Certain Requirements

by Elinor Zimmerman

  I nodded. I edged forward, trying to press my pussy against her hand. She moved her hand away.

  “If you want something from me, you’ll ask and you’ll say please.”

  “I’ll try,” I said.

  “You’ll do it or you’ll be punished,” she snapped.

  I asked, “What if I safe word?”

  “Then we’ll stop. We won’t do anything you don’t want,” Kris said, much more gently.

  “Even if it’s eight thirty?”

  “Even then.”

  I scrunched up my face. “This is new to me in a lot of ways. What if something comes up, or I need something, and I don’t know it already?”

  “We’ll figure it out.” She shrugged.

  “What if I say no too much?”

  “If we try this and it doesn’t work, for either of us, we’ll reevaluate together. Let’s try it and check in.”

  “I’m at a disadvantage,” I pointed out. “If it doesn’t work for you, you’re out a sub. But if it isn’t working for me, I have to move out and I can’t even afford my old place.”

  “There is a huge imbalance. Do you think it’s too unequal to work?” she asked calmly.

  “Or…” I said quietly, looking at my lap. “Or maybe that’s part of the appeal. You do have this power over me.”

  “But it doesn’t exactly make it easy for you to have your own independent life and to feel free saying no, not if you’re worried that you’ll be out on your ass if you don’t keep me happy. Part of what’s hot for me is that you aren’t helpless. You’re incredibly talented and obviously hardworking and ambitious, and I don’t want this to make you feel like you aren’t.”

  “So what’s the solution here?”

  Kris thought a minute. “How about this? I’ll make sure you have housing for the next three months. If living together isn’t working, you can move out and I’ll help you pay your rent until the three months are up. If it is working after three months, we’ll decide if we want to sign on for longer.”

  “That’s incredibly generous. Maybe too generous”

  “I like being generous. I like being able to support somebody’s dream. And this makes the footing a lot more equal, doesn’t it?”

  “Only if you don’t change your mind.”

  “We can talk to Meghan about writing up a housing agreement or something. To protect both of us.”

  Smart, generous, hot. Who was this person?

  “Sound good?”

  “Would you please kiss me?”

  Kris took my face in both her hands, pulled me in, and gave me a soft, sweet kiss. I kissed her back a little harder, and she nipped at my lower lip. As our kisses became more heated, I climbed onto her lap, straddling her thighs.

  She wrapped a hand in my hair and yanked my head back. “You didn’t ask,” she chided me.

  “Please?” I moaned, ready to grind myself on her.

  “No.” Her eyes sparkled. “Because now you get to see the last room.”

  She led me to that closed door I’d wondered about. She opened it and revealed another bedroom. The walls were painted lavender, and it had soft, dark gray carpet wall-to-wall. In the center of the room was a full-sized bed done in pale cotton sheets and a purple knit blanket. The room had several lilac lanterns in different sizes casting the room in soft, tinted light. The ceiling was dotted with eye hooks ready for rope, and restraints hung out from under the mattress at the head and foot of the bed. There was no headboard, but two small bedside tables, both black and with drawers. I opened the matching black wardrobe to reveal a collection of dildos and harnesses, high-quality vibrators in a range of styles, lube in large bottles (the good stuff, I noticed), a basket of condoms, gloves, and dental dams, and several blindfolds. Kris opened the closet for me, revealing a well-lit display of floggers, paddles, riding crops, ropes, clamps, and other toys.

  “Every other room, I told other people to use their best judgment on, but I decided every detail here,” she said proudly.

  The slatted dark blinds were open slightly. I could see the garden and the back fence.

  She pointed to a small black mini fridge next to the wardrobe. “It will be your responsibility to keep that stocked with everything we want for aftercare.”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t want to go to the kitchen after I play,” she said. “Or are you giving me that look because you aren’t sure you’re interested?”

  “I’m so interested that I’m moving in. That is, if you’ll have me.”

  Kris smiled at me. “Get on your knees.”

