“You’re new in town,” the bartender drops a beer in front of me and I nod.
“That obvious, huh?”
“I know everyone who comes here,” she says, and I’m not sure if she’s bragging or just being honest. Judging by her demeanor, I think she’s just being truthful.
“Is that right?” I ask, and she nods. “Your place?” I glance around the little bar. There are pool tables and dart boards, tables and booths, music and ambiance. There’s everything you need to unwind after a long day. It’s basically perfect in every way.
“Yeah, it’s my place.”
“I like it.”
“It’s got room for improvement.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah,” she leans back against the counter and points out a couple of different things. “I’d like to change the paint color there, and I want to add some options for food. Everyone seems to get hungry when they drink. Who would have thought?”
“I know,” I agree solemnly. “I thought only stoners got the munchies.”
She chuckles.
“I’m Jennifer.”
“Xander.”
“What brings you to town?”
“Work. What else?”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m an instructor,” I tell her, which is about as honest as I’m going to be tonight. Nobody wants to hear their new patron is a BDSM instructor for a local club. Jennifer is sexy as hell, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s perfectly vanilla, and that she’s perfectly fine with that.
“Is that right?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What school do you teach at?” She asks casually.
“It’s a private school.”
“Milton?” She asks.
“Nah, but close by. Did you go to school around here as a kid?” I ask, trying to change the subject. I’d really prefer to skip the whole “What-is-BDSM” conversation if possible.
Unfortunately for me, this isn’t Jennifer’s first day tending bar.
She knows a liar when she sees one, and she starts laughing.
Loudly.
“Um, did I say something funny?” I ask, glancing around. No one is paying any attention to us, but if she keeps up her cackling, surely someone will notice we’re being weird over here.
“Are you serious right now?”
“What?”
“You think I don’t know what you teach?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re trying to be sneaky about it, but you’re a really bad liar. I mean, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you’re really, really bad at lying. I mean epically bad.”
“Please, don’t hold back,” I say dryly, picking up my glass.
“I’ve been running my bar long enough to know that there are only two types of ‘instructors,’” she makes air quotes as she says it. “Who come to town.”
“Okay?”
“The first type of instructor teaches school. Children, perhaps, or maybe community college students.”
“Seems reasonable enough. And the second?”
“Doms,” she says, shaking her head, as if it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard of.
My jaw hits the floor.
“What?”
“Oh, come off it,” she shakes her head again.
“Seriously, stop that or your head is going to shake right off.”
“You sound like my grandmother.”
“She’s a wise, wise woman.”
Jennifer looks at me for a second, and then she starts to laugh. “Okay, but seriously, you work at Anchored, right? Is that the deal?”
“What the fuck?” How did she know? It’s a private, exclusive sex club, and no offense to Jennifer because she really is gorgeous, but I’m sure she’s not a member.
“Dude, I run a bar. You’re naïve if you think I don’t know where my patrons hang out when they’re not here. Haven’t you heard the phrase, ‘A drunk mouth speaks a sober heart’?”
“I’ve heard it.”
“Well, a drunk mouth also speaks about other local places where people enjoy certain proclivities.”
“Yeah,” I say, since apparently there’s no point in hiding it anymore. “I’m a Dom at Anchored.”
“I knew it!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“What class are you teaching?”
“Intermediate Subbing.”
She laughs. “Let me guess: the owner picked the name.”
“You know it.”
“She’s amazing.”
“You’re friends?”
“Yeah,” Jennifer smiles, and I wonder how close she and the owner of Anchored really are. From what I can tell, the owner values her privacy. It’s one of the things that makes Anchored so great. She is a private person, which means the club stays private, which means people can play without worrying about their personal lives.
“How close of friends?”
“We aren’t dating or sleeping together, if that’s what you mean.”
“I don’t like to assume.”
Jennifer hops up on the counter behind her and looks at me. She’s got beautiful long, dark hair, and her corset props up two of the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen.
“I’m not a member.”
“Not interesting in BDSM?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then why not?” I sip my drink, trying to figure her out. She’s already managed to surprise me, which isn’t easy. I like to consider myself a connoisseur of people.
“Promise not to tell?” She says, lowering her voice.
I nod, and she hops down from the back counter and comes forward to me. She leans across the counter and my eyes fall to her breasts. She motions for me to lean closer, and then she whispers four words I never expected to hear from someone as beautiful as her.
“I am a virgin.”
My eyes pop open and when I look at her, she seems amused.
“What?”
“Judging by the shocked expression on your face, I’d say you heard me, loud and clear.”
“How is that possible?” I look her up and down once more. “I mean how is that possible? How old are you?”
“Old enough to know better, and old enough to know it’s super weird.”
“It’s not weird,” I say.
“Oh, come off it. We both know it’s totally weird to be an adult and a virgin. Most people lose it when they’re like, what? 17? I just never did.” She shrugs. “I wanted to wait for the right guy. You know, I grew up religious and there was a lot of pressure to be ‘pure’ for marriage. It sounded good to me. I liked the idea. I’m not that religious anymore, but I can’t seem to shake the idea that I want my first time to mean something.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“This coming from a Dom? How many women have you been with?”
“I don’t know.”
“No?”
“Nope,” I shake my head. “I stopped counting a long time ago. Once I got into the double digits, it just didn’t seem important, and then I started playing at clubs, where casual sex is acceptable as long as everyone is safe.”
