To me, it felt monotonous and the half hour seemed more like two, but to Ed, it seemed to be a nonstop thrill.
Am I really getting paid for this? Does he do this with his grandkids? Are his grandkids older than me?
The questions were endless, but regardless of whether I was into the session or not, I recognized something that day. I was getting to see a side of another person that he doesn’t show to the world. This man walks around every day and people simply see him as a nice old guy who is probably past all the “sexual stuff.” They have no idea that he not only fantasizes about tickling young girls, but goes to a dungeon on a regular basis and pays for the privilege of doing so. It was intriguing and unsettling at the same time.
What else don’t I know about people?
Caterina’s voice eventually broke the moment and let us know that our session had ended. As we cleaned up the room and got ready to go back downstairs, I tried to assess how I felt about the experience. Was I uncomfortable? Did I feel cheap or dirty? Surprisingly not. What I did feel was a strange intimacy with this man who had been a complete stranger less than an hour earlier. We had shared something: a secret, a moment, the broken barrier of touch … I couldn’t exactly place my finger on what it was, but some thread now connected me to Tickle Ed.
I was still trying to process this when I got back to the dressing room, but instead of acknowledging it when Erin asked how my session had gone, I fell back on the comfortable judgmental cynicism that we all carry around as a shield.
“That was so creepy! I mean, he’s old enough to be my grandpa and he’s pretending I’m super young. And tickling? Really? Who gets off on that?”
I was stunned when Erin’s response was, “What’s your fucking problem? Why are you here if you’re just gonna judge people? Is he your grandpa?”
“No.”
“Are you a consenting adult—who I might add is being paid for the experience?”
“Yes.”
“So no issues there. You got a problem with him being into tickling? What are you into that’s so much better?”
“I don’t kn—”
“Yes, you do. You’re just too much of a pussy to admit it. This guy, on the other hand, knows what he wants and what he has to do to get it and probably doesn’t give a fuck that you’re judging him for it. And he’s old … really? You think you’re gonna stop thinking about dirty shit because you get old? Maybe. But I sure as fuck hope I don’t.”
She got up from the couch and came to stand behind me in the mirror. I could feel her breath on my neck as she whispered, “Open your mind, Scarlett. I promise you’ll like it.”
She chuckled as she walked away.
I didn’t think I had ever met anyone more infuriating.
6. RICH
The next morning, I went back to my day job at the construction site of a new hospital in Orange County. The company my mom worked for had been hired as the medical equipment consultant for the building of the new tower and she helped me to get a job that I could do while I figured out whether to go to grad school. Essentially, an architect designs the building, a general contractor builds the building, and someone has to figure out all of the stuff that goes in the building. So the team I worked for would help the clinical staff to determine all of the equipment that needed to be purchased—from scalpels to MRI machines. They would then implement a plan for things such as installation, seismic anchorage, and delivery priority. After that, we would actually purchase the roughly $54 million of equipment. With a degree in archaeology, I naturally came to the table with a full understanding of all of this and was ready to hit the ground running from day one … or not.
I had been doing the job for a few weeks, and to my dismay had essentially been relegated to the role of bimbo secretary. This was disconcerting not just because of the blow to my college-educated ego, but because I was totally unqualified to even be a secretary. I didn’t drink coffee and thus understandably had no idea how to work a coffeemaker. As in I had literally never made a cup of coffee in my life. Turns out, there is more than one way to catastrophically fuck that up and have the entire jobsite trailer judge you. There had been brilliant moments like the one where I decided I would take some initiative and ask Mary, another admin, instead of someone from my own team how I would go about FedExing something:
“Call them and schedule a pickup.”
“Okay, great. Do you happen to have their phone number handy?”
“1-800-GO-FEDEX.” I walked away dripping in the disdain she threw at me with that one.
I didn’t know how to use a fax machine. Didn’t know how to read an architectural drawing. Had never scheduled a meeting. I basically sucked. The most I could do was keep my chin up and try not to make the same mistake twice.
That first morning back in the office after starting at the Dungeon was uncomfortable. I felt different, so I was sure people could somehow tell that I was a changed woman. I guess it’s a bit like being high and being convinced that everyone knows when they really wouldn’t if you would just chill out. With that in mind, I was trying to play it cool.
I needed to talk to my project manager about changing my work schedule on the days that I would be working at the Dungeon so that I could start at 6:00 and be on the road by 3:30 to arrive at my other job by 4:15. This wasn’t an abnormal request in L.A. since those hours would help to avoid traffic, but I knew if that was the reason I gave then if something came up (and something always comes up on a jobsite) then he would ask me to stay late and I wouldn’t have a good reason to leave. My solution was to devise the first of many lies that would tumble from my lips in order to preserve the secrecy of my double life. It wasn’t something I had much practice at, so I didn’t know yet to keep it simple and stick as close to the truth as possible, lest I get tangled in my own web.
