ERIK. The beginning of the day was always the best part. It allowed me to look at an empty canvas and see the day as being full of opportunities and not necessities. I finished my work out, showered, ate breakfast, and got dressed. After deciding to ride the motorcycle, I wore the basic attire for the bike, jeans, tee-shirt, and boots. Eager to meet Kelli, and start the process of mind fucking her, I went to the garage and started the bike.

On the ride to the coffee shop, I began to plan the meeting. Kelli was young, and she was pretty, but she was not stupid. She acted as if she had an agenda. She appeared to have some form of determination to achieve whatever it was that she placed on her list of goals. Her body structure, stride, and posture indicated she exercised regularly. This form of discipline was attractive to me. She was attractive to me. Her personality type was a coin toss. She may be receptive and easy to convince or she may be a little more difficult, requiring time. She would, without a doubt, eventually be eager to listen to what I offered and apply herself to obtain the results. Breaking her may be difficult. It was always important for me to find that breaking point and then back off a little bit. Knowing where the line was drawn was extremely important to the success of a good partnership.

I exited the highway onto Douglas Ave. and proceeded to Espresso A Go-Go. I wasn’t sure what Kelli drove, but scanning the coffee shop produced no young women, so I assumed she had not arrived yet. Good, she was not overly eager. I glanced at my watch, it was ten minutes before nine o’clock. I waved at Warren through the window and went in to get a coffee.  In my recent adult life, coffee and women had become my two faults. Coffee to a greater degree than women, as I always felt as if I can go without women. Going without coffee would certainly lead to my early demise.

“You want the regular, Erik?” he asked.

“Sure Warren, make it a large, I will be here for a while.” I handed the money for the coffee to his wife, Ann, and received my change and a receipt.

The coffee shop sat on the corner and had two solid walls of windows facing the streets that approached it. I could see outside in all directions. Warren handed me my coffee and went right back to developing his poison for the next customer. This place had a constant flow of customers in and out all day, and I enjoyed it for that reason - people watching at its best.

A girl in a Mini Cooper pulled past an SUV parked at the curb in front of the coffee shop. Hidden by a truck in front of the SUV for a mere second, it quickly backed up, and with precision, maneuvered into the space between the back of the truck and the front of the SUV. Parallel parking had become a lost art, and this girl had it down to a science. As she removed her sunglasses, I noticed it was Kelli. She got out of the car, noticed me through the glass, and began to walk to the door. Jean shorts, a tank and a light hoodie. Chucks. This girl didn’t know it, but she had dressed to impress. Simplicity made me weak.

When she entered, we shared a simple smile. After she ordered, she walked over and sat at my table. As I folded the receipt and placed it on the table, I noticed her calf muscles as she stretched to get on the stool. Her hair smelled the way it did at the dealership. My nostrils filled with the smell of her hair and clean skin. A light perfume topped the neat, clean, presentable odor she offered.

“Good morning, Erik,” she said, extending a hand.

“Good morning, Kelli. What did you order?” I asked, grasping her hand lightly in mine.

“Cold brew. I love the coffee here, it’s like sex,” she responded.

“How so?” I asked.

“It’s extremely satisfying all by itself,” she said, smiling.

“I have three questions for you, Kelli, okay?”

“Okay,” she responded.

“Just answer them for now, they’re simple,” I stated.

“One, can you use chop sticks for their intended purpose?” I asked.

“Yes,” she responded, looking puzzled.

“Two, have you ever eaten a grapefruit, and if so, did you like it?”

“Yes, and yes,” she responded as she frowned at me.

“Third, and last one. Have you ever, or would you consider, going on a date with an African American man?”

“I haven’t... Not because I won’t, I don’t guess. Well, wow. Uhhm. Well, I suppose if I was attracted to a guy, and he was nice, I wouldn’t rule out anything. But I haven’t,” she responded as she looked at her well-manicured fingernails.

“How’d I do?” she asked, looking up from her fingernail inspection, smiling.

“You did fabulous. We will discuss it later,” I answered.

Warren handed her the coffee, and she responded with a “Thank you” lip movement. I stretched back in my chair and studied her body through the hoodie. She appeared to be in exceptional shape, but it was impossible to know her body structure for certain through the loose fitting hoodie.

 

“Everything okay?” she asked, looking puzzled over the top of her cup as she began to take a drink.

“Just fine. Observing, Kelli, that’s all.”

“I enjoyed your text last night.”

“That’s good. Let’s talk about that for a moment,” I responded, sitting back in my stool.

Placing her cup on the table, she looked at me intently. I studied her face. This girl was not a girl; she was a determined woman - someone with an agenda, a plan. At least in her mind, she wasn’t afraid of whatever I was about to discuss or propose. I picked up my coffee and took a slow sip for effect, then began to speak.

