Blurb

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Chapter 1 - Mark

I stared long and hard at the wood and leather instrument in front of me.

It was slowly getting there, but it wasn’t right just yet. Wood and leather was all it was. Dark wood, even darker leather, and the gleaming metal buckles of the attached straps. That’s all.

But if I looked at it just right, it stopped being just wood and leather to me. It became flesh and blood. It came alive under my gaze. It breathed. I saw soft, human shapes twisted in pleasure. Stretched limbs, clenched fists, the lower arc of a breast on a ribcage spread wide... a kind of carnal yoga.

I narrowed my eyes and thought about this thing I had made, with my own two hands.

Her hips would balance there, just so, across the main A-frame. Here she would hinge, hipbones pressing into the padded leather mound so that she effortlessly folded in the middle, a sort of sexual down-dog, ass lifted up high and exposed.

On this instrument her legs would be separated and held apart by the strong wooden legs that matched hers, and belted tightly so that no matter what happened to her, she would not be able to squirm free and would have no choice but to endure everything.

I could also see how her arms would be spread and held apart, just like her legs, out in front of her and to either side of her head, which would hang down low and limp.

This was a piece of furniture. A piece of art. A unique and marvelous object. And something to fuck on. Something beautiful, but cruel. An instrument of perfect torture. A device that would only make sense when melded with the hot limbs of the humans using it. It was a tool of restraint. And a tool of liberation.

I paced around the contraption and viewed it from another angle.

Bound in such a device, a woman could be well and truly fucked, utterly opened up to complete domination and ravaged deeper than ever, penetrated so thoroughly she’d see nearly the face of God himself…

But something was wrong.

It just didn’t look right.

Not yet.

I frowned and took the measurements for the rear legs again.

For a custom piece like this, the balance of weight on the different joints, the predictable fold of the flesh, the length of the wooden legs and the skill of getting the restraining cuffs to hit just the right part of the human leg …these things were incredibly precise. To get them just right without compromising the beauty of the lines of the device itself …well, on days like this it felt nearly impossible.

I frowned and rubbed my face, then tossed the measuring tape aside. I’d look at it with fresh eyes in the morning. I had another massive commercial order come through this morning and would need to get stuck into that soon.

Being an artisan purveyor of custom-made sex furniture may have been my life’s true calling, but it certainly didn’t pay the bills. Pumping out thirty identical faux-Balinese TV cabinets for a Thai resort did pay those bills, though, and so that’s what I did.

For now.

Until I made a bigger name for myself, or until the world developed a taste for fancy BDSM flavored erotic furniture, I would have to take on jobs like that to stay afloat.

I put on a shirt, stretched hard till I had squeezed out all the cracks in my back, then switched off the light and headed to the den. I had to remind myself, of course, of the real irony here: it really was just wood and leather, after all. Things which were painstakingly made in solitude in my workshop were sent off to be used as tools of love, by couples who were so into screwing one another they decided to blow a few grand on a fancy chair to do so.

I kicked off my shoes.

It didn’t matter. Quality was worth it for me. That’s what I told my clients, and I meant it.

If I didn’t meet a single woman in this lifetime who fit the bill, then so be it. I’m not a spontaneous fuck-on-the-uncomfortable-kitchen-table kind of guy. No, I’d rather plan carefully. Boy scout sex, if you like – be prepared. Craft that supremely perfect moment, that apex of pleasure where everything is so thoroughly in sync and choreographed that it falls away completely, leaving only bliss. Take all the measurements, set the stage, carve out a moment …and let that glorious something unfold.

Until I found that moment – and the woman to make that moment real – I wasn’t interested in cheap, hollow sex.

The pool of women who want a divine, ecstatic sexual experience but also to be fucked so hard they’d almost panic I’d tear them in half …well, it’s not a very big pool of women.

But I don’t care. That’s what I want.

Each of my custom pieces can take anywhere from two weeks to six months to create. I’m willing to wait far, far longer for the right woman.

I strolled into the kitchen, rummaged a beer from the fridge and took a cool sip. I sat at the desk and scrolled through some invoices, particularly one for a new piece of bocote wood for a restored antique cupboard. It had cost me a fortune but the owner wanted that specific oily, interlocked grain and I was happy with this supplier’s shipments so far. Just a few days before, I had sourced a magnificent piece of zebrawood for a dining room table and planned to create a parquet effect on the top with diamonds of ebony. It cost me more to make than I would ever sell it for, but the secret is that with things that beautiful, I didn’t altogether mind about the profit.

My eye caught a message on my phone.

Valerie.

Shit.

Women are a lot like wood, if you think about it as much as I’ve thought about it. Some are plain grained but tough as nails and simply melt under the saw like they were born for it. Others are all ornamental swirls and stripes, pretty right up until you try to work them, then you see how porous and prone to tearing they are, how brittle. Some are born to be worked into trinkets, others were destined for heirloom war chests big and deep enough to carry any damn thing.

Valerie was a flimsy softwood with a dark gloss to hide the dents.

If you know what you’re looking for, you can tell what kind of life a tree has lived just by looking at the knots and pattern of its grain. You can tell if it suffered drought, or got a parasitic infection or got partially burnt.

It’s the same with women.

Most of the girls who found their way into my workshop all had characteristic scars and scratches in them, one way or another. They either met me at some BDSM event and coyly invited themselves round for a “consult”, or they claimed to be commissioning a piece for their boyfriend, who would magically disappear right when the piece was finished.

Sometimes I’d get excited, though. I’d think, this is it. This is my girl. In my mind, I’d start measuring up the different lengths and angles of her personality to see if it would line up with mine. I’d start cautiously setting the stage.

But I would always be disappointed.

The women I met weren’t fearless explorers of far out sexual territories; they were most often scared little girls who couldn’t tell the difference between a Dom and an asshole, between ecstasy and disassociation.

I stretched back in my chair, slammed the laptop shut and exhaled loudly. Nevermind about any of that, though. I was an artisan, and my medium was the kinky trifecta of wood, metal and leather. My eyes fell closed and I took another swig. I knew how to build things. And I knew how to wait. I would build the perfect instrument, in the meantime. The right woman would just have to come later.

And come she would.

Chapter 2 - Kat

“Wait, wait, wait!” she said. “Just how long have you known this guy for?”

I trailed my fingers up and down the cold stem of my wine glass.

“Uh… maybe a month? A little less? I don’t know.”

Everyone at the table erupted into surprised laughter.

“A month? And he’s already asked you to marry him? That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

I took a sip and smiled, trying to pretend that the story I was telling wasn’t as ridiculous as it sounded. But, well …it was. It was the most ridiculous thing that had happened in my entire life.

I had met Anthony at a speed dating event. We had chatted about nothing for exactly two minutes, shook hands and then I had promptly forgotten all about him. He then messaged me a week later, and we chatted and walked in the park near my house. He sent me cute texts and wished me goodnight for a week. The second time I ever met up with him, it was for an overpriced dinner date at a family steakhouse. That night, he proposed.

No, really. I didn’t believe it either.

“Look,” I said, “it’s not like it was an actual proposal.”

My three best friends from way back, seated around the patio table, all raised their eyebrows simultaneously.

I refilled my glass with white wine.

“Like, he didn’t get down on one knee and give me a ring or anything. It was more like …more like a business proposal.”

We were four middle-aged women sitting around drinking wine on a late Sunday afternoon. What else would we be talking about except men and all the millions of ways they could make life ridiculous?

Kara had been divorced, twice. Annie, once. Lily married straight out of school and had been casually resenting her husband for the last ten years. And then there was me, divorced from a cheating scumbag just two months ago and smack bang into a new marriage proposal.

I drank my wine.

“Sounds romantic,” said Lily.

I shrugged.

“I don’t know,” Kara said. “I think I kind of like it. It just cuts to the chase, you know? None of us are getting any younger here, so why beat around the bush?”

“Because maybe he’s a serial killer or something?” I said, smiling.

“Serial killer? Now just wait a second. Didn’t you say he has a kid, too?”

“Yup, he’s a widower. I think his little girl is four or five.”

“And didn’t you say he was well off?”

“Yeah. A hotel owner or something.”

“And he wants to build a stable family life with you?”

“Yeah.”

Kara whistled low under her breath and took a sip of her own wine.

“Sounds like you won the jackpot to me.”

I sighed. She had a point. At this stage of my life, an employed, stable adult type who knew what he wanted and had the maturity to ask for it seemed like …a miracle. A suspicious miracle.

“I guess it’s just kind of depressing. There’s no romance in it, you know? He seems good on paper, it’s just that…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. He’s a bit older than me, too. Early forties? Maybe forty-two? I’m not saying he’s unattractive or anything but…”

“But what?” Annie insisted. “God, I say just go for it. Honestly. Dating is overrated anyway.”

I leaned back in my chair.

Dating wasn’t overrated. It was downright terrifying. I didn’t consider myself old, not by a long shot, and I wasn’t that out of the loop, but already just a casual dabble in the world of online dating had left a nasty taste in my mouth and I was already feeling like I’d scream at the next man who told me he ‘wasn’t looking for a relationship right now’.

My ex, Jeff, had been everything to me. I had been one of those smug marrieds. I had cheerfully ticked off ‘pair bonding’ from life’s great to do list and assumed that I would never again have to brave the indignity of going out into the dating market.

And now I had no idea what I was doing.

Men seemed so different from when I was single in my early twenties. Or maybe it was me who was different. At any rate, the idea of having something fall in my lap and being spared the rigors of dating did have a certain appeal.

“My therapist says that often women run away from precisely the men that would treat them the best,” Kara said. “You know, we’re all attracted to the assholes, the cheaters. And then when a guy who actually wants to have a relationship, who actually wants to build a life comes along, you don’t even know what to do with him.”

“Well, she’s right about the being attracted to assholes part,” I said, a little too bitterly.

“I don’t know, I think it’s refreshing that he’s so upfront about his intentions. It’s honest.”

The word ‘honest’ stung me. The wound my ex had left was still fresh. I had had it all. The prettiest picture perfect life you could imagine. And there was a tiny thread in it, and like an idiot I had pulled on that thread, and the whole thing had come undone. Just tugging on one of his lies unraveled all the others, one after the other, until I was sure even I would be unpicked at the seams.

One morning I woke up, Kat Lilith, a successful woman with a coveted job, a beautiful four-year-old and a devoted husband of more than a decade. And the next morning, I woke feeling like a punchline. Like the cheesiest, most predictable soap opera.

“Well,” I said, “he did say I could have some time to think it all through.”

“How kind of him” Lily scoffed, and I laughed.

“I know, I know, it’s crazy. Speed dating. Speed marrying…”

“So, what are you going to tell him?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Come on,” Lily said, “what do you really think? Just answer now, from the heart. Just be honest.”

