The Sunday meeting of the Subs Club came to order.
“I hereby announce the end of the review blog, and the birth of the new Subs Club Sounding Board.” I turned my laptop to show everyone the new site. “A little sounding joke for ya. Has anyone here done that?”
“Sounding?” Miles asked.
“Yeah.”
“Yes, David. I have been sounded.”
“Probably with, like, a fucking hot dog–sized sound,” I muttered.
Kamen made a face. “That’s stuff in your dick, right? Hell no.”
“I’ve done it too,” Gould said quietly.
We all turned to him.
I stared. “Gould. Why don’t you tell us these things?”
I happened to know some other things he wasn’t telling us—namely that he’d gone out last night to play with GK and Kel and hadn’t gotten back until just before this meeting. That was a little hard for me to deal with. But apparently the world didn’t center around me.
He blushed. “The new site looks nice.”
“It does,” Miles said. “And we still have a link to the Danger List, where we kept the reviews of the worst of the worst.”
“And there’s links all over the damn place to the abuse hotlines.” I scrolled up and down the page. “We concede on this fourth day of January, that some doms suck. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to rate all of them like they’re sellers on eBay.”
“David.” Miles solemnly placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s been an honor to have you fight by my side. Vive la révolution.”
“I’m not giving up the revolution,” I assured him. “The Subs Club is still going strong. And, like, eight billion people want to write articles for the Sounding Board.”
“We’re pretty awesome.” Gould slid beers down the table to each of us.
I popped mine open on the table’s edge. “There’s even more to celebrate. Maybe. I guess.”
“Oh?” Miles gazed at me expectantly.
“The Disciplinarian and I have embarked on a domestic-discipline relationship.”
Kamen tried to open his beer using the table and failed. “What’s that?”
I looked at Gould, who smiled at me. Then at Miles, who gave me a brief, wise-looking nod, as though he wasn’t surprised in the least. I turned to Kamen. Took his beer and popped the cap off, then handed it back to him. “It means that sometimes, when I do something wrong, D canes my ass. But it’s, like, for real. Not a game.”
Miles raised his eyebrows. “You? Canes?”
“Yeah, they’re awful. They hurt so fucking much. But I haven’t died yet. And they work.”
“Dave, that’s awesome.” Kamen picked up his guitar. “I mean, not the getting caned part. Actually, it all sounds like a shit-ton of suck. But if it floats your boat . . .”
“It’s just something we’re trying.”
He started playing a jaunty acoustic version of Pink’s “Try,” and sang:
“Where there is a David there is gonna be a cane
“Where there is a cane, someone’s bound to get hurt
“But just because it hurts doesn’t mean you’re gonna die
“You gotta bend over and—”
“Okay, Kamen, thank you.”
Miles slowly pushed Kamen’s guitar away. “David, I’m thrilled for you. You’ve found a winner. I’m envious.”
Gould looked up from checking out the Sounding Board. “You’re gonna find someone too.”
A moment of tension. I watched Miles, wondering if he’d told the others about his plan to leave the scene for a while. He still hadn’t given me his reasons, and it was driving me crazy wondering. Miles smiled, a bit woodenly. “Maybe I’m better off solo?”
Gould didn’t seem to notice Miles’s discomfort. “Oh, you’re telling me you don’t want to find that one special person who’ll drag a knife along your skin, stick a sound in your dick—”
“Paint trails of rubbing alcohol on your ass and light them on fire,” I said.
“Hook a battery to your balls,” Kamen added.
“Well.” Miles looked, for just a second, incredibly sad. Then he smiled again. “I do want all that.”
I exchanged a glance with him and held out my beer. “To Miles.”
“Why are we toasting Miles?” Kamen asked.
“Because he’s great.” We all clicked beers.
Kamen played for us after that, and we had an impressive dance party. Miles and I ended up on the floor doing the worm while Gould stood over us, doing the “screw the lightbulb.” We consumed all the beer in the fridge, and eventually the dance party turned into a bed party, which turned into me waking up the next morning to see Miles hurriedly pulling his cardigan on. Gould was awake beside me. Kamen was snoring on the floor.
“The last trolley left, Mr. Rogers,” I mumbled groggily, rubbing my forehead and half sitting up. I collapsed again with my arm over Gould.
“Ha-ha.” Miles tied his shoe. “I have to get to an appointment.”
Appointment?
He left a moment later with a hastily muttered, “Good-bye.”
“He’s been acting really weird lately,” Gould said.
I yawned. “Maybe he’s a superhero.”
“CIA,” Gould whispered.
“A time traveler.”
“Having an affair with a married man,” Kamen murmured from the floor.
“Or Torchwood.” Gould stretched. “He could work for Torchwood.”
Kamen stayed for breakfast, then headed out around noon. That left Gould and me.
Gould gazed through the living room window. “Sunny out.”
“Nice try. How was your scene with Kel and GK?”