“For the sake of this conversation, I am speaking of me and only me for now. This, at this time, has nothing to do with my expectations of you, or any wants, needs, or desires of you. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“I haven’t been in a relationship for my entire life. For the most part, all I have done is date around. I am no man-whore; I am extremely selective of who I see and who I have sex with. I may see someone for a year or so and never have sex with them. It depends totally on the person, on me, and on how I feel about the situation. Also, it hinges on their capacity to handle things. This is going to take a few minutes, so let me finish before you start asking questions, okay?”

She nodded and smiled.

“Some people are not able to make mental sense of a sex-only relationship. These types of people are not for me. If there is an emotional attachment, or any expectation, things seem to fall apart. If I see, up front, that this is what a person is apt to expect…I will not allow myself to continue. It’s not fair to either one of us. I know my abilities, my capacities, and what my hopes are. I have no expectations. Expectations of others are never met, and that leads to being let down, being disappointed, and being hurt. Living, for me, with hope instead of expectation allows me to keep myself safe. Does that make sense so far?”

She smiled, and nodded her head once, slowly. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder, I continued to speak.

“My father died when I was young. I grew up here, in Wichita, without a father. I lived modestly, on the north side, and went to a private school. I was extremely intelligent, but rebellious. I ended up going to school for about thirteen years, all told, and became a psychiatrist. After school, I took a year off to relax and ride my motorcycle, which is something I truly enjoy. In the first month or so after graduating, my mother was killed by a drunk driver.” I inhaled and started to continue.

“Oh, Erik, I am so sorry,” she said softly, reaching toward my hand.

I raised my hand from the table, and held my index finger in the air. “Don’t be sorry. It’s certainly not your fault. Things, all things, happen for a reason. I am a firm believer in that. My point is this. I suspect that I am well aware of why I am the way that I am. Why I do not value women as others do. Why I am incapable of a relationship, commitment, or marriage. Having experienced the loss that I have experienced, especially early in life - combined with being an only child, I fear being abandoned. My non-committal sexual lifestyle is my shield, my protection, my assurance that I will always be in charge of me, and no one has the ability or the authority to harm me.” I raised my coffee and took another sip.

“So, here’s the thing. Now I am speaking of you, and not in general,” I said as I placed my coffee back on the table.

“Okay, I am ready, let’s hear it,” she said as she placed her chin in her hand.

Her blue eyes were piercing. Hypnotized somewhat by her eyes and the stark contrast of them with her black hair, I regained my thoughts and began to speak. “I am dominant, sexually. In life, through the course of the day and doing day-to-day activities, I am like any other male you will ever meet. Actually, I am considerably better. I am tactful, respectful, articulate, considerate, kind, romantic, and compassionate. But I am not dominant. Not in life, just in sex. In sex, Kelli, I will accept nothing short of full commitment on behalf of my partners. A commitment to be willing to receive and understand my desires and an honest effort to fulfill them.”

“Are you violent?” she asked.

“No, not in any form, ever.”

“Abusive?”

“Never.”

“Wow, sounds like a dream come true,” she responded.

“Everyone thinks that, Kelli. At least they do initially. It isn’t something that is done half-assed. It’s a trust, a trust that’s developed. With some, it takes considerable time. With others, it takes a matter of minutes.  But, contrary to the opinion of the vanilla people that occupy the majority of this earth, it is not a bark on command relationship. At least not for me. It’s a relationship that is discussed, the two parties decide the limitations, and those limitations are adhered to. What both parties are comfortable with will be on the list of possibilities. If we’re both not comfortable with it, regardless of my desire to have it, it will never be asked for. Not by me,” I paused and waited for her to speak.

“Just like I said before. Dream. Come. True.” She paused and took a drink of her coffee.

“Kelli, I intend on owning you. Know that.”

“Excuse me?” she asked quickly.

“Own you, Kelli.” She looked at me, puzzled, and I continued, “Not own in the sense of you being my property, Kelli. Own as in something I have earned. I intend to ruin you. Provide you with feelings and levels of satisfaction that you have never seen. Satisfaction that you will never, in my absence, see again. This level of satisfaction, this degree of feeling…it will ruin you. Ruin you from ever being satisfied by another man the way I satisfy you. Once you realize that you’re ruined, I will own you.”

“Wow. Confident much?” she asked, smiling.

“Actually, yes. I am probably the most confident man you’ll ever meet. But I am confident for a reason. Because I know. I know my capacities. I know my abilities. I am not, in any respect, arrogant. I am confident.” I began to stand from my seat.

“Are we leaving?” she asked, looking around the coffee shop.

“No, we’re not leaving. I want you to go to the restroom, Kelli, and remove your hoodie. Come back out here without it on, do you understand me?” I said in a commanding but soft spoken tone.