I winced.

That word again. Honest? I didn’t know anymore what it meant to be honest.

He wanted a wife; I wanted a man who wouldn’t lie to me anymore. He had a child, I had a child, and we both had bills. He had laid it all out for me over that overcooked steak dinner while the couple behind us tried to get their kids to stop fighting. He had said it’s the smart choice. He had said we share values, we’re both principled, and a partnership between us would be of mutual benefit. He admired my work, and he needed the companionship.

Sure, he had said nothing about my eyes or how they took his breath away. This wasn’t about sex. About love. But it was practical. It made sense.

Wasn’t that the honest truth anyway? I was 35 years old, I had responsibilities, a daughter to think of and a mortgage to pay. I had already had my whirlwind romance and it had ended badly. What I wanted now was something I could rely on. Did it really matter that he smelled vaguely of something burnt or that it bugged me how slightly crooked his teeth were?

“I don’t know what my heart says,” I said, “but my head says it’s a pretty logical next step. He’s a nice guy.”

That part wasn’t lying either. He was nice. He had worn a fancy shirt and didn’t swear. He had paid for my meal and held the door for me. But still…

“He says he’ll give me a month to mull it over” I said finally. This made Lily laugh cynically. I shot her a dry look.

“Anyway, I intend to give his proposal all the consideration it deserves. There’s nothing wrong with just considering it, right?”

“Exactly. Don’t listen to her, she’s just jealous” said Kara and squeezed my arm.

I stroked my fingers up and down the wine glass stem again, gathering cold drops on my fingertips.

“I’m seeing him on Thursday again. We’re going to play mini golf.”

“Mini golf?” said Lily, the naughty smile still on her lips.

“Well what do you expect? It’s a school night. Why go to a noisy bar or whatever? I’m not a kid. I never do that kind of thing anyway,” I said, feeling a little defensive.

Lily shrugged.

“Fine,” she said, “I just don’t understand what the rush is though.”

To be ‘honest’, I didn’t understand either. But it was the smart thing to do. And that’s what life is about. Making smart decisions. Cheap infatuation is just for kids anyway – what I needed now was something serious. My work was doing better than ever. Nicky needed a father figure in her life and I needed to move on from the burning wreckage that I used to call my marriage.

I downed my glass and let the clear, light bubbles send a little flurry of dizziness through me.

My four-year-old Nicky could play at being a fairy princess –I on the other hand was far too old and too tired to wait for a prince charming anymore. Prince gainfully employed and emotionally stable would suit me just fine.

Chapter 3 - Kat

On the morning, he cancelled the mini-golf and suggested a quick work lunch date instead.

The only other people at the restaurant were small groups of businessmen. I took a seat, checked my watch and pretended to be interested in the menu.

Jeff and I never used to go out anywhere. We’d do a little dance every year my birthday rolled around: he’d say, “this year I’m taking you to a fancy restaurant!” Then when the day rolled around he’d claim to be too tired, but he’d make a big deal out of cooking for me at home instead. But then he’d mess that up, too, and invite me into the kitchen to ‘help’ him. Then something would grab his attention, he’d run off to check his phone or whatever, and soon enough I’d be serving him, on the couch, just like every other night. But then he’d say, “don’t worry, I’ll do the dishes, promise!”

Every year.

Every damn year.

I tried to unknot my eyebrows. That was the past. This was now. And possibly, this man, this cool and calm Anthony Burgess, would be a sweet, sweet balm to smooth over all of that.

If he was going to be so straightforward and practical about the possibility of a relationship, well, why couldn’t I do the same? Maybe I too should be upfront about all my dealbreakers. For instance, I wasn’t going to nag anyone to clean up after themselves, I wasn’t going to spell out all the reasons why we needed to communicate with one another …and I wasn’t going to settle for oral sex less than once a week, from now until forever. I mean, a girl could ask.

I snapped the menu closed. Just as I was starting to wonder whether I should worry, he appeared at the entrance, in beige chinos and a golf shirt, looking a little flustered.

“Kat! My apologies, I’m late. I’ve had a hellish morning …a supplier of mine has really dropped the ball on a delivery that was due earlier today and …oh, I’m sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all the gory details,” he said quickly, took my hand in his, kissed it, then placed it back in my lap before sitting down at his side of the table.

Without making eye contact, he picked up the menu, flipped through it, tossed it back down on the table and then had the waiter at his side in a heartbeat.

We ordered some coffee.

When I noticed him briefly check his watch, my eyebrows crinkled up again. I had purposefully shifted three of my own appointments this morning to make way for this ‘date’.

We chatted briefly about this and that, almost leaping over conversation topics like they were obstacles on a showjumping arena.

While my lips easily slipped over words about Nicky or the weather or how hellish the office was this time of year, there was a secret, more interesting conversation going on inside my head.

I looked at the muscles and tendons in his neck and tried to imagine him naked. I tried to decide whether I found his little tics and gestures cute or distracting. I noticed the lines on his hands. The modest cotton of his shirt.

“Well, let’s get straight to it,” he said, and for the first time raised his pale blue eyes to mine.

I was taken aback.

It’s not that I found him attractive exactly …but something about the raw frankness he had in his expression caught me completely off-guard. I tore my gaze from his and laughed, distracting myself with the corner of the napkin.

“Straight to it, huh? I guess this is the third date…” I said teasingly, and looked at him again.

But his eyes were stony. The smile fell from my face.

“I’d prefer we didn’t delve into anything vulgar,” he said sharply.

Vulgar?

I felt a little flash of embarrassment.

“Besides, you’re too refined for that kind of thing, Kat. That’s what I appreciate in you. But I understand, you’re nervous. You’re deflecting. It’s a lot that I’ve thrown at you.”

My head spun. Was this guy for real?

“Well, yes, I am nervous, actually. I’m just trying to keep things light…” I said. “It’s not every day that I get proposed to by an almost stranger, right?” I said playfully. But this, too, fell flat. He seemed absorbed by the patterns on the tablecloth.

“Look, Kat, I won’t pretend that it’s not nerve-wracking for me to have been so open with you, so honest…” he said and looked pleadingly at me “…but it’s taken me a long time to realize what I actually want out of life, what’s important to me. It might seem impulsive to you, but please understand that I don’t take any of this lightly, I know what I want, and I know it when I see it. I don’t want to waste either of our time. It’s from respect that I’m forthcoming. Do you understand?”

“Sure,” I said absentmindedly.

I wasn’t even married to the guy yet and I already felt chained to him. But he had a point. How much time had I wasted in life? How many wasted years with Jeff could have been avoided if both of us had just been, well …honest?

“And I …oh gosh, I’ve made this awkward again haven’t I?” he said and all at once, like he’d suddenly just understood a hilarious joke, he burst into a warm smile.

I laughed as well.

“Awkward? Oh, you’re awkward as hell…” I said, and soon we were both smiling and all at once, without me knowing how, his hand was on mine. I looked at it resting there, on the starched white tablecloth, then to him, then back at our hands.

“Kat, I’m a giant doofus when it comes to this dating stuff, I’ve been out of the game for so long that I--”

“Please, you don’t have to apologize.”

“Let me finish. I just …I have trouble opening up to others. But there’s something special about you, something…” and here, he stopped short, as though something had choked him off mid-sentence. Then I understood. The guy was petrified. He wasn’t strange or pushy or standoffish. He was just scared.

I squeezed his hand and smiled at him, feeling a little bubble of regret at having told Lily in detail earlier that morning that I think I maybe hated his chinos.

Maybe she was right. Maybe women are complete idiots and I actually had Mr. Jackpot sitting right in front of me right now, getting choked up telling me how special I was. I noticed how easy it was to feel flattered.

“It’s not that I’m not interested, Anthony. Like I’ve said already, it’s just that …it’s so fast. We don’t really know each other. I need time.”

“Of course. Time. I understand that. Of course.”

Suddenly he was cool and calm again, and we weren’t smiling anymore.

“I suppose when Jackie died it was so suddenly, and I got such a strong sense of …well, you never really know how much time you have left, you know? We take it for granted. I took her for granted. So, these days if something feels right, I go with it. Life’s too short.”

I wondered if I was just imagining a faint crackle at the end of his voice as he finished his sentence. It was the most impassioned I had seen him. What if he wasn’t some stodgy middle aged guy with no personality? What if he was actually incredibly deep and romantic? Who knows, maybe this is what a wild fling looks like in your mid-thirties.

I sighed loudly.

“I get that. I really do. But I guess you could say my ex made me feel the opposite… that something feeling right sometimes just isn’t good enough, you know?”

Just when I was sincerely beginning to wish we’d switch to a less serious topic, his phone rung loudly and interrupted me. He looked massively apologetic and held up a cautious hand to me as he answered, frowning into the phone and exchanging some curt words with the person on the other end. He hung up and smiled warmly at me again.

“Remember I mentioned about my supplier? The one that left me hanging this morning and made me late?”

“I remember.”

“Well, he’s suddenly crawled out of the woodwork, as it were, and now he’s at the showroom wondering why nobody’s there to take delivery.”

“Oh no …do you have to go?” I said. Surprising myself, I realized that I actually didn’t want him to. It had taken us almost 30 minutes but I felt like he was just starting to warm up, like there was something definitely interesting just a little way off on the horizon, if we just sat a bit longer and exchanged near glances and nervous looks.

“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, I really wanted to spend more time with you this afternoon. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Well, my showroom is just down the road from your office, you’re in that business park on Montgomery, right?”

“Yeah, same place as the Canadian embassy.”

“I know it. How about you come with me, I can show you around, we can chat on the drive there? Then I’ll drop you off afterwards?”

“I’d love to,” I said quickly. “I’d better, just in case you bump into some cute girl on the way there and try to marry her instead!”

He smiled warmly and I realized that yes, plain as day, I was blushing like a schoolgirl. I didn’t know when my life had turned into a quaint Victorian romance novel but the sun was shining so warmly and he was smiling so sweetly at me it didn’t much seem to matter.

We settled the bill and walked out to his car.

It felt a little strange, getting inside. It was spotless, but I could spy the pink ear of a stuffed bunny rabbit behind his seat. I buckled up and took the opportunity to ogle him a little more as we pulled out and he merged with the traffic.

Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad way of doing things. Start off every relationship with the big question, right out of the gate. And perhaps I could get used to this guy, his quiet manners, gently ironed shirts and secret emotions that flittered under the surface like little fish.

We drove in comfortable silence.

The phone rang again.

“Mark, I’m on my way now, just sit tight, OK? Five minutes.” His milky blue eyes scanned the road calmly as he listened, then hung up.

“The nerve of the man. Makes me wait and now wants me to come running after him.”

“Story of my life,” I said.

“It’s so inconsiderate. Seriously, is it really so difficult to manage your time? I honestly don’t know how some people stay in business.”

