KELLI. “Say Penelope, I want to watch you say Penelope,” he asked, his hand resting on his chin, his elbows on the table.

“Penelope,” I said slowly, focusing on the “p”s.

“Two more,” he requested.

“Watermelon.”

“Watermelon,” I responded, feeling my lips come together on the “m”.

‘Perpendicular.”

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” I asked.

“Say it,” he demanded, smiling.

“Perpen. Dick. I want your dick. I want you to fuck me. That motorcycle ride has me horny as fuck. I never really knew that they did that. You know, made a person horny,” I said, writhing in my seat.

“Perpendicular,” he said again. “Say it, Kelli, don’t disappoint me.”

I hated the thought of disappointing Erik. The notion of it crushed me and made me feel ill. Whether or not he was joking when he made reference to me disappointing him, I had no idea. All I knew was that if I ever did anything to disappoint him, I wanted to know. I really wanted to know and to never allow it to happen again.

“Per…pen…dic…u…lar,” I drew the word out as slow as I could, syllable by syllable, and then repeated it slowly.

“Perpendicular.”

I felt like I was in a spelling bee, but just saying the word and not being required to actually spell it. I thought of how to spell perpendicular. I remembered that the pen part of the word was spelled with an “e” just like writing the word with a pen, and not an “i”.

“I like watching your lips form words. Watching your mouth move and hearing the words flowing from your lips and tongue. You amaze me, Baby Girl. You amaze me,” he said from across the table.

“Your lips are perfectly sculpted. Your mouth is perfectly proportioned. It aligns with your eyes perfectly, as if you were an art project. It’s easy to get lost in admiring you, Kelli, really easy.”

I felt warm inside. I felt so good when he was pleased with me. My best and worst feelings were a result of Erik’s pleasure or disappointment. When he told me that he was pleased with me, I was a greater degree of happy than I have ever known. When he was disappointed with me, I felt as though if I wasn’t given an opportunity to correct it, life would not be worth living. To think…two months ago, I did not even know this man. I didn’t like thinking about life before him, nor did I like thinking about September.

“I want to find out more about you. I want to know everything about you, Kelli. I want to know what you do when you’re startled. How you react. I want to see you shoot a basket. I want to watch you walk in the warm rain. Smell a flower.” He took a drink of his water, and continued.

“I want to watch you count on your fingers. Choose food from a menu you’re uncertain of but afraid to ask about. Use chopsticks.” As soon as he said chopsticks, I smiled, thinking of the day at Espresso A Go-Go.

“Fry an egg, wash your car by hand, tear up a sheet of paper, attend a wedding, ride a rollercoaster,” he paused, looking at his glass of water for a long moment.

“Just everything, Kelli, I want you to be yourself in front of me,” he said, continuing to look down at his water.

“I am myself for you, Erik.”

“Oh, I am aware that you are. I mean that I want to witness you being you. Watch you grow, live life, exist. Kelli, I want to see you doing all of the things that you do and be all of the things that you are able to be,” he said, looking up from his water.

This all sounded good to me. It sure didn’t sound as if he intended to drop me like a hot rock at the first opportunity he had to do so. Eager, uncertain, and scared, I responded.

“Making you happy makes me happy. I just want to make you happy,” I said, with my palms on each cheek, resting my chin on the heel of my palms.

I thought about it, and I took a chance. I wanted to try to find out what he was thinking, what he intended for us, and how long this may last. I felt like I was riding an emotional roller coaster against a clock, not knowing when the time would run out.

“I like what we have together. Being with you makes me happy. I like the adventurous sex and how you’re spontaneous with it. I enjoy it, and I could do this forever and be happy,” I said as I brushed my hair behind my ears.

Erik had said he really liked my hair behind my ears, and I had been trying to remember to do this as often as possible.

