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datingintampafails · 4 years

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Chapter 8: Peter*

Ironically, it was very easy to pick out a fake name for this guy because of the journey I am about to bring you on, in which this was a name that was relevant during this date. This is a long entry despite this date being the only one, and only maybe two hours, simply because it has thus far been the worst date I have ever been on in my life, and I remember every damn detail.

Sometimes when I’m on Bumble, I get in really weird moods where if it looks like the guy isn’t going to respond to my message (they have 24 hours to respond or they disappear), then I will put in a snarky comment as the clock ticks just to make myself feel vindicated. When I picked my opening message to Peter*, I chose to do a pick-up line, which is something I never do.

Peter* looked a lot like Dr. Chase from House, that is, Australian, blonde, blue eyes, good looking. Therefore my message went like this: “I have a really bad pick-up line if you’d like to hear it.” After it became hour 23, I was like ok it’s snarky time. Simply put, I said, “whatever you’re missing out.” LO and behold the dude finally responds and says “Lol ok go ahead.”

Now it is my time to shine. I say “Wow ok now the pressure is on. Here goes,” “Part One: Are you Australian? Part Two: because I’d go down under for you.” He laughs or whatever and goes into just talking. He asks if I want to come over to watch a movie that night and I’m feeling spontaneous so I say sure, but preface that despite my dirty pick-up line that I’m not interested in a hookup situation.

He seems still interested so I discuss with him that I am going to cook dinner for myself and because it is a meal kit, that he would be doing me a favor by sharing the meal with me and eating it. So I cook the meal and bring the pot of pasta over to his place, which is in St. Petersburg, which is about 30 minutes and across a bridge.

He gave me instructions to pull up in front of his apartment complex and that he would meet me out there to help me find parking. He definitely over complicated things as there was street parking that was easy to find on the other side of the building to where I pulled up. He comes to my car and gets in and immediately I can smell smoke. I’m like great, that’s not super attractive but I’m here, let’s just see how this goes. We park and he holds the food and we go to his place.

He warns me that his place is messy; however, I’m thinking like everyone says that, it’s just a thing people say when they don’t have a pristine home that is perfectly maintained, which can only be achieved if you have a daily maid service or you legitimately have severe OCD. When I walk in the door, a wave of smell hits me. The predominant smell was definitely that of weed. The kitchen sink was a mountain of dishes and I honestly didn’t want to make direct eye contact with it as it would give me anxiety. He asks me if the place smells and I say that it smells like weed. He asks if I smoke and I say not my thing, but I don’t care what other people do. This is true, but I still expect people to be on their A-game for a date…. More on that later.

It was a studio apartment, and so everything was there. I had to use the bathroom but was afraid to see how bad the bathroom may be based on everything else. I would later hold my pee literally until I got home hours later. I asked if he could find some clean silverware and plates.

His buddy from out of town had slept over, I guess, the night before, so the futon was still flat. So on this date, I am put to work to help him fold it back into a couch. It was a struggle and took like 3 minutes, so afterward I sat on the couch while he searched for clean utensils. I was charged with picking out a movie. This in itself was a difficult mission. I went to his Hulu account, none of the profiles said his real name. I had to ask, “Peter*, which account is yours?” He is clueless. He finally says oh it’s the one that says Peter (not his real name, actually Peter), thus why I chose Peter for his name for the purposes of this memoir. He says it’s his ex’s account and I’m like “oh… ok, does she know you still use the account?” and he says she doesn’t. Nothing is good on Hulu so I swap to Netflix. Keep in mind the guy is still searching for something clean for us to eat with. Now on Netflix, none of the names are his; again, I ask which profile is his. This time it’s “Mark.” I’m done asking questions. I don’t even want to know at this time. So I choose the movie Get Him to The Greek. It’s funny and not that long so I picked it.

Five minutes after beginning his search, he is still looking for anything clean. Bro couldn’t even find plastic silverware. He emerges finally with a serving spoon and those measuring cup keychain packs and two paper plates. He hands me the serving spoon. I am thinking, “what the fuck is this.” So I use my serving spoon to put the food on each plate and start the movie. I struggle to eat this butternut squash ravioli with a giant ass spoon, and he’s wolfing down his food with literally a measuring cup. At least he doesn’t smack his mouth when he eats, I think.

Already I’d say this is going pretty terrible. Fifteen minutes into the movie, he gets up and gets something from a desk. Peter* cracks open his window and he starts smoking weed like right in front of me. I don’t say shit. All I know is that I cannot wait for this movie to be over so I can leave. He returns to the couch and decides now he’s gonna be cuddly. I just kinda let him put his arm around me but I don’t really do much else.

I try to get a conversation going but the dude is straight-up stoned. We were talking about something or another and he started a follow-up question. “What are you…” then he trails off. I give him a solid minute then say “What are you… what?” He’s like “huh?” I say, “Well you started to ask me a question and then stopped after those three words…” He says “Oh…. I have no idea. Hah.” I think my soul left my body at this point.

More of the movie goes over. He goes to smoke again. He returns to the couch. He sits far away from me. Suddenly, and I mean suddenly, he leans super far over and tries to kiss me. I swiftly lean the other direction and let out a sort of “ehhhhhhh” noise. He still manages somehow to kiss my cheek, which is better than my mouth because I am not into it. I have no idea why he thought that was a good idea. I think we were in different dimensions. Shortly after that, I mentioned, “I think after this movie ends I’m going to go home. I’m tired and my dog needs me.” Not necessarily a lie. I was tired and my dog does need me.

The movie finally ends, he asks if I’m going to eat the rest of the food or if he could have some. I say I think I will eat the leftovers for lunch, but at this point, he’s already dipped his measuring cup into the pot and grabbed a couple of ravioli. He says, “oh ok I won’t take more then.” Especially with people I am not comfortable with, I am weird about people using used utensils on food. So immediately I knew that I was actually going to throw the remainder out since he just touched them with his used whatever.

He then puts on his shoes and goes to show me the way out of his apartment complex. He runs into one of his neighbors and they make small talk. I am mortified and just cannot wait to get out of this place. We come out of the elevator, and he walks me towards where I had pulled my car up to meet him, AKA the wrong side. As we’re walking to the door I passively mention this is the wrong side, “Oh this is the front of the building.” We walk out of the doors and he says drive safe bye and gives me an awkward side hug. I stand there like, what an ending to this rollercoaster ride. At this point, I don’t even give a fuck. I know where I am and I walk to my car, get in, and drive as fast as I can to get home.

I arrive home and my phone dings; a text from Peter*. It says “Shit I’m so sorry.” At this point, the apology could be for any number of things so I simply reply “? I just got back home” He says “OK just walked you out the wrong side not a huge deal just thought you were parked on that side lol nevermind.” I say, “hahahahahahahahaha you just realized?” All the haha’s because I am just in such disbelief that this man was so stoned that he walked me out the wrong side.

He says, out of order “Glad you got home goodnight :)” and “I did lol.” I decide to passively tell him he is a dumbass, “I kinda said something I was like oh this is the front ok.” He comes back with a non sequitur, “I am a tad weird I understand that lol”

I never speak to or hear back from him again, thankfully. I hope he was embarrassed. I hope he knows how terrible that date was. I’m glad I didn’t even HAVE to ghost him or tell him he needed to fuck off. I will never forget this whole chapter.

