Yield

by Ashling, Mickie B.

  “Why?” Peter asked.

  “I’m not sure. It opened a lot of windows for abuse.”

  “Can you give an educated guess?”

  “Maybe because the enemy has changed? You can’t imagine how frustrating it can be to interrogate zealots. And when a mission goes wrong and bodies of your fellow soldiers are piled up like firewood, failure to extract information that could have prevented the bloodshed becomes personal.”

  “Which is when you started to employ certain techniques that pushed boundaries.”

  Sami nodded. “I wasn’t the only one.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But rules are forgotten when lives are at stake. Any piece of information can make a difference. Finding the right method to extract intel in a timely fashion is an art, which often includes ignoring the voices in your head.”

  “I seem to recall some congressional flap regarding enhanced interrogation techniques.”

  “Abuses were noted and addressed in an executive order in 2009.”

  “But you were discharged in 2017?”

  “I didn’t say EIT was completed eliminated.”

  Peter nodded. “I don’t condone your methods, but I know what it’s like to fail. It must be harder to accept when the evidence of your shortcoming is all too visible. A dead body can’t be rationalized nor brushed off as collateral damage when you’re the one giving the all clear. Eventually, you shut down, and so does your conscience.”

  “Fuck, yeah. The hellish conditions, exhaustion, constant fear, anger, and frustration cloud your judgment. Before you know it, you’re a machine. You hate yourself as much the enemy.”

  “Did anyone die during one of your interrogations?”

  “Never!”

  “That’s one thing you don’t have to live with.”

  “I would have faced a court-martial if that were the case.”

  “But you have done things you regret?”

  “Too many to list. Hating religion and all it stands for are just a side effect. Jay’s dithering over a vocation that’s keeping him trapped in an endless spiral of guilt must trigger my anger issues. I’m afraid I’ll hurt him one of these days.”

  Peter looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you have feelings for Jay beyond lust and anger?”

  “I must have.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I keep letting him back in my life.” Sami shrugged. “That’s got to mean something.”

  “When was the last time you connected?”

  “Over a month ago.”

  “Zero contact?”

  “I thought it was for the best.”

  “Haven’t you wondered how he’s coping with his new status?”

  “I’m trying to focus on myself, Doc. I can’t fix Jay if I’m messed up.”

  “Good point,” Peter said. “I hope Jay is seeing someone for his own issues.”

  “He’s got a good support system now. I’m not worried.”

  Despite the easy dismissal, Peter could tell that Sami cared. His bravado slipped whenever Jay’s name came up in a conversation. It would be beneficial if they were both in therapy to help them reach a level of understanding, whereby they could express their feelings without risking personal harm.

  “Let’s see if we can weed out the worst of your culprits while you’re under hypnosis and work on those first.”

  “You think you can help, Doc?”

  “I’m optimistic. We have to set a goal for each session. Work on one thing at a time and, when it’s more manageable, move on to the next thing. I’d like you to start keeping a daily journal. Write down the first thing that comes into your mind each morning and we’ll discuss it. You said journalism was your original career choice. Use this talent to work through your issues while making a wish list for the future. Writing is great therapy and should be a no-brainer for someone like you.”

  “You make it sound easy,” Sami said.

  “I won’t lie, Sami. Mental illnesses like PTSD cannot be cured, but they can be treated. It’s completely possible to live a normal life so long as you are aware of your triggers and willing to do whatever it takes to manage the symptoms.”

  “I’ll never be normal again?”

  “I may have used the wrong word. Who of us is completely normal?” Peter asked. “I’m a Dom who enjoys flogging my subs and hearing them beg. Others would consider this an aberration. Normal is a city in Illinois,” Peter joked. “My hope for you is to find a way you can peacefully exist with your past. First on the agenda is flushing out the toxic memories. Then we can move on to the good stuff.”

  “What makes you think there’s any good left in me? I might be a hopeless case.”

