by Barbra Novac
Their relationship had been many different things and none of them terribly healthy. He wanted her sexually at a young age, but once she'd hit twenty-two years old, he'd lost interest and pursued girls in their late teens. At first, Marianne had resented this. It wounded her pride, and she felt compelled to do something about it. After a while, her biggest problem wasn't the humiliation. It felt so much worse to be lonely. She'd always known she didn't properly love Joe, but because of her history, she'd assumed love to be the alien thing she'd never have. It was not to be. She felt that what she had with Joe was as good as it got, but when his sexual interest in her waned, she found herself wanting and hungry.
Mug of tea in hand, Marianne padded her way back to the bedroom, grabbing a favorite magazine as she walked. Setting the tea on the nightstand, she cuddled back under, naked, inhaling the beautiful scent of Peter still heavy on the sheets.
She flicked through the magazine, sipping at her tea, but her thoughts were a whirlwind, and turned her every which way, always back to the resolution of her problems with Joe.
Every now and then, Joe had slipped up, and she would catch him in bed with someone. Usually, in the bed she shared with Joe. At twenty-seven, Marianne insisted they have separate bedrooms. Joe barely protested. He must have thought it a relief to get her out of his room. He even allowed her to continue her bookkeeping studies. However, he still insisted no man touch her.
Then the desire to leave Joe rose like a tide inside Marianne. If she could leave by her thirtieth birthday, she'd achieve her biggest goal. She had her bookkeeping and extending this to accounting saw her tipping her toes at the shoreline of her dreams.
After that, Marianne set up her life. She knew one day Joe would come for her, but until that time, she did everything she could to create a separate world from him. This included her sex life. Toys, lingerie, and, of course, The Pleasure Chest were all a part of her solo sexual existence.
Men were not a high priority while she tried to get herself independent from Joe, and besides, most of the men Marianne met bored her. Something special always seemed to elude her, and she'd always assumed it to be a natural fussiness. After last night, Marianne thought she'd finally found out what bored her about the other men.
Suddenly, she had an idea.
She leaped up and got dressed. She had to eat at some point, and there were plenty of places to eat in the Cross. Today required other sustenance, however. Some information to feed her mind. She left the bed in its crumpled, sexy mess, knowing she had that to look forward to when she got home.
Once out on the street, she crossed from Victoria Street again over to Darlinghurst Road. She headed straight for The Pleasure Chest, reliably always open, 24-7.
“Morning, Marianne.” Bill grinned from the same place his wife had made trouble for Marianne the night before. “I heard you had quite a visit in here last night. Please tell me you took Peter home, and your pussy is so sore you can't watch films today!”
Marianne laughed. “I will tell you that, love. Then can you pass the detailed info to your cute wife who made the whole thing happen.”
“The way she tells the story, Peter wanted to make you 'happen' whether Jen was there or not. And he's a lawyer! Don't let this one get away, girl. You deserve a great break like this. We've seen him a little around the hetero scene, but we've never met or played together. We don't know much about him, but the word is he's a good guy.”
Marianne smiled a warm smile into his eyes. They both really cared about her, she could tell. She badly needed that caring friendship this morning.
“Actually, Bill, I loved the sex so much, that I'm here to get some…err…educational material.”
Bills eyebrows shot up. “Nothing here you don't know about, hon.”
“What about…BDSM?”
Bill's eyes widened.
“Please tell me that is what he did to you when you were alone and that you loved it!”
“That is what we did when we were alone, and I loved it!”
“Jen was right. There is nothing bad about this story. So what are you looking for? Info?”
“I need to know how I play my part properly. And I'm confused as to why it may have turned me on so much. I'm probably talking to the wrong person for that one.”
“Well, first things first! I have just the book for you. Actually, I have a few for you. Are you able to spend up today?”
“I haven't been spending on anything else.”
“Then come with me.”
Bill walked her to the back right-hand corner of the store, behind the door she normally walked through to the viewing booths. There were books on the shelves here that Marianne had not bothered with before, because they were for couples. Or so she thought.
“Oh. This is essential reading, Different Loving: the World of Sexual Dominance and Submission, and then we have another classic, The Story of O. That's something you'll find helpful. This'll give you solid start-up info.”
Then he turned, and with warm eyes, looked at her thoughtfully.
“As for why you are turned on by this, I can't tell you that one. The jury's out. Pretty much everyone thinks that it's part of an overhang from the Catholic Church, but personally, I think that's crap. An awful lot of Japanese love this stuff, and there is nothing Catholic about them.”
Bill carried the books back to the counter, and Marianne walked over to the DVDs. She took one off the shelf about women submissives and male Dominants, and headed for the counter.
On the way there, she spied a dark leather whip. It had a long, plaited leather thong on the end of it that had little knots tied all the way along. A nasty and inviting piece of work, Marianne imagined Peter standing over her, her arms chained up high, and him lashing her repeatedly until she screamed with pain. Then he would stop and fuck her hard. The image frightened Marianne, but enticed her as well. A response to this vibrated deep in her soul. Something in her had always known, but until now, never recognized.
