Julia and Mr. Page

by Serafina Conti

  “What was it that you didn’t like? The flavor of it? The consistency?”

  “I didn’t like either of those things, Sir, and the smell of his penis and the way it squirted were kind of gross.”

  “So you told him you wouldn’t let him do that anymore.”

  “No, Sir, I didn’t.”

  “Then did you let him come in your mouth repeatedly?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And you swallowed it every time?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Why did you go on doing it?”

  Here was an interesting question, and suddenly it seemed strange that it had never occurred to Julia to ask it herself. She thought for a moment and then said, “He wanted it, Sir, and I couldn’t think of a reason to say no.”

  “Your own distaste wasn’t a sufficient reason.”

  His statement brought her up short: she hadn’t been thinking in those terms at all. What had she been thinking? Maybe that one put up with a lot of things in relationships of all kinds. She remembered having to kiss unpleasantly wrinkled grandparents as a child, and then there was a high school boyfriend of a few months’ duration who thought flossing was for pussies—he’d been the team’s quarterback, and it had totally been worth it.

  She said, “I guess it wasn’t distasteful enough.”

  “If we are going to get along,” he said, “you must not forget the correct form of address.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said, feeling flattened and noticing a faint stirring of pleasure that came with the feeling.

  The sommelier brought a bottle and two glasses, opened the bottle, and poured a sample. Mr. Page tasted the wine and nodded, and the sommelier poured for both of them.

  “Try the wine,” said Mr. Page.

  Julia took a sip. It tasted harsh.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said.

  “You must be completely honest with me,” he said. “I could tell from your expression that you’d rather have had something else.”

  “I prefer whites to reds, Mr. Page,” she said.

  “This wine is expensive and very good. You will drink it,” he said.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said. “But it’s hard to see the point of ordering a thing I might not like when it would be just as easy to ask me, and order wine by the glass if our tastes disagree.”

  “I assure you, there is a point,” he said. “Can you guess what it is?”

  “I hope it’s not just to arbitrarily torment me by making me do something I don’t like,” she said. “Not that this wine is so bad, Sir.”

  “You’re onto something, Julia,” he said. “There is some value in making you do a thing you don’t like, though there’s nothing arbitrary about it. Go on, you’re doing well.”

  “You seem very interested in power, Sir,” she said. “Why else would you call me Julia and make me call you Mr. Page? You’re establishing the way power works in our relationship—assuming we have a relationship.”

  “Of course we do,” he said. “You form a relationship with every person you meet, however briefly and casually, and in the first moments of acquaintance you negotiate the way power will be disposed between you. As it happens, I enjoy being the dominant partner in my relationships.”

  “I understand, Sir, but didn’t we settle the way power worked between us in those first moments, when we agreed how I would address you? Why the wine too?”

  “Power, Julia, is fundamentally about getting people to do what you want rather than what they’d do if left on their own. If I command you to do something that you were going to do anyway to please yourself—read a novel or order your favorite white wine—that would be an empty gesture, not an exercise of power.”

  The waiter came and Mr. Page said, “We’ll both begin with the squash ravioli, and for the main course we’ll have the duo of beef.”

  “I’ll enjoy those things, Sir,” she said. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I’m glad you approve of my choice, though I’d be just as happy if you did not.”

  She said, “Either way, Sir, I suppose you’d have the pleasure that comes from being in tune with another person’s feelings.”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “Have a sip of your wine.”

  She raised her glass, keeping an eye on him as she did so. His face remained immobile, but a liveliness in his eye signaled that he enjoyed watching Julia sip a wine she didn’t like.

  “When you swallowed your boyfriend’s semen,” he said as she was lowering her glass, “did you pretend to like it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Just as you pretended at first to like the wine. Was it because you hoped our pleasure would be greater if we thought you enjoyed those things—the semen and the wine?”

  “That’s right, Sir.”

  “That’s a difference between me and what you assumed of your boyfriend. I can’t say that I care much whether or not you enjoy your dinner—my pleasure comes from my satisfaction in having guessed right about your taste in food. But I derive even more pleasure from being obeyed, especially when obedience is at its most significant—when it is difficult for you. You needn’t pretend to like things to please me, Julia. Take another sip of your wine—it will be as if you were swallowing my semen.”

  The glass seemed heavy as Julia lifted it, but the closer she brought it to her lips the more sensuous the act of drinking seemed: as she sipped she was pretty sure she was wet down below.

  “How do you feel?” he asked. “Be honest.”

  “A little turned on, Sir,” she said.

  He smiled for the first time since she’d met him. “Good,” he said. “Now think carefully: your arousal can’t very well come from my comparison of this wine and semen, since you don’t like either of them. So where does it come from?”

  “I don’t know, Sir,” she said, feeling like one of Socrates’ students.

  “Perhaps if I rephrase it as a multiple choice question. Choice one would be that you liked those things—but we’ve ruled that out. Two would be that you enjoyed swallowing the semen and wine because doing so gave pleasure to someone else. Three would be that you found pleasure in obedience itself.”

  “Two definitely, Sir. I don’t know about three. My boyfriend didn’t give commands—he asked.”

