Like a drowning man, he fought for each step to get to the subway. But he couldn’t go home. He couldn’t get off the train.
He rode it all the way to the end, to Canarsie in southern Brooklyn, where the train sat for ten minutes with the doors open. The fresh breeze smelled like the ocean, and he took his first real breath since seeing Kali with that guy.
It was only then that the numbness washed away, the protective shield that he had used to get away.
Then he got mad.
What was she doing? She was blaming him for talking to Minx while she was off flirting with other guys? Little hypocrite! Here he was tearing his heart out over her, while Kali was moving on to the next man. Now that he thought about it, the guy was good-looking, wearing a suit like all the corporate-types did, his dark hair tousled the way she liked his. Who was that guy? Had this little office flirtation been going on the whole time?
Hunter rode the L train back into Manhattan, watching the car grow more and more crowded as the revelers poured into the heart of the city for Friday night. Then the train sat at 8th Avenue for ten minutes. He really hoped he would see Kali on the way back, but there was no sign of any of the SunTech people.
Now that he’d had some time to think about it, he knew he was blowing up what he had seen into something much bigger than it needed to be. He knew that. But he was still angry.
Why was she playing with him like this? Resisting was one thing, running away was another.
The racing subway felt so good that he stayed onboard all the way back out to Canarsie. He breathed the ocean again, and realized that he was still fighting mad. But by the time the train got back to Bushwick, he was ready to get off.
He went home. In his loft bed, he rolled and had nightmares all night of being chased by a train. The rushing, rocking motion had imprinted on his brain. He was groggy and even more upset the next morning with no work to go to.
It sucked, big time. He was caught in the grip of a monster that he wrestled with over and over again. The monster wanted to drag him over to Kali’s place so he could see her. Maybe if he saw her looking sad, that would crush the red haze of rage that still burned through him. Maybe it was the way she had been laughing, as if nothing was wrong. As if she hadn’t been thinking about him all week, like he had been thinking about her.
He had to see her.
But he was no stalker. It was crazy madness. His advice to anyone else would be to stay away.
It didn’t matter. It was a feeling deeper than words, deeper than common sense.
He fought himself minute by minute, hour by hour. The thought that he wouldn’t see her until Monday made his heart race. It was only two days! But it was too much.
He abruptly went out to the bookstore and the health food store. He tried to talk to people, to distract himself. But he couldn’t focus on what they were saying and finally gave up. They probably thought he was on drugs, he was so unlike himself. He had to force himself to go back to his studio and not go to the subway, which led to her place…
As the sun went down, his resistance finally began to cave in. The thought of trying to lie down to go to sleep was intolerable. He was already out of his mind. Might as well admit it and get some relief. He had to see her.
Once Hunter got started, he couldn’t stop. He ran through the dark to the subway station, already feeling better for being in motion. Now he had a goal he could focus his fury on.
But as he climbed up the subway steps to Bedford St. along with a stream of partying hipsters, some self-preserving spark flared inside of him. He couldn’t rush over to Kali’s place and demand answers. That could ruin everything.
He took the next street over and walked towards her place. He ended up at the same chain-link fence where he had watched her window after their first date. He had felt like a stalker then, like he was flipped head over heels.
That was nothing compared to now. She was a temptress, a destructive genie who had gotten hold of him and wouldn’t let go.
Nobody would believe it of him. The master every sub wanted. The one who kept them at arm’s length. A friend to all, but intimate to none. What was he doing creeping after a woman who didn’t want him?
Because he couldn’t believe Kali didn’t want him. He knew how her body quivered when he touched her. He knew how she had given herself to him. She was the one who wanted romance, Goddamn it! Didn’t Romeo chase after Juliette when he found out he couldn’t have her?
More to the point, was Romeo this angry and upset? Yes! If Shakespeare ever stalked a girl, then he knew that, too. It was all wrapped up in romance and “wherefore art thou?” but it really came down to the same thing: the woman he loved was out of reach, and it wasn’t right.
The woman he loved.
Hunter clung to the wire of the fence watching the light in her window. I love Kali.
He should have told her that. That’s what she was waiting for. That’s why she didn’t believe him.
He had to tell her.
Suddenly the light in her window went off. He took a deep sigh. It was like a connection to her. She was there, and she had just turned off the light. She was getting into bed, punching her pillow like she did every night. He could see the nightie she was wearing. He could almost breathe the scent of her hair as it fanned over her pillow.
He clung to the fence, closing his eyes as he imagined her. It was so real. He loved her. He would do whatever it took to make this work.
He could hardly breathe, his throat was closed so tightly. All of his anger was gone. Evaporated like it had never existed. But this feeling was worse.
What if I can’t get her back?
The fence was the only thing holding him up as he stared up at her window. He couldn’t walk away from her. She belonged to him. They belonged together. He had to make her see that.
But through it all was a resounding thrum of doom. What if I can’t get her back?
To come so far, to open up so much, to find a woman who fit him in every way, only to watch her walk away? He couldn’t do it.
