Strapped by Nina G. Jones (17)

Chapter Eighteen

This time, there are no tears during my drive home. Instead, I am numb with disbelief. I laugh at the ridiculousness of my predicament: Infatuated with a young, gorgeous, sensual, enigmatic multimillionaire, who can cook a delicious paella, who only accepts my touch, and has a fetish for torturing women. What did I expect? He did try to warn me that he was different, a loner. He is not forcing me to do anything, that is clear, but that doesn’t mean he won’t miss it. I just feel that he is suppressing this part of him out of concern that I will react poorly.

Once I enter my apartment, I realize for the first time how bare it has become. Everything of Rick’s is now gone. My heart aches at the thought that he and I may never speak again. I thought that we could maintain a friendship, but his reaction to seeing me with Taylor the other night tells me this may not be a possibility, at least not for a while. I lay on my couch and remember my last pitiful descent into depression. I sit back up; I won’t allow this cycle to continue. I grab a pen and paper and decide to approach this like any other major decision. I draw a t-chart, one side labeled PRO, the other CON. This calms me. It creates the illusion that I have some control over the situation.

I pull out my laptop and google BDSM. Just as the screen pops up with hits, I receive a text.

Taylor:

I’m sorry.

The short message breaks my heart. I want to hold him in my arms because the last thing I want to be is the source of his pain. At the same time, this beautiful man who makes me laugh, makes me feel like a schoolgirl, cooks for me, pleasures me, drives me up the wall with his mood swings, how can this be the same man that keeps a secret blackmail diary? Cognitive dissonance continues to prevent me from fully acknowledging his dark side. Yet how could I not? He does have mood swings, he does keep secrets from me, he is domineering, he has issues with anxiety, and can be very rough in bed. I shouldn’t be entirely surprised. I choose not to respond to his text right away knowing he will lure me back. Instead, I plunge into my research. I am immediately overwhelmed by the massive amounts of information and discover that there is a huge spectrum of behaviors in this lifestyle. I find a Psychology Today article:

Of every 10 people who reads these words, one or more has experimented with sadomasochism (S & M), which is most popular among educated, middle- and upper-middle-class men and women, according to psychologists and ethnographers who have studied the phenomenon.

The word he mentioned that frightened me the most was “sadist.” Researching that opens up more questions. I become even more curious about his childhood experiences after reading the following on a wiki page:

Unfavorable experiences during childhood or in early stages of sexual development are believed to be one of the major contributing factors in the development of a sadistic personality in an individual. It has also been observed that sadism or a sadistic personality can also get developed in an individual through conditioning. For instance, continual connection of a particular stimulus with sexual enjoyment or of happiness with the anguish of others can cause sadism or sadomasochism.1

In the Freudian theory of psychosexual development, guilt is integral to sadistic and masochistic sexual tendencies, signaling either an incomplete or an incorrect sexual development of the child.2

While the word is scary and can have terrible implications, it too has a spectrum of severity. The experts seem to agree that BDSM is not inherently pathological, but in some cases it can be tied to such behavior. I quickly realize that while researching will help me learn quite a bit about BDSM as a whole, I will have to sit down with him and learn the details about how he personally adopts this lifestyle. Furthermore, I have to reflect upon myself how I can fit into this part of his life. While he has never asked me to do anything for him, if I am going to stay with him, I don’t think I can make him close off an entire part of his sexuality for my sake. Selfishly, I understand what makes him such an incredible lover is that he is very in tune with his sexuality and he likely would not be had he not discovered BDSM. I decide he and I will meet for dinner at a neutral location where I can ask him questions, no holds barred. There are things I need to know and I will no longer compromise when he tries to change the subject. Specifically, I must know what the hidden room holds. I understand learning about his family and past may take longer and I respect that, but the room, that is in the present, so I must know its contents. I also must know more about what the book holds and what exactly he is holding over these women’s heads. Finally, I text him back:

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1. Sadistic personality disorder. (2013, June 8). In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia.

2. Sadism and masochism (as medical terms). (2013, April 22). In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia.

Shyla:

I don’t want you to be sorry. I am glad you opened up to me, but you have to understand, it was a lot to take in. I want to meet you for dinner tomorrow somewhere I can ask questions. I know it is hard for you to share, but you have to understand that in a relationship people TRUST one another and SHARE feelings and secrets. You have to work with me.