“Tell me about it.”

“The guy does brilliant work, I can’t fault him that. He’s been making furniture for our resorts for more than five years. But the man has zero work ethic.”

We were approaching the office again. I glanced over at him.

“Anthony, can I ask you a personal question?” I blurted.

Without skipping a beat he replied, “you can always ask me whatever you like, no matter what.”

“Well …do you actually find me attractive? This is not just, you know, this isn’t just an arrangement for you? Are you--”

To my amazement the car almost instantly came skidding to a halt on the side of the road. He turned off the ignition and looked me square in the eye.

“Oh god, is that what you think? That I’m just looking for some …arrangement?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled loudly, looking out at the traffic whizzing past the now stationary car.

“Well, yeah, kind of. It’s just that--”

“Kat, I’m enormously attracted to you. You’re a beautiful woman. Anyone can see that. I’m an idiot. You …you do know you’re more than that to me, right?”

My hand was in his again, and my heart was in my throat. I swallowed and tried to avoid eye contact, feeling the blush coming on again. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how I felt about all this. But I think I liked it.

I looked out over the road and saw a faint wobbling shimmer moving just above the surface of the tarmac. Why not marry him? I didn’t believe in a god, not anymore, but if there was one out there, well, he could send me a sign. He could let me know if I should let this serious, blue-eyed stranger into my life or not.

He squeezed my hand then released it, and just as quickly as we had stopped we were moving again.

“I hope you like the showroom,” he said excitedly. “You can tell me what you think of the new cabinets we’ve had made.”

Chapter 4 - Mark

For all the years I had known Anthony Burgess, we had worked with a tacit agreement between us: I would spare him from having to get his goods from crummy sweatshop suppliers, and in return I got largely free reign when it came to the design. He was my largest commercial buyer but paid like a custom client. It was a good arrangement. Most of the time.

I squinted my eyes at my watch and waited for him.

I’d have to get the truck back in less than an hour and I was more than done with him messing me around like this. I had more than six dozen custom made Balinese teak cabinets to offload and a full afternoon ahead of me. I did not need to be waiting like this.

A white SUV crunched over the gravel and into the far end of the parking lot. He parked, and, to my surprise, stepped out with a tall redhead.

I raised my sunglasses.

Yup. Her hair really was that color.

I watched them both climb out of the car and come to stand in front of it while they looked out over the warehouse. I saw Anthony’s hands gesturing wildly here and there, and the redhead looking around smiling, pale hand shielding her eyes. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could guess. This is where we design each hotel room, right down to the doorknobs. This is where the magic happens. He’d given me the same speech a few times.

They turned to walk towards me. I lowered my shades and signaled for the workers to start unpacking. Anthony extended a cordial hand and I shook it. We both didn’t feel much in the mood for more than a cursory greeting nod.

“Mark, this is Miss Lilith, I’m showing her around the premises today.” He gestured proudly towards the woman at his side.

And what a woman she was.

Her hair was like polished cherry wood, gleaming pink-red in the afternoon sun. It was almost distractingly beautiful, and it took me a moment to stop gawping and extend my hand for her to shake as well.

“Mark Cane, pleased to meet you,” I said, and took the small, cool hand she offered me. I gave a friendly laugh and led them both to the truck, chattering away about how the cabinets had all come out perfectly …but she clung to the edges of my vision nevertheless.

Her almost supernaturally red hair was like a photo negative, like an alien pigment, like I was some kind of insect who had just realized how to see UV light, and she was some jewel colored orchid, humming at some non-human frequency.

Anthony opened up the main gate and the workers started offloading the cabinets.

My eyes busied themselves with the task at hand but my mind was still on her. I hopped up onto the back of the truck, strode inside and hoisted up one of the cabinets up onto my shoulders, bringing it down the steps and lowering it to both of their feet. I wiped the sweat from my brow and smiled broadly at them both.

“Rhodesian teak,” I said. “And you won’t find better quality than that.”

The woman knelt down in front of the cabinet and traced her white fingers over the intricate carving and reed-work in the door.

“You did all this?”

“Yes ma’am,” I laughed. I could see down her shirt.

Anthony opened and closed the door a few times; satisfied the locking mechanism worked, and then brushed his palm over the counter, giving everything a look over like he knew what the hell he was looking at.

“They’re beautiful!” she gushed. Two soft mounds of white flesh peeped from the top of her blouse. Beautiful indeed.

“So you make all the furniture for Anthony’s resorts? That’s amazing. I always thought things like this were made in a factory…”

While she was busy examining the cabinet, I examined her.

She had high, fragile cheekbones and a little pinched mouth. She was tall, but delicate. She didn’t appear to be wearing a wedding ring. When she finally shot her gaze up at me, the muddy green of her eyes did something strange deep in the pit of my stomach.

She smiled naughtily and rose to her feet.

Our eyes were locked. We both smiled at one another like idiots, till she giggled and pulled her gaze away again. There was no question about it. She was the most beguiling woman I had ever seen.

“Yes, well, Mr. Cane and I have worked together for a long time. I admire his craftsmanship,” said Anthony, trying to catch her eye for himself.

She stopped smiling now and looked around.

“Shall we go inside, my dear?” he said. “You should see the office.” He extended his arm to her.

It was a ridiculous gesture, and she seemed to flinch at the ‘my dear’ part of it. I had always known Anthony to be an uptight workaholic, and had never seen him with anyone since his wife passed. But this woman, she didn’t fit the picture somehow. She wasn’t anyone’s ‘dear’. Her hair was way too red for him, for starters.

“Of course, that’ll be peachy,” she said.

We all went inside while the workers hauled the cabinets in.

“So, you’re a bit like a carpenter,” she asked, smiling sweetly as we walked through the warehouse. “Like Jesus!” Her laugh was electric. I gave her a naughty smile.

“No, not at all like Jesus…” I said slowly.

She blushed and let her eyes wonder, but they caught on the crude leather cuff I had on my wrist. I smiled and held it up so she could see it.

“I don’t think Jesus would make something like this, do you?”

She examined it and laughed.

“You make things out of leather, too?”

I smiled. “Oh, all sorts of things out of leather.”

Seeing the way her eyebrows arched as I said this sent a juicy thrill all through me. What the hell was this vixen doing with a stale old fart like Burgess? There had to be some mistake.

Women of all kinds have been coming to my studio for years now. Women who are looking for fun, for novelty, for themselves. Really dark women, kinky women, women who’ve made a lifelong habit of pushing themselves to their limits…

I have a theory about these women, the kind of people who decide one day to splash out on a novelty sex toy. They work hard their whole lives, they give and give and give to others, they’re polite, they turn the other cheek, their manners are impeccable and their kitchens are spotless. But one day, something delicious in them just snaps. And then they just say ‘fuck it’.

They get divorced. They stop apologizing, start smoking, wear too much perfume and talk too loudly …and then they come to me and request a handmade steel dog crate with built in leather restraints. Something rebellious comes over them, a wild glint in the eye, a little twitch in the lips, and then they’re off. I know a ‘fuck it’ moment when I see one. And this woman, this Miss Lilith, well, she had it written all over her.

So why the hell was she with him?

I watched her totter after him as he called her to come and look at the office. I mingled around, instructed the guys on where to put the cabinets and how to stack them, and took a rag out to idly polish the tops while I heard them chattering in the office. The guys climbed back into the truck.

I stood, rag in hand, thoughts drifting off to something I probably should not have been thinking of, when they returned.

“I’ve been looking for something like this for my living room for ages,” she said to Anthony. “And you know, this cabinet is so beautiful it’s just begging for a little white vase and a pink orchid on top, don’t you think?”

He nodded. “You see, that’s why we’re going to make such an amazing team, my dear.”

This time, the words made her frown visibly. She looked uncomfortable.

Interesting.

I decided to have a little fun of my own.

“You know, Miss Lili--”

“Please, call me Kat!”

“Well, Kat, if you’re interested, I can show you my workshop. I have a lot more of this stuff I’m working on at the moment.”

“She’s a very busy woman, Mark,” Anthony interrupted.

“I’d love to see your workshop,” she said quickly. They exchanged looks.

“I’m free right now,” I said. “You could have a look for something for your living room?”

The color of Anthony’s jowls seemed to be deepening. She looked up at him sweetly.

“I’ve already postponed most of my afternoon meetings for mini golf, so…”

“Yes, yes, of course, I understand,” Anthony said and smiled cordially. “Mr. Cane is a very talented man, I’m sure you’ll enjoy seeing his work.”

He really did sound like some stuffy hero from a Jane Austin novel. As she flickered her eyes over to mine I almost felt sorry for the guy.

“I’ve got tons to do here anyway so you run off and have fun my dear,” he said, and reached over to squeeze her hand. He didn’t notice the pained expression on her face when he did this.

But I did.

“I’ve given Miss Lilith a ride here, are you fine to drop her off at Montgomery street after?”

Christ, he was sounding more like her chaperone with each passing second.

“Sure, no problem.”

Someone called for him in the office, he checked his watch and excused himself, but not before squeezing her hand again and giving her a warm smile.

“Have fun,” he said.

“I will.” She tossed a lock of red hair from her face.

As we walked away and to the truck, I turned and grinned at her.

“So you and Mr. Burgess, huh?” I asked. She looked mortified but said nothing.

“I feel like I’ve stolen you away from your date or something.”

She climbed into the truck and sat in the passenger seat looking a little distracted.

“It’s not like that,” she said simply.

“Are you sure? He seemed a little put off…”

“Fuck it,” she said.

I turned the ignition, unable to contain my smile.

Chapter 5 - Kat

Well, they do say that God has a sense of humor.

When I asked for a sign, I didn’t imagine that the sign would come blustering into my life with a smile that looked like that. There was something just so …I couldn’t put my finger on it. But he was a strange man, that was for sure.

Dark brown hair, six foot or so, medium build. Nothing I’d be able to pull out of a lineup. But the way it all came together was what made it hard to keep my eyes off him. The way he moved. The way he looked at me.

The sight of the veins on his strong forearms roughly changing gears as we pulled off was enough to make me feel guilty for leaving poor beige-chino-ed Anthony back at his warehouse. I mean, Anthony may have proposed marriage, sure. But what did we actually have together, beside a few awkward moments of handholding and a cancelled mini golf date?

The whole situation was ridiculous.

Now I was in a truck with a hot guy who was probably five years my junior and had a way of lifting the corners of his mouth that gave me a belly full of butterflies. He wore one of those shirts that’s meant to look old even when it’s new, in some kind of in between grey blue green color, and soft jeans. Smatterings of black and indigo tattoos crawled up his bicep and into his sleeves. Dark, tribal designs, geometric figures, strange, machine-like birds.

“You have any of your own?” he asked, eyes still on the road.

“Uh, what?”