He wouldn’t.
He knew what to do.
Early the next morning, he got up and called florists. Finally he found one in Manhattan that was open early on Sunday, and he paid double the price to have two dozen red roses delivered immediately.
He took the train into the city to write the card. On it, he wrote: I love you.
He didn’t bother to sign it. She knew his handwriting. She would know instantly that it was from him.
***
The bouquet took Kali’s breath away. The roses were magnificent, deep ruby red. Their smell filled the air. It was thrilling to finally get the words from him: I love you…
But he had written it rather than telling her face-to-face. He wouldn’t risk saying it to her, because she wouldn’t say it back. He knew that. Sending her the flowers was another way of manipulating her without risking himself.
It was just another huge ordeal in the struggle to stay away from Hunter. She tried not to think about him, but that was hopeless. There was a void where Hunter used to be, and she felt shaky and really scared in the city for the first time. As if she had just woken up and realized she was living on a precipice.
She didn’t doubt his desire for her. But she did doubt that desire alone was enough.
His passion for her had grown the more she resisted him. It was perverse, much more so than the kinky sex she loved with him. There was some kind of deeper power struggle going on between them, inside of each of them, and she felt like she was on the losing end. Visions of her kneeling at his feet and wearing a collar with another woman kneeling next to her, calling him Sir—no way!
Because no matter how thrilling it was, she wanted a partner. She wanted this passion to lead to the next part of her life, and then the next. She wanted a best friend, not a master.
She didn’t want their sex games to become her real life, with Hunter always choosing where they would go and what they would do. She di
dn’t want to take on a subservient role in front of other people. She didn’t want to be trained to do things for him, even if her body was a traitor begging for it.
The proof was in her own sexual response. She was in a fever pitch of sexual denial. As much as she tried to block out thoughts of him—his face, his hands, his laughter, his low-voiced commands broke through, like he had imprinted them on her. Until she finally gave in and masturbated, letting herself go in daydreams of him touching her, pinning her with his relentless thrusting, groaning as she twisted in eagerness to be filled. But it wasn’t satisfying; there was only her vibrator and the void of him gone. She held off as long as she could, but she couldn’t help herself and kept trying to satisfy the maddening desire, as much as she wished she could stop.
She told herself these feelings were caused by his training, that he had manipulated this reaction out of her. He was the consummate sex master. And she was his clay.
He wrote I love you on the card, but what did he really know about love?
That made her think about her mom, and what kind of love her parents had. She remembered a lot of things her mom used to say about her dad, getting Kali to sympathize with her troubles because of how flighty he was, how irresponsible. Her mom had trained her, too—to be the perfect companion, since her husband couldn’t be.
Kali was done being manipulated by everyone. As lonely as she felt, as horrible as it was to not see Hunter, she would rather be alone right now.
She didn’t even care that her mom still hadn’t called her.
In the past when her mom was upset with her, Kali was always the first one to reach out. Usually she had to try to talk to her repeatedly until Jenny relented. There had been some epic battles when she was growing up, all conducted in silence by her mom. Kali would beg and plead until her mom gave in and spoke to her. Then Kali would cry from gratitude. It was silly that it had such an effect on her. Some kids would hardly think it was punishment to have their parents give them the silent treatment. But her mom somehow held this iron grip on her, until Kali hesitated to do anything Jenny wouldn’t like because of the threat of overwhelming silence.
Fear of being alone.
She was tired of running away from being alone. That’s why she came to the city. That’s why she could resist Hunter even though she ached for him.
Now she knew a lot more about how Hunter had molded her into his play toy because she spent all of her spare moments at home on the computer finding out more about BDSM. Along with the social websites, there were authors and educators who posted videos about how to do bondage and flogging as well as more sexually explicit things like fisting and vaginal piercing. The more she looked, the more she realized she was not really interested in going to the extremes. She was definitely more on the “vanilla” side of things, with a little spice thrown in.
And how could a nearly-vanilla girl like her please a man like Hunter?
Then she found his FetLife profile—HuntingArt. She was looking through the friends of Popcorn, the nice woman Hunter had introduced her to at the Paddles, and there it was. The image of the tattoo on his back shoulder, that sinuous abstract of a couple endlessly engaging in sex.
OMG!
The list of fetishes Hunter liked boggled her mind. Sadism? Slut as a term of endearment? Anal? Really? Who knew? Though come to think of it, he did touch her everywhere, including her butt hole. Was he secretly probing her to find out her response? Was he planning on having anal sex with her?
There was more: domestic servitude, mind fucks, forced orgasm. Sex in public! Verbal domination, biting, belt spanking! Behavior modification! Obedience training!
Just like she thought. She should have looked him up the first time he said he was kinky. That would have told her everything she needed to know about him. He was a member of dozens of online groups, had twelve hundred “friends,” and went to lots of events according to his listings.
Worse, his wall was filled with old posts from fawning women, telling him how great it was to see him again, how much fun their scene had been, where was he going next?
