FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME

by Scott Hildreth

  As I cleaned my pistol, I wondered what Kelli’s true threshold would be. What her true willingness to satisfy me would be. I would test her and would determine her limitations. I had every intent of raising the bar, allowing her to truly realize what her limits were. This would make her a great submissive for the next man that came along. Eventually, I would have to determine what she was unwilling to do, or incapable of doing, and use that as a means of dismissing her. For the time being, however, she was going to satisfy me greatly.

  This dismissal of my partner was, in my mind, part of the control. Part of the satisfaction that I received in dismissing a woman from my life was the same satisfaction of being dominant. It was the control, the ultimate control of ending the relationship, and ending it on my terms, at a time that was in accordance with my mental, emotional, and physical needs.

  The adoption of a law allowing the concealed carry of a hand gun in my state of residence was something that pleased me. I carried a pistol with me at all times, regardless of the allowance in accordance with the law. Now, however, I could carry it legally. Since the adoption of the law allowing it, I have carried a Glock 9 millimeter with me at all times. My means of carrying it concealed it well and made it difficult to detect.

  I assembled the pistol, placed it in the holster, and returned it to the gun safe. After I completed my exercise, I planned on trying to spend the rest of the day relaxing and reading the book that Kelli had recommended, Broken People. She had stated at the coffee shop that she had read it multiple times. As intelligent as she was, if she had read it that many times, there must be something of value in it. Either way, it would make for good conversational material.

  Adding weight onto the machine and preparing to complete my session of chest exercises, I wondered… Broken People.

  Sounds about right.

  Chapter 8

  KELLI. “No. Listen, whore, we were in the theatre. And the movie was playing,” I explained as I took a drink of my vodka and water.

  “Stop calling me a whore, you bitch. I just can’t believe that this guy convinced you to do those things in a movie theatre. Oh, and I love your shoes, where did you get them?”

  “I got them a year or so ago, I never wear them. I love these things. Todd’s, everyone is wearing them now. They’re like being barefoot,” I paused, holding my foot up, so she could inspect the shoes.

  “And, Heather you know I’m kidding, I’ve always called you a whore. And he didn’t convince me to do anything. He suggested it, he asked me to. I wanted to. There’s something about him. Something that’s different. I want so desperately to please him. I can’t imagine making him upset with me,” I said as I tried to imagine how I would feel if Erik was upset with me. The thought of upsetting him made me feel sick.

  “I have never felt this way about a guy, and it’s only been a few weeks. I’ve seen him five or six times. I feel like he has some strange control over me. Not like I am brainwashed or anything weird, it’s just…” I tried to think of a way to explain it, but I was having a difficult time putting it into words.

  “I feel a want, a desire; well…it is actually more of a need to make him happy. It’s a combination of the way he talks to me, what he asks me to do, and how he asks me to do it. I haven’t ever really been in a relationship or in a position like this before with a man. It’s actually where I think I belong,” I explained.

  “It just seems weird to me to have a guy tell you what to do sexually and that you have to do what he says,” Heather said, shaking her head at me.

  “I don’t have to do anything, Heather. It’s not like that. I want to make him happy with me. The way he talks to me, the way he treats me, it makes me happier than I have ever been. I’m just not sure if it is him, or if it is the D/s lifestyle that makes me happy.” I stopped talking and thought about how I felt when Erik told me that I made him proud.

  “I suppose it’s a combination of all of those things. His looks, his body, the tattoos, his demeanor, the fact that he’s dominant and intelligent,” I continued, trying to make sense of it in my head.

  “Well, I know if a guy told me to suck his dick in a movie theatre, I would tell him to fuck off,” Heather said as she put her empty beer bottle on the table.

  “Whatever. And where did you get that shirt you’re wearing? It’s like the first three buttons are missing. You’re tits are all but hanging out for the entire bar to see. Act like you’re not just trying to find a dick to suck, Heather. You need to add some buttons to the shirt.”