  “I also gave you a command when I instructed you to address me as Sir or Mr. Page. Have you been taking any pleasure in obeying that command?”

  Julia paused to assess her feelings. The desire to flee this situation had left her: she had to admit that she was enjoying herself, and a large part of her enjoyment was in the kind of relationship Mr. Page had established, with its extreme imbalance of power. She had enjoyed obeying his commands even if they were arbitrary—perhaps because they were. It was a thrilling game they were playing: she had never felt like this before.

  “I’ve enjoyed obeying, Sir,” she said.

  “Excellent,” he said, and smiled again. “You may be suitable for my purpose.”

  “What is your purpose, Sir, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I am looking for a submissive,” he said.

  “A submissive, Sir? As in Fifty Shades of Grey? Limits, contracts, whippings?”

  He waved his hand. “We would have a contract that specified limits, but in most respects that book is a poor representation of my lifestyle. Let’s just say that I am looking for someone who will accept the submissive role in a relationship. I advertised for a college student because I value youth, beauty, and intelligence, but my most important requirement is that a woman bend to my will.”

  “And that will sometimes involve your commanding me to do things I don’t like,” she said.

  “You’ve again forgotten the correct form of address,” he said. “Does that mean you have reservations?”

  “I’m sorry, Sir. But what if I accept your terms and it turns out that what you want me to submit to is unbearable? If you�
��re going to pay my tuition and living expenses, that gives you a lot of power. I won’t be in a position to refuse you anything at all.”

  “I have to admit,” he said, “your indigence is an attraction. Your total dependence on me would give me real as opposed to imaginary power. But our contract will limit my power. If I violate the terms of the contract, you will have the right to terminate our arrangement.”

  “And what would happen to me if I did that, Sir? I’d be out of money, out of my apartment, out of school, and possibly out on the street. You’ll be just as powerful with a contract as without one.”

  He smiled again. “You’ve got a head on your shoulders. I will place one hundred thousand dollars in escrow with a third party acceptable to both of us. If you feel compelled to terminate the contract for cause, and that person agrees you have cause, the money will be paid to you—in a lump, if you like, or in installments.”

  She said, “That sounds fair, Sir, if we can find such a person.”

  “One of your professors, perhaps. I know a number of people at the university.”

  “Your ad said ‘part-time companionship,’” she said. “How much time is part-time, Sir?”

  “Probably one or two days and nights a week. You’ll be on call, but I won’t interfere with your class schedule, and I’ll leave you plenty of time for study.”

  “We would have sex, Sir?” This had been understood, but Julia wanted to hear him say it.

  “Yes—of course. You would cede to me the use of your body for sexual purposes—and it’s only fair to add that my sexual appetites include a good bit more variety than what you’ve experienced so far in your life.”

  She decided this was not the time to pursue the subject of his sexual appetites. “I don’t want to be a . . . a prostitute, Sir.”

  “‘Kept woman’ is the term, I believe, when your arrangement is with only one man, and the quantitative distinction is also a moral one. A woman who receives money from one man in exchange for sex gets more respect than one who takes all comers. Still, if you have serious moral reservations about it, then this is not an arrangement for you.”

  Julia’s reservations were not moral, exactly. Or rather, morality for her was less an internalized sense of right and wrong than a reflex of her fastidiousness. If Mr. Page had been physically repellent, she would have said no to him on the spot. But though she didn’t find him attractive, she didn’t find the idea of sex with him repulsive: she could do it with him more or less as easily as she’d done it with Alan.

  She said, “If I agree—”

  He interrupted and said, “The only possible agreement right now is to begin contract negotiations, which may succeed or fail. We’ll allow two weeks for that, till, let’s see, January ninth, during which time we will both be tested for sexually transmitted diseases. I dislike condoms, and I want to be able to play without them when the term of the contract begins. Do you use birth control? I’m not keen to litter the planet with brats.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. Oh, yes, and from the moment we agree to work on a contract, you will have sexual relations with no one but me, except as I direct you. Your body will be for my pleasure alone.”

  “Not for mine either, it seems,” she said, and added, “Sir.”

  He said, “You’re catching on. I will be paying for my own pleasure; yours, if you have any, will be incidental.”

  The waiter brought the appetizers, and Mr. Page paid little attention to Julia as they ate. She didn’t mind: it gave her a chance to think about him and what he was proposing. She didn’t like the man: he had no sense of humor and little sympathy for other human beings—or at least for her. He was willing to pay a great deal of money for sex, much of which she was all but certain not to like—she supposed that was the going rate for the exclusive use of a young and pretty woman who was not a whore—yet. Their bargain would be commercial and legalistic—nothing like what she’d been raised to believe a relationship should be.

  But she had known most of that before she’d ever laid eyes on Mr. Page. His ad had made it clear enough that he wasn’t searching for his true love. She reminded herself what she was doing here: she was broke and desperate. If there was another way to pay for her senior year of college, it was all but certain to be worse than this: working as an out-and-out prostitute, maybe, or a drug mule.

