Being in love was the best. It really was. Simone wondered why she didn’t fall in love more often. Her skin was clear. She had a spring in her step. A cab had nearly run over her just that morning, and she’d only laughed and sashayed away. Nothing could hurt her. She was in love. She was bulletproof. Above the skyscrapers the sky was cerulean blue. The birds were singing arias in Central Park. New York was a city of magic and light, and she couldn’t wait to leave it as soon as humanly possible.
And though she considered herself a feminist in every way, shape and form, she found it unbearably fun to write “Simone Levine Waters” on every single scrap of paper that happened to pass in front of her. But she always threw them away before anyone saw.
Although it did have a nice ring to it…
And things kept getting better. The booking she had for next week—a three-day stint in the Hamptons to photograph a bridal shower, high tea, wedding reception, and the wedding, had been canceled. The bride had dumped the groom and run off with his best friend. It was a massive clusterfuck; everyone was freaking out, deposits were been forfeited and tearful phone calls were being made, and Simone couldn’t stop smiling. She wasn’t heartless, but this meant she could go back and see Jason again in two days. Two days! Two days too long but still better than the two weeks she’d been thinking it might be.
Plus, better to find out before the wedding that the bride had the hots for the best man than after, right? It all worked out in the end.
Simone bought two days of groceries and took them back to her apartment. She’d always liked her place, small and cramped as it was. She’d decorated it with shabby chic white wicker furniture with lacy white curtains and a pink dust ruffle on her full-size white bed. The living room was frilly, too, painted white with a framed poster of a rainbow over her fake fireplace mantel that hadn’t worked since before World War I. As cozy as she’d made it, there was no denying it was a single gal’s apartment. There was barely room enough for her in the minuscule galley kitchen, much less two.
As cute as it was, Simone didn’t want to spend the rest of her life living alone in a tiny one-bedroom apartment, even if it did have an exposed brick wall and the original crown molding. She was ready for a change, ready for a serious relationship that was going somewhere. A home. A partner in life. Maybe kids someday. She hadn’t even realized how much she wanted it until Jason had offered her a glimpse of a future with him in Kentucky.
Simone hadn’t just bought groceries while she was out and about. She’d stopped in at a bookstore and picked up a travel guide to Kentucky. Seemed like a nice enough place to live, bit conservative but she’d loved shocking the straights, so why not? Kentucky had two big cities—Louisville and Lexington—and good airports. Two hours on a plane would get her to Orlando. Two hours on a plane would get her back to NYC. Perfect. Plus, she did like the horses. It appeared there was an entire industry down there dedicated to equine photography. She could do that. If she owned a horse she’d want a picture of it hanging on her wall. Who wouldn’t?
“You’ve lost your mind, Simone,” she said to herself as she put away her groceries. She’d told herself she could call Jason with the good news but only after she’d put the pint of Ben & Jerry’s Urban Bourbon in the freezer. Jason was important, but he wouldn’t melt.
But she hadn’t lost her mind, she knew. What she’d lost was her heart. The second Jason had given her permission to fall madly in love with him, she had. And the best part was…she wasn’t scared. Not a bit. Because Jason was such a good man—steady, strong and stable—that she knew it was safe to love him. Maybe things wouldn’t work out. Maybe they wouldn’t end up married with kids and living happily ever after on his farm. But she knew in her heart that if things didn’t work out, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying, lack of love or lack of basic human decency.
Finally, Simone finished putting everything away. She went to her bedroom, threw herself down on the covers and called Jason. Usually they texted during the day and he called her at night before they both went to sleep but this was a special occasion. Plus, she needed to make sure he’d be home during her days off. She was his good little slave, after all. She wouldn’t do anything without permission first.
Jason picked up after only two rings.
“Hello, sir,” she said.
“Hey,” Jason said.
Hey? Not Hey, Spanky? Or Hello, baby? Just hey?
“Is this a bad time?” Simone asked.
“Ah, well, my sister and the girls are here. We’re about to go for a ride.”
Mystery solved. There were vanilla family members afoot. That’s why he was playing it so cool.
“Right this second? This won’t take long.”
“Go on.”
“I had a cancellation. A big one. So now I have a week off between gigs. I have a reception tonight, a christening tomorrow and then I can leave on Monday to come see you. I could stay five whole days. Would that work?”
There followed a pause, a long one. Simone tensed.
“I need to get the flights if that works,” she said. “But if you need to check your calendar or something—”
“Well, it’s like I said. My sister and the girls are here.”
“I’d love to meet them.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You don’t think your girlfriend should meet your sister and her kids?”
“The girls are little, only six. I don’t know if…I mean, they’re too young to know about certain things.”
“Jason, I’m not going walk around the house in a corset and nothing else if other people are there. Or talk about what my favorite floggers are with your sister. I have manners, you know.”
“I know, I know,” he said and sighed. “It’s just…complicated.”
“Are you ashamed of me?” she asked. She sat up and pulled her knees into her chest.
“No. It’s not that. It’s not that at all.”
“Then what is it? You asked me to be your girlfriend. You used that word—‘girlfriend.’ I thought that’s what I was. And I thought meeting family members was a pretty normal part of being a girlfriend. If your sister is really religious or something, I get it. I can sleep on the couch if she’s uncomfortable with you having me in your bedroom with her kids in the house.”
“Not much point in you coming to visit if you have to sleep on the couch.”
“I don’t know. We don’t have to have sex all the time. I just wanted to see you, hang out with you. Even kinky people like curling up on the couch and watching Disney movies.”
Simone was suddenly sick to her stomach, sick to her heart. Tears pricked her ears. “Are you having second thoughts about us?” she asked.
