It was ridiculous, really.  I’m 35 years old and there I was giddy as a teenager on her first date.  I hummed random bits of My Fair Lady to myself, and skipped out of the shower, not caring in the least that I was leaving a squishy trail of wet footprints on the carpet of my room all the way to the kitchen. I turned on the oven to heat up today’s baking spectacular.  I had more energy than I’d felt like I had in over a decade, and that alone convinced me that this was the right move for me to be taking. 

            I finished drying off and, feeling like I was doing something incredibly naughty, I settled down onto the carpet in front of the full length mirror at the foot of my bed, trying out kneeling positions one after another, checking to see what they looked like.  I tucked my wrists behind my back, imagining that they were tied tight with a scrap of rough, hemp rope.  My breath caught, and I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears my heart was racing so fast.  I took a peek in the mirror, tucked my chin a little more to give a more submissive angle to the pose.  Fuck, that was hot!  I loved the way my arms, being behind me like that, pushed my boobs up and out, helping to camouflage those ten extra pounds I’m always carrying in my belly and hips.  Kneeling like this, I felt like a seriously sexy creature.

            “Please, Sir.”  I tried out the words I still wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to say in front of another living person, and surprised myself with how much my voice shook when I whispered them. 

            Wow.  Here I was in my tiny little apartment, no one here but me and my reflection and I was more turned on than I’d ever been when I was with any of my last three boyfriends.  I checked the clock: only quarter after three.  Good, I had enough time to relieve some of this tension before Jim got here.

            I reached over for my absolute favorite vibe, tilting my hips so that I could slide it into position without leaving my oh-so-arousing kneeling position, and clamped my thighs on it tight to keep it in place.  I clicked the vibe to my favorite auto setting, and looked  back at myself in the mirror.  I pulled my arms behind my back again with the wrists crossed, and I knew that this was the pose that I was going to use.  My breath was already coming in ragged gasps, and as the vibe did its job, slowly driving me to the usual dizzying heights of erotic sensation, I let my mind wander around the possibilities ahead of me.

            Would I find myself one day soon kneeling just like this at someone’s feet instead of my own mirror?  Damn, I could imagine him now, standing there, looking down at me, with a wicked chuckle of amusement that I was so shamelessly getting off in front of him.  Would he lean close to my ear and tell me that I was not allowed to come without his permission?   I closed my eyes and leaned my head back so far that I could feel my still-damp curls clinging to the top of my ass.  My hands strayed to my nipples, hard as buttons, rubbing and pinching them while the topman of my imagination wrapped his fist in my hair and growled instructions into my ear.  I moaned out loud and my hips bucked urgently against the empty air so hard I had to drop a hand to my cunt to keep the vibrator in place.  This was about to be one hell of an orgasm, and I was so damn close.....

            ….when the goddamn fucking door bell rang.

             I briefly considered not answering it.  Jim wasn’t due for another half hour at least, and  my scatterbrained neighbor down the hall was always forgetting his key and then pressing every button on our floor to ask someone to let him in.   Then again, if it wasn’t my neighbor I’d feel really bad that I didn’t answer.  Oh well, by then the mood was ruined anyway so I switched the vibrator off and slid on a thong to keep it in place while I went to answer the intercom.

            “Hello?”

            “UPS.  Delivery,” said a familiar voice that was definitely not a UPS man.

            “Jim, hi!”  I realized I sounded panicked, and took a couple of deep breaths.  “You’re really early, aren’t you?”

            “A friend offered me a drive, so I didn’t have to take the LRT.  If I’m too early, I could leave if you want, maybe come back later...” he teased.  I laughed.

            “Get your cute butt up here.  I’ll leave the door unlocked for you, come right in, ‘kay?”

             I clicked the intercom off, buzzed him in, and groaned in frustration.  Talk about bad timing!  I pulled the chain off the front door as promised and darted into the bedroom to dispose of the vibe, pull on some clothes and hopefully do something to scrub that freshly fucked look off my face.  I was still locked in the bedroom when he knocked and let himself in. 

            “Wow,” he called out loud enough so that I could hear him in the other room, “it smells damn good in here – I don’t suppose whatever’s cooking is for me, is it?”

            “It miiiight be.” I singsonged.  I finished brushing the last tangle out of my unruly red hair (the bane of my existence), and left it loose and still wet, heading back into the living room in a babydoll tee sans bra and the first pair of shorts I’d been able to find.

            “But,” I explained, “you’ll have to wait for them now.  I  timed things perfectly so that they’d be freshly done when you got here... a half hour from now.”  I pantomimed being strict and disapproving.