I cycled through a number of managers on that job, but my boss at the time was a guy named Rich. He was a former chef who had gained moderate fame in the restaurant scene for his cooking, and celebrity status for his success with the ladies. Back when Bourdain was still working brunch, Rich had groupies. Women would lurk outside whatever restaurant he hadn’t been fired from yet waiting to accost him when he would sneak out to smoke a cigarette. His smoke breaks were just as likely to turn into a blow job next to the Dumpster. He was the hard-partying, tattooed bad boy of the L.A. food world before it was cool. He claimed he got older, couldn’t keep up, and the kitchen life lost its luster, but I suspect after a certain point no one would hire him and the drugs took their toll. He had lived such a colorful life that he seemed a little confused that at forty-eight, this was where he had ended up. He had severe high blood pressure, but subsisted on a diet of coffee, doughnuts, and booze. He was still rail thin with a shaved bald head, still rocked a leather jacket, and still showed flashes of the boyish charm that had made him so popular. He often came into the trailer still hurting from the night before, and that particular day didn’t appear to be any exception.
He trudged in past my desk after his first morning meeting, sweating through his shirt, and didn’t address me until he had refilled his coffee cup.
“A sub stopped by to see you earlier.”
What. The. Fuck.
“Excuse me?”
“A sub came by earlier looking for you to schedule something for this afternoon.”
I must have looked like a deer in the headlights and was trying not to panic. No one knew. How could my worlds be colliding this quickly? I didn’t know what to say, so I continued to stare at him blankly.
“Jen, you all right? It was a subcontractor, but I don’t remember who he works for. Maybe low voltage? Anyway, he said he’d stop back before lunch and catch you then.”
“… cool, thanks.”
Sub … subcontractor. Not sub … submissive. Got it. I had the feeling that one was going to take a while to get used to.
I took a deep breath and walked through to Rich’s office.
“So, Rich, I’ve gotten
myself into kind of a stupid situation and I’d rather not go into all the details, but I have mandatory community service three days a week for the next while in the evenings. Do you think those days I could come in and leave early so I can get up to L.A. on time and not get myself into more trouble?”
He looked up at me skeptically and for a moment I was concerned that he was going to pry. I didn’t have an explanation of why this was supposedly happening or what I had done wrong. I overheard a Switch named Lexy talking about her court-mandated community service the night before and borrowed the story. My instinct was that with what I knew of Rich’s background, he had been in trouble before and would respect the boundary I had implied. The man had a tattoo he told me had been made with a safety pin in prison, so I was banking on him being understanding of the fact that sometimes young people do stupid shit. I had never so much as had a speeding ticket in my life, but felt like he would appreciate the bond.
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Anything I need to know about?”
“It’s all old news. Stupid college stuff that’s not even worth getting into. I just need to get it resolved and put it behind me.”
“I hear ya. I take it I’m not mentioning this to Lorna?”
I hadn’t really worked out what I was going to tell my mom since she would likely know this story was bullshit. I knew she wouldn’t be on-site for a while, so my plan was to deal with it when I needed to.
“I don’t want to put you in a position where you have to lie to your boss, but if you could just not mention it, I would really appreciate it.”
“Sure thing. Not like I haven’t seen my fair share of trouble.”
“Thanks, Rich. I’ll leave you to your conference call.”
“What call?”
“The one you were supposed to be on four minutes ago.”
I sat down feeling quite smug. I now had a clear path to working both jobs and no one needed to know.
It may sound stupid, but one of my main responsibilities on the jobsite was supposed to be traffic control into the trailer. There was a steady stream of people coming in and out throughout the day and Rich had a total inability to tell anyone no when they asked for something. That meant he spent every day running in circles instead of staying focused on the task at hand. Most people meant well and were busy themselves, just looking for answers. Vance, the architect, however, was just a disrespectful dick who thought his time was more valuable than anyone else’s. He was particularly bad at interrupting other people’s meetings over trivial matters that could have been answered via text or e-mail. Upon starting my job here, he had been pointed out to me as someone I needed to manage so that the rest of my team could get their jobs done. Thus far, I had failed abysmally. He was from somewhere in Eastern Europe, and I don’t know whether we had some cultural differences going on or he was simply a chauvinist pig, but my existence didn’t appear to be relevant to him.
He chose that moment to walk into the trailer, so I jumped up and tried to engage with him.
“Good morning, Vance. Rich’s on a call, but I can—”
He didn’t even make eye contact. He waved his hand dismissively at me and kept walking straight back into Rich’s office. I sighed and sat back down.
I guess you can’t win them all.…
He was in there long enough that Rich must have cut his call short to deal with him, which is exactly what I was supposed to be preventing. Vance didn’t look at me on the way out, but stopped at the coffeemaker and filled up his cup, emptying the pot.
“Might want to make more coffee, Janine,” he said on his way out the door without even looking up at me.
I considered chucking my stapler at him, but instead got up and obediently made more coffee like a good Janine would do.
7. SISSY HARRY
“Scarlett! Ready for day two? You’re almost totally booked tonight—you’ve got three sessions with regulars. I’ve tried to give you enough of a break between them that someone can talk you through what to expect.”
“Thanks, Lady Caterina! Will it be Raven training me again?”
