I Married a Master

by Melanie Marchande

  "I haven't even logged back onto the site that has the legitimate ones," I said. "But that'll teach me to hunt for jobs on Craigslist."

  "Here, I'll help you pick one," he said. "Why don't you log in, read me the headlines. I'm really good at picking things. Ask Daniel about my March Madness brackets."

  I laughed. "That's very generous of you, but their website is a piece of shit. I can't make it work on mobile, and I think I'm done with Craigslist stuff for now."

  "You want to use my computer?" he reached under his desk and pulled out a laptop. "Come on. Don't chicken out on me."

  I rolled my eyes. "Okay, fine. But I'm not making any promises."

  When I flipped the screen open, it blocked my view of his arms. Sigh. But hey, this couldn't possibly hurt. And maybe it would even be productive.

  Suddenly, I heard a tinny version of a familiar song, slightly muffled, and Ben dug into his pocket. He frowned at the screen of his phone.

  "Sorry," he said, glancing up at me. "It's my brother. I've gotta take this. He's in the middle of one of his famous crises."

  "Sure," I said, nodding absently. He disappeared out the door and down the hallway, and I was left alone to browse the listings. None of them sounded good. I was hopeless. Whether it was self-sabotage or not, my own brain was terribly good at convincing me that none of these jobs were worth my time. Maybe Ben was right - maybe this little exercise would actually be good for me. In this case, his judgment might actually be more trustworthy than mine.

  Something told me the conversation with his brother was going to take a while. Absentmindedly, my eyes scanned the menu bar, noticing his most frequently viewed sites. News, news, science news, medical news, more news, FDA news. It made sense, but did he really not have any extracurricular interests?

  He must.

  And I could find out what they were, if I really wanted to.

  His bookmarks were right there. All I had to do was open the window. There couldn't be anything truly confidential in here. He wasn't using it to log into banking or investment websites. The only remotely personal thing I saw was some kind of zombie-killing game that he probably used to blow off steam. Of course, he'd be stupid to let some random person play around on a laptop that might have corporate secrets on it.

  Glancing at the door, guiltily, I opened the bookmarks menu.

  There was a lot more of the same boring stuff in there. It was all sorted into sub-folders, including one called "Recipes" that had a few tasty-sounding ideas in it. I still felt like a total creep, but it was somewhat of a relief that there was nothing scandalous in here.

  A relief...and a disappointment?

  What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I want there to be something wrong with this guy?

  Just close the stupid menu. There's nothing here worth seeing, and you're being totally ridiculous. How would you explain

  There was one folder just labelled "Research." When I hovered over it, there were only a few bookmarks, and each one was just a random string of nonsense letters.

  Curiosity overtook me. Feeling like a total creep, I clicked on the first one.

  Instantly, my eyes snapped shut. Just close it, Jenna. Don't even look at it. He probably forgot this stuff was on there, it's not fair to snoop on him.

  I heard his voice raise slightly in the other room. Not enough to pick out words, but enough to indicate the conversation was either going to end very soon, or drag on for a while longer.

  I opened my eyes, and I saw the site I'd clicked on.

  THE DOMESTIC DISCIPLINE FORUMS.

  I stared. The banner at the top of the page was Photoshopped from a vintage newspaper ad, one that portrayed a stern-looking man with slicked-back hair, who had turned his wife over his knee. Both of them were dressed in typical 1950's outfits, and the woman's look of shock - along with the man's upraised arm - told me everything I needed to know.

  Shit.

  I could hear Ben's voice coming closer. "All right, all right. Listen. I have to go. Please don't do anything stupid, okay? Just sleep on it."

  Frantically, I closed the window and took a deep breath. I was sure I looked guilty as hell. But why on earth had he let me - almost a complete stranger - use his computer? Did he want me to find this?

  Thankfully, when he walked back into the room, he seemed too distracted to notice how I looked. He was pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, face downturned. "I swear to God. My brother. They could make an HBO melodrama series about his life, and it would fit right in."

  "Less incest, I hope," I quipped, before I could stop myself. Instantly, my face turned an even deeper shade of red. Why did I say the most inappropriate things when I was nervous?

  Ben just laughed. "Perv."

  "Hey, they're the pervy ones. Not me." He hardly even seemed to notice I still had his computer, breezing right past me and plopping down behind his desk. He was searching for something in the drawers and piles the paperwork. I breathed a sigh of relief. "What's going on with your brother?"

  "I probably shouldn't say," he said. "But relationship problems run in the family - we'll just leave it at that."

  Laughing, I relaxed into my seat, trying not to think about what I'd just seen. "They can't be worse than yours."

  His mouth quirked up as he turned to look at me. "You'd be surprised. So - find anything promising in there?"

  It took me a few seconds to remember what he was talking about.

  Right. The auditions. Shit.

  I couldn't do this. I couldn't sit here and have a casual conversation with this man, pretending I hadn't seen what I saw. I needed to know. I had to find out what it was. The room suddenly felt stifling, horrifyingly so.

  Swallowing hard, I looked up at him. "Actually, um, I'm kind of tired. Could you point me towards my room?"

  Chapter Ten

  Jenna

  Sleep eluded me.

