by Lili Valente
*
To: CuriousCat4
From: GlutenFreeDiscreetGentleman
Subject: Zero sex robots
*
Dear Cat,
Glad you cut that other guy loose. Sounds like a nut job. Seriously, if you choose not to meet with me, you should probably find an alternative means of recruiting your submissive professor. Not to discourage your curiosity, but most of the men reading the Portland Alternative are ghoulish bottom feeders. I am the rare exception. ;)
Yours is the first ad I’ve ever responded to, if that gives my claim any street cred…
In any event, on to the potential syllabus:
Lesson One: Who’s your Daddy? In this first segment of our course, we’ll explore the many different flavors of Doms available for your submissive enjoyment. There are Master Doms who Top full time and expect 24/7 submission from their bottoms, Doms who keep the power exchange in the bedroom, Doms who like to be called Daddy and enjoy age play, Guide Doms who get off on helping their subs achieve personal and professional goals through the use of sexual discipline, Sadistic Doms who want to make you hurt and not always in the fun way, and a few fringe types who keep slave harems and shit that we probably won’t need to go into in any depth.
That doesn’t sound like what you’re looking for with your special guy.
For my part, I’m a power exchange in the bedroom kind of Dominant. I like topping my girl when we’re naked and keeping the power balance equitable the rest of the time. I enjoy a strong woman who knows her mind, and I honestly find it hotter to top someone like that than a person who spends her life as a slave to my every whim. I have a couple of friends who are really into the full-time Master gig, but I knew from the beginning that it wasn’t for me.
If your special guy ends up being a 24/7 Master, you’ll have to decide if you’re up for that sort of situation. It’s definitely a more intense commitment, though opening yourself up to being Dominated in the bedroom can be intense, too.
Which leads us to…
Lesson Two: Safe, sane, and consensual. We’ll cover how to keep yourself emotionally, mentally, and physically safe, the use of safe words, and other etiquette you should know before you start playing around with power exchange.
Lesson Three: Exploring the nitty gritty of obedience to your Dom. We can start with some easy, non-sexual exercises that can be done in public if you don’t feel comfortable meeting me in private at this point.
Lesson Four: Depending on how Lesson Three pans out, we can discuss punishments for disobedience and what some of those might be. We can also do some light role-playing to help you discover if you’re the kind of submissive who enjoys being punished (most do) and how to balance obedience with your craving for punishment. (If this sounds crazy, don’t stress. It will either make complete sense by the time we get to Lesson Four, or you’ll have decided being a submissive isn’t your bag and moved on to other things. No need to worry too much about this part right now.)
If all goes smoothly, we’ll proceed onward from there until you feel ready to hop out of the nest, little sub, and go looking for the Big Bad Dom of your Dreams. Or the Daddy Dom of your dreams, or whatever Dom punches your particular buttons.
How does that sound?
It sounds like a blast to me. I’m looking forward to ushering you over to the dark side, Cat. I think you’re going to love it here.
Sincerely,
Discreet
*
To: GlutenFreeDiscreetGentleman
From: CuriousCat4
Subject: I’m in.
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All right. I’m in.
Let’s set a time and place to meet before I chicken out.
How’s Friday afternoon at six o’clock at the beer garden on Lombard? It’s big enough we should be able to find a private table in a public setting.
Yikes, I’m nervous!! Please don’t be weird in person, okay? You seem so nice via email. Please continue to be nice and don’t show up looking like the crypt keeper or smelling like steamed broccoli or wearing a “I have the dick, so I’ll make the rules” T-shirt. I saw a guy wearing one of those the other day, and it was all I could do not to dump my coffee all over his chest.
Sincerely and anxiously,
Cat
*
To: CuriousCat4
From: GlutenFreeDiscreetGentleman
Subject: See you Friday
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Friday at six is perfect. I’ll be coming straight from work and will have just showered, so I shouldn’t look like a corpse or smell like steamed broccoli. And my mom raised me better than to buy a shirt like that, Curious, so no fear.