  I dropped to the soft ground and let my ballet flats fall from my feet.

  “Take off your dress.”

  I lifted my cotton dress above my head and tossed it to floor, wearing only my black panties and my skimpy black push-up bra that made my generous C-cup breasts spill out. I looked up at her standing in front of me, her loose jeans clinging a little over her strong thighs, her biceps defined and peeking out from her T-shirt.

  She ran a finger over my cheek. My hands were calloused from aerials, but Kris’s hands were soft.

  “You’re going to suck my cock.” She went to the wardrobe to select one.

  I wanted to. I wanted to do anything she told me to, to submit, open up, release. But I also wanted to be like her fantasy woman and make her work for it.

  “Actually, it’s not eight thirty.”

  She whipped around, a black harness and an enormous blue cock in hand. “And?”

  I stood and put my hands on her narrow waist. “It’s not time to play yet,” I said coyly. I bent down and retrieved my dress, making an exaggerated show of my ass.

  “Damn,” she muttered, half-frustrated and half-admiring.

  I pulled my dress on, “I’d love to play. I just play by the rules.”

  Kris looked me up and down. “When can we start?”

  I considered for a moment. Maybe it would be better to play while living apart for a while before rushing in. Maybe I didn’t need to add the upheaval of moving in with a stranger to my life at the moment. Maybe I could take it slow and still have everything I wanted.

  But I didn’t want to take it slow. I’d been careful and responsible for years. I’d been nothing but safe. For once, I wanted to dive in, to be reckless.

  “We can start when I move in.” I sounded much more in control than I felt.

  Kris trailed her fingertips along my side, then dug them into my hip. She looked straight into my eyes. “Start packing.”

  Chapter Six

  “I cannot believe you’re doing this,” John told me with a sigh while he helped me tape boxes. “We’re going to be here another month. Why don’t you stay at least that long?”

  “Because rent is due in a week here, whereas no rent is ever due at Kristen’s.” I considered a pile of books, then dropped them in the box gracelessly.

  “Uh, I think you mean rent is always due at Kristen’s. Because you are paying every single day.”

  “It’s not a price I mind paying,” I answered in a singsong.

  “How would you know? You haven’t slept with her yet. You haven’t even seen her since Sunday.”

  I paused. This was technically true. However, Kris and I had been flirting via text every evening for the past three days. In fact, the night before, I’d called her to discuss my move. It had quickly turned into something else. At eight thirty, I pointed out the time, and Kris responded by telling me to touch myself. She spent the next half hour describing to me what exactly she planned on doing to me, as I followed her instructions and tried not to be too loud. So, no, we hadn’t had sex. But I did come on command.

  The thought of it made me blush.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Why the rush though? Like you said, you still have a week until rent is due. And we’re paying next month’s rent anyway, so we’re not rushing you out. You could stay for five more weeks without paying more—and without having to sleep with anyone.”

  “Mayb
e I want to sleep with her.”

  “Then sleep with her and stay at your own apartment. See if you like it. Take some time, try things out. You don’t have to jump in like this.” John huffed as he started taping another box.

  “I want to jump in.” I stretched and put an arm around him. “I just want to.” I couldn’t explain the magnetic pull I already felt toward Kris.

  John sat on my bed. “This isn’t like you, Phe.”

  I sat down next to him. “I know. I’ve been being sensible and planning ahead and being responsible all my life. I never hop on a plane or go out partying on a weeknight or move in with somebody too soon. I don’t even sleep with somebody too soon. For once in my life, I’m doing something without overthinking it. I want to do something, so I’m just doing it.”

  “Is there some other way you can be impulsive that doesn’t involve you trading sex for housing starting in three days? Can’t you get a tattoo or something?”

  I pointed to a spot on my back where, under my shirt and bra, a snake curved over my skin. “If you’ll remember, this took me six months of planning and I’d wanted it since I was a teenager.”

