Breakfast in Stilettos (13 page)

A big uh-oh bounded around in my head. Yes, but what would we say about sex?

I was silent a little too long and Pixie, who was clearly on the
en plus
side of the IQ scale, took my silence for the obvious sign it was. “You never talked about sex with him?”

“That would be another ‘no.’ I didn’t know how to talk about it. I think I was born with the Hot Chick Sex Talk button stuck on mute.” I was happy to see that my lack of sex speak wasn’t written on my face for all to see. “In fact, I was recently diagnosed as suffering from ‘assertiveness-deficiency’ by a sex therapist, scored as an ‘assertive-sub’ in an online Dom/sub test, and called a prude by my
Mother
. That should give you some indication of my sex communication skills.”

Pixie laughed. Our blue-banged waiter came back by with our waters, and we took a few minutes to order food.

I took a sip. Summing up these sex assessments made it a little easier, and less painful, to understand why Frank might not have shared his other self with me. I was determined to find out from Pixie what life on the other side looked like, even if she wouldn’t tell me details about Frank’s escapades. I would see him later on this evening and I wanted as much information as possible before embarking on
that
conversation. I was determined to be clear on the big E. Every Little Thing.
Everything
.

So instead, I queried Pixie about her experiences. “So tell me about being a sub. Pretend I don’t know anything, which, of course, I don’t.” I tried to act casual, as though it was everyday that I lunched with a woman who knew more about my ex’s sex life than I did.

She sensed the need to change the subject and was kind enough to let me do so without argument. “Well, that could run into a rather long and involved story. How far back do you want me to go?” She smiled, but there was a little pain in that smile, I could tell.

“Only as far back as you feel comfortable.”

“Oh, I don’t mind talking about it. I was raised in a cult. They abused me as a child—I was tied up by some members of my own family and used for ritual purposes. I can’t really remember much of it, but suffice to say that I came out of it with a few wires crossed.

“It actually feels really good now to be tied up. It allows me to relive those places in myself, but in a safe situation where I have control. It doesn’t really make sense, but I’ve stopped trying to fight it. I just embrace it as part of who I am. I like to go to the edge of myself and the best way to do that is through a Dominant. He takes me where I guess I was taken as a child, but in a safe and loving environment, which isn’t what I had as a child. Now I can control what happens, even while I am out of control. I get to say how it goes and that empowers me and helps replace the bad feelings with good ones.” She cocked her head at me. “Does that make sense?”

I thought about what Dr. Steiner had said. That you couldn’t cure a fetish. Pixie seemed to support that theory. “Sure, it makes a lot of sense. Does it ever bother you that you feel that way?”

She laughed. “Of course. Dating is never simple, but this makes it even more complicated. Regular sex is sort of boring for me, so it limits the pool of men I can draw from. Although Doms typically advertise in some way or you can find referrals, so in that respect it is easy to find possibilities. But it’s no different than dating in the regular world. There has to be the right attraction and chemistry, etcetera. And that is a rare thing.”

“Well, I don’t know if being “regular” is any easier, dating wise. You would think it would be easy. Regular girl seeks regular guy, but I haven’t found that to be true. In fact, it seems as though fetish folks have a more focused group. There are categories!”

I laughed and so did Pixie. She acknowledged my comment with a nod. “True, but then just try to fulfill your sexual preference
and
have a regular romance. Now that
is
a trick. They aren’t necessarily connected. While it would be nice if you could get them both in the same place, that’s rarer still.”

This revelation sobered me a little. “So maybe Frank was trying to deal with his, um, sexual preference outside of his relationship?”

Pixie smiled. “Exactly. That’s the thing most ‘regular’ folks don’t understand. Some of us need our kink but want love as well. And those needs don’t always come or have to come from the same place.”

I thought that over as the waiter brought out our lunch. Pixie had ordered a spiced pecan salad and I had the barbecue pork sandwich—which looked disgusting in that yummy sort of way—garnished with a bright citrus poblano coleslaw. I knew I’d never make it through the entire sandwich, but I love the taste of barbecue. We both dug in, using the excuse of munching to silently digest each other’s words.

After a few minutes, Pixie stabbed a slice of apple and pointed it at me. “So you don’t have a kink of any sort? No secret longing that has never made itself manifest?”

My initial inclination was simply to say, ‘No.’ But I let the thought sit there for a minute, in case some repressed something in the back row of my psyche decided to raise a belated hand. Did I have any secret longings? Even a small one? I remembered the part in Frank’s story where Mistress Maven talked about tying up her dolls. Yes, I had done that as well and, yes, there was something sexual about it. Hmmm. Now that was an uncomfortable thought. I squirmed a little in my seat, taking a messy bite out of my sandwich. Was that evidence of a long repressed fetish?

I shrugged and decided to give it a spin. “Well, I did have this doll as a kid—a Jane West doll. I never played with Barbies or anything. I liked the Jane West doll because she came with a horse. Anyway, I used to tie her up and imagine all sorts of weird things happening. It was kind of sexual.”

Pixie leaned in. “Yes?”

I felt completely ashamed. “Well, yes, it turned me on a bit to tie her up.” Quickly I added, “But that was long ago in a galaxy far, far away.”