“Tats.” He gestured towards his arm.

How on earth had he known I was ogling?

“No, none! I faint if I have to a get flu jab, to be honest.”

He chuckled.

“What’s this one mean?” I asked, and pointed to a thick, inch wide solid bar wrapping the circumference of his broad wrist. He raised it up to eye height and flexed his fist, making his veins jump underneath the black.

“What does it mean?”

“Yeah, does it symbolize anything? Does it have a meaning?”

He chuckled again.

“Does it have to?”

“Of course it does,” I said quickly. “Why get a tattoo if it doesn’t mean anything?”

His eyes still fixed firmly on the road, he wrapped his arms round the giant steering wheel and focused on gliding the truck through the traffic, pulling it gracefully into and then out of wide turns. He was a good driver.

“Does everything you do always mean something?” he asked.

I sighed. “Guess not.”

“If you really wanna know, I saw it in a dream once.”

I snorted. He turned and gave me a sharp look.

“Oh sorry. You were serious.”

He said nothing.

“You saw it in a dream? So you tattooed yourself with it?” I could hear how condescending I sounded. “I’m sorry, that just sounds crazy.”

“And so what if it is crazy? I like to let my intuition guide me.”

“Pffft …and how’s that working out for you?” I said, mostly meaning it as a joke, but when I saw his reaction, I instantly felt like an A-grade bitch.

“I just mean …well, I could never live like that. Just doing random meaningless things? Sounds like a nice way to get yourself into trouble.” I stared again at the veins under the black band on his wrist and imagined getting into trouble with him. “I’m sure it’s fine for you, following your intuition and stuff, but I could never do that…”

“Why not?”

I sighed and looked out the window. I thought darkly how maybe I preferred flirting with him when Anthony was around to watch. I didn’t reply.

“So, you were saying about the furniture you had at your workshop? I really like Balinese style stuff, it’s so cool the work you do…” I started.

He gave me a sideways smile.

“Changing the topic, huh?”

I laughed. After a lunch date with Anthony, I couldn’t decide if his bluntness was refreshing or just rude.

“I wasn’t, but fine, let’s talk about your meaningless tattoo again.” I don’t know why I sounded so defensive talking to him.

“Nobody said it was meaningless,” he said mysteriously. I rolled my eyes at him and smiled.

“It’s not meaningless, but you don’t know what it means?”

“Something like that.”

“So what was the dream then? Did the dream mean anything?”

“I don’t really remember.”

“So you dreamt about something, but you don’t know what, about a tattoo on your arm that means something, but you also don’t know what. That makes sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” he said, chuckling.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t understand,” I laughed.

“Well, maybe sometimes you do things but you only understand why you did them later on.”

I looked out at the open road. We drove in silence for a while before pulling into what looked like a run-down timber yard. Piles of wood and tarp-covered mounds flanked a humble looking series of buildings. He parked, jumped out, tossed the keys to a guy who jumped out the back and exchanged a few words with him. In a minute the huge truck lumbered off and it was just me, him and piles and piles of wood.

“I have some coffee tables I think you’re going to love,” he said, and darted off.

I followed.

“Changing the topic, huh?” I said, and he smiled.

Inside, the place was cold and dusty and had the faint odor of unfamiliar chemicals in the air. He disappeared and came back quickly wielding a delicate coffee table with dainty legs that reminded me of a violin somehow. He gently placed it before me.

“It hasn’t got the typical Balinese shape you get on the market, but I really wanted to try something new, you know?”

I bent down to examine the intricate inlay of white flowers with black petals, all made of wood and embedded in the glossy surface. It was the most perfect table I’d ever seen – something that would definitely transform my boring old living room.

“It’s amazing! How much do you want for it? I have to have it.” I couldn’t stop running my fingers over its mirror-smooth surface.

“Eh, take it,” he said and shrugged.

I looked at him wide eyed.

“Mark, this must have taken you hours to make. You’re crazy, let me pay you for it, for heaven’s sake!”

“Please, I want you to have it.”

There really was something remarkable about his smile.

“Now I know for sure you live in lala land. Not only do you take orders from your dreams but you give away your work for free to everyone?”

“No, not everyone. Just you.”

The look he gave me made my knees weak. I cleared my throat and tried to distract my fingers along the lines of the flower again.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, but I couldn’t make eye contact. It had been a strange day. When my cheeks stopped burning and I looked at him again, he was smiling mischievously at me, legs spread and hands on hips, like he hadn’t just made such an outrageously romantic gesture. Divorce had been the most painful ordeal of my life but hell, I was only a few months out and already up one marriage proposal and a cute table.

“I should get home,” I said.

“Sure. I’ll get Sebastian to give you a lift. Give him your address and I’ll have the table sent over,” he said breezily.

While I was busy smoldering to death under his gaze he seemed cool, composed and easy as you please. Before I could find something to say, he quickly said goodbye and left, leaving me wondering what the hell had just hit me.

I left soon after that with Sebastian, a friendly older guy in blue overalls who smelt like glue, and arrived at work just before two. I cursed under my breath, suddenly remembering that I had promised to pick Nicky up from pre-school at 2:30. There was no way I’d make it now.

“Shit!” I mumbled, raced into the office and flung my handbag down. I soon had the phone in my hand, while waking up the laptop with my other hand and balking at the pile of emails that had sprung up there over the last few hours alone.

“Hi Sandra? Sandra, it’s Kat. I hate to be a pain in the ass but could you take Nicky this afternoon? I’m swamped here at work and time’s just run away with me…”

The crisis resolved, I threw down my phone and next tried to pick through all my emails, every last one of them labeled ‘Urgent’. The intern Melissa came around silently and plunked a cup of coffee down on my desk without saying a word.

“Oh God, you’re an angel, thank you,” I said. She gave me a salute and walked off.

The phone buzzed.

“Shit!”

Someone I definitely did not want to speak to.

“Pradesh! Hi! Long time” I said with all the fake enthusiasm I could muster.

“Yes, I know there’s been a delay with that, but you have to understand, the grant writers are not actually on site with us, we freelance them independently…” I picked up a gnarly looking elastic and nervously twiddled it in my fingers. “Yes, yes I understand, Pradesh, but we’ve done everything we can on our side.”

The Lotus Program was the single most ambitious project for the empowerment of women and girls in the Indian subcontinent that any one NGO had ever undertaken, but the nasty truth was that I felt like a completely disempowered woman roughly 95% of my workdays.

I took a pen in my hand and clicked at it viciously as the voice on the other end proceeded to lecture me. I nodded and listened, then put the pen tip on the elastic band and drew on it again and again, blackening it.

“That’s reasonable Pradesh, and I do understand that. I’ll be following up with Miss McKenna as soon as we hang up, thank you so much for your patience,” I said, my own patience running thinner as the black on the elastic grew thicker.

I hung up and exhaled loudly, took a sip of coffee and tried to think. Before I could scarcely form a thought my phone pinged.

It was Anthony.

My apologies for the rush today. I’d love to see you soon though. Can I take you somewhere for dinner, let’s say tomorrow evening?

I groaned. I didn’t have nearly enough time on my hands to deal with irate school principals in eastern Chennai and juggle a dating life at the same time. I put my head in my hands and rubbed my temples. Maybe I should be like that hot idiot Mark. Maybe I should follow my intuition and see where it took me, since I seemed incapable of juggling all this crap on my own.

“You OK?”

It was Melissa. I gave her an exhausted smile.

“Just a busy day. Lots of decisions to make, you know?”

Just then my phone pinged again. Another message from Anthony, this time just a single emoji. The kissing emoji. Melissa’s eyes darted to the screen and quickly back again.

“Man trouble?” she asked sweetly.

I laughed.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. But I’m thinking I should start learning to follow my own intuition about these things…”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting.”

“Trouble is I have no idea what my intuition is saying.” I had already asked for a sign and got …well, him.

“Hey what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That on your wrist?”

I looked down and saw that without thinking I had put the elastic band around my wrist. I must have done it while talking to Pradesh.

“It’s uh …oh it’s nothing” I said and pulled the elastic band off. I froze. The ink I had scribbled onto it had transferred itself to my skin, leaving a perfect, uniform band of black all around my wrist.

“Melissa, do you believe in, like, signs? You know, omens?”

She gave me a weird expression.

“It’s just Mark,” she said.

“What?”

“I said, it’s just a mark.”

I turned my wrist over and examined the line again.

“Nevermind. It doesn’t mean anything,” I said quickly.

Chapter 6 - Kat

Masooma Tavawalla. A fifteen-year-old girl who had made waves last year after creating a Facebook group condemning the Bohra community for their participation in female genital mutilation. A sweet, moon faced thing who had done the TED talks, done the morning talk show circuit and was now turning up at my office in half an hour to discuss partnering with the Lotus Program for an intervention.

I scrolled through photos of her girlish, unremarkable face. Google images offered only the same handful of gritty social media snaps and a few stills from TV. I made a mental note to offer to pay for some professional shots for her. At the rate she was garnering attention for her cause, she’d need them.

From all accounts she was a firecracker. Whip-smart, the eldest of seven children, outspoken and with a heart of triple reinforced gold, if the interviews I’d read were to be believed. I had only emailed with her briefly but was touched by her frankness, and her excitement to hear about out initiatives. She was a phenomenal young woman, an inspiration and a touching tribute to the robust human spirit. She was a marvel. Truly.

Then why was I so thoroughly bored?

I sighed and scrolled through listlessly.

Mark.

He was all I could think about. He had been a bright, weird spark in my boring day and I hadn’t been able to shake his memory. His cheeky smile. The carved coffee table had arrived this morning and I had stood staring at for it a full five minutes, wondering if it warranted me calling him up for a thank you drinks. People did that, right? Said thank you for furniture over drinks?

I nervously chewed my pen and tried to remember what Anthony had mentioned his last name being, and before I could stop my fingers, they were clattering over the keyboard.

‘Mark Cane furniture’ I typed and hit enter.

The screen washed over with pictures that were predominantly black, red and purple. It took me a while to understand what I was seeing. That was him all right. I clicked a few links and found his webpage.

I gasped and flopped back in my seat.

Sex furniture.

Sex. Furniture.

Plain as day, there it was in tasteful black and red. Was that …yes, some of the pieces even had that same carving as the table I’d cheerfully received this morning. “Not the usual Balinese style” indeed. I scrolled through the gallery. Big wooden crosses that looked like they came straight from a medieval dungeon. Cages. Chairs with holes in them. I zoomed in on an innocent looking bed that on closer inspection had a pillory built into it, and heavy steel rings on each of the four posts.

“What’s so funny?”

I slammed the laptop shut. Melissa had come in with coffee and was looking at me with interest.

“Nothing, just …it’s nothing. Have you heard from Masooma yet?”

