The Matchmaker

by Fiona Wilde

  What she hadn't counted on was his arriving with guests.

  The uncomfortable, tittering female laughter was her first clue that something was wrong, and when she scrambled to her feet to see Barry standing there with four people - two men and two women - she felt as if she was in a bad dream. Barry had told her he'd be home around lunchtime; he'd said nothing about bringing company.

  But strangely, it hadn't been the curious gaze of the strangers that had been the most upsetting, but Barry's expression of disgust. As she rushed from the room, Cassie could hear him commenting to his companions about her penchant for "practical jokes."

  Hot tears coursed down her cheeks as her shaking fingers reached back to undo the corset she had spent an hour struggling into. Next came the skirt, and Cassie was thankful she hadn't hitched it up to her waist as she'd planned to do. As it was, her humiliation was so acute she couldn't bring herself to go downstairs, where she could hear Barry laughing and joking with his guests.

  Each snatch of conversation hurt her even more. "Unusual taste." "Kinky games." "Casual relationship" "Not really serious" Sitting in the window seat, she pulled a pillow into her lap and looked out at the cloudy sky. A dusting of snow had fallen earlier in the day and she'd watched it as she'd merrily prepared the romantic lunch which still sat, untouched, on the table downstairs.

  It seemed so unfair to Cassie, how her mood had gone from hopeful to despairing. And it only got worse after Barry's company left. She clutched the pillow tighter as the sound of his footsteps got closer and closer. When the door swung open, he was holding the spanking implements in his hand.

  "What the hell were you thinking, Cass?" he asked, holding them out as if he didn't know what they were.

  "I was thinking we could rekindle..."

  "Rekindle nothing," he said. "Goddamnit. Do you have any idea how awkward that was? Do you realize how tired I am of this sick shit?" He walked over to the wastebasket, picked it up and walked to where she sat in the window seat. Dramatically he threw the implements away.

  "It was a phase, Cass. I told you. Just a passing interest. A curiosity. It's not practical, and living like this isn't normal or healthy. No one else does it ---"

  "You don't know that!" Cassie stood, walked around the room and turned to face him, her arms crossed defensively. "You don't. Look how long we lived like that with no one knowing. And it was never a phase for me. If what we had was some experiment for you, then you should have told me when we started."

  "I didn't think it mattered that much," he said, grabbing a jacket out of the closet. "I didn't think I had to spank you or order you around for you to love me." He put the jacket on. "I'm going out. Don't wait up."

  Cassie's legs had felt numb as she walked back to the window seat and sat down. She heard the door slam and watched as Barry backed his car out of the driveway. It pained her that things had gotten so twisted, so convoluted, that the man who'd once professed to love her had used her deep inner need to turn her into an errand girl before ripping her heart out with his demeaning characterization of her as some selfish masochist.

  Cassie sensed a lot of regret in Barry, and guilty self-loathing, and realized that he himself had only been comfortable in what he saw as an 'abnormal' role before making what he considered 'normal' friends. As it turned out, her dominant guy had just turned out to be nothing more than a weak follower.

  It was too much to take, so she turned the phone off and went to bed. The rest of the weekend she avoided Barry and actually looked forward to going to work where she could spend time between calls sorting out just what she was going to do.

  But that wouldn't happen right away. Cassie arrived in her cubicle to find a folder of referrals on her desk. Elaine's heels clicked down the hall as she began to go through them, and she was relieved when her boss only tapped on each door as she went by, reminding cubicle occupants to use their "phone voices."

  For the next two hours, Cassie made her way through the list. At mid-morning, Jill popped her head in to tell Cassie she was leaving early for a dental appointment. Cassie wished her luck, hoping it didn't show that she was actually relieved. She didn't feel like talking to anyone yet, not even her best friend.

  An hour before lunch, she had counseled three clients and sold three new plans. "One to go," she said as she looked at the last sheet. "Gavin Peterson," she read aloud. "Hmm."

