Alice
“It’s cute,” Joanna looks at the dress I’m holding up. “But it’s not appropriate.”
“What do you mean?” I eye the little black number. “It’s perfect. It’s not too low cut, not too short.”
“Exactly,” she says. “Besides, it’s got ‘Domme’ written all over it.”
“So?”
“So you’re not.”
“Not what?”
“Not a Dominant,” Joanna smiles.
“How do you know that?” Dominant. Submissive. Bondage. Safe words. All of the trivia and vocab Joanna has been feeding me is mixing together in my head. Oh, I know enough of it. I’ve read the books. Who hasn’t? Still, there’s a big difference between reading books about this sort of thing and actually seeing it up close or even participating.
“Do you really want to know?” Joanna asks.
“Yes.” Maybe I don’t. It’s too late to back down now, though.
“You’re sweet, but you don’t need to control the people around you. You’re assertive at work. You’re determined, and you’re strong. You’re knowledgeable and goal-oriented.”
“It sounds like you’re reading my resume to me.”
Joanna ignores me and keeps talking. “But when it comes to guys, honey, you aren’t exactly a go-getter.”
“What do you mean? Are you calling me weak?”
“Not at all,” she shakes her head. “You aren’t weak at all, but you like a man who takes charge. You want someone who’s going to kiss you without asking permission. You want someone who’s going to push your limits. You like the idea of a man sliding his hand under your skirt in the middle of a crowded restaurant when no one else around knows what he’s doing.”
I stare at Joanna.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” she says.
“You’re wrong.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then you’re in denial.”
“That’s not fair,” I protest. “I’m not a submissive just because I like the idea of a guy taking control sometimes.”
“Do you like the idea of leading a guy in the bedroom?” She counters. “Do you want to pin someone down and ride him until he forgets his own name? Do you want to handcuff him to the bed? Or do you want to be the one handcuffed?”
I swallow hard. Suddenly, my mouth feels dry. Is she right? Am I submissive? Somehow, I don’t like the idea. It seems kind of funny to me. Maybe it’s how I was raised, but Joanna is right about one thing: I’m amazing at work. I’m a total go-getter. I was a straight-A student and now, at work, I’m a top-notch employee. I’m fantastic, but maybe that drive ends at work.
Could she be right about the whole kink thing?
Could she be right that I crave more than I’m getting?
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Joanna says, placing a hand on my wrist. She softens her voice. “I’m submissive, too, Alice.”
“You are?”
She nods.
“How long have you known?”
She shrugs and turns back to the rack of clothing in front of her.
“Awhile. I started going to clubs back in college. Freshman year, actually.”
“I never knew that.”
“Peter Carson invited me to one and I liked it more than I liked him. Even after we broke up, I kept going. It awakened something in me.”
“What?”
Joanna turns to me, seriously, and smiles. “The need to submit freely. The need to give myself over to something greater than myself. When I’m with a Dominant partner I trust, Alice, I don’t have to worry about anything else. I just do what he asks, and I feel free. It’s freeing. It’s calming. It’s soothing. It’s the best damn form of therapy I’ve ever experienced, and you know me, doll. I’ve been to a lot of therapy.”
It’s true. After a whole lot of childhood trauma, Joanna spends a lot of her free time on a shrink’s couch.
“What if that doesn’t happen for me?” I ask her. “What if I’m…what if nothing happens?”
“You mean, what if you come to the club and you don’t get turned on or excited?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you worried I’ll think you’re a prude?”
“A little,” I admit. I’m not really comfortable talking about this with Joanna, but if we’re really going through with this thing tomorrow night, something tells me I’d better get used to it and quick. “I don’t want you to judge me if I’m not as sexy as you.”
She chuckles. “Honey, you don’t know how sexy you are. Here. Try this one.” She pulls a tiny piece of fabric from the rack in front of her.
“Joanna, no,” I shake my head, shoving it back at her. She laughs again and motions toward the fitting room.
“Try it on, Alice. You never know,” she winks. “Maybe someone fun will be there to rip it off you.”
“Joanna!”
“Go!” She pushes me toward the dressing room, and suddenly I’m alone with the dress, the mirror, and more thoughts than one girl should possibly have on a Friday night. I hold the dress up to my body and stare at myself in the mirror, and that’s the moment I realize I’m really going through with it.
I’m really going to do it.
I, Alice Cherry, am going to Anchored tomorrow night.
I’m going to accompany my friend.
I’m going to wear the dress.
I’m going to be brave.
And I’m going to have the time of my life.
I take a deep breath.
I can do this, I promise myself.
I can do this.