A Girl Like You

by vinnie Kinsella

  We had tentative plans to meet over the coming weekend, but it was only Tuesday.

  “Tell me your dreams,” Daniel texted.

  “You mean like flying, or all my teeth falling out?”

  “Not your nighttime dreams—what do you daydream about?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I think about my kids and hope they’ll be happy adults.”

  “I’m talking about fantasies, Jessica.”

  That stopped me cold.

  “I fantasize about winning the lottery. LOL.”

  “Physically. What are your physical fantasies?”

  I thought for a minute. Slimmer thighs didn’t seem to be the kind of answer he was looking for.

  I took the bait. “I think about feeling so good I lose control. Like an out-of-body experience. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Ah,” Daniel texted. “You want to hand over control?”

  Hmmm. Did I want to?

  “I guess maybe. But I’m not exactly passive or anything like that.”

  “Women who want to submit are usually confident, high achievers, very much in charge of their lives. They just want someone to take over during sex.”

  Submit? I had thought about it more than once.

  I had an image in my mind of a woman kneeling naked before a man, kissing his feet. Nope, that wasn’t my thing. But a woman kneeling and giving an exquisite blow job? That could work. I realized I had no idea where the line between conventional sex and erotic submissiveness was drawn. Maybe it was time to find out.

  “I don’t know,” I texted Daniel.

  “Maybe give it some thought, then. See how you feel.”

  I gave it some thought. I didn’t know yet what he was talking about, but whatever it was, I was intrigued. Daniel seemed very confident, and I liked that about him. He was, indeed, a bold man.

  71

  “I made brownies. My hair smells like chocolate and sugar,” I texted Daniel.

  Moments later, “My favorite things: your pretty hair and dessert.”

  Smiling, I sniffed my hair. “If only I could bottle this.”

  “I’m getting hard just thinking about you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Do you want me to send you a picture?”

  “Yes?”

  “Only if you want me to.”

  “I do want it,” I texted.

  And Daniel sent it, and it was amazing.

  “Is this sexting?” I asked.

  “It is, deer. Now it’s your turn,” Daniel texted. “Start with your tits. Make sure your nipples are hard.”

  Tits? I hadn’t heard that word in a long time. But it was better than calling them boobs. Take pictures of them? It was thrilling and daunting at the same time.

  “Wouldn’t you rather wait and see them in person?”

  “I want to see what color your nipples are.”

  “Pink, I guess?”

  “Show me.”

  Well, it was my turn, after what he’d sent me. To hell with locker-room modesty. It was about time for things to change, dramatically.

  I was the only one home, but I went into the bathroom and locked the door anyway. Breathing faster, I pulled up my shirt and bra and saw I didn’t even need to pinch my nipples to make them stand up. It was a new kind of selfie, I thought, my body instead of my face. My breasts looked good, as it turned out, actually quite perky and firm.

  “Nice,” Daniel texted after I sent it. “Now I want you to spread your legs and take a picture for me. A close-up.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s what I want. But don’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

  I felt my face flush. “It’s Tuesday night,” I texted back. “Do you think this is the right time for this?”

  “It’s always the right time, sweetie.”

  I realized I did want to show Daniel. Tingling all over, I went into my bathroom and closed the door.

  Goddamn, it was bright with all the lights on. It was like a stage. I knew I would need soft lighting, to say the least. I peeled off my spider leggings, tangling my panties in the process.

  I struggled to find the right angle, trying not to think about a visit to the gyno and putting my feet in the stirrups.

  Penny, who had followed me into the bathroom, tipped her head to the side as if asking what the hell I was doing. I had no answer for her, or for myself. I shooed her out of the bathroom.

  For the first six tries, I took pics of the bathroom floor tiles. Then all I caught with the cell camera was my thighs, which made me shudder until I convinced myself photos always make you look bigger than life. Finally, I had a clear close-up inside my thighs, all pink and swollen and ready for Daniel.

  I didn’t even hesitate before sending the photo.

  “You look wet and lovely,” he texted back. “Your wings are open like you’re ready.”

  I smiled, reading the message over and over again.

  72

  “I have some simple tasks for you,” Daniel said Thursday night after I’d settled down in bed to talk.

  “I’m not going to wear a skimpy maid get-up and wash your floors by hand.”

  “Damn. Really? You won’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, cross that one off the list. No, seriously, I want you to start stretching.”

  “Stretching?”

  “Yes. I want you to limber up.”

  “What for?”

  “So I can put you in various positions.”

  Positions? Like what, reverse cowgirl? Or something even more physically demanding? I tried to picture it in my mind and came up empty.

  “I want you to be nice and flexible,” he said, his voice calm, light, and teasing.

  “We’ll be doing all these positions when we see each other this weekend?”

  “Not all of them,” he laughed. “We’ll start out slow.”

  “OK. I’m not sure I’ll ever be what you’d call flexible, but I can try.”