#bumble #tinder #dating #tampa #hinge #stpete #tampabay #clearwater

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ddproductionsw77 · 6 years

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Just Give It Time

Fandom: IT (2017)

Pairing(s): Stenbrough (Stan Uris x Bill Denbrough)

Characters: Stan Uris, Bill Denbrough, Stanley’s Parentals

Rating: T

Description: When the topic of dating comes up at dinner one night in the Uris household, Stan has a hard time trying to figure out how to break it to his parents that he’s already unavailable. (Aged-Up to High School)

Author’s Note: Because Stenbrough deserves more love and it was requested ; )

It started like any other family dinner in the Uris Household. Stan was at his usual place, between his parents with his mother at one end of the table and his father at the other. He had resorted to carefully sectioning off the food on his plate out of boredom as he barely listened to the same conversations his parents seemed to have every night.

His mother was saying something about an upcoming event at their synagogue, her status as the Rabbi’s wife making such things a priority.

“—And of course Stan can sit with the Cohen’s because of Eliana—“

“Eliana?” Stan broke in, confused. Ellie Cohen had known him since they were children. They’d seen each other almost every week since they were born at the synagogue and had attended each other’s bar mitzvah and bat mitzvahs. She was okay, Stan guessed. “Why because of Eliana?”

A light chuckle slipped from his mother’s lips as she glanced across the table to her husband and Stan felt his ears burn. He felt like the butt of some joke that he didn’t understand and he didn’t like it. “Well, we know how you feel about her, Stanley.”

“How I—“ Stan echoed, utterly lost for a moment until realization hit him. His parents thought — what? — that he had feelings for Ellie? That shipped had longed since sailed, since he was a year into something special with someone else, not that the Uris’ parental unit had any knowledge about that yet.

“I’m not dating Eliana Cohen.” Stan said firmly, leveling his gaze first to his father and then to his mother.

Shifting uncomfortably, Mrs. Uris’ cheeks tinted pink, “I didn’t say you were, dear. I just thought that maybe one day you—“

“I’m never going to date Eliana Cohen.” Her son tried again, keeping his voice as clear as possible. He almost continued on to say that he was taken and not planning on dating anyone else possibly ever but instead he settled on, “I mean, I barely know her.”

Stan’s father snorted, “She’s young, fertile, and from a good family. What more do you need to know?”

Looking incredulous, Stan blinked, “More than just that, Dad.”

“Okay, you two, no fighting over a home cooked meal.” Mrs. Uris cut in with a warning tone. She was used to the disagreements between her husband and son that had been nearly constant in the household since Stan started high school. Her husband now endlessly complained how their son had once been such a quiet, respectful boy…

Continuing, the woman sighed, “Stanley, dear, how can you say you’ll never see Eliana when, like you said, you barely know her? Maybe you’ll actually like her? She really is a sweet, good girl.”

Stan knew deep in his chest that it didn’t matter how ‘sweet’ or ‘good’ Eliana Cohen was, she’d never compare to what he already had. The problem was as perfect as what he had was in his opinion, he knew his mother and father would never agree. Feeling a swell of courage and confidence bubble up in his chest, he sighed.

“She might be but I’m,” He hesitated before pushing on, “unavailable.”

His parents looked at each other, confused.

Mr. Uris cleared his throat, “You’re unavailable? Since when?”

Stan silently straightened the unused silverware sitting beside his plate and shrugged, “A while.”

“Oh, dear!” His mother suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “That’s great! Who is it? Do we know her? Or can we meet her?”

Her, her, her… Stan cringed internally. He had known that his confession would lead to his mother raising questions and assumptions such as these. A part of him, the part that he managed to silence and bury most of the time, wished that her assumptions were right, that there was a pretty, perfect she behind his words.

Life didn’t work that way though and Stan instantly felt guilty for being even a little ashamed of what he did have.

“Yes,” He spat out, sounding strangled, “Tomorrow for dinner.”

His mother grinned and nodded, giving her husband a look of excitement. Mr. Uris eyed his son suspiciously before digging back into his meal. Neither of them realized their son was already having a panic attack over what he’d just agreed to.

“St—Stan, we don’t have t-to—“

“I do, Bill. I have to.” Stan cut off his boyfriend as they climbed out of Bill’s silver ’85 Camero. Meeting halfway in front of the hood, the boys stopped inches apart, their breaths misting in the space between from the chilly air. “I’m tired of feeling dirty and wrong. I want to be honest about you, about us.”

Bill’s gaze flickered away, a small smile playing on his lips and he shook his head, “O-okay, yeah. I u-understand.”

And Stan knew he did because Bill always did. People never really got Stan and he had always thought it made sense. He was odd, he liked bird watching, was severely OCD, and had the quirkiest sense of humor. He knew he wasn’t everyone or really anyone’s cup of tea and he had long since grown used to the looks of confusion and mild concern.

Bill never looked at him like that.

Instead, Bill looked at him with endless patience when he had to wait an extra ten minutes for him to straighten his tie just right before they left for a party. Bill looked at him from across a room like he already missed him. Bill Denbrough looked at him like he made things better instead of further complicating them.

No one else had ever looked at him like that and it made Stan breathless.

Nodding, Stan turned his head to look up at his house, “They’re going to hate me.”

“They’re not.” Bill countered, taking Stan’s cold hand and starting toward the front door. “H-how could they? I-if anything, they’ll ha-ate me.”

Stanley cocked his head to the side and sighed, “Yeah, they probably will.”

Bill paused and quirked an eyebrow at his boyfriend, “You know y-you’re sup-p-posed to say the same th-thing I did, right? The b-b-bullshit about how they won’t?”

“I mean, they’ll hate you on principle, Billy. You’re a guy and you’re dating their son. It won’t be you they really hate, just the fact that I’m,” He cleared his throat and nearly pulled his hand from Bill’s but the other boy gripped on tighter. “you know, gay.”

Bill sighed heavily, trying to think of something to reassure his boyfriend. He didn’t honestly know how Stan was feeling. His own parents knew he was dating another boy and while they weren’t excited, they had all silently agreed to just not talk about it. Bill did what Bill did and his parents were fine with that as long as he didn’t get himself killed.

“M-maybe they’ll only hate th-that I’m a Gentile?” Bill suggested with a quirk of those full lips.

Stan paused for a moment before pulling the front door open. Without thinking too much, he quickly leaned forward and pressed a hard, steady kiss on Bill’s lips. The other boy’s eye fluttered shut for a breath before he felt Stan pull back.

“Wh-what was that for?” He asked, grinning a little dazed.

Stan shrugged and drug his boyfriend into the house.

Mrs. Uris had obviously heard the front door because, within seconds, she was whirling into the entry hall from the kitchen. She was smiling broadly and opened her mouth to speak before catching sight of her son’s school friend, Bill Denbrough.

“Oh! Hello, Bill. Stan didn’t tell us you were coming to dinner as well—“

Stan cleared his throat and flexed his fists nervously at his sides.

“Actually, Mom, I did.” Taking a deep breath, he slipped his hand back into Bill’s and squeezed hard. Bill squeezed him back and shuffled closer so that their shoulders brushed. “I told you.”

Mrs. Uris looked bewildered, “No, dear, you said that you were bring—“

She stopped, face going pale, and a hand flew over her mouth. Her eyes, the exact same shade as Stanley’s, darted between the two boys and Stan felt like his heart would pound right out of his chest. The only thing keeping him from a panic attack was Bill’s firm grip and steady presence beside him.

