Thrill Seeker (7 page)

When I tell men I meet online that I first explored my submissive side with Baxter, or B as I call him to strangers, I’m being economical with the truth. Alistair Fitch was my first, although explore is probably not the word to use. He saw something in me, or took a potshot that paid off, and I responded because I found it erotic. The role Alistair played in his studio helped me make sense of a range of desires I’d known prior to him. My experiences began to cohere. I could see how certain moments in books and films that had turned me on matched to an attitude I found sexy in men.

But Alistair left me feeling so shabby about myself and what I liked that I didn’t go near those intoxicating hungers until years later. It was imperative to resist, to just say no. If I followed my urges and sought satisfaction, everything would get worse and I’d end up dead in a ditch. So I kept my lusts to myself, drawing on them as fantasy material during
masturbation or sex with Jim, and never telling a soul. If the internet had been as widely available then as now, I’d have been able to explore and educate myself. Instead, I struggled alone and my secret sexuality turned sour on me.

Only after my relationship with Jim ended and nice-guy Grant frustrated me with his gentlemanly approach to sex did I understand I could embrace this hidden part of me and become the architect of my desires. If I were to live a fulfilled life, I needed to not be silent. Silence eats you up like a slow disease. My policy of honesty paid off, big style, when I met Baxter Logan. The great joy of Baxter was his lack of shame. He loved the sex we had and the dark paths we ventured down. He revelled in my appetite and encouraged me to explore my twisted imagination. Guilt and inhibition were not part of Baxter’s world. Finally, I felt loved for who I was and free to be true to myself.

Baxter Logan. Oh, why did everything keep coming back to him? Why did he still have such a hold on me after two years of being apart?

I inhaled lungfuls of air and scrunched pebbles into my fists. The stones were cool and gritty in my fingers, their coating of tacky saltiness making my hands feel dirty. They clattered softly by my side while, somewhere beyond my feet, waves crashed and shushed, scraping pebbles into the water. Above me, the stars twinkled more brightly. They were light years away, many of them probably dead already. I was gazing at a snapshot of the past, the truth still travelling through space to be recorded by human eyes.

My phone honked, interrupting my reverie and bringing me back down to earth. I rummaged in my bag, thinking I ought to be going home anyhow. Navel-gazing while stargazing could only lead to trouble. I’d text Liam to let him
know how the date went then, once I was home, I’d check the doors and windows and go to bed with a book. If Rory was in the mood, maybe she’d curl up by my feet. Tomorrow was another day. Everything would be fine. I’d give dating another whirl. Maybe put a new photo on my profile. One more month then if I hadn’t met anyone, I’d give it a rest.

I lifted the phone above my face, not bothering to sit up.

A text. Number unknown to me.

Friend or foe?

Saturday night’s break-in came soaring back to me. He’d found my address, had entered my home and now he’d escaped the internet. For a while, I’d forgotten him but suddenly, I was a nervous wreck again. I clicked the message icon. I can’t recall precisely what was running through my mind but I think even then I knew it was him. The text read: ‘
EVEN CLOSER NOW
.’

Oh fuck. I sat bolt upright, scanning the dark beach, twisting around. The emptiness, which had felt safe when I arrived, now seemed dangerous. I had nowhere to hide, was such an easy target to track. Where was he? Could he see me? Why the Hell had I given him my number?

I stuffed my phone into my bag as I scrambled to my feet, shingle slipping. Don’t panic, Natalie, don’t panic. Stumbling, I hurried across the beach towards the street lamps of Sea Road, the fairy lights strung between them promising the brightness of safety, traffic, people.

The pebbles were quicksand, the small slopes vanishing as I tried to climb them. Keep calm. Less haste, more speed. To the left, the sparkly fairground swirled and tipped. My breath galloped. I cast around me. No one about. To the east, I could make out the black shapes of the derelict fishing beach, rising from the ground like a ragged graveyard of love.

I tried not to look, tried not to think of Baxter and how safe I once felt with him.

He was gone. We were over. Safety couldn’t be trusted.

Run, Natalie, run.

But you’re not meant to run, not meant to look afraid. I hurried across the wide road, away from the prom, inland towards streets and buildings. My pulse thundered in my ears and the warm night air thickened in my throat. So much pressure inside my head, as if my brain were expanding, throbbing against my skull. I needed to pee. Needed to breathe properly too. The air was a blanket and my lungs were full of fluff.