Melissa gave me a knowing look and plunked the coffee down on my table.

“Yeah, she’s on her way now, you ready?”

“Absolutely,” I said, and watched her walk out again. I instantly peeled open the laptop again and greedily scanned page after black page. And then there he was. I froze and took a good look at him. He was posing in a simple photograph against a giant saw, all his inky scribbles visible all along his arm. He was smiling right at me.

I clicked “contact” and saw a custom request form. Ah. So people made requests. I smiled wryly. Perverts.

I briefly wondered if Anthony had any idea. My eyes hovered over the “submit” button and I smiled to myself at the choice of word. In hindsight, he did seem like the type. The strange darkness in the eyes. The tattoos. The outrageously flirty smile. Did he use any of the things he made…?

Without thinking, I started to type. The request form was anonymous, so what difference did it make? It would just be a bit of fun. It didn’t mean anything.

I want something made for me, I don’t care what. Money is no object. I leave the details to you. I only know that when I’m finished using it, I want it to leave marks. LOTS of marks.

I giggled and clicked “submit”. The screen went dark. Nothing would happen of course. He probably got loads of curious chancers just messing around, what with an open form like that just right on his website. I closed the laptop again.

Still. It would be kind of cool if he responded. I had no idea what I’d do if he did, but the idea was a thrilling distraction, what with the poster girl for female genital mutilation likely to take up my entire afternoon with somber chat about the political state in India... I checked myself. That was unkind. I took a sip of coffee to clear my head. I had work to do. I knew when I committed to this job that I would be dealing with unpleasant facts, with hard, sometimes unrewarding work. I just had to be an adult about it.

And with that I made off towards the meeting room, composing an argument in my head about why I was just mistaken, and that I couldn’t possibly be turned on right now. By the time I reached the meeting room doors and flung them open, I had completely convinced myself I wasn’t desperate for him to reply.

Chapter 7 - Mark

“When you get older, you’ll understand,” Anthony said. “The impulse to be a father is inborn, it’s just something natural that every man has to arrive at, sooner or later.”

I laughed. “Spoken like a man who already has a kid.”

“I’m serious, Mark. I used to think the same as you. If someone told me at your age that I’d one day be a devoted father, I would have laughed at them.”

Ever since Anthony’s wife passed away these little chats about my future were getting more and more frequent.

“Christ, Anthony, you’re like, five or six years older than me.”

“Whatever. You’ll see. You’ll meet the right woman one day, and you’ll see just how much can change in five years. Or five days. Or an afternoon even, I promise.”

I held my tongue.

I rolled around the possibility of playfully prying about his new girlfriend, the flame-headed Miss Kat Lilith. But I was well aware that these occasional chummy moments were mostly on his terms. To my surprise, he laughed and said, “For instance with Kat. I don’t want to scare her away or anything, but I think she might be it. I just know.”

I exhaled loudly into the receiver of the phone.

“Wow. No offense, but how long have you known her for?”

“Not long. But that doesn’t matter,” he said quickly.

“Yeah? What does she think about all this?” I asked, suddenly aware of how badly I didn’t want to seem too interested in his answer.

‘Well, I think she’s been hurt in the past, you know? A divorce. But she’s interested, trust me.”

I said nothing.

“We’re seeing each other this evening, so I’d say yeah, she’s pretty keen. Anyway, let me get back to the grindstone buddy, I won’t keep you.”

I briefly wondered about the ins and outs of this man’s love life, and wondered what had prompted him to suddenly share so much of it with me. But he cheerfully hung up and I found my thoughts coming undone for a moment.

I snapped myself out of it. It was easy to scoff at his hokey old school relationship ‘advice’, but what did I know about love anyway? I didn’t exactly have the most amazing track record with women myself. Maybe he was right. Maybe not. I checked my mail again and looked at the time. An interesting consult coming up this afternoon.

Now, I’ve be selling my wares for a long time and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the timid, curious sorts that come all shy and reluctant to the shows, end up being my biggest clients.

It’s always the quiet ones. The ones who start out unsure and conflicted, who say that someone else pushed them to it, that it’s just for a ‘joke’, that they don’t really mean it … it was always these customers who end up being my biggest fans, coming back for more over and over again.

I read the enquiry again. Yup, no doubt about it. It was shot through with a desperation you could almost smell. I had asked her (if it was indeed a her!) to do some quick measurements and come for a half hour consult. If I were right, she’d be giving me the go ahead within ten minutes.

The gate bell buzzed and I opened. And then I stopped dead in my tracks.

It was her.

Her copper hair came bobbing up the stairs before she did, but when she caught my eye she froze on the middle step and looked at me, waiting for me to say something.

“It’s you,” I said.

Her expression was strange. She hurried up the remaining steps and blushed a little.

“Yeah, I know, it was just a bad joke, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist.”

But her attitude seemed forced. Somehow, I just knew she had rehearsed that line over and over before coming here.

“A joke?” I said, and took her jacket from her.

“Yeah, you see, I wanted to say thank you for your table, right, and I didn’t know how to contact you, and so I tried to look for you online and then, you know …” she waved her hands nervously. “And then I found your website, and I thought it would be just hilarious to send you a request.”

“Hilarious?”

I watched her deflate before my very eyes.

“Yeah, just a joke, kind of embarrassing now actually…”

Watching her squirm was amazing. I said nothing, only pinned her to the spot with my gaze. Eventually, I took a step towards her and looked her up and down.

“Did you honestly think that I would believe that little story?” I said and smiled softly at her. Her face flashed a violent shade of red.

“What story? Oh, God, it was just a bad joke, I’m sorry, I was just trying to be funny…” she started again, but this time she knew I knew. I stared at her and watched her flounder. It was beautiful.

“Jeez, I was just curious,” she said defiantly.

I love a lady that doth protest too much. She was so deliciously obvious. I said nothing; just waiting to see what amusing hole she’d dig for herself now. I almost felt a little embarrassed on her behalf. I checked my watch.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have come without telling you that we’ve actually met before,” she said quickly, trying to regain her composure. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me, I didn’t want you to get embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? About what?”

The color came right back to her face.

“You know …about …about the sex furniture,” she said, bashfully hissing the words under her breath and gesturing nervously around the workshop.

She was adorable.

“Sex furniture?” I said loudly. “Why would that embarrass me? I don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. I make things that make people happy. Very happy,” I said, drawing out the last words and catching her eyes deliberately.

She giggled.

“Oh my God, that is hilarious. I can’t believe I’m actually here…” she said, laughing nervously.

“You can’t believe you arranged an appointment with me and came with the deliberate intention of wasting my time?” I said, voice edged with sarcasm.

The smile fell from her face.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry” she mumbled. “You’re offended…”

“Yeah, a little.”

I saw her scrambling to say something, but I cut her short.

“Look, though it’s clear you don’t take my work very seriously, I have plenty of people who legitimately are. If you wanted to see me, you should have just said so.”

“Oh no, no, I didn’t want to see you,” she said quickly, literally waving off the idea.

I tried hard not to grin.

“Oh? So you really did want to commission a piece then? Fantastic!”

The look on her face was priceless.

She smiled. Embarrassment was a good look for her.

“Ok, you got me,” She held up her hands. “But honestly, I’m probably not like your other customers, really. I admit I thought it was kind of unusual, kind of interesting. But I’m just curious...”

I looked at my watch.

“Ok, well, what did you want to know?”

She looked alarmed. It’s like she hadn’t thought this plan through in the least.

“What …do I want to know? Um…” she said, eyes darting everywhere in the room to avoid mine.

“Well, can I see some of them?” she asked. She was a good few years my senior, but at that moment, she had the face of a schoolgirl.

I smiled.

“Sure.”

She followed me into a separate room and I lifted some tarps to reveal a piece ready to ship out the following day.

“Oh my God. What …how does it…?” she said, and instantly her hands were trailing over the steel bars.

I loved the look on her face as the mental cogs worked and she tried to figure it out. Tried to imagine which body parts went where. She looked charmingly puzzled. Then she laughed.

“I’m not sure if I’m missing something, but I cannot see what you’re supposed to do with this.”

I gave her a naughty wink.

“See this? This is for hands.”

“And this?”

“For the other pair of hands.”

“Ok, but then what about this then? For the feet?”

“No,” I said naughtily. “It’s for a third pair of hands.”

Her eyes went wild. It took her a few seconds and I looked at her looking at the device, watching her fill in the fleshy blanks.

“Oh my God… How do you come up with that?”

“Intuition.”

She looked around the rest of the room.

“Oh yes, I remember, dreams and things. Magic and hocus-pocus,” she said playfully.

“There’s nothing magical about intuition.”

“No?” She was walking slowly around the workshop, taking tools in her small hands, examining them, and placing them down again. “Then what’s it about?” she asked.

“It’s just about noticing things, I guess,” I said, and followed her at a close distance. “For instance, I’ve noticed you’ve deliberately worn a dress today you know accentuates your beautiful waist.”

She flashed me a hot look.

“This? No, that doesn’t mean anything. I just like this dress, I just wore it,” she said quickly.

“And I also notice, for instance, that whenever you’re telling a bit of a lie, you tighten your fists, just a little,” I said, holding eye contact. She quickly looked down at her hands and, shocked, released them and folded her arms.

“That’s just... that’s…”

“I notice that you’re very keen to say that nothing means anything.” I was standing very close to her now. I didn’t need to check the time. I knew she had only been here for six or seven minutes so far.

“Maybe it is ‘magic’ that you reached out to me, drove all the way out here and put on that dress just so you could stand in front of me right now, for no reason at all…”

She parted her lips.

I took a step away from her and pulled back just as she leaned in for a kiss.

She frowned. “By the way, I didn’t come here to see you. I seriously did want you to make a piece for me.”

I turned to look at her. Her hands were held arched open at her sides. She had a beautiful body. She was long and graceful, with the hips of a ballet dancer and thighs lean as a gazelle’s. The fabric of her green dress clung suggestively to the gentle curve of her lower belly.

She was perfect.

I took a step closer to her.

“I’d love to,” I said quietly, and before I could think about it, her lips were on mine.

She whimpered softly as her warm tongue folded into my lips. It was as though I could taste the tension melting off of her. We paused there with one another, eyes closed, delicately touching this new moment. There was no excuse she could make now. This is what she had really come here for.

To my surprise she kissed me passionately, her hand reaching up for the base of my neck and anchoring there to pull me deeper in. I found myself smiling as she sunk her greedy tongue further in, completely ravenous. And without thinking my body responded, my hands darting to her tight waist and pawing at the delicious curve where her flanks met her hipbones.

I leaned in deeper, my tongue caressing her, sending her staggering back and bumping into the wall behind her, tools clattering to the floor.

