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December 17, 2010

Five O'Clock (Part I)

Flipping through a magazine she saw an advertisement for something that always made her heart jump and her stomach flutter.

She thought she was broken. A little “off”.

To give a little bit of background she had always thought that she was a strong girl and even grew into a stronger woman. She was independent and tough on the outside, but on the inside the things that she craved in her darkest corners, she was embarrassed to admit.

Working hard, living up to her potential, her extracurricular activities and things outside of the office were actions she pushed herself to excel at so she wouldn’t be tempted by the proverbial carrot on the string that was hanging right above her ID like some tangible but inappropriate goal.

Since she was a young woman coming into her own she was aware that she was hyper sensitive to men, women, beauty, but most of all, to the knowledge that she could read people’s wants and behaviors like they were written in their eyes. Conversations with people who trusted her could show her the true words written on their heart. She knew. She just knew. And she wanted to give them what they craved.

It was always physical in nature and since she was a good girl she tried not to hear, not to see, not to feel or sense. She kept the knowledge to herself then started to try to close off the ability to read people so well, because sometimes it was embarrassing… sometimes, you just did not want to know what your father’s boss or the pastor were truly thinking.

One man was a straight laced, by the book type, extremely dominant and very uptight. He was forever hanging around and until she took that veil away, let herself really see what he wanted. She looked at him one day and then slowly relaxed that internal clenched fist. Peaceful she looked at him again and actually saw him. She would have never guessed that he wanted someone to take away his control.

She understood that want. So she knew exactly what to give to him. He awkwardly approached her one day and she let opened up that string that was tied to his wants and needs. She gave herself over to his never verbalized fantasy. She took control. She molded him. She taught him to be submissive, that it was okay. That there was nothing wrong with what he truly desired. She showed him with words actions and tests that he could master himself and find the strength in letting go of that control.

He still calls her. She has been turning him down for over ten years. She showed him what he really wanted. She taught him how to find that pleasure, it was up to him to find his fantasy and be truthful with himself and his lovers by proxy.

Being tightly wound herself she knew how he felt. She wanted and craved for someone to come along and read her as she had done with others. To know what she wanted, to take her, to show her the quiet strength in submission. The mainstream language was that she wanted a Master, a Dom, but she was not comfortable with that. That would mean seeking out people of the same mindset and admitting what she wanted to a virtual stranger. There was also the danger of her mouth getting out of control and getting her in trouble with someone who really knew what to do. How to get her to submit, to quiet her control and to let her mind find that white space where the only sensations were pleasure and not an endless parade of “what if’s”, things to do, bills to pay, her mind crammed to the brim with things other than what was being done to her body.

She had never been married as she felt that a wedding ring was a sign of ownership and she didn’t want to be treated like chattel. She refused to subscribe to society’s version of what was “normal”. She wanted to be a partner with someone who was open to new ideas, not a judgmental type, someone who could have an open honest conversation about what they wanted and expected from a lover or a friend.

Not finding what she wanted in a partner, people who would let her free their fantasies but never do the same in turn for her she just had a series of lovers. A serial monogamist she would stay with someone, content to have physical affection and company when the situation suited both of them, she lived out her life uncomplicated and drama free.

She never knew that she would meet him while traveling.

She met him in a classroom where she was attending a convention. He sat next to her and the moment he did she could smell him. His close-set, glittering almost predatory eyes glanced over at her, she looked back and with unconscious ease gave him a smile to show that she was harmless. He did the same, she didn’t believe it for a minute. The full mouth under his closely trimmed mustache and goatee looked too wry to be harmless. She felt herself flush. Her chest warmed and turned pink, her cheeks warmed and turned pink and she actually flinched as he leaned over, his arm along the back of her classroom chair to ask the time.

She fumbled with her watch and gave him the time, he chuckled low and masculine and asked for her card. She lied, saying she didn’t have one with her, and he said, “That’s fine, here’s mine. Call me at 5.” She took the card, ran her fingers over the raised lettering and the scrawled cell number and got angry. Who the hell did he think he was? Telling her to “call me at five.”??!! She turned to give him back his card and to tell him to go fuck himself but when she turned he was closer and looking directly into her eyes, so intent, so interested as if he were reading her.

Her words died in her throat, she set the card on the table in front of her. She turned to face the front of the room and started bargaining with God to please not let her start sweating.

The class ended, he casually gripped her wrist, his strong fingers against her pulse and said, “Five o’clock and not a minute later.” And then he was gone.

