I stretched my legs out, quickly realizing Luke was right. I had been sitting in the same spot with my calves scrunched into the backs of my thighs for longer than I had thought. I wrinkled my nose and squinted as I rubbed my thighs with my hands.
“And I’m grateful to have you in mine. Are you alright?”
“I think I sat there for too long. My legs are killing me,” I said as I tried to stand.
“Here,” he said a she shook the sand from the towel. “Lay down. I’ll rub them.”
As he knelt down between my feet and rubbed my legs free of cramps, I watched the sun slowly melt into the ocean. As the sky turned to the most beautiful shades of oranges, deep blues and pinks, I realized Luke could see the same colors I saw, and it saddened me.
“What color do you see when you look at the sunset?”
He stopped rubbing my legs. “Orange and blue.”
“No pink?” I asked.
“I don’t see any,” he said.
“So you still see most of the colors in the sunset, just not all of them?”
“I don’t see them the same as you see them. But I see them,” he said.
“Is it beautiful?” I asked.
“It sure is,” he said.
His hand softly gripped my shoulder and he carefully turned me from my stomach onto my back. He brushed his hair from his eyes and held his hand in place to keep it from falling down again. As our eyes met, he grinned. “And so are you.”
He leaned into me and kissed me fully, removing the memory of the sunset and replacing it with a new one. One of him kissing me on the beach as the sun set in front of us.
As he kissed me, I realized I was in a relationship with him. It just wasn’t something a person could put a conventional label on.
And, for the time being, I wanted nothing to change.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LUKE
She opened the door and stepped aside. “Come in, Sir. I didn’t want to ruin it at the beach, so I didn’t say anything. Well, that and I wanted to do some more research first.”
“Sir? Where the hell did that come from? Research? And what the fuck is that around your neck?”
She was wearing jeans, black heels, and a tight-fitting black button-down top. None of her clothing seemed too out of place – at least not for her. The wide black leather studded strap around her neck, however, did.
She motioned toward the living room. “I’ll be in the living room, Sir.”
I stepped past her and walked into the kitchen, my eyes remaining locked on her ridiculous leather necklace until I was half way to the refrigerator. “I need a yogurt. And what the fuck with the sir shit?”
I searched through the flavors of yogurt, looking for coconut. After determining there was none, I grabbed a cherry and shut the refrigerator door. “And why’s your hair up like that?”
“It’s called a tendril. It’s sexy. I did it for you,” she responded from the other room.
I grabbed a spoon and walked into the living room. As I entered, she was pacing back and forth across the living room floor. I stopped, pressed my hands against my hips, and shook my head. “What in the hell is going on?”
Some women looked like fools as they attempted to walk in heels. Others looked sophisticated, placing one foot directly in front of the other, their posture and their gait elegant as they took each well-placed step.
Liv was the latter.
She continued as I sat down. I peeled the foil top off of the yogurt, licked it, and shoved the spoon into the container.
Slowly, she paced the length of the room, gazing down at the floor as she walked past.
I lifted the spoon to my mouth.
“Luke, I am a submissive.”
I coughed out a laugh, and along with it came half of the yogurt. After wiping the chunks of yogurt from my legs, the couch, and my shorts, I cocked an eyebrow and cleared my throat.
“Liv, stop pacing!” I demanded.
She stopped.
I motioned to the couch beside me. “Sit down.”
She sat down on the opposite end of the couch. Although her hair was in complete contrast to her studded leather fuck-me-necklace, it looked elegant nonetheless. With her hands placed on each knee and her eyes fixed straight ahead, she sat in a statuesque pose. I studied her. She looked quite beautiful. The studded leather, attitude, labeling me Sir, and her claim of being a submissive meant someone or something convinced her she was submissive.
I gave an exaggerated sigh, finished my yogurt, and turned to face her.
“Spill it,” I said dryly.
She reached up and delicately tapped the bun with her palm. “What?”
“Stop the act, you little weirdo. What is going on? And why are you wearing that strap on your neck?”
“It’s a collar,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Like a dog?”
“No, like a submissive.”
“Who have you been talking to?”
“I don’t need to talk to anyone to embrace who I truly am.”
I cleared my throat. “Liv, have you talked to anyone about what we’ve been doing?”
With her hands still on her knees, she stared straight ahead. After a short moment, she turned her head to the side and made eye contact with me.
I glared back at her.
She lowered her head. “Yes.”
“Who?”
She sighed. “Chloe.”
“The girl you said was a slut? The one you called the other day?”
“Uh huh.”
“And she told you that you were a submissive?”
“No.” She pressed her forearms against her thighs and slumped forward. “I took a test.”
I stood up, peered down at her, and shook my head. “At the submissive school?”
I walked to the kitchen, tossed my yogurt container into the trash, and placed my spoon in the dishwasher. As I walked into the living room, I began to chuckle at the thought of her state of mind.
There were many things that made Liv attractive to me. The biggest one was that Liv was just Liv. Sitting on the couch with her shoulders slumped and her mouth in full pout mode, the studded leather collar looked slightly more out of place.
