Ghost

by John Ringo

  "You're an adult now, Courtney," her mother said sadly. "You can do whatever you want. Are you okay for money?"

  "Yeah, we're . . . fine," Courtney said.

  "What's wrong?" Abigail asked. "And don't say 'nothing.'"

  "I need a favor," Courtney admitted. "And I don't want you to freak. Or Dad. And I can really see Dad freaking."

  "What's wrong?" her mother asked. "You are okay?"

  "I'm fine," Courtney said, shaking her head from side to side. "It's just . . . I need a favor. Uhm . . . Pam and I met this really nice guy down here. And . . . we want to go to the Bahamas with him on his boat . . ." she said, pausing and wincing. "He really is a nice guy, Mom. And he's really into making sure we feel safe about it. We went out fishing yesterday for dolphin, the fish not the other, mahi-mahi . . ."

  "I know what dolphin is, dear," her mother said tightly. "I'm just having a problem with my little baby meeting some guy with a boat . . . what kind of boat?"

  "Well, more of a yacht," Courtney said. "He's a SEAL who's retired and made money selling what he calls widgets to the military. Now he lives down on the boat. Honestly, Mom, he hardly even tried to pick us up. Just asked if we wanted to go fishing and said to give him a call. But . . . it's a really nice boat and he's a nice guy and I've never been to the Bahamas . . ."

  "Courtney," her mother said, sighing. "Yes, okay. But . . . yes, you're a grown-up young lady and can make your own decisions but . . . how old is he?"

  "Thirty something," Courtney said tightly. "I know that's kind of old, but he's in . . ." She paused and sighed. "Really incredible shape, even with all his . . . anyway, he's a really nice guy, Mom. And he told us we could stay as long as we liked, as long as we left on time to go back to school."

  "Sounds like he's got the best of both worlds," Abigail said. "He gets fun and then when the summer's over . . ."

  "I guess, maybe," Courtney said. "But it doesn't feel like that. I think he really cares, but he said he has some, complicated commitment issues, too. And I've learned that when he uses the word 'complicated' to be very careful where I tread."

  "That sounds ominous," Abigail said. "Honey, are you sure about this?"

  "Yes," Courtney said definitely. "It's not going to interfere with school and I'm having . . . lots of fun. I really want to do this. Some kids get to go to Europe for the summer. You know I couldn't do that. I'd like to at least get to the Bahamas. Please, Mom?"

  "I think you don't know what you're getting yourself into," Abigail said carefully. "But you are an adult. But, honey . . . be careful, okay?" She paused for a time and Courtney wasn't sure what she wanted to say.

  "Mom," Courtney said. "Mike's all over about safety with us. He's . . . he really wants to make sure we're not only safe, we feel safe. And he's . . ." She stopped and sighed. "There's things I'd like to talk about, but you're my mother. I don't think you'd understand."

  "You might be surprised, dear," Abigail said gently.

  "If you do understand, I don't want to know," Courtney said, sighing, then paused. "Mom, have you ever heard the . . . term I guess: scene."

  There was a very long pause.

  "Yes," Abigail said calmly.

  "Oh," Courtney replied, her eyes widening.

  "Is he a top or a bottom?" Abigail asked.

  "A what?" Courtney asked.

  "Is he a dominant or a submissive, then?" her mother asked.

  "Mom!"

  "Dear, do you know what a spreader bar is?"

  "Mom!" Courtney gasped. "No. And I don't want to know if you do!"

  "You know those rosewood planter hangers in your father's and my bedroom?"

  "Mother!"

  "Now I'm particularly worried, Courtney," Abigail said firmly. "Because I know exactly how badly this can go. I don't think you have any idea . . ."

  "Mike . . . talked about that a little," Courtney said. "About . . . only doing . . . that behind the bedroom door. But he also said something about . . . sometimes it's a bit hard to figure out where the bedroom door is."

