“A VIRGIN,” I tell Doc, pacing the floor of his office after calling for an emergency appointment. “What am I supposed to do with that, man?
“Who says you have to do anything with it, Seth?” he asks, watching me from his leather seat.
“I’ve never taken anyone’s virginity before. All my peers growing up were way older than me, always more experienced. I lost mine to a chick four years my senior. And then at the club, well… you know. People don’t exactly join a BDSM club when they haven’t even lost their V-card yet,” I ramble, driving my hand through my hair in frustration.
“Who says you ever will? You’re getting way ahead of yourself here.” His tone is annoyingly calm. “Why don’t you sit down? Relax. Let’s talk this through.”
I growl, throwing myself onto his couch like a toddler having a tantrum.
“Now, am I right in my assumption that the weird feelings you mentioned before have continued since getting to spend more time with Twyla?” Doc asks.
I sigh, knowing he’s going to make me walk through this with baby steps. “Yes.”
“Would you say the weird feeling has lessened, stayed the same, or grown?”
“Well, up until the second the word virgin left her mouth, it was definitely growing. Like, out-of-control growing,” I admit.
“But after?” he prompts.
“I don’t know. It’s like this bucket of ice-cold water got dumped inside my gut. I’d never felt that before, so I have no idea what it means. It freaked me out for sure.”
“What did you do when she told you?”
“You know I have a poker face that wins me the pot when I don’t even have a pair on the table. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or make her feel bad in any way, especially after the way seeing her disappointment that first day at the shop made me feel. So I carried on the lesson as if it wasn’t a big deal,” I reply, giving myself a pat on the back for how I was still able to teach her about three more types of dildos—while internally having a panic attack—before she left and I immediately rode here, calling Doc on my way.
“Very good, Seth. Believe it or not, that shows a level of maturity needed for a real relationship. Taking her feelings into consideration above your own, instead of automatically reacting, that was impressive.”
“Don’t patronize me, Doc. I’m not an asshole. Of course I wouldn’t make someone feel like shit for something like that,” I grumble.
“I’m not patronizing you. I’m being completely serious. Think about it. For the past five years, you’ve been a Dom at a club you own. If anyone says or does something you don’t like or agree with, you have the power and the right to punish them as you see fit. It’s expected of you. You know some of those subs even do it on purpose, just to receive your discipline,” he reminds me. He’s got a point.
“I had to be stern with her a couple times. I’m not used to having students reluctant to learn,” I insert.
“Yeah? And how did she react? Not knowing if she’s a submissive personality or not, I’m curious.”
“Sexy flush. Panted breaths. Crossing and uncrossing of her legs. She even bit her lip. There was no defiance whatsoever. And she responded to it immediately,” I tell him, picturing the beauty in my head and remembering how I had wanted to order her to do much more than be open and honest with me.
“What else can you tell me about your afternoon with her?” he asks, jotting something down on his ever-present notepad.
“Well, at first I thought we had nothing in common. She doesn’t watch TV or movies, so she doesn’t get any of my jokes. Which is different for me. Challenging. She’s very serious, so when I can make her laugh, I feel like I’ve accomplished a feat. She doesn’t fake her laughter. She doesn’t just do it like a lot of the women at the club do. That flirtatious annoying giggle they do, thinking it’ll stroke my ego. She doesn’t do that.”
“You like her genuineness, her authenticity,” he tells me, doing his Doc thing. He can always take tidbits of shit I say and wrap them up into one simple explanation.
“Exactly. I like that.” I nod.
“Okay, now. You said ‘at first’ you thought you had nothing in common. Did you learn something about her to change your mind about that?” he asks.
“Yeah, she’s brainy. Like super smart. She was a chemical engineer before she moved here. Was really focused in school, a lot like me.”