However, it wasn't for this series of purchases. She didn't want to push the envelope. Today she needed education, and she required some information before she met with Peter again tonight. Even if he didn't make love to her this evening, she wanted a better grasp on what she went through last night.
She put the DVD on to the counter with her other informational purchases. Bill let out a low whistle. “Man, talk about getting into the heavy stuff. But, darlin', I'm not surprised. Jen and I sort of took you for this kind of gal.”
“What? Really? What made you think that I was into this sort of thing? Because up until last night, I didn't know it myself.”
“Sometimes it takes a trained eye, love, and we're experts at determining people's fetishes. We could tell because of a couple of key things. Your relationship with Joe… definitely a misplaced BDSM one, your love of skin flicks and coming here alone to watch them, certainly a sign of a bad girl, and then finally, your disinterestedness in other men. You are way too choosy for a vanilla girl.”
The second time Marianne heard that today, and this time her ears pricked up. “Vanilla girl?”
“Yeah. See, this is how the BDSM community talks. Life is like an assortment of flavors in the ice cream shop. There are the folk who like vanilla. Now they choose vanilla every time. It is their flavor, and they don't want to try anything else. They just love vanilla. Then there are the folk who want to try many different flavors, no matter how scary or confrontational it may seem. The BDSM community likes to think of themselves as that. They are the ones who try lots of flavors.”
“So you deduced that I must not be vanilla because I'm too fussy?”
“Yeah. Even intuitively, you don't want just any guy. You were waiting for something deep inside of you to respond. That's not very vanilla.”
Marianne smiled. “Well, so far it seems the two of you may be right, though I am not sure how far I want to take all of this.” She turned over the DVD in her hand and looked at the back of it. “But I think I'd like to do more than I've
done already.”
Bill gave her a knowing look. “Give that to me.” He playfully grabbed the DVD out of her hand. “I want to send you home with all this stuff. You're scaring the other customers!”
Marianne laughed, paid for her purchase, and then with a cheery wave, left the store with her nicely stocked bag of goodies. Stopping only for Thai green curry from her favorite little takeaway, she walked home.
Back in the safety of her apartment, Marianne felt that she had time to think and gather some much-needed information. With her lunch next to her, she sat at her laptop, the table awash with books and films, ready to explore the world that had been introduced to her just a little over twelve hours ago.
The next few hours were a blurred mix of wonder and intellectual challenge. She had to stop and masturbate twice as she strolled through all of the different types of information in her books. There were stylized photos of women and men in certain poses, and there were the hard-core poses that obviously came from real settings. Photos seemed to extend from the fetish pretty stuff that involved a lot of sex, appealing to interested vanilla types, all the way to the hard-core stuff that concerned people fully clad in fetish wear. Some photographs depicted people in real, extreme situations their contorted pain showing in the grimace they presented to the camera. Marianne moved away from the photos—some terrifying, some arousing, and most tantalizingly seductive—to the Internet for some inspiration. She joined a chat room at one point and watched others having cyber conversations. These gatherings—called “munches” she found out—could be attended on the Internet or in real life. There even seemed to be many people who were into the scene online and not in the real world.
After a while, she started to ask questions and chat to folks. A young woman, who had started only a few months earlier, gave Marianne some details to fill in the experience gaps. She'd been fascinated after accidentally coming across some fetish pornography on the Internet and then joined a chat room in order to find a Master. The man who dominated her had a stable of women, and he agreed to place her at number three. This was very high for an initiate, but he did it because of her beauty and grace.
She always wore blue. The color gave her the nickname The Blue Sub.
She played into this reputation, which she adored. She said that her fetish ran more toward exhibitionism rather than pain. Therefore, she would attend a great deal of activities, parties, and online events dressed in some sort of fetish wear, but always blue. Her Master took her on a leash to these various outings. For her, pride came in the compliments her Master received for his sub's beauty and discipline.
Marianne chatted with her for over an hour and then bade her farewell.
She talked with another woman whose fetish had her pose like a mannequin, not moving until permitted. This usually so aroused her that when she went home with her lover, they would make passionate love. She talked of a partnership that she had with a man who was deeply aroused by dressing women. He never engaged sexually with the women, but he would dress them from his own expansive wardrobe that he carried about with him from party to party. He chose his women carefully. He would dress them in intensely beautiful fetish clothes: sheer body stockings, latex, leather, velvet, satin, and lace. He did their makeup. Then he would send them out, watch them walk about for a little while, and go back to the clothes and masturbate alone. He chose her to accompany him to the parties, and she chose to be posing at the front door dressed as a mannequin through the night. Her lover felt free to look at the women and men to his satisfaction, and then they would go home to their own private world.
Marianne found these kinds of stories fascinating. Actually attending a party might be a little out of her comfort zone at this point, but she felt she intuitively understood this world. It had the decadence of the sex trade that she saw on the streets of the Cross, but it had sophistication. This game had power. Not for the faint-hearted, that's for sure, but profoundly intelligent nonetheless. Moreover, it asked for real courage. Real courage that Marianne felt she had. Real courage she wanted to show Peter.
