by Lund, S. E.
"And yet you like him."
"He's like a second father to me. He's smart and competent and powerful and has so much history with my dad. And he likes me, Kate."
We arrived at my apartment and when the car stopped I got out and started walking up the steps. He followed me quickly to the door.
"Kate." He took my arm and tried to turn me to face him. "Don't run away. I want to talk. Straighten this out between us."
"There's nothing to straighten out. We're square, OK? Let's just go our separate ways."
As usual, someone had propped open the door to the building so their cousin or uncle or homey could come in. I opened the door and kicked the piece of cardboard aside that was holding it open, my hands shaking just a bit. I went inside and of course, he followed me before the door closed.
I glared at his chin. "You said you wouldn't come in."
"You said you'd talk to me."
"I did."
"Kate…" He put his arm out and stopped me before I reached the stairs, his hand on the wall. I stood there and stared at the leather strap on his wrist.
I waited. He kept his arm like that.
"Are you really going to try to stop me from going upstairs?"
"I want to keep talking."
"Is this what Dominants do? Always try to control things?"
"Yes." He exhaled heavily. "I like control Kate. I'm a Dom. It's what I do."
I stood there staring at his arm, at that darned leather strap with ornate carving in it.
"I'm listening."
"Write up an agreement, include anything you want in it, any terms, and I'll sign."
I considered, stalling for time so I didn’t have to answer. "What is that?" I pointed to the strap. "Is it some kind of kinky bondage thing?"
He let his arm drop and fingered the leather strap.
"This?" He twisted it on his wrist so that the carving was on top. "No, it's not some kinky bondage thing, although I do have a real leather fetish." He smiled as he stared at the strap, running his finger over the carving. "I love leather, how it feels and smells, and how really fine hide warms when it's against naked skin. I make my subs wear leather corset dresses, naked underneath, but I'm thinking of adding in a garter belt and black stockings with a seam in the back." He grinned at me. "And thigh high leather stiletto boots when we go to fetish parties, but maybe in your case, I'd settle for shorter heels..."
I couldn't hold back a grin and turned my head away. "Not fair," I said, trying desperately not to like him.
"What?"
"You trying to make me like you."
He laughed out loud. "See? You do like me."
I said nothing for a moment, trying to get my face under control. Beside me, Drake cleared his throat and continued.
"Really soft leather is also nice for restraints, but you have to know how to tie them carefully." He glanced at me and his eyes were intense under those dark arched brows. "But this?" He looked back at the strap. "This was a gift from a patient."
"What does it say?"
"It's French. Here," he said and held his wrist closer. "Do you read French?"
"Just a bit." I took his wrist in my hand and examined the carving.
He cleared his throat. "It's from Fern Hill."
I frowned. "I know that poem. Dylan Thomas." I could make out a single line – the last line about singing in his chains like the sea.
"You know it?" he said, his tone surprised. "It's my favorite poem. The end especially."
Then he recited the end of the poem.
I stood there in silence for a moment, a bit shocked that he knew poetry well enough to be able to quote it. I cleared my throat, which felt just a bit choky.
"My favorite line was something about being easy under the apple boughs."
He smiled. "That's the first line." Then, to my surprise, he recited it and I just stared at him, not knowing what to say.
"Do you know the whole poem by heart?"
He shook his head. "I can only remember the first and last stanzas. I memorized the whole thing once, back in college. I loved it because it made me think of my childhood. How happy I was and how unaware that soon, it would all come crashing down."
"How did it come crashing down?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Oh, you know. Life in general." He said nothing for a moment. "I had a patient, a young boy of thirteen from South Africa." He returned his gaze to the leather strap on his wrist. "He suffered from inherited dystonia. A muscle contraction that makes the body contort. He had it all his life. It's hell, but he had such a great attitude. The Foundation brought him here a few years ago to do the operation and we became friends. He made this after he recovered from surgery and went back home. You know – touristy 'native' jewelry sold in the gift shops. I wear it because it reminds me why I became a doctor, and a surgeon."
"Oh, that's…" I said, taken aback by this side of him and a bit embarrassed that I automatically assumed it was about his bondage kink. "That's so… nice."
An awkward silence passed between us.
"But the quote? How did he know to include that?"
"He was here for six months and we arranged for him to have tutors. He liked poetry the most of all his classes. He asked me what my favorite line of poetry was and I told him."
He looked at me, his expression thoughtful. Then, he dropped his hand and his face changed. That grin started and the more human moment passed.
"So about our agreement. You can include sex if you want, but remember I'm only so kinky. I have limits…"
There. He had to ruin such a nice human moment by turning it back to sex.
I hesitated, considering. I could write a really great paper on the issue. I had Lara and now I had Drake. Both were ways into this world for me as a researcher and journalist. Plus it would satisfy my own curiosity.