“Hmm… interesting,” he murmurs, stroking the lines of hair on either side of his lips. “Why would a chemical engineer need a job at a sex shop?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t even think to ask. She’s new in town, moved here with her sister, and just said she really needed the job.” I shrug. “But she said she’s never had much of a social life, which explains why she’s still a virgin. She doesn’t even have Facebook, bro.”
“Imagine that.” He snorts. A very un-Doc-like thing to do.
“What? What’s that look for?” I sit up, narrowing my eyes at him.
He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and stares me in the eye. “You like her authenticity, her honesty. And… check this out. She’s a woman that you, the real-life genius, could actually hold an intelligent conversation with.” He sees the way I’m mulling that over, because he asks, “When was the last time you actually held a real conversation with a woman that wasn’t about sex or having movie quote battles?”
I think about it… hard. “Not since I’ve opened the club. Probably college.”
He nods slowly, stroking his beard in thought. “I believe I’ve got it.”
“Got what?”
“The reason you’re freaked out over her virginity.”
“Well, let’s hear it. Everything else you’ve untangled makes sense, so I’ve got to hear this,” I urge.
“At the club, to you, there’s nothing really special about the submissives. There’s a sea of them, and you pick a different one each time you want to act out a scene or get your rocks off. There’s always a different student to teach. And they’re already primed and ready. They’re literally at the club for sex, nothing more. And to them, you are just one of many Doms. You like it that way. No one gets attached. It’s just sex for everyone involved. If it’s good, then it may be memorable. But it’s just another face in the crowd.” He leans back, placing his ankle on the opposite knee. “But that wouldn’t be the case with Twyla. She’s a virgin. Everyone remembers their first. That, and she’s not technically a submissive. When was the last time you made love to someone? Not only that, when was the last time you just had normal, vanilla sex?”
“Um, never. The chick I lost my virginity to wanted me to choke her,” I state.
“And there we have it.”
“Have what?”
“You’re just as much a virgin as she is. It’s not her virginity that freaks you out. It’s yours. You’re a Dominant. A Master at sex. You spend your nights teaching people all about physical, sexual pleasure. And if you want to be with Twyla, who you obviously have feelings for, which you’ve never felt before, then you will have to be the one learning something new. How to make love for the first time. How to have sex with emotion.”
I ponder this for a solid minute, nothing but Doc’s antique clock ticking away the seconds in the otherwise silent room.
Finally, I look up at my friend, throw out my ego, and ask with total sincerity, “Where do I start?”
I GOT HOME FROM work about an hour ago, and for once, I don’t feel like a failure. I was able to sell each customer who came into the store at least one of the products Seth taught me about yesterday, including two Black Orchids, which is one of the more expensive items we sell. Meaning, I’ll make a nice amount of commission off them. I even got each to touch the vibrators to their noses, and just like Seth said, it was a cool trick that made them oh and ah over the power of the vibes. Plus, it was pretty funny to watch.
Seeing I have an e-mail from Seth, I sigh in relief. I had this fear that after I told him I was a virgin, I’d never hear from him again. The sensible part of me said that fear came from being a student not wanting her teacher to give up on her. I mean, would he find me a hopeless pupil? Too amateurish to bother with? The more fantastical part of me said the fear came from being an inexperienced woman. Would he find me less attractive knowing I wasn’t as well versed in sex as the women he’s used to? And it’s this side of me speaking up that makes me realize: I want him to want me. Because I think… no, I know—yep, definitely, for sure—I want him.
I open up the e-mail to distract myself from my confusing thoughts.
From:
Subject: Congrats! You completed Lesson 1
As promised, doll, here is the reason my Dom name is Seven.
Enjoy.
Attached is a link to a YouTube video titled “Friends – 7 Erogenous Zones by Monica.” I click it and watch as the three-minute-and-ten-second clip starts to play. I recognize the characters. My dad used to watch this show all the time. I can remember catching bits and pieces of it while I’d be doing my homework, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table while he watched TV.
In this scene, Monica, the brunette chick, and Rachel, the one with the great hair, are sitting on their couch, talking to Chandler, one of the other main friends.
