by Nikki Sex
André has a male slave with him. As I arrive the man is licking one of André’s shiny brown boots. André rests his other boot at the back of the man’s neck, while his riding crop casually and repetitively slaps the man’s naked buttocks with gentle force.
I ask André if I might have a word with him. André looks at his friend, who excuses himself and leaves with his sub.
He holds his index finger up, in a ‘Just a minute’ signal.
“Un instant s'il vous plait,” André says. He speaks what sounds like German to his sub, who sits up immediately. André inserts earplugs in the man’s ears and then presses his slave’s head onto his thigh.
The man quivers with pleasure as André strokes his short hair, his neck and nape. “You may speak freely now,” he says.
“I didn’t know that you were into male subs,” I blurt out without even considering just how wrong what I said is, on so many levels. Shit, that was rude. I’m sure that my embarrassment shows on my face.
André complacently shrugs his shoulders in that uniquely Gallic way. There’s wholesome joy in the enigmatic smile that he gives me. It’s so captivating that I figure that Mona Lisa has nothing on him.
“All people interest me,” André says simply.
“Ah. I see.” I remember the man licking his boot. “I didn’t think you were into that kind of humiliation, either,” I add, as long as he doesn’t mind my asking.
André’s raises his eyebrows. “I am not.”
I grin back and sit down beside him. I think that even if I spent my whole life with him, the unique Frenchman would continue to surprise me. I clear my throat. “If you have time, I’d like your advice about Emily.”
“Assurément. D'accord! But what do they say? The worst vice is advice? Generally, it is best to keep one’s own counsel.” He gives me a princely half-bow. “And yet, I am at your service. How may I help?”
I run my fingers through my hair in a combination of irritation and anxiety. “Even though we’re engaged to be married and the invitations have even gone out, Emily still doesn’t trust me,” I say. “She believes that someday I’ll be unfaithful. We’ve talked about it and I’ve reassured her, as much as humanly possible. The problem, I think, is that she knows that I’ve been with lots of other women.”
“It is this matter that you have addressed? You believe this is the problem?”
“Yes.”
“J’ assure, your past excesses with other women – it is not the problem. These women are in your past. Your problem is in the present.”
I think about this for a moment. I’m not sure what he’s trying to tell me, but I press on. “Okay well, logically she has no reason to fear or not to trust me,” I say and I can hear the moody frustration in my own voice. “It’s not that she always talks about it, but I see the doubt in her eyes. She fell in love with me when we were kids and has wanted me all of her life. I was always unattainable. Now, she continues to believe it. I think that maybe she doesn't feel sexy, worthy or beautiful enough. She chooses to justify what she believes to be her fate... a life devoted to loving me, without really having me. She’s holding back. She won't allow herself to believe that I’m committed to her, because of the potential danger to her heart.”
A waitress in a dark purple corset stops beside our table. “Can I get either of you something to drink?”
“I’ll have a Corona, thanks,” I say.
André looks up at her and smiles. “Nothing, merci.”
A tinge of pink colors her face and it’s my turn to grin. André has that effect on women. When the waitress leaves, the Frenchman returns his attention to me.
I take a deep breath. “The thing is, Emily can't fully enjoy ‘us’ because she constantly reminds herself of the grief that I’m going to cause her ‘when’ I’m unfaithful. I’ve actually caught her crying just imagining it. It’s self-inflicted. Grief to prevent grief... does that make sense? But I think it’s an emotional response, not based on logic.”
I stand up then and pace. This subject always gets me wired. I try to walk off some of my nervous energy while still talking to André.
“It’s like she refuses to get her hopes up,” I say, flinging my hands in the air. “She’s forgoing true joy of the moment, to prevent the possibility of hurt that might happen later. I’ve shown Emily all of myself, my darkest desires. She knows every secret of mine, things I’ve never told anyone, but it’s not enough. Em’s holding back. She doesn’t trust me completely, but she denies me nothing. The more I take from her, the less I feel I have.”
The waitress returns with my Corona. I hand her a bill and tell her to keep the change. I take a long drink and put the bottle back on the table.
I frown. “Meanwhile, almost as if to make up for it, she tries to make me push her limits as a sub. Don’t get me wrong, I like pushing limits. But in her case it’s like she’s jumping off a cliff in an attempt to prove something to me. Or to herself.”
“And so,” André says. “You tell me that Emily pushes the boundaries in her effort to give herself fully to you. Yet still, she holds back. She keeps a part of her heart away from you, trying not to be hurt. Preparing herself for when you leave her for another. Oui?”
“That’s right.”
André laughs. It’s a low, lighthearted sound. I find myself smiling. I know he’s not laughing at me, this is just him.
“I tell you this,” he says. “You and Emily are much alike. As a child she turned to love, service and helping others. You turned to anger and the need for control. Observe.”
He holds up his hand, palm up, in a universal sign for halt. “Put your hand against mine.”
I do.
“Bon. Très bon.” He presses his hand against mine and I push against his.