*This is Part One of a series. If you are interested in having it continue, please leave a comment below. Or… you know, you’ll never ever know.

December 29, 2010

Five O'Clock (Part II)

Click here for Part I.

She gathered up her belongings, stuffed an unneeded scarf and sweater into her tote along with a small purse she carried and threw the tote over her shoulder. She smoothed her modest tank over her pants, rubbed imaginary lint off the thigh of her cuffed trousers, wiggled her toes in her sensible black sling back pumps and stood up.

Sliding the chair back behind her, she glared at the card. It was still sitting on the table in front of her.

She stepped around the chair, put it back under the table making sure it was just so, smoothed her tank over the waistline of her trousers again, settled the tote straps squarely on her shoulder, turned on her heel and walked away.

She took in a deep breath as she looked up to the doorway, she was almost there. But five feet from the door, with the other attendees filing out around her she stopped. She couldn’t move. With people brushing past her to get to a meeting or to grab a drink with a colleague she stood there until there until the class was empty but for the speaker and two people asking the speaker questions.

How much time had elapsed? Thirty seconds? Two minutes? She had no idea, she had just lost time. She turned against her will and walked back to where she was sitting, the card was still there. She was afraid to touch it. She told herself that she was being silly, that there was nothing sinister about the object, it was just a card. A business card with a number scrawled neatly with the digits leaning to the far right of the left handed.

She picked the card up and ran her fingers over the raised lettering of his name, sighed audibly then looked towards the ceiling to see if an answer to her unasked question was written there in the air above her. Nope. No luck. She put the card into the side pocket of her tote, located her hotel key and started the trek back to her room.

Pulling her phone from the opposite side pocket of the tote she checked her voicemails, her emails, FaceBook and her Twitter account. She wasn’t watching where she was going, looking at the lighted screen of her iPhone. Completely on autopilot she made her way through the convention center, through the hotel, back to her room where once inside she unceremoniously dumped her tote on the bed.

She kicked off her pumps, stepped into her slippers and fished the sweater and the lightweight scarf out of the tote to hang up, lest they wrinkle. She padded softly into the bathroom, gave herself a cursory glance in the mirror, pulled her hair back and brushed her teeth. With that completed she walked back into the room, pulled her schedule out of the tote to see what was in store for her that evening.

There was a charity event that wouldn’t be reimbursed by her company and it was quite expensive, so that was out. She had appointments with vendors and clients set up for the next two days but this evening she was free. Her shoulders slowly settled in their correct positions and away from her ears. She rolled her head on her neck and went to grab her iPhone out of the tote’s side pocket to plug it in so she could rest a little. She reached in and her hand closed around the business card… not her phone at all.

She could almost swear that it had a pulse to it. Some sort of vibration, heat or energy to it, so she felt an almost physical bite of an electric shock when she pulled it from the bag. Nothing had changed the card, it wasn’t dripping with blood like some omen and it hadn’t grown teeth with which to rend her flesh. It was just a business card. What was she afraid of?

Her eyes were pulled to the standard hotel issue alarm clock with green digital numbers. Four forty-five. She blinked slowly. FOUR FORTY-FIVE!? Her heart rate increased and her pupils dilated so that the room was suddenly too bright. Her eyes found the card. His name. She read it out loud. She followed that by saying, “Five o’clock and not a minute later.”

She heard her voice and it didn’t sound like her own. There was a dreamy almost disconnected quality to it so she tried again. His name and the demand that she call him at five. Her voice still sounded slightly detached so she made a quick mental sketch pad, a line down the middle, “Pro” on one side of the bisected page and “Con” on the other. She listed her pros to calling him and her cons. She had been using this method to make hard decisions for most of her life. The “Pros” won out, barely as she was extremely cynical. The race between to do or not to do was so close that she almost mentally discarded the list and the business card in the hotel trash can.

Being true to herself she went with the “Pro” list and sure she was completely out of time she turned to the clock again, so certain that it would be four fifty-nine. Four forty-eight. She was blown away that this intense inner turmoil had only taken a brief three minutes. Three minutes to decide if she was going to call him. Her ID knew what was going to happen, almost as if she could decipher the future, her body was ready, her brain was the only thing she had to fight against. The need to submit. That first step would be to call him at exactly five pm, and not a minute later.

*This is Part Two of a series. If you are interested in having it continue, please leave a comment below.

About December 2010

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in December 2010. They are listed from oldest to newest.

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