the boy, rook

Chapter 2: Chicago

Previously: Chapter 1 – A Necessary Introduction of the Players
I introduced myself and Ethan, a colleague who I steadily grew to like and respect. Together we were a dream team at work. One three day weekend in January, though, I was bored and clicking through Recon profiles when I discovered Ethan was more than I thought. Within a split second I realized he could know I saw his profile, then see mine, and the cat would be out of the bag; for some reason, though, I didn’t erase my profile or picture.

My mind was racing. I must have checked Recon every 5 minutes, anxious and eager to know if he knew. The worst part was that I couldn’t just avoid him this week. We had to work a booth at the conference together, and traveling colleagues always socialize in the hotel bar on the company’s dime. With any luck, he was too busy this weekend, or just didn’t care enough, to log into Recon before we left.

As if he wouldn’t have Internet – and the time to use it – in Chicago.

The only way for me to deal with this was to pretend it didn’t happen. Act normal, be professional, just like any other day at work. I don’t bridge work and life on any other day, so these three days in Chicago would be no different. I was a flurry of rationalization and inner conflict. One minute, I resolved to delete my profile. The next, I actually consider that this could be something exciting, something …

No of course not. I couldn’t imagine dating a colleague let alone submitting to one. There were too many impracticalities. In any case, it was moot; all Monday there was no change on my profile. We’d arrive in Chicago and he’d not know. And if he found out while we were there, then I’d see a change in behavior of some kind and know for sure.

Unless, of course, he opted to not appear to those profiles he’s viewed. And with that realization — that he could know and I would never know — I gave up, finished packing and went to bed. I had a fucking flight at fucking 8am and there was nothing I could fucking do about Ethan, Recon, or whether I could ever show my face in the office again.

* * *

Tuesday was less melodramatic.

The alarm went off. The airport was easy. The flight was fine. I arrived at the conference, found my colleagues from other divisions of the company, made small talk, drank bad coffee, then went out into the city to find good coffee. Apparently at some point I’d learned to breathe in and out, again. There was schmoozing and chatting, seminars to attend, customers to see. I’d seen Ethan a couple of times. He said hi, I said hi. He asked how my flight was and I the same. I studied his eyes … but couldn’t see anything that hinted at what he knew (or didn’t know).

By all accounts I had nothing to worry about. I studied Ethan for any sign of anything. There was nothing. I checked Recon occasionally, but as expected, nothing. Maybe it wasn’t even Ethan … maybe it just looked like him. I tried to relax and enjoy the trip.

I love to travel, to be anywhere else. Hotel rooms make me horny. In my convoluted and confused little brain it’s like what happens in Vegas. Not that I’ve ever done anything in Vegas, or really anything in my hotel rooms for that matter. I let my hormones bubble up, surfed for porn, flipped through Cinemax hoping for a good cock-shot. I worked out in the fitness center in the morning and hung out in the bar in the evening. By Wednesday I had finally settled down and started to enjoy myself.

In the evenings Ethan and I wined and dined with our colleagues from around the country, sharing horror stories of clients and bosses, and bitching about absurd corporate policy changes or some idiot in such and such a division. I told the story of my boss’s $8,000 expense report … from a single night … at a strip club in Frankfurt. All were shocked that she got away with it, until they remembered she was a lesbian and the idea of her in a strip club sent them howling (and one guy to the bathroom, come to think of it).

The conference ended Thursday. Ethan and I had a client dinner that evening, and so stayed an extra night. All in all, it turned out to be a fine week. By 8pm we were on our third bottle of wine for the night, and having a damn good time.

“So have you always been into bondage or are you just playing around?”

I choked on my wine. I turned bright red. I tried to dab away what I dribbled out my mouth while stammering out “uh, um, oh.”

“Because if you’re just a flake then I’ll leave you to it and not waste my time asking you anything else. You missed a spot.”

I blotted the remainder of my shirt and waived off the waitress that I was fine. “I’m, uh, no I’m not, I mean, I’ve always … shit.” I took a deep breath and checked to make sure no one else was in earshot. “I’ve always been into … this stuff … but I’m new, I mean, I’ve never done anything about it.”

He barely moved. He held his wine, sat relaxed in his overstuffed chair, and just looked at me while I stammered out an answer. It was nerve wracking and calming all at once. “If you’ve never done it, how do you know you’re into it?”

“Because, well, because I get excited by it. The idea of it turns me on, I guess.”

“You guess.”

“I mean, it does, I just, sorry, I wasn’t expecting this. I’ve never talked about it and –”

“We’re talking about it now. Relax. I’m not going to tie you up, kidnap you, fuck you, or anything. We’re just talking. Take a breath. Drink some wine. We’ve got nowhere to be and no one to worry about.”

My heartbeat slowed a bit. I breathed. I composed my thoughts. “I have always, ever since I was a kid, thought this stuff was hot. Rope, leather, toys.”

“But you’ve never done anything about it.”

“No. In case you couldn’t tell I’m kind of shy. I don’t really put myself out there too much.”

“You do fine.”

“Yeah at work, because I have to. But sometimes I just want to … give up control.”

“What about boyfriends?”

“What about them? I never admitted this to anyone. I certainly never said, ‘Hey, can you tie me up and face fuck me until I choke on your cum?’”

“Well, that’s specific.”

“Told you, this stuff has been on my mind for a long, long time.”

