“I cannot believe you’re doing this,” John told me with a sigh while he helped me tape boxes. “We’re going to be here another month. Why don’t you stay at least that long?”
“Because rent is due in a week here, whereas no rent is ever due at Kristen’s.” I considered a pile of books, then dropped them in the box gracelessly.
“Uh, I think you mean rent is always due at Kristen’s. Because you are paying every single day.”
“It’s not a price I mind paying,” I answered in a singsong.
“How would you know? You haven’t slept with her yet. You haven’t even seen her since Sunday.”
I paused. This was technically true. However, Kris and I had been flirting via text every evening for the past three days. In fact, the night before, I’d called her to discuss my move. It had quickly turned into something else. At eight thirty, I pointed out the time, and Kris responded by telling me to touch myself. She spent the next half hour describing to me what exactly she planned on doing to me, as I followed her instructions and tried not to be too loud. So, no, we hadn’t had sex. But I did come on command.
The thought of it made me blush.
“I’m fine.”
“Why the rush though? Like you said, you still have a week until rent is due. And we’re paying next month’s rent anyway, so we’re not rushing you out. You could stay for five more weeks without paying more—and without having to sleep with anyone.”
“Maybe I want to sleep with her.”
“Then sleep with her and stay at your own apartment. See if you like it. Take some time, try things out. You don’t have to jump in like this.” John huffed as he started taping another box.
“I want to jump in.” I stretched and put an arm around him. “I just want to.” I couldn’t explain the magnetic pull I already felt toward Kris.
John sat on my bed. “This isn’t like you, Phe.”
I sat down next to him. “I know. I’ve been being sensible and planning ahead and being responsible all my life. I never hop on a plane or go out partying on a weeknight or move in with somebody too soon. I don’t even sleep with somebody too soon. For once in my life, I’m doing something without overthinking it. I want to do something, so I’m just doing it.”
“Is there some other way you can be impulsive that doesn’t involve you trading sex for housing starting in three days? Can’t you get a tattoo or something?”
I pointed to a spot on my back where, under my shirt and bra, a snake curved over my skin. “If you’ll remember, this took me six months of planning and I’d wanted it since I was a teenager.”
“That’s my point! You were so careful with something that at worst might look bad, but you’re impulsive about who you’re living with? About where you sleep at night?” Concern strained his voice.
I put my head on his shoulder. “Want to know the rest of my reasoning? If it’s awful, I can come back home to you guys. If I try it now, there’s a safety net.”
He slung an arm around me. “Isn’t there a safety net in her paying for you to have a place if you move out?”
“Yeah, but I meant emotionally. I can’t try this new thing—this living situation, my new artist life—with you gone. I need you around for me to try new things.”
John squeezed me. “We’re going to talk all the time, I promise. Even with me on the other side of the country, I’m still here for you.”
“It’s different. You know it’s going to be different.”
He nodded. “I know. Part of the reason I don’t want you to move out is because I don’t want you in some other place for the time we have left.”
A tear escaped my eye. “We’ll hang out all the time.”
“Of course.” We both knew it was a lie, but we pretended it wasn’t. Quietly, John helped me pack.
* * *
The next day, I loaded up my car with all the nonessentials I was keeping and drove it across the bridge. Kris was at work, like most people were on a Friday. I picked up a key from her at her office, then shoved boxes into my room and headed home to a mostly empty room in Oakland. After teaching Saturday and Sunday morning, I stuffed my car with the last of my things, said a tearful good-bye to John and Ollie, and made the drive again. Even though it was Sunday, Kris was around for less than an hour. She lugged my heavier boxes up the stairs, then went back to work for the rest of the move. After dropping my unpacked car back in Oakland and taking a noisy train into San Francisco, I was in my plush new room, all my possessions in boxes around me. I was also completely alone in the house and not ready for the silence. It was never really silent in my old apartment. The walls were thin, the pipes a chorus of sounds, and the street noise never far away. Plus, half the time I could hang out with John and/or Ollie, just by sticking my head out of my room. But this place? It was really, terribly, horribly quiet.