  “Allowing me to use hypnosis is a positive step toward healing.”

  “It’s called desperation.”

  “Doesn’t matter what you call it,” Peter replied. “In my opinion, you’ve already made great strides.”

  “May I ask you a question about BDSM?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I learn to temper my sadistic impulses while satisfying my masochistic partner at the same time?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Who would teach me?”

  “I can set you up with someone in the scene when I feel you’re ready.”

  “That’s a worthy goal.”

  “And one to keep in mind when you start losing hope.”

  Sami’s progress could be measured in tiny increments rather than leaps and bounds. Each hypnotherapy session brought new insights, some more painful than others. Peter made sure to end each one with a positive suggestion Sami could work on until the next time they were face to face. Stop generalizing was one of his favorites.

  Tearing down Sami’s irrational hatred for religion was a workable objective. To continue blaming Islam for the pain and suffering Sami had witnessed firsthand was shortsighted and focused on ignorance instead of enlightenment. Cursing the Catholics for Jay’s failures also made no sense whatsoever. One entire session had been spent on the topic of religion, and Peter was hopeful Sami might discard some of his outlandish ideas. Bigotry and prejudice were a universal problem, but Sami was an educated man who could, and should, rise above the ignorant mindset.

  “You sound like a knuckle-dragging turd eater when you go off on your religious rants,” Peter scolded. “How would you feel if someone dismissed you for being gay?”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Oh, yes it. People have no problem drinking water from the stupid well. They hate what they don’t understand. You need to educate yourself.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “You’ll have to do better. Anyone in journalism will tell you how biased reporting will catch up with you eventually. They’ll take one look at your literary masterpiece and write you off as a bigoted conservative. Do your research. Islam existed long before Bin Laden made his move.”

  “All right already.”

  “And look up Catholicism while you’re at it!”

  Today’s suggestion was to socialize. Sami had turned into a recluse since he had left the army, and being alone in your head 24/7 lent itself to paranoia and catastrophizing. Imagining the worst possible outcome for any given scenario instead of being optimistic was Sami’s default. Peter urged him to go outdoors and enjoy the sun. Golden Gate Park and other neighborhood jogging tracks were perfect for airing out the cobwebs in his brain.

  Satisfied with their current session, Peter initiated the steps to bring Sami out of his hypnotic state. He blew out the candle, turned off the background noise, and pulled back the curtains to let in the light. In a few seconds, Sami blinked awake, twisting and stretching like a contented cat. He sat up and rubbed his face.

  “How do you feel?” Peter asked.

  “Good.”

  “Optimistic?”

  Sami’s lip quirked. “Yeah.”

  “What are you going to work on this week?”

  A
smile creased his cheeks, and there was a twinkle in his eyes Peter hadn’t seen before. “Bird watching.”

  He grinned. “Thinking of going clubbing?”

  “Not my scene, Doc. I’ll go jogging at the marina instead. You never know who might show up.”

  “Works for me. See you next week?”

  “You bet.”

  Chapter 25

  Sami felt he’d turned a corner the week he started running outdoors. He’d forgotten how beautiful San Francisco could be on fogless days with a temperate breeze wafting in from the bay. It was a comfortable departure from the blistering heat—and potential booby traps—he’d endured in Afghanistan. The daily release of endorphins in such a setting was uplifting and also helped reduce his pent-up energy, a byproduct of his self-imposed sexual fast.

  Shortly after his first visit with Peter, Sami had called Ethan to thank him for the recommendation. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot from the beginning, and accepting help from the domineering man had been difficult, but he deserved to know Sami wasn’t an ingrate. Nonetheless, being in someone’s debt made him uncomfortable. He’d been raised to be self-sufficient, and the army had honed his father’s teachings with an addendum—never show emotions, which might make you a vulnerable target.

