She nodded and smiled.
“Some people are not able to make mental sense of a sex only relationship. These types of people are not for me. If there is an emotional attachment, or any expectation, things seem to fall apart. If I see, up front, that this is what a person is apt to expect…I will not allow myself to continue. It’s not fair to either one of us. I know my abilities, my capacities, and what my hopes are. I have no expectations. Expectations of others are never met, and that leads to being let down, being disappointed, and being hurt. Living, for me, with hope instead of expectation allows me to keep myself safe. Does that make sense so far?”
She smiled, and nodded her head once, slowly. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder, I continued to speak.
“My father died when I was young. I grew up here, in Wichita without a father. I lived modestly, on the north side, and went to a private school. I was extremely intelligent, but rebellious. I ended up going to school for about thirteen years, all told, and became a psychiatrist. After school, I took a year to relax and ride my motorcycle, which is something I truly enjoy. In the first month or so after graduating, my mother was killed by a drunk driver,” I inhaled, and started to continue.
“Oh, Erik, I am so sorry,” She said softly, reaching toward my hand.
I raised my hand from the table, and held my index finger in the air. “Don’t be sorry. It’s certainly not your fault. Things, all things, happen for a reason. I am a firm believer in that. My point is this. I suspect that I am well aware of why I am the way that I am. Why I do not value woman as others do. Why I am incapable of a relationship, commitment, or marriage. Having experienced the loss that I have experienced, especially early in life - combined with being an only child, I fear being abandoned. My non-committal sexual lifestyle is my shield, my protection, my assurance that I will always be in charge of me, and no one has the ability or the authority to harm me,” I raised my coffee, and took another sip.
“So, here’s the thing. Now I am speaking of
you,
and not in general,” I said as I placed my coffee back on the table.
“Okay, I am ready, let’s hear it,” she said as she placed her chin in her hand.
Her blue eyes were piercing. Hypnotized somewhat by her eyes and the stark contrast with her black hair, I regained my thoughts and began to speak, “I am dominant, sexually. In life, through the course of the day, doing day-to-day activities, I am like any other male you will ever meet. Actually, I am considerably better. I am tactful, respectful, articulate, considerate, kind, romantic, and compassionate. But, I am not dominant. Not in life, just in sex. In sex, Kelli, I will accept nothing short of commitment on behalf of my partners. A commitment to be willing to receive and understand my desires, and an honest effort to fulfill them.”
“Are you violent?” she asked.
“No, not in any form, ever.”
“Abusive?”
“Never.”
“Wow, sounds like a dream come true,” she responded.
“Everyone thinks that, Kelli. At least they do initially. It isn’t something that is done half-assed. It’s a trust, a trust that’s developed. With some, it takes considerable time. With others, it takes a matter of minutes. But, contrary to the opinion of the vanilla people that occupy the majority of this earth, it is not a bark on command relationship. At least not for me. It’s a relationship that is discussed, the two parties decide the limitations, and those limitations are adhered to. What both parties are comfortable with will be on the list of possibilities. If we’re
both
not comfortable with it, regardless of my desire to have it, it will never be asked for. Not by me,” I paused and waited for her to speak.
“Just like I said before. Dream. Come. True,” she paused and took a drink of her coffee.
“Kelli, I intend on owning you. Know that.”
“Excuse me?” she asked quickly.
“
Own you
, Kelli,” she looked at me, puzzled, and I continued, “Not own in a sense of you being my property, Kelli. Own as in something I have
earned
. I intend to ruin you. Provide you with feelings and levels of satisfaction that you have never seen. Satisfaction that you will never, in my absence, see again. This level of satisfaction, this degree of feeling…it will ruin you. Ruin you from ever being satisfied by another man the way I satisfy you. Once you realize that you’re ruined, I will
own
you.”
“Wow. Confident much?” she asked, smiling.
“Actually, yes. I am probably the most confident man you’ll ever meet. But, I am confident for a reason. Because I
know
. I know my capacities. I know my abilities. I am not, in any respect, arrogant. I am confident,” I began to stand from my seat.
“Are we leaving?” she asked, looking around the coffee shop.
“No, we’re not leaving. I want you to go the restroom, Kelli, and remove your hoodie. Come back out here without it on, do you understand me?” I said in a commanding but soft spoken tone.
“I thought you weren’t dominant in day-to-day activities,” she stated, raising an eyebrow. She stood from her seat, and placed her coffee on the table.
“I’m not. I didn’t
tell
you to do it, I
asked
you. There’s a small difference. I told you what I wished that you’d do. Now
you
decide what to do on your own,” I hadn’t quite finished speaking when she started going to the restroom.
She emerged from the restroom in a matter of a few minutes, her hoodie draped over her arm. She wore an orange ribbed tank, and what appeared to be a sports bra underneath. Her nipples, beneath the bra and the shirt, were erect and quite apparent. The shirt hugged her skin. Her stomach flat, and her legs tan from the early summer sun, she walked to the table. Her posture was near perfect, and her walk defined her attitude. A desire to please the person that she was mentally committed to.
“It’s sure nice outside,” she said as she sat down.
“Yes, it is,” I responded as I sat back into my stool.
I leaned across the table, and motioned with my finger for her to come closer. As I did, she leaned toward me. I moved her hair away from her ear, and spoke softly, my lips almost touching her ear.
“Kelli, who is going to own you?” I asked.
“You are,” she whispered back, without moving.
