“You know what I mean.” This was going to be difficult for me.
“Bryant” — I looked at him — “you are my husband. When you left me, it devastated me. I cried for days. I believed you’d come back. I fought hard to keep believing that.” He nodded, looking down in shame. “I made vows to you and I take those very seriously. Like you said, for better or worse.”
“I know,” he nodded, looking hopeful.
“Mostly worse,” Emily added quietly.
“You did not take those vows seriously. You left me. You treated me badly. You tried to take everything from me. You broke those vows.”
“I said I was wrong—” I held a hand up to quiet him.
“I know you were wrong. I also know that I’d have a hard time trusting you not to do it again,” I admitted, and for the first time I saw a spark of hope in Emily’s eyes. “But I still take those vows seriously. That is part of what makes this so hard.”
“I will never betray you again.” He looked at me, pleading for another chance. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I admitted, watching Emily’s eyes fall in disappointment. “But not the way I should. Nowhere in there did I say I missed you. I missed the things we had together. I missed our little moments. And that’s important. I didn’t think it was. I didn’t think those little things that bond us were a big deal. We were married. That stuff passes.”
“It does,” he agreed. “We were busy.”
“Yes, we were. Too busy to realize we didn’t love each other the way we should.”
“But I…”
“No, don’t try to convince me. Since you left, I’ve been lucky. I’ve been able to experience that love. Those moments. That connection. I’ve learned what it’s like to truly care and bond with another. And last night I learned what it was like to miss those moments. The person. Not the vow and the promise.”
“I don’t understand? You’ve met someone? Who? What’s his name?”
“Bryant, I am not going back to you. I am in love with Emily.”
The words shocked everyone. Bryant looked between the two of us, first in shock and then in anger. Finally he just started laughing.
“You’ve turned into a lesbian?” he laughed. “Now that’s funny.”
“I’m leaving here next month. Emily and I are leaving. I’m going to law school. I’m going to be with her. I love her. If she will still have me after this.” I looked at her with hope.
“Of course I will still have you,” she smiled. “I’ve loved you forever.”
“This is garbage,” he shouted, standing up. “I’m out of here. You won’t get a damn thing from me.”
I looked at Emily, both of us beaming with excitement that I’d chosen her.
“I don’t need anything from you. I have all I need right here.” Taking Emily’s hand, I squeezed it to let her know that I was hers. “Goodbye, Bryant.”
*****
THE END
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The Protégé
“I’m so vanilla, I even bore myself,” Claire complained to her friend on the phone. “Do you want to do something this weekend to add a little excitement to our lives? Life shouldn’t be this boring…” she continued, as she picked up yet another box of shoes from the trolley to put away in the stockroom of the store where she worked.
“Wanna go to the opening of that new movie? Or what about the zoo? How ‘bout going to the zoo?”
At 24, Claire Hopkins had not achieved any of her dreams. Although she had a degree in Art History, the plum jobs at the museum had eluded her, and she didn’t have enough credits in Education to teach. Neither has she had much luck with men and romance. Pretty in a wholesome way, with wide eyes, good cheekbones and full lips, she had dated a few men, but thought that maybe she hadn’t found the one with whom she has any ‘chemistry.’ Not wearing any makeup didn’t help either, as there was an overabundance of beautiful young women in Los Angeles who made a more striking first impression.
“Oh, Jeff is coming home this weekend from Stanford, huh? So I guess you’re going to be busy—wink, wink,” she said into the phone with disappointment. “Okay then, Evie, let’s talk next week. Have fun.”
Claire sighed. Another weekend stretched out in front of her, one in which she would probably just visit her parents, maybe do some shopping with her mother for another useless Murano paperweight or glass sculpture. She had so many already crowding every horizontal surface of her small apartment, the thought of another glass bird or cat made her want to puke.