Monica (to Chandler): So, did you do it?
Chandler: (disappointedly) Yes, yes, we had the sex.
Monica: Uh-oh, was it bad?
Chandler: It was fine, you know, but she didn't agree with me as strongly as she agreed with Joey. She was more like, uh, "Oh, I see your point. I'm all right with it."
Monica: Well, it was the first time. You know, there's not always a lot of agreement on the first time.
Rachel: Yeah, not for girls anyway. Guys agree (snaps her fingers) like that.
Chandler: Look, you have to help me, okay? I mean, I know what to do with a woman. I know where everything goes. It's always... nice. But I need to know what makes it go from "nice" to "My God, somebody's killing her in there!"
Monica: All right, I'm going to show you something a lot of guys don't know. Rach, hand me that pad over there. (Rachel gets a notepad and pen off the table and hands it to Monica.) All right. Now... (starts to draw)
Chandler: You don't have to draw an actual wo— (looks down at Monica's drawing) Whoa, she's hot!
Monica: Now, everybody knows the basic erogenous zones. You got, (starts labeling her diagram) one, two, three, (Chandler nods impatiently), four (now Chandler looks up, surprised), five, six, and seven.
Chandler: (shocked) There are seven?
Rachel: Let me see that. (looks at the drawing) Oh yeah.
Chandler: (points to diagram) That's one?
Monica: (chuckles) Kind of an important one.
Chandler: Oh, you know what? I was looking at it upside down.
Rachel: Well, you know, sometimes that helps.
Monica: Okay, now, most guys will hit one, two, and three, and then go to seven and set up camp.
Chandler: And that's bad?
Rachel: Well, if you go to Disneyland, you don't spend the whole day on the Matterhorn.
Chandler: Well you might if it were anything like seven.
Monica: All right, uh… the important thing is to take your time. You want to hit them all and you want to mix them up. You got to keep them on their toes.
Rachel: Oh, toes! (raises hands in air. They both look at her.) Yeah, for some people. (Chandler looks at her feet and then back up to her face, raising a brow.)
Monica: Okay, you could, uh, start with a little one; a two; a one, two, three; a three; a five; a four, a three-two; a two, a two-four-six; (Monica starts to get into it) two-four-six; four, (Rachel moves back and stretches out) a two; (Monica now has her eyes closed and is getting visibly excited) two; four-seven; five-seven (Chandler looks away from both of them as if he can't believe what's happening); six-seven; seven, seven, (faster) Seven, seven, seven. Seven. Seven. Seven. (Chandler looks at her in disbelief as she cries out) Seven! Seven! (Monica, eyes still closed, leans back, shudders, and says silently, while holding up seven fingers) Seven.
Monica: And there you are.
Rachel: (stretches arms above her head) Yeah, that’ll work.
As I watch Chandler try to form words, eventually giving up as they all awkwardly leave the room, I gulp in a huge breath, and it all releases in the loudest laugh I think I’ve ever let out. And I continue my boisterous laughter until tears are running down my face and I can’t even breathe.
I play the video over and over again, until I could probably quote the scene right along with the characters, loving every second of it.
This is how Seth got his Dom name, Seven? It couldn’t be more perfectly fitting. It combines his love of TV show quotes and his wonderful sense of humor—not to mention the naughty inclination of what Monica was calling the seventh erogenous zone.
When I finally pull myself together, I click reply to his e-mail.
Oh. My. God.
I seriously don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. And I can’t think of a better Dom name for you after watching that video. It all makes perfect sense.
Thanks, Seth. I needed that.
Twyla
I smile as I press Send, leaning back on my pillow. I can’t help but picture Seth’s handsome face, what he would look like quoting the scene from Friends. He’s so funny and animated to begin with, so I can only imagine.
With nothing else to do, I’m overcome with a very unfamiliar feeling.
Boredom.
