Teaching Maya

by Tara Crescent

  “Maya, are you listening?” my grandmother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Do you want a burger?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry, Ryan.” I grabbed a burger and quickly left to get some burger fixings. I didn’t want Ryan to see that I was upset.

  “What’s the matter, Maya?” Ryan had followed me.

  I shook my head, refusing to meet his eyes. For some strange reason, I was close to tears. “Nothing.”

  He looked at me, but everyone was around, and there was little he could do. “You leave tomorrow evening, right? I’ll give you a ride to the airport, ok?”

  “Okay.” I said. I didn’t want to prolong this conversation. I set my plate down, and fled to the bathroom.

  In the bathroom, I splashed some water on my face, and gave myself a stern talking-to. Idiot, I chided myself. What was that about? You knew the score – it was always just a vacation hook-up. So he sleeps with other women too, why are you upset by this?

  There was a knock on the door. It was my sister Rosa. “Maya, is something the matter?”

  I looked in the mirror. My reflection looked back, calmer than I felt. “Sorry, Rosa,” I apologised smoothly, opening the door. “Beer always makes me run to the bathroom. Do you need the bathroom?” I was proud of my even voice.

  She looked at me curiously. “I thought you looked upset,” she said.

  “Upset?” I laughed. “Just the usual end of vacation blues. When’s your flight out tomorrow?”

  The rest of the barbeque passed without event. I kept a very firm control on my emotions, eschewing the beer for water, making sure to keep all my wits about me. My family was not stupid, and I didn’t want them to find out about my fling with Ryan. I laughed and chatted; I ate burgers and assembled ice-cream sandwiches for dessert, and I bottled my emotions for later analysis.

  ***

  I was not looking forward to my car ride with Ryan to the airport. Most of the family had left in the morning, all on different flights. My own flight was the last one out, in the early evening. I bid farewell to my grandparents, and grabbed my bag.

  “Here, let me,” Ryan took my bag from my hand, lifting it easily, and putting it in the trunk of the Porsche.

  We had left pretty early, there were over three hours to go for my flight, and I was already checked in. We had two hours to kill. I wasn’t really sure what we were going to do, and I was afraid Ryan would start probing into the cause of my distress at the barbeque.

  The car pulled in into a parking lot. I recognized the Thai restaurant we’d eaten at two weeks ago.

  “I thought we’d eat lunch and talk,” Ryan announced. I looked nervous. I didn’t want Ryan to know I was jealous of the unknown Gayla; that I was consumed with curiosity about the mysterious Patricia. I was close to breaking the only rule; I was acting like a jealous girlfriend.

  “Okay, Maya. Out with it, what’s bothering you?” Ryan asked without preamble once we were seated.

  “Nothing,” I mumbled into my glass of water.

  “Liar.”

  “Okay.” I was suddenly angry. Yes, I didn’t have any right to feel this way, but it made me feel weird to think that I’d made love to Ryan on the same bed as another woman. I wasn’t planning on telling him this, but since he was insistent, he could hear the truth.

  “Who’s Gayla?” I asked.

  “Gayla is my agent,” Ryan replied, puzzled. Suddenly his eyes sharpened. “Hang on, you think I’ve slept with Gayla at the cottage?”

  I nodded. I didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Look at me, Maya.” His voice was even. I couldn’t tell if he was angry with me.

  I looked up.

  “Gayla’s a good friend and an excellent agent, nothing more. I’ve used her cottage to write in for the last eight or nine years. The last book did very well, and Gayla’s been itching to sell the cottage for a bit now. I’m in the process of buying it; the deal’s pretty much done. I would never have taken a woman there while it was Gayla’s cottage; that wouldn’t have been right.”

  “Oh,” I said, very quietly. “I’m sorry. I have no right to probe.”

  “No you don’t.” He sighed.

  “Maya.” There was hesitation in his voice; he seemed to be searching for the right words. “We don’t make sense. You are twenty-one. You live in San Francisco. I live in Paris; I’m ten years older than you.”

  He took a sip of his drink. “The last two weeks have been…unexpected. This was supposed to be a simple vacation hook-up, but I think we both got a little more involved than we should have.”