I felt very lonely. I texted John, even as I knew he and Ollie were having their “no phones” Sunday dinner. I texted Meghan, knowing that she and Bill were likely at trivia night at their favorite bar. I texted Sasha, who invited me to a musical movie night sing-along she was having with her housemates, something that did not appeal to me at all. I thought about my old coworkers and debated reaching out, even though I wasn’t actually close to any of them. I thought about other aerialists I knew, but again, there was no one I was close enough with to randomly text at 8:47 on a Sunday night. I wanted to ask Kris when she’d be home, but that was not the spirit of our agreement.
What did lonely people do on Sunday nights in empty houses? I changed into pajamas and plodded downstairs to enjoy the fancy living room and its television. I made popcorn and poured myself a soda. After five minutes of channel surfing, though, I realized why the house didn’t look lived in. It was eerie to be so alone in such a perfect-looking place, to have so much beautiful space to yourself in a crowded city. It felt like the beginning of a horror movie. I took my snacks back to my room, opened my computer, and put on season two of Buffy.
I ate popcorn in my fluffy new bed and rewatched my favorite episodes, but the lonely feeling did not abate. I kept listening for the door, hoping Kris was home, but I never heard her. I zoned out with my show and fell asleep. When my alarm woke me at seven, my laptop was dead and I had popcorn in my hair.
I got up to a house that still seemed empty. Kris’s door was closed, but there was no evidence of her. Downstairs I found a note that said, “Welcome! Sorry I couldn’t be there yesterday. I’m off to work. The car’s in the garage. See you tonight.” I made coffee and had some cereal, and wandered out to the patio. It was only a little chilly, and I wrapped myself in one of the many blankets from the living room. All the loneliness from the night before disappeared when I sat outside in my new yard. Maybe everything would be fine.
I went about my day as best I could, with no more word from Kris. Everyone returned my texts. I felt loved by my friends, a feeling I appreciated as I rushed between three different studios. I was completely in the zone as I taught, and my students were excited and attentive. After I was done with work, I threw together a stir-fry and unpacked a little.
At eight o’clock, I sat down in the living room. My palms were sweaty and I couldn’t get comfortable. I kept looking at my phone aimlessly. Five minutes later, Kris walked in the front door.
“Hi,” I chirped.
“Hi.”
“Where have you been?” I sounded needier than I meant to be.
“Working.” She shrugged. “What have you been up to?”
“Moving, aerials, you know.” Damn, this was awkward. “So, are we going to…?”
Kris laughed. “Maybe we should start a little slower.” She sat next to me. “Are you all moved in?”
“All my stuff is here, but I’m not unpacked. I’m selling my car this week, and then I’ll be totally out of Oakland.”
“So, are you liking it?”
I chewed on my lip. “Honestly? It’s awesome, but last night when I was here by myself, I got completely freaked out. It’s weird here alone.”
She nodded. “I basically live in my room. I didn’t live alone until I was twenty-six, and then I lived in a tiny studio. I didn’t think about what I’d do with all this space by myself.”
“So why did you buy a three-bedroom house? Why live alone?”
She leaned back on the couch. “It was always my dream, you know, owning a home. I got to the point of my life where I could buy a house, and I looked for a long time. My agent told me about this place before it was even listed and I made an offer the minute I saw it. The location was perfect, and I knew it could be amazing. I felt like an adult buying this place. But then I moved in and it was uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t want to move out, but I didn’t feel like I could have anybody else live here either. Adults live alone, or they live with a partner, their kids. I was too old to be living with roommates, and I didn’t need the money anyway. The thing is, I’d liked living alone in a studio, so I never thought I wouldn’t like living alone in a house.”
“A giant house,” I pointed out.
“Giant for San Francisco. Not for anywhere else.”
“Giant for one person, anywhere,” I said.
“True.”
“Can I ask you something? Did you buy this thinking, you know, that you were going to meet somebody, get married, have kids, that kind of thing?”
Kris scratched her head. “No. It was in terrible shape and I was thinking about fixing it up, not who I’d want to live in it with me.”
My forehead wrinkled in spite of my efforts to stay casual. “Are you, like, opposed to that?”
“I just haven’t really thought about it in a long time. When I think about my future, I think about my professional life.”