  “That’s my point! You were so careful with something that at worst might look bad, but you’re impulsive about who you’re living with? About where you sleep at night?” Concern strained his voice.

  I put my head on his shoulder. “Want to know the rest of my reasoning? If it’s awful, I can come back home to you guys. If I try it now, there’s a safety net.”

  He slung an arm around me. “Isn’t there a safety net in her paying for you to have a place if you move out?”

  “Yeah, but I meant emotionally. I can’t try this new thing—this living situation, my new artist life—with you gone. I need you around for me to try new things.”

  John squeezed me. “We’re going to talk all the time, I promise. Even with me on the other side of the country, I’m still here for you.”

  “It’s different. You know it’s going to be different.”

  He nodded. “I know. Part of the reason I don’t want you to move out is because I don’t want you in some other place for the time we have left.”

  A tear escaped my eye. “We’ll hang out all the time.”

  “Of course.” We both knew it was a lie, but we pretended it wasn’t. Quietly, John helped me pack.

  * * *

  The next day, I loaded up my car with all the nonessentials I was keeping and drove it across the bridge. Kris was at work, like most people were on a Friday. I picked up a key from her at her office, then shoved boxes into my room and headed home to a mostly empty room in Oakland. After teaching Saturday and Sunday morning, I stuffed my car with the last of my things, said a tearful good-bye to John and Ollie, and made the drive again. Even though it was Sunday, Kris was around for less than an hour. She lugged my heavier boxes up the stairs, then went back to work for the rest of the move. After dropping my unpacked car back in Oakland and taking a noisy train into San Francisco, I was in my plush new room, all my possessions in boxes around me. I was also completely alone in the house and not ready for the silence. It was never really silent in my old apartment. The walls were thin, the pipes a chorus of sounds, and the street noise never far away. Plus, half the time I could hang out with John and/or Ollie, just by sticking my head out of my room. But this place? It was really, terribly, horribly quiet.

  I felt very lonely. I texted John, even as I knew he and Ollie were having their “no phones” Sunday dinner. I texted Meghan, knowing that she and Bill were likely at trivia night at their favorite bar. I texted Sasha, who invited me to a musical movie night sing-along she was having with her housemates, something that did not appeal to me at all. I thought about my old coworkers and debated reaching out, even though I wasn’t actually close to any of them. I thought about other aerialists I knew, but again, there was no one I was close enough with to randomly text at 8:47 on a Sunday night. I wanted to ask Kris when she’d be home, but that was not the spirit of our agreement.

  What did lonely people do on Sunday nights in empty houses? I changed into pajamas and plodded downstairs to enjoy the fancy living room and its television. I made popcorn and poured myself a soda. After five minutes of channel surfing, though, I realized why the house didn’t look lived in. It was eerie to be so alone in such a perfect-looking place, to have so much beautiful space to yourself in a crowded city. It felt like the beginning of a horror movie. I took my snacks back to my room, opened my computer, and put on season two of Buffy.

  I ate popcorn in my fluffy new bed and rewatched my favorite episodes, but the lonely feeling did not abate. I kept listening for the door, hoping Kris was home, but I never heard her. I zoned out with my show and fell asleep. When my alarm woke me at seven, my laptop was dead and I had popcorn in my hair.

  I got up to a house that still seemed empty. Kris’s door was closed, but there was no evidence of her. Downstairs I found a note that said, “Welcome! Sorry I couldn’t be there yesterday. I’m off to work. The car’s in the garage. See you tonight.” I made coffee and had some cereal, and wandered out to the patio. It was only a little chilly, and I wrapped myself in one of the many blankets from the living room. All the loneliness from the night before disappeared when I sat outside in my new yard. Maybe everything would be fine.

  I went about my day as best I could, with no more word from Kris. Everyone returned my texts. I felt loved by my friends, a feeling I appreciated as I rushed between three different studios. I was completely in the zone as I taught, and my students were excited and attentive. After I was done with work, I threw together a stir-fry and unpacked a little.