“Kelli, when I ask you to do something, something sexual, what will you do?” I whispered into her ear.
“Do it,” she responded, quickly and quietly.
“Kelli, will you ever disappoint me?”
“No. Never.”
She leaned away from me and looked up like I had asked her to murder someone.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“I’m just asking, Kelli. Do not ever intentionally disappoint me, do you understand me?”
“Yes. Yes, sir.”
“I like that.”
“Like what?” she asked, smiling. “That I won’t disappoint you?”
“No, Kelli. The ‘sir’,” I responded, still leaning in her direction.
“Oh. I love saying that to you. It just comes out. Kind of natural,” she said. “I said it the other day at the dealership, as you were leaving. It just kind of slipped out.”
“I didn’t even notice,” I lied.
“Kelli, I am going to crawl inside your head. Are you ready?”
“Yes. Yes, sir. I am,” she said as she leaned her stool back, rocking it on its rear legs.
Her tone of voice, her body language, and her eye movements made it obvious that she was extremely comfortable with this situation, with me, and with the rate that this was progressing. There was something about her that I liked. Something more than the excitement of this being
new
. I was in tune with my feelings well enough to know this, something with her was different. Time would tell me what it was.
“Okay, Kelli. Listen, I have a commitment this morning. I have to ride in a fundraiser. A girl has cancer. The motorcycle club I ride with is doing a poker run to raise money for her family. I have to go do this. What are your thoughts on you and I doing something tonight. Say, hanging out, maybe going out and eating?” I asked from across the table.
Continuing to rock back and forth in her chair, she sat the legs onto the floor, and responded, “Sounds great, I have no plans. You ride in a motorcycle club? Like that show on T.V.? And what’s a poker run?”
“Well, kind of. We’re not outlaws, were a group of guys that ride together in a club. Everyone is a member. We wear
colors
, or identifying vests and jackets with the club insignia, if you will. And, a poker run is an organized motorcycle ride. You ride to five different locations, and at each location, you pick up a playing card from a deck of cards, at random. At the end, you turn your five random cards in to the judges. The judges determine who has received the best poker hand, from the random cards each rider has received,” I took a breath and continued.
“There’s a fee to ride in it, and anywhere from 200 people to 3000 people show up, depending on the cause and the event. The money from the proceeds received goes to a donation. This time it goes to a little ten year old girl that has developed cancer.”
“Oh my God. That’s sad. The little girl. It’s good that you do that, I suppose. Sounds fun. And kind of exciting,” she said, as she looked out the window at the motorcycle.
“Well, I am going to meet the rest of the group up at the gas station, let’s say I will call you around six o’clock, how’s that?”
“Sounds great. I’m going to sit here and read for a bit,” she said as she reached into her purse and retrieved a Kindle.
“What are you reading?” I asked. I always liked knowing what types of books people read. It told a lot about them.
“
Broken People
. It’s a freaking masterpiece. This is the third time I have read it. I’m highlighting quotes in it,” she responded as she powered the Kindle on.
“Haven’t heard of it,” I said as I reached into my pocket for my keys.
“You have to read it, it’s the most powerful, moving, and inspiring book I have ever read. It’s a novel, but it reads like something that could be so true. It’s about five different people, and how their lives tie together. They’re all broken in some respect. And, in the end, they all come together. It’ll make you cry,” she said, holding the Kindle up, showing me the cover.
“I doubt that,” I said, holding my arms out for a hug.
She stepped from her chair, and put her arms around me and gave me a hug as if she actually enjoyed it. Nothing, to me, was worse than a hug from someone who did not have their heart in it. Hers was heartfelt. As we broke from the embrace, I spoke.
“Six o’clock”
“Read the book, Erik. And I will be ready,” she responded.
“Broken People got it. Author?”
“Scott Hildreth,” she responded.
“Ok, I will,” I will see you later this evening, Kelli.
Walking to the bike, I began to wonder just what it was going to take to break this girl’s spirit. I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.
KELLI.
Rubbing lotion on my legs always made me smile. I worked hard to keep my legs in this type of shape, even though running was difficult for me, and I always ran. Eventually, I ended up with shin splints, but I kept running, even with the pain. I often wondered if there was something wrong with me, because the pain seemed to motivate me. Working the lotion up my thighs, I flexed my butt muscles as I rubbed in the lotion. My butt felt so good in my hands.
I loved the smel
l of lotions and soaps, and smelling lotion from Bed Bath and Beyond almost brought me to climax. I could remember what public places had the best soap, based on the smell. I always smelled my hands after I washed them in public.
My legs, thighs, ass, and pussy were so smooth. I shaved with a two day old five-bladed razor. I loved shaving with a fairly new razor. New razors always seemed to eventually cut me, but when one was a just a few days old, I loved the feeling afterward. Rubbing in the last of the lotion, I thought of Erik, and what he might think if he were to feel my legs tonight. I began to think of him, as my fingers slid up the inner part of my thigh. I felt a tingle, and I could feel the blood beginning to rush....Jesus, it was getting hot in here. I itched for him. I couldn’t take it anymore. His text message with the list of suggestions was getting to me.
Right before I had left the coffee shop, he had sent me a text with a series of questions. His text, initially, kind of freaked me out, but the more I read it, the more it kind of turned me on. I imagined that he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he did it for a reason. His text was long and had a series of questions. As I read them, I got really uncomfortable that I was as comfortable with the questions as I was.