Her mother would be disappointed if she didn’t show up. Claire was the middle child, the “good girl” of the family, who were very devout Christians, and her father, Stanley, was a strict disciplinarian. Where had that gotten him? Claire mused, while repositioning some black boots in their box. Claire’s sister rebelled at 17, got pregnant and left home with her white supremacist biker boyfriend. She lived in Minnesota somewhere now, probably in some Neo-Nazi compound.
Her little brother Everett was a punk rock musician, and although he still lived at home, he treated it like a flophouse, coming and going whenever he pleased. Her mother despaired and her father was in denial about it all. So for years, it had been up to Claire alone to provide the kind of family relationship that her parents wanted—one that involved children not making waves or causing any problems for their parents. It was all just so fucked up.
In high school and college she didn’t date anyone. When she was 16, she learned the joy of orgasm quite by mistake while riding her bicycle, and continued to pleasure herself fantasizing about girls in her school with whom she had gym class and showered. Her masturbation fantasies all involved women—very rarely men, because she’d never seen one naked or with a hard-on—but never even considered the thought that she might be a lesbian.
Claire sighed again. What could I do that would be exciting and different? she thought, and decided that she was going to get a tattoo.
Reading the reviews in Yelp about the local tattoo parlors, she chose one that seemed a little more upscale and clean than the rest, although none of them looked too terribly respectable. That was the interesting thing about this neighborhood. You could walk down the street from the local Starbucks, and run into a marijuana dispensary, alongside a bra boutique, alongside a paint store. Very diverse.
Claire thumbed through the catalog of tattoo designs, trying to decide which would be the naughtiest, but one that she could live with for a long time.
Across the room from her, Felicia, an “Elvira, Mistress of the Dark” lookalike was lounging on a chaise and smoking, her skirt slit up the front to reveal a large expanse of creamy, blank thigh. Her dress was cut low showing off her big breasts, prominently displayed with the help of a push-up bra.
Attending to her was a very beautiful, very butch tattoo artist named Kiki, 5’10”, all muscles and tats, wearing jeans, lumberjack boots and wifebeater t-shirt. Her thick black hair was cut in a very sculptural wedge style, shaved on one side of her head. A very artsy effect overall, thought Claire.
“Here are some of the sayings I thought would be good for you,” Kiki said, getting out her legal pad.
“How about ‘Grass, gas, or ass. Nobody rides for free.’?”
Felicia chuckled.
“’In Money I trust’?”
“’Pay for Peanuts, get Monkeys’?” Claire heard Felicia’s throaty laugh, the sound of which seemed to pour through the room like warm honey.
“How about this one—“ Kelly continued. “I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night—Galileo’?”
Felicia was quiet, pondering the choices. “Yeah, I like that last one—kind of mystical. That suits me.” Then th
ere was that free-spirited laugh again. “Let’s get started on the ‘I have loved’ part, and that’s all I think I’ll want to do tonight.”
Over the catalogue, Claire kept sneaking looks at the pair, fascinated with both of them, but mostly with the woman on the couch, wishing that she could be as free and uninhibited as the woman seemed.
Kiki observed Claire looking at Felicia, and glared at her fiercely, then possessively pulled a curtain around the booth, closing it off from view of the rest of the parlor.
Claire finally decided on a small devil face tattoo on her hip, which was cute, and came out looking more like a happy face Emoji with horns than a real bad girl emblem, but Claire is proud of herself for doing something so daring.
After her session, Claire was getting a drink of water in the foyer area of the store, when Felicia came out to wait for her bodyguard/driver, smoking and ignoring Claire as if she was invisible.
Claire felt compelled to say something to her, to bond with her in some way.
“I, uh…Hi…um…” she started out tentatively.
Felicia turned her head and glanced up and down Claire, her eyes rested impassively on Claire’s face, then was about to turn away. Claire felt very self-conscious, but didn’t want to lose the opportunity to spend a few moments with this exotic creature, so she forced herself to shyly blurt out, “Um, I’m Claire.” Feeling very emboldened, she continued, “Um… I was wondering… uh…if you might like to have a drink with me.”
