Strapped

by Nina G. Jones

  “She knows one thing Shy, you know many more. Am I sensing some jealousy?”

  “You were going to have sex with her that night. Weren’t you?”

  “If you must know, it was a possibility, but we didn’t click. Plus, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and it freaked me out a bit.”

  “Why did you lie? On the balcony you told me you weren’t interested.”

  “Because I didn’t want you to think less of me and because I liked you. Honestly I wasn’t feeling her, but I just figured I should meet with her since she asked.”

  “It really upsets me that you won’t tell me what it is you two have in common.”

  “Shyla don’t you understand I don’t tell you because I am afraid you’ll freak out?”

  I prop my face on my hand. “Taylor! Do you think hiding things from me is not freaking me out? How about the other night? I’m still here after that. Eventually you will have to tell me, so you might as well start now. I can’t do this forever. You need to start telling me things.”

  “Okay. Okay.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “Did you notice she was wearing a ring?”

  “You mean that monstrosity on her hand that she kept fiddling around with? Yes!” Taylor’s face goes from very serious to a faint smirk.

  “I love it when you’re snarky.” He sits up. “Well, I can tell you she wasn’t wearing it for fashion purposes. She had it turned down most of the night, only the band was visible. When she came over, she started to play with it, and turned the emblem up, to see if I recognized it. Sometimes people just have a feeling and I guess she had that about me. It was actually surprising, the ring she used is very uncommon, most people use a different version now. It really caught me off guard.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “People don’t really wear it in the US, it is mostly used in European countries.” My stomach is tightening, I can sense he is dragging this out because he doesn’t want to tell me.

  “Taylor. Tell me.”

  “You have to promise you won’t pass any judgement.”

  “As long as you aren’t hurting anyone or killing anyone, I won’t.” His facial expression does not reveal reassurance. In turn, my stomach tightens further, my breath shallows.

  “It’s called the ring of O.” He pauses before delivering the next line. “It’s a symbol worn by those who practice BDSM.” His body is tense, the mood in the room has gone from very light to very heavy so quickly.

  “B-D-S-M?” I repeat it back to him slowly. I think I know what it means, but I hope that my hunch is wrong.

  “Bondage. Discipline. Sadism. Masochism.” He says each word slowly, each one sounding like a confession.

  The air is dead and silent as I take this all in. I want to be careful with what I say next. I get lightheaded and my chest tightens. I don’t know what to do with this information.

  “Say something.” He looks regretful.

  “So how does this apply to you?”

  “Before I met you, I had no way at all to get close to a woman. This is the only way I knew how.”

  “So you tied them up?”

  “Yes. Among other things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Before I go on, these women were all consenting adults. They wanted to do this.”

  “Go on.”

  “I can’t list them all, I mean it’s always different, like vanilla sex is different every time, but some of the things we would do are bondage, whipping, caning, asphyxiation, electrocution, penetration with different objects. There’s lots of things. The women get to set the boundaries.” He says this with the same matter of factness as reciting a grocery list. I start to feel panicky and detached, as if I am a spectator watching the scene unfold.

  “So we just do ‘vanilla’ sex? Do you find it boring?”

  “Shy, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just the universal term for non-BDSM sex. To answer you, no I don’t find it boring. You have to understand the things I am doing with you, I haven’t done with anyone before. There are lots of firsts for me with you. I never let my subs touch me.”

  “Subs?”

  “Submissives. The dynamic usually consists of a dominant and a submissive person. The dominant person acts out on the submissive. When you enter these relationships, you usually discuss what you are or aren’t willing to do. So the submissive can still sets boundaries, even though once those boundaries are clear, the submissive then has to do what the dom says within the preset parameters.”

  “Do you want to do those things to me?”

  “I want to do whatever you want to do.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “If you wanted to partake, I would be happy to, but that would be your decision.”

  “So it still turns you on?”

  He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. His tone changes on a dime. “Yes, Shy. What do you want me to say? I am a sick fuck. Okay?”

  “I never said that.”

  “Your face says it all Shy. You’re looking at me like I am a fucking monster and I very well may be.”

  “This is a lot to take in Taylor. You should have told me in the beginning.”

  He stands up. “Would you be here if I did?” I stay silent. “I didn’t think so. I always tell my partners upfront before we do anything, but I really care about you and I was afraid that you would run away screaming. I tried Shy, I tried my best to keep things from happening between us. I knew the night of the gala you wanted me to kiss you, I could smell it on you. I didn’t because I was afraid that you would reject me once you found out who I really am.”

  “Well, I found that creepy book and I am still here, aren’t I?” He paces in his sweatpants, back on forth, looking very stressed. “Taylor, does that book have to do with this?” His eyes confess. “Christ!”

  “Yes. They were all of my submissives.”

  “So is that some sort of a trophy book? I knew it!” My volume is beginning to rise. “Am I next?”

  “No! It helps me remember details and other important information just in case they try to pull some shit.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh I don’t know, like blackmail a fucking multi-million dollar sadist!”

