Pain Slut

by J. A. Rock

  But almost every night, I was with Drix. And he got me to relax. Hurt me, held me. Made me laugh. He told me anonymized versions of cases he was working on, and I told him about my classes. I was surprised that someone I’d known for so little time could feel like such a good friend.

  And I worked on trying to open up. To submit.

  “You’re just a little clinical about it,” Bowser had said.

  What was I supposed to be? I wasn’t some submissive stereotype, crying and broken after a scene, waiting to be put back together. Or else soaring through subspace every time I was so much as shown a flogger. I gave what I could and I took what I needed. But Drix was bringing out something different in me. He didn’t ask me to relinquish my control, my body, or even my fears. He simply made me want to share those things.

  I’d never let anyone else make decisions for me. But I started to let him do it. Simple things: what cock ring I wore, or how I was positioned, or how long a scene was going to go. I liked it when the choice was his.

  Most nights, we didn’t even get kinky. And most of the kink we’d done so far was relatively mild compared to activities I’d done in my early twenties. I told myself that was just because Drix was new to all this, but actually, I didn’t miss the hard-core scenes. What was urethral torture compared to dirty talk with someone I cared about? What was branding compared to easing Drix through losing his shower-shot-nozzle virginity?

  We played with Bowser a couple more times, and Drix was way more confident now. He could use an array of implements, from canes to crops to floggers, and we even tried some knife play and electro torture.

  “I’m getting good, right?” he asked after one particularly brutal session.

  “You’re awesome,” I agreed, discreetly checking the cane welts on the backs of my thighs.

  “Sweet.” He grinned. “Because Bowser and I are planning something big for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s kind of like my final exam before I graduate from kinky college. We were thinking maybe early next month?”

  Well, I wasn’t going to say no to that.

  Drix went through a period of a couple of weeks where he seemed down. When I asked him what was wrong one night, he said again that he was unhappy with his job. “I don’t want to make people’s lives worse. And that’s all I’m doing.” He leaned back on the pillows.

  “Don’t you help people who need proof their partner’s cheating?”

  “How does that make anything better? I’m spying on one person to give another ammunition. Everything’s about deception and blame and I hate it.”

  “Drix.” I almost laughed. “That’s just the way life is. People are greedy and paranoid and manipulative. Welcome to the world.”

  He shot me an unconvincing glare, twisting his mouth to one side. “Don’t mock me. I know I sound like some fucking Disney princess. I just really want to do something I like, and that other people like.”

  “I felt that way for a long time before I opened A2A,” I told him, shifting closer to him on the bed. “I had a nine-to-five in an office. If you don’t like what you’re doing now, you’ll find something else.”

  “I guess.” He paused. “Maybe I’m just freaking because I’m turning thirty soon.”

  “The end of the line, huh?”

  He forced a smile. “The Dark Ravens have been really supportive. Like, encouraging me to find what I want to do. I love them. I love being a part of that group. But sometimes I feel so stupid.”

  “Why?”

  “For being a grown-up and playing this game.”

  Him feeling stupid was probably my fault. I laced my fingers through his. Felt the warmth of his body against mine. “I like the game. Keep playing the game. Everyone needs a game.”

  He looked at me. “I might just quit. My job, I mean. Not the game.”

  A slight nervousness crept in. Just quit? Without a solid plan? I made a noncommittal noise.

  His gaze searched mine. “You think that’s an okay idea?”

  He needs you now. Your support, not your judgment. Be here for him.

  I hooked my chin over his shoulder, the way he sometimes did with me. “Deep breath.”

  He tried. I breathed with him. He smiled. “You’re good at that.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  “I know I’m supposed to live in the now.” His voice sounded younger, softer than usual. Almost tentative. “I know time’s a meaningless construct. But . . .”

  “It’s okay to worry about the future.” I kissed his neck. “It really is okay.”

  He hesitated. “I trust you.”

