"But people do!" She exclaimed. "I know they shouldn't. I suspect that they know they shouldn't. But people like to judge. It seems to make them feel better about themselves. Why is that?"
"I think you make the point yourself. They do it to make themselves feel better. It isn't about you. It is about them."
"But sometimes those people are mean and will tear down those they judge to be weird."
"I suppose they think they are making the world a better place, a little less corrupted for all the people who cannot choose well for themselves. If all there is in the freezer is vanilla, there will be no chocolate ice cream drips on the shirt." I said with a shrug.
"So I have to eat vanilla my whole life, so people won't have to fear seeing chocolate stains? Meanwhile people are throwing tomatoes at each other one booth over. Like that won't stain." She said a bit testily.
"Let me see if I have kept track of our allegories," I said. "You don't like people judging you on sex because there are many other things of greater concern than your sex habits?"
"Exactly," she said with emphasis. "With over drinking and driving, swearing in public, pants that make people with perfectly long legs look and waddle like penguins, people wearing plaids and stripes in broad daylight, why would anyone care what I did in private?"
"You asked." I said quietly. "It seems like it might be you who is concerned about it being normal, not them."
She looked intently at me for a moment, then a broad smile lit up her face. I love it when she does that. "And I don't care if I am weird. I will enjoy it for as long as I like." And then after a pause, "And then maybe a little bit longer."
Chapter 21: End
The two men strolled along the walk, looking out to the Pacific Ocean. Rusted pylons and burnt out piers thrust out to the mild ocean waves as gulls and pelicans swirled and plunged into the surf. Young children made sand castles, old women read books and teenagers sprawled out to return volleyballs. "How about an ice cream?" The taller man asked. The shorter one nodded absently. No one would mistake the two for father and son, not because the difference in age. No, that was there. It was because they were so different physically. The older man was taller, with a dark salt and pepper beard and dark eyes. The younger man was much more fair haired, slighter with blue eyes.
The taller, darker man suffering a slight limp, retrieved two ice cream cones and handed one to the other man with sandy brown hair, with tinges of red-blonde from the sun. "Thanks." And the two of them wandered down the beach past displays of homemade jewelry, cartoony portraits, and photos. It was at one of these last that the two stopped and looked at a sequence of photos, depicting the last night of the burnt out pier that they were walking by. "What's the story about that?" One of them asked the grey-bearded sun-soaked man, who sat in a lawn chair amidst the photo displays. Startled, the man smiled as he looked at the photos.
"It's a great story. I got a call from my friend Ernie one Saturday night, saying to come down here quick. I got here and I was the only one to get the photos for some reason. It was in all the papers."
"Arson?"
"Nobody could prove it, but someone said they saw a boat down near the end of the pier earlier that night; and the owner of the restaurant was said to have a healthy fire insurance policy, despite the fact that it was bleeding money out there. Too pricey for this area. But no one ever proved anything and no one went to trial or went to jail."
"Anyone hurt?"
"No. That's probably why the law wasn't too excited about prosecuting."
"What happened to the restaurant owner?"
"He skedaddled as soon as the insurance money came through. I heard the Bahamas. But no one really knows."
"We'll take this one." The taller man said, taking his wallet out and paying.
"Do you think the story is true, Jack?" The shorter man asked as they walked away.
He laughed, "It doesn't really matter, does it? It's a great story. The truth is just a bonus."
The other nodded and they kept walking down the beach, the wind coming cool off the ocean surf, a dull roar. People pedaled by on beach cruisers, laughing. Eventually, the two men found an empty bench and they sat quietly looking out to sea, finishing their cones and occasionally turning to watch a bikinied young girl sway by.
"I suppose you called this meeting to talk about our precious Catherine, Mike." said Jack.
"You went over the line in Scottsdale, Jack. It pushed her too hard. I have a very slow progression scheduled and you have thrown everything off. I am worried she is going to pull out entirely."
"I know. I'm sorry, Mike. I thought she was ready for the next step."