I passed a handful of people, wondering if they’d turn out to be witnesses, one of the last to see me. Was he following me? I heard no footsteps on my tail, saw no shadows in doorways. Supposing he’d predicted my move and was lying in wait? What to do? Take the fastest route home, that’s what. Stupid not to have done that in the first place. Lunacy to lie on a dark, empty beach as if I hadn’t a care in the world.

Damn, should have flagged a taxi down on Sea Road. Double back or keep going? An image popped into my head. I’d get into a taxi, slam the door shut. As we moved off, the driver would turn to me, his face a beaked Venetian mask.

The thought made me pick up speed again. I’d watched too many films, that was the trouble. But this wasn’t a film. He’d broken into my house. This was real. I might be in danger. Might not be. Same wavelength? Or psycho?

Whatever, just keep running, Natalie, run like the wind. Save the risk assessment for a later day.

Then another plan struck me, one so audacious compared to my original notion it might have sprung from a different mind. I would phone him back. Right there and then, I would call Kagami in the street. Forget running scared and being the victim in the dark. I would take charge of the situation whether he liked it or not.

I slowed, breathing hard, legs quivering. Don’t think, just do. My hands shook. I pressed ‘call’, listening out for a ring tone starting up nearby.

I heard nothing except the tone in my ear, the pump of my blood surrounding the sound.

Voicemail. It would go to voicemail.

Third ring.

A robotic, female voice, that’s what I would hear.

Fourth ring.

A man answered. I didn’t think my heart could thump any faster but it did. There was life on the other end.

‘Natalie,’ he said. ‘Glad you called. I hoped you might.’ His voice was deep, his tone amused.

‘Where are you?’ I said, heaving for breath. ‘Can you see me? How close is close?’

‘I can’t see you,’ he said smoothly. ‘But I’m close.’

It took me a moment. ‘Psychologically?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘But not physically?’

‘Not yet.’

‘You’re scaring me.’

‘That’s the point.’

I paused, leaning against the cream wall at the side of a townhouse, trying to catch my breath. ‘Which makes it less scary.’ One up to Natalie.

He laughed crisply. ‘Then I’ll have to try harder.’

‘Trust me. You’re doing fine.’

‘So …’ he said, adding no further words.

‘So,’ I replied. Across the street, a lank-haired man in an oversized suit walked by, occasionally lurching in a drunken sidestep. I was in ruined, period-drama territory, tatty townhouses forming orderly rows and gentle crescents, the pavements lined with tall railings like regimented black spears. Sepia net curtains hung in the windows, despondent ‘Vacancies’ signs repeating along the streets as regularly as the lanterns and peeling stucco columns. I watched the drunk man fumble at an enormous door then stagger into a dim hallway of nicotine-stained light.

‘So,’ I resumed. ‘You broke into my house.’

‘I need you to know I’m a serious player.’

‘Oh, I’ve got that message,’ I said. ‘Loud and clear.’

‘Who were you fucking that night? It sounded sweet.’

I began to walk on, too much adrenaline to keep still. ‘None of your business. You’ve intruded enough already.’

‘I’ve barely started.’

I tried to conceal my choppy breath. I wondered if he could hear my footsteps on the flagstones. ‘If you push it too far –’

‘I won’t,’ he said.

‘You might,’ I replied. ‘You don’t know what’s too far for me.’

‘True. But I’m a good judge, I pay attention. And if I push it too far, I think you’ll let me. I think you’ll like it.’

I said nothing, afraid it might be true.

‘I know you better than you realise,’ he went on. ‘I’ve seen you running on the seafront in the evenings. You’re determined, disciplined, focused. But even when you run, you look as if you want to escape that drive and order.’

‘Why do you watch me?’ I asked. ‘Where do you live? Don’t you have better things to do with your time?’

‘I’m not stalking you, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I just want to get a good sense of who you are, of what makes you tick. I take my responsibilities as a dominant very seriously. If we’re going to take this further, I need to see you when you’re off guard. Easy for anyone to present a version of themself to someone online. That’s not enough for me, not if we’re going to play dangerous games together.’

‘Is that what we’re going to do?’