  I had to know what the hell that website was about. And I was drawing the line at sneaking back down to his library and looking at the computer again. I wasn't a complete degenerate.

  Was he?

  Was it some kind of sex thing? Or was it really some kind of lifestyle that somehow revolved around spanking? Was it some combination of both?

  I laid there in the impossibly plush bed, staring at the glow of my phone, my thumb hovering over the web browser.

  Finally, I typed it. Letter by letter, so slowly, until Google helpfully auto-completed it.

  Domestic discipline.

  I hit "Search," and immediately wished that I hadn't. The glut of information hit me faster than I could absorb it, conflicting terminology and ideas swarming - corporeal punishment, spousal abuse, Christian domestic discipline, erotic spanking. Holy shit.

  Taking a deep breath, I tried to focus in. BDSM. Okay, so that was something I knew about - obviously. Not exactly something I'd ever thought about doing, but I knew plenty of people did. I guessed it was normal for them, even if it didn't make any sense to me. But this? This was something different. Weirdly specific. I couldn't wrap my head around it.

  The one thing I was quickly learning was that it meant different things to different people. For some, it actually was a reflection of their spiritual beliefs. Ben didn't really strike me as the Born Again type, so I figured that was unlikely to be it. But the motives were unclear. It was all about someone being in charge, and someone else being taken in hand - which, as far as I could tell, meant they were treated like a disobedient child who needed to be punished when they stepped out of line.

  My skin was crawling. The word consensual kept coming up. Consensual, consensual, consensual. This was something that both people wanted, every blog article and op ed piece assured me. Except for the skeptical ones, which I had to admit I was leaning towards. Was this just some thinly-veiled way to hurt the one you loved? Or, at least, act out unhealthy relationship impulses?

  I started scanning through the articles available on one of the biggest websites. I ha
dn't yet been able to bring myself to seek out the forum I'd seen on Ben's computer, but I was moving in that direction.

  The titles of the articles were all I could swallow, for now. My eyes started to glaze over.

  When to Stop Spanking - how to tell when your punishment is effective

  Knowing Your Roles

  Asleep At His Feet

  I set my phone down quickly, my heart squeezing in my chest. This was what he was into? Were Maddy and Daniel into it, too? That little gleam in her eyes seemed to hint at something, not to mention Ben's not-so-private conversation with Daniel at the club - but I couldn't imagine the girl I knew in college willingly becoming a domestic servant. I mean, what the fuck.

  This wasn't something people did anymore, was it? I mean, as much as I didn't really understand BDSM, I accepted that it was fun for everybody involved. This didn't seem fun. It seemed way too serious, too reverent of a cultural norm I didn't believe it.

  My curiosity outweighed my cringing, and I returned to my search. I kept going back to the repeated use of consensual. But how could someone consent to a relationship that was so uneven?

  I didn't get it.

  How could anyone live like this all the time? I didn't like the idea of roles. What if I didn't want a role? What if I just wanted to be a human being? I was seeing stories of spouses who felt like they had to adopt this lifestyle, because it was what their other half "needed" - and they claimed to be happy, but it felt hollow to me.

  I mean, how? Why? I wanted to be respected. I wanted to be treated like an adult.

  Taking a deep breath, I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. It didn't matter. The terms of my agreement with Ben had nothing at all to do with his private bedroom activities. But I still felt like I needed to know. Maybe because it seemed to speak to his character. If he really was so attached to the idea of subservient women, could I even pretend to be married to him?

  Opening my eyes again, I saw an article called "In Defense of DD." An acronym that - I had recently learned - referred to domestic discipline.

  I opened it.

  My eyes scanned over the words, seeing them all, but absorbing almost nothing. Then, I reached a paragraph that made me stop.

  Look at it like this: people choose to be married. They choose to live as a couple, in the same home, sharing so many aspects of their lives. Raising children together, usually in monogamy. Many women choose to take their husband's last name, and even wear a ring that declares his "ownership" of them. It's only recently that men began wearing wedding rings with any regularity. And even today, it's quite rare for a man to wear an engagement ring - yet it's considered commonplace for women to display this symbol that hearkens back to the days of women as commodities.

  These are all choices people make, based on nothing but traditions they feel they should reenact. Those who buck the trends are considered strange. But divorced of cultural context, there is nothing objectively stranger about living in a DD partnership than living in a "normal" one. It's not a 24/7 sex game. It's simply another way to live, and for the people who find fulfillment in it, it's beautiful and natural.

  I wanted to believe it. I did. For a long time, I'd viewed this kind of stuff with a sort of "anchovies on my pizza" philosophy. I didn't want them, personally, but far be it from me to deny anyone else. This, though...it was just too strange to me. It wasn't like wearing a wedding ring, or living in the prescribed ritual of husband and wife. You could do that, and still be equals.

  The idea of acting out this kind of fucked-up power dynamic with someone like Ben, who already loomed so large compared to me - what a joke. If anything, he should be submitting to me.

  Right. I managed a tiny laugh. Like I could ever order him around.

  I didn't want to. The thing was, as maddening as he could be, I would never change him. I didn't feel like it was my right.