I hold my breath as I send the text. About 10 minutes later, I receive a reply.

Taylor:

I’ll try to talk. Sometimes the words won’t even come out. When you walked out today, you don’t know the effect that had on me. My friend has a restaurant. I have arranged for us to have the rooftop to ourselves. I’ll have Harrison pick you up.

I open up the camera roll on my cellphone and look at pictures of the trip to St. Petersburg. How can I miss him so much already? I smile through moistened eyes as I flip through pictures of us on the boat. In the time that I have known him, so much of my life has changed. He has shown me so much that I didn’t even know I was missing and maybe, just maybe, this is the evolution of our relationship. Could I possibly enjoy this lifestyle? I shake my head at the thought. Who am I? Am I seriously considering BDSM? He hasn’t even asked me. I shelve the thought for another time. My eyelids begin to weigh heavy as the days events crash down on me. I curl up on my couch with the TV on because it doesn’t feel nearly as lonely as my empty bed.

The next morning, all I can think about is Taylor. I miss him, I want to be with him, but at the same time the nagging uncertainties plague me. The truth is, this has less to do with trusting Taylor, and more about my strong desire to be normal. I didn’t even know I cared about fitting in, but now that I am in love with a person who lives on the fringe, I am terrified to become an outsider, a weirdo.

Our dinner cannot come fast enough. There are so many questions I want to ask, so many answers I am afraid to hear. I barely eat as the nerves consume my thoughts and appetite. At six o’clock sharp, Harrison buzzes for me. I don a low cut black flowing maxi dress with gold flat sandals. My hair is wild and my eye makeup is dark, but my face and lips are natural. Harrison opens the door to the Bentley and I am shocked to see Taylor inside. I had assumed we would meet at the restaurant.

“You don’t look so happy to see me.”

“No, of course I am. I just am surprised to see you here. I thought we would meet at the restaurant.” I slide in and the butterflies have not vanished. This feels like a first date.

“You look amazing. I love your hair like that, it looks sexy.”

“Thanks,” I say bashfully. I don’t think I will ever get used to the fact that Harrison can hear us.

“So how are you feeling?”

“Honestly, nervous.” As I say this, his face sinks.

“Why? Do you feel unsafe?”

“No...no! Nervous in the sense that there is a lot to talk about. It all feels so heavy.”

“I hope I can assuage your concerns.”

We are taken to a secluded rooftop with beautiful views of the city lights and the night sky. Mini paper lanterns hover over us, emitting a soft yellow glow. The setting is so dazzling, but this dinner should be more like an interrogation than a romantic night out. We both start with some wine. Taylor is the first to say something as the server walks away, it is as if he was just reading my thoughts.

“Here we are dining in this beautiful scenery, but we can’t enjoy one another because you can’t even trust me. I don’t mean that in any way as a snipe towards you. I am so enormously fucked up and full of baggage that I can’t possibly embark on the normal course of a relationship.”

“Taylor...I trust your intentions. I think you’re a good person, otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. It’s just that I need to fully understand what I might be getting into.” I take a sigh, and start to feel more relaxed. “I had all of these questions I was going to ask. I had this whole thing mapped out in my head and now that I am here, I don’t even know what to say.”

“What do you want to know? I can’t guarantee all the answers, but I’ll try.”

I take a deep breath, scanning my thoughts. I let the questions pour out in no logical order. “How did you meet the other women? How did you find so many women to do this?”

“Well, there is a different story behind each one, but honestly...the majority of them were from clubs and other venues where one can meet people with similar tastes. If you click with someone, you come to an agreement. That was the majority of them, some were not like that.”

“Like Emily...”

“Yes, Emily was hired to be an assistant. I know that makes you think there is some sort of plan I have for you, but what happened with Emily is nothing like what is happening with you.”

“How so?”

“Well, I had absolutely no feelings for her. I did not hire her directly, she was hired by HR. Coincidentally, she was attractive and I knew she liked me and I saw someone I could...” He pauses, but I think he realizes he has to complete the sentence. “...groom.”

“Groom?”

“Yes, if she consented, I could show her the ropes. She did and I did.”

“So what happened?” I feel the jealously cooking up inside of me.

“She couldn’t take the fact that I would never let her touch me. She knew deep down that I could not love her back. She left, heartbroken.” He says this so matter-of-factly.