“Mark…” she breathed, but I kissed her all over, planting kiss after kiss on her opened lips, her little tongue, her neck and shoulders…

“Mark, I…”

“Fuck, you’re beautiful” I breathed into her neck. I was nearly dizzy with how quickly she was turning me on. Rock hard, I pressed my eager body into hers and her hips curled to meet mine instantly. Her hair smelled like cinnamon.

“Mark, I shouldn’t,” she moaned, but the way her little hands clutched desperately round my shoulders, the little shuddering breaths she drew as her hips started grinding into mine …they all told me that yes, she sure as hell should.

She pulled away and held up her hands.

“I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

She looked around, flustered, then soothed the lower half of her dress.

“I just can’t.” She cleared her throat and started scanning the room for her jacket. “I mean it, though. I really was curious about the furniture. I really do want you to make me something.”

“What should I make?” I said, suddenly feeling like someone had let all my air out.

“I don’t care,” she said with irritation. “Just make something. Anything.”

“Sure,” I said, and watched as she made for the door. “You’re the boss, after all.”

“What? I’m the boss?” she turned to look at me.

“Yeah, but you don’t want to be, do you?”

She shot me a fiery look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I casually looked at my fingernails and took my time answering her.

“You’re in charge. You’re the boss. You have everything under control. But I think you wish I’d take that all away from you.” I paused and caught her gaze, staring at her intently. “Force it from you, even.”

She fumed and turned on her heel for the door.

“I can’t believe I came here,” she muttered.

“Hey, Kat,” I said quickly. She turned to face me, hand on the doorknob.

“What?”

“I’m glad you came.”

She looked embarrassed.

“I was just curious. I don’t know what all your other weirdo clients want or whatever, and why they even come to you, but –”

“They come for the same reason you came.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Because they need to. Because some part of them, even if it’s just a small part, wants to surrender.”

Before I knew it, she was out the door, slamming it behind her.

Chapter 8 - Kat

If there’s anything in the world I’m good at doing it’s deciding things. And I had decided I would never, ever go back to that stupid workshop and never, ever seek out that man and whatever immature ‘lifestyle’ he was peddling.

It was fine for some, sure, and I wasn’t going to be judgmental, but if I allowed myself to go down that path, who knows what dumb shit I’d do. After Jeff left I promised myself I was going to do things properly. And Mark and his elaborate toys were decidedly improper. A waste of time.

My phone pinged. It was Anthony.

Hope I haven’t been stood up ;)

I don’t know what had gotten into me, but I loathed that little winking face with everything in my heart. I hadn’t been myself all morning, and now I was running late (if there’s a second thing I’m good at in this world, it’s being on time …or so I thought) and couldn’t find a parking space on his busy street.

By the time I arrived flustered on his front doorstep, I was a full twenty minutes late. He opened the door, all pressed chinos and tight smile, and welcomed me in. He felt good to hug, but in a strange way. Oh God. I realized he smelled vaguely of my father.

“I’m so glad you finally made it,” he said politely. He guided me to the living room and thrust a drink in my hand.

His apartment was super tidy, the kind of clean a house gets when the person who lives there is mostly at work. All his furniture looked new and unused. Like a comfy but unassuming three-star hotel.

I looked around for evidence of a toddler. I found none.

We chatted about the weather, about work, about every damn thing except what I really wanted to talk about: sex.

It was the one thing neither of us had mentioned, had hinted at or, possibly, even though about. And the longer we did, the stranger it felt. It started to feel like maybe under those beige chinos was just a flat bit of skin-colored plastic, like a Ken doll crotch. I tried to hide my smile. The whiskey he had given me was going straight to my head.

He sat on the sofa next to me and put his hand on my knee. We both looked down at it.

God, why was I being such a prudish baby about all this? Anthony was the perfect catch. I had already decided that I would accept his proposal. I had done it quietly, this morning, all by myself, because it was the obvious choice. It made sense. There was no reason not to. He was stable, family minded, responsible and mature. He had a clean apartment, was well educated and, not least of all, he wanted me.

So then why the hell did his hand feel like a chunk of concrete on my leg?

It was Mark.

He was getting under my skin.

I had thought about him all this morning, all last night… I was dropping things and bumping into tables and zoning out. It was ridiculous. I forced him out of my mind. The kiss was an accident. Nothing more than a mistake.

I smiled at Anthony.

“You know, you are allowed to kiss me,” I said, and tilted my head to the side. He seemed surprised.

“You want me to kiss you?”

I laughed.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” I said, tilting my head to the other side.

He took my hand in his, the way you would to a dying woman, the way a priest takes your hand, and looked me earnestly in the eye.

“Kat, now’s probably a good time to mention how seriously I take the issue of consent.”

“Consent?”

“I think clear communication is vital. I don’t ever intend to overstep my bounds with you.”

I laughed out loud.

“Christ, it was just a kiss,” I said.

He frowned.

“Consent is consent. It doesn’t matter how small, wouldn’t you agree?”

I cleared my throat.

“Sure, yes, of course. It’s just …OK, you’re being so serious now,” I said and tried to laugh again. His hand was no longer on my leg.

“If we’re moving too fast, I’m happy to dial it back a bit, I totally understand if you’re not ready for anything physical just yet,” he said.

Now it was my turn to frown.

Moving too fast? It felt like I had to file an application in triplicate and wait six months just to mention the idea of kissing him. My nerve had anyway gone. The idea of kissing him now just left me cold.

“Can I get some more whiskey?” I said, and held up my glass.

He gave me a patronizing smile.

“Kat, are you using alcohol to avoid anything?” he asked.

I clanked my glass loudly on the table.

“Anthony, I’m sorry, I’m just …this is all so serious, you know? Can we just have fun?”

He looked pained. “You’re not having fun?”

I glared at him.

“Well, it’s just …I like to let things evolve organically. I suppose… we should just go with it when the moment feels right, you know?”

He didn’t seem to like this idea. He frowned a bit more, looked puzzled, then shook his head and gave me a strange look.

“Of course, I get that completely.” He smiled warmly at me. “It’s just …it’s been a long time since I’ve done this whole dating thing, you know, and I want to do things properly,” he said in earnest.

I leaned forward and hovered a little in front of him, holding his gaze. He had a gentle face, soft eyes and a small, thoughtful mouth.

I kissed him. Without thinking too much about it, I leaned forward and planted a sweet, brief kiss on his lips and drew back a little to see his reaction. His eyes were downcast, as though he was trying to decipher something I had just said to him in another language. After the longest time, his eyes still avoiding mine, he nodded and reached for my glass.

“You said you wanted a refill?” he asked casually.

I giggled.

“Now who’s avoiding?” I said playfully. He shot me a hurt look. God this was awkward.

“I’m sorry, should have I asked for consent?” I said and giggled again, trying to make light of how heavy everything suddenly felt.

“You’re making fun of me. How would you have liked it, if I just sprung that on you?” he said coldly.

“Um, like you sprung a whole marriage proposal on me?” In my head it had sounded like another playful jab. But once the words were on my lips I realized how irritated I sounded. “I’m sorry, we’re getting off on the wrong foot here. I just like a man to take some initiative, that’s all.”

It was beginning to seem like not even a second whiskey would save this train wreck of an evening.

“Initiative?”

“Yeah, you know. You don’t have to discuss every last detail, sometimes it’s sexy to just go for it you know?”

“Well, I have a more egalitarian understanding of relationships,” he said curtly.

“I’m not saying I don’t support being egalitarian. Look, we’re misunderstanding each other here…”

“I consider myself a feminist, Kat. I think cheap power plays between men and women are dangerous. And regressive. I don’t believe in ‘just going for it’.”

I laughed nervously.

“Hey, Anthony, you’re misunderstanding me, I completely agree. But I’m telling you I like a man to take some direction, you know. I’m telling you that. I’m not saying be like a caveman or something, just take the lead a little, you know, be a little bold.”

“I could never do that to a woman.”

We looked at each other. I got up, walked over to the counter and poured us both another whiskey.

“I haven’t been myself these last few days,” I said lamely. “Can we just start again?”

For some stupid reason, I thought of Massooma Tavawalla. She popped into my head, wearing the same frown Anthony had just given me. He was right, of course. I couldn’t hold some principles dear but then throw them out the window when they were inconvenient. I had built my whole life around empowering women. I had spent more than a decade teaching women to value their own voices, to demand respect, to earn their way in the world and to question the burdens placed on them by the cultures they were born into.

And now here I was, play-acting some cheesy Fifty Shades style nonsense and asking this kind, sincere man to communicate less with me, and to show me less respect.

I took a big swig of whiskey.

I was crazy for sure. I had already decided that Anthony was the right man for me, and here he was, proving exactly why he would be so good for me. He’d hold me accountable. He wouldn’t put up with my bullshit. He’d take me seriously. Didn’t I say I was done dealing with immature boys, and that I wanted a mature man in my life? Well, here he was.

I walked over to the sofa again.

“Anthony, if you’re OK with it, I’d like to kiss you,” I said plainly. I put my glass down on the side table. He looked up at me, fingers interlaced over his knees.

“I’d like to kiss you too,” he said.

I knelt down in front of him and gingerly placed my lips on his. They pushed back a little, and we kissed awkwardly. He pulled away and smiled at me, then placed his hands on my shoulders.

It would be fine. I didn’t even care about sex that much anyway. And things would get better. Chemistry was overrated. It’s not what ultimately mattered. Not really.

Chapter 9 - Mark

I always knew she’d come back. Just not this soon.

She pitched up in a boring pair of work slacks and a blousy, loose shirt that gave no hint of her killer curves underneath. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and when she buzzed to come in for her second ‘consult’, she had a look on her face that …well, let’s just say I decided to play along with her claim that she had only come to chat about her piece, which, she was quick to remind me, she was only getting in the first place because she was curious. Just curious.

She carelessly tossed a briefcase onto the floor and took off her jacket.

“So, what have you come up with for me?” she asked.

Without her copper mane, her cheekbones looked even more fragile than usual. In my fantasies of her, her hair was always loose. Always streaming around her face, falling into her half closed eyes as her head thrashed from side to side… But pulled back was also a good look, I guess.

I went over to the shelf and pulled off a big leather bound book and started to show her some sketches and photographs from previous pieces. I had spent the better part of the week thinking about this woman. It wasn’t often that a client just gave me a blank slate and told me to build something for them from scratch, but I relished the idea.

What would such a woman need? What would she want? Did she scream out and throw back her head at the moment of orgasm or was she the kind to curl up tightly and shake and whimper when her body couldn’t handle anymore? How much pain could a woman with such a delicate body really take? Or was it just the threat of pain that she’d enjoy? Dark wood or steel for this elfin creature? Chain restraints or velvet?

When I pushed the leather bound book towards her, the expression on her face remained stony.