“I thought you weren’t dominant in day-to-day activities,” she stated, raising an eyebrow. She stood from her seat, and placed her coffee on the table.

“I’m not. I didn’t tell you to do it, I asked you. There’s a small difference. I told you what I wished you to do. Now you decide what to do on your own.” I hadn’t quite finished speaking before she started walking to the restroom.

No less than a few minutes later she emerged from the restroom, her hoodie draped over her arm. She wore an orange ribbed tank and what appeared to be a sports bra underneath. Beneath the bra and the shirt, her nipples were erect and quite apparent. The shirt hugged her skin. Her stomach flat and her legs tan from the early summer sun, she walked to the table. Her posture was near perfect, and her walk defined her attitude. A desire to please the person that she was mentally committed to.

“It’s sure nice outside,” she said as she sat down.

“Yes, it is,” I responded as I sat back on my stool.

I leaned across the table and motioned with my finger for her to come closer. As I did, she leaned toward me. I moved her hair away from her ear, and spoke softly, my lips almost touching her ear. 

“Kelli, who is going to own you?” I asked.

“You are,” she whispered back, without moving.

“Kelli, when I ask you to do something, something sexual, what will you do?” I whispered into her ear.

“Do it,” she responded, quickly and quietly.

“Kelli, will you ever disappoint me?”

“No. Never.”

She leaned away from me and looked up like I had asked her to murder someone.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“I’m just asking, Kelli. Do not ever intentionally disappoint me, do you understand me?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

“I like that.”

“Like what?” she asked, smiling. “That I won’t disappoint you?”

“No, Kelli. The ‘sir’,” I responded, still leaning in her direction.

“Oh. I love saying that to you. It just comes out. Kind of natural,” she said. “I said it the other day at the dealership, as you were leaving. It just kind of slipped out.”

“I didn’t even notice,” I lied.

“Kelli, I am going to crawl inside your head. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Yes, sir. I am,” she said as she leaned her stool back, rocking it on its rear legs.

Her tone of voice, her body language, and her eye movements made it obvious that she was extremely comfortable with this situation, with me, and with the rate that this was progressing. There was something about her that I liked. Something more than the excitement of this being new. I was in tune with my feelings well enough to know this, to know that something with her was different. Time would reveal to me what it was.

“Okay, Kelli. Listen, I have a commitment this morning. I have to ride in a fundraiser. A girl has cancer. The motorcycle club that I ride with is doing a poker run to raise money for her family. I have to go do this. What are your thoughts on you and I doing something tonight. Say, hanging out, or maybe going out and eating?” I asked from across the table.

Continuing to rock back and forth in her chair, she sat the legs onto the floor and responded, “Sounds great, I have no plans. You ride in a motorcycle club? Like that show on television? And what’s a poker run?”

“Well, kind of. We’re not outlaws, we’re a group of guys that ride together in a club. Everyone is a member. We wear colors, or identifying vests and jackets with the club insignia, if you will. And a poker run is an organized motorcycle ride. You ride to five different locations, and at each location you pick up a playing card from a deck of cards, at random. At the end, you turn your five random cards in to the judges. The judges determine who has received the best poker hand, from the random cards each rider has received.” I took a breath and continued.

“There’s a fee to ride in it, and anywhere from 200 people to 3000 people show up, depending on the cause and the event. The money from the proceeds received goes to a donation. This time it will go to a little ten-year-old girl that has cancer.”

“Oh my God. That’s sad. The little girl. It’s good that you do that, I suppose. Sounds fun. And kind of exciting,” she said, as she looked out the window at the motorcycle.

“Well, I am going to meet the rest of the group up at the gas station, let’s say I will call you around six o’clock, how’s that?”

“Sounds great. I’m going to sit here and read for a bit,” she said as she reached into her purse and retrieved her Kindle.

“What are you reading?” I asked. I always liked knowing what types of books people read. It told a lot about them.

“Broken People. I’m highlighting quotes in it,” she responded as she powered her Kindle on.

“Haven’t heard of it,” I said as I reached into my pocket for my keys.

“You have to read it. It’s a novel, but it reads like something that could be so true. It’s about five different people, and how their lives tie together. They’re all broken in some respect. And, in the end, they all come together. It’ll make you cry,” she said, holding the Kindle up, showing me the cover.

“I doubt that,” I said, holding my arms out for a hug.

She stepped from her chair, and put her arms around me and gave me a hug as if she actually enjoyed it. Nothing, to me, was worse than a hug from someone who did not have their heart in it. Hers was heartfelt. As we broke from the embrace, I spoke.

“Six o’clock.”

“Read the book, Erik. And I will be ready,” she responded.

“Ok, I will. I will see you later this evening, Kelli.”

Walking to the bike, I began to wonder just what it was going to take to break this girl’s spirit. I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.