  MatchYou had far more requests from women than men, so it was always interesting to hear what men were looking for. Cassie smirked to herself. They were usually the male equivalent of Marci Anders; even if they said intelligence and a sense of humor were their main criteria, what they really wanted was a potential trophy wife who would go Dutch on expensive dates.

  Peterson had requested a phone consult. That wasn't unusual. Men rarely came into the office for their consultations. Even if they were as lonely as the women, it was harder for them to tell someone face to face.

  Cassie picked up the phone and dialed the callback number, clearing her throat and mentally preparing to use her phone voice. After three rings, a deep male voice came on the line. "Gavin Peterson here."

  "Mr. Peterson, hi. This is Cassie Bernard with MatchYou returning your call."

  Gavin Peterson was silent for a brief moment, as if unprepared. "Oh, thanks for getting back to me," he said. "I've seen your ads and am hoping you can help me find someone, although I'm not really sure you can."

  In her mind, Cassie pictured a very large balding man whose only attribute was a great phone voice. "Nonsense, Mr. Peterson," she said. "MatchYou helps hundreds of people every day. All of us who work as counselors are uniquely qualified..."

  "Yes, yes, I know the line," he said. "I've seen the commercials. All the counselors have backgrounds in psychology, which is why I called. I'm an unusual person, Ms. Bernard. And I'm looking for an unusual woman. If you're screening is as thorough as you advertise, perhaps you're come across one of those rare women who would appreciate a man like me."

  Now Cassie's mental image changed to an aging playboy type who thought more of himself than he should. But her job was to keep him talking and sell him a plan, not to judge.

  "And just what type is that?" she asked, pulling a blank questionnaire from the folder on her desk.

  "Old fashioned," he said.

  Cassie laughed. "That's not terribly unique, Mr. Peterson. A lot of our female clients describe themselves as old-fashioned."

  "Perhaps so, but I'm afraid my idea of 'old-fashioned' is far different than what most modern-day women have in mind.

  Cassie paused. "How so? Do you believe women should be at home - barefoot and pregnant?"

  "To the contrary," he replied. "I believe women should be what they want to be. If that's a career woman, fine. If that's a mother, fine. She should be whatever she wants to be, with no apologies. And that includes being a submissive woman, if that's who she is. Unfortunately, too many submissive women are afraid to be who they are, just like too many dominant men are afraid to be who they are. I'm a dominant man who's not afraid to be who I am and I'm seeing a submissive woman who's not afraid to be who she is. So far, I've yet to find her. That's why I've called your service."

  "Is this some sort of joke?" Cassie blurted the question out before she could stop herself, but her first thought was that Barry - in a moment of cruelty - had gotten someone to prank call her.

  "Excuse me?" the voice on the other end of the line was indignant and Cassie suddenly felt horrified at her behavior.

  "N-n-no," she stammered. "I'm sorry. It's just that --"

  "Obviously I've made a mistake calling here," Gavin said.

  "No, you haven't," Cassie insisted. "I was just surprised because we had a woman in here just this morning who is exactly what you described!" Again, the words were out before she knew it.

  "Really?" he asked.

  "Yes," Cassie went on. "Her name is....Lola." The named popped into her head. And while Cassie had no idea where she was going with the conversation, s
he knew she didn't want the man on the other end of the phone to hang up.

  "Lola," he said. "That's a nice name. And she described herself as a submissive?"

  "Not in so many words," Cassie said hastily.

  "Well then why do you think she's a submissive?"

  "Well, she wants a man who believes in being in charge. In calling the shots in the relationship. But he also needs to respect her needs and understand why she wants things that way, that it's not because she's sick or dependent or anything." Cassie stopped and put her hand over her mouth. What was she doing??

  "Well, I'm sure this Lola has had her fair share of other women and men tell her what she wants is unhealthy. I'd sure like to meet her, to tell her that there are men out here who see her submission as strength."

  "You sound perfect for her," Cassie said. "But she - she doesn't want a man who hangs out in chat rooms looking for submissive women. She --Lola's heard about those guys and thinks relationships with those types go nowhere."

