in, but still a guard walked me all the way to my car from the door, which I did appreciate.
As I drove toward Sydney’s place, an irrational hope filled my chest. I kept thinking that with the payment, I could have a new life, one that was free of the stress of terrible boyfriends, exploitative clients, and the like. I realized that it meant leaving the modeling industry, but the idea of showing my body to just one person filled me with more anticipation than posing for a camera.
For one of the most sought after photographers in the Los Angeles area, Sydney lived in a pretty crappy apartment in North Hollywood, just on the edge between it and Burbank. When we first dated, I had wondered about it. As time went on and I learned more about him, I realized why he lived where he did.
Sydney Hale was born in what a politician might politely call a lower working-class family. What this meant in real terms was that his parents both worked jobs, his father sometimes working two, along with taking government assistance in order to make ends meet as their son grew up along with his two sisters and brother in what the locals called ‘The 209’ portion near Stockton. While his eye for photography, good looks, and ability to smooth talk people had gotten him out of the tiny, two-bedroom house that he’d grown up in, he was still marked by the neighborhood and its culture.
Syd was a hustler, as it was often called on the street, always looking for an angle or an advantage. I realized after he’d hit me that he was always looking to take advantage of people and situations. If a normal situation said you could gain five dollars, he’d look for an unfair advantage to get ten.