I’ll be the guy wearing two watches on my left wrist. How will I know you?
*
To: GlutenFreeDiscreetGentleman
From: CuriousCat4
Subject: I’ll be the girl with the…
…daisy in her ponytail.
Unless I chicken out.
Eep!
*
To: CuriousCat4
From: GlutenFreeDiscreetGentleman
Subject: Don’t chicken out
I’m harmless, I promise. I also have a fairly recognizable face around Portland, so if you see someone familiar wearing those two watches, don’t worry, it’s me. And please, remember our mutual commitment to secrecy. I definitely need to keep our lessons on the down low for work reasons.
*
To: GlutenFreeDiscreetGentleman
From: CuriousCat4
Subject: Just between us
My discretion is assured, Discreet. This will be our secret, and I promise you won’t regret taking the time to teach a newbie the ropes.
My sincere thanks,
Cat
*
For some reason—the guileless tone of her emails, perhaps—I believe her. I believe that Cat is who she says she is and that I won’t regret the insane decision to meet up with a complete stranger for Dom lessons.
I believe it right up to the moment the beer garden gate swings open and Hailey walks through it, a white daisy tucked into her hair and an anxious expression on her pretty face.
My Hailey is Curious Cat, and this experiment just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
Chapter 2
Hailey
Turn around. Leave! Run! Now! Before you get knocked out, dragged into a windowless van, driven across the border, and sold into human bondage somewhere in the dark heart of Honduras.
Ignoring the voice of panic, I tuck the daisy into my ponytail, square my shoulders, and push through the gate into the beer garden. It’s a gorgeous early autumn afternoon in Portland, and throngs of beer-loving hipsters are already sidled up to the fifty-foot bar to my left, lounging at the picnic tables scattered throughout the open space, or tossing horseshoes with one hand while juggling a giant, salted, soft pretzel with the other.
There are far too many witnesses for there to be any risk of getting knocked out or dragged into Discreet Gentleman’s van, and my gut says the man I’ve been emailing for weeks truly is the decent Dom he seems to be.
And if he’s not, I’ve got a black belt in karate, ten years of kickboxing experience, and four years as a self-defense teacher who drills disabling attackers bigger and stronger than I am on a daily basis. If D.G.’s looking for an easy mark, he picked the wrong Curious Cat.
Though, you know what curiosity did to the cat, right?
It killed it, Hailey.
Dead.
The curious cat is now a dead cat.
“Oh, shut up,” I mutter, wishing the inner voice would give it a rest already. She hasn’t been this chatty since I was an angsty twelve-year-old who grew six inches the summer before seventh grade and was certain everyone in my new middle school was talking about what a Sasquatch freak I was every time I slunk down the hall.
That was the last time I had the luxury of being a normal pre-teen with normal problems. Less than a year later, I was diagnosed with leukemia and swapped
fighting to fit in for fighting for my life. Once I’d won that fight—two years and three rounds of chemo later—I’d learned not to sweat the small stuff.
And really, even though experimenting with sexual submission sounds kinky and a little scary, it’s still decidedly in the “small stuff” category.
If I decide I don’t like what I learn from Discreet Gentleman, then I can thank him for his time and walk away. That’s it. No one dies or suffers from severe trauma or has to deal with chronic mental or emotional pain.
And then I’ll finally know if I can be what Will needs me to be.
If the submissive shoe fits, I can go back to the man I love prepared to truly be the woman of his dreams. And if I can’t, I’ll be forced to admit that reconciliation is impossible, finish grieving the good thing I’ve lost, stop obsessing about my ex-boyfriend, and move on.
Of course, if the latter happens, it will be a death of sorts. My dreams of a life shared with my best friend will die. And my belief that love can conquer all—as long as you’re willing to fight hard enough—will take a fatal beating.