  I reached up and pushed his hair back from his face. “It really means a lot when you say that. Just so you know. I think the things you say to me matter more than all the things anyone else has ever said to me.”

  “I do mean it.” His smile gradually faded. “I want to tell you something. And you can take it or leave it.”

  I was instantly wary. “Okay.”

  His fingers curled against my skin, and I heard him swallow. “I really like you. And I would gladly hang around once you have your kid. Like, I understand if you want it to be just you and your son. But I’d help out, you know? If you wanted. Even if it didn’t work out between us, I’d help for as long as I was around.”

  I lay there, my heart going wild, my body perfectly still.

  You can’t mean that.

  “I really want to be useful,” he added.

  I didn’t know what I wanted.

  Or I did, but it seemed too simple.

  I wanted him. Around.

  I wanted my son to have a family.

  And suddenly it hit me in a way it never quite had before—my kid was always going to have a family. My friends were a part of this. My mother, however crazy she drove me, was part of this. My sister. My dad.

  And now Drix.

  If I wanted him.

  And I did want him.

  I hesitated. Wasn’t quite sure how to say this, so I just opened my mouth and let it come out. “If you’re gonna be hanging around, then you have to meet my friends.”

  I went to see Mom the next day. Found her weeding her garden. I apologized to her, and though I knew from experience she was unlikely to apologize to me, it still hurt a little. I crouched, reluctant to get my pants dirty, and tried to help pull a few weeds.

  I told her about the classes, and she did a long, slow turn to gaze at me. She could look imperious even on her hands and knees in the dirt. “You can bet I didn’t have to take any classes in order to adopt your sister. They couldn’t wait for me to take her. They gave me a—”

  “Dairy Queen Blizzard, I know.”

  She regarded me coolly. “A coupon for a Blizzard.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  She wiped her forehead with her arm. Her wrist was covered in red marks from her rubber band. “You don’t have to.”

  “Mom,” I said after a moment. “I’m scared.”

  She pulled out a giant weed and tossed it aside. “I threw up twice the day we took Malina home. And it was tied for the happiest day of my life. But I still threw up. Twice.”

  Because Malina wasn’t around, I chanced asking, “Do you ever feel differently toward me than her?”

  Mom’s forehead furrowed. “What? Because she’s not my blood?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You listen to me. About this one thing, at least. Love is love, kid.”

  “I know, but—”

  “I’m not finished. Adopting someone else’s kid is a leap. It is brutal. You don’t get to learn how that baby kicks inside you. You don’t get to sing to her before she’s born. Your body doesn’t change because she’s a part of it. They just put her in your arms, a stranger, and you figure her out. But it. Is. Worth it.”

  I didn’t understand what was happening. One minute I was fine. I was listening to my mother’s advice, and I was fine. The next minute I was crying.

&
nbsp; I wanted to beg her not to tell anyone she’d seen me like this. I wanted to go inside and be alone until it stopped.

  But she held me before I could make my escape, her dirty gloves leaving smudges on my shirt. And I didn’t have to ask her not to tell, because she wouldn’t. She’d seen me like this a hundred times, with scraped knees and B’s on my report card and torn to pieces after my first breakup and missing my dad when he took off on his first drive.

  “I don’t know anything,” I sobbed into her shoulder. “I pretend to know everything, and I don’t know anything. I’m such a bastard.”

  She patted my back. “You get it from me, hon. You get it from me. And look. I did all right. I made a lot of mistakes. But I’m a pretty smart cookie.”

  I tried to pull back. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” She clutched me tighter. “I did sing to you before you were born. Why’re you trying to hide from me now?”

  After that freak-out, I got infinitely better. I mean disconcertingly better.

  I showed up at Dave’s that Friday, feeling slightly self-conscious in a new outfit I’d bought, but mostly . . . light. Happy. I was even dressed differently. Under my tight gray tank top, I had marks from a night with Drix, faint and still sore. I paused on the porch step, not sure whether to button my overshirt. One button, maybe? Or just leave the whole thing undone?