Poor Gould couldn’t stop grinning. “Good.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck, yeah, David, it was so good.”
“You look like it was good.”
“She’s really . . . and he’s . . .”
“Is this a madlib? Should I pick two adjectives? Luminous and puce.”
“They get it. Why I’m so quiet. They don’t mind.”
“That’s awesome.” I wrapped an arm around him. He put his head on my shoulder. “You hurting today?”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t rough. We’re gonna try to play together every once and a while.”
I nodded. “You deserve good people.”
“I’ve always had good people.” We sat in silence a moment. “I noticed you texting a lot last night. During the dance party.”
I tried to play it cool. “D’s just checking in to see how I’m doing.”
“Uh-huh. Planning a big date?”
“Tuesday. We’re going to the maritime museum. And I’m going to convince him to fuck me in the bathroom.”
“Beautiful.”
“You know, I’ve lived in this city almost my whole life and I’ve never been to the maritime museum?”
“Well, it is a maritime museum.”
“I told D I want to go on dates to all the touristy stuff around here. See the city anew, sort of. I want to help him get out of the house and do stuff with other humans. And I want to, like, know him. See how he reacts to stuff like ships in bottles.”
“I see.”
I picked some dust bunnies off my shirt from last night. “Hal would be making fun of me so bad right now.”
Gould smiled. “He’d never believe you’d found someone who can make you listen.”
“Don’t tell him. When you talk to him. Okay?”
“Oh, I’ve already told him all about it. He’s happy for you, though.”
We were both quiet for a moment. “Do you really talk to him?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“I feel weird when I do. I mean, he’s gone.”
“So? He still likes us to talk to him.”
I laughed. Offered Gould one of my dust bunnies. “I want to keep playing,” I said. “Even though it’s a dangerous game. The most dangerous game.”
“The most dangerous game is hunting man.”
“I know.” I paused. “I’ll bet D would be good at that.”
“He wouldn’t. He’s a big old softy.”
I snuggled closer. “He is, isn’t he?”
“At least where you’re concerned.”
“Whatever.”
Gould jostled me. “Hey, Dave. What if the most dangerous game . . .” He waited until I looked at him, his expression dead serious. “Is love?”
We held the stare for a few seconds, and then we both burst out laughing. “You’re an idiot.”
“Okay, but seriously, it might be.”
“Oh, yeah, totally. Good thing I’m not in love.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Seriously, how could I be in love after a couple of months of spanking?”
“Deny it all you want.”
“Uggghhhhh. Gould, what if I love him?”
“What if you do?”
I punched the couch lightly. “That’s terrifying.”
“It’s good, isn’t it?” he asked.
No. Maybe.
What did being in love even mean? Did it mean I was going to get my house with wainscoting, and a forever companion who made me feel meaningful and amazing? Did it mean this domestic-discipline thing would continue for the rest of my days? Because I wasn’t sure I was ready to make getting caned a permanent fixture in my life. I mean, I’d survived one caning. So, like, give me a participation award and never make me do it again.
If I was in love with D, then what did I need to learn to do for him? Besides listen? I was going to have to learn more about his existence before me. I was going to have to help him get his screenplay in front of agents. I’d have to remember that being in charge made him feel exposed and terrified, and exploit that at every opportunity. Slash support him through those moments of terror. I’d need to make sure he had the best life, full of meat and obedience and long stretches of companionable silence.
On his part.
I was going to talk nonstop until we were geriatric.
I stared at the Pez menorah.
Oh my fucking God. Love really is the most dangerous game.
And I want to play it.
“I think I’m hard for danger,” I whispered.
“What?” Gould asked.
“Nothing.” I looked at him. “What if I’m wrong? About how he feels?”
“Are you wrong about how you feel?”
I shook my head.
“It probably wouldn’t hurt him to know. How you feel, I mean.”
“Are you trying to make me do the final part of the romcom?”
“Hey, I sat through all of 21 Grams while you drooled on my pants and snored. You’d better fucking bring this home.”
I thought it over. D had said I could come over anytime, right? Why not today? It was Monday, and he didn’t work until two. Why not go over and announce I either loved him or felt such a deep and abiding affection for him that it was likely to turn into love if we weren’t careful. Or maybe I’d play it cool—go over there and kiss him passionately, take him into the bedroom, get him hard, and then Meatloaf him. Tell him stop—I needed to know right now, before we went any further, did he love me? Would he love me forever?
This is it, Pornstache. We need to make some decisions. About wainscoting and test-tube babies and canes and how to give each other the best lives.
I stood. “I have to go.”
Gould snorted. “You sure you don’t want to wait until it’s raining, or he’s about to catch a flight out of the country?”
“I’m sure,” I called from the kitchen.
I stopped in my room to put on white briefs. It seemed highly unlikely I was going to stand quietly on the mat and wait to be addressed.
But when D took me over his knee or bent me over his desk or finally just fucking put his mustache between my legs, I wanted him to see I’d made at least some effort to be good.