“This is it?” she said. She pored over the sketches, then took a look at the diagrams with crudely sketched people using it. “Oh, I see…”

I found a loose jump ring on the table and twirled it in my fingertips. I was seldom wrong about people. Sometimes you can tell what people are into just by looking at them. You can tell by the particular flavor of hunger in their eyes what they’re really all about. But she took long enough to reply that I briefly wondered if I had overstepped. The drawings I had shown her were …obscene. I watched the effort it took her to maintain a straight face.

She pushed the book back to me.

“No. No this isn’t want I had in mind at all.”

“It isn’t?”

“I don’t know what gave you the impression that I’d like to …to have that done to me, but no.”

“Oh. My apologies then. To be fair, though, you haven’t actually asked for anything specific,” I ventured.

She sighed loudly and trilled her fingers on the leather cover.

“You’re right, I didn’t. That’s my fault. So I should say that …well, I don’t want something so …violent. I won’t want to be …well, to be…”

“Paddled?” I said and grinned. She shot me a fierce look.

“Fine, if that’s what they call it, then no, I would not like to be ‘paddled’.”

“Caned, then?”

“What? No.”

“Whipped, maybe?”

“Oh my god, none of that. No, of course not!”

I laughed.

“Kind of like going to the ice cream shop and being angry they only sell ice cream, huh?”

She didn’t look impressed.

“Mark, do you have any idea of just how widespread the problem of violence towards women really is?”

“I’m, I’m sorry, what?”

“Violence towards women. I have just spent the morning working with a young woman who has endured unbelievable violence done to her. She’s been abused in ways you couldn’t even possibly imagine…”

“What has that got to do with—”

“Do you ever even think about that? About how unethical it is to go and deliberately promote more violence, more gender imbalance, more sexism?” she said, raising her voice.

“Woah woah woah, Kat, just calm down for a second. None of this is violence, don’t be ridiculous.”

She was on her feet again and looking agitated.

“I’m sorry, you’re right, I don’t know why I keep coming back here, it’s so stupid of me. I just have this …this morbid curiosity, I don’t know. You probably think I’m a nutcase.”

“Kind of.”

I caught her eye and for a brief, glorious moment, her face opened up and we laughed together. But then her brows knitted again and she looked down at the sketches.

“Don’t you have anything …I don’t know. Classier? A bit more politically correct? For real adults. Mature people, you know. It’s so humiliating to be …paddled.”

I grinned.

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of the point for some people.”

“People are crazy,” she said with a smile.

“Tell me about it.”

“I want something …more egalitarian.”

“Egalitarian?”

“Yeah. Like, feminist sex furniture, you know?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m serious. No paddling. No tying up. Just …equality.”

“Sure, sounds hot,” I said.

She tried to give me a sharp look but found herself laughing along with me.

“Maybe you should start by giving me some idea about who else you intend to use it with?” I said cautiously.

She stopped smiling.

“Well… there’s nobody that I have in mind. I don’t know. I have no idea what I’m thinking, I just keep finding myself drawn to this idea over and over.”

“Sounds like it’s your intuition.”

She cocked her head at me.

“Yeah maybe.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but are you and Mr. Burgess…?”

“Anthony? Oh yes, we’re pretty serious,” she said and nodded so hard her ponytail bounced.

She all at once reminded me of a little girl who had broken into her mother’s closet and was playing dress up with her serious grown up clothing. I was struck with something like desperate thirst, only what I was desperate for was to see her, truly see her, stripped of everything, naked and without any bullshit, any defenses, nothing at all.

“Oh? That’s cool. He’s a …good guy,” I said. It was all I could manage.

“Oh he’s fantastic. A person with real principles. Not too many of those around these days.”

The thirst was deepening. She was so tightly wound, so deeply knotted …and she was trying to rile me, no question about it. What the hell was she doing here, anyway? I had met some repressed, conflicted personalities in my time, don’t get me wrong. But there was something in her that was so much more than just repressed. Somewhere deep in me, somewhere down on the cellular level …it felt like she was provoking me. She stood before me in her tasteful work gear and subdued ponytail and it’ll sound crazy, but some animal part of me registered all of it for what it unconsciously was: a dare.

“You do know that …well, Anthony is pretty intense, right? He’s looking for a wife.”

“I know that.”

A lump grew at the back of my throat.

“Well, then, in that case, you’re right, the sketches I gave you are completely the wrong thing. I misunderstood the situation,” I said quickly.

“What do you mean? What situation?”

I smiled at the sketches and then back up at her. “You honestly see a man like Anthony going for anything like this?”

She frowned.

“That’s kind of rude. Anthony is a very …interesting man. Just because he’s respectful and polite it doesn’t mean he’s not…” she struggled to finish her sentence.

“So you’re going to marry him?” I asked outright.

Her faced colored a little.

“Yes, actually. I think I will,” she said and the ponytail bobbed again.

I stared at her.

I knew she felt me staring but pretended she didn’t notice. I was no cheater. Not by a long, long shot. If this woman was seriously engaged, seriously committed to this guy, well, I’d back right the hell off. I had no interest in sharing, in stealing, in borrowing. I wanted all of it, or nothing at all. But something told me she wasn’t being completely honest with me.

“Anthony is a wonderful guy, and we connect on so many different levels, and I know it’s soon and everything, but I really, I care for him.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Excuse me?”

I looked her up and down.

“I don’t believe you. You’re saying one thing, but your body is saying another.” I didn’t know what I was getting at, but something in me just wanted to get her to shut up, to stop saying what she was saying, and to just kiss me again.

She laughed cynically.

“My body?”

“You’re not very good at lying, I’m afraid. Look at the how much more quickly you breathe when you speak about him. Look how your shoulders have sunken in, how much tension is suddenly in your hands… maybe you now want to tell me that none of that means anything?”

“It doesn’t.”

“You know what I think?”

She glared at me.

“I think you hope that by marrying him, it’ll keep you safe and stop you from doing what you really want to do…”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

I lowered my gaze and gave her a long, intense look, cocking one eyebrow ever so slightly. We were at least four feet apart, her bundled in her conservative work uniform and me still wearing a thick raw leather apron with tools in the pockets. But with that look I wanted to tell her: I can see you. All of you.

“How dare you,” she spat. “I would never, ever be unfaithful to someone I cared about,” she said with high indignation.

“Ok, so be honest… has he fucked you?”

The look on her face was priceless.

“Has he even kissed you? I mean, properly kissed you? Are you actually even engaged yet?”

Her lips tightened.

“So let me get this straight, you’re not married, you’re not engaged, you haven’t slept with the guy, you haven’t kissed him, hell, you don’t even seem to like him that much. How exactly would you be cheating?”

She opened her mouth to protest but I interrupted her.

“Look, I don’t care what you do, honestly, but you have to admit that it’s kind of strange that you came all the way over here to tell me how much you don’t want to have anything to do with me, don’t you think?’

She got up, took her coat and made as if to leave.

“Kat, don’t go.”

She turned and looked wide eyed at me.

“For someone who doesn’t want any violence in her life, you sure do fight with me a lot,” I said, and tried a smile. She couldn’t help but return it.

I walked slowly up to her. Her white hand was trembling on the door knob. I gently touched my fingertips to hers, then slowly, slowly slid that touch up her hand, over the crease of her wrist, hovering it there where the blue-green threads sunk deep and disappeared beneath her creamy skin. Her eye caught mine and we held one another’s gaze.

I took a bold step forward, bringing me close to her, very close, but with only an electrically charged inch of air between us. I pressed closer toward her, hearing how her breath had stopped, and her puffy lower lip had parted and hung open with nervous anticipation. I inched closer and tasted the air around her lips, came so close I could almost smell her excitement, could almost hear her heartbeat. But I couldn’t go any further. I wanted her to want it. I wanted her to come. To come to me, to travel that last little distance… I wanted her to willingly tear off all the bonds she had fastened around herself, to unknot her pretty hair and open her body to me…

Suddenly she burst into dark laughter.

“You can’t seduce me, you know,” she said, and pulled back.

The spell was broken. I blinked at her.

“I’m not like you. I don’t expect you to understand. My life is complicated. I have responsibilities. I have work to do. It’s not so simple….”

“What’s not so simple? Just kiss me.”

“And then what? What happens next? I’ve been here too many times before.”

“I hope you never stop coming back here to me,” I said quickly. The look of fear that flashed on her face was truly remarkable.

“Why? I don’t even want the stupid furniture, you know that…”

“So don’t come here for that, then,” I said, and pinned her with my eyes.

As long as that delicious thread linked my eyes and hers, I had her, and she couldn’t escape. She nervously fussed with the collar of her coat.

“I can’t come back,” she said quietly.

“I don’t care how long it takes you to come back, but you will. In fact, the longer it takes the better.”

“I can’t come back, Mark.”

“I know you won’t submit easily, but when you do …it’ll be all the sweeter.”

She looked as though someone had slapped her. I could almost hear her thoughts whirring in her head. I could see her gearing up to argue with me, to give me a billion reasons why she couldn’t submit, couldn’t come back, why she simply had to marry that boring old carcass and live a boring life with him and feel righteous about every single boring second of it… but her pretty little lips seemed tangled on the words, unable to spit them out. I held her gaze tight.

“I have to go,” she said, this time even more quietly, as though the words were drained of all meaning and were said just to say them.

“Then go. The next time you come, don’t hide your body from me. You’re beautiful. So wear something beautiful.”

She turned to leave and in a second she had gone. I stood for a moment, the air still charged with her scent, my head still dizzy with the thought of her, with being that close to her perfect body.

I took a deep breath and just as easily as my body took in that clean air, the idea began to crystalize in my body. She was the one. She was my goddess. The woman I’d elevate on a tower of the most intense depravity. The woman I’d worship. She was a sad princess sleeping behind endless locked doors, but I knew now what the key was, and I knew once I slipped it inside and turned it, those doors would come crashing down, one after the other.

I stood there and breathed, her memory dissipating. I didn’t just want to fuck her. I wanted to get inside her.

I darted over to the leather-bound book, threw it open and tore out the pages I had shown her. On the fresh page underneath, I began to scribble furiously.

Chapter 10 - Kat

“So, is he a good kisser?” she asked mischievously, and waggled her eyebrows at me.

I stared dumbfounded at her.

“How do you know about…?”

“Anthony? Because you told me about him, you silly goose!” She slapped my arm.

“Anthony. Right. He’s uh …he’s, yeah we haven’t kissed that much actually,” I said and clumsily folded a pamphlet down the middle.

Lily was helping me put together some goodie bags for the massive conference we’d organized for various women’s empowerment groups that were visiting from India next week. We had hunkered down at her house; stocked up with gin and carrot cake and now we were making a dent in the hundreds of information packs we had to compile. She had suggested we rope in the kids to help us with the little jobs, so now we had a mini kitchen table assembly line, with my little one Nicky putting the pens in the folder loops and Lily’s daughter Jess slipping in branded notebooks and stickers.