  "She's right," Gavin said. "Most of the people in those places are only in it for the sexual turn on, and while I don't deny that I find submission in a woman - total submission - very attractive I'm not in this for sex. I'm not looking for a fantasy, Ms. Bernard, I'm looking for someone to build a life with. That's why I came here rather than going to some online group." He paused. "So how can I meet this Lola? Don't I have to fill out an application or pay a fee or something?"

  Cassie stood quickly and looked out over the top of her cubicle. It was lunchtime and most everyone was gone. Sitting back down she quickly put the application back in the basket.

  "Well, usually," she said hastily. "But today you're in luck because we're running a special."

  "The receptionist who put me through to you didn't say anything about a special."

  "That's because I just now got the memo," Cassie said.

  "Oh, that's ...convenient," said Gavin. "So what happens now? Do you set up a date for us?"

  "Yes, well, no," stammered Cassie. "I'll give you Lola's email address and you can contact her. She asked me to only give her contact information to someone who seemed..promising."

  "Oh, alright. What is it?"

  "Cassie suddenly felt herself panicking. She had a seldom-used free mail account and quickly went online to see if it was still was. It was. Quickly, she changed the name on the account to Lola and gave him the address.

  "Great. I'll get in touch with her right now. Thanks, Ms. Bernard."

  "You're welcome," said Cassie in her best phone voice. "And thank you for using MatchYou. Goodbye."

  For a moment she looked at the receiver in disbelief, trying to comprehend what she had done. "Oh my god," she whispered. "I just broke one of the unbreakable rules. I made a date with a client. And I lied to him to do it." She stood and began to pace her cubicle. "Calm down, Cassie, calm down," she continued quietly. "This'll be easy enough to fix. I just won't answer his emails. He'll think she's not interested. But wait. What if he calls back and talks to someone else. He'll tell them the first date fell through and when they go to look for a record they'll see I never even signed him up for a plan. I could lose my job. SHIT!"

  "Excuse me?" Cassie's door flew open and there in front of her stood Elaine. "Language!"

  "Sorry," said Cassie. "I just lost a contact lens."

  "Oh." Elaine scanned the floor quickly but didn't offer to help. "Good luck finding it." She shut the door and left, leaving Cassie to heave a temporary sigh of relief.

  But the relief was short-lived. She had to figure a way out of this. Sitting down at the computer, she hesitantly pulled up the free mail site and punched in her address and password. "You have a new message," it read.

  Cassie clicked on it and there it was, an email from Gpeterson. Opening it, she read a quick note that basically reiterated everything he had said about his desire for a submissive woman who knew who she was and what she wanted. "Pictures are not necessary," he said. "Even if we're not physically attracted to one another it will be nice to at least sit down and have dinner with woman who doesn't think I'm some sort of caveman. If you're interested I'd love to take you to Leonardo's tomorrow night at 8 o'clock."

  Cassie looked at the clock. It was 1:30. Quickly she closed he email and began making calls, checking the progress of other clients. After an hour and a half, she reopened the email and answered.

  "Dear Gavin, I'd love to meet you," she said. "Leonardo's sounds fine. I'll see you there. I'll be the brunette in the pink dress. Until then, Lola."

  Cassie hit "send" and sat back in her chair. "I must be crazy," she thought. "I just made a date with a man under an assumed name. And I don't even own a pink dress."

  Chapter Four

  The rest of the day passed in a fog for Cassie, and it took all her will not to keep glancing at the clock during her last two appointments, both women who had come in person for counseling and to fill out the questionnaire. One was a charming lay minister with a local church, and Cassie was pleased to truthfully pleased to recommend several suitable men, including a hospital chaplain.

  At quarter till five she left and instead of going home headed to the little boutique where several months before she'd purchased the dress she wore to Jill's wedding. For an hour she tried on pink dresses before deciding on a soft pink cashmere top, flowing silk skirt and matching shoes that set her back more than she'd spent on her entire work wardrobe the previous year. And why shouldn't she, she thought. Barry had begun leaning on her more and more for financial support, even as he justified purchasing a wide-screen TV and season passes - for himself - to several local sporting events.