  “I’m not saying I wouldn’t. I’m just saying I wouldn’t in the movie theatre. I don’t think. I don’t know. It seems weird. The more I am thinking about it though, the hotter it seems to be. And I got this at Dillard’s. I like it,” Heather said as she pushed her boobs up, jokingly.

  One of her boobs almost fell out of her bra and escaped her non-existent shirt. She reached between her bra, laughing, and repositioned her boobs, looking around the bar as she did to make sure no one was watching. I chuckled as she managed to stuff all of her flesh back into the shirt.

  “You should really consider wearing more clothes, if one of those things would have fallen out on the table, the entire bar would have been over here to help you.”

  “I know, right? Okay, back to what we were talking about…” Heather hesitated, looked around the bar, and started speaking again.

  “Well, I guess as long as you’re really happy. I am just glad to see you happy for once and not acting like you’re just using a guy for sex. It’s a nice change. So, what did he say about you going to New York at the end of the summer?”

  “Well, I don’t think I have said anything about that yet,” I responded, not really wanting to talk or think about going to Columbia.

  “You don’t think you have? What the fuck? What do you mean? Either you have mentioned it, or you haven’t. You’re saying you don’t know?” Heather batted her eyelashes at me as she spoke, her chin in her hands.

  “I don’t think I have. I might have earlier, maybe when we first met, but I don’t think so. I really don’t want to think about that right now,” I said as I finished my drink. I waved my hand at our waiter, getting his attention.

  “I love this place, the service is so good. And we can solve all of our problems here,” Heather said as the waiter approached.

  “Another one for both of us,” Heather said, looking in my direction for confirmation.

  I nodded.

  “Hey, did I see you talking to that Timmy Jonas guy the other day?” Heather asked the waiter.

  “Yeah, we’re friends. We live across the street, in the building of lofts over there,” he said, pointing to the back of the bar.

  “Is he single?” Heather asked.

  “Nope,” he responded, smiling.

  “Are you single?” Heather asked.

  “Heather!” I said, realizing that she had probably had enough to drink.

  “It’s okay,” the waiter paused, and then continued, “I’m not single. I have a girlfriend.”

  He wore a baseball cap backward on his head most of the time, was a little taller than Heather, probably six foot four, and had a well-trimmed beard. He was very nice looking, and had an exceptional demeanor. He was somewhat of a fixture at the bar and almost every time we were here, he was working.

  “Well, let me get your drinks, I will be back in a minute.”

  “I should have dropped my napkin, and accidentally sucked that guy’s dick,” Heather said, laughing.

  “Heather, I can’t believe you sometimes. You have no filter between your brain and your mouth when you drink,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Well, he’s cute,” she said, pointing at the waiter.

  “And I saw that Timmy Jonas guy playing here again the other night, and he’s just fucking hot. I want a boyfriend, Kelli. I am tired of being single. I want a guy that makes me feel like he can support me, love me, and care for me, whether he can or not,” she said, her voice rising a little
bit as she spoke.

  I felt sorry for Heather. She was a great looking girl, and she had a great personality. She was one of those girls that had a bad track record, and because of that track record, had a bad following of men that approached her. Guys looked at her as an easy lay, and truth be told, she was. She wasn’t an easy lay because she didn’t value sex, she was an easy lay because she felt that she had nothing more valuable to give. That if she gave sex, it would be enough. She would give a guy sex on the first night, in hopes of having him fall in love with her. She had so much to offer a guy, but no one took the time to find out. After they had sex with her, there was no reason for them to stick around, and they didn’t. It was a vicious circle that fed itself. The more men she had sex with, the more the word spread. Heather is an easy lay.

  “If you guys want to come, Timmy is playing here again on Saturday,” the waiter said as he handed us our drinks.

  “Thank you,” I said. As he started to walk away, I silently mouthed the word “sorry” to him. He smiled and shook his head.

