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“Late, after midnight. You’ll want to be there by ten.”
“Thanks.”
I give him a hug once he’s untangled himself from his chains and bondage gear. Taking a final breath of his murky air, I split out the back door and return to my bookshop. This way I can spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about something other than my “old” friends.
The party is a bust. At least for what I want.
Getting there, I skip out of Ian’s apartment, telling him I have some late inventory work I need to do at the store. That’s okay with him, he’ll be working on the Internet all night, some stock stuff that’s got him rattled. I know he’ll be buried in that world long into the night. My fetish leathers are in the bag I carry—just a short leather skirt and bustier. A little silver jewelry and I can walk into any bondage scene and feel completely at home. Certainly this should do for a party of newbies who are testing the S&M waters—or even those that only play at this sort of thing. I change at the shop and take a taxi to the address Cavenor gave me, arriving at a party that is exactly as predicted—maybe even worse. No, these are not serious S&M players, let alone people like me who need this lifestyle. Oh, there are some interesting sorts, lots of naked body parts—asses, cunts and breasts; pierced nipples, labia, frenum, septums, ears, eyebrows and lips; tattoos everywhere; paddles, whips, and canes dangling from waist belts. Still there’s not a real crack of a whip all night long. After nearly three hours, I realize that nothing more than teasing will take place the rest of the night. This is no more than a costume party. Drives me up a wall.
Nearing the end of my patience, I approach one interesting looking fellow who has all the moves of an accomplished dom from a distance, though he turns to jelly with me. I tease a little as I might have done the night I met Heinrich, but any seduction turns into nothing more than straight sex when he says, “let’s cut this scene, this stuff’s a little weird.”
“Then why are you dressed that way?”
“I like leather,” he says, “but this crowd is too extreme for me.”
“Extreme?”
“You don’t think people really like all this bondage stuff?”
“Yeah, I think they might.”
“Like who?”
“Like me,” I say as I walk away. Bet he’s a closet sub, and that thought makes me shiver to the core.
I can’t stand this kind of anticipation all for nothing, so I decide to leave. As I’m on my way out, I spy Cavenor. He shrugs at me and mouths, “I’m sorry,” as he sees me about to leave—despondently so. By the time I’m in the street, he’s at my shoulder.
“How about coffee?”
“Great idea, but I should probably change first.” I’m looking down at my tiny bustier and short skirt. “Or maybe we could just brew some at the bookstore.”
“Sure.”
Over coffee we talk about everything that doesn’t really matter to me, like scene gossip that I might have missed, and nothing about my fractured sex life. Then he suggests again that we go to the shop where he’ll take care of me. I graciously decline.
It’s nearly four o’clock before I arrive home. Ian is still working and he’s surprised that I’m so late once he sees the time.
“I fell asleep,” I tell him as I put my arms around him and give him a sleepy kiss on the cheek. “And I’m ready for more. You look tired, how about lets go to bed?”
“Good idea,” he smiles.
We slip off to bed; both too tired to make love, though the agitation in my belly has grown by leaps and bounds. I probably should have taken Cavenor’s offer and let him have me for a night. But he’s too much like a big brother, and I get squeamish, not at all turned on by the idea of him topping me. We just talked like good friends. There’s really little I can’t tell him, because he knows so much about me. I suppose it’s good to have people in your life you can say that about. Just friends.
***
I’m shelving books at three in the afternoon. The autumn sun pours through the windows heating the store till I’m really to turn on the air. But no. It’s fall. I want the windows open and the fresh October breeze. I hear the door bang, but thinking that Catherine’s in front, I don’t bother to stop what I’m doing and see who’s there. Seconds later, I’m feeling someone breathing down my neck. I jump, startled, and turn to see Bernard. He’s visibly angry.
“What the hell are you doing!” he blares at me in the loudest whisper he can manage.
“I should ask you the same question!” I whisper back as loudly as I can.
“You have a backroom here?”
“Yes,” I say, leading him through the storeroom door and closing it behind us. The air is close inside with no open windows. A shaft of sunlight blares through one hazy pane of glass, dust particles dancing in the insubstantial beam.
“You’re mad, how come?” I ask as I face Bernard’s imperious gaze.
“I was hoping this might be a time for you to reform yourself. To take stock of who you are and your insatiable and impatient need for self-serving sexual drama.”