  “You’re a sadist?”

  “I’m a dom Shy. I like to tie up pretty girls and smack them around, and make them beg and scream and fuck them.” The words sting my eyes. I remember those exact words in the stairwell today. Has he said those words to them too? It hurts to think of him with other women. While I knew all along that the book could have been a list of lovers, now I know for certain and the reality of it all weighs heavy on my heart. Who is this person in front of me? Just hours ago, we were dancing and laughing, and now, he is speaking so callously. His fiery facial expression melts off of his face when he sees my eyes well. He runs to my side on the bed. “No, Shy...no, no, no...don’t cry.” He sounds panicked, as though he just realized that he made a huge mistake. “I’m sorry. It’s my temper. I’m touchy about this...I don’t want you to freak out and run. Please.” I need some time alone to process all of this. I can’t do that in this house with him. My feelings towards him cloud my thoughts. I know what I am about to say is going to upset him, so I say it as calmly as possible. He sits back on the bed.

  I swallow and state to him in a calm voice: “Taylor, I am not leaving you, but I need to go home to sort through all of this.” His eyes widen with distress. He gets up and takes a deep breath, looks at me earnestly and calmly says: “Shyla, please don’t leave. You don’t understand what this will do to me if you walk out on me after telling you this.”

  “Taylor, I am not walking out on you. I just need some time alone. You have dropped a huge bomb on me here.”

  “You wanted to know.”

  “I had to know.”

  “We can be happy. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “We can’t just pretend this side of you doesn’t exist. It is obviously a hug
e part of who you are.”

  “Shy, how many ways can I tell you? I just want to be with you. Don’t you understand the profoundness of the fact that I let you touch me? Not one of those women in that book ever held me, ever kissed my chest, ever caressed my back. They were sex slaves. I know that makes me a creep in your eyes, but you have no idea what I have been through.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I can’t. Please respect that, I have told you so much already.” And he has. I let it go for now.

  “Taylor. I am crazy about you, more than you can understand. I just need to process this, that is all. I don’t know what has happened to you in the past, but I won’t leave you. I am not like whoever hurt you in the past.”

  His voice is still. “Please.”

  “Taylor. Don’t torture me like this. This is hard enough as it is. You know what it’s like to want space. Your entire life has been a battle with getting people to understand this.”

  He sits looking down in silence. He looks young, ashamed, vulnerable. I so badly want to hug him, but then I would never leave. I can’t get a grasp on him. We haven’t even broached the subject of the room, his past or how he is blackmailing these women. He has a dark side. He tried to warn me, but it’s too late. At this point, there is danger both in developing the relationship and in leaving it. I quietly stand up and put on my clothes. He doesn’t look up, he just sits there, almost catatonic. The other night he asked me if I would leave him and I said I wouldn’t. I meant that.

  I walk over to him and run my hand through his soft, thick locks. “Just give me a little time to digest this and we’ll talk.” He nods in acknowledgement.

  Chapter Eighteen

  This time, there are no tears during my drive home. Instead, I am numb with disbelief. I laugh at the ridiculousness of my predicament: Infatuated with a young, gorgeous, sensual, enigmatic multimillionaire, who can cook a delicious paella, who only accepts my touch, and has a fetish for torturing women. What did I expect? He did try to warn me that he was different, a loner. He is not forcing me to do anything, that is clear, but that doesn’t mean he won’t miss it. I just feel that he is suppressing this part of him out of concern that I will react poorly.

  Once I enter my apartment, I realize for the first time how bare it has become. Everything of Rick’s is now gone. My heart aches at the thought that he and I may never speak again. I thought that we could maintain a friendship, but his reaction to seeing me with Taylor the other night tells me this may not be a possibility, at least not for a while. I lay on my couch and remember my last pitiful descent into depression. I sit back up; I won’t allow this cycle to continue. I grab a pen and paper and decide to approach this like any other major decision. I draw a t-chart, one side labeled PRO, the other CON. This calms me. It creates the illusion that I have some control over the situation.

  PROS

  CONS

  -Gorgeous

  -BDSM- Sadist?- Must research

  -Treats me well

  -Secrets

  -I love him

  -His past makes me jealous

  -Makes me feel special whenever I am with him

  -Moody/Unpredictable personality

  -Sex! (Panther)

  -Rituals/Anxiety

  -Smart

  -Possible trauma

  -Talented

  -Not sure he loves me or if he even understands relationships. He thinks he can keep secrets and that taking care of me will make everything go away.

  -Good cook

  -Fun

  -Caring/Protective

  -He has that “je ne sais quoi”

  -Inexplicable bond (I am the only person who can touch him)- Is this a pro or a con?

  I put down my pen and stare at the list. Do the items on the left hold as much weight as some on the right? I mean, being a good cook cannot possibly outweigh the fact that he likes to “make pretty girls scream.” I analyze the negative column. If he was traumatized as a child, that could very well explain all of his questionable behaviors. The problem is that he won’t tell me anything about his family or childhood. He shared quite a bit with me today and considering my reaction, I can see why he thinks sharing his innermost secrets would backfire.