  “You want to come watch that guy sing? Single or not, he’s really got a great voice, and the band has a good time playing together,” Heather asked.

  “Well, Erik and I are supposed to do something. I will ask him if he wants to stop by. I will let you know. It does sound fun.”

  “Well, I’d also like to see this guy in person. Who you say he is and what I have heard from everyone else is two totally different things,” Heather said as she looked into her beer bottle with one eye.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “It tastes like water,” she said, still looking inside for some form of an answer.

  “You’re freaking drunk, that’s probably part of the problem.”

  “Maybe I am drunk, but I am not stupid. I know things. I know a lot of things. I know that I want a guy to treat me right. I know that I want someone to love me. I am not a bad person. I am so tired of guys using me. What have I ever done to deserve to be treated the way I am always treated, over and over and over? I just want a guy to fuck me and keep me for once. And I know that you need to tell Mister-Suck-My-Dick-In-The-Movie-Theatre that you are going to Columbia at the end of the summer. Otherwise, you’re no better to him than the assholes are to me, Kelli,” Heather said as she finished her bottle of beer-water.

  I thought about what she had said. Drunk or not, she had a point. I truly couldn’t remember if I had mentioned it to Erik or not. I realized, listening to her talk about it, that I did need to tell Erik, but I didn’t really want to. Maybe I was afraid of what he may say or that he may tell me he was done with me. I didn’t want this to end. This feeling that he gave me, this feeling of finding a home, of finding someone that finally fit me. Erik ,and Erik’s ways of treating me, made me feel that I was finally where I needed to be. I felt, for once in my life, as if I could stay somewhere forever. I liked this feeling.

  When he called me Baby Girl, it made my heart feel like it was in my throat. When he told me he was proud of me, I felt full. I felt like I had actually accomplished something, something big. And when he told me that he was happy with something I had said or done, I felt complete. I felt like I had solved part of the mystery of life, the part that no one ever solves and everyone wonders about. The simple statements, you make me happy Baby Girl, or I’m so proud of you, Baby Girl, those were enough to make me melt.

  And Erik didn’t say these things just to say them; he said them because he meant them. By saying them, he convinced me that whatever it was that I had done or accomplished was something that he had hoped that I would do, but that he wasn’t sure that I was able to do. I waited for the next time he would say them and tried my hardest to make him happy, hoping for the next time to come. Making Erik proud of me was enough to make me conscious of everything I said or did, even if he was not in my presence. The thought of disappointing him, even a little bit, made me sick.

  “Let’s drink these and go, Heather. I will talk to Erik. Maybe we can meet here Saturday. I will find out and let you know.”

  “I’m done. Mine was weird. It was like a bottle of water,” Heather reminded me, as she held her bottle up by the neck, rocking it back and forth like a pendulum on a grandfather clock.

  As I watched her belch, covering her mouth with the back her hand, I wondered how many of Heather’s problems with men, how many of Heather’s one night stands, could be attributed to alcohol consumption? I was not perfect by any means, but I had a one-drink-an-hour limit, three drink maximum for a day. One day a week, I allowed myself to drink. Heather, on the other hand, drank almost daily.

  “Let me get this, no arguments,” I said as I reached into my purse.

  With her hand still covering her mouth, she nodded. I reached into my purse and got two twenty dollar bills and placed them on the table. We stood and began walking out together. As we walked across the floor of the bar, the waiter waved. I waved back, and pointed to the table. Heather hiccupped as we walked through the door into the parking lot.

  “You alright to drive?” I asked with mild concern.

  “Bitch, I’m fine to drive. Find me a boyfriend and let me know about Saturday.”

  “I will,” I said as I hugged her.

  Walking to the car, I checked my phone for messages. Disappointed that I had one from Erik, and had not realized it, I opened it.

  Erik Ead: Baby Girl, I have a question. Who owns you?

