Page 57 of The Pleasure of Panic

“Well, do you really think this is a game?”

She shrugs.

“Then no, I’d have to say no. It’s not safe and you should stay here, and I’ll take the couch, and—”

“Don’t be dumb,” she says, waving a hand at me. “We’ve already had sex. And I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”

“Do you want like… a t-shirt and shorts to wear?”

She looks down at her outfit and sighs. “Sure.” Like she’s disappointed she has to take it off. Or that this fantasy of hers is all fucked up.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I guess,” she says, propping a foot up on the coffee table so she can start unlacing the back of her boots.

I swat her hand away and take that duty on myself. You know, because I’m a gentleman and shit. “What was the fantasy? I mean, specifically?”

She smiles, then giggles, then shakes her head. “Never mind. It’s just something I saw in a movie once and it kinda made me hot, so I figured it might be nice to try it in real life. Like… expose myself in a new way. Feel something different. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a bit of a control freak.”

“Nah,” I say, laughing to myself as I concentrate on pulling the laces apart.

“For real, I am,” she says. “And sometimes it exhausts me. To, like, be in charge of everything.”

“So you wanted to be dominated?”

“No.” She laughs. “No, that wasn’t it.”

“But the boots? The crop?”

“I just wanted to lose control, not be controlled. I wanted to feel out of my element. Like… I might have a problem.”

“Nah, I think that’s normal. Everyone wants an adventure, right?” I finish unlacing the first boot and grab her foot to slide the boot off. It makes a sexy whooshing sound as her leg comes free from the latex. “And actually, this fantasy game makes a lot of sense. This Jordan guy, he takes away your control and assumes it himself. So you know it’s all planned, you feel safe, and yet it’s still enough to get your heart racing, right?”

“Yeah,” she says, as I take my attention back to the boots. I’m oddly familiar with them for only having met them a couple hours ago. “I guess so. But this is a disaster. And if you’re really not playing—”

“I’m not, I swear to God, I’m not.”

“Then that’s even worse. You probably think I’m a freak.”

“Because of these boots?” I ask. “I love these fucking boots.”

“Yeah,” she says, looking down at me from over her shoulder. “They are pretty hot. I’ve had them for years. First time I’ve put them on though.”

I finish unlacing boot number two and pull it off, then look up at her. See her. Not her tits, popping out of the lingerie. Or her pussy, which is visible, since I’m sitting down and she’s standing in front of me and I forgot her crotchless panties. But her.

“Was it everything you thought it’d be?”

She smiles, then nods her head. “Yeah. Maybe better.”

My hand finds the back of her soft upper thigh. I can’t help myself. “Why better?” I ask, caressing her leg as we stare at each other. I like her face, I realize. She’s not one of those runway-model beauties. She’s… very cute. Soft, almost round cheeks. Full lips, but small mouth. Wide eyes and perky nose.

She places her hands on my bare shoulders, kneeling on the couch, her knees sinking into the cushions on either side of mine. “Because if this is real—if it’s not a game—then I think I just found someone cool.”

I smile. I can’t help myself. “Who the fuck are you? And why would you trust me, after what I just told you?”

“You… we… people”—she finally finds the words she needs—“people do things. Sometimes they’re not proud of those things, but they refuse to be stuck on the same track, doing the same shit, repeating the same mistakes over and over and over again. So if you are telling the truth, then I get your story.”

“Why?” I ask. “Why… what… how?”