him, gazing down at the strikingly delicate, gold and garnet ring. “Wow, babes. It’s pretty. He gave it to you?”
“In Paris,” I said, nodding. “After a crazy day. He took me to his parents’ house—”
“You met his parents?” Andrew’s eyes went wide. “Are they sociopaths too?”
“They weren’t there, and he’s not a sociopath. He took me all over Paris, to all these out of the way streets and shops and this little cafe overlooking the Sacré Coeur. You would have loved it. There was so much to see, so much to paint. So much inspiration.”
The waitress came and took our order, and then I gave Andrew a quick and dirty recap of the trip, from my ill-advised viewing of Heart-Lust , to my meeting with Vinod Sushil, to our trip to the Goutte d’Or.
“So…but…” Andrew looked flustered and grabbed my hand again. “What does this signify ?”
“It’s a collar for my finger. I’m supposed to wear it all the time.”
“Or you get punished?” He rolled his eyes.
“You know about our thing,” I told him. “You’re in a power exchange relationship too.”
“Yeah, but mine isn’t so smothering.”
“You don’t have rules and consequences?”
He lowered his voice and leaned closer to me. “Not like you. I hate that I can’t see you whenever I like. This whole once-a-week rule is creepy.”
“He wants me to focus on work right now.”
“Bullshit. He wants you all to himself.” The waitress delivered our food, and Andrew bit into his sandwich with barely restrained vitriol, before violently dunking a French fry in ketchup. “I mean, even this,” he said, waving a hand around. “Making us meet in a public place? How many hours did we hang out together at your apartment when we were in school? I mean, what the fuck does he think is gonna happen? I’m super flaming gay.”
He announced that very loudly. An older gentleman at a nearby table turned to Andrew with a speculative smile, but Andrew was taken, and he wasn’t in the mood to flirt. I watched him murder another French fry.
“It’s not a big deal,” I said. “We like this place. Does it really matter where we hang out? Why are you getting so upset?”
“Why aren’t you getting upset?” he shot back. “I mean, your thing with Price isn’t normal or healthy. All this controlling structure, all these rules?”
“There aren’t that many rules.”
But there were. I wasn’t supposed to meet with a man, any man, gay or straight, unless it was in a public place. I had to show Price any texts I exchanged with men, including Andrew and Vinod. There were rules about what I wore and where I went, and where I slept, and when I could orgasm. There were rules about speech and posture and how I reacted to punishment, and now there was a rule about wearing a gold and garnet ring.
“If you don’t see how freaky it is—” Andrew said.
“We like freaky, remember?”
He glanced over my shoulder. “Shit. Speaking of freaky, Professor Predator has entered the building. Keep your head down. Maybe he won’t notice us.”
It was easy for me to blend in, with my plain brown hair and short stature, but Andrew stuck out like a beacon with his huge mop of blond hair. Within moments, Martin Cantor, ex-professor, rejected lover, was standing beside our table with his takeout order under his arm.
“Hi, kids,” he said.
I looked up at him in exasperation. We were in a public place, yes. I wasn’t breaking any rules by talking to him, but I’d still have to tell Price that I’d run into Cantor—and based on his mood the past couple weeks, he would likely react in a fucked up way.
“How are you, Professor Cantor?” said Andrew.
“I’m good. How are you? How’s the painting?”
“It’s great. I’ve got a website now, and lots of studio contacts. I’ve been busy.”
“Glad to hear it.” He turned to me next, his eyes dark and probing as ever beneath his scruffy salt-and-pepper hair. “And Chere Rouzier, what a
“In Paris,” I said, nodding. “After a crazy day. He took me to his parents’ house—”
“You met his parents?” Andrew’s eyes went wide. “Are they sociopaths too?”
“They weren’t there, and he’s not a sociopath. He took me all over Paris, to all these out of the way streets and shops and this little cafe overlooking the Sacré Coeur. You would have loved it. There was so much to see, so much to paint. So much inspiration.”
The waitress came and took our order, and then I gave Andrew a quick and dirty recap of the trip, from my ill-advised viewing of Heart-Lust , to my meeting with Vinod Sushil, to our trip to the Goutte d’Or.
“So…but…” Andrew looked flustered and grabbed my hand again. “What does this signify ?”
“It’s a collar for my finger. I’m supposed to wear it all the time.”
“Or you get punished?” He rolled his eyes.
“You know about our thing,” I told him. “You’re in a power exchange relationship too.”
“Yeah, but mine isn’t so smothering.”
“You don’t have rules and consequences?”
He lowered his voice and leaned closer to me. “Not like you. I hate that I can’t see you whenever I like. This whole once-a-week rule is creepy.”
“He wants me to focus on work right now.”
“Bullshit. He wants you all to himself.” The waitress delivered our food, and Andrew bit into his sandwich with barely restrained vitriol, before violently dunking a French fry in ketchup. “I mean, even this,” he said, waving a hand around. “Making us meet in a public place? How many hours did we hang out together at your apartment when we were in school? I mean, what the fuck does he think is gonna happen? I’m super flaming gay.”
He announced that very loudly. An older gentleman at a nearby table turned to Andrew with a speculative smile, but Andrew was taken, and he wasn’t in the mood to flirt. I watched him murder another French fry.
“It’s not a big deal,” I said. “We like this place. Does it really matter where we hang out? Why are you getting so upset?”
“Why aren’t you getting upset?” he shot back. “I mean, your thing with Price isn’t normal or healthy. All this controlling structure, all these rules?”
“There aren’t that many rules.”
But there were. I wasn’t supposed to meet with a man, any man, gay or straight, unless it was in a public place. I had to show Price any texts I exchanged with men, including Andrew and Vinod. There were rules about what I wore and where I went, and where I slept, and when I could orgasm. There were rules about speech and posture and how I reacted to punishment, and now there was a rule about wearing a gold and garnet ring.
“If you don’t see how freaky it is—” Andrew said.
“We like freaky, remember?”
He glanced over my shoulder. “Shit. Speaking of freaky, Professor Predator has entered the building. Keep your head down. Maybe he won’t notice us.”
It was easy for me to blend in, with my plain brown hair and short stature, but Andrew stuck out like a beacon with his huge mop of blond hair. Within moments, Martin Cantor, ex-professor, rejected lover, was standing beside our table with his takeout order under his arm.
“Hi, kids,” he said.
I looked up at him in exasperation. We were in a public place, yes. I wasn’t breaking any rules by talking to him, but I’d still have to tell Price that I’d run into Cantor—and based on his mood the past couple weeks, he would likely react in a fucked up way.
“How are you, Professor Cantor?” said Andrew.
“I’m good. How are you? How’s the painting?”
“It’s great. I’ve got a website now, and lots of studio contacts. I’ve been busy.”
“Glad to hear it.” He turned to me next, his eyes dark and probing as ever beneath his scruffy salt-and-pepper hair. “And Chere Rouzier, what a
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