  I couldn’t sleep, so I thought back to ninth-grade gymnastics when the gym teacher told us to “limber up.” I stood up and put my hands down to the floor, barely grazing it with my fingertips. Bent at the waist a few times. Rolled my arms in circles. Then I got serious, doing runner’s squats until moisture beaded up around my ears, deep lunges, lying side lifts, standing and lifting my calves off the floor. I threw in some stomach crunches and a couple push-ups for good measure.

  I hoped it counted as going to the gym.

  Then I went into the kitchen for water and some Cheetos, telling myself the healthy no-cal water balanced out the salty Cheetos. I didn’t care. I was on my way to becoming limber, and maybe regaining my fitness along the way.

  73

  “I’ve mailed you something I think you will like,” Daniel texted.

  My mind immediately leapt to Godiva chocolate, and after that, diamond jewelry, neither of which seemed plausible but made for great daydream fodder.

  “What is it?”

  “Patience, honey. You need to learn that, too, as one of your lessons.”

  I had to wait an exasperating three days until a box was sitting on my front porch. It was breezy outside, so I called Penny and sat down on the rocking chair, plumping the red anchor pillow up behind my back and settling in for something that would hopefully be a token of Daniel’s feelings for me. Oh hell, just something artsy or pretty.

  Inside the package was a smaller box, gossamer black, tied with a perfect black satin ribbon. Whatever it was, it was already lovely.

  I tugged at the bow and carefully opened the box.

  Inside, lined up in perfect rows, were twelve wooden clothespins.

  A squirrel ran up the driveway, but Penny made no attempt to chase it. From down the street, I could hear the tinny sound of a bicycle bell, and wondered if it might be Lily heading my way. Instinctively, I shut the box. She might ask what was inside, and I would be unable to explain it, because I had absolutely no idea myself. Clothespins. W
as I opening a laundry business?

  “Come on, Pen,” I said, opening the door. Penny nudged a stray leaf with her nose before following me inside.

  I pulled out my cell to text Daniel. “So, I got the package.”

  No reply.

  Clothespins. When Madison was little, she hung Barbie doll dresses on a twine clothesline across the length of her bedroom. Those clothespins were plastic and had little pink hearts on them. I had a photo of the Barbie laundry line, someplace.

  “Hey, babe,” Daniel texted at last.

  “Hey, so yeah, I got the box.”

  “Did you open it?”

  “Of course I opened it. I mean, I was supposed to, right?” Maybe this was one of his teasing games where he wanted me to wait. Screw that.

  “So, what do you think?”

  What did I think? I had no idea what to think.

  “You don’t want me to do your laundry, right? Because I would never do that in a million years…” I texted quickly.

  “No, dear, I wouldn’t ask you to do my laundry. I have something more interesting in mind. Can you guess?”

  “Bedsheets? You want the sheets hung outside to dry?”

  When my sister and I were young, we had a good-sized blue aluminum pool in our backyard. We spent most summer days submerged, splashing and trying to do water aerobics, staying in until our fingers wrinkled and we began shivering. We had a tattered clothes tree that always seemed shaded and never dried our swimsuits and beach towels, but I don’t remember there being clothespins. We tossed the towels on the line and hoped for the best.

  “It’s nothing to do with laundry, silly.”

  “What is this, a riddle?” I kicked off my sneakers and opened the fridge for a bottle of grapefruit seltzer.

  “No, dear, it’s not a riddle, it’s not a joke. It’s serious.”

  “OK. Tell me.”

  “I want you to clamp one on your nipple and take a picture for me.”

  I sat down, sloshing my seltzer on the table. “You want me to do what with them?”

  “Just clip them on gently. It doesn’t have to hurt.”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t exactly sound comfortable. Why don’t you clamp your own nipples?”

  “Because that wouldn’t be a turn-on.”

  He was right about that. It wouldn’t be sexy at all. There was absolutely nothing provocative about men’s nipples. Nope.

  I opened the box and picked one up, clipping it on my thumb. It was tight. The end of my thumb started turning purple almost immediately.

  “What do you think?” Daniel texted.

  “I don’t know what to think.” I took the clothespin off my thumb, which had started to throb. It had left small marks like little teeth in my skin.

  “I know you, and you’re going to try it, so just let me know later. Gotta go.”

  He said it didn’t have to hurt. That wasn’t what he was looking for. How long would I have to leave them on to take a picture? A couple of seconds?

  Suddenly, the kitchen was way too warm.

  I looked down at Pen, watching me closely.

  “Of course I’m not going to do it,” I told her, and myself.

  I put the cover on the box and carried it to my room, where I put it on the floor and kicked it under my bed. Clamp my nipples. Who was he kidding?

  I was less resolute when I woke around 3 a.m. Goddammit, I was intrigued. Digging under my bed, I pulled a clothespin out of the box and toyed with it. I flicked on the nightstand light and stood in front of the full-length mirror, pulling my T-shirt over my head. In the shadows, my stomach looked almost flat, as long as I didn’t turn sideways. Even my face seemed more hollowed out. Night lighting was kind.

  My nipples were already hard as I eased the clothespin onto my right breast.

  “Holy shit!” I said out loud. It stung like hell. I pulled it off and rubbed the sore nipple.

  But the left nipple was far less sensitive. Who knew?

