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“You have an interest in avant-garde playwrights?”
“No, at least not that I know of. But it sounds interesting.”
“Maybe you should stop by.”
And maybe this was going too far, I was thinking. Overstepping the bounds of a friendly ‘thank-you’ sort of chat. I had little desire to pry into his world even though he seemed to have so easily stepped into mine. “Maybe,” I offered a vague reply. The moments intervening seemed uncomfortable for me, though KC appeared perfectly content. I finally asked, “Do you always do psychic readings on women you pick up off the street?”
“No. Just the interesting ones. My occupation makes me curious to peer into people’s minds.”
I really liked his gentle wit, the bold eyes, and beyond his obvious physique, his hands. I probably stared at them too long but I was fascinated by their strength. They were thoroughly masculine, and my imagination was inspired to take a few interesting flights of fancy wondering how they would feel on my flesh. “So, what do you see in my mind beyond the obvious,” I asked when I looked up again. It was an almost flippant question, which revealed much more than I asked for.
“You know I haven’t a clue about you, or anyone,” he sniggered, “I make up stories. Some probably hit the mark while others are so far-fetched they’re laughable.”
“So what would you say is inside my mind?”
“Honestly? I imagine you a sexual maverick inside your perfect apartment—a seething lioness underneath that staid librarian exterior.” (Ooo, that bit!) “You like certain crudities but you don’t tell your lovers what they are because they would shock them.” (How could he get this close to the truth without knowing me?)
“What kinds of crudities?” I asked.
“Oh, spanking, maybe bondage, perhaps, a fascination for leather—but then that might just be me. I love leather.”
I was sure he did. The leather jacket at his side was expensive and well worn. But spanking? Why would he say that? This conversation was suddenly making my clothes itch and my skin hot.
“I think you’re scared of what’s inside, and that’s the kind of material we put in our plays. For a lot of people it’s their crazy emotions—but I don’t see you as an emotional person, not in the crazy sense.”
“But I’m crazy about sex?” I tried to joke as I said it.
“Hummm…maybe not crazy, just pent-up because you don’t get everything you need. I’d see your mind being very quirky.”
“But why would you mention spanking? That seems kind of odd.” I hoped he didn’t know the wild panic that suddenly grabbed my stomach and twisted it like a screw.
“Just came to mind.”
“You ever spank a woman?” I made myself ask.
“Few times.”
“For what reason?”
“Mostly for sex, and occasionally because they deserved it. Spanking was the simplest way of dealing with their neuroses. Some women need the discipline.”
That word—discipline—made me quake as much as the mention of spanking.
“You think women are neurotic?” I tried to squelch my rising feelings and sound sane.
“No, but the interesting ones are,” he replied simply.
“My, you are quite a find.”
“Am I?”
“I think so. But then, I really don’t know what to think about you.”
“Maybe as a friend would be okay.”
“All right.”
“I know,” he chuckled. “Right now, you’re thinking, I hope my other friends don’t suddenly walk by and see me with this guy.”