André chuckles. “Oui. It is very good. Continue to push against my hand. Yes. Do you see? As long as we both push against each other, there is the problem. It does not resolve. Do you see? This is what I observe between you and Emily. This hidden battle that you unknowingly fight together.” He gives me a boyish grin. “It is most interesting.”
I continue to push against André’s hand while I try to fathom what he’s talking about.
“Bien! Now, watch most carefully what takes place.”
At this point, André drops his hand. He smiles when my hand falls, too. “Ah! I have given in,” he says happily. “And so, what has happened? You have nothing to struggle against. It is most clear. Only one of you must stop fighting in order to resolve this problem between you.”
I frown and think this over. André thinks that Emily and I are engaged in an ongoing battle that we’re not even aware of. How does that work?
While I don’t understand this fully, I have to wonder if he could be right.
Chapter 45.
“One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”
– Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
~~~
I shake my head. “I don’t get it, André. I swear I’ve tried everything.”
“Have you?”
I stop pacing and meet his dark gaze. It’s as if a message passes between us. André nods and I give him a shrug. “Well. Obviously, I haven’t tried everything,” I admit.
André stops stroking his sub and casually rests his hand on the man’s nape. The man sighs with pleasure. “It is a most interesting situation and I will tell you why,” André says. “This foolishness you speak of appears to be Emily’s foolishness. Perhaps a man might suggest that it is a woman’s foolishness. Comprenez-vous?”
“Oh, sure.” I think of the saying, Bitches be crazy. Women just sometimes seem to get something in their head and can’t get over it.
“Ah,” André says with a light in his eyes. “You understand that men and women differ in countless ways, many of which we are not conscious of. We men have much more muscle mass and brute strength. The Bon Dieu gave us this, no? So what did he give women to compensate for such inequality?”<
br />
I shrug and don’t answer. As far as I can tell, women get to be super emotional and bleed every month. God gave them a raw deal in my humble opinion.
“Do you wish to hear what I believe? It is my own opinion, of course.”
I sit back down beside him. “Yes. By all means, enlighten me.”
André smiles. “J’adore all women. They are so magical, so distinctive and so very different from a man. Women, they have feelings, they have the emotions and intuition. From the eyes of a man, these are not always grounded in logic. So are these feelings wrong? Non! Perchance it is men who are naive. How can we see something we are unaware of? Are we blind? If so, perhaps it is we men who cannot see and feel what a woman instinctively knows.”
I frown and André gives me a few moments to think this through. Could it be that Emily senses something about me or our relationship that I can’t even imagine? We’ve talked about our issues at length, but I still can’t fathom what her problem is.
Frustration is thick in my voice. “So I’m blind? How is knowing that supposed to help?”
A long sentence of voluble French comes out of André’s mouth. I suspect that I’m an idiot and I’m trying his patience. Ever courteous, he doesn’t openly display his annoyance. A small vent in French is all that he allows himself.
When he stops and meets my gaze, I see sympathy and understanding in André’s dark eyes. “It is most difficult to know what one does not know, yes?” he murmurs.
I nod my agreement and take in a deep breath.
“Eh, bon,” he says. “State what you believe the problem is in one sentence, if you please.”
Wow. Tough one. I shuffle through all of the information I have, think it over and finally come out with, “Even though we’re getting married, Emily still doesn’t believe that I’m fully committed to her.”
“Tres bon!” André says and claps his hands. “Most admirable and succinct. Let us for a moment imagine that Emily’s perception concerning your lack of commitment is correct…”
“But…”
One stern look from André, silences me completely. The Dom in him, a man of infinite experience, trumps me. He’s probably only ten years older, but he’s closer to a hundred years more experienced. His power eclipses mine by far.
“As I was saying,” André begins again, “imagine, if you please, that Emily’s feminine intuition and perceptions are correct. You seek to solve her insecurities and yet she is not the problem. What if the problem is you?”
“I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“You, mon ami, are ignorant of something fundamental. Her doubts are built on the solid foundation. It is perhaps something your Emily senses with her heart but is unable to explain with words. You say that you speak honestly together. If she has told you the problem, you did not hear her. Think now. How could this be true?”
I cast my mind back, going through my all actions, my opinions and manner of behavior, trying to see what I could be doing or not doing. I must be deep in thought, because André brings me back with a touch to my hand.
“I believe that I understand you, my friend,” André says with quiet confidence. “It is often the way of someone who has associated control with life, and loss of control with death. In such cases, I believe that it is very difficult to surrender. And yet it is not the desire to have power, or to be powerless that is the aberration. No!”
He raises both hands in a passionate gesture. “Alors. It is the inability to change. To shift in the attitudes, the ideas and the emotions. It is most rational to cry if your beloved pet dies, yet if you are still crying three years later? Such is lunacy! It is fixation that leads to insanity. A person must be flexible. Inflexibility…”
He goes off in another string of passionate French for a moment. When he regains his composure he says, “Inflexibility, it is a form of madness. Emily is right to doubt you. All of this time, you think her fears are unfounded. I submit to you now that her woman’s intuition is correct. Do you trust her?”
“Of course, completely.”
“Oh? What evidence do you have of this trust?”