"This is my gig, my story, my money." Mike said firmly, and just a bit angrily.
"I would have done it with my own money. It would have been worth it." Jack argued.
"You don't get her. She is way too complex for you. The only way you have been getting away with your stuff is because I fed you the right strategy. She is not like your other wounded little birds. There is a lot more going on with her."
"You're right, Mike." The darker man shrugged, "She's a complex one. Have you given any thought about the end game? How does this end with her? It can't last forever."
"Nothing lasts forever."
"That's exactly my point. You'll crush her if she ever finds out. You're the Psych expert here, but even I know that. How are you going to ease her out of this?"
"I know," Mike nodded as he watched a dog chase a Frisbee across the sand. "You almost made the end game kick in early with your stunt in Arizona. But to tell you the truth, this has been such a ride I had lost track of the plan. She's pretty tough, so there are a lot of options."
"Have you thought about stealing her from Steven?"
"Isn't going to happen. She loves the guy like no one's business. Let me give you an example. When he fell off the ladder and they were getting ready to wheel him in the operating room, he said something to her, that she says he doesn't even remember saying."
"That happens," Shrugged the taller man.
The other man continued, "He said: 'If something happens to me, I want you to know that I forgive anything you've ever done or ever will do, except one thing.' "
"I'm assuming she asked what it was. And don't tell me he passed out before he could tell her!"
"No, he didn't. But wouldn't that just drive her crazy, especially if he couldn't remember what he was thinking?”
"No," Mike continued. "He said, ' I won't forgive you if you are sad. Stay happy, no matter what.' "
"The bastard!" Laughed Jack.
"You know, a lot of guys would like her for being happy, but it takes someone like Steven to verbalize it like that. That's why I don't stand a chance of stealing her away. Besides, I couldn't handle her. I know I am not enough for her. I'd go crazy worrying about someone stealing a piece of her from me. I am content to steal a piece of her from Steven, the piece he doesn't even know about."
"How about the piece I've got?" Jack asked with a raised eyebrow.
"You're a research project for her. There will be no connection. She'll be bored with you soon or you with her."
"You're probably right. You don't think she's going to need a submissive fix every so often?"
Mike sighed, and paused before he answered. "I don't know. I don't see her seeking out a BDSM club or a classified ad for some Master. I suspect she'd be willing to live the rest of her life with this taste of the submissive life. It's too bad that Steven can't flip back and forth like she can."
"Well, it's a good thing for us. If Steven gives her all she needs on both ends of the spectrum, he might be able to supply the middle as well."
"The Universal Man to match the Universal Woman." Mike said with a smile. "I suppose it is too much to ask for. But if I was to ask it for someone, it'd be for her."
"Even if it means you would be cut out of her loving life? Don't tell me you love her enough to sacrifice for her!" Jack exclaimed with a smile.
"That gets me back to my previous question. How do we ease out of this?"
Mike shook his head slowly as he stared down into the ground. "I honestly don't know. If she was dumber, we could trick her into confusion and reset the entire thing. But as smart as she is, she'll take a deep breath and start to figure things out. As long as she was acting on pure feeling, we had her where we wanted her. But now you got her thinking. We will have to be very, very careful now."
"I'm sorry, Mike. But your papa's old Captain will make things right. I have never let the team down yet."
Mike smiled ruefully, shaking his head. "It isn't rugby and it isn't college. This is a vibrant person we care about and we can't afford to miss again. Besides, wasn't this how you blew your knee out? Trying to take one for the team? What body part are you willing to give up for the team this time?"
"Not that one, if that is what you are asking." Jack laughed as they stood up, brushing their pants off. They headed back down the beach from where they had come earlier, as gulls danced in the air grabbing breadcrumbs from giggling children. The sun glowed red as it sank behind the ocean cloud bank, the roar of the ocean drowning out everything else but the occasional high pitch call of the gulls or the laughing children.
The End
This ends the Discovery of Catherine, and perhaps someone in you.