  The door was open. I didn’t even scold Dave and Gould for not locking it. Kamen was in the kitchen, making a crumb-strewn wasteland of a Fig Newtons carton and playing his guitar.

  Dave was trying to roll some kind of dough out on the counter, and Gould was pulling barbecue ribs out of a slow cooker.

  “Helloooo!” I called cheerfully.

  Dave looked up first. “Holy crap. Mr. Rogers, did Mr. McFeely steal your sweaters?”

  “Who is this new Miles?” Gould asked as I joined Kamen for a duet of “Down on Wayne Street.” “This is like the scene from Grease where Sandy comes out in leather pants.”

  Dave had to shout over Kamen and me. “Yes, he appears to have good-bye-to-Sandra-Dee’d his cardigans.”

  “I’m just trying something new,” I called back, stealing Kamen’s air mic and sashaying over to serenade Dave.

  Dave ducked away from me. “I’m both frightened and pleased. All right, my friend. We need to have a conference. Come into my room.”

  I followed him in.

  Along one windowsill was a line of painted foam mannequin heads, each with a different wig. One had a shag, another a mismatched bob. Surfer-boy locks. A Mohawk. The fifth was rocking “The Rachel” from Friends.

  “What the hell are those?” I asked.

  “Those are my heads. I’ve been practicing for styling school.” He pointed to each head in turn. “Annie, Lamonda, Percivenne, Stromboli, and Tara.”

  “Have you heard back from any schools yet?”

  He shrugged. “One in Perrystown, but that’s too far away. I’m still waiting on others. But I figured shears and I should get reacquainted in the meantime.”

  I glanced again at the heads. “They look beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Now tell me why you’re giddy and wearing normal-man clothes.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said innocently. “I’m just enjoying spring.”

  “My ass. What’s going on?”

  I sighed. “The guy I’ve been playing with—the bucket-list guy?—is amazing. And we’re getting serious.”

  Dave’s eyes widened. “Oh really?”

  “And I don’t want to keep it from you. And I just want to say, Dave, that I think what you want to do with the Subs Club is cool. And I will do the talk at Hymen College. Because I want to.”

  He gaped. “Miles. That’s awesome. I need to meet this man who’s rewired your brain.”

  “You will meet him. Soon.” I paused. “But I have to tell you something about him. And you have to promise not to taunt me.”

  His mouth twitched. “Agreed.”

  I stared at him warily for a moment.

  “What? Miles, I agreed!”

  I took a deep breath. “He’s a vampyre.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “With a y. He’s part of the vampyre community.”

  “What?”

  “Just get over it. Okay?”

  “You’re dating a vampyre.”

  “Yes. Calm down.”

  “Ohhhh, Miles. Does his skin sparkle?”

  “If you mock me, I’ll tell D.”

  “No.” Dave was grinning, shaking his head. “You don’t understand how this works. I only get in trouble if I’m being a real asshole. Right now I’m teasing you with affection. So much affection.” He approached me, arms out. “Come on. Endless hug. Come on.” He wrapped his arms around me.

  “What are you doing?” I mumbled into his shirt.

  “Just let me love you.”

  I let him love me, remaining rigid. “Can this stop now?” My voice was still muffled.

  “The point of an endless hug is that it’s endless,” he whispered. But he let me go. Leaned back and studied me. “I can’t believe you. You sly old dog.”

  Kamen entered with a platter of ribs balanced on one hand and a single rib in the other. The ribs all had some greenish sludge on them. “Look what Gould made! Pork. I asked him if God’s cool with that, and he said he doesn’t care.”

  “Did you put guac on those ribs?” I asked.

  “Yesh.” Kamen spoke through a mouthful of rib.

  Dave was sitting perfectly still, his lips pressed together. I tried to give him a warning glare, but he was practically bouncing. “Kamen, guess what?”

  “Dave,” I warned.

  “Please?” He looked at me. “We’re all friends.”

  “Tell me!” Kamen said.