“Kelli, the extent of what we have done sexually…well, it’s just one facet of my sexual life…my sexual preferences. I am slowly, and I do mean slowly, exposing you to what a sexual relationship with me would consist of. I am not an exhibitionist, by any means. Movie theatres, patios of restaurants, and dressing rooms at the mall, those are acts of spontaneity. That is not, in any fashion, the extent of my sexual prowess or interest. As I said, it is a facet. One cut on the face of a stone that will later become a diamond. Do you understand?” he asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Yes, sir,” I responded quickly. I was both scared and excited. I wondered what else he intended to do with me. A sexual relationship with me…I wonder what he means by that. Not the sexual part but the relationship part. We hang out and fuck with no commitment? I may not have committed to him, but I was convinced that no other man could satisfy me. I suppose that was some form of commitment. Sitting here thinking was making me want more of an answer. I had everything to lose but the curiosity was killing me.

We were sitting outside in a covered patio area of what looked like an old airplane hangar that had been turned into a restaurant and club. The hangar doors were open, and the wind was blowing through the hangar. One set of doors faced the runway of the little airport, and the planes were flying in and out as we sat and talked. It wasn’t hot out for this time of year, but my tea glass was covered in moisture. I took my hand and wiped the cold layer of condensation from the glass, collecting it in my hand.

“I understand the sex, the sexual part of the relationship. I understand that, but what about the relationship? What does our relationship consist of? In your eyes?” I asked as I wiped the droplets from my hand onto my forehead, and then ran my hand through my hair.

“That’s you and I being together. Like we are now, doing things together,” he responded, outstretching his arms. “This is the relationship.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything. Sex and hanging out, that’s it?” I felt myself starting to get frustrated.

“Are you disappointed Baby Girl?”

It wasn’t as satisfying, knowing that he was saying Baby Girl to try to get me to shut up - to try to satisfy me. We had started this conversation, and I wanted to get some satisfaction out of the answers, regardless of what they were.

“I guess, I don’t know. I mean, I want to know what you’re thinking long term. I don’t care where this ends up. I mean, well, I do, but I don’t. Whatever you answer, I am going to be the same person with the same interests. But I want to know what you’re thinking. In a perfect world, as you always say, where do we end up?” I asked as I stared at my glass, waiting for more moisture to collect.

“Well, let’s see. Kelli, I enjoy your company. I enjoy your company immensely. I want to make the most of this – what we have and for both of us to be happy with it,” he responded quietly, as if that solved the questions I had asked.

“No. I want an answer. You talk in circles about things that you don’t want to answer. Us. You and I. Am I different enough? Do I spark enough interest in you that I qualify for something…anything that other girls in the past haven’t?  Is it too early to tell? Are all women the same to you? Is this the same…”

“Stop. Let me try to explain,” he interrupted.

“No, let me finish,” I asked.

“Let me finish, Kelli, I think this will answer everything,” he said.

“Ok.”

“Let me see. You are different to me, much different. This is not something I had intended to talk about today, or really even in the next month or so, but this is how I feel.” He paused, took a drink of water, and continued.

“I never missed my father. I never knew him, really. My mother’s death caused me to miss her. I still miss her today. I miss talking to her, seeing her, listening to her talk, her cooking, her smiles, everything. But I have never missed anyone else in my life, ever. Male or female, people come and people go. It is all part of life. I have never sat at home and wanted to see someone in particular. I have been bored with being alone, and wanted to see someone, but I never cared who that someone was,” he paused, looked down, and rubbed his forehead.

“Until I met you,” he continued.

But. Where’s the ‘but’? The however? This cannot be happening. He’s falling for me. Oh. My. God. Is he falling for me? Seriously?

“I have effortlessly floated through life while everyone else around me is frantically flapping their arms to keep their heads above water. I have never wanted much out of life, and never expected much. My lack of expectations has allowed me to live with minimal disappointments. I have always wanted to keep it that way. Kelli, I have no expectations of you, but I know this, when you’re gone, I miss you. I want you to come back. For the first time in my life, I know what it is like to have someone leave and to want to say, ‘no, wait, come back, I don’t want you to go.’” He took another drink, and didn’t immediately speak.

I didn’t want to say a word. I wanted him to keep talking. I wanted to know everything he was thinking, had thought of previously, and may think of in the future. I sat with my chin resting in my palms and looked at him, trying not to smile.