The Catherine Series:
Catherine I: Discovery- Three Sides of the Coin
Catherine II: Addiction- Spinning the Coin (Spring 2013)
Catherine III: Atonement-The Coin Comes to Rest
Catherine IV: Connection- The Coin Revealed
Preview of Catherine II: Spinning the Coin
Chapter 1- Captain Jack 1
Thwack!
"Eight! Why did I say eight?" Thought Catherine, as she lay across the legs of Captain Jack, her dress up and her panties at mid-thigh. "I could have said seven or six. There wasn't any correct answer."
"You aren't counting, my Dear." The Captain said firmly. But he didn't mean Dear, not nicely. He had that way about him that made it seem the opposite of Deariness. If she was anything to him, she was a pet-like functionary. Not Dear so much as something to be fond of, something he might miss if he did not have it. But not key to his existence in any way, just a candle on the cake, not even the icing.
Thwack!
"You aren't concentrating, Kitten!" He said sternly. "You must count."
"Two, Master." She said.
"No." He said calmly, raising his hand. "We begin again."
Thwack!
She stiffened; her hand gripped an invisible tennis ball trying to squeeze the air out of it. Then she relaxed as the pain subsided. "One, Master." She said, not quite a whimper.
She could feel him raise his hand and she tightened up. He held the hand with an amused laugh. She relaxed and his hand came down.
Thwack!
She shook. The pain from his huge hand and powerful arm swing seemed all she could bear. But she knew she would. "Two, Master." She said, voice trembling. Why did she say eight? She probably could have imagined a hundred mistakes she had made at dinner, if the tiniest of mistakes could have been counted. A fumbled fork clanking against a plate, a rude question to the waitress, (Well she did count that, though she didn't really think it rude, merely tactless and forthright, but people tend to think that rude so she counted it)."
Thwack!
Oh, the pain! She knew as she held her breath that it would get easier. The heat of the strike would turn warm with a luscious, sensuous pleasure that she barely understood but truly enjoyed. And in a few strokes the immediate pain would seem less. How did that work? She didn't know.
"Three, Master." She said, wriggling her hips on his lap, feeling his hard cock through his pants. He liked this! That excited her. It was why she was here, why she had consented to come back after ignoring all those e-mails. Then telling him to stop, and finally agreeing to talk about terms.
Thwack!
It should not hurt this much, she thought. Her eyes were tearing up and she wished she was near the end. When six or seven came up, it was always so close to the end, the pain became more tolerable. If she had said five or six, or even seven she could be in that clubhouse turn headed for the stables, the warmth of her ass settling in a sexy place.
"Four, Master." She said. She wondered if he could see his handprint on her ass. Surely, it would cover all of it. She was proud of her ass, considering it one of her best features, but she warmed internally thinking that his handprint on her ass would turn him on even more. To think that he, unlike Steven she feared, enjoyed seeing her receive pain made her feel more special. His power, her submission seemed to be part of something larger than the two halves.
Thwack!
A salty tear rolled down her face. It wasn't from sadness, bitter and lonely. It wasn't from joy, embracing the glory of the world. It was from the pain, the interaction of the world. It made her feel special. She hadn't really been all that bad. One for the rudeness with the waitress, another two for interrupting the Captain as he pontificated on some such thing or another. He wasn't boring like that. Far from it! No, it was that he sparked ideas that she had to share. But as soon as she spoke, she saw it in his eyes that he did not want to be derailed for the complex web of ideas he was weaving. Three more times for tripping somewhere in the evening. She had no idea how many times she really tripped, but she could remember at least three times when she had to reach for something to keep herself upright or from knocking something down. If anyone truly kept track and spanked her for each misstep, her ass would have the texture of a rhinoceros. How many was that then? Six?
"Six, Master." She heard herself saying, realizing her mistake even as she said it.
"Thwack!"
"You will have to begin again, my Dear." The Captain said evenly.
"Eight. Why did it have to be eight." She thought.
Three Sides of the Coin (Catherine I) Page 21