“And has the same expectations,” she points out.
“That, too. I don’t go looking for love. It’s important that the other people I play with have the same understanding that we’re not getting into a relationship. We’re just having sex.”
“That sounds like it’s a lot of fun.”
“It is.”
“Another drink?”
“Please.”
She brings me another one and then disappears for a few minutes to take care of a couple of tables. There’s just one waitress working tonight, but Jennifer seems to be doing most of the work. Somehow, I don’t think she minds. She really knows her drinks, and she knows how to work a room.
There’s a bridal shower or something happening in the center of the room, and a bunch of people are paired off and drinking at different tables. There’s one group of guys, but they seem to be keeping to themselves. They aren’t harassing the women or anything like that.
And then there’s the guy at the end of the bar. He notices me looking at him and holds up his drink: a silent show of friendship. I hold mine up, too.
I sip my beverage and consider how far my life has come in just a few months. When I got out of the Air Force, I didn’t think I’d be doing this. I didn’t think I’d be relocating to work at a BDSM club. I didn’t think I’d be teaching people how to improve their relationships in this way.
Somehow, though, the whole thing just fits.
There’s still a part of me that thinks this is wrong, bad.
Inappropriate.
There’s a part of me that things I should have a more spiritual view of what sex really means, and while I’m not opposed to the idea of monogamy or waiting for “the one,” I also don’t think there’s anything inherently harmful in having consensual sex with friends and strangers.
“Have you ever thought about coming to Anchored?”
“Me?” She looks surprised. “Not really. I mean, no offense, and it’s nothing against the kink lifestyle, but what would I do there?” She shakes her head, chuckling. “It’s just going to make me sad, buddy. It’s going to make me miss what I don’t have.”
“So you aren’t just waiting,” I let her words sink in. “You’re waiting for someone.”
“The one that got away,” she says wistfully. “You know how sometimes, you meet someone that you just click with? That happened to me.”
“But you aren’t together now,” I point out the obvious.
“Nah. You know how life goes. We went to different high schools, different colleges. Even with the Internet, we eventually fell out of touch. I have no idea what he’s up to these days.”
“You could look him up online.”
“And risk being super, totally, completely creepy? No thanks. Not my style, buddy.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it.”
“Life motto?”
“You know it.”
Jennifer heads off to help another table, and while she’s gone, I focus on what she told me. Someone broke her heart, someone long ago. Someone she’s never quite gotten over. A woman like Jennifer deserves to be happy. She deserves to have something good happen to her.
She deserves to find her one true love.
She deserves all of that and more, but it’s not really up to me, is it?
In the grand scheme of things, I really am just a domination instructor. I can teach someone how to spank a sub and bring her to the edge of ecstasy. I can teach someone how to submit to their partner so beautifully it’ll bring tears. I can choreograph a scene that will leave both partners and the audience completely satisfied. I can do all of these things, but I can’t bring back the past.
I certainly can’t change it.
When Jennifer comes back, she seems a little calmer.
“How’s the bride doing?” I ask.
“Surprisingly sober,” she smiles. “Strangely, I have the feeling she’s DD tonight.”
“That doesn’t seem very fair for a bride.”
“Yeah, well, better to be safe, right? I mean, they can always call an Uber if they need to, but I don’t really blame her. I wouldn’t want to be hung over on my wedding day, either.”
“Marriage is overrated,” the words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
“Well, well, well,” Jennifer laughs. “Aren’t you full of surprises? You’re a BDSM instructor with a secret heart of gold and a sordid past? Please,” she leans forward intently. “Tell me more.”
“There’s not much to tell. You know how it goes with military relationships.”
“You fall in love fast and burn out even faster,” she nods. “I know.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Nah,” she shakes her head. “But when you work as much as me, you get really good at listening. You might say I’m a workaholic, but that’s not the case. I just have fun here, you know? Hanging out, listening to music.”
“Drinking.”
“I don’t drink.”
Now that is strange.
“So you’re a sober, celibate virgin who runs a bar?”
“Yep.”
“Makes sense,” I pick up my glass and down the rest of my drink. I’m finally starting to get a buzz, finally starting to feel a little relaxed, and I let my guard down just a little bit more.
“My wife left me,” I say.
Jennifer doesn’t look like she’s judging me, or mocking me, or angry with me. She doesn’t look disappointed in me, which is nice, because that’s how I feel about myself most of the time.
Disappointed.
Like I’ve let the world down.
“I was deployed.”
“As most military men are, at some point or another.”
“Yeah, well, apparently, that’s not what she signed up for.”
After all of this time, it still hurts. I still ache, and it still hurts.
“I thought everything was fine. We emailed all the time and when I could, I called her, but I guess that wasn’t enough because I came home to an empty house. My neighbors told me she’d moved out the week before. She even hired movers. At least she was fair in dividing our stuff. I mean, she definitely left me exactly half of everything.”
Including half of the couch, sawed right down the middle.
I shake my head as I think about it.
“Would you do it all over again?” Jennifer asks, and her question surprises me.
“What?”
“Getting married,” she clarifies. “If you could do it all over again, even knowing what you know now, would you do it?”
I look around the bar. Everyone seems to be dancing, having fun, laughing, and drinking. There are people playing pool and darts and there’s just so much happiness in this place.
And then I look at the bride in the center of the room and I see how much hope is written on her face.
“Yeah,” I tell Jennifer honestly. “I’d do it all over again.”