“When she can. But she’s pretty booked tonight too, so it might need to be someone else. The other tops tonight are Erin, Serena, and Dom. You’ve met Erin. Serena’s in a session right now.… Dom!”
I had seen on the Web site that there was one male Dominant who worked here, but hadn’t paid his page any attention. From the back emerged a tall, handsome, blond man who reminded me a lot of Eric Northman from True Blood. He oozed old-world charm and sex appeal. He extended his hand and smiled, revealing canines that were just a little long. They made his smile look delightfully wolfish. I looked down at his hand, and for a moment forgot what I was supposed to do. I half expected him to kiss my knuckles, but thankfully that thought merely came from my romance-novel fantasy imagination, and he simply shook my hand. I say thankfully because I may have done something embarrassing like fan myself … or try to have sex with him in the lobby otherwise.
“I’m Dominic. Pleased to meet you.”
Well, fuck me. Of course he has a German accent. He looks like Hitler’s fucking wet dream.
“I’m Scarlett.”
“Dom, once Scarlett’s dressed, can you give her a heads-up on Sissy Harry please?”
“No problem. I’ll be smoking a cig on the patio. Come and find me when you’re ready. Sissy Harry likes frills and lace if you have anything really girly.”
Moments later, I stood clad in a pink mini tutu and a white corset with white fishnets—feeling a little bit like a six-year-old going to her first ballet recital. I felt marginally better when Dom looked me over and gave a thumbs-up with a wink.
I find smoking a major turnoff, but of course when he did it, it was attractive. I sat across from him at the patio table.
“So what’s Sissy Harry into?”
“He’s a funny one. His is technically more a session for a Switch or a Domme, but he’ll only play with subs because he wants everything gentle and girly. I suspect he also likes the more genuine reactions he gets out of newer girls.”
Dominic spoke with his hands and I had the distinct impression those elegant fingers knew how to please a woman.
Focus, dumb-ass.
“He’s been coming in multiple times a week for the last decade and does basically the same scene every time. It’ll be more spontaneous if I don’t tell you every detail … but he’s into role-play that you’re a schoolgirl and he’s a family friend who’s been asked to prep you for your first day at the academy. You ask him about boys and tell him you’ve never seen a penis. He’ll show you his and then he wants to be humiliated for it. Whine about how you thought it would be bigger and ask him over and over again whether he can make it bigger and thicker. If in doubt, just keep saying those two words. Then he wants you to force him to wear drag and do some more humiliation. And then he’ll probably wank off.”
“That’s allowed, right?”
“Our unspoken rule is that you can’t participate in it … but that you’re not going to try to stop him. Don’t worry,” he said with a grin, “he cleans up after himself.”
“Okay … that all I need to know?”
“Should be. He’s harmless and knows what he wants, so he’ll guide you through it.
“Heads up that Margaret is probably sleeping in the loft part of that room at the moment, so if you hear her up there, don’t worry. We’ll have to introduce you later. She’s the house slave who lives here and does cleaning and odd jobs in exchange.”
“Good to know. Thanks for all the help!”
“No problem. Break a leg!”
* * *
I met Sissy Harry in the lobby and was stunned by how utterly normal he looked after hearing a summary of his perversions.
He was a middle-aged, average-height, average-build, average-looking white dude with dark hair and brown eyes. He was wearing Dockers and a polo shirt. I wouldn’t have given him a second glance in line at the bank. He carried a duffel ba
g, which I suspected wasn’t allowed, so I looked to Caterina for guidance.
“We don’t normally let clients bring their own equipment or toys, but Harry is a longtime trusted client, so we make exceptions for him.”
He seemed pleased by this description. I also noted that she just called him Harry instead of Sissy Harry, and was careful to do the same.
I started the scene when we got upstairs to the den while Harry laid out the contents of his bag. I glanced at my watch. We had an hour to play. At least this time I would know how much time was left.
“Come here, Scarlett. Let Uncle Harry get a good look at you.”
I stood before him with my hands on my hips.
“Now, young Scarlett, your parents have asked me to make sure you’re ready for your first day at the academy. Is that what you’re going to wear?”
“Yes, Uncle Harry,” I said in a stupid girly voice and added an impromptu twirl.
“An outfit like that is going to make the boys drool over you.”
“But, Uncle Harry, I don’t know anything about boys!” I said, wringing my hands and biting my lip in a spectacular display of overacting.
“Well, have you ever seen a penis?”
It was such a jump that I had to swallow a laugh. No wonder the dialogue in porn is so terrible.
“No, Uncle Harry. Never!”
He hesitated, so I took a guess at what was next and said, “Do you think you could show me yours? Just so I know what they look like and the other girls don’t laugh at me!”
“Well … maybe. We wouldn’t want the other girls to laugh at you. But what if your nanny comes in and sees?”
“She won’t! She’s in Costa Rica visiting her daughter.”
Costa Rica? No idea where that came from …
With no further ado, Uncle Sissy Harry dropped trou … and his monster dick sprung forth.
My stunned reaction was probably spot-on for young Scarlett, who was seeing her first penis.
“But why is it so small?” I choked out. “I thought it would be bigger and thicker!”
The Scarlett Letters Page 6