But that’s why I’m here tonight. To fight. To fight for Will and for myself and for the future I still, after nearly a year apart, can’t imagine without him.
I amble around the perimeter of the garden, boots crunching in the pea gravel as I discreetly scan the crowd. There are a number of skinny college boys near the horseshoes working on adding a beer belly to their lanky frames, but none of them are wearing a watch—let alone two—and my Discreet Gentleman said that he was thirty-one. Though, of course, he could be lying. My sister Sabrina insists men live to pathologically lie on dating apps and via email—especially about things like age, being employed, and how much hair they’ve got left.
Discreet could be in his late thirties or even his forties for all I know.
I’ve never dated anyone that much older—I’ve never dated anyone but Will; a few low-key relationships my senior year of high school hardly count—but even if Discreet is older than he claimed, I’m not worried about the age difference. This isn’t a date, after all. It’s a meeting between a student and a professor. Yes, Discreet got a little flirty in his messages once or twice, but on the whole, he truly seemed to respect the fact that I’m on a hunt for knowledge, not experience.
If I decide I’m ready to experience any of the things I learn about, I only want to experience them with Will. He’s the only man I’ve ever been with and the only one I want to be with.
But I have to be sure I can be what he needs.
I’ll never forget the way he sounded the night I overheard him talking to that stranger in the slick gray suit, the one who looked far too refined to be drinking beer at a Portland Badger’s season opener party…
*
“Are you sure marriage is the right choice, Will?” The man’s voice is low, but his words carry to where I’m tucked into an alcove around the corner from where he and Will stand at the edge of the rooftop deck, looking out at the city. I’d sought shelter here when a cool breeze picked up a few minutes ago, and now I’m stuck—torn between the urge to reveal myself, and the temptation to eavesdrop on this unexpected conversation.
“She seems like a lovely girl,” the man continues, “but you were never a dabbler. Dominance is part of who you are. I know you’ve taken a break from the scene, but are you really ready to make a permanent departure? To put that part of yourself on the shelf for good?”
“I love her, Sterling,” Will says without hesitation, making my throat tight.
I love him, too. So much.
I’ve done a lot of things I’m proud of in my life—beating cancer, beating the devastating anxiety that came after, finishing college in three years, and starting my own business—but what I’ve built with Will is the thing that means the most to me. We work hard and play hard at this love, each of us committed to making our relationship more beautiful and sexy and fun with every passing day.
There is no doubt in my mind that we’re meant to be, but I can’t deny that the “Dominance” thing this Sterling person is talking about is coming out of left field for me. Since when is Will into that?
And what is that really? I mean, I saw the trailers for those kinky movies that came out a few years ago, but I was never curious enough to buy a ticket. I’ve never been intrigued by whips or chains or the idea of calling a man “sir” while we were naked. I’m way too self-sufficient for that.
“I know you do,” Sterling says. “And she clearly adores you. But is it going to work until death do you part if you’re not honest with her? If you deny something you need in order to feel complete?”
Will is quiet for a long moment.
I lean forward, ears straining as my pulse speeds faster.
“I don’t know, but I…” He sighs, a weary, resigned sound that makes a sour taste fill my mouth. “But I can’t go there with Hailey. She was a virgin when we got together, and she’s completely inexperienced in anything but the most vanilla stuff in the bedroom.”
My cheeks heat as irritation and embarrassment rush through my chest. I can’t believe Will’s talking about our sex life with a stranger!
Worse, I can’t believe he considers our lovemaking “vanilla.” I’ve always thought we had an amazing sex life—hot and heavy, but tender and connected at the same time. I’ve always treasured the time we spend in bed together and felt so lucky that my first lover was going to be my last.
Now, I feel like a naïve, ridiculous little girl—which I guess is what I deserve for eavesdropping. But now I’m trapped. I can’t make a run for it without Will knowing that I was spying on him and realizing exactly why I’m upset.
