Vow of Silence

by Roxy Harte

  “Your domain because you are Lord here? You are Master?” Lin giggles. “Master. I can’t even imagine.”

  “You can’t imagine, Lin? Really?”

  “You’re right. I could fall into depravity so easily, bring shame on to my family. I can’t let that happen. I can’t. You are a temptation that I should have run from, but like a moth to a flame I keep coming back.”

  I slide out of my jacket. I unbutton my shirt. “I like that you keep coming back.”

  “Don’t take your clothes off, George. I won’t be able to say no.”

  Smiling, trying to appear unthreatening, I slide off my pants…my shoes…my socks. I start to undress her, and I’m not certain she even realizes because she lifts her face and offers me her lips. I take full advantage.

  She kisses my bare shoulder and energy crawls over my skin, her kisses seeming electric as need courses down my spine. My hand slides to her slit. I find her wet, ready. I push her down onto her knees, going with her.

  “God, George. I need this.”

  My fingers slide deep and I pump her hard. Lin responds quickly, her vaginal muscles tightening with her moans.

  “Too fast, George.”

  “You said you needed this.”

  “Yes, yes, but just a little break?” She squeezes tight, trying to hold my fingers inside, trying to slow my assault.

  I don’t want her to have a break, I want her to come. “Now, Lin, come for me now. Show me how much you like being at my mercy.”

  I thrust in and out of her harder.

  “Oh God, George!”

  I curl my fingers into her G-spot, jerking her orgasm from her hard and fast.

  She begs, “Please, please, please.”

  I look at Lin—on the floor, ass still raised, confusion written all over her face—and worry that I’ve pushed too hard. I have to. I have to start pushing. I have to get control. I have to teach her what it will mean to be part of my life, and if she can’t accept this for what it is—we both need to walk away—before we both get hurt. She rolls onto her side and watches me dress. She makes no move to.

  If Lewd Larry’s was still Lewd Larry’s I could imagine myself commanding she crawl behind me, follow me to The Oasis and putting her on display as my precious pet. I can imagine her as a viciously clawed Siamese cat. It’s almost a shame The Oasis is no longer The Oasis. I miss quiet dinners there with my friends. Maybe I acted too soon. Maybe I should have left everything the way it was—except nothing will ever be the same again.

  I don’t really want a pet anyway.

  I would prefer leading Lin to The Operating Room and strapping her to the stainless steel table. She would be a feast for my eyes, bound, displayed and at my mercy while I enjoy dinner and conversation with my friends. I try to imagine her submitting not only to my hands, my exploration, but to the touch of strangers…

  The mental visual is all too clear. God.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks. She’s still lying on the floor.

  “That I would like to be your Master.”

  She pushes up onto one elbow. “I’m not that girl, George.”

  “You could be.” I walk to the door and after opening it, keep walking—because if I don’t walk away it’s going to be ugly. I’ve forgotten such self-restraint. I’ve lived away from moral civilization so long now that my normal is so far removed from socially acceptable it’s criminal. And now that I’m starting to see the possibilities of what could be I don’t think I will take no for an answer very well.

  I’m surprised when I hear rushed footsteps behind me. I turn to find Lin haphazardly dressed. She bites her bottom lip. “Why do I feel like everything is crashing down?”

  “I think we’re at an impasse. Again.”

  “Why can’t we just have a normal relationship?”

  “I’m not normal.”

  “Are you still escorting me to the museum?”

  Her question is like a cold dousing of water in my face. I am again civilized George. “I will pick you up at your loft.”

  I’m standing on the curb before I even realize I’m outside. Does the woman not comprehend that she is making me mental? The dream she offered is so real in my mind—a home, a family—but impossible. I am Doctor Psycho, and the sooner she accepts that the sooner we can let go of each other.

  My cell vibrates and I answer it, expecting it to be Lin. It isn’t. The floor nurse at the hospital explains that they are weaning Gigi off the respirator and her fears are interfering with the process. I close my eyes, knowing she is asking if I will come.