Just as his mother began to drop her hand as if to speak, Mr. Uris came thundering in.

“Is Stanley home yet? Dinner will be cold by the time he gets here with this girl of his.” He looked around and spotted his son by the door. “Oh, there you are and William Denbrough, good to see you, son. How’re your folks?”

“Uh,” Bill’s eyes darted between his boyfriend, his boyfriend’s father, and his boyfriend’s mother. “G-Good, sir.”

“Glad to hear it.” Mr. Uris commented before turning his gaze on his son, still oblivious to the tension in the room, “Now where is this girl, Stanley?”

Stan swallowed, looking to Bill for some extra courage. The boy smiled at him with those beautiful, bright blue eyes and full, sweet lips. He ran a thumb over Stan’s tense knuckles and nodded a little at him.

I’m right here, right beside you.

“Dad—“

“She broke up with him, honey!” Mrs. Uris exclaimed suddenly, moving forward to grip her husband’s arms. “They broke up and Stanley’s a little shaken up. Bill came to cheer him up, such a dear boy, he is. Why don’t you go set the table and I’ll get the boys settled and washed up so we can eat?”

Stan and Bill looked at the woman in confusion as she maneuvered her husband from the hallway. Once Mr. Uris was gone, Stan’s mother turned back to the boys. After a moment, she dashed across the room and threw her arms around her son, pulling him into her chest like she had when he was just a child.

Bill stepped back, releasing his boyfriend’s hand as the boy’s mother planted kiss after kiss on his forehead, cheeks, and nose. There were tears in both Stanley’s eyes and his Mom’s as she rocked him in her arms.

“I—I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t know how to tell you.” Stan hiccuped into the fabric of her dress.

Stroking his curly hair, his mother hushed him and shook her head, “Don’t you be sorry, Stanley. Don’t ever be sorry, dear.” Pulling back, she took his face in her hands and made him meet her eyes, “I thought that maybe you were. I’ve seen how you look at Bill and it’s okay. It’s okay, dear.”

She looked over her son’s shoulder to smile tearfully at Bill. “Neither of you be sorry. You can’t help how you feel just…” She trailed off with a sigh before gazing back at her son, “We can’t tell your father right now. He’s too stubborn and he won’t even try to understand. Just, give it some time, okay?”

Both boys nodded, numbly.

Mrs. Uris sighed and took a step back, wiping her tears away, “Now, you go wash up and then we’ll eat together like a family,” She emphasized the last part while smiling at Bill. “And I promise, boys, we can talk about this at some point but tonight—“

“Just give it time.” Bill and Stan finished in sync, their hands finding each other once again. They would have to talk to his father one day, someday, but until then Stan decided he would just keep saying that he was absolutely unavailable.

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runjakkrun · 7 years

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"I Don't Care What We Have For Dinner...." : The raw truth about mental illness and addiction.

“I have anxiety, depression, OCD, PTSD, ADD, mild aspergers, motor tics, severe insomnia, and an outrageous propensity for addiction. This isn’t something I normally share, because everyone and their mother thinks it’s cool to claim to have mental disorders this day and time. And honestly, it pisses me off…. Get comfortable and buckle up, because shit’s about to get ugly and real…. You think it’s cool and romanticize PTSD, talking with your buddies over a few beers at the bbq. It’s not cool or romantic when you wake up screaming and shaking and sweating so many times a night that you can’t sleep in the same bed with your wife, or that you stay absolutely exhausted, or that you’re legitimately afraid to go to sleep because you know what you’re going to see when you close your eyes. It’s not cool or romantic to do threat assessments every time you walk into a room, or see every stranger you pass on the street as dangerous. To not be able to stand sitting in a restaurant with your back to the room or door, or panic when you find yourself in a crowd. It’s not cool or romantic to be completely relaxed and laughing one minute, then have a full blown PTSD meltdown out of nowhere, leading to a severe flashback, leading to you taking a swing at your best friend or pulling your sidearm on the woman you love because your mind told you they were a threat and you think you’re fighting for your life. It’s not cool or romantic to have no idea where you’re at, or what’s real. When it takes two people who mean the world to you two hours to get you through it. When you keep broken knuckles from outbursts of anger. When you physiologically react to something that happened years ago- sweating, shaking, nausea, headache, fever, heart pounding out of your chest, jumping every time you hear a loud noise. When the one closest to you feels the need to do a quick sweep for the gun they know you carry, disarm you, drop your mag, eject the chambered .40 hollow point, and put it all in a different room because you’ve completely lost touch with reality and they’re afraid of what you might do- to someone else or to yourself. It’s not cool or romantic when you’re having an episode and your first instinct isn’t to reach for your loved ones for comfort, but to get as far away from them as possible because you’re terrified of how badly you could hurt them if you lost it and they got too close. It’s not cool or romantic to have a panic attack and worry about flashbacks or shutting down every time you hear someone scream, or you smell blood or bleach, or someone walks past you wearing a certain cologne. Especially when you work in a high stress, high risk field where screaming and blood and bleach and strangers having the worst days of their lives aren’t only a part of but make up the entirety of your job description. When people’s lives depend on your ability to think clearly and hold it together when everything goes to hell. It’s not cool or romantic to overreact and have a complete breakdown every time your hands get dirty, or something gets screwed up/ doesn’t go exactly as planned, or you hear/ see someone filing their fingernails. It’s not cool to literally physically HURT when you feel certain textures like denim or wool or concrete. It’s not cool or romantic to have to take Adderall and Prozac and Seroquel and benzos like candy just so you can function, so you can focus on one train of thought instead of being mentally exhausted all the time because you’re hyperfocused on every little sight, smell, sound, thought, or detail. When it feels like every nerve is on fire and you can’t make it stop. It’s not cool to be so deeply depressed over absolutely NOTHING that you don’t want to go to work or go kayaking with your best friend or out to a movie you’ve been waiting to see for months, or even make love to your wife. It’s not cool or romantic to spend your days in a haze of amphetamines, opiates, muscle relaxers, and cocaine, and your nights under the heavy sedation of marijuana and benzos, at the bottom of a fifth of whiskey, with no idea how you let it get to that point or how to fix it. To have to choose between going to rehab or losing everything. To go through withdrawals so bad that you spend a week shaking and violently vomiting, with headaches, unbearable muscle aches, no appetite or energy, too weak and exhausted to even get out of bed. To see the pain and the panic and the terror on your wife and your best friend and your partner’s faces, wondering if this is the last time they’ll be able to hug you or kiss you or tell you they love you, the last time they’ll see you alive, when they go to bed every night wondering if this will be the time they wake up to the phone call that changes their lives forever. The one where some strange, apologetic but professional voice is on the other end of the line telling them you’ve overdosed or eaten your gun or wrecked your truck driving drunk and, "I’m sorry, but one of the people you love and rely on most is dead.” It’s NOT cool! These are some of the most miserable experiences in existence. Things that those who suffer from them would do anything to make stop. Who wish like hell they didn’t know what any of it was like. Who, when the pain gets to be too much, often end up taking their own lives because they can’t bare standing another single moment feeling what they feel…..And if people actually understood what they were saying and implying when they tell everyone they have anxiety or PTSD or suffer from addiction because they think it makes them “cool,” they’d stop…. Because anyone who has truly been through it knows that there is absolutely nothing even remotely cool or romantic about it.

Allow me to walk you through a day in my life….