‘I think we’re doing it already.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean by dangerous.’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘If you knew, you could opt in or out, and that would remove the feeling of danger. You have to trust me.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because you want to.’

I gave a hollow laugh as if to imply his answer was inadequate. But at the same time, I recognised he spoke the truth. I wanted to risk trusting him because I believed he could help satisfy my hunger to submit in a situation charged with danger. He knew, as did I, the allure of danger lay in its promise to make me experience submission as being brutally imposed upon me, a prospect infinitely more thrilling than yielding to him willingly like a doe-eyed puppy.

‘I’ve met other women like you,’ he continued. ‘Women
who delight in being used, treated like a slut. Worthless. Insignificant. Just a cunt for me to shove my cock in. Women who need a man to take them over so they’re free to be who they really are.’

‘I can’t have this conversation right now,’ I said. ‘I’m walking home. It’s not convenient.’

‘No need to be ashamed.’

‘I’m not. But I can’t respond properly. Someone might hear.’

‘Then stop and listen to me.’

I kept up my brisk pace, still not knowing what to do. Pursue this? Or play safe? ‘Pursue,’ said my lust. ‘Play safe,’ said my head.

‘I don’t know you from Adam,’ I said.

‘Not true. We’ve shared a lot, been incredibly intimate and open with each other.’

‘I don’t know what you look like, where you live, who you are.’

‘Do you want to know who I am?’

‘Course I do,’ I said, my casual tone belying my eagerness to meet him and discover more. ‘I wouldn’t tolerate your intrusions otherwise.’

‘So trust me.’

I passed the gated entrance to Saltbourne Community Crafts where Liam has his workshop. A security light clicked on, flooding the cobbled courtyard with brightness. Liam would be horrified by my recklessness. With distance, I’d probably be horrified too but I was buzzing with fear and excitement, aching to hand myself over to this confident, challenging stranger who promised so much.

‘And if I do decide to trust you,’ I said, ‘and give you a chance to prove yourself, then what?’

‘Then I’ll take this up a notch. I intend to kidnap you and hold you prisoner. My prisoner.’

‘Whoa, steady on!’

He didn’t reply. I walked faster as if trying to escape him but carrying him by my ear all the time. The silence continued for so long I feared he might hang up and leave his threat lingering. I assumed he wanted me to say yes or no. But I didn’t know what I wanted to say so I kept quiet.

Sure, I’d shared an abduction fantasy with him but it didn’t follow I wanted him to act on it as literally as he’d just implied. He must mean a scene, something we’d roleplay when we finally hooked up.

Eventually, I stopped hurrying, although my heart and mind kept up their wild, crazy paces. In the quietness, my footsteps were loud and lonely. I turned a corner and walked up a steep street of terraced stone cottages, slivers of light peeping through curtains. The small front gardens were tired, hollyhocks on the brink of toppling, their faded flowers of late summer rendered colourless by the night. The row was narrow with cars half-parked where people walk. There was no traffic at this hour. With an instinct for personal safety, I took to the middle of the road.

‘You still there?’ he asked. ‘Or have I scared you off?’

‘I’m still here.’

‘You don’t scare easily, do you?’

‘Depends,’ I said. ‘I’m just trying to be realistic here. You’re toying with me, I can see that. I don’t think I’m in genuine danger.’

‘But you can’t ever be sure,’ he said. ‘Does that scare you?’

‘I’m pleasantly scared,’ I said. ‘I guess I’m starting to trust you. I might regret this.’

‘You won’t,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure you don’t.’

Above the rooftops in the distance, the castle ruins on the cliff-top were a hunched black tumble against a charcoal sky.

‘It would be good to talk about this kidnap thing some more,’ I said.

‘Yeah?’ He sounded breezy and sarcastic. ‘You want to talk now?’

My heartbeat faltered. I turned, scanning the quiet street, unnerved by the threatening edge in his voice. The curtains were open in one of the cottages and on an enormous, wall-mounted TV screen images played of a bomb-ravaged dirt road in the Middle East.

‘Where are you?’ I said. ‘Are you nearby? Are you watching me?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Hey, this isn’t fair.’ I began striding quickly, my senses sharpening. ‘I’m a woman walking home at night. Don’t fuck with that. I need to know what’s real danger and what’s play.’