  I read it, and then read it again. Answering these questions was not only easy, for some reason it was also extremely satisfying. As I typed my response I realized that I wasn’t simply answering a question. I smiled as I pressed the send button.

  Kelli: You do, sir. Every ounce of my being.

  Chapter 9

  KELLI. Men had always provided me with sexual satisfaction. I have had a man in my life to fulfill a sexual satisfaction, and that was it. I had no need, desire, or feeling of necessity to have a man actually be in my life. The thought of having a man be a part of my life, prior to meeting Erik, made me want to abandon any male that tried to attach himself to me.

  As I painted my nails, I wondered what Erik would say about them. He noticed things like this. He noticed everything. He not only noticed, but he commented. He commented on how I smelled and noticed if I wore something different. He commented on my skin tone, my nails, my clothes, shoes, watches, hair, hair color, attitude, the tone of my voice.

  Everything that I did, I thought of him. He had consumed me. He had crawled inside of me and had become part of me, part of my day-to-day life. Even when he was not in my presence, he was part of everything that I did. He was in my mind. He had infected me.

  I painted my nails and I hoped. I hoped that he praised me. I hoped that he smiled. I hoped that when he said what he said, whatever it might be, that he ended it with those two words. Baby Girl.

  I am ruined.

  ERIK. Broken People. I had completed the book and was trying to digest what I had read. The parts about codependency and today’s youth were spot-on. I had never, however, looked at people as broken, only different. We are all different. Looking at humanity as broken was a different approach, and the attraction of broken people to broken people of a similar likeness was ingenious.

  Something in me clicked when I read it, like the flip of a switch. All my education, intelligence, people skills, training, understanding, experience, and knowledge were tossed aside. I sat, with an empty mind, and absorbed what I had read. One other part of the book made me really think. It was a more difficult part to come to terms with, but an easy part to comprehend and understand.

  “…you don’t give someone your love. They take it. Love is taken. And, when someone takes your love, you will know it…”

  The taking of love. It made sense. We have little, if any, control over what we feel. And, according to the book, there is no wrong way to feel. I believe that. I have always believed that. How do we know when someone takes our love, I thought. I wondered. I tried to recall ever
y woman I had ever encountered and spent any time with. I tried to decide if I had ever actually loved one of them. I decided, quickly, that I had not.

  Someone cannot take, easily, what is protected from their grasp. The taking of love--or the taking of one’s heart--could be easy, I supposed, from someone that had minimal effort in place to protect it. Someone that had erected walls to protect their heart from being taken would be less subject to the theft.

  Theft.

  The act or an instance of stealing; larceny.

  I decided as I sat and reflected, after the first time I read the book, that I had erected walls to protect what I felt was in need of protection. My heart. Not because I was afraid of theft, afraid of it being taken, or afraid of love - protected because I didn’t like feeling pain. Pain from the loss of what it was that we love.

  If we didn’t love, we wouldn’t feel pain. If we didn’t have expectations, we never have disappointment if the expectations weren’t met. My heart was protected to protect me. Like a gladiator’s armor protected his heart from the lance of his opponent.

  It would take a gladiator with a cunning nature, keen skills, considerable strength, ability, diversity, and endurance to have an opportunity to take my heart. To take my love. After I read the book a second time, I felt vulnerable. I felt unprotected. I felt changed. And that change, for me, was uncomfortable in many ways. My armor set aside, I was exposed to the threat of my opponent’s advances.

  To believe that, after thirty-six years of living, a simple book, written by a simple man, could change me. The thought was unnerving. Time passes and things change, yet another quote from the book. Change is as inevitable as the tide. I sat on the edge of my weight bench and thought.

  I contemplated lifting weights, as if the strength gained from the workout would provide protection. I felt like a soldier in combat, standing before the opposition weaponless. I felt weak. I wondered if, for all of these years, I had actually been the person that I was becoming, and it had taken a book of unconventional wisdom to get me to realize it.