For years, all I’ve done is eat, sleep, and work. Any downtime at work or between work hours and falling asleep were filled with research on whatever project I was assigned. And since I promised Astrid I wouldn’t go into my usual planning mode, I have no idea what to do with myself.
I could read another one of my sister’s books. The first one left on a cliffhanger, and I’m pretty curious to see what happens next.
Nah. Laughing so hard over the past half hour has amped me up, gotten my endorphins and adrenaline pumping. I’m too hyper to settle down enough to concentrate on the story. Instead, I open my Internet browser. Biting my lip, my fingertips type Seth’s full name into the search engine without my consent. But to my surprise, out of all the people named Seth Owens that comes up in the results, not one is mine.
Mine. I snort. If only.
I scroll through the image results, clicking through the many pages Google has to offer, but my Seth’s face doesn’t appear anywhere. I’m so confused. I mean, you’d think a child prodigy who then went to MIT at age thirteen would make some kind of news, right? But there’s nothing. And wasn’t he surprised when I told him I didn’t have any social medias? Why would he get the same shocked look everyone else does if he doesn’t have any either?
Maybe it’s under his other name.
I type in Seven Owens, but again, nothing pulls up. Trying one last thing, I finally get some good results when I type in Seven Club Alias.
I click on the link to the Facebook profile, but unfortunately, everything is private except for the profile picture. It’s dark, ominous-looking, and I click on it to make it bigger. The room he took it in must’ve been dimly lit, but I can make out the dark shadow of a black leather mask. It covers his whole head, almost like an executioner’s hood. I shiver, closing the picture.
I click on the About tab, but it’s also all set to private. I think about creating a Facebook profile just so I can friend request him, but I stop myself. What if Brandon were to somehow find it and be able to track me down? The thought makes me shudder, and I close out of the Internet. When I do, I see I have an e-mail waiting in my inbox from Seth.
Twyla,
I should have waited to show you the video in person then, because I would have loved to see you laugh. The few times I’ve gotten to witness your beautiful smile and laughter aren’t nearly enough.
Do you have the day off tomorrow? I’m available if you’d like to have your next lesson. Roxy told me how well you did at the shop today. I’m one proud teacher.
Love,
Seth
Love, Seth. The signature makes butterflies erupt in my belly, making me feel silly. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it, but it feels meaningful all the same. That combined with his other sweet words does funny things to other parts of my body as well. I respond immediately, my fingers seeming to have a mind of their own. But I decide to take a leap and just go with it.
Yes, sir! I had a great day at work today, thanks to the things you taught me. And I can’t wait to learn more… and to spend time with you again. I don’t have tomorrow off, but I don’t go in until late. Should I come at the same time? 11 a.m.?
Love,
Twyla
His reply is almost immediate.
That would be perfect.
See you in the morning,
Seth
PS: Here’s my phone number. Feel free to text me anytime. Ya know, if you have a question about anything at work. Or if you’re bored or something.
I smile at the end of his e-mail. For someone so confident, with a presence so commanding, it almost sounded like he was pretty shy about trying to find a reason to give me his number. Instead of e-mailing him back, I decide to text him so he can have my phone number as well, after adding him to my contacts.
Me: I’m bored or something. And I don’t like it. I’ve never been bored before, and now I get why you hear children sounding so distraught when they whine to their parents, “I’m booooored.” It’s a terrible feeling. Like I don’t know what to do with my life.
Seth: LOL! I can picture you right now, squirming like Ricky Bobby. “I don’t know what to do with my hands!”
Me: Is that another one of your TV show quotes?
Seth: Movie. Talladega Nights. Lord, woman. You kill me. But at the same time, it would be awesome to show you all my favorites and be able to see your reactions when you watch them for the first time.
My heart skips a beat. Was that an offer, or is he just making conversation? I don’t want to make a fool of myself, so I just keep my response light.
Me: That would definitely help with the boredom.
Seth: Then it’s a date. I have Sunday off. We’re having a movie marathon at my place.