  "That's simple," Abigail said. "You simply don't do anything in such a way as mundanes are aware. But he sounds like he kind of has his head on his shoulders. However, safety is important, I don't think you realize how important. I've had a good friend die because her dom didn't get a gag off in time. And . . . many people who get far into the scene never have a normal life. It's a form of arrested development and I'm not sure if it's a chicken or egg situation, whether they weren't ever going to get beyond that stage or if getting too far into the scene caused it. I don't want that happening to you, Courtney, you have too much potential. And what you're doing, really, is called boat bunnying. Buying your way to a vacation on your back—"

  "Mike invited us before we'd . . . done anything," Courtney said. "He said he wouldn't kick us out of bed but there were no strings. I don't think there are any even now. I think I could say 'I'd like to just go along for the ride' and it would be fine. But . . . I can't believe I'm having this conversation with my mother!"

  "I don't think you know what truly good is, dear," Abigail said, trying to get through to her.

  "I know Pam came at least three times last night," Courtney said. "And I don't know whether to count this morning as one, two or one continuous amazing climax, Mother, if you want me to be blunt."

  "Oh," Abigail said. "Uhm . . . What was his name again?"

  "Mother!"

  "Well, your father and I do swing," Abigail said.

  "Mother!"

  "And, I suppose I'm probably too old for him, but some guys do enjoy mother-daughter action . . ."

  "Mother!"

  "Sorry, dear, just teasing," Abigail said, laughing. "You started this."

  "There are things you don't want to know about your parents!" Courtney said, closing her eyes, tightly. "God!"

  "This is a conversation, frankly, that I've both wanted to have and dreaded," Abigail said sadly, "because things like this, I've noticed, tend to run in families. Now you know why I've tried to get you to act more like a lady. A woman should be a perfect lady in public and a whore when the bedroom door closes. And the bedroom door, dear, is anything that prevents the mundanes from knowing what is going on. I won't tell you some of the things that I've done that would shock you. But they would shock you. And there is a group here, friends of ours. All the times your father and I went out to 'dinner and a movie' and left you with a sitter, we weren't going out to a movie."

  "Do I know any of these people?" Courtney said, her eyes wide.

  "Yes," her mother said. "And I won't name names. I strongly doubt that you'd guess who most of them are."

  "Mrs. Mathers," Courtney said definitely. "But . . ."

  "She wouldn't mind," Abigail said humorously. "Good guess. But call her Mistress Mathers, if you would. But not in public."

  "God," Courtney said. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation."

  "I'm telling you this so you understand that I'm not just some old fogy of your mother," Abigail said. "I know what you are getting into. And it can be . . . yes, wonderful. It also has a real element of danger. And I don't know your master. I would have much preferred that you become involved with a master I knew I could trust. One who wouldn't . . . warp you and who will be cautious about . . . various things. Are you a mas, dear?"

  "Mom, you're getting beyond me, here," Courtney said, her head reeling.

  "Are you a masochist?" Abigail said tightly. "Has he whipped you?"

  "No!" Courtney said. "God, Mother."

  "Okay." Abigail sighed. "We'll talk about that later."

  "Mom?" Courtney said, her eyes wide. "Are you a . . . mas?"

  "No comment," Abigail said.

  "Mom?"

  "Well," her mother said, "you know how sometimes we'd go to the pool and I'd wear a shirt and long pants?"

  "Mom?"

  "Choose your own limits, dear," her mother said tightly. "And allow me to choose mine."

  "What are your limits?" Courtney as
ked.

  "That is for me, and your father, to know," Abigail said primly. "But I will say that . . . there is a terrible glory in a good whipping."

  "Mother!"

  "Don't let him strike you on the breasts or across the kidneys. He should know that. I don't suppose I could speak to this young man?"

  Courtney's eyes flew wide in horror at the thought and she shook her head.

  "I don't think . . ."

  "If you're going out of the country with him, surely I should speak to him," Abigail said with remorseless logic. "And much more so if you're going to enter a master-slave relationship."

  "Mother!"

  "Clear communication is vital in a relationship like that, dear," her mother said.

  "I'm an adult, mother," Courtney said, shaking her head.

  "And do you want your birth certificate?" Abigail said. "How am I going to get it to you?"

  "He gave me his FedEx number," Courtney said. "He still does some consulting for the military."

  "You're sure this person isn't simply . . ." Abigail said and paused. "There are many people who . . . talk about having experiences they didn't have. Up to pathological liars, who are very dangerous people, dear."

  "Well, from his scars, I'd say not," Courtney answered. "He's been shot, that's for sure."

  "Oh," Abigail said uncertainly. "I really do need to talk to this young man."