“Do you feel any guilt about that?”

“I know I should say yes, but no, I do not. She and I had an agreement and I was very clear about my boundaries, both physically and emotionally.”

“Don’t you think you took advantage of her? I mean you said you knew she liked you and you saw that as an opportunity to ‘groom’ her...That sounds manipulative.”

“Well, that goes both ways...She saw an in with BDSM and thought she could take advantage of the situation to guilt me into a relationship. She was a nice girl, but I always had the feeling she was in love with the potential lifestyle, not me.”

“I doubt that is entirely true.”

“Meaning?”

“Well...what is there not to love? You are intelligent, gorgeous, ambitious and fun. Now, I don’t know if she saw all of those sides of you, but I can easily see why many women would fall in love with you. It’s not very hard.”

He snickers. “I would never describe myself as easy to love.”

“Did she really leave to get married?”

“Yes, eventually she left town and married some guy. That was after she quit.”

“So did you date, like, formally? How were those relationships different from ours?”

“Well, no. The relationship is based on a power dynamic, mainly sexual. It’s nothing like us.”

“How so?”

“Well, like I said yesterday, we establish guidelines. We tell one another what we can or cannot do. It differs from partner to partner”

“So give me some examples.”

“Okay...some of my parameters were that they were not to touch me and we had sex whenever I wanted.”

“That’s it?”

“Well no, like I said it varied.”

“Did you live with these women?”

“Some of them lived in the guest room. As I have told you in the past, I need my space. ”

“So give me an example. A day in the life.”

“Do you really want to hear this?” I look at him sternly and nod.

“Okay...” He sighs. “So obviously many of these women had normal lives, the BDSM was a secret for many of them. What they loved about me was I had the means to let them live out their fantasy without splitting between two worlds.”

“How so?

“I could support them financially, so they could quit their jobs and then be my sub full time. That is, if they wanted to.”

“They would want that?”

“Yes. Let me put this in perspective. An outsider might only see the sexual dominance, the use of force or infliction of pain, but they are also taken care of. They submit all control. The daily stress of life, the responsibility of it all disappears. They get to relinquish it all to me, and they do it happily.”

“So if they abandoned their old lives, what did they do?”

“They lived here, under my rules. I took care of them and they submitted to all my desires.” A twinge of jealousy hits me thinking of these other women experiencing Taylor sexually.

“What were your rules?”

“In addition to what I already mentioned, they wore the clothes I provided, they made themselves available to whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, within our parameters. We went to parties too and if I said they should go to someone else, they would.”

“What? You traded them?”

“Always remember, they were in on it.”

“Would you want to trade me?”

“No! I never cared about them, they were objects to me. I know that makes me sound like a jerk, but they used me too. I would never want anyone else to have you. Seriously.”

“So did you ever have conversations? Relate like real people?”

“If I felt like it. I determined when, where, and how.”

“So you just liked humiliating them?”

“No. I liked taking care of them, taking responsibility for them. Listen, I didn’t want to mention this, because I think it might upset you, but if I don’t I’ll sound like a total monster.”

“What?”

“I took care of them in every way. I bathed them, I fed them.”

“Like a pet?” Taylor rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, this is just blowing my mind.”

“So I hope you have an understanding. They didn’t know me like you do. They didn’t have access to me like you do. We just fulfilled very specific needs for one another.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“No.” The answer is quick and sharp. Does that include me? I am afraid to ask.

I pause for a second to digest the information. “And the book. You’re blackmailing all of these girls?”

“No, it is a tool to prevent being blackmailed by them. I would never use the information unless threatened.”

“What does it contain?”

“Purposely ambiguous notes about things only I know about them and then also records of safety deposit boxes where I hold evidence.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Photos and videos. I also keep a detailed journal with notable encounters. To be clear, it was not for my pleasure, but I want to show them that I have every detail at hand and if I have to use it against them, I will.”

“Do you have a box for me?”

“Absolutely not, our relationship is different.”

“Why a book? Why not a computer file...it seems so, I don’t know...fetish-y and old fashioned.”

“Fetish-y?” How can he be grinning as he repeats this? “I want something I can destroy without a trace, something not hackable. The book does feel more personal versus some sort of Excel spreadsheet. If you want to call it ‘fetish-y’ I guess that is your prerogative. I thought no one would ever see it, but then I accidentally gave you the key to the room.”