My beautiful, smart, sweet, amazing wife, who I love more than anything, is getting on my last nerve. She’s constantly chattering about everything, happy to have me home and be able to spend time with me. Just babbling about random bullshit like a dog she saw once or what she’s planning to cook for dinner, or what we need to get at the grocery store, and I’m both physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted, inserting appropriate one or two word responses- just enough to keep her off my back, from asking me what’s wrong or why I’m so crabby- and all I can think is, “I really don’t fucking care….” It’s even worse when I get off of a rough shift and somebody is wanting to talk about stupid, petty shit, and all I can do is think about how people would have a really hard time being so concerned and preoccupied with celebrity gossip and what’s for dinner if they were out there and had to see and do shit that really matters. If they’d ever tortured or killed someone, or worked a horrific stabbing or shooting, then had to turn around and scrape some innocent, sweet, too young toddler’s brains off the pavement because their shitty parents were too high to put them in a car seat. If they had ever had to look some guy’s wife of 60 years in the face after he kissed her and told her he loved her…. After they’d looked her in the eyes, smiled, and told her they’d take care of him, and he’d be fine, and they’d see her at the hospital….. Only, approximately eight minutes out, he suffered a massive subarachnoid bleed and coded and his wife was in her car right behind their ambulance when they hollered at their partner to light it up. When she stood in the ambulance bay, watching them unload the love of her life who she lay in bed beside not an hour ago, and now he is completely unresponsive with a tube down his throat, unable to breathe on his own, hearing sternum and ribs crack and break as a stranger tried their best to get his heart to beat….. If they’d had to look her in the face and tell her they were wrong, and that he would never wake up…. If they had ever seen pain and grief and brokenness like that…. They’d have a hard time coming home and pretending they still give a fuck about all that shit, too…. Even walking through the grocery store, it’s all I can think about and none of this every day, dulled, muted bullshit matters…. My wife told me on the way home that I seemed like I either wasn’t listening or didn’t care, and it all finally came pouring out. I don’t fucking CARE what brand of ketchup or what color apples we get, I don’t fucking CARE how hot it is outside or whether it’s gonna rain or not, I don’t care that the electric bill is $10 less than last month’s. I just. don’t. fucking. CARE…. I feel horrible for feeling like this, even as it’s coming out of my mouth. Ever since I told her that, she’s been quiet and won’t look at me, and that just makes me feel worse. But I can’t fucking help it. It’s no failure on her part, it’s no dissatisfaction with my marriage or my home life or anything else. It just IS. In an attempt to comfort me and relate, she told me, “I understand…. I’m the same way with my job sometimes. With the adrenaline and tech work.” And I didn’t say anything. I was too tired to explain to her that it’s not even remotely the same and that she has no clue, and that lighting or props or sound quality not being perfect is absolutely nothing compared to pulling out every trick in your bag trying to make a real live person- a full grown, tatted up, tough man- stay that way, while they cry and beg you not to let them die. But you can’t fucking get the bleeding to stop or their pressure to come back up, no matter how much gauze or how much pressure you apply, or how many bags of fluid you dump into them. It’s just not the fucking same. But how can I tell her that? So I just stare out the window and don’t say a word. I’ve found myself having an extraordinarily difficult time even sitting at the dinner table with my wife and my mother, who I barely see any more, finding it in me to give a damn about any of the petty bullshit they’re so concerned over. Their biggest worries are my eight week old PTSD dog in training biting my wife’s ankles and peeing on the comforter, my sister not graduating on time, and how expensive car insurance is. Who fucking cares? I catch myself thinking that it must be nice to have that type of shit be your biggest stressors…. Wondering how anyone can expect me to give two fucks whether we get name brand or store brand cereal, when not twelve hours ago, I was getting my ass kicked trying to help some drunk asshole who didn’t want anything to do with me. When not twelve hours ago, my only concern was whether or not the ungodly amount of someone else’s blood I had all over me was infected with anything. With what I could’ve done differently to have kept my last patient from dying. With just making sure that my partner and I got to go home to our families at the end of our shift….. It’s hard sometimes when what you consider important is so much different than what most other people consider important. For most people, their life is being home, spending time with their spouse and kids, relaxing…. That’s what feels real and important and makes them feel alive. Work is a necessary evil and something that has to be done in between. It’s just a filler. But for us, it’s the other way around. In my case, this is how it has been since I graduated high school and immediately shipped to my unit with the Army. For me, being at work- on the truck- is what makes me feel alive…. That’s what feels real and vivid and important to me. “It’s like it puts lightening in your bones and makes it hard to hold on to anything else….” The adrenaline and split second life and death decisions, bringing a beautiful, healthy, perfect baby boy into the world in some run down ghetto parking lot, then turning around and pronouncing someone dead from two gunshot wounds to the chest twenty minutes later. The feeling like you’re doing something that matters. That’s life to me. It’s all I’ve ever known. Being off duty is the filler. Being home and having down time and worrying about a busted pipe or laundry or date night is what fills the space in between…. It’s like going from a top of the line 70" plasma screen HDTV with 1500 pixels per square inch, voice control, a perfect picture, and surround sound to an old 10" black and white box tv, where the volume doesn’t always work, and if the jerryrigged, tin foil bunny ears aren’t perfect, the picture goes in and out…. That’s the only way I can begin to describe it. It takes so much more to make you feel anything, when you’ve truly seen the world. I was discharged from the Army in 2011. I got home, and it was as if somebody had put everything on mute and the color was dull and I felt like I was on the outside looking in to my own life. The shoes I had traded for combat boots just didn’t quite fit any more…. The worst thing in the world is watching the people you love go on with their lives, expecting you to go back to being the same person you were before. Except, no matter how hard you try, you can’t figure out how to pick back up with the life you left. You have no idea how to talk to or relax around the people who were so easy to be around before. People look at you weird when you don’t laugh at something you would’ve before, or are more quiet and introspective instead of loud and energetic and mischievous like you used to be. Realizing that everyone else’s world kept turning while yours was turned upside down, shaken, completely changed, and you were left spinning…. Eventually, old friends stop calling and texting and wanting to hang out. Family stops inviting you to baseball games and lunch after church and holiday get togethers. People stop popping in to say hi and ask how you’re doing. And it sucks, but it’s hard to care or do anything about it, because by this point, you’re too busy just trying to remember how to breathe…. Even now, five years later, I have a hard time. There are some times when I enjoy being off and feel like I’m in the moment and I’m relaxed. But nearly every friend I’ve got or care to be around is either EMS, FD, or PD, because I can’t stand being around people who don’t get it or look at me weird or think they know what stress is. Who have no idea what TRUE loyalty or bravery or brotherhood is. Who think PTSD is a stylish trend. People who haven’t REALLY lived and died a few times. I have no patience for any of it…. I’m closer to and more trusting of and feel as if I belong better with my public safety family and my partner than I do my own flesh and blood. It’s just a heavy burden…. Sometimes I can’t help but feel like I’m on my knees, screaming at the top of my lungs, and nobody can hear me.

So next time you think mental illness or addiction or PTSD is cool or romantic, know that you have no fucking clue. Don’t look at me or my brothers like we’re weak or there’s something wrong with us when we are a little too jumpy or overreact or do something you think is strange. We’ve walked through hell and back, and we earned these scars. You didn’t.“

-KBW, 2016

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

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Heart of stone chapter 16

As I rifled through one of my desk drawers in search of highlighters, I was dumbfounded over a how quickly Selena was able to diffuse my temper. When she came into my office, I had every intention of solely focusing on business and calling it quits on the other half of the deal. After all, she had left me alone last night.