"Give me your phone," he said, motioning to my bag.
"Why?"
"Just give it to me."
I reached into my bag without thinking, handing him my iPhone. He opened my contacts, entering his information.
"There," he said. "At least consider what I've suggested. Draw up an agreement with whatever you want included and send it to me in an email."
I took back my phone and started up the stairs since he was no longer blocking me. He called up after me when I reached the top.
"Remember, send me an email. I'll sign anything you want."
"Goodbye, Dr. Morgan."
"Good night, Ms. Bennet."
I rolled my eyes and suppressed a smile.
He texted me before I barely even had a chance to get my coat off.
You seem surprised that I like poetry. What you must think of me… I'm not a Neanderthal, Kate. Write up an agreement between us. Whatever you want. Include as much detail as you feel is necessary. I'll honor it to the letter. Your father would be only too pleased if we were to date and that can be our cover.
At least he thinks I'm a decent sort…
I texted him back a single line.
Imagine how surprised he'd be to find out how wrong he is…
That would hurt and I knew I was being a bitch, but I couldn't help but respond that way to his faux injured tone…
Ouch…
I smiled, but a part of me felt bad. He seemed to really like my father.
After I got into my pajamas, I called Lara to ask her for more details about Drake.
"You won't believe it. Drake was at my father's fundraising dinner tonight."
"He told me he's friends with your father."
"Still, you'd think he could just let this drop, considering how much it upset me. He didn't. He pushed things."
"He's a natural Dom, Kate. He knows what he wants and he does what it takes to get it."
I sighed. "Should I do this?"
"You have to be the one to decide. But know this. Dominants, even the ones into pain, are serious about recognizing and respecting their sub's limits. It's a source of pride for us to know
what a sub needs and how far to push to enhance their experience. It's what drives us – having that control and responsibility and giving a sub what they need through satisfying our own needs."
I said nothing, letting that sink in a bit.
"Kate, a vanilla man will never give you what you really need and you'll end up feeling unloved and insecure, unable to respond the way you could with a Dom. A vanilla woman can't give a Dom what he needs. He feels as if he can't be himself during sex, frustrated that he can't take control, make things right – better. Doms and subs. We need each other. It's beautiful when it works out."
"It all sounds so nice but can I trust him?"
"You can trust him. Kate, I've known him for years."
Much later, as I sat at my desk revising the document I was drafting, I composed an email with the agreement as an attachment. I'd just had a warm bath and was still wet, wrapped in a towel.
I held my finger over the mouse, the little hand hovering over the send button. Then, I pressed send. Immediately, I checked my sent folder and re-read it, biting my nail as I worried I had just made a huge mistake.
From: McDermott, Katherine M.
Sent: November 07, 11:31 PM
To: Morgan, D. L.
Subject: The Agreement
Attachments: The Agreement.doc (50 KB)
Drake: I've attached the agreement for you to review and agree to.
Please don't push any of my limits. I know it’s in your nature to do just that.
If you do, I'm gone.
Seriously.
Kate
I open the documented and re-read the terms, worried he was going to try to seduce me.
Agreement for Research Services
between
Katherine Marie McDermott (Researcher)
and
Drake Liam Morgan (Informant)
This Agreement is made and entered into by and between Katherine M. McDermott "Researcher" and Drake L. Morgan "Informant".
PURPOSE
The purpose of this agreement is to conduct research for an investigative journalism article on BDSM, herein referred to as 'The Lifestyle'.
SCOPE OF WORK
A. For the Informant to provide insight and background on the lifestyle, including but not limited to a description of initial experiences and training, practices, preferences, former partners (to remain anonymous) and any public or private functions attended as part of the pursuit of the lifestyle.
B. The Informant may, from time to time, take the Researcher to various cultural events that are part of the lifestyle for research purposes only. The Informant will refrain from attempting to initiate any physical contact with the Researcher except to demonstrate some aspect of the lifestyle when asked by the Researcher and agreed to prior to the demonstration.
C. Breach of this agreement by initiating any physical contact without the Researcher prior consent and agreement will render the agreement null and void.
PERIOD OF PERFORMANCE
The period of performance under this agreement will be from November 15, or date of execution, whichever is earlier, through December 30.
ENTIRE AGREEMENT
This agreement represents all the terms and conditions agreed upon by the parties. No other statements or representations, written or oral, shall be deemed a part hereof.
APPROVAL
This contract shall be subject to the written approval of the Researcher and shall not be binding until so approved. The agreement may be altered, amended, or waived only by a written amendment executed by both parties. Consisting of 2 pages and 0 attachment(s), this agreement is executed by the persons signing below, who warrant they have the authority to execute the agreement.