“Before I met you, I never knew what it was like to think of someone - and smile for no real reason. But, I sit and think of you, and I smile. If I am exercising, and I think of you, I smile. I walk through the grocery store and have a recollection of something we have done, and I smile. I don’t sit here, now, and have any expectations of you staying forever. I don’t have thoughts of being married or anything like that, but I sure can’t fathom having a life without you in it. I guess that’s it. So, what are your thoughts?”

I sat for long moment and thought. I thought about what he had said. I thought about Columbia. I thought about my father and what he would say about me being in an actual relationship with someone that was fifteen years older than me. I thought about kids, and the fact that I hated kids. I thought about Erik changing his mind and tossing me aside after he got mad, or bored, or just decided enough was enough.

I thought about how he made me feel. I thought about living life without him. I thought about what I would feel like if he or I walked away from this.

“You scare me, Erik. Your willingness to toss me aside, your willingness to do without me at a moment’s notice, those things scare me. I wonder about your sincerity, long term, with this. I want, more than anyone, what you’re talking about, and I guess time will tell. I don’t feel like I can give you my all, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally, and then chance losing you. That, without a doubt, would crush me. I am just like you. I have never been in a real relationship. Not a loving, caring relationship - add to that the fact that you’re dominant - and all I have experienced is one grain of sand from the beach of your sexual desires.” I stopped and thought of what to say next. I didn’t want to make him mad, but I had so much to say.

“What you’re saying excites me and scares me both. I guess I feel the same way you do.” I looked up from my tea glass and batted my eyelashes.

“So, tell me about what else you’re going to do to me, sexually. I want to know,” I said, wanting to know the depth of the sexual portion of the relationship.

“I’m not going to do anything to you, Kelli. We are going to do things together, experience things together. We talked about this before. We will, at length, discuss the elements of this relationship from a sexual standpoint. What we agree on will be agreed upon. What we don’t agree on will be excluded from the options. It’s that simple,” he said as he tried to get the attention of the waitress.

Waiting and not knowing has never been a huge strength of mine. I liked knowing what was going on, or what might go on in my day to day activities. I have always been able to come to terms with the fact that life will bring me the unexpected or the unknown; it is part of living life. Simple things like this made me anxious. I wanted to know what we were going to do. We had been together, for the most part, for six weeks. He would probably just fuck me forever and never say anything if I didn’t bring it up.

“Well, I am ready. Let’s make a list,” I said as the waitress approached the table.

“Can I get a refill of water and a cup of coffee, please? Kelli do you need anything?” Erik asked.

“No, I am fine, thank you,” I responded.

He finished his water and set the glass at the edge of the table as the waitress walked away. A small plane flew over the runway very low and fast, and we both turned to see what was going on. Erik turned back around, and as he started rearranging his silverware, I asked him again.

“Let’s make a list, I am ready. Let’s talk about it,” I asked anxiously.

“Well, Kelli, this isn’t something that we just nonchalantly discuss. It’s something more intended to be a serious discussion. We will need to make notes of what we discuss, and make lists…it’s fairly complex,” he said, trying to dismiss the subject.

“Now, I want to do it now,” I said again, anxiously. I moved forward in my chair and reached out toward him with my right hand.

He reached toward me and touched my hand with his fingers, eventually clasping it between his fingers and thumb. He began to rub my palm with fingertips. I love it when he touches my hands.

“We can get a start, I suppose, but it’s just not that easy, Baby Girl. Let me ask you some quick questions, and you answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’. We won’t go into detail now, just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to the questions. Some of these things we have talked about before, some we haven’t. Let me see…” He let go of my hand and touched his palms together as if he were praying. He opened his hands, revealed his face, and began to speak as he twirled his butter knife in between his fingers.

“Let’s say, for the sake of answering these questions, we will have four categories. Yes, maybe, soft limit, hard limit. Soft limits are not now but maybe later you’ll consider it. Hard limits means you’ll never consider it. So, yes, maybe, no, and hell no. Understood?” he asked.

“I read, and I am aware of the soft and hard limits, yes. Let’s get on with this,” I said, trying to get him to get started.

“Anal?”

“Yes.”

“Bondage?”

“Yes.”

“Wearing a collar.”

“Yes. Are we going to go in alphabetical order?”