  As far as my jealousy, I know that is something I have to deal with. I cannot hold against him his sexual endeavors before he met me. Lining up all of his perceived faults like this makes me feel less critical towards Taylor. The women he had sex with were all consenting to their treatment, or at least that is what he tells me. When we are having sex, he always asks if I want something. I thought it was one of those sex panther things, but now I wonder if it is part of his BDSM persona, his need for consent. For now, the only image that continually comes to my mind when I think of BDSM is that horrible “gimp” from “Pulp Fiction.” I cannot reconcile the Taylor I see every day with this image. There must be some middle ground. I embark on some research on the subject to better understand what I am dealing with.

  I pull out my laptop and google BDSM. Just as the screen pops up with hits, I receive a text.

  Taylor:

  I’m sorry.

  The short message breaks my heart. I want to hold him in my arms because the last thing I want to be is the source of his pain. At the same time, this beautiful man who makes me laugh, makes me feel like a schoolgirl, cooks for me, pleasures me, drives me up the wall with his mood swings, how can this be the same man that keeps a secret blackmail diary? Cognitive dissonance continues to prevent me from fully acknowledging his dark side. Yet how could I not? He does have mood swings, he does keep secrets from me, he is domineering, he has issues with anxiety, and can be very rough in bed. I shouldn’t be entirely surprised. I choose not to respond to his text right away knowing he will lure me back. Instead, I plunge into my research. I am immediately overwhelmed by the massive amounts of information and discover that there is a huge spectrum of behaviors in this lifestyle. I find a Psychology Today article:

  Of every 10 people who reads these words, one or more has experimented with sadomasochism (S & M), which is most popular among educated, middle- and upper-middle-class men and women, according to psychologists and ethnographers who have studied the phenomenon.

  The word he mentioned that frightened me the most was “sadist.” Researching that opens up more questions. I become even more curious about his childhood experiences after reading the following on a wiki page:

  Unfavorable experiences during childhood or in early stages of sexual development are believed to be one of the major contributing factors in the development of a sadistic personality in an individual. It has also been observed that sadism or a sadistic personality can also get developed in an individual through conditioning. For instance, continual connection of a particular stimulus with sexual enjoyment or of happiness with the anguish of others can cause sadism or sadomasochism.1

  In the Freudian theory of psychosexual development, guilt is integral to sadistic and masochistic sexual tendencies, signaling either an incomplete or an incorrect sexual development of the child.2

  While the word is scary and can have terrible implications, it too has a spectrum of severity. The experts seem to agree that BDSM is not inherently pathological, but in some cases it can be tied to such behavior. I quickly realize that while researching will help me learn quite a bit about BDSM as a whole, I will have to sit down with him and learn the details about how he personally adopts this lifestyle. Furthermore, I have to reflect upon myself how I can fit into this part of his life. While he has never asked me to do anything for him, if I am going to stay with him, I don’t think I can make him close off an entire part of his sexuality for my sake. Selfishly, I understand what makes him such an incredible lover is that he is very in tune with his sexuality and he likely would not be had he not discovered BDSM. I decide he and I will meet for dinner at a neutral location where I can ask him questions, no holds barred. There are things I need to know and I will no longer compromise when he tries to change the
subject. Specifically, I must know what the hidden room holds. I understand learning about his family and past may take longer and I respect that, but the room, that is in the present, so I must know its contents. I also must know more about what the book holds and what exactly he is holding over these women’s heads. Finally, I text him back:

  ------------------

  1. Sadistic personality disorder. (2013, June 8). In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia.

  2. Sadism and masochism (as medical terms). (2013, April 22). In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia.

  Shyla:

  I don’t want you to be sorry. I am glad you opened up to me, but you have to understand, it was a lot to take in. I want to meet you for dinner tomorrow somewhere I can ask questions. I know it is hard for you to share, but you have to understand that in a relationship people TRUST one another and SHARE feelings and secrets. You have to work with me.

  I hold my breath as I send the text. About 10 minutes later, I receive a reply.

  Taylor:

  I’ll try to talk. Sometimes the words won’t even come out. When you walked out today, you don’t know the effect that had on me. My friend has a restaurant. I have arranged for us to have the rooftop to ourselves. I’ll have Harrison pick you up.

  I open up the camera roll on my cellphone and look at pictures of the trip to St. Petersburg. How can I miss him so much already? I smile through moistened eyes as I flip through pictures of us on the boat. In the time that I have known him, so much of my life has changed. He has shown me so much that I didn’t even know I was missing and maybe, just maybe, this is the evolution of our relationship. Could I possibly enjoy this lifestyle? I shake my head at the thought. Who am I? Am I seriously considering BDSM? He hasn’t even asked me. I shelve the thought for another time. My eyelids begin to weigh heavy as the days events crash down on me. I curl up on my couch with the TV on because it doesn’t feel nearly as lonely as my empty bed.