  This isn’t my responsibility.

  I agree to come right away but stop at the dry cleaners because it is on the way. I am dreading going into the hospital, dreading seeing Gigi, but that makes no sense.

  It is less than a half hour later that I am standing in the doorway to her room, listening as the doctor explains what he is going to do. A privacy curtain stands between us and she isn’t aware I am here.

  She gags.

  “Just take a deep breath and relax,” the doctor says.

  I hold my breath, waiting as she sputters.

  “Don’t try to talk,” an unseen nurse admonishes.

  “There, perfect. You are breathing on your own.”

  I can hear her crying and my inclination is to go to her and comfort her, but I make myself stay in the hallway. My being here will serve no good purpose.

  The doctor explains that relearning to swallow will be difficult, water is the hardest, but that he has every confidence she can do it.

  I hear the squeak of a marker on whiteboard. The nurse says, “George? Yes, Mr. Kirkpatrick was called.”

  I turn around and leave the hospital. Gigi needs a white knight and I’m not it. I’m not sure what I am but hero isn’t even close. I never was her hero.

  Outside the hospital, I sit on a park bench under a shade tree. Staring out over the meditation garden, I hope for answers but none are forthcoming.

  Why Gigi? Why now?

  Why Lin?

  Neither woman belongs in my life, yet I want them both right smack-dab in the middle of it. I’ve never been so off-kilter. I know the problem. Too much change too quickly. I’m not comfortable or confident in any of the roles I’m trying to play.

  Damn Garrett. And Celia. And Thomas.

  Damn everyone.

  I’m having quite the pity party for myself when I realize I should have already left for home to change for Lin’s event. I end up changing in the parking lot, sans black patent leather oxfords still on my shoe rack at home. So I’m a fashion statement in my white leather K-Swiss tennis shoes.

  I am not the kind of person who is ever late—but that’s exactly what I am. Maybe Lin won’t notice the shoes.

  When I pull up to the curb outside Lin’s studio, she is already waiting. I hurry to open the door for her. “You look amazing.”

  She turns in a circle to show off the sultry sway of her beaded chiffon gown. Backless, it is a rich, golden yellow that brightens her skin. Her hair is upswept and secured with sparkling crystals. I drop a kiss on her sun-warmed shoulder and note that her skin has been dusted with a fine, powdery glitter.

  “Have you been waiting long?” I see her gaze drop to my feet but she doesn’t mention my shoes. She does suppress a chuckle. That’s okay, humor is good, so long as she’s not embarrassed to be seen with me.

  “No, not long. I couldn’t wait inside another moment.” With a big smile she slides gracefully into the car and buckles her seat belt. “I’m so nervous! I’ve never been honored for anything before, and this is so big.”

  Her facial expression makes me laugh as I clamber in beside her awkwardly. It seems like such a long time since I’ve felt light and free enough to…laugh…and even in our most desperate moments together I feel better around her than I have in years.

  “I am glad you are still willing to escort me—since I’ve been so difficult.”

  I take her hand and feel that she is s
haking. “You know, when I’m with a new submissive, there is no more enticing scent than the smell of her fear, there is no sweeter feeling than to hold her trembling against me. Without even trying, you shoot me to the moon.”

  She smiles shyly at me, using our clasped hands to shield most of her face.

  “What?”

  “You always say such outlandish things. You embarrass me.”

  I chuckle, not laughing at her but feeling happy as I buckle my belt, shift into gear and pull into traffic. We are both silent for the drive, her sifting nervously through notecards, me with my mind on trying to figure out what I can do to make a life together with Lin a reality.

  I pull up to the curb for the special events valet parking and Lin looks out through the window at the architecturally beautiful building. Spotlights brighten the façade. “Oh! We’re here too quickly. I don’t know half of my speech. I’ll be so embarrassed.”