  "He's not exactly young," Courtney said.

  "He's in his thirties, dear," her mother said. "I am forty-two. He's a young man to me."

  "Okay," Courtney said, sighing. "Hang on."

  She went up on deck where Mike was backing the boat into the dock.

  "Courtney, could you grab those . . ." He started to say, then saw she had the phone clutched to her chest.

  "My mom would like to talk to you," she said desperately.

  "I half-expected that," Mike said. "But I need to get the lines on, first."

  Mike got the boat secured to the rear and decided the rest could wait. He walked over to Courtney and took the phone.

  "Mike Jenkins," he said. "This is Courtney's mother?"

  "Yes," Abigail said pleasantly. "How do you do, Mr. Jenkins?"

  "Fine," Mike replied, going into the closed bridge and then down to the lounge. He could faintly hear Pam doggedly arguing with someone in her cabin.

  "I understand you'd like to go to the Bahamas with my daughter?" Abigail asked.

  "If it can be arranged," Mike answered. "Getting over there is easy, you just point the boat east and go. Getting back, however, requires getting past American customs and immigration. They want to ensure that even your daughter is, in fact, an American citizen. Thus the birth certificate."

  "It's the going on the trip that interests me," Abigail said sweetly. "I understand you're a top?"

  Mike paused and his eyebrow raised.

  "Have an interesting conversation with Courtney?" Mike asked. "I heard the occasional shouts of 'Mother!' from the flying bridge. Yes, I am."

  "Are you a member of the Society?" Abigail asked evenly.

  "No," Mike said. "I've never been in the Black Rose. It's . . . a bit further out than I care to go. I don't suppose you were at Disclave?"

  "No," Abigail said tartly. "But I've heard the story. I'm very worried about safety."

  "And I know what safety you're worried about," Mike said, shrugging. "I was in a monogamous dom-sub relationship for seven years with no problems. The girls are . . . inexperienced. That is, of course, fun. But I'm being very careful and intend to be very careful with their boundaries and with all standard safety issues, especially gags. I generally prefer ring gags, anyway, which are about as safe as you can get. I order from JR and Discrete in Boston."

  "Oh, do you know Bob Thorson at Discrete?" Abigail asked.

  Mike opened his mouth to reply and froze. He did, but not as Mike "Jenkins." Bob was a former Force Recon Marine and had a Ph.D. in Abnormal Psychology. He was a world expert in B&D and S&M and had been an adjunct professor at Harvard before quitting to become, in his words, "a professional pervert," and opening a bondage shop. His favorite part was that he didn't have to pay for workers; all his assistants were volunteers who got "paid" in testing out the gear he ordered.

  "Mr. Jenkins?"

  "Mike, please," he replied. "Ma'am, I do, but not as Mike Jenkins. Due to the work that I do with the government, I have more than one, fully legal, identity. That is not bullshitting and I'd prefer that you not tell the girls." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "If you want a reference, ask him about Mike Harmon." Shit, he even knew his damned team name! "But I'd really prefer that you just say some guy named 'Mike' who used to be a SEAL."

  "Okay," Abigail said uncertainly. "That bothers me, but I'll call Bob and ask him. Did you know him when he was a Marine?"

  "No," Mike said. "That was before my time and the teams and Recon don't mix much, anyway. I called him to order some stuff and we got to talking, you know how he is. I was pretty inexperienced at the time. I'd been doing B and D and didn't know what I was doing and I got his book . . ."

  "Roses is a great book," Abigail said, the grin clear in her voice.

  "That it is," Mike said, grinning right back. "Anyway, we got to talking. I was a SEAL instructor at the time, married. He gave me a great lecture on safety . . ."

  "He's big on safety," Abigail said. "I'd hate to say 'too' big on safety, but . . ."

  "He's a pro," Mike said, shrugging. "Anyway, I know him. But he doesn't know me as Mike Jenkins. He doesn't even know that I'm in the Keys, or for that matter out of the teams. I don't think I've talked to him in three or four years. He might not remember me."

  "Well, I think I'll take you on your word," Abigail said. "What are you planning on doing for scene with the girls?"

  Mike rolled his eyes and shrugged.