  She pulled up in front of the house at 7:30, surprised to see Barry's car already in the driveway. Not caring to confront him about her shopping trip, she left the bags in the car and went in. He was waiting for her in the living room. Candles burned on the coffee table, where wine sat chilling beside a plate of sushi. On the back of the couch lay the spanking implements he'd thrown away the day before.

  Cassie looked suspiciously at Barry. "What's going on?"

  "An apology," Barry said. "For my behavior this weekend."

  Cassie swallowed hard. Having just made a date with another man, it felt awkward to make up. But it did stir her heart that her boyfriend wanted to try.

  "I'm surprised," she said honestly as he poured and then handed her a glass of wine. "If you don't mind my asking, what made you reconsider?"

  "Some words of advice," he said. "Yesterday the guys I was with, well, the one guy's wife made a big deal laughing about what we found when we came in. And of course, Bill, my friend couldn't really tell me what he thought in front of her. But today at work he and Randy kept talking about how smoking hot you were in that outfit and how they'd love to be greeted by a nice-looking woman ready to be spanked..." Barry approached her, took the wine glass and set it on the table behind the couch before sliding Cassie's hand to his crotch. "You got them hot, baby. And when I told them you do anything I want. Well, let's just say, as far as they're concerned I am The Man."

  Cassie stepped back, repulsed. "So let me get this straight. Yesterday I was sick. Our lifestyle was sick. All the things we used to do together were sick. But today because your friends validated it suddenly you want to rekindle things --not because it's what I want or even what you want, but because your friends approve?"

  "Cassie, no, it's not like that!" Barry reached for again, but she side-stepped him.

  "Don't touch me! I really can't believe you, Barry. I really can't!"

  "What are you saying, Cass?" Barry, who'd never been rejected by Cassie during the whole of their relationship seemed unable to decide how to handle the situation.

  "I'm saying you need to work things out for yourself before you work them out with me," she said. Then she turned away. "I'm going to bed. In the spare room."

  Cassie felt fortunate that Barry didn't follow her, and as she lay in the bed alone she realized she was more upset with her boyfriend now than she
'd been before she got home. She thought back to her earlier conversation with Gavin Peterson, about how he'd mentioned the importance of being true to oneself regardless of what others thought, and about how he wanted a genuine lifestyle and not just a fantasy. She turned over in bed and looked out the window at the full moon shining through he trees. In a way, she was partly to blame for where things had gone with Barry. The written rules, the Gorean positions, the daily spankings for nothing or marginal offenses - it had been fun but it hadn't been real. Was it really fair to expect Barry to continue to live in the fantasy that they'd built. And was it really healthy for her to want to live like that? Cassie had settled for Barry because he'd been the first man to give her permission to embrace her hidden desires, but now she knew that what he'd rejected wasn't really what she wanted. No. What she wanted was a real life with a dominant man - a life lived at a realistic pace. She knew that wouldn't mean getting spanked every day, but knowing she was with a man who would do it if he had to was enough. Was Gavin Peterson that kind of man? He hadn't even mentioned spanking, but something told her he was. And while Barry spanked, she now knew he was the opposite of Gavin Peterson. Perhaps he did have dominant urges, but they weren't as strong as his desire to fit in. And as long as he was that kind of man he'd be the wrong man for her.

  Cassie closed her eyes and sighed, wondering what the next day would bring.

  ***

  It seemed to dawn on her before she knew it, and right away she knew with all the things going on in her life she couldn't face another day at work. So for the first time, she called in sick.

  She waited for Barry to head to work before going out of the room. An ivory-colored envelope lay on the kitchen counter, along with a single red rose. Cassie picked both up, sighed, and threw them in the trash. "Too little, too late," she said.

  Cassie enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and afterwards began scouring the Want Ads for apartments. Despite Barry's demands, Cassie had always been thrifty and had put enough money away to pay for a deposit. By noon she had looked at four places and by 3 p.m. had decided on one and hired a mover to come the following day. She wasn't entirely sure how to tell Barry, but at figured it wouldn't come as a shock.