* * *
Peter felt completely prepared for the three-thirty meeting. He had a large whiteboard on a stand in his sitting room, a pile of notepads and pens on his lounge table, and copies of the notes that he had made over the last four hours. There were two bottles of wine and a full and varied cheese plate ready for his guests.
Right on time, the doorbell rang. He headed for the door, holding a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in his hand. Glancing through the peephole gave him confirmation of his first arrivals. Peter opened the door.
“I would never have said that. You have it wrong. I would never have said that Pulp Fiction is better than Reservoir Dogs. Reservoir Dogs is my favorite Tarentino, except for the Kill Bills, and I would never have said that.”
“Betty! Welcome!” Peter handed her the glass of Sauvignon Blanc that he held in his hand. Betty, a medium-height, round woman with very short hair took it from him and downed the glass in one gulp. She gave the empty glass back to him.
“Thanks. I feel better now!” She pushed past him making her way into the lounge room. Betty, one of the top lawyers in his firm, had agreed to be his second on this case.
Peter stood holding the empty glass, looking into it. He looked up and said, “Hi, Alan.”
Alan, the detective who worked for the firm, smiled. In his late fifties, and excellent at his job, the firm had tried for years to retain him full time for investigative work, finally succeeding a few years back. With an impeccable reputation, incorporating a mixture of intuitive creativity and the collecting of hard, supportive evidence, his contribution couldn't be ignored.
“Sorry! Got her all riled up on the way over here.” Alan looked into the empty glass. “Got one of those for me?”
“Sure.” Peter closed the door behind him and followed him into the larger part of the apartment. Betty sat on the couch and immediately started going through one set of notes. Alan moved in and sat next to her.
“Am I supposed to make room for the famous detective with no powers of lucid observation?” Betty snarled as Alan took his seat.
Peter walked in with two more glasses of wine. As he handed one to Betty and the other to Alan, he said, “Now, now, we have at least two hours of work to get through this afternoon. Try to be friendly. Have you two been arguing all the way over in the car?”
Alan gave Peter a strange look that Peter returned until Alan looked away. What's that about? Peter mused.
“He started at me about Tarentino films on the way over. Now I have to be careful not to appear too forgiving. Where's Derek?” Betty took the wineglass from him, but only sipped at it before she put it on the table to rest.
“I'm expecting him. He's just not here yet.”
At that point, the doorbell rang.
“That'll be him,” Alan said into the bowl of his glass.
“Brilliantly detected,” Betty observed.
Peter walked to the hall way again, and opened the door to see a young man, very fashionably dressed, walk in with a laptop bag.
“Sorry I'm late. Um. I had a big night last night. Sorry.” Derek fumbled his way through an attempt at a handshake with Peter. Derek being new to the firm had not yet felt his way properly. But he was a brilliant young lawyer and a welcome addition to their team
“Derek, you're not late, man. Come on in, and I will show you around.”
Derek nervously put a foot through the door, and Peter closed it behind him. As soon as she heard the door close, Betty shouted from the other room, “Derek, you little bastard! You're late. What the hell did you get up to last night, love?”
Everyone knew Derek was terrified of Betty, and she loved to take advantage of the power she wielded. Peter gave him a grin and wandered up the hall ahead of him, indicating a bathroom to the left as they past it and the kitchen to the right as they rounded the corner to the lounge area. Derek had never been in Peter's house before, and his round eyes widened as
he moved toward the large windows that showed a full harbor view, including both the Sydney Opera House and the Harbor Bridge. Looking out the window at the view, he drank it all in with what occurred to Peter as a kind of respectful envy. Peter poured him a glass of wine and whispered, “You'll have something like this one day, mate.” Derek looked at Peter, smiled, and took the wineglass. He moved over to the couch next to Alan.
“C'mon, love, I'm going to need girly details before we get started.” Betty leaned forward, grinning at the terrified Derek.
Betty's homosexuality sat well with everyone except Derek, who was still working hard at getting used to it. Betty, of course, did nothing to make him comfortable.
“I…I don't have anything to tell.” Derek stammered. “I just had a late one with the boys.”
“Peter had a night. He's got stuff to tell,” said Alan looking over the top of his glass of wine, through the windows into the harbor, as if he were contemplating floating off out to sea.
“Excuse me?” Peter asked. Oh, shit! Alan must have followed Marianne last night. He must have seen us together. Alan was supposed to be on another case last night, and clearly, he wasn't. Having Alan spring his time with Marianne on everyone like this wasn't part of Peter's plan.
Both Derek and Betty had moved their gaze and focused on him. Derek could only have been interested, but Betty would know instantly that something important stood at stake here.
Peter thought for a moment about what to do. He had intended to tell them about Marianne, so they could strategize, but not quite so soon into the afternoon. He'd not allowed for Alan to know.
How! How could I have forgotten that?
“You know what I'm talking about.” Alan still stared out to sea. “Are you going to tell them or should I?”
“Well, I wasn't going to bring this up just now, but seeing as Alan has so kindly dunked me into it, I'll tell you all. I slept with Marianne Ferguson last night.”
The brief pause rang in Peter's ears as his heart's pace quickened just a little.
“Jesus H. Christ!” cursed Betty.