I saw the scene shop, the costume racks and make-up mirrors. KC instructed me about stages, lights and the various ways he manipulated the emptiness of his converted warehouse. He even let me peek into the miniscule apartment where he lived. After the tour was complete, we then stood in the center of the presidium stage he was about to tear apart, with the focus of our conversation now transferred to me. He asked no questions, but my appearance that afternoon was so unexpected that it required some explanation. I wasn’t sure what to say. But the energy driving my body felt as though the weight, speed and force of a freight train were barreling through my own empty cavern. It picked up speed the closer it got to its destination—the destination was my need.
“I stumbled here today,” I finally said.
“As in sprawled on the concrete like when we met?” he asked amusedly.
I attempted to look amused as well, and I’m sure I blushed. “No, more as turning into this neighborhood and finding myself looking at your theatre marquee.”
“You believe in psychic influences?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You think some hand outside guided me here?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But I do think you have something to say.” There was a gentle edge in his voice.
“I know,” I answered with a sheepish grin—there was that schoolgirl thing again. Couldn’t I just act my age! “It’s just not that easy.”
“I’m an easy person,” he offered trying to commiserate with my dilemma.
“I know. And that’s probably why I’m here. You’re safe, and you don’t run in my circle of friends—I’d even be disappointed if you did. And this seems like the most anonymous place I could go.” All this said, I wasn’t sure KC was easy at all. There was too much underlying intensity in his spirit to call him easy or safe. I imagine his voice could cut like a knife. But looking around at his four black walls, having been inside them for nearly a half-hour, I was comforted by their anonymity. I was much more uncomfortable being in my tedious business suit than in KC’s black box.
“All that’s true,” he agreed with my assessment.
“You mentioned something when we were having coffee at McGill’s.” I was struggling here but I would get it out. I had to, or I’d look foolish.
“I mentioned quite a few things when we talked.”
“This was about sex, quirky sex I think you said. And you were right.” I paused waiting for him to do anything that would stop me from proceeding, but he remained so openly benign—even gentle, as though his acceptance had the power to nurture me through my difficult confession. I would say his attitude was persuasively fatherly, although I could not relate this feeling to any experience with my own father. “You even mentioned spanking and discipline,” I almost choked on the words.
KC saw me start to stammer and he didn’t waver in his constancy. But he did ask, “Do you want to sit down, and we’ll talk?”
Yes, I did. It would easier on my jelly-filled thighs. Either that or I’d be running from the room, and then I’d look really stupid. “Why not?” I replied.
We were already at the side of the room. His arm at the back of my waist had gently guided me there, while the other pulled a chair from the cluttered stack. I sat on the chair; he sat on one end of a riser a foot above me, his legs dangling down, his mood as friendly and casual as it had been. I was still feeling like a confessing a child to this younger man’s fatherly calm.
I didn’t find this any easier sitting on my ass, but I no longer felt as though I might panic, or, without warning, my legs would buckle under my weight.
“Whether it was an accident or your powers of intuition were particularly acute that day, you managed to hit squarely on two sort of sexually charged desires that have been with me for some time. If anything drove me here, KC, it was the desire to feel a man’s hand spanking my bottom. Am I a total fool to bring this up to you, or can you…” Suddenly feeling so foolish confessing this deep, dark secret to a near stranger, I couldn’t go on. Let him say something.
I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t blurt out something totally, inanely juvenile, which would destroy the fantasy mood that was operating in my body right now. KC didn’t fail me.
“Can I, and will I spank you?” he asked. And then, without making me reply, he went on, “I’m sure I can. We have an amazing erotic thing going on here, Gail. I haven’t had anything like this happen in a long time.”
Just his saying this made me shudder more, so profoundly, I wasn’t sure I could speak.
“It frightens you, doesn’t it?” His eyes seemed to clutch at mine as he spoke. “The desire has to be pretty powerful for a woman who never does anything inappropriate in her life to walk into a bizarre theatre and broach this subject with a stranger.”