“Don’t you worry, though, about being alone?”
“I’m not alone. I work with great people. I have friends, and I almost always have play partners. I have parents and a brother and a sister and two nephews and a niece, even though I don’t see them much. I have people.”
I folded my legs up into a pretzel. “I ask because I always worry about that, about being alone.”
“Because it’s important to you to get married and have kids?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not. I’m not against the idea, but that’s not my dream. It’s more like a compulsion. When I’m single, I worry about meeting someone, and when I have a girlfriend, I worry about moving our relationship along. But when I try to imagine the most perfect future possible, it’s all about living as a performer, being creative, things like that. Not about being a mom or a wife.”
“Why do you think that you worry so much about something if it’s not really your dream?”
“Your career doesn’t love you back, no matter how good it is. Talent doesn’t keep you warm at night.”
Kris leaned toward me. “I know I don’t know you that well yet, Phoenix, but I need to tell you something. Your career might not love you, but there’s no guarantee about anyone’s love. Doing things that matter to you, that you feel good about, can give you confidence and pride and self-worth. Your work can make you happy. People tell women it can’t, but they’re lying. I’m happy with my life, even when I’m lonely, because I love what I do. You can have that too.”
I looked at my lap. In every relationship I’d ever had, I’d prioritized keeping my girlfriend around over, well, everything else. And it had never worked. It had, however, drained my savings when I helped keep Ronnie afloat during a few months when she spent more time lighting up than working, which probably kept me in a nine-to-five half a year longer than I otherwise would have been. It certainly wore down my sexual confidence when certain exes rejected my kinks, but I stayed anyway. And I missed more beginning aerials classes than I could remember thanks to processing sessions with Carolena.
“So if you’re so happy,” I said, “why exactly am I here again?”
She gave me an unhappy look. “Because of something we both wanted, remember?”
“What’s that?” I played dumb.
“You’re being a brat,” she said.
“You like brats.”
“Not exactly. Now might not be the right time for it, but what I like about brats is stripping them, hitting them, fucking them, and making them do what I say.”
Heat rose up my face. “Who said now isn’t the right time for it?”
Kris looked at her watch. “We have plenty of time. But you seemed nervous.”
I batted my lashes. “Maybe I needed some convincing.”
She smiled. “Let’s start slow.”
“How exactly?”
“Take off your clothes.”
I stood and pulled off my T-shirt without a word. I wiggled out of my yoga pants. My heart racing, I unclasped my bra and dropped it to the floor.
“All the way,” she said.
I slid my panties down my legs and stepped out of them. I stood in front of her, completely exposed, as she watched me.
“Are you ready?”
I nodded.
“Give me a color.”
“Green,” I said.
She reached up and pinched both my nipples, hard. I startled, and Kris looked at me cautiously.
“Green,” I said again.
“Good, pretty girl. Now go upstairs. It’s time for your first chore.”
I walked up the stairs with Kris following close behind me. We got to her room and she handed me the hamper. “Every week, you need to wash the clothes. You’ll also need to clean each room except mine, wash all dishes every night except on Saturdays, and cook three dinners a week, along with buying groceries and any other household items we need. On Sundays, I’ll examine your work. If you haven’t done your job, I’ll obviously punish you.”
“Of course,” I said.
Kris smiled and pulled me close. She kissed me, soft and sweet. Then she twisted one of my nipples again. “Take that laundry downstairs and get to work.”
I trudged the hamper down the stairs and loaded the washer. When I glanced behind me, Kris was there, blatantly staring at my bare ass.
“Good. Now, down the hall.” I did as I was told. In the lavender room, I waited as she rummaged through drawers and then settled into a chair.
“Turn around,” she said. I walked in a slow circle until my back faced her. She dug her fingernails into my hips and pulled me to her. Kris fastened one fabric cuff on my right wrist and held the other with her hand.
Her face was inches from my lower back, her breath warm on my spine. “I’m going to tie you up and play with you. I’ll try a lot of things on you. When I ask you, you’ll tell me what you liked and what you didn’t. Your only job is to take it and then to answer honestly. Don’t pretend for me. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good girl.” She grabbed the thick fabric hanging from my right wrist and led me to the eye hook. I saw that she had already rigged for this. When did she do this? I wondered what she had planned as she looped the restraint through the rope she’d hung. Once it was secured, she ordered both my arms above my head and tightened the other cuff around my left wrist.
