(9) I am what I am

“Aren’t you the cute little thing, mind if I join you?”

I looked up at the man and nodded.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“A ‘yes’. You can join me.” I moved my jacket off the chair beside me and waited for him to take a seat.

After Bonnie and I had had supper, at a nice restaurant in the neighborhood close to the apartment, we’d gone back home. She was tired and soon gave up trying to watch TV as she was already dozing off. Once she was in bed I changed clothes and headed out. I was still in a high state of tension after my bout with the therapist. I hadn’t told Bonnie what had happened, I didn’t want her worrying. After all he was her friend. I just said that he’d decided we’d gotten to the root of my problem and since the nightmares seemed to have disappeared he had pronounced me ‘cured’. I made the whole thing into an amusing story that had her laughing by the time I was finished.

“Not drinking?” the middle-aged man asked, looking at my glass of water as he sat down.

I smiled, telling him I didn’t. That I went to clubs for the music and the dancing not to get smashed out of my mind on liquor. He said that was a very wise idea even as he finished off his drink and waved the waiter over to order another.

We chatted for a while, him telling me all about his thriving business in a city somewhere across the country from here. Me telling him about my imaginary modeling career, or more my attempts to break into the field. By that time his hand was resting on my leg, inching its way up as his thumb traced small circles on the inside of my thigh. I stopped that by covering his hand with mine, suggesting this was neither the time nor the place.

He leaned close, whispering in my ear as he nibbled it lightly, “When and where would work?”

“Soon,” I murmured back, shivering as he nipped my throat. “If you’re really interested.”

I swear the man’s prick stood up like a dog begging for a treat, or as much as it could under his slacks. “I’m interested,” he said fervently.

I made him wait through one more song before standing up, reaching for my jacket. Ten minutes later we were inside a studio apartment. I looked around and shook my head. “Just move in?” I asked, noting the singular lack of furnishings other than the bed and bedside table, a sofa, and a couple of kitchen chairs.

“Argument with my now ex boyfriend,” he told me as he began slowly unbuttoning my shirt. Soon I was naked and moments later so was he. Then he opened the drawer of the table. “I like to be restrained,” he said shyly as he took out some handcuffs and a ball gag, laying them on the table, and then stretched out on the bed.

That’s not my thing but still I crawled onto the bed, leaning over him, pressing my mouth to his in a heated kiss. Seconds later I had one of his hands cuffed to the back leg of the bed. He grinned in anticipation as I cuffed his other hand and then his feet. When I pushed the gag into his mouth his eyes glittered with arousal.