Researcher
Katherine M. McDermott
Informant
Drake L. Morgan
Signature
Signature
Title
Date
Title
Date
I had my father to thank that I knew my way around a legal document.
I printed off the agreement and held it in my hand. After imagining what he'd tell me about his practices and preferences, I realized I was really afraid. It wasn’t him I feared. It was fear of myself and how I might just respond to him and to the lifestyle.
~~~
I received an email the next morning from him.
From: Morgan, D. L.
Sent: November 08, 5:31 PM
To: McDermott, Katherine M.
Subject: The Agreement
Attachments: The Agreement.doc (50 KB)
Katherine, I received your agreement and will read it over. We can discuss when we meet.
Drake
That Friday, I sent him a text, deciding I might as well set up a few dates for the interviews.
Why don't you send me your schedule so we can set up some dates to meet next week and discuss the lifestyle. We can discuss the agreement at that time. I'm pretty free for the next couple of weeks with the exception of Monday and so I'd like to get started with the interviews.
He responded within a few minutes.
I'm pretty busy all week with my surgical slate and personal commitments… What are you doing on Monday night? What time are you done? I could make a late meal at a restaurant, if you're free after 10 PM.
I frowned. Monday night was not a good night. I was going to Carnegie Hall with my father and his wife to hear Gorecki's Symphony Number 3. It was very meaningful to me because my mother and I used to go each year.
I'm going to Carnegie Hall with my father and his wife.
A special Veteran's Day performance featuring Dawn Upshaw at the Stern Auditorium, on the Perleman Stage, the concert was part of the Great Singers program. He texted me back in a few moments.
I want to take you.
What? No freakin' way. I always cried during the performance, unable to hold my emotions in check and there was no way in hell I wanted to be anywhere near Drake Morgan when I was an emotional wreck.
We could meet after. I don't know if I'm ready to start the whole 'dating' ruse yet…
I chewed my bottom lip, wondering if he'd accept my alternate arrangement but he had his own ideas.
We could meet there by accident during intermission. I could invite you out for a late meal. I'm sure your father would be pleased. We could start the whole interview process.
I didn’t respond, trying to find a way to say no. As if he sensed it, he texted back right away.
I'll have you home by midnight as I have surgery early in the morning. No funny business. Scout's Honor…
Damn him. I couldn't really find an excuse to say no quickly enough.
I'll go for coffee and dessert with you but this is a special family event. We always have a family dinner before the concert.
He wouldn't take no for an answer.
Can you hold off eating and join me at The Russian Tea Room? I feel like some Pelmeni and blini. Have you been and tried their blini? To die for. I would love company.
I sighed and dialed my father's number.
"Hi, Dad," I said, resigned to this. "Drake Morgan asked if I could go for dinner with him after the concert on Monday."
"That's great," he said, sounding so enthusiastic. "No problem."
"We usually have a special family dinner before…"
"I know you'd rather be with Drake, so go right ahead, dear. You know, you're old enough to date now," he said, laughing. "Why don't you invite him to come sit with us? I know you'd enjoy having some company."
Crap. No help from him, of course.
"I don't think so, Dad. He's probably busy with his band."
I texted Drake back.
My father is very rigid about these things but I told him you invited me to go for a meal after the concert and he said I could miss our usual family dinner. Boy, does he like you… If he only knew…
He texted right back.
He doesn’t know and I want things to stay that way. I don't want
him finding out about my… pastimes. Just keep that in mind when you worry that I'll push your boundaries. I won't.
I responded immediately.
I'll hold you to that. Good afternoon.
Of course, his response was almost getting predictable.
I'll meet you in the lobby during intermission. Until then, Ms. Bennet…
I couldn’t help but smile at that, despite hating him just a bit for it. I could almost see the twinkle in his oh-so-blue eyes…
CHAPTER SEVEN
On Monday night, my father and Elaine and I arrived at Carnegie Hall for the concert. As we took our places in my father's box, I settled in next to the overhang looking out at the seats below and checked over the program. Ms. Upshaw was singing a selection of music, but it was the first part of the evening that I looked forward to the most. Symphony No. 3 – the second movement from Symphony of Sorrowful Songs, written about the Second World War, the lyrics comprised of a young woman's prayer written on a wall in a Gestapo Prison in Poland.
Every year, my mother and I would attend a live performance of this symphony somewhere in the country and neither of us could keep a dry eye throughout. We held hands and comforted each other while we sniveled away, tissues at our eyes. My great-grandparents on my mother's side were from Poland and lost several relatives in the war. This was the third year since she died and the first time I attended a performance of the work. I made sure to bring extra tissues in my bag. I got choked up even thinking of it and was glad we were in our box so no one would see me.