“Accidentally?”

“Are you implying I planned all of this?” He smirks.

“No. Nevermind. How did you get into this?”

“Well I don’t have to remind you that I have issues with being touched and social anxiety. Once I hit puberty my hormones, my emotions, everything was raging. My father noticed my mood changes. He tried therapy, and you may not know this -- but I don’t like to talk.” The sarcastic tone in which he delivers that last sentence finally makes me smile. “Like all boys do, I started to explore the internet and magazines as a way to relieve my sexual frustrations and I discovered BDSM. I was immediately attracted to the idea of it. It was a way for me have control in these situations. I didn’t have to explain why or justify myself. When I went to college I had the freedom and the resources to explore it more in depth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do we really have to go there Shy?”

“Sorry, I am just curious about who was your first. You don’t have to answer.”

“My firsts were mostly professionals, let’s say.”

“Oh.” I take a big gulp of wine. Keep your judgements to yourself, Shy. “Do you know why you don’t like to be touched?”

“I have an idea.”

“Can you share?” This is something I want to be delicate about. I don’t think I need to know right now, but I do think he eventually needs to share with someone the root of his issues.

“I’ll say that things happened to me before living with my dad that will stay with me for the rest of my life.” I see pain in his face and it makes my heart ache for him.

“I wish I could make it go away.” I reach for his hand. This is the first time we have touched all night.

“You do in a way. There is something so inherently special about you. I don’t know why, but I feel a certain level of peace around you. Your touch comforts me. I wish I knew why. I wish I could tell you why that is.”

The server brings our steaks to the table along with a delicious medley of vegetables. It all looks scrumptious, but my appetite is suppressed by the seriousness of our talk.

“You called yourself a sadist. I Googled it and there were a lot of scary things that I just can’t reconcile with who you are.”

He takes a deep sigh. “I said that in the heat of the moment and I can only imagine the stuff you saw when you looked that term up. I don’t enjoy purely inflicting pain on others. I like to control my experiences with consenting people. Sometimes that involves inflicting pain, but they need to like the pain and I would never do it to someone who didn’t want it. I want them to want me to dominate them. That probably makes no sense.”

“No, it does. It’s no fun for you unless the other person wants your domination.”

His eyes almost light up. “Precisely. I take no pleasure in forcing people to do sexual acts against their will. Ever.”

“So...where does this leave us?” I ask.

“What do you mean? I thought you were here to determine that. I don’t need anything to change.”

“I mean, do you want to do BDSM with me?” My stomach knots as I pose the question. I feel like a nervous schoolgirl asking a boy to prom. I find myself almost wanting him to say yes and I don’t understand why.

“The more important question is do you want to?” He leans forward. “Know this. Whatever you say is okay with me. I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you.”

It’s just that: he will do whatever it takes. He will sacrifice that entire side of him. I know that will not work in the long run. I don’t want him to resent me one day, but I am not ready to give an answer.

“What’s in the room behind the closet?”

Taylor grins, a piece of steak bulging in his cheek. As he finishes chewing, the worst possibilities run through my head: a medieval torture chamber, a freezer full of bodies, some weird shrine to his submissives.

“The darkroom,” he says in a playful voice with a devilish grin.

“Darkroom?”

“Yes, it’s where I keep all of my toys and where I used take my subs.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t been there in a while. Not since I met you.”

“Why is that?”

“I wasn’t seeing anyone and then you came along and I lost interest in pursuing anyone else. Would you like me to show it to you?”

Of course I would! I play it very cool. “Sure.”

I finally force myself to taste my dinner. The first bite opens up my appetite and I polish off half of the steak.

We share a dessert, sitting much closer to one another than we were earlier in the night. I can’t stay away from this man. His mood has gotten much lighter and I think it’s because this is the first time he has felt the relief of getting something off of his chest. He has cocooned himself in secrets, wealth, and rituals and has never known the liberating power of a simple act of confession. The dim light hits his face in a way that highlights his beautiful bone structure and piercing eyes. I lean my head against his chest. It is warm and firm. All I know for certain is he is kind and generous to me. He wants me and I still can’t believe it. Then the words just come out of my mouth, from a place deep within. It does not filter through my brain, as I know what I am saying goes against any sort of sense.

“Yes, Taylor.”

He looks at me, somewhat puzzled.

“You asked me if I want to try. The answer is yes.”