When I needed her.

But then she walked into my office. Just the sight of her stopped me in my tracks. As much as I tried, I couldn’t concentrate on the business in front of me. Gone was the thought of ending the personal side of our agreement. I could only focus on her alluring face, and the memory of her head thrown back in passion. And although she was now clothed in tight jeans and a Wally’s t-shirt, I couldn’t help but to envision the sight of her perfect breasts molded in my hands, responsive to every touch.

I walked back over to where Selena was sitting and held out my hand to show her the findings – a red marker, and a yellow and green highlighter.

“I thought that you could use the red Sharpie to cross off any definite ‘no’, the yellow highlighter for a ‘maybe’ and the green one for a ‘yes’. Is that OCD enough for you?”

“Don’t make fun of me, Justin. But, yes – this will work just fine,” she bit out, snatching the colored markers out of my hand.

I watched her run her finger down the list, immediately taking the red marker to cross off caning.

“Remember what I said, Selena. I won’t hurt you,” I said, interrupting the striking of her script.

“I know you wouldn’t,” she said, and I was curious as to why she was suddenly so certain of that. Perhaps I was finally beginning to gain her trust.

“I’m glad that you’re starting to have a little bit of faith in me. Keeping that in mind, you shouldn’t cross things off so quickly.”

“This particular thing, it’s not about trust or faith, Justin. It just sounds so medieval. The whole idea is a turn off.”

I simply nodded and allowed her to go back to the list.

She highlighted spanking in green, having already experienced the feel of my hand on her ass, but hesitated over flogging and whipping. She almost color-coded them red, but picked up the yellow marker instead. However, before she could mark them, I stopped her hand.

“Remember the soft feel of the flogger in your hands from last night. Trust me, Selena.”

I saw the question in her eyes, deep and probing. But after a brief moment of indecision, she coded both green.

“Okay. I can make sense of most of the bondage part of the list, but you’ll have to explain suspension to me,” she said, needing more clarification.

“It’s just like it sounds. I suspend you from the rails of my bed, leaving your body free for me to do what ever I’d like.”

Her head snapped up to look at me. Those big browns went big, as if she were picturing herself suspended in the air. My cock twitched and I shifted slightly in my seat, the image filling my own head.

Selena. Spread out and on display.

We are never going to make it through the list if I keep picturing all of this stuff.

I hoped she wouldn’t continue to question every little thing. Detailed descriptions of what I wanted to do to her were killing me. As it was, I wanted nothing more than to strip her naked and embed myself in her satin heat. Right here, right now. On the couch in my office.

Patience. Get through the list first. Gain her acceptance.

In the end, she highlighted suspension in green, and I breathed a small sigh of relief when she moved on to the next thing.

“Hog tie?” she mused the question out loud, but thankfully I didn’t have to give her an explanation that would torture my groin further. Her scarlet cheeks told me that she knew the answer almost as soon as she voiced the question.

“I’m going to ask you not to go through and highlight the list of enhancements. Over time, I will get to know your body better than you do and I’ll know how far you can be pushed. Will you just let me use my judgment on those?” I asked her.

“I don’t see why not. There isn’t anything too crazy on here,” she observed, scanning the rest of the list.

“See? This stuff isn’t as bad as you originally thought, is it?”

She almost nodded in agreement, but then her eyes rested on something that had her head shaking back and forth.

“Wait, hang on. I don’t know about the anal bea – .”

“Do you trust me?” I asked again, cutting her off.

Trust.

There was that word again, one that I had thrown out a countless number of times. I could tell that she was thinking that same, as her eyes were looking searchingly into mine. I wanted her to open up to me, but I understood her hesitation. My world was unknown to her, and she was bound to make countless mistakes on the unfamiliar path. She needed to trust that I would guide her way.

“I trust you,” she finally said.

“Good. Then we are finished with this,” I said with an air of finality. I leaned forward and took her chin in my hand. “All of this talking about bondage has made my cock rock hard, and we need to decide how we are going to rectify that situation.”

****

I felt my skin prickle in anticipation as he moved his hand up to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. I shifted my eyes towards Justin’s big mahogany desk before looking back to meet his sapphire blues. They were filled with heat and desperate need. I could tell that he wanted me. My nipples hardened instantly, longing to be touched.

At the office? Seriously, get yourself in check, Cole. That’s so unprofessional.

We could never do it here.

“Surely, you don’t mean do it right now?” I questioned, horrorstruck and thrilled over the idea all at once.

He didn’t answer me, but leaned in closer. I began to pant softly as the pad of his thumb traced the outline of my lips.

“I love the heart shape of your upper lip, and the way your lower lip is fuller than the top. It’s pouty, always teasing me, taunting me to kiss you. I’ll be kissing these lips quite often, Selena.”

I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent. He smelled so good, a natural aphrodisiac that provoked my wild desire for him. I exhaled slowly and licked my dry lips.

“Is that a promise, Stone?” I breathed.

He groaned, cupped the back of my head, and sealed his lips over mine. His kiss was firm and demanding, yet perfect as always, with just the right amount of pressure. He tilted his head from one side to the next, deepening the kiss with his tongue. His strength of purpose provoked a tightening hunger in my core.

I reached my hands up to run them greedily through his silky waves, pulling his powerful frame in closer to me, causing my passion to build to a fanatical need for more. I distantly realized that we were no longer in a sitting position, but had managed to become horizontal on the loveseat, Justin’s body pressed down onto mine. Instinct had me scissor one leg around his hip. I arched my hips up against him, appreciating the feel of his manhood through our clothing. I kissed him back with a fierce urgency, wanting him desperately without regard to our surroundings.

But then I remembered Laura was just down the hall, her severe scowl popping uninvited into my brain.

“Justin, wait! We can’t,” I started, pushing against his chest. “What if Laura comes in?”

“Hmmm…she won’t. She knows better,” he said, moving his mouth down to nip at my neck.

“What is that supposed to mean? Do you do this sort of thing often?” I asked accusingly, wiggling my way out from under him and moving to a standing position.

He looked up at me through glazed eyes, hair sticking up all over, and his clothes disheveled. His tie had been loosened at the neck and his shirt was pulled free from the waistband of his pants. I couldn’t be sure if it had been him or me that ran amuck on his attire.

Damn, if he doesn’t look sexy like that…

“No, Selena. It means that I’m very busy and I don’t like disruptions,” he said, sounding exasperated. “She knows to either buzz my phone or knock first.”

I immediately chastised myself for always being so suspicious.

“Sorry – paranoia can get the best of me sometimes. I just got nervous that someone would catch us, that’s all,” I admitted, pushing aside the thought that I might not have been the first woman to be kissed on that couch.

He stood up and began tucking his shirt back into his pants. After his tie was straightened, he reached for me and pulled me against him.

“I’m the one that should apologize, but I can’t say that I’m all that sorry,” he murmured into my hair.

“What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have done that. At work. In the office. Believe it or not, I do hold myself accountable to a certain level of professionalism. I should have restrained myself, but I…” he hesitated. “It was all that talk. And you’re damn highlighters. I had to have just a little taste of you.”

“It’s okay. I kind of liked it,” I said, resting my head against his shoulder. He pulled back and studied me.