Felicia turned toward her and again looked up and down, then walked the few steps coming very close to Claire, put a finger under her chin, and tilted Claire’s face up to hers.
“Well, Claire,” she said, with the emphasis on her name, “I eat little girls like you for breakfast.”
Claire’s heart beat faster. She could smell the woman’s intoxicating perfume. They stayed like that for a few long seconds, Felicia holding Claire’s chin up with her finger.
Then Felicia’s haughty attitude softened. “But what the hell? I’m not doing anything else right now, except spanking a Saudi prince a little later. Sure, I’ll have a drink with you. My name is Felicia.”
She smiled and Claire smiled too, relieved that her little gamble had paid off.
Just then, Felicia’s driver arrived and they both got into the back of the towncar limo.
“I have to warn you,” Felicia started out, “that I have a tendency to corrupt sweet young things like yourself, Claire. I’ll be a baaaaaad influence on you…” she ended with that honeyed, throaty laughter.
She looked up to see Graham, the driver, glancing back at her in the rearview mirror. “Right, Graham?”
“To say the least, Ms. Resden,” he said, smiling.
“Um, well, I felt I…well, I just wanted to get to know you. I wouldn’t normally do something like that,” Claire managed to mumble out. “You seem so interesting and well, stylish. I mean…” she stopped short, afraid of saying something offensive. She had absolutely no idea what Felicia meant when she said, ‘I’m spanking a Saudi prince later…’ but that also sounded exotic and interesting.
Claire’s discomfort seemed to greatly amuse Felicia, who put her hand on Claire’s thigh, and said, “Darling, stylish is only the tip of the iceberg. When you get to know me, you’ll have a whole lot of other adjectives you’ll want to use…”
“Graham, take us to Dive,” she commanded. “We can kill some time there while Claire figures out what to call me.”
Then to Claire, “You’re going to meet some unusual people here. Try not to judge,” she said somewhat sternly. The coy smile was back on her face. “What tattoo did you finally choose?”
“Uh… Oh, a little devil face, not really anything too exciting,” Claire responded, realizing that Felicia had been aware of her presence at the tattoo parlor.
“May I see it?”
Claire paused, then pulled up the side of her skirt, exposing her white panties, and pulled them down gingerly over the fresh tattoo, far enough to expose it to Felicia’s view.
“Ooooo, cute!” Felicia squealed in a schoolgirl voice.
Graham pulled up the limo in front of the West Hollywood bar, which displayed in very discreet letters, D.I.V.E. above the door. Under that were the letters D.A.R.E., and under that were the letters B.D.S.M.
A bouncer was setting up the stands and velvet ropes to guide people where to line up. The evening had not yet gotten into full swing, but the bar was fairly full, with quite a variety of people there.
“Ms. Resden—good evening,” the bouncer greeted them.
“Nate, this is Claire,” she gestured to her companion. Claire was dressed very conservatively in a skirt and blouse, with a light cardigan sweater, and flat shoes. Otherwise not notable, Nate probably thought it was some kind of kinky costume, since she was here with Felicia Resden. Nothing if not discreet, Nate made a slight bowing gesture, “Delighted.”
Felicia swept into the bar and surveyed the scene. The lights were low and the music’s sensuous rhythm pervaded the place. Many people were writhing around on the dance floor already.
The headwaiter ushered them to an enclave on the second floor, with comfortable couches and a low table. “The usual, Madame?” he asked.
She nodded, and moments later he was back with a bottle of Dom Perignon, and a few elegant champagne flutes. Several people had stopped by to say hello to Felicia, and she graciously introduced each of them to Claire in turn.
Claire was fascinated with the “stylish” people there, most of them wearing some kind of flamboyant, but not costume-y outfit, just very erotic and sexy. Claire was pleased that Felicia’s friends seemed interested in her, asking questions and including her in their conversation. It was quieter here on the second floor, but not exactly quiet, so when Felicia’s cell phone rang, she got up and went over to a quieter corner to answer it.