  I sighed, which Dave took as acquiescence. “Miles is dating a vampyre.”

  “Cooool.” Kamen snagged another rib.

  “I’m serious,” Dave said. “He’s gone Twilight on us.”

  Kamen licked at the barbeque sauce around his mouth. “Vampires aren’t real.”

  “Vampyre,” Dave corrected. “With a y.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  I closed my eyes briefly. “Vampyres with y’s are humans who pretend to be vampires with i’s.”

  Kamen frowned at the guac that had fallen off his rib. “That’s a thing?”

  “Yes,” Dave said. “And this vampyre is making Miles very happy, so we must respect him.”

  “I already respect him.” Kamen held out a rib to me. “Here. Congratulatory guac rib.”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks.” All I wanted to do was talk about Drix and my newfound happiness. “I don’t even know how to describe it, you guys. I just . . . feel better when he’s around. I mean, yeah, he dresses funny and has fangs. But for him, time is a meaningless construct. So he lives in the now. Except when he’s worried about turning thirty.”

  Dave squinted at me. “Are you drunk?”

  “On life.”

  “Ohhhh boy.”

  “So, see, I’m trying to live in the now.”

  Dave shook his head. “When we went to see Rent a few years ago, you said the ‘no day but today’ stuff was bullshit because people need to take responsibility for their futures. But a guy who likes dressing like Dracula tells you to live in the now because time is a meaningless construct, and you think that’s profound?”

  “Not profound. But it’s working for me right now.” I snatched a guac rib from Kamen’s plate. “I actually do want one of these.”

  “So we get to meet him soon, right?” Dave said.

  “Yes. Maybe dinner here this weekend?”

  “And how do we know he’s good for you?” Dave was smirking, so I could tell he was waiting to deliver a line. “I’d like an interview with him. An interview with the vampyre, if you will.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh for Christ’s sake.”

  Dave cackled.

  I pointed at him. “
Don’t interrogate him. Remember how nervous you were bringing D over for the first time?”

  A brief flare of empathy in Dave’s gaze. “Miles. I just want to ask him a few questions.”

  “So, like, did you meet him at the club?” Kamen asked.

  “No. He, uh—he’s a sadist. Which is cool. But he didn’t know BDSM. So . . . I’ve been having Bowser train him.”

  “Wait,” Dave said, at the same time Kamen said, “What?”

  Dave stared at me. “Bowser Bowser? From Riddle?”

  “Yeah,” I said impatiently.

  “I thought you’d only played with Bowser, like, once.”

  I shook my head. “We’ve played quite a bit over the years.”

  Kamen took a long, slow bite of guac rib. “Are you serious?”

  “We get along really well as play partners. And he doesn’t want to be anything more than a mentor.”

  Dave grabbed one of the foam mannequin heads from the windowsill. Smacked me with it several times. “You never. Tell us. Anything!” The wig fell off.

  “I know, I know.” I held up my hands. “I’m telling you now.”

  Dave tossed the head aside. “So he and Drix top you?”

  I nodded. “They work well as a pair. Like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park.”

  “Raptors are the shit,” Kamen said.

  I went on. “It’s nice, because I’m more bottom than sub. I like telling them how to—how to hurt me.”

  Dave punched the air. “Miles is fucking crushing it! He’s got two guys after him. One of whom’s a vampyre.”

  Kamen waved a guac rib excitedly. “So this is literally Twilight.”

  “Yes! Miles is a clumsy boy in cardigans who has captured the attention of a gorgeous vampyre—” Dave looked at me. “Is he gorgeous?”

  I nodded. “Oh yeah. But this is n—”

  “A gorgeous vampire with a dark past. Enter the werewolf—”

  “Who’s actually a Viking,” Kamen pointed out.

  “They’ll have to duke it out for his heart. Oh my God, Miles, you’re going to have the best dirty secrets of any dad who’s ever lived.”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me.” I put my face in my hands. “I don’t want to have dirty secrets. I want to be a superior father.”