“Yeah, me too,” he thoughtfully agreed. He sounded somewhat surprised by that fact.

“What’s the matter, Stone? Did you break another one of your rules?” I asked, playfully slapping him on the arm.

“I did actually,” he admitted with a frown. “And if we keep this up, we’ll never get any work done. I still have a lot to go over with you today.”

Reluctantly, I removed my arms from his waist and took a step back.

“You’re right. So what’s the next order of business?” I asked, focusing on why I was here in the first place.

“For starters, you still need to sign the salary and benefit information.”

He went over to his desk and retrieved the folder that I had left there.

Taking the paperwork from him, I took a seat in front of his desk and got to work on reading over the necessary information. When I flipped to the second page, I let out a gasp of astonishment.

“Justin, this salary would feed a small country for a year. This is too much!”

“Well, that’s a first. I don’t usually have people tell me that I pay them too much,” he said with a laugh, taking a seat behind his desk. “Don’t sweat it, Selena. I can afford it.”

“If you say so,” I mumbled, perusing the rest of the documents. Everything looked to be in order, including the health insurance and 401k benefits that were neatly outlined in detail. Only the salary was over the top. I picked up a pen from the desk and began scrawling my signature over the required documents.

When I was finished, he handed me another folder.

“Your first assignment,” he told me. I peeked at the contents, anxious to see where I would begin.

“Wally’s?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes. The grocer needs help boosting their sales. This campaign is pro-bono, at least for now. I took a big risk with them, which is something I don’t normally do, but I think it will be extremely profitable in the long run. Make sure you do it justice.”

“Of course I will!” I exclaimed, eagerly looking through the information in front of me. The chance to help out Wally’s was exciting, but at the very least, it might help me move past the melancholy feelings that I had over leaving.

“Wally’s is personal to you. That alone will be beneficial. I’m confident that you’ll do well with it.”

I looked up, beaming at Justin for the opportunity, and saw him holding yet another folder out for me to take.

“What’s that?”

“Last folder, I promise,” he said, placing it in front of me. “This is my clean bill of health, as you required on your list. I don’t suppose that you scheduled a doctor appointment for yourself yet?”

Shit. I knew I was forgetting to do something.

I was mentally going through my schedule for the week, trying to figure out when I might be able to squeeze in the appointment, when I heard my phone buzzing in my purse.

“No, sorry. I didn’t schedule one. I meant to, but it slipped my mind,” I apologized absently while I dug through the contents of my purse in search of my cell.

“That’s what I thought, considering how this thing with us happened rather suddenly. I pulled your doctor’s contact info from your phone and took the liberty of scheduling an appointment for you. You’ll go on Thursday, ten in the morning.”

Too busy reading the incoming text, it took me a minute to process what he had said. Once it registered, I wasn’t sure if I had heard him correctly.

“Wait. You scheduled a gynecologist appointment for me?” I asked, completely aghast. I wasn’t sure if I should be pissed off or embarrassed.

“Don’t be mad, Selena. You set the stipulations, and I couldn’t agree more. Besides, I’m anxious to ditch the condoms. I want you cleared and on some sort of birth control so that I can feel that silky pussy of yours without any barriers,” he said huskily, unabashed arousal in his eyes.

Oh no, buddy.

His sexy eyes and suggestive wiles weren’t going to work. He had just crossed more lines than I could count, impeding on my privacy.

A woman’s gynecologist was supposed to be personal.

“You overstepped your bounds, Stone. My doctors are private. You had no right to do that,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Selena, do you really want to go a round about this? Because I don’t. You would have made the appointment anyways. So what if I did it for you? Think of it this way, we’ll have no worries come the weekend.”

“First of all, depending on the form of birth control that I choose, we may not be in the clear in time for the weekend. Second of all, you’re assuming that I’m going to spend the weekend with you.”

“I’m not assuming anything. I know you are. Just you and me, angel. Flesh on flesh. And your unconditional obedience,” he finished shamelessly.

Like I really needed another reminder of lesson number one.

I scowled at him.

Yes, we had an agreement, one that I was determined to meet. I had said that I would give him my submission, or at least try to, and I wasn’t the type of person to take failure lightly. I certainly wasn’t about to start now. Unfortunately, the pride I felt over maintaining my independence kept getting in the way. If this was going to work, I needed to loosen the reigns a little bit. However, I made note to make an entirely new list – one that outlined the definition of my supposed obedience.

Just take a step back, and give him some measure of control. At least for now. That’s all he really wants.

“Fine. You win this round. I’ll stay the weekend,” I said begrudgingly. “But in the future, I’d appreciate it if you allowed me to schedule my own appointments.”

“Fair enough, as long as you remember that it is my job as your Dom to take care of you – in all matters. I can see that’s going to be a struggle for you.”

“You think?” I sarcastically replied.

He got up from his seat behind the desk and came to stand behind me. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he began to massage, kneading small circles with his thumbs over my neck.

“In time, you’ll learn to understand how this works, Selena. In fact, once you learn your role, you’ll welcome it.”

“I don’t know about welcoming it, but I’ll try,” I said, softening under his miraculous hands. I might be able to withstand his crafty way with words for a time, but I was a pile of mush under his touch.

“I want an entire weekend with you tied up and naked,” he said, leaning down to nibble on my ear.

“Mmm…actually, since we’re talking about the weekend, do you have any particular plans for Friday night?” I asked, tilting my head to the side so that he could sample his way down my neck.

“I have several plans, many of which include you tied to my bed.”

“Stop it,” I lightheartedly scolded. “You really are the devil! I’m being serious now.”

“Me too. I want to start checking off all the things that you highlighted green on your little list,” he added suggestively, hands moving down to cup my breasts.

“Justin!” I shrugged his hands off. “I’m not kidding around. Melanie, a girl I work with, just text me. A few people at work are planning a get together at Murphy’s Pub on Friday. It’s sort of a good-bye party for me.”

I looked up at him, only to see that his eyes had darkened.

“Murphy’s? I don’t think so, Selena. But you should go to it. Hale can drive you there and then pick you up after if you’d like.”

“Why don’t you want to come? It will be fun,” I tried to persuade him. I was curious about the strange expression on his face. “Don’t you like Murphy’s?”

“I just don’t fit in well at parties.”

“Please,” I pouted. He frowned at me.

“We’ll see. As for now, I’m starving. Let’s go grab some dinner,” he said, moving around the desk to grab his suit coat.

“Um…sure. Where do you want to go?” It was pretty clear that he was trying to change the subject, and I was interested as to why.

“Do you like Thai?”

As if on cue, my stomach growled at the mention of one of my favorite foods, reminding me that I had skipped lunch.

All right, you get a pass this time. My hungry belly is calling to me.

“That sounds so good right now and I haven’t had Thai in ages.”

“Then Thai it is. We’ll get takeout and bring it to my place. Then we can start on your list,” he added, flashing me a sexy lopsided smile.

“You want to start checking things off right away, do you?”

“We could jump right to the yellow highlighted things,” he suggested.

“You’re too much,” I said, shaking my head. My stomach rumbled again. “Food first, then we’ll see where the night takes us.”

“Oh, don’t worry Miss Cole. I plan on taking you to many places tonight.”

I could only hope that I was up for the challenge.

Justin dumped the bags of takeout on the dining room table.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to round up some utensils and plates,” he told me, heading towards the kitchen.

