Page 28 of Disgrace

“Every lesson.” I nod and smile with fondness at our unconventional shared history.

“So do I,” he whispers with a flash of his best winning smile. “Shall we?” He springs to standing and holds out his hand, helping me up, his sheer delight and pleasure is plastered across his face with the widest smile. It is enough to cloud my reticence with guilt and rightly make my reluctance misplaced. He is a good friend; he’s my best friend. In all other aspects of his life, he is just as dominant and demanding as any other alpha I know. Equally, in his position, it’s not like he can ask just anyone to beat the crap out of him, or more specifically, whip him raw. A great deal of what we do and who we are is built on reputation and trust. I know he fears he would lose his standing if people knew. This may be true in the vanilla world, but in the safety of the club, I happen to think he has more to lose by hiding who he really is, but it’s his life. And he is not the only one hiding.

The night of the day I left home. I found myself in a stranger’s flat, having the weirdest birthday I can ever recall. Leon lived on his own in a dank basement flat in a grimy part of Camden. I clutch that phone like my life depended on it and to be fair, alone in a basement with a stranger, my life could’ve depended on it. But this was Leon. He pulls out the sofa bed and set about fixing the sheets. I just stand there watching, awkward and nervous, and wondering every second when he is going to pounce. He pulls back the comforter and I crawl in fully clothed. He tucks me in and goes to the kitchen. He returns with two steaming cups of hot chocolate but after the first searing sip I can feel the burn of something more potent lurking.

“Rum,” he says. “It warms the soul and loosens lips.” He gives a playful wink and sits down beside me, and long minutes pass in comfortable silence. I sip the drink and begin to relax. Leon drags his long legs onto the bed but stays on top of the covers and like me, is fully clothed. He starts talking. I start talking. At some point I drop the phone and lean against his strong chest. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and I relax. No, it was more than that, and it sounds trite, but after just a few hours, I felt like I was home.

That long soul-searching night spent talking with Leon turned into a month sleeping on his sofa couch. He was right; he was one of the good guys.

Newly qualified Leon works as a junior in a law firm. He works long, irregular hours and seems to like coming home after a hard day to a clean flat and a badly cooked meal. My mother had insisted when the time came for me to marry that I would have staff and would never need to so much as heat toast, leaving me with life skills of a preschooler. Still, I could pierce a film and press a microwave button like a pro.

He never once tried for somethingmoredespite the obvious attraction. Obvious on my part at least. He is fit and extremely confident in his skin. He rarely wears more than boxer shorts round the flat. His torso is lean and ripped with tight muscles. His smooth, dark, tanned skin stretches over strong, muscular thighs and broad shoulders. On more than one occasion he makes my mouth water. He is kind and beautiful, inside and out. I am definitely attracted to him, but I desperately value our friendship and need that so much more than I need to quell my burgeoning desire. I am grateful for the friendship, but I’m thrilled to be able feel something other than dread when I think about sex.

One evening, Leon returns and drops a pile of University prospectuses in my lap.

“With your results, you could pretty much pick any course you want, but if you pick a London university you are welcome to stay with me. I’ll look for a bigger place, and if you pick law, I’ll be your private tutor.” He slides his long legs over the back of the sofa and sits heavily at my side. He chuckles and tips my mouth shut. I shake my head, I didn’t realise my jaw had dropped open, but I am speechless.

“What are you talking about? I can’t go to University, Leon, that’s crazy.” I shift so I am facing him. It’s his turn to look confused.

“Why not?” His face is etched with concern, his tone very serious. I don’t know what to say. I never gave it any thought. I never really believed my life was mine to make any choices. The silence stretches. He lets out and soft breath and reaches for my hand. He pulls it into his lap and twists to face me.

“Don’t get me wrong I kinda like having you here for me every night, but you are more than this, Sam. You can do anything. You’re free to be anyone you want to be.” His smile falters when he sees my frown deepen.

“I’m…that’s not what I’m supposed to do with my life. Thank you, but I can’t.” I try to pull my hand back, but he clutches tighter, and I shift, uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

“Can’t what?” His tone is sharp.

“I look this way because I am only meant for one thing. I’m not going to University, Leon, it’s not right for me.” I can’t hide my agitation.

“Really? And tell me what is right for you?” His voice is thick with sarcasm.

“My mother thought—” I snap my mouth shut at his bitter interruption.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sam! Do not finish that sentence! Your mother was insane, and she whored you out to a monster for a shot at jumping up a social class or two. So please, spare me all her parental guidance. The last thing I expected to hear from you was confirmation that she was right.” His anger is palpable. He fires his fury with each word. When I say nothing, he loses it. “Maybe she was right, maybe you are just a whore.”

A silent cry escapes my shocked open mouth, but an instant surge of rage races through me. I pull my hand from his grasp and slap him hard across his face, the force snapping his head to the right. He slowly turns his head to face me, his face impassive, but his eyes darken, and his lips start to tighten into a smug smirk. I slap him again. There is a sharp sting in my palm, but I don’t feel the pain; I just feel warm. I do it again, and his breath hitches. I drop my hand, but he shakes his head.

“Again please, Mistress.”

I did my law degree and even qualified as a solicitor but my true talent was exposed that night. Leon saw it, claims he knew the very first night we met, said that’s why he let me stay. I don’t know if that’s really true but we both received what we needed from the partnership. I gained a willing Guinea Pig and he was able to keep his secret. I don’t agree that he would suffer if he exposed his ‘switch’ tendencies but that is his decision. I spent the next four years training before I accepted my first paying client. Although training never really ends and practice not only makes perfect it’s also lots of fun.

The cab jerks to a stop, abruptly breaking my little reminiscence. Our driver uses some extremely colourful language to critique the other person’s driving skills. Leon’s mouth drops open in mock horror, not remotely offended. His own language is no better than that of a well-seasoned sailor.

“Not that I give a shit, but do you want to tell me why Jason gives me the stink eye every time I come home. I thought we got on before Christmas. He seemed kind of cool and now he, my dear”—he takes my gloved hand in his and pats the tight leather—“is rapidly approaching douche territory. He does know there’s nothing between us right?” He continues to hold my hand but threads his fingers through and squeezes.

I chuckle. “Yeah, he knows. I think it might have more to do with him thinking you’re my pimp,” I add and squeeze one eye shut and peeking to see his incredulity and irritation flare.

“What? You told him I was your pimp?” He pinches the bridge of his nose and puffs out his anger. He doesn’t let me answer but continues to muse. “No, that’s ridiculous, but if he doesn’t think there’s anything going on then…” He draws his bottom lip in, chewing softly, a habit when he is concentrating. “Hmm and he is okay with the Dominatrix gig.” I can almost hear the cogs turning.

“He still thinks I’m a whore,” I blurt but in a hushed tone.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell him the truth? He cares about you, Sam, anyone can see that.” His thick, dark brows knit together to form one intimidating scowl.

“I know.” I sigh and shift uncomfortably under his intense glare. “And he doesn’t even care that I am…or that I said I was…you know.” I shrug because I am struggling to defend my position.

“Look Sam, I know why you tell peoplethat. I mean fuck ’em, right? The ones who judge don’t deserve your time. Sure, I get it but I know you use it as a barrier, too. Not just a barrier, you weld it like a weapon. No danger of anything more than a one nighter. No one’s taking a whore home to meet mummy, right?” he adds more softly.

“Yeah,” I exhale.

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