But, all things considered, she was adorable.
I sat down on the couch beside her and rested my hand on her thigh. “What happened, Liv? Who gave you the test?”
She sighed. “I took it on the internet.”
I fought not to laugh. “The submissive test?”
She nodded. “Uh huh.”
“And the results said you were submissive?”
She sat up from her slumped position and cleared her throat. “It said I was 88% submissive. So I did some research. In the last two weeks I’ve read a ton of stuff. I’m definitely submissive.”
“Interesting. And you took your test and did your reading on the internet?”
She raised her hands between us and began to plead her case. “I know what you’re going to say, but there’s so much information out there, and it’s really easy to access it. Everything on the internet isn’t garbage.”
Since high school, I hadn’t so much as turned a computer on. I didn’t own one, wouldn’t use one, and truly believed as useful as they were for many things, that they had become a huge contributor to the downfall of society.
“Okay, just for the sake of saying it, let’s say your internet research is spot-on. Tell me how that changes things between us.”
“Well, I’d say it lets me embrace my true self. I realize why I am the way I am. Why I like it when you do what you do to me, and why I have some of the desires I do.” She raised her finger in the air. “Oh, and knowledge is power.”
“So you feel empowered?”
“I do,” she said with a nod.
“Take off that collar and I might listen to what you have to say.”
She unsnapped the collar and formed it around her thigh. As she played with the silver studs, I considered her
newfound knowledge and feelings of empowerment.
I had a pretty good idea on what caused me to be the way I was – at least from a sexual standpoint. Although I was anxious to find out what she felt she learned about herself through the course of her research, I was reluctant to ask for fear of her asking me the same question.
Eventually my curiosity won the struggle.
“So, why are you the way you are?”
After asking the question, I realized a small part of me wanted her to pry into my inner workings. To ask questions. To search for answers. She turned toward me and locked her eyes on mine. I braced myself for the inevitable. With her face begging for my acceptance, and her eyes filled with sincerity, she sighed lightly.
“I want to please you,” she said.
Her response was much more satisfying to me than if she had pried. I returned her gaze and swallowed hard. I hadn’t done any research or read any information regarding submissive behaviors on the internet, but somehow I felt I already knew the answer to the question I felt compelled to ask.
I asked anyway. “Why?”
“Honestly?” she asked.
I swallowed hard again. “Yes, honestly.”
She chewed against the inside of her lip and lowered her head slightly. I lifted my cupped hand against her chin until her eyes met mine.
She released her lip. “Because I love you.”
Her response filled me completely. In being entirely honest with myself, I had spent years loving Liv, yet fought against the urge to act on my feelings for fear of losing her. Our current arrangement initially provided me with a sense of security, but as time passed I felt I needed more. Feelings of selfishness, however, prevented me from even admitting how I felt.
Now, I felt the gate had been opened.
I felt consumed by the love I felt for her. Warmth washed over me. I turned to face her fully, swallowed heavily, and opened my arms. The words rushed from my mouth.
“I love you, too.”
She all but collapsed into my arms. Holding herself tight against me, she brushed her cheek past mine and breathed against my neck.
“Finally,” she whispered.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had been suppressing my feelings.
In each other’s arms, we swayed back and forth without speaking. We didn’t need to. At that moment, I was completely content, and no spoken word could have satisfied me more. After an immeasurable amount of time, I eventually felt a need to speak, but it was more out of excitement than out of necessity.
“You want to please me?” I asked.
She nestled her face into my neck. “Mmhhmm.”
“I’m happier than I have ever been,” I whispered.
She lifted her head slightly. “Because?”
“Because of you,” I responded.
Because of you.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LIV
It had been two weeks since I told Luke I loved him. I came to realize pleasing Luke wasn’t something that could be conquered. As far as I was concerned. It was it was an ongoing process. It may have had a beginning, but it had no ending. I felt an overwhelming desire to please him with everything I did. The look in his eyes, the way he responded, or the smile on his face had always been enough, but as the days progressed, I wanted him to be satisfied with everything from my choice of clothes to what I chose to cook for dinner.
The more I researched the characteristics of subservient women, the easier it was for me to accept that being submissive wasn’t a choice I made. Right or wrong, I quickly decided I was naturally submissive. After doing so, my life began to make sense. My failed relationships, although probably destined to fail regardless due to my love for Luke, were all lacking in the areas where Luke and I flourished. Not only was I in love with Luke, I was in love with what he provided me.
Reassurance that who I was and what I was doing was exactly what he wanted and needed out of life.
“What the fuck is it?”
“A spiralizer,” I said over my shoulder.
“And it makes noodles?”
“Kind of,” I responded as I picked up a zucchini. “Out of veggies.”
I had purchased the device at Williams Sonoma, hoping to be able to cook meals that made Luke happy. He liked to eat healthily, and although he wasn’t one to watch his weight, he certainly paid attention to what he ate. Noodles made his feel bloated when he surfed, and although he loved the way they tasted, he refused to eat them for that reason.