I kicked off my shoes and went to work on emptying the contents of the Thai takeout. When I opened the container of red chicken curry, steam wafted from the entrée, causing my mouth to water. I dipped my finger into the sauce to have a taste.

“You’re still dressed,” Justin said from behind me, causing me to jump out of my skin. I guiltily sucked the remaining sauce off my finger.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked confused at first, but then I understood his meaning. When he told me to make myself comfortable, it was really a guise for wanting me to strip. “You didn’t actually expect me to be naked while we eat, did you?”

“I said always, Selena.”

“Sorry, Stone. A girl has to eat. I need substance before I can begin your shenanigans.”

“You agreed to try,” he pointed out.

He looked frustrated with me for not cooperating. I wasn’t confident that I could actually bring myself to eat dinner without any clothes, naked under his scrutinizing gaze.

Oh, to hell with it.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t already seen every part of me.

“Fine,” I spat out, aggravated because I was famished. “Where should I go to prepare myself to your liking?”

He frowned at me, his impatience abundantly clear.

“It’s not supposed to work like this, Selena.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Forget it. Just sit and eat.”

He hastily sat in a chair and began ripping through the remaining contents of the takeout bag. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that this was Justin’s version of a temper tantrum. I ignored him, too hungry to care, and dug into my food. The silence stretched on for a good ten minutes before he finally spoke.

“You’re a pain in the ass. Do you know that?”

“So I’ve been told from time to time. But in my defense, I did warn you that I’d be too much work for you. This is all new to me. I didn’t know that you literally meant always naked. That’s just not realistic. Either way, had I known, I would have mentally and physically prepared myself for it. I’d want a minute to freshen up before you jump on me.”

“Jump on you? Is that what I do?” Justin asked, amusement alight in his eyes.

I merely smiled in return before taking another forkful of the curry.

“So, I was thinking about a few things earlier today,” I started.

“Uh, oh,” he feared mockingly.

“Cut it out,” I said. I balled up my napkin and threw it at him. “I was thinking about how I know pretty much nothing about you. I mean, my original thought was to keep personal details out of this, but it makes it tough to have a meaningful conversation, at least one not based around sex.”

He smirked at me.

“I don’t have any issues with our topics of discussion. Do you?”

“Not at all, but you know all sorts of stuff about me. I think it’s only fair that you give me a little something in return.”

“What do you want to know?” he asked, albeit cautiously.

“Well, I told you about where I grew up. What about you?”

“I already told you that I lived in New York my whole life,” he told me, evading specifics and shifting his gaze back to his plate.

“Details please, Justin. It’s like pulling teeth with you sometimes,” I muttered.

He silently chewed his food, eyes weary. I could almost see the struggle inside of him. Seeming to come to a decision, he put down his fork and leaned back in his chair.

“You know that I have a sister named Justine. Our childhood was spent in a run down house in the Bronx. Definitely not a good neighborhood for kids, that’s for sure. But we survived. We lived there until I was fifteen, and then we moved in with my grandparents.”

My fork froze midway to my mouth, shocked that he had willingly divulged so much in just a few sentences, although he had barely said a thing. For me, it was like he had opened up Pandora’s box, causing a million and one thoughts to twist around in my mind. I had trouble deciding which question to ask next.

“Why did you move in with your grandparents?”

“Now that, my sweet angel, is the million dollar question. One that I’m not going to answer. My parents are off limits, remember?”

“Okay,” I acceded. I didn’t want to risk pushing him too far. I wanted him to keep talking. “Are your grandparents a safe topic?”

His face noticeably softened then, revealing a small smile.

“I can tell you about them. They were good people. My grandmother was a very kind woman. Not a nasty bone in her body. My grandfather was a stubborn Englishman, but he had a tender heart, and he loved my grandmother fiercely. I’ve never witnessed such devotion between any other couple.”

“That’s so sweet,” I awed, smiling at his brief synopsis. My bitter heart softened a bit. It was nice to know that it was possible, at least for some people, to live a life surrounded by the coveted white picket fence. But then again, his grandparents were from a different generation, from a time when commitment actually meant something. It was a shame knowing that the world had changed so much.

“When my grandfather passed away, my grandmother was never quite the same after. She died in her sleep a few months after his passing. My sister says that she died of a broken heart.”

“How long ago did they die?”

“A little over ten years ago. I was in college. I wouldn’t have what I have now if it wasn’t for them.”

“Were they well off?” I asked, assuming he was referring to his wealth at such a young age.

“Not so much, but my grandfather was a smart investor. That, combined with a substantial life insurance policy, my sister and I inherited a decent chunk of change. My sisters ex-husband gambled hers away,” he told me, his face momentarily turning into a scowl. “As for me, I bought my first apartment building when I was twenty-one. After six months, it paid for itself, and I found that I had a knack for scoping out profitable real estate. I bought a second building later that year. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“You’re either extremely fortunate, or brilliant,” I remarked after he finished his tale. I was awestruck by how easily he was able to obtain his fortune.

“I’d like to think both,” he surmised with clever eyes, his mouth tilting up in a sexy lopsided grin. “Real estate is like a game of chess. You need to be able to read your opponent and know how to achieve checkmate. I’m good at winning, Selena. And I always get what I want.”

“Apparently, you do,” I agreed, choosing to ignore his double meaning. I didn’t want to acknowledge how quickly I surrendered in this complex game of strategy.

“You’ve finished your dinner.”

“I have,” I agreed, eyeing him curiously.

“At the risk of sounding cliché, I’m ready for dessert. You can use the bathroom off of my bedroom to freshen up before I jump on you, as you so aptly put it earlier. But, when you’re finished, I expect you to come out of the bathroom naked.”

My stomach constricted nervously. I should have seen this coming. His body language had changed a few moments before, and his statement about winning had been a subtle clue as to where his mind was headed. So caught up in the story about his grandparents, I had forgotten about how he expected me to sport my birthday suit at the dinner table.

A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes, before evolving into something deeper. Darker. I knew in an instant that Justin would not hold back tonight.

He was going to test my limits.

“Okay…” I said, my voice coming out shaky. “Do you want me to come back out here? To the dining room?”

Naked.

“No, you can stay in the bedroom. Do you remember the submissive position that I told you about?”

“Yes.”

“That’s how I want to find you, Selena. On your knees.”

Collecting my courage, I swallowed the lump in my throat and I stood from the table.

“I’ll go get ready. Give me a few minutes, okay?”

“Take all the time you need, angel.”

I made my way to the bedroom and into the bathroom. The walk seemed torturously long, as my feet felt like they had lead weights attached to them.

When I entered the dark master bath, the only thing that I could see at first was the marble countertop that gleamed under the moonlight that flooded in through the skylights.

I flipped on the light switch. It was no shock to see how impeccable the space was. There was not a thing out of place. No toothpaste smudges in the sink, not a speck of dust on the mirror. With its massive walk in shower and whirlpool tub large enough to fit a small army, it was like I had walked into a modern day Roman bath. I half expected a servant to come scurrying from some hidden corner and offer me grapes and a robe.

If only I could be afforded the luxury of a robe right now…

I unfastened the button of my pants and began to undress. I folded my clothes at a painstakingly slow pace, trying to buy more time. Once they were folded, I laid the pile carefully on the counter, and then turned to face the large oval vanity mirror.

I took in my reflection. Like all girls do, I began to critique the imperfections of my body. When my gaze eventually traveled up to my face, I froze. I looked terrified.

Naked and kneeling. That how he wants me.