“You little smart-ass. No, I was just going from memory, and alphabetical order was easiest. Nipple clamps, clamps in general, and being beaten?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” I got turned on as I thought about him putting clamps on my nipples.

“Being gagged in any fashion, wearing a leash, being humiliated?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

“Role play, piercing, marking, making videos?” he asked, leaning closer to me, smiling.

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes,” I responded, leaning toward him.

He extended his arms, palms up, toward me. I reached across the table and placed my hands in his. He lightly squeezed my hands. I loved the size of his hands, the shape of them, and how he held my hands in his. Firm, but not too firm. I watched as he held and massaged my hands.

“Threesomes, being electrocuted, and beatings?”

“Yes, depends, and you already said beatings, and I said yes,” I said, scowling a little at him over the electrocution question.

“I said bondage. I hadn’t said beatings. I said being beaten. And electrocuting depends?” he asked.

“Well, fuck yes, it does. A little electricity sounds sexy. Actually being shocked would probably make me go into convulsions and pee,” I said, laughing.

“Well, we’ll call it a soft limit - or maybe a curiosity for now. Speaking of peeing…”

“Let’s just cut it short. I will make it easy. No animals, and no crapping on me or making me do anything with crap, that’s it,” I said, smiling proudly.

“Well, that’s easy, but you may not be thinking of everything,” he responded, smiling back at me.

“Cutting, marking permanently, like a tattoo or scar, piercing permanently, or temporarily, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, watersports,” he asked, raising his eyebrows and smiling.

“Yes to everything. But everything involving other people, we’d have to discuss at length. I meant what I said. No animals or shit. Oh, and nothing illegal. Other than that, I want to be yours. I want to make you happy. But, I will tell you this, if you tattoo me, scar me up, and have all of your buddies fuck me, and then leave me, you will be the world’s biggest asshole… Ever.”

“I’m not saying I would want other people involved, I was trying to prove a point that you weren’t going to do everything…or well, that you weren’t willing to do everything. And I would never mistreat you like that, Kelli. I already told you that,” he said as he squeezed my hands.

“I would say if it didn’t involve a dog, horse, snake, or a pile of shit, I will do it. As long as it’s what you want. I want to make you happy. I want to make you happier than you have ever been, or ever thought you could be. What have other girls been willing to do?” 

“I am not going to talk to you about other women I have been with, Kelli. But I will say this: they have not been as willing as you are to please me. You stand alone in that regard.” He let go of my hand as the waitress handed him a cup of coffee and a glass of water.

“I really like your tattoos,” the waitress said as she handed him the coffee.

“Thank you,” Erik responded to her, smiling a half-fake smile.

This happened almost every time we went out together. Some girl would tell him that they liked his tattoos. ‘Oh my God, I love your tattoos’, ‘Your tattoos are so pretty’, ‘I really like the way your sleeve looks’. I really got tired of hearing it. It was bad enough that he was gorgeous and a Channing Tatum double. The tattoos just gave random people a reason to talk to him.

“What about kids?” he asked.

Oh, this was easy for me, but I wondered what he wanted me to say. Kids --I fucking hate kids. Every girl I knew couldn’t wait to have a kid. The thought of having or being around a kid made my stomach ache. When I was in public, and I saw someone with a kid, I wanted to leave – have them leave, something. I detest children. I decided to roll the dice.

“I’m undecided on that; I guess it depends on the person and the status of the relationship. You know, if I felt comfortable, I would consider it,” I said, trying to look naturally happy. I may have even smiled a little.

“You just lied,” he said. His pursed his lips, and his mouth formed a little smile, like he had caught me stealing something. He shook his head.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because you did. Your eyes. You lied. Let’s do this correctly, Kelli. No lying. No trying to tell me what I want to hear. I can’t stand kids. Kids make my skin crawl. The thought of children makes me ill.”

“Okay, I am sorry. I lied. I hate kids too. They make me sick, and that will never change,” I said, relieved.

He added cream and sugar to his coffee and stirred it. “Let me get a few drinks of this, and let’s get started,” he said, looking up from his coffee as he took a drink.

“Get started on what?”

“This relationship, Baby Girl,” he responded.