  Exiting the car, I walk around to take her arm and escort her in. “You are going to be brilliant. Right now just focus on being the woman of the hour.”

  Walking up to the entrance, I am assailed by memories past, when I was the man being honored—the psychiatrist—and am assaulted by a momentary melancholy. I’ve never allowed myself the luxury of feeling sorry for myself. I just picked up the pieces and kept moving. Until now I haven’t cared if another human being ever looked at me with pride. I like how it feels to walk beside Lin, feeling proud of her for her accomplishment and sad because I fear she will never feel such an emotion with me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lin

  It’s my night. It’s my night. It’s my night. No matter how many times I repeat the words in my head, I still feel lacking. I’ve fought so hard for my art to be recognized and now that it is, I don’t feel like I should be here. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop thinking about George—as Doctor Psycho—and wondering what kinky things he might do to me if I’d only allow it. What is wrong with me?

  What seems like a million flashing strobes leaves me momentarily blinded and clutching George’s arm as I make my grand entrance. Oh God! I forgot about the cameras. What if the newspaper publishes that my escort is George Kirkpatrick? Will everyone associate the name with Doctor Psycho? Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!

  “Are you all right? You’re pale as a ghost.” George leads me away from the crowd and the journalists.

  “The cameras. I’m being ridiculous.”

  “You’re worried about being photographed with me?”

  “You don’t understand! This is a disaster.” Too late I realize I’ve hurt George’s feelings.

  “I’ll go.”

  “The damage is done. No point abandoning me now.”

  I’m surprised when he glares at me. I glare back; after all I’m the injured party here. A moment later he is storming away, and I am left in a deserted hallway.

  “Perfect, just perfect.”

  Why didn’t I consider the worst case scenario before it happened?

  Suddenly my irritation is interrupted by the sound of a woman giggling. I look around but see no one. Has someone already recognized George as Doctor Psycho? Have they made assumptions about who I am? Guilty by association. If he is a sexual deviant, I must be too. Is that it?

  The giggle is replaced by a moan, and I am suddenly concerned that foul play is underfoot. The sounds stop and my curiosity leads me toward a darkened alcove. A man and woman are cast in shadow, and it becomes obvious quickly that the two are having sex. Both standing, he has her lifted and pressed into a wall. The woman’s legs wrap around his waist.

  I shouldn’t be watching.

  Oh my!

  They reach a strained climax, and I imagine they are trying to be quiet.

  I can’t look away. I’m beyond mesmerized. It dawns on me that I’m growing horny watching their erotic tryst. Suddenly I realize the woman is watching me. My pussy clenches at the realization and a hungry need like I’ve never known before races up my spine.

  “We have an audience,” she says.

  The man looks over his shoulder and in profile I see that he is Asian. His deep, rumbling chuckle breaks the awkward silence, and I realize who he is. I know him. I mean know him-know him. We’ve had sex. More than once. Always like a hit and run. We seem to travel the same circles. I think he too is an artist, or a collector, but I’m not certain. Really, I can’t even say for sure that his name is Johnny—that’s what I call him, but honestly I know absolutely nothing about him. He winks at me and, not knowing what else to do, I run away. Oh God!

  I am panting by the time I reach the main gallery, and George catches my ungraceful arrival. I’m so happy that he didn’t leave I throw my arms around his neck.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m so glad you didn’t leave. I didn’t want you to go.”

  “I didn’t know what I should do.”

  “Stay, please stay.” I meet George’s gaze. I feel flushed and flustered as he wraps an arm around my shoulder. I hope he can’t feel my racing heart. I don’t know what to think or say and standing in such close proximity—in the aroused state I’m in—seems like a disaster waiting to happen. Wanting to drag him into a darkened alcove, I pull away from him to keep from doing just that. I’m sending mixed signals and his confusion is evident. I think I’m losing my mind. Oh shit. My name is being announced from the podium. “I have to go to the stage.”

  “Lin?”