A petite redhead in a sequin dress leaned over to Claire.
“Hello there. I’m Gwynneth. So how do you know Felicia?”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Claire. Oh, we met at the tattoo parlor,” Claire responded, delighted that her answer sounded so exotic.
“Oh, yeah? Awesome! You were there together?”
Claire was excited that the woman thought that she was with Felicia, and simply nodded. Well, they were there together at the same time, she rationalized, if not actually there together.
“It looks like she’s taking you under her wing. You’re going to learn a lot.”
To Claire, this seemed like a compliment of sorts, so she smiled.
“Learn? Learn what?”
“Oh, well, you know, everything…” the pixie-like woman waved her hand in the air, conveying nothing.
“No, what’s everything?” Claire persisted, now really curious.
“Well, the life, the scene… the people…how to make it work for you, if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t really know what I want. I just know what I don’t want,” Claire said.
“Well, maybe with Felicia, you’ll learn what you want. She is one of the top, most well-paid dominatrices on the west coast, with clients flying in from all over the world for sessions with her, not to mention her A-list of celebrity clients and others in the film and TV industry,” Gwynneth confided.
“Domino-what? What is that?” Claire was hesitant, thinking now that maybe Felicia was a prostitute. After a few glasses of champagne, she was feeling a little woozy, and the idea was not so outrageous.
“Dominatrix? That’s someone who serves people in a very special way, catering to their unique desires, for sexual satisfaction. She allows them the space to live out their sexual fantasies, whatever they might be, as long as they are not harmful to her or the client.
“Clients love her because she is so nonjudgmental and nurturing. Sometimes clients want to be tickled, or wear diapers, dress up transgender, or get tied up. Others want to be dominated, disciplined, or spanked, because they get sexual satisfaction being submissive. But
it’s not always about sex. Felicia intuitively knows what each person needs, and takes care of them.”
Claire nodded, not wanting to reveal too much more of her ignorance about these practices, all unknown to her before now. “Um-humm…”
Felicia came back to the table then, finished with her phone call and said, “We have to leave now, Claire. Our carriage awaits,” and nodding and smiling to her friends, swept off toward the front door.
Claire jumped up to follow, her head spinning from the champagne. She stumbled into the back seat of the limo after Felicia.
“Whoa, there, girlfriend. You shouldn’t be driving tonight. After Graham drops me off at my appointment, he’ll take you home. You can get your car tomorrow, he’ll pick you up at 11.”
Claire felt wild with Felicia, as if something had been released in her. In the darkened limo, she kept stealing glances at Felicia, busy with her iPhone, taking in her sculptured cheekbones, her elegant forehead, ruby lips and patrician chin. And those breasts, bubbling up out of the tight bustier! Claire wanted to bury her face in those breasts.
But of course she didn’t. Focused on her appointment, Felicia got out, grabbed her bag of tricks from the trunk, said goodnight and disappeared. Graham drove Claire home, where she showered away most of the effects of the champagne. She fell into bed, still enraptured with the exoticness of the evening. She couldn’t get Felicia out of her mind though, the woman was so regal, and at the same time, so earthy.
Lying back onto her pillows, she slipped her nightgown up to her shoulders and spread her legs a little, running her hands lightly over her belly, thighs, breasts and pubic mound. She imagined that it was Felicia’s hands stroking her, those dark eyes looking into hers like they did for that moment in the tattoo parlor. The image of Felicia’s pouty red lips, shiny with gloss, came into mind, and Claire could almost smell her perfume, as she tugged gently on her pubic hair.
Using her fingernails, Claire stroked her own body, imagining Felicia’s black nails arousing her, pulling on her nipples and pinching her clit between her pussy lips. Spreading her legs wider, she imagined that her own hands were Felicia’s, bringing her pleasure and satisfaction as she must do for so many others, simply by being her.
SEALing The Victory Page 99