  Through the ensuing weeks, Ethan had volunteered information on Jay via text, a surprising shift in attitude. Maybe positive feedback from Peter had something to do with it. Sami was certain the doctors wouldn’t violate HIPAA regulations, but glowing reports on his honest effort to improve might convince Ethan he wasn’t a lost cause. He could be a good match for Jay once they’d ironed out their problems.

  Ethan had mentioned Jay was making good progress as well, and keeping his distance was probably for the best. But Sami was concerned. The barrage of texts from Jay had sounded increasingly more desperate. He’d been tempted to reply on several occasions, but he and Peter ultimately agreed he wouldn’t be doing anyone a favor by reconnecting before they were ready.

  In the interim, he acted on Peter’s recommendation to further educate himself. Interviewing Peter’s Muslim friend was out of the question—his knee-jerk reaction to flowing robes, head coverings, and repetitive Allah-praising chants continued to be hostile—but he checked out a bunch of books at the local library to understand the fundamentals of Islam. He didn’t think he’d have a radical change of heart after witnessing the destruction firsthand, but it might blunt the rage, and with the passing of time, he hoped to reconcile the truth with his distorted ethos.

  As for Catholics, he had but one point of reference, and Jay’s struggle to integrate faith and sexuality felt too personal. The mental and physical damage inflicted through the ages by a hypocritical ruling body was impossible to overlook. In Sami’s estimation, the world would be better off if it stopped fostering hate in the name of God.

  Tonight, he was going to visit Heaven’s Gate for the first time. Accompanied by his shrink, no less. Peter understood him in the most fundamental way and assured him that his proclivity to inflict pain was viewed as an intrinsic value within the BDSM world. Controlled delivery was essential, and Sami wanted more information so he could fulfill Jay’s desires in a safe environment while meeting his own needs. Peter had arranged for him to observe a session with a Dom who was an expert in knife play. Referring to what he and Jay had been doing by instinct as “play” was restorative. Privately, he’d been critical of their rough sex since he’d first cut Jay. It would be interesting to observe how other couples handled this edgier side of BDSM.

  When he asked Peter for advice on proper attire for a sex club, he was told to wear anything he wanted. As an observer, there was no need to dress the part of a Dom. Most members didn’t don leathers unless they were in a scene. It was news to Sami who’d been checking out BDSM websites. Everything he’d seen so far contradicted Peter’s observations.

  The first surprise at Heaven’s Gate was the elegant interior. Sami expected some rank dungeon overflowing with edgy men, the kind of tattooed, pierced types who appeared in pornos, but he got a roomful of well-dressed gentleman instead. When he whispered his observations to Peter, the psychiatrist whirled on him angrily.

  “Didn’t I tell you not to generalize? Seriously, Sami. You continue to astonish me with your stunted worldviews.”

  Sami looked ashamed. “Sorry.”

  Peter sighed. “Don’t define the genre by online sites. There are men and women from all walks of life who participate in BDSM. Some like to dress the part and join the exclusive clubs while others couldn’t care less about their surroundings. It’s like booze, Sami. There’s top shelf, midgrade, and plain old rotgut. Heaven’s Gate is top of the line, although you’d never know it by the present clientele. Without revealing names, I can pick out two politicians, an actor, several doctors, a cop, and also a car dealer with two of his chief mechanics. As long as they pay for their membership and abide by club rules, they are welcome. Some people avoid clubs altogether, preferring to act out their fantasies in the privacy of their homes. This isn’t a one-size-fits-all kind of thing. It should be tailor-made to fit your individual needs.”

  “Got it.”

  Sami didn’t enjoy the lectures that usually accompanied his tasteless remarks, but he accepted them from Peter. Equal parts angry father and infomercial, Peter sought to educate. It was stupid to be offended at someone for doing his job. Admittedly, it took real effort on Sami’s part to shit-can the old and embrace the new. He was so fixed in his ways someone would think he was eighty years old. Discovering he lacked basic social skills this late in life was disconcerting. In the service, it was acceptable to be brusque and demanding, almost expected, given his role as interrogator, but it was time to put Captain Soros to rest.