  “Can we talk when I’m through?” What if Johnny sees that I am with George and tells him about our trysts before I can properly explain? “Promise me you won’t leave! No matter what, okay?”

  I hurry away from him but glance over my shoulder to make sure he isn’t going.

  All through the ceremony, I can hardly concentrate. I keep searching the audience for Johnny but I don’t see him. I should have considered he might be here. If I had came here alone, I might have been the one with my legs wrapped around his waist. A quickie before the presentation. It is all I can do to stay composed and not giggle hysterically. I deserve this, don’t I? For being so damn judgmental of George.

  * * * * *

  When the final sculpture is unveiled I am free to leave the stage. Mix and mingle. George draws me like a moth to a flame. He is holding two glasses of champagne and hands me one. I down the glass of bubbling amber in a single swallow, then trade him my empty for his full glass and down it as well.

  “I’m a slut.” Oh God! Why did I just say that?

  “Maybe we should find someplace where we can talk quietly?”

  I nod. Please. Take me away from here. But George doesn’t head for the exit. Too late I realize he has pushed us deep into the middle of the dance floor.

  “Dance with me?”

  I just admitted to the man I love that I am a slut and he wants to dance? He whisks me into a waltz, and I find myself enjoying dancing in spite of the seriousness of the conversation we need to have. George is an amazing dancer, which only means we dance well together. So many men have tried to dance with me and left me with bruised toes. It’s a relief to find a man who can handle himself on the dance floor.

  “I should have told you the truth,” I admit.

  “What truth?”

  I lean nearer, whispering, “I think I’m a nymphomaniac.”

  George tries hard to control his facial expression but I know he is laughing at me as we wind around the room, weaving expertly around the other dancers.

  “After my husband died—I went a little crazy.”

  He arches a brow.

  “I fucked a lot of men.” So many that there isn’t a man of Chinese descent in all of California who will even consider me.

  “I don’t think that makes you a nymphomaniac.”

  “A slut at least.”

  “By whose definition?”

  I’m growing frustrated and stumble. George pulls me closer, covering my disastrous dance moves with his own perfection.

  “What happened when I left you alone in t
hat hallway?”

  “I saw a man and a woman fucking. I recognized the man as someone I’ve been with before.” I meet George’s gaze and realize he isn’t judging me, but then, why would he? If anyone would fall under the label of promiscuous, a professional Dominant would surely fit the bill. “Why aren’t you furious?”

  “You’re a sexually active single woman. Why would I be?”

  He nuzzles my neck, kissing, biting. I can feel my blood starting to boil in my veins. “You’re playing with fire.”

  “Watching that man and woman made you horny?”

  “Watching them made me wish it was you and I in that alcove.”

  Pulling away, he looks down into my face. “It’s always the quiet ones who take me by surprise.”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Never,” he says solemnly. “Show me this hiding place.”

  I give him a look to see if he’s serious, and obviously he is. “Now?”

  “Right now.”

  If I thought I was aroused a moment ago…

  With a spin and a slide George leads me off the dance floor and through the side exit. Alone in the dimly lit hallway, I giggle. I can’t believe we’re doing this. He finds a recessed section, not the one previously used by Johnny, and pushes me back against the wall. There is no rambunctious tearing at clothing as I expected. Hoped. Indeed, George seems fairly restrained. He searches my face, maybe thinking I have changed my mind, but I haven’t. The thrill of being so close to fucking, potentially being caught, has me needier than I can ever remember being.

  He caresses both sides of my face. “Have you ever had sex in a public place?”

  “No.” My heart is pounding so hard I’m almost certain it can be heard in the next room. I start to ask “have you” but realize how stupid that is. Of course he has. When we went to the club I saw enough to know that nudity and sex were casual events that happened spontaneously.

  “What has you so aroused? The thought of being seen? Or the thought that if you had attended this event without me it might have been you and the stranger swapping body fluids in open view?”