  It dangled at a strange angle, but I wasn’t going to try to get it on straight. I picked up my phone and took six quick pictures. Then I eased it off. It was something I’d never seen, or ever imagined I’d do, but it was a turn-on for me to be his visual sex toy. And he said it didn’t have to hurt.

  I felt victorious. I felt light-headed. I felt provocative.

  The only thing I didn’t feel was ashamed.

  All of the pictures came out clear, but some showed my whole breast and some just the clamped nipple. I sent them all to Daniel. I didn’t know which he would like most.

  I liked all of them.

  “Did it hurt?” Daniel texted the next morning.

  “No. They pinched.”

  Like he’d said, they hadn’t hurt, but they did hold my nipples erect and left little pink marks when they came off.

  “Now you’re getting the hang of it, honey.”

  His praise was sweet like rain.

  “Another thing I need to know. Do you look at porn?”

  Hmm. Should I tell him about my interest in Tumblr, and in particular, the elegant black and white photos involving a woman’s mouth and a penis?

  “I’m sure you do,” Daniel chided. “Admit it.”

  “OK, I’ll admit it.”

  “Tumblr?”

  “How did you know?” I was worried that, among other things, he’d become able to read my mind.

  “I doubt you watch bondage videos or anything hard-core. I see you more as a Tumblr woman.”

  I lay down on my bed, waiting for what he would say next.

  “So here’s what I want: send me links to the images that get you going.”

  “LOL. Get me going?”

  “The ones that make you wet.”

  Well there it was, right out on the table. He couldn’t be clearer.

  “What gets you hard?”

  “You,” he texted simply, seconds later.

  It was exactly the answer I was looking for.

  74

  By Friday, we needed to see each other as soon as possible, which meant one of us would drive to see the other Saturday.

  Daniel volunteered.

  “Do you want to have dinner together?” I asked Daniel.

  “I was thinking more like breakfast.”

  “What time are you planning to leave your house?”

  “6:00 a.m.”

  I laughed. “Ian is going camping with his father for the weekend, and I don’t think he’s leaving till 9:00. Can you hold off until then?”

  Saturday morning, I helped Ian pack up his gear.

  “You trying to rush me out, Mom?” Ian said as he shouldered his backpack.

  “Why would you say that?” I asked, my voice sounding a bit too high in pitch.

  “No reason,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Do something fun this weekend.”

  I planned to.

  Twenty minutes later, Daniel pulled up to the sidewalk in a silver Cadillac Escalade.

  Thankfully, he looked exactly like his photos, although his face wasn’t stern, because he was clearly so pleased to see me. He had dark-brown eyes and very fine features that reminded me of someone in a painting, because the lines of his nose and chin were so elegantly sculpted. He was about 5’ 11”, very fit of course, with strong, broad shoulders and lean muscles in his arms. His hands were long-fingered, with the same fine bone structure as his face.

  To me, he was amazing.

  I’d made coffee and gone for a quick trip to Brew Coffee for fresh pastries.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here, in my house,” I said nervously as we sat down in the kitchen.

  “So what do you think?” He drummed his long fingers on the table.

  I tipped my head to one side the way Penny does when she’s thinking.

  “Not too shabby. Nice, actually.” Daniel smiled. “You don’t look like someone who bosses women around.”

  “You just never know, do you?”

  “Do you ever get nervous?” I asked nervously.


  “No. Are you ready to take me to your bedroom?”

  “So much for small talk.”

  “Are you ready?” he asked again.

  “Oh, I’m ready.”

  “This is cute,” he said, looking around my room. “Now take your clothes off for me.”

  “Are you undressing too?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  I tried to hide my disappointment.

  “Where are they?” he asked.

  “Where are what?”

  “You know what I’m asking about.”

  I did know. I reached into my nightstand drawer and took out a fabric pouch holding the dozen wooden clothespins. “Here they are.”

  Daniel’s smile deepened “Did you try them more than once?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take your clothes off for me.”

  I debated a slow strip dance, but in truth I was out of my clothes in less than a minute, throwing everything in a heap on the floor.

  “Good girl. Now lie down,” he said, holding out his hands.

  I stretched out on my back and handed him the clothespins. “Be gentle,” I said.

  “Is that how you want me to be?”

  “Yes. You need to be careful with me.”

  Daniel ran his hands over my neck and chest, almost tickling, until my nipples were hard, then carefully clamped each one. He looked very serious.

  “I’m going to hold you down now,” Daniel said calmly. “And as much as you struggle, you won’t get away, because I’m far more powerful than you.”

  He held my arms over my head, pushing me down. I closed my eyes. Daniel grazed my neck with his mouth, then used his teeth to bite gently on my skin in a way that might leave a small mark.

  “I’m going to let you go, but keep your hands over your head,” he directed. “And don’t move, or I’ll stop what I’m doing.”

  I did as he said. It was thrilling.

  “These are so pretty,” he said, touching the clothespins on my nipples.

  “Thank you,” I said, eyes still closed.

  He grazed the tips of his fingers up and down the insides of my arms, then bent his head and used his teeth to tug at one of the clothespins, making my nipple twist a bit.