“So why not do anything about it? Clubs? Events?” He paused for a split second, “Recon?”

“Um. Because I’m scared, I guess.”

“Of?”

“Of … getting in over my head. Of losing all that I consider normal and jeopardizing my life, maybe literally.”

“Isn’t the point of service giving up what you consider normal?”

“I guess so, yeah, but I’ve never actually been confronted with that. Or I’ve never let myself be confronted with that.”

“Will you ever?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to think so.”

“So you’re waiting for someone to swoop in and coddle you and tell you it will all be okay if you just trust them and this will hurt but it’s good for you and what you want and you can stop at any time. You want a knight in shining leather.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re shit out of luck.”

“Yeah.”

“No dominant man worth their salt is going to be that for you. You need to get over that crippling fear before you’ll ever be any use to someone. Because otherwise, you’re just a flake who runs off and deletes his profile and pretends it didn’t happen. And no one worth their salt wants to deal with that, and invest the time and energy in that.”

I sat quiet for a couple minutes. My world was spinning. I kept looking around the bar, to see if we’d attracted any attention; I couldn’t believe how freely he spoke of these things in public. I start to fidget when I get nervous. I started to wring my hands a little, I was involuntarily jittering my leg. I tried to stop it, but every few minutes it would start up again.

“What is it, exactly, that you want to be?”

“I don’t understand.”

“The world of BDSM, kink, leather – it’s pretty broad. What is it, exactly, that turns you on?”

I thought for a second. “I think its the idea of serving. Of not having to be in control.” I paused, but he didn’t say anything. “When I’m at work, I’m the boss, you know? But when I’ve gone home to boyfriends, all I’ve really wanted to do was make dinner and get them what they wanted. At least, that’s the best I could act out the whole serving thing.”

“You want a master?”

“I guess, yeah. I get turned on by all the other stuff – by bondage, by gear, kink, pain, raunchy stuff, sex – but in my mind, that’s in the context of serving someone.”

We both sat quiet for a couple minutes. I was still pretty nervous talking about all this, especially with someone who until 20 minutes ago was just a coworker, and especially in public. But something about Ethan put me enough at ease that I could drink my wine without chugging it or spitting up on myself. Still fidgeting, though.

“Someone like that is going to expect a lot from you.”

“I have a lot to give.”

“I mean, there are guys out there who want a real slave. All day, all night, beck and call. Nothing more than a mindless tool for their own pleasure.”

“Is that all of them?”

“No. But it begs the question again, what do you want be?”

“Obviously I can’t be a 24/7 slave. I enjoy my job, my life, my friends. There’s more to me than I get my rocks off, I don’t see why I have to give that all up to serve someone else.”

He took a sip of his wine; for a moment, it looked like he was smiling into his glass.

“And you’ve never done anything like this?”

“No.”

“But you’ve had sex.”

“Yeah …”

“Top or bottom?”

“Both. But I, uh, it’s been a while since I’ve received, you know–”

“You don’t get fucked that much.”

My face reddened. A group of businesswomen were sitting two tables over, but they were too engrossed in their own conversation. “Right. Nor the other way ‘round.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what. You’re not much of a candidate for a good master.” Ouch. “You’re a bit of a coward. You want to serve but you seem reluctant to give up enough of yourself to learn anything about yourself.”

He let that sit there for a minute and looked at me. I looked down at my lap.

“You may never be any good. You may be great. You probably have potential – you obviously have a good work ethic and can be good at what you put your mind to. Whether you are ever a good servant will depend on you, and whether you let yourself get the right training.”

“Thanks, but I dunno where or how –”

“Shut up.”

I shut up, and sat up, a little surprised at the suddenly harsher tone from a usually friendly colleague.

“You have a choice to make. I don’t care what you choose to do, but you best think good and hard about it before you make it. I think you’re a good kid, and I’d be willing to train you to be a good sub. But you have to get over yourself, first. I can’t work with you otherwise. It won’t be easy, and you won’t get any breaks because we were friends before. I will push you mentally, emotionally, and physically. You will be made to submit in every way, even at work. Your career will be safe, but your pride won’t be.”

He let that sink in a little. I started to consider the gravity of what serving like this could really mean. I didn’t know what to think.

“I guarantee nothing. I owe you nothing. I could change my mind at any time, and you don’t get any say in it. I won’t be your boyfriend, I won’t own you or take responsibility for your life. This is temporary, I’d be training you and that’s all. And if you ever flake out on me, then you’re done. Am I being clear?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Then think about your answer long and hard. Do not answer me now. If you choose to submit, then go to my profile and hit that stupid little ‘Cruise’ button. Then you will wait. If I accept you, you’ll know it.”

With that he got up and left. I sat stunned for a couple of minutes, finished my wine and went to my room. I couldn’t sleep, my mind was racing again. Too much to think about, too many personal rules had just been broken and would be again if I said yes. I eventually fell asleep in a wine coma.

The next day I was frazzled but didn’t show it. I flew back to New York, went into the office, met with my staff. Ethan was there, but acted completely normal. As far as either of us was concerned, Chicago was just a conference and last night ease nothing unusual. He joked at the coffee machine, made cracks about the $8,000 expense report in front of our boss, and said “See you Monday” at the end of the day.

I stayed in my office late. I had a lot to do, and a lot to consider. If I said yes, life would change, life at the office would change, my world would be turned upside down. But maybe it was time for that.

fiction . recon . stories