Personally, I didn’t want to eat pasta because it stuck with me for hours, and all we seemed to do after eating heavy meals was lay on the couch and moan for the entire evening. In short, there was no time for us to fuck after eating a big meal.
“Look!” I shouted as I turned the crank.
Zucchini noodles slightly larger than spaghetti came out the end of the machine. I watched in amazement as the length of squash disappeared on one side and the bowl filled with noodles on the other.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. I leaned to the side and kissed his cheek as he peered down at the bowl. “You’re turning a zucchini into noodles?”
I nodded eagerly as the last bit of the spiralized squash fell into the bowl. “It’s as easy as that.”
“Right on,” he said. “Now what?”
“I’m going to cook ‘em in a skillet and we’ll eat them with some spaghetti sauce,” I said.
“Zucchini spaghetti?”
“Just wait and see, I bet you like it,” I said.
He shrugged, walked to the refrigerator, and removed a container of yogurt.
Pessimist.
I transferred the noodles from the bowl to the skillet and tossed my head toward the doorway. “Go wait in the living room. Listen to music or something.”
I heard The Cotton Jones Basket Ride’s “Chewing Gum” began to play as I sautéed the noodles. The song was released the year we graduated high school and reminded me of the summer that followed. Luke was still in his relationship with Valerie, but I spent the summer single. As Valerie worked all day for the three-month break from school, Luke and I spent the summer together at the beach.
During that entire summer I felt guilty for being with Luke when he was committed to Valerie, but now I felt no guilt whatsoever. In hindsight, maybe the guilt was a result of my love for Luke – something I wasn’t prepared to admit at the time.
“What does that song remind you of?” I asked over my shoulder as I stirred the sauce.
“Summer of 2008,” he responded.
“Great summer,” I shouted.
“Not as good as this one.”
I checked the noodles, added a clove of garlic, and nodded my head. “I agree.”
Cooking was something I enjoyed doing, but having someone to cook for seemed to make all the difference it he world. As the noodles became translucent I pulled the skillet from the stove, divided the zucchini onto the plates and ladled sauce over the top. A quick check of the oven’s times showed one-minute left.
Perfect.
Small things seemed to satisfy me. Having the noodles done at the exact same time the chicken was ready was something I was trying to do, but accomplishing it made me smile. After removing the chicken from the oven and carefully placing one of the breasts on his plate, I shouted into the other room.
“It’s ready!”
I walked to the table, placed the plates beside the bowls of salad, and admired the meal. As I noticed him walk into the kitchen, I turned and ran to the cupboard and pulled the silverware drawer open.
I playfully pushed him aside as he walked to his chair and set the knife and fork down beside his plate.
“There. Now, it’s ready.”
“Looks good.” He inhaled a long breath through his nose, wagged his eyebrows and sat down. “Smells good.”
Luke was like a grumpy old man in many respects. Set in his ways, and not willing to try new things or accept change, he often turned
his nose up to things I was sure he would enjoy if he simply gave them a try. It wasn’t limited to food, either.
He wasn’t willing to accept or even discuss subtle changes regarding his clothes, food, beliefs in technology or music. He liked what he liked and he believed what he believed. It was just who Luke was. My preparation of the meal took tremendous guts on my part, and was a huge risk.
I rested my wrist on the edge of the table and watched as he raised the noodle-filled fork to his mouth. As he began to chew, I held my breath in wait.
And?
“God damn…” he said over his mouthful of food.
Good god damn, or bad god damn?
He swallowed.
“This is fucking awesome.”
Yes!
I lowered my fork to my plate and grinned as I twisted the tines through the noodles. Seeing Luke satisfied with something I had done filled me with pride. It seemed strange, but I got more pleasure out of cooking a meal for him and having him express his approval than I did out of almost anything else I did in life.
With my eyes fixed on my plate, I fought to hide my excitement. “You like it?”
“Love it. It’s like eating spaghetti without eating spaghetti. You know how bloated I feel the next day after eating pasta, right?”
That’s exactly why I made it, Luke.
“Yeah, I kind if remember you saying that.”
“Well, this is fucking awesome. It’s noodles, but it isn’t. Where’d you get that thing?”
“Williams Sonoma.”
“Is it something new?” He shoveled another fork full of noodles into his mouth.
I shrugged. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had learned about it on Pinterest. If I had, he probably would have stopped eating.
“I don’t know, I just saw it in there and thought you might like something healthy.”
“Well, I don’t care if this shit’s going to kill me.” He pointed thee tip of his fork at his plate. “I’d keep eating it. It’s fucking goodness.”
He took another bite, a huge one this time, smearing sauce on both corners of his mouth.
In his own strange way, Luke paid me a huge compliment, and he didn’t even know it. After we ate, there was no doubt he would tell me he enjoyed the meal. As always, he’d thank me, tell me he liked it, and he’d help with the dishes.