  And she had to admit that something about this cold man and his soulless proposal aroused her. His idea of the submissive had stirred a thing inside that she’d never known was there. But who was this Mr. Page? After the waiter had cleared away their plates (Mr. Page had eaten only a little of his), she said, “Can I ask some questions about you, Sir?”

  “Of course,” he said. “In fact, I’ll anticipate some of them. I’ve made promises, and naturally you want to know if I can deliver. I work as a financial consultant for wealthy clients, but that is in the nature of a hobby. Most of my income is from inherited wealth—it comes to one to two million per year, depending on the performance of the markets. I am, in effect, one of the idle rich. You’ll also want to know whether I’ve made this kind of arrangement before. I have, five times over the ten years since my divorce. Three of the young women I’ve employed in that way emerged from the experience in good condition—that is to say, leading more or less conventional lives and successful, as far as I could see. One broke off our arrangement after a week, and one is now working as a very expensive prostitute.”

  “Do you keep in touch with any of them, Sir?” she asked.

  “I keep tabs on them from a discreet distance. Two of them—the prostitute and one other—send me cards from time to time. I read them but do not answer.”

  “You’ve insisted that I shouldn’t have sex with anyone else, Sir: does the same go for you?”

  “That’s not precisely what I said. You will not have sex with others except as I direct. For my part, if I have sex with others it will be no secret from you: indeed, you will probably be present when I do.”

  “You’re into group sex, Sir?”

  “Sometimes, with friends and their submissives. We take pains to ensure everyone’s safety, of course, and how much of that kind of activity you’re willing to engage in will be governed by our contract. You will have veto power over everything.”

  Could she do this? Mr. Page’s proposal frightened her, as did becoming a kept woman or engaging in group sex. Still, though she thought of herself as a person who didn’t get turned on easily, she was more aroused at this moment than she’d ever gotten with actual sex. Their conversation had eroticized an act as ordinary as sipping some wine. Even her dislike of him was sexy, as was her fear. What she’d earlier felt as a stirring inside her had now become an insistent buzz. Maybe she had to do this, but she also wanted to.

  “All right, then,” she said. “Let’s begin contract negotiations.”

  He smiled for the third time that evening, raised his glass, and said, “Here’s to a mutually beneficial arrangement. I believe we have made a good beginning.”

  She returned his smile, raised her glass, and said, “Of course we have, Mr. Page. Didn’t I swallow your semen just a few minutes ago?”

  Still smiling, and meeting his eye, she took another sip of her wine.

  3. Contract signing

  Mr. Page insisted that they choose their impartial third party and that Julia have a talk with that person before committing herself any further. He offered her a choice of several professors who were in the lifestyle, and after some deliberation she chose Ms. Kim, an English professor whom she had taken a class with and liked. A kind and pleasant woman in her forties, scarcely five feet tall, she invited Julia to dinner at her apartment on 71st Street.

  Julia was greeted at the door not by Ms. Kim, but by an attractive, thickset woman in her thirties, with blue hair done in a braid. Aside from black shoes with stiletto heels and a circlet of some dark metal around her neck, she was entirely naked.

  “You must be Julie,” she said pleas
antly as Julia struggled to recover her composure. “I am Noye. Please come in.”

  She showed Julia into a living room, where Ms. Kim, dressed casually in jeans and a gray sweater, rose from a chair and greeted her cordially.

  After Noye had brought a glass of chardonnay, Ms. Kim said, “Arthur has told me very little. He suggested that you yourself explain your situation and the arrangement you’re contemplating with him.”

  She listened to Julia’s story attentively behind steepled fingers, and when it was done she said, “The life of a submissive is strenuous. It can be one of great joy if you are suited to it; if not, it will bring you much misery. The difficulty is figuring out whether you’re suited to it before you commit yourself.”

  Glancing at Noye, who, wearing an apron now, was in the dining area setting the table, Julia asked, “Are you a dominant,” Ms. Kim?

  Ms. Kim called, “Noye!” The woman came to the living room and said, “Yes, Soyuja?”

  “Tell Julie about yourself.”

  “I am Mistress Jang-mi’s slave,” said the woman, pleased to have been asked.

  “Her slave?”

  Noye nodded and said, “Yes, Julie.”

  “The dominant/submissive relationship can take many forms,” said Ms. Kim. “Noye regards herself as my property, and she chooses to yield to my authority at all times and in all things.”

  “But she’s not really a slave,” said Julia.

  “Slavery is illegal in this country,” said Ms. Kim with a smile, “and as a Korean, I am, for historical reasons, very sensitive to the issue of sexual slavery. Noye is a consensual slave: that is the way our love for each other expresses itself. Thank you, Noye. You may return to work.”

  She bowed and retreated to the dining area.

  “Mr. Page isn’t into love,” said Julia. “What he has in mind is a purely commercial transaction, without emotional content.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Of course it does. It feels like I’m selling myself. But I’m not sure I have much choice in the matter.”

  “You have a number of choices. You could take a leave of absence and apply again for financial aid on your return. You could transfer to a less expensive school and work your way through. You could withdraw from the university and see what success you could achieve with three years of college behind you—you might be surprised. The fact that you’re thinking about Arthur’s proposal at all suggests to me that you find it more attractive than all the many alternatives.”