Pixie grinned as she took another bite of her salad. “Aha! You know they speculate that fetishes come from early sexual experimentation. And typically people don’t even remember, or just suppress it. Sounds like we may have hit on something to explore.” She leaned forward slightly as if closer proximity would allow her to see into my head. “So tell me this, what would happen if you could tie someone up now? You know, without any fear of people making fun of you. In fact, assume that the person you would tie up would actually
want
you to.”

Oh Jesus. No. No. No. This was not happening
. I did not have a fetish and no one was going to lead me to that horse trough. I would not drink. I shook my head. “That is not a picture I want to entertain. I see where you are going, but really, I don’t want to tie anyone up.
Honest!”

She smiled, looking at me with that “I know something you don’t” look, but just shrugged. “
OK
, if you insist.” She took another bite of salad and added, “But if you ever want to talk about it, let me know.”

I definitely wanted to change the subject and quickly pushed onward. “So tell me more about the sub/Dom experience. What exactly happens? How do you even begin?”

Pixie laughed without even the faintest hint of embarrassment. “It was a little bit like finding the right employee/employer relationship. I searched for the requisite skills, did interviews, and then we worked up an agreement! When I first met my Dominant, Master Rhys, we negotiated through a very complex agreement. That was really important.”

Her insistence on an agreement seemed to be at odds with the stereotype that Dominants do all the determining. From the outside, it looks like abuse. I told her so.

She nodded. “
That
’
s where so many people misunderstand the
D
om/sub relationship.
It is a consensual power exchange. The
D
ominant is really giving the submissive the direction and control she wants, while the submissive gives obedience and consent to the
D
om.
It requires a high degree of trust. More so than in a normal relationship. It can also be very loving and giving.”

My mind was flashing on all the pictures of pain. I had a hard time reconciling love with those pictures. “So I’ve heard about the scene.” I told her what Dr. Steiner had said. “For you … What is it like?”

She took another bite of salad and chewed thoughtfully. “You know that job interview process I talked about. Well, Master Rhys had me fill out a long questionnaire, about fifteen pages worth, asking all sorts of questions about what sorts of punishment and rewards I like. If I want to be branded or collared, what my fantasies are, how much pain I can endure, and what not. There was also a bunch of safety and health questions.”

I suddenly wanted to come up with my own set of questions for Frank. How much easier that would be than having to have a conversation!

She continued. “He fills out the same questionnaire, more or less, including what he wants to have control over—what I eat, whom I see, sleeping hours, clothing—that sort of thing. And then we negotiate to see how closely our needs and desires match.”

“That sounds pretty cool. I mean to be able to list all your sexual desires on a sheet and pass them back and forth. Is it really so detailed that you would, well, know pretty much everything? I assume it discussed all the typical fetishes and what not.”

She laughed. “Yes, very detailed. From what kinds of gels you want to use to whether you want vaginal fisting.” She rolled her eyes. “Pretty much everything.”

I felt a little nauseated. Vaginal fisting. I wondered what Scarlett O’Hara would have thought of vaginal fisting. Though Rhett Butler seemed like just the guy to deliver. Or what of Jane Austen’s Emma? Mr. Knightly certainly wouldn’t have obliged, but Frank Churchill? Now there was a man ready for anything.

I shook all these random thoughts from my mind, concentrating instead on the Dom/sub list. I suspected I couldn’t even dream up what other people routinely checked off on that list. Keeping my voice low, I said, “I bet my list of wants wouldn’t even rate for inclusion on this list.”

“You never know.” She suddenly sat up. “I know. I’ll send you a copy.” She seemed excited and pulled out a notepad and scribbled something. “I’ll email it. Then maybe you and Frank can use it, you know, to have your conversation.” She used those little quote fingers.

That was actually a good idea. “I like it!”

We sat in amiable silence for a moment longer while we ate a bit more. I noticed that the two elderly women at the table next to us were leaving. I nodded an acknowledgement when they turned. Mirabelle leaned in to me. “We found some possible excitement in that little paper of yours. Thank you so very much for your kind suggestions.”
When she stood up, she winked and escorted her sister out the door.

I blushed,
realizing that
I had unwittingly provided them with
an earful
of that “action” they
were seeking
.

Pixie watched them leave with a look of curiosity, but I waved it off. “You don’t want to know.” I pushed the last of my meal away. I had
exceeded
my pork allotment for the day. I took a long drink of water and then sat back in my chair. At least my stomach was physically sated. I wasn’t happy about the new hunger that seemed to be awakening. “So back to the scene between you and Master Rhys.”

She nodded. “Well, once you both know what you like, planning a scene is fairly straightforward. He knows I like to be tied up in a particular way, spanked with a specific flat leather paddle, left immobile for short lengths of time and deprived of sensation in order to build desire. I hate gags, but am
OK
with a hood. No duct tape anywhere.” She made an emphatic motion.

“He likes a very assertive submissive, one that resists physically and verbally. That part doesn’t do much for me, but it really turns him on, so I’m happy to oblige.”

She shrugged. “It’s all negotiated ahead of time.
We both win.
And, if the situation goes south, one or the other of us can call out a safe word to stop things or at least lighten them up. We set up a variety of cues to make sure we keep in touch with how we are faring during the scene—too much, too little—that kind of thing.”