She took a sip of her gin and gave me a knowing look.

“Really?”

“Well, I don’t know, he’s kind of old fashioned that way.”

“Oh my God, he’s a terrible kisser isn’t he?” she said and flashed me a naughty smile.

I swatted her with an envelope.

“Quiet, you. These things sometimes take time to develop, you know? Chemistry isn’t everything.”

I roughly ran my fingernail over a pamphlet crease and tossed it aside with the others.

“You don’t have to tell me. I get it, trust me. That chemistry stuff only lasts a few years anyway, it’s what he’s like afterwards that counts,” she said, and added her own pamphlets to the pile.

“Like you and Ron?” I said playfully.

“Well, that’s different, Ron happens to be a complete and utter asshole,” she laughed.

I laughed too, but deep down, I couldn’t ignore how torn I was beginning to feel. Why was I in such a rush to get married again anyway? I had left Jeff with something of the feeling of the sole survivor of a gruesome car crash. I had almost run away screaming. So why did I want all of that again? Would I marry Anthony only to be sitting here with Lily a few years from now playfully joking about how much I hated him? And she’d laugh and we’d carry on like nothing had happened, like it was just the way things were?

And yet… I did want it. I wanted a nice, sane man to swoop in and give my fractured life a little meaning, a little shape. No more games, no more deception or drama or resentment. If that cost me a few tingly feelings, if the price I had to pay was a few butterflies in the stomach, was it really so bad? I mean, there was a time when Jeff was the center of my erotic world …he was my whirlwind romance, my One. We had chemistry in buckets and look where that left us, right?

“No, it’s my turn to be the blue princess,” Jess said.

I looked over at the two girls, and they were squabbling over two colored plastic bangles, one with Disney princess Jasmine and the other with Disney princess Belle.

“No, I’m the blue princess. You’re the yellow.”

“Nuh uh!”

Lily and I paused and watched the pint-sized argument unfolding before us. I raised an eyebrow at her and we both continued to watch them, hands still automatically folding creases into the pamphlets.

“First one to fold all of this gets to be blue princess,” Nicky said.

“Nicky! That’s not nice, share with your friend,” I blurted.

“But mom, it’s just a game.”

“Nicky, don’t talk back, please. Give Jess a turn with the blue one.”

“Mom you’re so boring!” she said and kicked her little feet against the table leg, before handing over the bangle. The girls looked at each other.

“It’s OK,” said Jess, getting down off her seat. “I don’t want it anymore.”

We watched as they both toddled off, taken with some new game.

“Remind me why I thought it was a good idea to buy all that princess crap again?” I said laughing. Lily tilted her head to the side and smiled, but said nothing.

“You’re right though, Lily. Sex is overrated. There’s more to life, right? Maybe this is what I should be doing, like, arts and crafts. Stickers and things, you know?”

She laughed.

“But then where would the world be, Kat, without you to boss us all around, huh?”

“You just keep folding,” I said.

My phone pinged with a message. For a wild, hot second, my brain ran off with a mini-fantasy that it was him. But those thoughts were quickly tempered by a crushing little flush of disappointment to see who it really was.

“Is it the lovely gentleman in question?”

I nodded.

“He keeps inviting me on these awful PG outings,” I groaned. “I wonder what his dick looks like,” I added quickly, without thinking. “Probably beige and tasteful, like the rest of him. What do you think?” I asked.

She started giggling uncontrollably.

“Indeed, a gentleman’s cock, you know,” I said, putting on a stupid accent and play-acting like I had a monocle and lapel.

Lily was red in the face with laughter.

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right, I’m sure that’s just what it looks like.”

“Go on, what does Ron’s look like?” I asked and jabbed her in the ribs. She looked horrified.

“Kat, oh my God, have you suddenly turned into a four-year-old, too?”

“Well?”

She started giggling again.

“Christ, I don’t know. I haven’t seen Ron’s dick since last Christmas.”

I gave her a deadpan look.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, I’m serious. Hey, don’t give me that look. I’ve known the man for a million years, what do I want to look at his dick for?”

“Because one day you’ll both be old and you’ll miss it and wish you had appreciated him when you had the chance?” I said teasingly.

“Honey, I can’t wait to get old and be done with all that shit. Seriously. Menopause can’t come fast enough. I’ve got an Amazon wishlist to get through.”

“That’s sad,” I said tutting.

“No, it’s not. Just wait, you’ll see…”

I smiled but the conversation felt so wretched all of a sudden. I quickly changed the topic.

After Lily and her little girl had left, and I had put Nicky to bed and closed up the house for the night, I went to the kitchen and helped myself to the leftover carrot cake, in the semi-darkness. I sat at the kitchen table and tried to remember the days when falling asleep was easy. The kitchen felt like an abandoned set of a play, with only a lone spotlight above and the sense that everyone was busy with something else. I was alone. So I thought of him.

I tried to conjure up the same memory of his lips that I had been feeding on all this week, like it was some secret, dwindling food I carried around in my pocket. It had lost its zing, though. All that was left was yearning. Now, I was hungrier than ever for another piece. In my overtired brain, the image of me splayed and naked before him, bound to a bizarre device and completely at his mercy …well, I didn’t feel such a need to resist those images as I usually did.

I could never be with a man like that. I knew how that story went. I’d run off after him in a fit of insanity, he’d get cold feet, we’d bore of each other in six months and I’d be smack bang where I was now. Only older. And more tired. No, there was no other way to cut this: it was time to make a smart choice. For Nicky. For my own sanity. There were moments where I considered throwing caution to the wind and going over there, daring him to do his worst, just to get it all out of my system. But Anthony wouldn’t wait forever. And I wasn’t a cheater. No way, no how. Of that much I was perfectly clear. I knew that I hadn’t, in my heart, committed to Anthony yet. Not really. But that didn’t matter. I knew how much it hurt to be cheated on, and I had long ago sworn I would never do the same to anyone else.

I took another bite of carrot cake and savored the cold, creamy taste of the cream cheese frosting. I could still dream though, couldn’t I? The cake finished, I took my time licking the frosting off my fingertips. Sweet, sticky thoughts came into my head. I guess I didn’t actually have any objections to being paddled, once I thought about it.

But once I thought about it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it more. The thoughts I had dutifully chased from my mind a few times already today came bounding back again with a vengeance. It was his hands. I had always cared about a man’s eyes before. Or his smile. You know, you meet a guy and can’t take your eyes off of his, and he smiles and it’s cute …but this guy …well, it was all in his hands.

His were hands that did things. They were firm, assertive hands. Skilled hands. I knew somehow just by looking that each and every knuckled finger, each square white fingernail and each dry crease was accounted for, was under his conscious control, was a tool that he used to his own ends. I couldn’t explain it. He was just damn hot, that was all I could conclude.

My own hand idly hovered between my legs to stroke the weird tension that had grown there. Sometimes, only very rarely, I allowed my thoughts to go to these strange places. Places so well hidden I almost convinced myself that they weren’t there at all. But as I shut my eyes and swallowed down the last of the sweet frosting, I relaxed and let those images flicker into my mind again. Bad images. Wrong images. Dark, shameful, twisted secrets I had held tightly and would never share with another living soul.

Unbearably erotic secrets.

My hand started to move. Just slightly. In the dim corridors of my mind, a fantasy was coming to life. His firm, masculine hands gripped savagely at my hair and yanked… I was being abducted. Stolen. Ripped from my life and home, clothes torn from my frightened body so I could be flung into a new life of vice. I saw my legs being spread apart, my ankles twisted up with rope, my neck naked and flushed and exposed. And I saw him. And it wasn’t just his hands that were tools. His entire body was a tool… all of him was a machine, an instrument of incredibly pleasure…

I snapped myself out of it. My fingers were wet. Taking a breath, I tried to compose myself. I couldn’t go on. I hurriedly smoothed down the front of my skirt and tried to tear my thoughts away from him. And then it happened. My phone pinged.

It was him.

Mark: It’s finished. Your piece is done and ready for collection

I stared at it like it was a neon meteor that had fallen from outer space and landed on my kitchen table. I picked up my phone.

Mark: You’ll like it this time

Mark: I know you will

The second and third messages popped up onto the screen and hung there in the semi-darkness. Trembling hands, I wondered what to say. ‘How much do I owe you?’ ‘That’s great see you tomorrow?’ Or maybe, ‘Thank you, finding out what it is will be the highlight of my week and maybe life and secretly I think I’m really desperate for you to fuck me’?

Kat: I hope you made it using your intuition :)

I typed out a message quickly and sent it before I lost my nerve. The reply was almost instant.

Mark: Naturally

He was still online but had nothing more to say. The cursor blinked idly. Teasing me.

Kat: Can I get some clues? A picture?

I stared at the screen like I was reading a crystal ball.

Mark: But that would spoil the surprise

My heart was skipping all over the place.

Kat: Is it for paddling? :p Is it wood or steel? Do I have to use it with somebody else?

He took a long time to reply. The ache between my legs was intensifying again.

Mark: When you come back, maybe I’ll show you

I took a deep breath. What was I doing? I had to de-escalate this. I shouldn’t have even replied.

Kat: Sound great!

Kat: I’ll come tomorrow

Kat: And I’ll have to pay you too

Mark: But try it first

I laughed out loud. My fingers typed furiously.

Kat: You’re such a tease! At least give me some clue about what it is. I won’t be able to sleep trying to guess

Mark: Perfect

Kat: That’s not what I meant! Send me a picture?

Mark: Ooh, are you sure? Kind of dangerous

Kat: Ok don’t get ahead of yourself, I meant a picture of THE FURNITURE obviously

Mark: Don’t get ahead of yourself either

Mark: You’re crazy if you think I’m going to send you a picture of my dick

I couldn’t help but smiling like an idiot. I was trying to think of a witty response but instantly he messaged again:

Mark: But I can send you a picture of something even hotter than that, if you can imagine such a thing ;)

Kat: …..?

The next few moments passed with such delicious torment I couldn’t believe only a minute had gone by. Then my phone pinged again. I looked closely at my screen. It was a simple picture of a thin rope, one made of three plaited strands of leather and coiled loosely into two loops on the floor.

Kat: And what’s that supposed to be?

He again took his time with the response.

Mark: Try guess. Sleep on it. You’ll see when you come visit me tomorrow

And just like that his avatar blinked out grey and he disappeared, leaving me holding his scalding hot words in my hands. I put down my phone and tried to think about what the hell had just happened.

Less than five minutes had elapsed, but everything in the kitchen was different somehow. My whole life was different. The only thing that was the same was the burning theatre of dirty images pulsing their way back into my mind again. I was so wildly turned on I came the instant I touched myself.