“Too tight?”
“No, it’s good.” My voice had become smaller, higher than usual.
“Wiggle your arms. Fingers too.” I obeyed. “Good, your arms aren’t locked. Is the height all right?”
“A bit lower.”
She adjusted the strap on the restraint. “Don’t lock your knees. If you can’t keep standing, tell me and I’ll untie you. Don’t push yourself.” Kris showed me a large floor cushion, mine for the kneeling if I needed it. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” With that, she smacked me, open-palmed, on the ass. I squealed in obvious surprise, and she grinned.
“Wait until you see what’s in store for you.” She laughed.
What was in store for me? First, some gentle thwaps from a flogger, warming up my back, my butt, the backs of my thighs. It felt like a caress, like a massage from the leather. I relaxed.
“Scale of one to ten,” she said, “with ten being the most humanly possible, how much do you like this?”
“A seven,” I said.
“I think we can do better than seven,” she said. The next thing I heard was the sharp whoosh of a riding crop. I felt its concentrated sting on the fleshiest part of my backside. My breath caught in my throat. As slow and tender as Kris had been with the flogger, she was merciless with the crop. She hit my legs and ass a dozen times in rapid-fire succession. The speed of the hits made it impossible for my nerve endings to keep up. I wrapped my hands around the fabric that bound me and squeezed.
“Give it a number,” she said.
“Three,” I said through gritted teeth.
Just as the sting became too much, she stopped. “Your skin’s so red now.” She soothed my inflamed skin with her fingertips. She traced the marks she’d made on my skin, so sensitive to her careful touch. Once in a while, she pressed deep and gave me a start, only to rub it away with the lightest massage a moment later.
“Number?”
“Eight.”
Then she got out the paddle.
We went on like this, alternating soothing and pain, inching up the edge of what I could take and then backing away. I lost all sense of time in this play. Kris experimented with the heaviness of her hand, with the instruments, with the angle, with the points of impact. She raked her short nails over my body, stroked me back to equilibrium, and then began it all again. Despite the strength of my shoulders and arms, I eventually couldn’t stand with my arms tied above my head. Kris untied me and bound my arms behind me as I knelt. She used this opportunity to dabble with clamps on my nipples, screwing them tighter and releasing them, then flicking and teasing the swollen results.
Even that was too much over time, but I was so deep in my submission I could only slump. Nothing else existed as she made contact with my skin. The sensation, the silence of the room, her dominance over me, all became absolute and complete. I felt—not broken down exactly, but cracked open, raw and spilled out.
“Are you okay?” she asked when I sank into the cushion.
I mumbled something incoherent.
Kris released me, freeing my nipples from the clamps, then my wrists. Gingerly, she helped me to the bed.
“Water?” she asked.
I nodded. I took a huge gulp from the bottle she handed me. Slowly, I came back to myself. “Whoa,” I said. “Intense.”
“How are you?”
“I’m good. I’m…I’ve never gone so deep into it before.”
“Did I go too hard on you?”
“No. This was good. This is what I wanted.” It was true even though I had not known, before this, that it was what I wanted.
“I tried to take it slow,” she said.
“It was perfect.” I took another long drink of water. I glanced at the clock. Our time was more than up.
“We didn’t have sex.”
Kris laughed. “Do you want to?”
“Not right this minute.” I realized that I was so slick that I was practically dripping on the bed. It would be my job to clean it, I mused.
“Want to try for tomorrow?”
“Not just try. I want you to fuck me. I want…” Suddenly, I felt my complete nakedness. “I want you to. Please.”
Kris cupped my face in her hands. “I’d love to.” She kissed me, as sweetly as before. She stroked my hair, helped me get dressed, and promised me a list of chores to do. I put the laundry in the dryer, and she told me she’d be thinking of me, undressed and cleaning her house, all day.
But as soon as she said it, she rushed off to her room. Once again, I was essentially alone in a big, empty house.