Page 6 of The Pleasure of Panic

“Chella actually thought I needed a choking game?” I’m… perplexed. To say the least. Chella knows more about me than anyone these days. Which isn’t saying much, since I’ve kept most of my past hidden. I’m not ashamed of it—I just don’t feel it’s productive to wave my mistakes around like a banner. Plus, my entire career was built on the premise that I fix people like me, not am people like me.

Which I do. I mean, I fixed me, right?

“No. Chella thought you needed a panic game. Perhaps I misinterpreted her request for you. Shall we ask her?”

“No,” I say. “Just… no. I don’t—”

“OK, maybe I got it wrong. Panic can mean a lot of things, but mostly it is about control. And let’s face it, Issy. You’re a superstar control freak. It’s pretty normal to crave a little submission.”

I open my mouth to object again. But he hushes me with a raised finger. “Just let me finish. Panic can just mean you need a little…” He takes a deep breath as he thinks. “A little spontaneity in your life. A little chaos. Or a little bit of danger, maybe? Not everyone wants the danger part, so ignore that if that’s not what you’re after. I’m just explaining all the ways a panic game can go, that’s all.”

I’ve got nothing for that. Before this conversation the words ‘panic’ and ‘game’ never went together.

“So… which one is you?”

“None of them.” I laugh. “I mean, I’m a control freak for a reason. I like a predictable life. I love order, and neatness, and clean lines, if you want my interior design taste. I have two God-given talents. Martial arts and the ability to make people believe the things I tell them. I’m satisfied with those two talents. I’m satisfied with what I have and I’m not looking for a panic game, OK? I’m not looking for any game. I only came because Chella talked me into it.”

“That’s it?” Jordan asks. “You only came over here to discuss a sexual fantasy fulfillment game with me because your friend… what? Offered it up?”

“Yeah,” I say, again feeling defensive.

“So you have no interest in this?” Jordan raises an eyebrow at me. “Be honest, Issy. I mean, I’m just here to make you happy, OK? That’s my only job. So if you’re interested in this at all, just tell me. I can find you something you’d enjoy.”

I start to answer, but he holds up a finger again.

“Think hard,” he says. “You won’t get another chance to play. I’ll have to blacklist you. That’s just the rules.”

I huff out a frustrated breath of air. “OK, then hold on. Let me wrap my head around this.”

“Take your time,” Jordan says, sipping his wine.

“I mean… I guess I could use some kind of game. I’m just not sure what. Do you have like… a menu? Or something?”

Jordan laughs. “A menu?”

“You know what I mean. Like a list of what you offer. What kind of games are there?”

“It’s your fantasy, Issy. Not mine. They’re all custom. You already said you don’t want to submit to anyone. So perhaps you’d like to be the top? Hmm? Is dominating a man your fantasy?”

“God, no.” I laugh.

“OK, how about ménage?”

I make a face and shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. Sounds so… messy.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, then mumbles something that might be, “You’re telling me.” He tabs a few things on his tablet and says, “Why don’t you just tell me what you like, Issy? No need to be embarrassed, OK? I’m a professional. This is my job.”

“You’re a lawyer,” I say, frustrated that I’m being cajoled into having a sex conversation with a man I hardly know.

“Which means you can trust me to keep anything you say confidential. I mean, I’m a man of my word, but if it makes you feel safer, we can sign an NDA.” He shrugs. “That way we can’t talk about it and we can forget about the part where other people find out.”

“Do you have one of those with you?” I laugh.

“Of course,” he says, pulling out a contract from his briefcase. “I sign them all the time. What you’re feeling is pretty typical.” He hands it to me. I take it and the pen he offers. “It’s really basic. We put the date, time, and place on there. Then we both sign. And that means we’re legally obligated to keep this just between us. If I breach, you can sue me. How’s that?”

It is a pretty straightforward contract. And that is all it says.

So I sign. Because I actually do have a fantasy. And fuck it, right? I think Chella did this as a friend. She means well. So why not? I pass it back and he signs his, then folds it up and places it in his briefcase.