            “I’ll consider it my penance for interrupting your shower.”          He winked and grinned at me, and I instantly forgave him for being early and ruining my fun. 

            Jim was just barely 5’8”, fairly thin and very plain, with stringy blond hair that he wore slightly too long, and unremarkable gray eyes. However, he made up for not being Fabio-good-looking by being quite possibly the most charming man I’d ever met.  He never failed to make me smile, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t off the market yet.  

            I’d met him a few months ago at a sidewalk erotica sale at the Book Corner.  We were both browsing the BDSM fiction table, and he wound up convincing me to skip the novel I was about to buy (‘I’ve read it, it’s sleazy and the plot was probably written by a twelve year-old’, he’d said) and sold me on a nonfiction instead.  “It’s set in the same period,” he’d explained, “but this story is much richer.  Plus, it really happened!” 

            The book he recommended was about a lord who fell in love with a maid-of-all-work in the late 19^th century. They ended up sharing a kind of consensual Master/slave relationship, and even once they were married, the wife continued to insist on performing the lowest tasks of the household.  She scrubbed the chimney by hand, and delighted in cleaning his boots with her tongue.  Because of things like this, Jim had explained to me, she’d been known historically as the “love and dirt girl”.  I was skeptical at the time, but I thanked him, bought the book and accepted his phone number (to be polite.)  He obviously knew something I didn’t because I read the book four times over, and often called him, staying up late into the night discussing it. 

            It was during one of these 3 am phone conversations that I admitted to him that while I read kinky fiction voraciously, I’d never actually tried anything that could remotely be called BDSM.  Being the sweet, selfless man that he was, he’d promised to help fix that, and so here we were in my living room, mid autoeroticus interruptus. 

            “Thanks for doing this, Jim.  I know this is a busy weekend for you!”

            “Hey, I’m just happy to know that someone appreciates my expertise,” he teased.  “Besides, all rumors to the contrary, I actually don’t get enough kink in my everyday life!”

            Jim considered it high irony that he worked in one of the most famed kinky establishments in Edmonton, and yet his job description was boringly vanilla.  He was the night manager at a high-end BDSM-friendly bed and breakfast in Old Strathcona.  It wasn’t,  Jim was always quick to explain, an “Exit to Eden” type scenario.  No wanton and delicious abuse of the staff occurred.  It was strictly (and this term was signature Jim) a “bring-your-own-bottom” establishment.  Sort of like the FantasyLand hotel but with room themes like “medieval torture chamber” instead of “princess cowboy casino.”  The most kink he’d see in a typical shift was a top bringing his bottom to the dining hall naked or in cuffs and chains.  “Not nearly as fun as it is in the storybooks!” he often joked.

            Still incredibly turned on by my earlier kinky self-examination, I curled up at Jim’s feet instead of pulling up a chair while he brought up the website he’d promised to set me up on.  He either didn’t notice, or at least didn’t object when I tucked my feet up underneath me, carefully planting a heel under my clit so that I could wriggle against it while we worked on writing my profile. 

            “Once we’re done marketing you, you’ll have the dom-types lining up to snag you in a collar.”  he promised.  I wasn’t so sure, but I let him take me through the process anyway.  We chose a scene name, and filled in the requisite proofs that I was legal age, chose a region: all those basic things that you’d find on a Facebook or MySpace page. 

            “Now, on to the juicy parts.  Relationship status, single.  BDSM role?  Definitely ‘submissive’.” His fingers flew over the keys as he narrated each step.

            “Woah.  No way.”  I stopped wiggling on my heel and sat up in alarm. “What about just ‘curious’?” 

            “I don’t get it.  Why?  You know you’re a submissive as much as I do.  Why lie and say something else on your profile?”

            “Because I don’t want a gaggle of cyber ‘Masters’.”  I rolled my eyes while making the airquotes, “thinking that they can expect me to call them sir and do whatever they say just because I used the word submissive once, or because someone wrote my name with a lower case first letter.  …  You didn’t do that, did you?  Because that’s a sin against good grammar, you know.”

            Jim gave me a raised eyebrow ‘What the hell do you think?’ look, and I relaxed a bit.  He conceded the curious column in the ‘what role are you’ questionnaire, and I started to sink back into the groove.  I settled back on my strategically placed heel, and drifted in and out of paying attention, my thoughts monopolized with fantasies of kneeling at the feet of the man who answered my ad.       

            He kept all the rest of the answers on the bland/conservative side, only occasionally looking over at me to make sure I wouldn’t rather offer a slightly more revealing answer.  After tearing myself away from my squirming and its companion fantasies a few times to reassure him that my profile was more than exciting enough, he gave up looking for confirmation and just filled out the rest of the questionnaire on his own.  Eventually, he pulled away from the computer with a disappointed sigh.