“Simone, I—”
“You are.”
“I just…there’s two little girls in the house, and I can’t help but think about how I want to have kids of my own someday and—”
“I want kids, too. I always have.”
“I’m having trouble with the idea of being who I am with you and then, you know, looking my nieces in the eyes. Or my own girls someday if I have them.”
“Kinky people are allowed to have families,” she said. “They’re just like vanilla couples. They don’t have sex in front of their kids. Adults are allowed private lives. Even parents.”
“Can you maybe give me a little more time to think about this?”
“You said we’d cross this bridge when we came to it,” Simone said. “Those were your words. Now we’re at the bridge, and you’re telling me you don’t want to cross it?”
“Please,” he said. “Can I just have a little time to figure out if this is right for me?”
Simone wanted to say “yes.” She wanted to say he should take all the time that he needed. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t let him sit there and think there was something gross or wrong or weird or creepy about what they were. Yes, she loved him, but no, she was not going to let him treat her like some sort of deviant who had to be kept away from children and gentle ladies.
“No,” Simone said. “You either accept that there’s nothing wrong with what you and I both are and you do it right now or you end it with me like a man. What’ll it be?”
“Simone, all I asked for was a little time. I told you there’s a lot of little kids that look up to me and—”
“There is nothing wrong with what you and I do alone together in private.”
“Tell that to the world.”
“No, because it’s none of the world’s fucking business,” she said. “I gave my answer. No, you don’t get more time to decide if I’m a decent person or not. You do not. Not one minute. Not one second. Because I am a good person and so are you. At least I thought so before this conversation.”
“You’re awfully demanding for a slave,” he said.
“And you’re pretty weak-willed for a master,” she said and ended the call before she said anything else she regretted.
She stared at her phone in her hand. Had that phone call really happened? Did Jason actually tell her he didn’t want her around his little nieces?
Too stunned to cry, too shocked to move, Simone sat on the edge of her bed for what felt like hours. Only when the alarm on her phone buzzed obnoxiously, warning her she had to leave for her job tonight did she get herself moving again. The job. The gig. Photographing the wedding reception. Right. Simone focused on her work because if she didn’t, she would collapse in tears on the floor and there’d be no getting her up again.
The reception was a casual affair being held at The 8th Circle, the kink club where the couple had met and Simone occasionally worked. The wife, Tessa, was a rope bunny and a bondage fetish model. She and her husband Eric wanted some fun, classy bondage pictures of the two of them together for an album they were planning on calling “Tying the Knot.” Simone changed out of her jeans and t-shirt and into a little black corset dress and high heels. She gathered all her equipment and hailed a cab.
Half an hour later Simone was at the club. The reception was being held in one of the large dungeon spaces. A table was stacked high with a black wedding cake, fresh fruit, cheese and wine. Electric votive candles burned inside dozens of Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Someone had even strung pretty Christmas lights from the suspension beams. It was all very sweet and lovely and romantic, and it made Simone want to find the nearest bathroom and throw up for an hour.
But she didn’t. She pasted on a fake smile, mingled with the guests, laughed during the X-rated toasts, and took fantastic photographs of Eric tying up Tessa, suspending her from the ceiling beams, and feeding her cake and kissing her all while she was upside down, Spiderman-style.
When they finished with pictures, Simone decided to fake a stomach ailment and bid everyone a very early goodnight. She was just about to leave when she heard a laugh, a familiar laugh, big, sexy and brassy. Simone turned around and saw her friend Mistress Nora standing in the doorway of the dungeon. She was talking to Tessa, the bride, and giving her a gift, a square black box wrapped in a red ribbon.
“It’s a human head,” Nora was saying to Tessa as Simone came up to them.
It was such a relief to see Nora, Simone’s knees wobbled. As soon as Nora spied her, she threw her arms around Simone.
“What are you doing here?” Simone asked the beautiful, black-haired woman she hadn’t seen in months.
“You know I’ll take any excuse to come back to New York. What’s up? You look paler than usual, kid,” Nora said.
As much as Simone wanted to tell Nora everything, she knew there was nothing the woman could do but commiserate. What she needed was to speak to a man about this, a man who might understand Jason’s fears. Simone sure as hell didn’t get it.
“I know this sounds weird,” Simone said, “but would it be okay if I called Mister S and talked to him? I’m having master trouble.”
“Ooh,” Nora said, as she picked up her wine glass off the table. “Master trouble is the worst sort of trouble to have. But I wouldn’t call him if I were you.”
“Why not?” Simone asked.
Nora pointed with her wine glass at the tall, blond, imposing man striding down the hallway toward them. He wore a black suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie.
“Because he’s right there,” Nora said. “He’s my date.”
Simone kissed her on the cheek quickly and ran out into the hall. As soon as Mister S saw her, he smiled.
“Hello, Jellybean,” he said. “It’s been too long. How are you?”
Simone looked up at him and swallowed hard.
“I…” It was as far as she got.
Simone burst into tears and collapsed against him.
He put his arms around her and held her close as she wept loudly and long against his chest.
“Ah,” he said. “Memories.”
That made her laugh when she thought nothing could. Yes, she had cried for him a few times when he’d broken her into a million lovely little pieces during a session. Cathartic tears. Happy tears. Laughing tears. Not like these tears. Not brokenhearted tears.
“I need to talk to you,” Simone said. “Please?”
“Let’s find a room,” he said. He guided her down the hall until they found an empty room. He sat in a large leather armchair beside a gas fireplace. Simone threw a pillow on the floor at his feet and knelt there, her head in his lap, his hands in her hair.
“Tell me everything,” he commanded softly.
She told him.