  At eight o’clock, I sat down in the living room. My palms were sweaty and I couldn’t get comfortable. I kept looking at my phone aimlessly. Five minutes later, Kris walked in the front door.

  “Hi,” I chirped.

  “Hi.”

  “Where have you been?” I sounded needier than I meant to be.

  “Working.” She shrugged. “What have you been up to?”

  “Moving, aerials, you know.” Damn, this was awkward. “So, are we going to…?”

  Kris laughed. “Maybe we should start a little slower.” She sat next to me. “Are you all moved in?”

  “All my stuff is here, but I’m not unpacked. I’m selling my car this week, and then I’ll be totally out of Oakland.”

  “So, are you liking it?”

  I chewed on my lip. “Honestly? It’s awesome, but last night when I was here by myself, I got completely freaked out. It’s weird here alone.”

  She nodded. “I basically live in my room. I didn’t live alone until I was twenty-six, and then I lived in a tiny studio. I didn’t think about what I’d do with all this space by myself.”

  “So why did you buy a three-bedroom house? Why live alone?”

  She leaned back on the couch. “It was always my dream, you know, owning a home. I got to the point of my life where I could buy a house, and I looked for a long time. My agent told me about this place before it was even listed and I made an offer the minute I saw it. The location was perfect, and I knew it could be amazing. I felt like an adult buying this place. But then I moved in and it was uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t want to move out, but I didn’t feel like I could have anybody else live here either. Adults live alone, or they live with a partner, their kids. I was too old to be living with roommates, and I didn’t need the money anyway. The thing is, I’d liked living alone in a studio, so I never thought I wouldn’t like living alone in a house.”

  “A giant house,” I pointed out.

  “Giant for San Francisco. Not for anywhere else.”

  “Giant for one person, anywhere,” I said.

  “True.”

  “Can I ask you something? Did you buy this thinking, you know, that you were going to meet somebody, get married, have kids, that kind of thing?”

  Kris scratched her head. “No. It was in terrible shape and I was thinki
ng about fixing it up, not who I’d want to live in it with me.”

  My forehead wrinkled in spite of my efforts to stay casual. “Are you, like, opposed to that?”

  “I just haven’t really thought about it in a long time. When I think about my future, I think about my professional life.”

  “Don’t you worry, though, about being alone?”

  “I’m not alone. I work with great people. I have friends, and I almost always have play partners. I have parents and a brother and a sister and two nephews and a niece, even though I don’t see them much. I have people.”

  I folded my legs up into a pretzel. “I ask because I always worry about that, about being alone.”

  “Because it’s important to you to get married and have kids?”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s not. I’m not against the idea, but that’s not my dream. It’s more like a compulsion. When I’m single, I worry about meeting someone, and when I have a girlfriend, I worry about moving our relationship along. But when I try to imagine the most perfect future possible, it’s all about living as a performer, being creative, things like that. Not about being a mom or a wife.”

  “Why do you think that you worry so much about something if it’s not really your dream?”

  “Your career doesn’t love you back, no matter how good it is. Talent doesn’t keep you warm at night.”

  Kris leaned toward me. “I know I don’t know you that well yet, Phoenix, but I need to tell you something. Your career might not love you, but there’s no guarantee about anyone’s love. Doing things that matter to you, that you feel good about, can give you confidence and pride and self-worth. Your work can make you happy. People tell women it can’t, but they’re lying. I’m happy with my life, even when I’m lonely, because I love what I do. You can have that too.”

  I looked at my lap. In every relationship I’d ever had, I’d prioritized keeping my girlfriend around over, well, everything else. And it had never worked. It had, however, drained my savings when I helped keep Ronnie afloat during a few months when she spent more time lighting up than working, which probably kept me in a nine-to-five half a year longer than I otherwise would have been. It certainly wore down my sexual confidence when certain exes rejected my kinks, but I stayed anyway. And I missed more beginning aerials classes than I could remember thanks to processing sessions with Carolena.