50 Reasons to Say Goodbye by Nick Alexander Page A

watch?”
    â€œIt’s a dungeon demo, so they’re like tied to the wall or whatever, and there are demonstrations of all the different SM techniques.”
    I nod and try to do this knowingly. “Like?” I say.
    â€œLike hot-wax and tit-torture, bondage … Everything really. You should come, you don’t have to participate in anything you don’t want to.”
    I stare at my plate and cough. I smirk slightly. “I don’t think …”
    Julian touches my hand. “Oh of course if you want to participate, if you want to be …” he looks into my eyes questioningly. “A slave … or whatever, then you can, you just tell them what you like; it’s all very safe and controlled.”
    An image flashes through my head. I am chained to the wall, I am blindfolded, people unknown, are playing with my body, pulling on my nipples, playing with myarse … I shake my head. I laugh.
    â€œI’m afraid I’m not really into SM,” I say. My dick throbs and I hear the lie. I realise something consciously for the first time in my life; that I could be, if I let myself.
    Julian forks a potato and points it at me. “You need to let go, you need to just let it happen.”
    â€œBut do I?”
I wonder. I smile. “I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”
    He puts down his fork, grabs my hand and looks into my eyes again. “Have I?”
    I stare him out, I nod, I lie. I say, “Yes.”
    Julian waves over the waitress, asks her for the check, stands. “Let’s go for a walk,” he says.
    I’m embarrassed, I still have a hard-on, but I stand and follow him holding my bomber jacket in front. He slides his hand across my arse, pushes me out into the cold October air. We pull on our jackets; he’s beautiful, glistening in his black leathers. He has a chrome ring clipped to his shoulder epaulet. I feel childlike in front of him.
    He says, “This way.”
    We turn and start to walk down the road; he slides a hand into my back pocket. I let it remain for a while, then pull away.
    He stops, turns to face me, looks at me questioningly. He says, “I know what I forgot.”
    I raise an eyebrow. “What?”
    â€œI didn’t welcome you to New York.” With this he places his crash helmet on the newspaper distributor beside him, wraps an arm behind my back and kisses me, forcing his tongue into my mouth.
    He crushes me towards him, then pulls away, looks into my eyes and reaches inside my jacket to pinch my nipple, grinning as I gasp. “If you’re not ready for theDungeon Demo, you could come out and visit us at our place,” he says. “We have a fully equipped playroom … we could give you a nice, soft introduction. Just whatever you want to try.”
    I run a hand across his jacket, down over his back pocket.
    I have three thoughts simultaneously: that no offer has ever excited me more, that it is quite a big surprise that this excites me so, and that I am heading onto dangerous ground, very dangerous ground. I could actually end up dying in some basement somewhere or, be held captive in a cage for years.
“Hey, I’ve seen pulp fiction,”
I think.
    Finally, I think that even if I don’t get hurt in the process, even if it all goes “fine”, that I may never get out of this thing again, that it could be like tasting heroin –
the first one
, as the dealers say,
is free
.
    I pull away, but this time there is decision in the movement. Julian lets go of me, stands back, smiles at me. He picks up his crash helmet, pulls his keys from his pocket.
    â€œIf you decide you want to try something, or even if you just want to talk about it, you have my number …”
    I nod; I shrug. “Sorry,” I say.
    Julian shrugs. “You’ll get over it, and when you do, well you know where I am.” With this he turns and walks away, shooting me a wink as he