“I’m going to marry her,” I say, raising my voice. “I live with her, I tell her all my secrets and I barely even look at other women.”
“And so. Emily meets your needs. Do you meet hers?”
“Of course.”
“Hmm. And yet Emily does not feel that you have fully given yourself to her. My friend, I have given you much to think of, oui?” He shifts his attention toward his sub. He’s finished with me apparently.
“But André,” I say. “You haven’t told me what to do!”
“I have. I have told you that the problem is not with Emily, but with you. I have asked you to think about it.”
“I still don’t get it, André.”
“Then I leave you with this question: What would have to happen for you to give yourself completely to Emily?”
My head is spinning. I’m going to marry the woman. I live with her. I share her bed. We have great sex. We talk about everything. I’m faithful. What else is there?
André must read the chaos in my mind. His eyes soften, his tone is sympathetic. “Mon ami, je suis désolé. If I provide you with the key to this puzzle, you will not appreciate it. Some truths can be only be discovered when a person is willing to look with the heart, not the eyes. In this, you must seek the answer for yourself.”
“But, it’s not enough,” I protest.
“Yes, I know. But I have given you something to think on, no?” He nods his head in a dismissive manner and returns his attention to his neglected slave.
Frustrated and more confused than ever, I leave.
Chapter 46.
"Life's most obvious truths are the hardest to see, but once you've burned everything down to the ground they are the only things left standing."
– André Chevalier
~~~
It’s been three days since Emily crashed my car. Actually, it’s been three days since my car’s wheel fell off and in crashing, hurt my little rabbit. Even though she’s still bruised and sore, hard worker that she is, Emily came in to work today.
The police still have nothing to say.
My day is done, I look forward to going home, having a beer and eating dinner. Emily left twenty minutes ago, to attend her photography class. Temporarily car-less, I rode my motorcycle in. That’s why I’m surprised when I get a text from her.
“I’m at the little park at the back of the store. Can you meet me?”
Well. That’s just about the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. What is she doing there? I hit speed dial to ring her, but she doesn’t pick up. Resigned, I walk down the stairs, passing Lily Turner on the way through. That means Reggie must be around here somewhere, too.
I keep my eye out for Reggie, but don’t see him. He’s pretty sneaky. I swear to God that kid’s going to be a spy when he grows up. Whatever terrible thing happened to him sure made a big impression. Still, he’s chilling out more and more each day.
I walk out the front of the store and all the way around the back. The quick route through Jarman’s, exiting through ‘Dispatch and Stores’ won’t work. Everything is locked up in the back of the store. It’s just dusk and I can’t for the life of me figure out why Emily wants to meet me there.
The woman loves a good joke. She’s the queen of mischief and teasing. I wonder what the little minx has in store for me.
I walk up to where we usually eat, near the little table. The main road isn’t far from this little copse of trees. It’s pretty loud out here at this time of night. Lots of traffic on the road as people go home.
“Stop right there,” a woman’s voice says.
I turn around, confused, but not alarmed. Not until I see her face. Rose fucking Dunlop’s mother. Holy shit. Rose fucking Dunlop’s mother is holding a fucking gun.
I hold up my hands in a gesture to appease her, as a thrill of raw, intense fear runs through me. It’s astonishing
how instantly alert one becomes, when someone’s pointing a gun at you.
“Mrs. Dunlop, is there a problem?” I ask, forcing myself to speak calmly.
The woman’s in her fifties, but even in the darkening light of early evening, I can see madness in her eyes. “You were supposed to marry my Rose. She was pregnant, but the baby died. You broke Rose’s heart.”
It takes a moment for my brain to process this. I can’t follow her train of thought. Like a twig floating down a stream, I get caught on this big boulder and can’t get past it. Baby? What baby? There’s no way I could’ve gotten Rose pregnant… is there? I can’t see how. Maybe someone else got her pregnant?
I finally say, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dunlop. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then you got engaged to Emily Malone!” she snarls, shaking the gun at me. “It was on the billboard. Everyone saw it! That’s when I tried to run her over. But that didn’t work.”
“You tried to run Emily over with your car?”
My fear disappears – it’s replaced by fury. I suddenly recall seeing the flash of a white Civic in Jarman’s parking lot. Em has a white Civic, I think stupidly. And so does Mrs. Dunlop.
“Then I fixed your car. I decided to kill you both.”
“You made the wheel fall off my car?” I find this difficult to believe.
Mrs. Dunlop gives me a smug look. “You left your car in the garage. I sawed most of the way through the wheel studs where they meet the rotor and then re-mounted the tire and tightened the bolts again. Metal fatigue softened and broke the bolt studs, but you weren’t in the car!”
I suddenly remember that Rose Dunlop’s dad is a mechanic with his own garage. Clearly her mother works there, too.
“So I had to get you to come out here. For that I needed Emily’s phone.”
Fuck. Terror floods through me. It’s as if I’ve fallen into a river filled with the melting runoff from snow. I have ice in my veins. Icy cold I freeze, literally unable to move.
“Where is Emily?” I say in a deceptively calm voice. “How did you get her phone?”