  “Go back to your life, Maya. This shouldn’t have happened, forget that it ever did.”

  I took a sip of my drink. I was close to tears. He was right. We didn’t make sense. But it was hard to remember that, when all I could do was remember how warm and secure I felt in his arms; how my body had sung when he touched me.

  With difficulty, I strove for calm. I wouldn’t turn into a weeping bundle in front of Ryan. I would beg in bed, but I had too much pride to beg otherwise. But I was hurt, and I needed to hurt back.

  “Still, it was a fun two weeks, right?” I smiled, my heart breaking on the inside with each word I spoke. “It was very educational. I had no idea I’d enjoy the whips and chains stuff so much.” I took a fortifying sip of my drink. “Any advice on how I go about finding someone who plays like that in San Francisco?”

  He looked at me. For the first time, for a brief second, I saw anger in his eyes. His hands clenched around the stem of his glass.

  But only for an instant. The next instant, he smiled easily, his eyes expressionless. “Be smart. Stay away from the bondage clubs, be careful what you reveal on the internet. If the tabloids find out, they’ll have a field day with it. Above all, remember to be safe.”

  We said our farewells at the airport. I insisted I could manage my bags, and that Ryan just needed to drop me off curbside. He acquiesced. I think he was happy to see the last of me.

  I thought about what he’d said about finding another partner. It was all good advice; advice I would have absolutely taken, if I had any intention of seeking out someone else to play with. But something told me that my days of spanks, gags, cuffs and clothespins were over. I had obeyed Ryan in bed because I respected and trusted him in a way that I couldn’t imagine with anyone else.

  I remembered myself, just two short weeks ago. How much of a mess I was. How convinced I’d been that I was someone who was incapable of sexual pleasure. And I thought about how much pleasure Ryan had given me, and how much weight he’d taken off my shoulders. I didn’t want to leave off our conversation on the note we’d left it. He deserved gratitude, not my anger and hurt.

  One final text then. It was time for some honesty. I wrote a quick note just as I was boarding the plane, and hit send before I had a chance to edit myself.

  The sex was terrible with my last boyfriend. I thought it was my fault, I had never orgasmed with him. I should have told you. Thank you for an amazing two weeks, but also for showing me it wasn’t me. Maya.

  The stewardess came around as I was looking at my phone. “You need to turn your phone off, Miss,” she said, politely, but firmly. I nodded, and turned my phone off; it would prevent me from obsessively checking if he’d replied.

  My plane took off, taking me away from Ryan, and towards San Francisco.

  Chapter 6

  “You look like you could use a vacation, Maya.” Ivar's words weren't a surprise. It had been a long three months after the family retreat. Work had been insane. One of our senior employees had gone rogue a month after the retreat, and the fallout had been painful. Ivar and Marco had been working sixteen hour days for the last two months, and my workload had been almost as bad.

  But finally, everything was back to normal. A small group of us had gathered in Ivar's apartment to celebrate - Ivar and Marco, of course, but also Paul, the CFO, Kelly, our Chief Counsel, and Nate, the head of South American operations. Poor Nate - it was Brazil where most of the damage
had occurred. Nate looked like he hadn't slept for two months.

  I was easily the most junior person in the room, and normally, I wouldn't have been invited to this gathering. Ivar and Marco typically went out of their way to avoid any appearance of nepotism. But I'd been Paul's right hand person during the crisis, and Paul had insisted on my presence.

  We were all standing around Ivar's kitchen island. Ivar had celebrated by leaving work early and cooking for us, and we were looking forward to this meal. The drinks were flowing freely, and even though it was early, we were all a little buzzed.

  “A vacation would be nice,” I admitted. “But would you believe, I'm becoming such a workaholic that I have no idea where to go, and what to do?”

  Ivar shook his head in disapproval. “Vacations are important, kiddo. I take a full two months off a year. Marco, Paul, Kelly, Nate, all of them do the same. You'll burn up in this job if you don't learn to unwind.”

  “Why don't you go to Paris? Paris is lovely in winter.”

