She is perched at the bar next to him.
She crosses her legs on the high stool. He appreciates the muscle in her thigh, and the pronounced shape of her calf.
‘You don’t mind if I ask you some questions?’
They both know he will enjoy answering. It is a part of teaching. And he would like to tutor her in many ways. So he nods.
‘When did you know that you were … the way you are?
He raises an eyebrow and smiles. ‘The way I am?’
‘You know… … a Dominant’ She doesn’t know why the word sounds utterly ridiculous and yet still sends a small shiver down her spine.
‘Ah. That.’ He is dismissive.
‘Are you not one?’
‘It has become such a cliché. I hate to be a cliché. That awful book … ‘
He raises his eyes and shakes his head. There is a silence. He begins to write spidery words on a single piece of paper with a fat Mont Blanc fountain pen. The ink is midnight blue. She cannot read them, although she tries.
‘Shall we just use Dominant as a label?’ She asks. Then after a few seconds. ‘After all, you do.’
There is an imperceptible shrug of his shoulders and a slight upwards curl of his lips. She takes it as assent.
‘So when did you know?’
He considers her question, his pen no longer at work.
‘I would say I always knew,’ he answers at last. ‘Certainly it has been with me for as long as I can remember. But I couldn’t define exactly what that ache was for a long time.’
He pauses. ‘I have always adored women. Worshipped them. The female form has always thrilled me. And the feminine mind’
‘Is adoration important?’
‘Of course.’ He says it with absolute conviction. ‘It is adoration that makes me want to unwrap them slowly, body and soul. To explore every inch of them. To give them pleasure and pain. To have them in my power. To enjoy them completely. To possess them.
He moves his long slender hands as speaks. He is aware of her staring. He picks up his wine glass with his left hand. There is a simple wedding ring on his third finger. It surprises her somehow. She makes a mental note to ask about it later.
‘There must have been a first? Your first D/s experience?’
He laughs. She likes the sound. She inexplicably feels that she wants to make him laugh.
‘The very first? He asks her, raising an eyebrow,
Then that’s easy. It was Julie. She was fourteen and lived in the house next door.
The woman is shocked and her face pales.
He gives a wicked grin.
‘She was in the same year as me, but at the girl’s school. I stripped her naked and tied her up one afternoon in her father’s garden shed. Amongst the power tools and the nails and screws, the lawnmower and the old paint cans. I laid her on the big wooden workbench. I seem to remember I tortured her very gently with a wire brush.’
The woman appears shocked but he knows she is fascinated.
‘Julie enjoyed it. It became a regular event. Until her mother caught us.’
He smiles at the memory. ‘But that is a different story.’
There is a long silence. The words spill from the nib of his pen in dark blue, almost black ink.. She watches them materialise, unreadable, on the page.
‘Have you ever been tied up?’ He asks suddenly.
The woman shakes her head and gulps a mouthful of wine. She tries to avoid his eyes, until she feels compelled to look up. They meet his and something strange happens between them.
He tightens the cap on his pen and hands her the paper.
She blushes when she reads what he has written, a hand fluttering to her throat.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Fabian Perez.