Going back in his timeline, she saw that Hunter had posted in groups and on friend’s walls during the past couple months while he was dating her. In one post, he was arguing with someone about who had outed a private house party to the cops. In another comment, he was admiring the photo of a naked girl with her pubic hair dyed fuchsia like her hair...
Looking closer, Kali realized it was Minx! Standing there naked, her hips thrust forward showing off her shocking pink pubs.
Kali banged her desk in frustration. He had “loved” Minx’s photo the evening before they went out and had sex for the first time on the water taxi!
After that, she was done for. She spent hours clicking on his female friends and trying to find out more. At least his profile had no relationships noted except for “girlfriend” without a link to a profile name. He didn’t know she had an account on FetLife. She wondered what he would think of her nickname—Runningaway2.
The question was, running away to where?
She wasn’t nearly kinky enough for him. Give her a little rough sex, some hair pulling and bondage. Stroke her body and pinch her and smack her flesh until she climaxed even harder. But you could keep the yes, Sirs and the collars and the expectations that proved she was out of place in his world.
She glared at the red roses. They said I love you, but she didn’t know what he really meant by that. It could be a big ploy to get her to go out with him again, so he could draw her back into his web.
Then she found something unexpected by clicking on a link under a photo of a sculpture in his profile gallery. It took her to an off-site website called Hunting Art.
Hunter made erotic art. Lots of it. Sculptures of abstract nude bodies merging and shifting, most of it really explicit, and most of it involving bondage or people crying out as flesh was cut and bodies were constricted by rope. The website listed where he sold his sculptures at conferences around the country that catered to sexual minorities, along with erotic art festivals and science fiction conventions.
A chill washed through her. SunTech didn’t know anything about this. Selina would have rejected Hunter from the competition if she knew. It would be terrible publicity if the media found out that their plaza was being designed by an infamous S&M artist.
That’s why Hunter had told her at the Paddles to not mention SunTech. He had never said a word about this business to her. And neither had his friends. She wondered if he had told them not to say anything to her.
Controlling everyone around him, as usual.
Kali searched his website and nowhere on it did she find Hunter’s last name. She found nothing on FetLife that included a recognizable photo of him. A Google image search came up with traditional PR photos and shadowed snapshots showing his profile, nothing else. Doing a search of his real name and Hunting Art, nothing came up.
Kali tried to calm down. They only had six more days to go until the launch. She could manage this. Even if the media found out about his kink-connections, she could deal with it. It was her job to make sure both SunTech and Hunter came out of this looking fabulous.
She began to plot her media response if anything was exposed. After what happened with Selina’s viral video, which was still climbing at 128,000 views, Kali was well aware of how quickly something bad could get around. So she searched for sound bites on erotic art and BDSM, and found the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom which did advocacy for kinky community clubs and businesses. She decided if there was a media crisis, she could reach out to them for help.
After hours hunched over the computer, Kali finally forced herself to go out and get some fresh air and something to eat. After her frantic day on the computer, it was soothing to be back in her old routine, taking a seat at the long counter in the sandwich shop, and ordering a spicy cream cheese and cucumber sandwich. She hadn’t eaten one since Hunter had turned her life upside down.
But the whole time
, she was thinking about the world she had glimpsed through the computer and the places Hunter had taken her. A whole subculture she never knew existed. The NCSF website had said what Hunter told her: parents lost custody of their kids just because they were into BDSM and someone told child protective services. And people were fired because they were kinky. Or arrested for domestic violence even when everything was completely consensual. The persecution they faced, and the danger to real lives because of it, was not something she had ever imagined.
But it made sense. Look at her—she was kind of ashamed about how much she loved this kinky stuff. And didn’t she secretly think it was a little too strange? After all, she couldn’t imagine leaving her kids with the babysitter while she went to Paddles with her husband.
Then again, why not? They were all adults there, and nobody was doing anything they didn’t want to do.
So then why didn’t Hunter tell her about his kinky sculptures?
***
On the way into her building, she ran into Pam and Karen. “How’s it going with your boyfriend?” Karen asked.
Kali grimaced, and had to force herself to say, “We aren’t seeing each other anymore.”
“Why? What happened? Why didn’t you say something?”
Kali sighed. “I got a promotion at work, so technically I’m his boss and we can’t date. But I’m kind of glad in a way. It was going so fast that I needed a break.”
Pam nodded. “You do what you’ve got to do.”
“I’m trying.” She tried to change the subject. “Hey, did you two ever go to the Paddles?”
They exchanged looks. “Yeah,” Karen admitted. She stopped, then laughed awkwardly. “It was an experience. A lot of fun.”
“That’s the way I felt about it,” Kali agreed. “But I don’t want a steady diet of it.”
“Yeah,” Karen said again. “But we liked it. We’ll do it again sometime.”
Pam didn’t say a word, but she was smiling in a way Kali had never seen. It was nice that they were so compatible. She had never understood how important that was more than now.
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