  I looked at Ivar sharply, but his face gave nothing away. What did he know? I wondered. Yes, Ryan and Ivar were very good friends, but I assumed Ryan would keep the details of our tryst quiet.

  “Maybe,” I kept my voice light, and wandered away to the balcony.

  I sipped my glass of wine in the balcony, and struggled to keep back the tears. Somewhere, without knowing it, I’d fallen in love with Ryan. The real Ryan; the one who was calm, competent and amused, but also warm and caring.

  He’d never replied to my text; I hadn’t heard from him since the family retreat. The logical part of me didn’t really expect to. We had had a sexual interlude, and once it was over, the expectation was that we’d both go back to our lives. But deep inside, there had been a part of me that had been hoping he’d call.

  I was holding it together during the day, but every night since I got back to San Francisco, my sleep was consumed by nightmares. I would dream of Ryan with another woman. The images were eating me up inside. Ryan, holding a whip, staring down at a tied up girl. Ryan, smiling his easy, warm, approving smile as this woman complied willingly with his orders. Ryan’s mouth on some other woman’s breasts; his dick in some other woman’s pussy. It was keeping me from sleeping at night, and driving me insane.

  Silly Maya, I whispered to myself. Don’t play adult games if you can’t deal with adult consequences. I blinked the tears back and fought for self-control. I had held my feelings at bay for the last three months, and had poured myself into work. Now though, with work finally approaching normalcy, I’d have to face my nightmares, and deal with them.

  “All by yourself, Maya?” Kelly’s voice cut through my reverie. I had been so lost in my thoughts; I hadn’t heard the balcony door slide open.

  “Hey Kelly.” I liked Kelly. She was amazingly competent, like everyone else who worked at the firm, but Kelly also had a wicked sense of humour, and she didn’t take herself too seriously. She was a lot of fun to work with.

  “You look lost in thought, kiddo.”

  “Ivar thinks I should go on vacation, and I was pondering where to go,” I lied smoothly. It was plausible enough.

  “Gods, I know! I’m going to take a week off myself, and spend the entire week in bed; I’m so tired! Maybe a bit of reading, the new Clayborn book is coming out soon, and getting some great reviews.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “There’s a new Clayborn book out?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice casual.

  “Yeah, he was on the radio this morning, promoting it. He was saying that he had spent the last few months putting the final touches on it. It’s on every best-seller list, of course.”

  Oh. My heart was suddenly a bit lighter, and a tiny ray of hope appeared. Ryan wouldn’t have had time to do very much else if he had been writing for three months. No other women, perhaps?

  But then, as I thought about it just a bit more, my heart sank again. What did it matter who he was sleeping with? He had made it clear that he’d regretted sleeping with me, and that it wouldn’t happen again.

  My dream that night was the worst yet. I was tied on a cross. Clamps on my nipples. My arms and legs spread wide. Ryan started whipping me with a long bullwhip. It hurt a lot. Welts appeared on my skin as I cried out in agony. “Hold on, kitten,” Ryan soothed. His voice was calm and reassuring. He walked towards me, his hand reaching out to stroke my cheek.

  But suddenly, I was watching the scene; Ryan’s hands were stroking another woman. “Hold on, kitten,” he repeated calmly to her. She smiled at him. It was a smile of utter submission. “Yes, Sir,” she said softly. “Thank you for whipping me, Sir.”

  “See this, Maya?” Ryan didn’t look at me as he addressed me. “She’s the woman I’m sleeping with. So much more compliant than you.” His hand raised, and he struck the woman again with the whip.

  Pain. I felt lashes and lashes of pain, with no accompanying pleasure. He touched the faceless woman tenderly, leaning in to kiss her. “See this, Maya? She can feel pleasure,” he said cruelly. The woman started to laugh. “You’d never had an orgasm? Freak!” he sneered, as she chortled with glee. His mouth found her pussy; I moaned with longing. “Please Ryan,” I begged. “Please.”

  I woke up shaking, my cheeks wet from my tears. The next week, I was on a flight to Paris.