            “Well, that’s it, except for the picture.” 

            His mood seemed to be the polar opposite of the chipper man who’d walked in the door a few minutes earlier.  I felt the need to try and cheer him back up.

            “I know just the pose.  Let me go dry my hair real quick, and we’ll shoot it.  You’ll love it, trust me.”  I tried my best impish grin.  “It’s very … submissive.”

            He didn’t say anything else until I’d already run into the bedroom and turned on the dryer.  Consequently, I didn’t hear a word he said.

            “I’m sorry, what was that?”  I shut the dryer off in the hopes he’d repeat himself, poking my head out the bedroom door. 

            “I said that I think you’re making a mistake.”  He didn’t look very cheered up yet.  “I know you think you’re protecting yourself from horny net geeks, and you’re right, you probably are.  But you’re also guaranteeing that those rare people who are the genuine article don’t get to see that you’re the real deal, too!  You haven’t let me put in a single snippet of what you’re really looking for in here, out of fear that it could be used against you.”

            I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a finger with a pleading look.

            “I know, I’m preaching, but just hear me out, please?  I’m worried that if you don’t try to let a prospective partner see what I see in you, you won’t find the one who can use that information for you, either.”

            “Jim…” I started, even though I had no idea yet how I was going to finish the sentence.  I put down the hairdryer and went over to sit down beside him on the couch.  I couldn’t stand how sad and concerned he looked. “I...I’ll think about it, okay?”

            I gave him a peck on the cheek and darted back into the bedroom to finish drying my hair before he could argue any further.   I hadn’t told him (and didn’t really know how,)  that I knew he was probably right.  I was pretty sure that with the profile the way I’d set it up so far, the type of top I wanted wasn’t even going to see my profile.   Maybe it was just that it was hard enough to admit to myself and one other person how I felt about what I really wanted from a relationship, but I just couldn’t bring myself to write it down for complete strangers to read.  I hoped he’d just drop it. 

            When I headed back into the living room to find out,  it looked like he was still upset.  It sucked that what was supposed to be a fun and kind of sexy afternoon with one of my best friends was turning into a bummer of a disagreement.  “Hey, you think we could drop this whole fetish profile thing for the time being, and go grab a coffee or something?”

            He smiled, kind of sadly, and stepped forward to give me a big hug.  “I would love to, but I just got a text from work.”  He wasn’t scheduled to work for another 4 hours, I knew, and so I was immediately worried.  His boss was a bit of a hardass, but she was still usually very good at making sure his time off stayed time off.

            “Oh, no, is it an emergency?”

            He chuckled.  “That, my dear, is the understatement of the year. We have 3 staff who just called in sick.  For this weekend, the one weekend of the year we can be guaranteed to be booked solid.  It’s a mess.  And I have to go iron it out.  I’m sorry.”

            “Damn.”

            He nodded, sighing.  “Exactly.”

            “Okay.” I was surprised at how much I didn’t want him to go. “ Well, I have the weekend off.  What can I do to help?... and what’s so funny?”

            “Karen, I adore you, you know that, right?  But you’re a painter.  You’re not exactly bristling with hospitality industry experience.  And these leather conference types can be really exacting.  What exactly can you do?”      

            I stuck my tongue out at him.  “That was mean!  Well fine, mister I-have-hospitality-industry-experience, get your cute butt to work and save the day.  You can finish turning me into one of your kinky confederates another time.”

            I winked at him, and with a smile I didn’t really mean, shooed him out the door with no further words of encouragement.

***

            Well, at least there was one benefit to Jim taking off so quickly: I could pick up where I was interrupted when he showed up early!  I dumped my clothes unceremoniously on the floor, and dived for my bed, snatching the vibe, still damp, from under the pillow where I’d stashed it.  I leaned back against my pillow, closed my eyes, and retreated back into my imagination. 

            I could hear my dream top whispering to me in that deep, dangerous growl of a voice that he wanted to see me fuck myself.  Even in my imagination, that made it so much hotter.  I was shivering.  I clicked the vibe to ‘low’ and slid it past my slick labia with no resistance at all.  I started up a rhythm of slow, rhythmic strokes, while the voice in my head commented on how wet I was already.  He asked me if it was because I was thinking of him.  I moaned, and started fucking myself faster with the vibe.  Damn, I  couldn’t ever remember being this wet.  “Yessss..” I whispered out loud.  Oh God, of course it’s because I’m thinking of you, because I’m doing this for you. I thought it to myself,  but even here, alone in my room, the words didn’t find voice.  