  "We've got the time and luxury to . . . take our time," Mike said. "I'd, frankly, planned a rather drawn-out slave-training scene. Captured girls, being taken on a boat to be sold, et cetera. Pseudo Gorian, I suppose."

  "Sounds heavenly," Abigail said, sighing. "But . . ."

  "I don't intend to break them," Mike said. "I want them to be clear about the bedroom door. If they want to expand, later, fine. But . . . I don't want the scene to become their life."

  "You're pretty smart for a SEAL," Abigail said.

  "We're smarter than you think," Mike said. "But . . . I'm a bit unusual even for a team guy, yeah."

  "Well, give me the FedEx number and I'll get the birth certificate out today," Abigail said, then sniffed theatrically. "My little girl is growing up and getting her own master. It's so sad."

  "Mrs. Tray?" Mike said. "And is it Mrs. Tray or Mistress Tray?"

  "Oh, it's Mrs.," Abigail said.

  "Mrs. Tray? You are a nut."

  "Takes one to know one," Abigail said, laughing. "Be careful with my daughter, please, Mike whoever you are."

  "Harmon," Mike said quietly.

  "You're not DEA or something, are you?" Abigail asked.

  "No," Mike said, chuckling. "I don't do the drug thing. I do the other war."

  "Oh. Well, it was good talking to you Mr. . . . Jenkins," Abigail said after a moment's thought. "And, well, if you're ever in Steelville and are interested in training a forty-two-year-old slave, give me a call," she said with a laugh.

  "Hmmm . . ." Mike said, smiling. "Do you look anything like your daughter?"

  "Somewhat older," Abigail said. "I keep in pretty good shape, though."'

  "You tempt me, madam," Mike said, smiling.

  "I'll let you go to tempt my daughter now," Abigail said. "Good talking to you."

  "And you," Mike replied, hitting the disconnect and going up on the flying bridge.

  "I need a beer," Courtney said. "I can't believe the conversation I just had with my mother."

  "I can't believe the conversation I just had with your mother," Mike said, sighing and sitting down next to her. "But I don't suppose there's any possibilit
y of mother-daughter . . ."

  "Don't even go there!" Courtney said, dropping her face into her hands. "Oh, God!"

  "Well, she did suggest if I was ever in Steelville I should give her a call," he said teasingly.

  "Oh, God!" Courtney replied, shaking her head. "There are things you don't want to know about your parents!"

  "Well, that wasn't fun," Pam said, coming up on deck. "They're going to 'think' about it. My mom's calling Courtney's mom to talk to her."

  "Oh," Courtney said, shaking her head. "That could be bad."

  "Why?" Pam said. "Did she go off on you?"

  "No," Courtney said. "But . . ."

  "Courtney just found out far more about her parents' love life than she ever wanted to," Mike said. "So did I."

  "My mom came on to him!" Courtney wailed.

  "What?" Pam gasped.

  "Her parents are, apparently, in the 'scene,'" Mike said, chuckling. "We had a long talk about bondage safety."

  "Dad whips her," Courtney gasped. "My mom has always been the boss in the family. This is getting a little hard to take."

  Pam's phone rang and she looked at it as if it was a snake, then hit Connect.

  "Yeah, Mom?" she said, then blinked. "Really? Great. Okaaay." She held it out to Mike. "She wants to talk to you."

  "Hello?" Mike said, trying not to sigh. This was turning into one hell of a lot of work for a couple of . . . no, it wasn't. What in the hell was he thinking?

  "Yes, ma'am," Mike said, taking a breath and definitely not sighing. There was a pause as he listened to Pam's mother.

  "Go ahead," Mike said, his eyebrows raising.

  "Probably ring," Mike said. "Some ball but only monitored. Possibly cock." . . .

  "I will be." . . .

  "I'm still making up my order in my mind," Mike said. "But leather. Probably locking." . . .

  "Can't get it off if there's a panic attack," Mike said. "You can cut leather." He looked over at Pam, who was staring at him, wide-eyed, and shrugged.

  "Possibly," Mike said. "I'm a trained bosun, we are trained to raise multihundred-ton boats. In a storm. If I do, it will probably be my own rig; I don't like most of the suspension rigs out there." . . .

  "I'm going to contract and do the best negotiation I can," Mike said. "I was going to go over that sometime today or tomorrow and no major scene until we do." . . .