  How can I explain why? He hadn’t replied to my text, and I was driving myself insane. I could have learned to ignore the dreams of Ryan with another woman. But I wasn’t willing to live another year like the last one, consumed with thoughts of my sexual inadequacy, this time, with the additional feeling that I was being mocked by Ryan. I needed to know what he’d thought, I needed better closure.

  I’d arranged to stay at my cousin Nina’s. She wouldn’t be in town during my visit, something she was very apologetic for. But in a way, it was more convenient. Ryan and Nina were good friends. I wouldn’t have to lie to Nina while I sorted out this tangled mess.

  I was nervous and jumpy all the way from CDG to Nina’s apartment. It was as if I’d expected Ryan to somehow know that I was in Paris, and to magically materialize out of thin air. The truth was that I didn’t even know if Ryan was in Paris. For all I knew, he could have been in a race somewhere, or back at the cottage.

  At Nina’s, I quickly showered and dressed. Nothing elaborate, just jeans and a t-shirt, with a sweater and a jacket to protect against the winter chill. It was early in the evening the week before Christmas; Paris was filled with light and festivity. Any other time, I would have been enraptured at the beauty and bustle of it all. The Quartier Latin was jam-packed with people going about their Christmas shopping. But I was making my way towards Ryan’s apartment, and I was a bundle of nerves.

  Ryan lived in an old historic apartment building near the Place de la Sorbonne. I would have normally had to be buzzed in, but a couple was exiting as I walked up, and they held the door open for me. “Merci,” I mumbled. My French was rusty, but serviceable.

  Here it was. Number 6. I took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

  Nothing. No response. Had I made a mistake, was Ryan not in town? Or worse, was he out and about with a woman? I knocked again, louder.

  “Un moment, s’il vous plait!” Ryan’s voice came through the door. I heard movement in the apartment, steps walking towards the door. The door opened. Ryan stood there, bare-chested, with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp; he looked like he’d just come out of the shower.

  “Ryan,” I said, uncertainty clouding my voice, as I drank in the sight of him. “Can I come in?”

  For an instant, Ryan didn’t say anything; he just looked at me. Then he nodded and stepped aside so I could come in. “Maya, what a surprise it is to see you.” His voice was expressionless.

  I gulped. This wasn’t the welcome I’d hoped for.

  “Grab a seat while I put on some clothes.” He disappeared into a room; I could hear him move around. In a minute, he’d come out, this time, dressed casually in sweats and an old t-shirt.
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  “Would you like a drink?” he asked politely.

  I nodded. He was being cordial, but my showing up had obviously made him uncomfortable. I’d made a huge mistake coming here. I realized I didn’t even know if he was dating someone. I felt like a fool.

  “Red wine okay?”

  I nodded again. He walked away, but returned in a moment with a bottle and two glasses in his hands. He poured, and sat down in the couch across from me.

  “What brings you to Paris, Maya?” The question was polite, but his voice was disinterested.

  “Is something the matter?” I asked. A question in response to a question.

  “Is something the matter?” he repeated. Suddenly, he sounded livid. “Yes, I think something’s the matter, Maya.” I’d seen Ryan angry, once, for a brief second, when I’d asked him how to go about finding a sex partner. But then, his irritation had been quickly masked, his control quickly reasserted. This time though, he was just angry.

  “Your last text message to me was quite the parting gift, Maya.”

  “Huh?” I was puzzled. I’d expected many reactions to the text. Pity, maybe even mockery or amusement, but never anger.

  “Tell me, Maya, you don’t think that maybe it was relevant information before we’d had sex? That your previous sexual experience was awful? That you’d never orgasmed?” There was ice in his voice.

  “Why are you angry with me?” I asked. Tears were spilling down my cheeks; his anger was unexpected and painful. “I wanted to be treated like a normal woman, not some kind of freak – can’t you understand that?”

  “Shit,” Ryan swore. He got up and moved quickly to sit next to me, and gathered me in his arms. “Hush, kitten,” he soothed. He held me in his arms as I composed myself.

  “Why are you angry with me?” I repeated, nestled up against him.

  “Because you should have told me, Maya. I had the right to know something that important before we slept together. I would have done things differently, gone easier on you.”

  “So, pity sex.” My voice was flat.