  And it didn't matter, not really. But I wished that he felt the same way about me.

  ***

  I left early the next morning, before Ben had come out of his bedroom. Slipping quietly down the stairs, I found my clothes in the dryer and changed quickly, dropping his into the washing machine and finger-combing my hair as I walked towards the door.

  Out on the sidewalk, I felt like I could finally breathe again. It was a cool gray morning, not quiet exactly, because this city never was. But it was a quiet murmur, building towards a dull roar.

  Just breathing. I needed to clear my head, to get away from his influence for just a little while. I'd actually joked about him being a cult leader, but I wondered if this was how acolytes started. An inexplicable magnetism. Drawn, against their better judgment.

  Calm down, Hadley. You're sleep deprived. Nothing's going to make any sense for a while. You need to get home and rest.

  But I wouldn't be able to sleep. I knew that already. How could I possibly forget about this, about everything, and just...switch off my brain?

  My mind swirled with all the words and images I'd been devouring since last night, with just a few breaks here and there for fitful sleep. The more I saw, the less I understood, but I had to understand. I had to know. How could someone want this?

  In some corner of my mind a notion was growing, and suddenly I was assaulted with the image of Ben rolling up his sleeves. But not to relax. Not for fun. No.

  For punishment.

  I imagined words spilling from his lips, those full, sinful lips with the little traces of stubble just above and below. Not enough to scratch, just to rasp pleasantly against my skin. Except there would be no kissing, no, not now.

  You've been a bad girl.

  I walked faster, running through an intersection just as the signal was changing. A cacophony of honks accompanied my crossing.

  How long did you think you could get away with this? It's time to accept your punishment.

  There was a sudden awareness between my thighs, and I stole furtive glances around me, like passing pedestrians would somehow know.

  I imagined unspeakable things, and my hazy state somehow gave everything sharper edges, brighter colors. I paused in a little park to...something. I didn't know. Catch my breath? I was breathing awfully fast, and my pulse felt impossibly quick, like my heart could explode at any moment.

  "So that's a 'no' to breakfast?"

  The sound of his voice made my heart leap into my throat. At first I thought I must have imagined it, but no, I wasn't that tired. He was walking towards me, in last night's clothes, and those damn sleeves were still rolled up.

  Did he even go to bed? I'd only assumed. I never actually heard him come up the stairs again. He must have been in the library the whole time, and my furtive escape must have woken him up.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  "I'm sorry," I blurted out, hugging myself tightly, fighting the sudden urge to shiver, though the harsh early morning sun was burning through the last of the night chill. "I just kind of..."

  "Are you okay?" He stopped a few feet away, giving me my space, but barely. He clearly hadn't slept well either, though that might have something to do with the fact that he'd probably just slumped over on his desk. "Last night, it kind of seemed like..."

  I didn't answer, couldn't bring myself to lie.

  He actually looked worried, like it mattered what I thought. Maybe he was concerned that I'd back out of our agreement. I honestly didn't know if that was on the table, or not. I didn't know a lot of things, anymore.

  "...it kind of seemed like something upset you," he said, finally. His eyes briefly darted around us, like he suspected spies hiding in the trees. "I wish you'd come back so we can talk about it."

  I tried to shake my head. I really did. But the muscles wouldn't move. And really, he deserved better than this. No matter what kind of man he was, I should give him more than wide-eyed silence.

  "Tonight?" he suggested, and there was a tight burst of relief in my chest. That would give me the time I needed. Time to clear my head.

  Finally, I managed t
o nod. "Yes," I said, ungluing my tongue from the roof of my mouth. It was difficult. "Tonight, I'll come back. I just need..." I sighed. "I just, I didn't sleep well."

  He nodded. "Me neither. Then again, I usually don't."

  We stood there for a moment, not really looking at each other, not speaking. The air was thick with everything we didn't say. How had this tatted-up, arrogant rich boy managed to twist me around into so many knots, just by existing? Just by asking a favor of me?

  Not even a favor. He wanted to pay me to be his wife. It was the world's strangest job proposal, from a man I didn't understand at all. I was beginning to think I never could.

  He was the one who ended it, turning on his heel and walking back towards his place. "Sleep well, Jenna," he called, over his shoulder.

  I stood there for a moment, still thinking. Just thinking. It was always clearer when he wasn't around.

  And then, I began the long walk home.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jenna

  I woke up in the afternoon. My limbs felt corpse-heavy, and I dragged myself out of bed with such a massive effort that my head was swimming at the end of it.

  And I was supposed to go and see him. Again. Tonight.

  I wouldn't. I couldn't. I had to call him and cancel, but - I realized as I groped for my phone on the stack of boxes that served as my bedside table - I didn't have his number.

  I agreed to marry the guy, and we didn't even exchange contact information. Fantastic.

  After last night, my shower felt like standing under a dripping faucet. But it was better than nothing. I woke up by degrees, the cobwebs slowly dissipating from my mind. I could just stand him up.

  Bad girl, bad girl, bad girl...

  I almost slammed my hand against the shower wall in frustration, before I remembered that my neighbors were about six inches away. No more wall-slamming, I was in the big city now.