            I tried to take my time, but I was so damned horny from holding back all afternoon that I went from zero to the brink of orgasm in no time flat. I bucked against the vibe, and thrust it in to the hilt, groaning in pleasure, letting the scene behind my eyelids take over.

            Mister Right was moving to face me, staying close enough that he could keep his fist firmly embedded in my hair.  He looked me in the eye, his face so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my cheek when he talked.  He whispered something to me, low and sexy, but I didn’t hear what it was.  I was too distracted by the fact that I knew who he was. 

            My eyes shot open and I sat bolt upright, banishing the image of Jim looking so damn sexy as he told me how much he enjoyed my getting off for his pleasure.

            Fuck.  There was no way that I was going to come now!  Fate sure as hell had it in for my orgasm today. I sat on the edge of my bed, head in hand, and sighed heavily.  Did I really want Jim?  Was it just some kind of transference thing?  Was I willing to wait until the end of the weekend to find out?  Well, at least one of those questions was easy to answer.

***

            I moved fast, and I actually made it all the way to Jim’s office door  before I started having second thoughts.  By then, I figured, I was already so close that I might as well bite the bullet.  I knocked.  “UPS. Delivery.”

            He looked stressed out, but happy to see me.  He grinned, and motioned for me to close the door behind me.   I gave him a sheepish grin, and held out the cookie tin I’d brought with me.  “You forgot your turnovers.”

            He got up and wrapped me in his arms in a big hug.  I melted.  Had he always smelled this good? 

            “Thank you.  I’m sorry I nagged you about your profile.  You’re right:  it’s your choice.  Are we okay?”

            I laughed and pulled away, and he looked at me like I was out of my mind.

            “I don’t know yet, but I hope I will soon.  Can you spare just a minute?  I need to ask you something.”

             He didn’t say anything, and I would have lost my nerve if I looked at him to see what his answer was.  I dropped, hard, to my knees, so suddenly I could feel the impact in my teeth.  My hands were sweating, and I was shaking like a leaf, but I managed to get my wrists crossed behind my back, like I’d practiced, and I kept my chin lowered so I wouldn’t risk seeing his reaction in case he didn’t approve.

            “I...I want to try.  Being what you think I can, and I think...”  I swallowed, desperately licking my lips that were suddenly so very dry.  “I think I can help you, and find myself at the same time.”  I snuck a peek up at him: he wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either.  It looked like he was carefully considering what I was about to say. 

             “What if you didn’t hire me as a temp, but you smuggled me in... as a submissive.  As your submissive.    Just for the weekend, to see if we can do it?  You’d get free labor on your busy weekend:  I could be your dirt girl!  It doesn’t take hospitality experience to clean the floors, or deliver towels.”

            I swallowed hard, fidgeting on my knees.  “ I want to help you, Jim, but not just because you’re my friend and you’re in a bind, but because I think I really... want to serve you.”

            Tears were forming in my eyes, and Jim was all blurry when I looked up at him again. 

            “Please...Sir?”

            He didn’t say anything.  He was like a damnable statue, and I swear he didn’t even blink for the longest time.  I stayed still, too, the tears streaming down my cheeks now.  I thought I was going to explode if he didn’t give me some sign of what he was thinking.

             After forever, he crouched down so that his face was level with mine.  His smile was sort of sad, and I was sure he was going to break my heart.  He cupped my chin in his hand, and leaned forward so that he could whisper in my ear.

            “Just for the weekend.  Then, we’ll talk.”

            I thought my heart was going to explode!  Then he kissed me, pressing his mouth against mine so hard my face felt bruised and battered by the end of it.  It was perfect.  My grin threatened to break my face in half. 

            He stayed there, smiling at me, for what seemed like eternity and a split second at the same time.  Then he stood up, and went back to his desk, calm as anything.  “You know where the kitchen is.  We could use an extra pair of hands to free the cook from having to do her own dishes.”

            I stared up at him in shock.  Just like that, he accepts?  When I didn’t move, he cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow, Spock style.  I reached yet another impossible degree of being turned on. 

            I didn’t think my feet would hold me when I stood up, but somehow they did and I made it to the door, my grin permanently pasted on my face, when he stopped me.

            “Oh, and Karen?  That orgasm you so obviously have been trying to have all day?”

            I blushed a very special shade of crimson.

            “...not this weekend.  Afterwards?  We’ll talk.”

            An  hour ago, the possibility that I wouldn’t come at all this weekend would have been unthinkable.  Now, though, those were the best words I’d ever heard.  I skipped on my way to scrub dirty pots and pans, not caring if the rest of the hotel thought I was nuts... 

            .. this was what right felt like.