I struggled to erase the fear in my eyes, as I smoothed out my unruly hair back into a ponytail. I was afraid for so many reasons. It wasn’t sex that scared me – after all, it’s not like this would be our first time together. I already conquered that challenge. I was petrified of putting myself on display for Justin.

What if I did it wrong? What if he pushed me too far?

I worried that I’d have to use my safe word. The fear of disappointing him consumed me.

Digging around in one of the vanity draws, I located a tube of toothpaste. Using my finger, I brushed my teeth the best that I could. I took extra care to wipe out the sink, leaving it just as spotless as I had found it.

Then I looked in the mirror again. I didn’t look quite as terrified as I did a few moments earlier. I couldn’t stall any longer.

Committed to getting the first wave of awkwardness out of the way, I exited the bathroom. There was no sign of Justin. However, he must have been in the bedroom while I had been undressing. The lighting had been adjusted to cast a muted glow about the room. Music filled the space, a dark vibe filled with raw emotion that was hauntingly beautiful. An assortment of objects had been placed on the edge of the bed, as well. One of them I recognized as the flogger. My breath hitched upon laying eyes on it, and my heart attempted to beat a hole through my chest.

The angel that had been conspicuously absent came to the forefront of my mind once again, reminding me that it was not too late to back out of this. I dismissed her warnings with surprising ease, and gave myself a pep talk.

I can do this! Don’t be such a scaredy-cat!

I inhaled a lungful of air to steady my racing pulse. Walking to the center of the room, I kneeled down into the instructed position. Thighs spread, palms to the ceiling.

I stayed like that for what seemed like ages, but was realistically only a few minutes, before Justin finally entered the room. My skin instantly flushed, threatening to break out in a cold sweat at any moment.

He paused in the doorway, eyes filled with appreciation when he saw me. His approval made me relax a bit, and I gradually exhaled the air that I’d been holding.

He moved towards me, making a slow circle around where I was kneeling, sizing me up.

“You look beautiful like this. You’re like an angel. My angel,” he said, stopping in front of where I was kneeling. Using his foot, he nudged my thighs further apart. “Tell me your safeword.”

“Sapphire,” I blurted out automatically.

Like I would forget it.

That word was my only protection in this little adventure into kink.

“Remember to use it if you feel like you’re being pushed too far. But you need to trust that I’ll know your limitations. If you use your safeword too soon, the mood will be broken and everything stops. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

He leaned down to skim his fingers softly along my jaw. My entire body came alive with pleasure at his touch.

Continuing on their path, those same fingers reached down and latched on to one of my nipples. My breath caught in my throat and my head lolled to the side, as I enjoyed the sensation of him twisting and squeezing the hard nub.

He squatted down further, until we were almost eye level, and his other hand moved slowly down my belly until he reached my sweet spot. His finger worked through my folds, lightly grazing over my clit. Electricity flowed through me, causing every nerve ending in my body to stand at attention. He teased me for a minute or so, before pushing two fingers partially inside of me.

“Oh, angel. I can feel how wet you are already,” he said, voice edged with arousal. “But you’re not allowed to come until I say so. Understand?”

I nodded my response, trying to decide if I should be proud or embarrassed by how quickly I was turned on. We hadn’t even done anything yet, and I was dripping.

He pushed his fingers deeper inside of me, making a circular motion around my walls, while his other hand continued to pinch and pull at one of my nipples. Plumping my breast in his hand, he captured one hard point between teeth.

I moaned, fighting the instinct to cry out, as he relentlessly worked me closer to the breaking point. I didn’t want to lose control yet – not this soon. Regardless if he wanted me to come or not, I wanted to savor this sensation for as long as possible. But everywhere he touched left a trail of fire, making it impossible for me to control my own body.

“Justin, you have to stop. I – I’m…” I faltered over my words, my breath hitching as he increased the pulsing motion of his fingers. “I’m so close. I don’t know if I can hold back.”

But he continued his rhythm, hands and mouth torturing me by keeping me right on the edge. His proficiency at knowing how to keep me there was mind-blowing. I wanted to scream out and absently found myself wishing that Justin had gagged me.

Eventually, he slowed his pace, and removed his hands and mouth from my body. My shoulders dropped, sagging from pure pent up frustration.

“You’re ready for me. I could feel your pussy clenching around my fingers,” he murmured into my ear.

“I want you, Justin. Desperately,” I breathed, tilting my head back to invite his mouth to sample my neck.

“All in good time, angel. I have other plans for you first,” he told me, pushing himself up to his feet. “Stand up. I want you on the bed, assuming the same position.”

He held his hand out and pulled me up from the floor. Guiding my way, Justin led me over to the black satin covered bed. I crawled over the cool spread and positioned myself the way that he had instructed.

Climbing up onto the bed next to me, Justin leaned in to take one of my nipples between his teeth. He pulled back and blew, causing the already erect peak to pucker into a hard point. I sucked in a breath sharply. Squeezing it firmly between his fingers, he reached into his pocket and produced what looked to be a small and round metal clamp of some sort.

“Justin, what –.”

“Shhh,” he silenced me. “Be patient. You’ll like this.”

He moved meticulously, placing the circular clamp around my areola, and cranking its clasp tight so that it stayed firmly in place. The clamp was cold to the touch, only serving to enhance the rigidity of my nipple. He repeated the process with my other breast, each motion intensifying the volatile pulse between my legs. I had never been more turned on in my entire life.

After both clamps were firmly secured, he moved off the bed and began to undress. Once he was completely in the flesh, I found myself staring at him in awe. I had seen him naked before, but never quite without an unobstructed view.

Now here he stood before me, in all his glory, the perfect specimen of everything a girl could ever fantasize about. From his dark silky waves, flashing eyes, and perfectly chiseled jawline; to the contours of his honed shoulder muscles and washboard abs, highlighted by the shadows in the room, coming to a V just above his pelvis. He was the flawless male that any Renaissance sculptor would have died for. The sight of him naked made my mouth water.

“I want you on your hands and knees, Selena,” he said huskily, and I reluctantly tore my eyes away from his impeccable form. “I want to see that beautiful ass of yours in the air.”

I rolled over onto my hands and knees, feeling extremely self-conscious in the vulnerable position.

A few seconds later, his hands were on me once again, molding and kneading my behind. Moving at a leisurely pace, his hands and mouth worked their way up my spine, causing a shiver of goose bumps to dance over my flesh. I could feel his hard erection pressing into my thighs.

“I could rub my hands and lips over you all night. I love your body, the way it feels beneath my hands, the way it responds to my touch…you drive me wild, Selena.”

He worked his way back down, teeth lightly nipping my skin all the way to my behind. I desperately ached for him, for the release that that I had been craving, and my body hummed from the way he so reverently worshipped me. I no longer just felt alive, as that expression seemed too blasé for how I actually felt. I was phenomenal in the supernatural sense – like I could be anything he wanted me to be, do anything he wanted me to do.

“Justin, I don’t want to wait anymore…just take me!” At my plea, he pulled away. I arched, opening myself to him, just waiting to be filled.

“You need to tell me if you’re not ready for this, Angel. I didn’t want to rush you into this too fast, but I can’t keep holding back. Are you sure that you can take it?”

“Please, I’ll do anything!” I cried out. I surrendered fully, not caring about anything other than satisfying my burning need. So lost in my own excitement, I hadn’t even realized that he had the flogger in his hand.

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