Page 32 of Submissive Lies

I would be truthful about who I was, and what I desired.

I would end the bullshit charade I had created to ease my pain. Now.

It was only dinner. Nothing more. Yes, it was dinner with a man I was one-hundred percent certain was a Dominant. A man who was not Thomas. Fine. What was the big deal? Why did I feel the need to beat myself up over this?

-Seriously, Jen? You’re seriously asking yourself that?-

I am. I have to. I need to.

I took a deep breath to calm nerves that demanded it, letting it escape only once I began to move. Crossing the now quiet hall, I walked out into the muggy heat of the fading evening. It didn’t take me long to make my way to my hotel room, and the entire way I kept playing out all those things I had gone over at lunch and inside the booth. I cycled through them as I got ready for dinner. As I stood staring at myself in the mirror, I realized the seeds of what had happened this afternoon were planted long before I’d left home. What was happening now had started with my initial conversation with Thomas, sown in the soil of our night of ‘rough sex’. It had sprouted as I stood with him before boarding the plane, grown during the flight here, and bloomed into fruition as I lowered my eyes in front of Steve on the show floor. I looked one more time at my phone. There were no messages I had missed. I brought up the Messages window. Read. I stared at that tiny little word next to the text I had sent earlier, and sudden, irrational anger flowed through me.

What the fuck, Thomas!

For a moment I was livid. I typed out another text to him, fingers smashing at the keys.

Hey. I can see you got my text. I’m heading out to dinner soon. Could you please call me? We need to talk. Jen.

I slapped the SEND arrow and then tossed the phone onto the bed. What the hell was going on? What was so goddamn important that he couldn’t spare me fifteen seconds for a text. Or give me a return phone call. I shook my head, and with a growl I headed into the bathroom. I shrugged out of my work clothes and turned on the water to a hair’s breadth of scalding. Standing in the shower with fists clenched, I knew the games needed to end. Afterwards, dried off and getting ready, I wiggled into my dress and with gritted teeth resolved that I was done pretending. I was dressed for an evening out with a man who I damned well knew was my type, and all pretense of lying any further slipped away. However, my self-loathing wouldn’t give in so easy. It fought back.

-So, that’s it, huh? You’re going to go through with this, aren’t you?-

Yes.

-What about you and Thomas?-

Is there really a Thomas and I anymore?

-Oh. My. God. You haven’t even spoken to him yet!-

We both know what’s going to happen.

-We do?-

Yes.

-Wait… you’re going to sleep with this guy tonight, aren’t you? Aren’t you?-

I don’t know.

-Yes, you do!-

I. Do. Not! This is not a guaranteed!

-Fucking. Liar.-

My hands clenched in frustration as I watched the haze of fog on the mirror condense into streaking rivulets. There were all these warring parts of me, clamoring inside my head, fighting to be heard above the others. There was the Disgusted Me, the Excited Me, and the Analytical Me. Each one was trying to storm the ramparts I’d built up, sensing the weakness from my epiphany of earlier in the day, all trying to take control. I barely knew this guy. Sure, he seemed nice, but he was still just some guy I knew fuck all about. I should be careful! And those images that had been running through my mind like pictures from some submissive kink catalogue were ones I shouldn’t even be contemplating. That I was an overall horrible fucking human being to even be considering those things was a given. I needed to think of Thomas and reflect on what a shitty thing I was doing to him. That brought me up short. Why was I thinking that? I was jumping the gun here. I’d not made up my mind yet. Right now, it was just dinner. Nothing more. With perhaps some random daydreams about the possibility of what I couldbe doing later if an opportunity arose. Not that it would. But if it did, it had all the hallmarks of being of being wonderful. Intense. Something I hadn’t experienced in fifteen... I shook my head, a sharp snap of irritation. I needed to stop that train of thought. Now. I needed to remember that this was just dinner, and concentrate on the shit I needed to take care of with Thomas.

Except I couldn’t.

My mind kept swinging from the thrilling thoughts of What Could Be, to the angst-filled What You Should Do, to the Don’t Be A Fucking Bitch, only to be whipped back to the fantasies that refused to stopping playing themselves out. I felt like I should be crying. Feeling anger. Grieving. But I wasn’t. I wanted to feel hollow, to feel pain, remorse, agony—something that would be appropriate to what was going on. But I didn’t. I looked at my eyes, at the red lipstick I’d applied, and all I felt was a sense of anticipation. I was slipping back into myself, into a familiar skin which I had shed nine months ago.

And it felt good. Dammit, it felt good and right.

I glanced down at my watch. 7:10. I did one final pass over my make-up, grabbed my small handbag, and then headed towards the door. My conscience made one final attempt.

-Fine. Go. I won’t be here when you get back.-

Oh, really? Who’s the liar now?

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