“Then maybe you simply need to take the lead,” Sterling says. “She might be more open to experimentation than you think.”
My nose wrinkles and my jaw clenches as I fight the urge to tell this stranger to kindly stop talking about my sex life, but my anger fades as Will responds.
“No. She isn’t submissive, Sterling. Not even a little bit. She’s a sweetheart, but she’s also a powerhouse, one of the toughest, most fearless people I’ve ever met. And I love that about her. I don’t want her to change, so…” He trails off, and when he speaks again, he sounds so defeated it makes the backs of my eyes sting. “So I have to let the rest of it go, no matter how much I miss it sometimes.”
My ribs lock down around my heart, and its all I can do not to burst into tears.
It’s all a lie. My perfect love isn’t so perfect, after all, and the man I adore above all else isn’t happy in my bed.
A part of me insists that he didn’t say he was unhappy—he said he had to let some things go—but the hurt swelling inside me is bigger than the voice of reason. The hurt and the shame hound me as I sneak back into the main part of the restaurant and rejoin the party. Their voices grow louder and louder as I force myself to smile and chat and dance with Will to a slow song, then louder still as he pulls me back outside and drops down onto one knee.
And even though his eyes are shining with love and hope, all I can see when I look into them is the reflection of a silly little girl who isn’t enough for the man she loves so much it hurts.
I can’t see the future anymore. I can’t see that happy present I’ve taken for granted for so long.
All that’s left is the lie and the knowledge of how much I’ve let Will down.
And so I run.
I run, and I keep running for a long, long time.
By the time I finally stop running from the pain—stop numbing it with too much exercise, too many long hours at work, too many late nights spent reading dark, dreary suspense novels until my eyes ache—it’s been six months and Will has stopped calling and texting. He doesn’t swing by the gym we co-own, he lets his financial advisor communicate the latest news on budgets and insurance for our business, and I realize that he’s well and truly gone.
And that I’m well and truly not over him.
Not even a little bit.
And so I open up my laptop and type “Dominance and submission” into the search engine. Five months—and a crap load of reading later—I place my personal ad.
*
And now I’m here, scanning a bar for a man wearing two watches on his left arm, feeling increasingly anxious with every passing second.
And increasingly…scrutinized.
The skin at the back of my neck prickles, and the hair on my arms lifts. That place between my shoulders I can never quite reach begins to itch, and my fingers flutter anxiously at my sides. Someone is watching me—I can feel it. My Discreet Gentleman is here, concealed somewhere in the crowd.
No sooner has the thought zipped through my head than a deep, sexy voice behind me says, “Curious Cat, I presume?”
My throat locks, and my eyes go wide. That voice isn’t just sexy as hell—it’s also familiar. Insanely familiar.
But surely it can’t be…
What are the odds?
A thousand to one?
A million?
But when I turn and look up at the man standing in the shadows at the end of the bar, where a metallic awning provides cover from the setting sun, I find Will’s familiar hazel eyes staring down into mine, his familiar sandy-brown hair falling over his forehead on one side, his familiar lips curved in a sexy smirk, his familiar broad shoulders straining the fabric of his soft gray T-shirt.
My heart skips a beat, but before I can speak, he lifts his left arm—showcasing the two watches encircling his wrist, eliminating the last shred of doubt. “I’m sure this isn’t what you expected. It isn’t what I expected, either.”
I swallow hard and nod, still too stunned to make a meaningful contribution to the conversation.
“I confess I’m not thrilled to learn that you’re placing personal ads in the Portland Alternative,” he continues. “Especially not ads of this nature. I almost left when I saw the daisy in your hair. I was halfway across the parking lot to my truck when I turned around.” He pauses, holding my gaze as he slides his hands into the pockets of his perfectly pressed black slacks. “Do you know why I turned around?”
I shake my head slightly, suffering from the worst case of cat-got-your-tongue-itis in recent memory.