  Ethan approached in a bespoke suit with leather-clad Rino trailing behind him. Sami made mental notes for future reference. The last time he’d seen the pair was in his kitchen, and they looked and acted like any ordinary couple. In this setting, Ethan’s role as Dom was impossible to ignore. When they stopped a few feet in front of him, Rino clasped his hands behind his back, spread his legs slightly, and lowered his head. Sami had observed this same pose among other members and realized it was some sort of submissive stance. Sami noted the faraway look in Rino’s eyes when he lifted his head. He seemed to be high on something.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Ethan said.

  “Thanks for having me,” Sami replied.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Rino addressed Ethan. “Permission to speak, sir?”

  Sami felt a rush observing the dynamic between the two. He could easily see Jay and himself in the same position.

  “Go ahead, sugar.”

  “I’d like to talk to you about Jay before you go,” Rino said, now looking at Sami.

  “Regarding?”

  “The demo is about to begin,” Ethan interjected. “You two can catch up later.”

  Although he was eager to hear any news about Jay, the knife play was the main reason he was here. He and Peter followed the pair, but not before Sami leaned in to ask a question. “Is Rino on drugs?”

  “He’s coming out of subspace.”

  “I’m not familiar with the term.”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  The private room was filled to capacity with observers, but Ethan shouldered his way through the small crowd to an assigned spot up front where the four of them could observe without craning their necks.

  In the center was a massage table with a naked man lying in a prone position with a hand towel covering his ass. His head was turned away from the crowd. The man looming over him had to be his Dom. He rubbed the bright pink back with steadying strokes while murmuring soft words of encouragement. Sami noticed the imperceptible quiver of the smooth skin. Was the submissive scared or shaking with anticipation?

  “My name is Master Lawrence and this is my beautiful sub, Luke. My boy is a hard-core masochist, and allowing me to cut into this smooth canvas is on
e of his guilty pleasures. As well as mine,” he admitted with a half-smile. “We’ve experimented with paring knives, box cutters, razor blades, knitting needles, and even toothpicks but have achieved the best results with a straight blade. Luke has asked me to cut my name into him tonight, but Lawrence has far too many letters, so I’ve modified his request. Since we both have names beginning with the same letter, I’ll carve intertwining Ls. I’ve made a preliminary sketch on this piece of paper,” he said, showing off the drawing.

  Sami recalled the letter S he’d scratched into Jay’s chest. A knife would have certainly resulted in a finer scar. Master Lawrence continued, and Sami stopped thinking about Jay.

  “The thing you have to keep in mind when dealing with a masochist is they crave pain as much as you enjoy inflicting it. It’s an addiction like anything else. You’re responsible for measuring his reactions and knowing when to stop. Luke and I have been together for three years. I’ve got a good handle on his signals, but I’ll freely admit I’ve made mistakes in the past. We both have. Me, by losing myself in the tantalizing trickle of blood, and Luke by remaining silent. We’ve had a few mishaps resulting in stitches. I’m admitting this so you’re aware knife play isn’t as easy as it looks. Start slow, learn to read your partner, and make sure he uses his safeword or punish him if he doesn’t.”

  “How do you know he’s holding back?” Sami asked.

  “Trial and error,” Master Lawrence said. “The longer you do this with the same partner, the easier it gets to avoid the manipulation. And trust me, they’ll say anything to get what they want.”

  Sami nodded, accepting the honest evaluation, however painful. Jay had wheedled and cajoled for more punishment on several occasions, and Sami had been too intent on his own pleasure to stop.

  “Moving on,” Master Lawrence continued. “Luke’s already been prepped as you can see by the lovely shade of pink covering his back. Whenever we have a cutting session, I start him off with a flogger to give him a good dose of pain as an appetizer.”

  “You want him in subspace?” another member asked.