I read the text in the same demanding tone he used on me in the club and feel myself clench.
Me: Can’t wait. Goodnight, Seth.
Seth: Night, doll.
I put my phone on the charger and make my way into the living room where Astrid is stretched out on one end of the sectional with her laptop. I plop down beside her, and adjust until my head is lying on her shoulder, watching silently as she answers questions about makeup in her private Facebook group.
“You okay, little sis?” she asks, finishing up a post about mixing a shade of lipstick with a different color of gloss to give it a unique effect.
“I’m bored. And I don’t like it. I feel lost,” I admit, and feel her rest her cheek on top of my head.
“I bet that is a pretty weird feeling for you. I’ve never seen you with downtime before.” She giggles, and I frown to myself. “Anything exciting happen today?”
“Had a really good day at work. Sold a bunch of the things Seth taught me about.” I pause, gearing myself up to speak aloud something I’ve never in my life said before. “And… I have a date. On Sunday.”
“A date! With who?” she squeals, shimmying her shoulder to make me sit up and look at her.
“With Seth. He wants me to come over to watch movies at his place,” I reply.
She gets a serious look on her face. “Oh, sweet Twy. That’s code.”
My brow furrows. “Code? For what?”
“When a guy asks you to come over to watch movies, it’s code for getting you snuggled up in bed so a few minutes later he can get you naked. Have you never heard of ‘Netflix and chill’?” she questions, and I give her a blank stare. “Right. Of course not. Just… be prepared, sis. Don’t put yourself in the situation if you’re not ready for it. And take your pepper spray just in case.”
I nod. “Okay. But I don’t think I’d need it. Not with Seth. He wouldn’t pressure me into anything I don’t want to do. He’s… there’s a gentleness to his soul,” I tell her, feeling silly, but I don’t know any other way to explain it.
Astrid wraps her arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to see you interested in a guy. And I hope you’re right. God knows I wish I’d find one with a gentle soul, as you put it. There was nothing gentle about….”
She doesn’t finish what she was saying, but she doesn’t need to. I know exactly what she was thinking. “You’ll find someone else, big sis. Someone who’ll never raise a hand to you and will treat you like a queen.”
She snorts. “Pity.”
I look into her sparkling blue eyes. “What?”
“A few years ago, when I first started reading the BDSM romances, I asked Brandon if we could try it. The sex had gotten kind of… boring, and I thought it would spice things up a bit. I only wanted to add a toy or something. Maybe a little spanking. But he got super offended. Tried to make it seem like I hurt his feelings, saying he wasn’t good enough in bed anymore,” she confessed.
I scoff. “Yeah right. That man had no feelings to hurt.”
“You’re right. And I know this because after the first time he hit me, he said I asked for it, and if I tried to tell anyone he hurt me, he’d just show them all my books and how I’d begged him to do it.”
I wrap my arm across her stomach and squeeze her tight. We’re silent for a while, as she answers a few messages and invoices some of her customers, signing each e-mail with her fake name, Roberta Card. When she’d decided on the name, she explained her favorite musician was Blackmill, a dubstep producer from Scotland whose real name is Robert Card. Spending so much time with her these past couple of months, and watching how serene she gets as she relaxes, listening to the melodic electronic songs, her choice made perfect sense. His music and her love of makeup both make my sister’s soul happy, something she hadn’t got to experience in a long time.
When she finishes and closes her laptop, we say goodnight and head to our bedrooms. I don’t fall asleep right away, unable to stop thinking about seeing Seth tomorrow for my next lesson, and Sunday, wondering just what would happen when I’m alone with him at his place.
Surprisingly, it’s not fear that my sister is right about what he really wants to do instead of actually watching movies. It’s excitement. I mean, who better to lose your V-card to than a master of sex? He’d know exactly what to do to make it a good experience.
And it didn’t hurt that my feelings for the handsome, hilarious, caring man were growing exponentially the more time I spent talking to him.