For Real (Spires)

9.5

But from the moment we arrived at the party, I knew it had been a mistake to come.

As I’d warned Toby, it was a room full of strangers fucking and hitting each other. Everything smelled rather heavily of disinfectant. But Toby glanced round curiously and without repulsion, which made me wonder what he saw that I had long decided was mere fa?ade.

Sexual liberty. Twenty-first century decadence. Exploration, acceptance, fulfilment.

The whole of the moon?

We picked our way through the moving bodies until we found the chill-out space. Toby’s hand was tucked into mine.

“Are you all right?” I asked him.

“I think so.” He frowned, his nose wrinkling. “It’s just kind of weird, isn’t it? Like, you know, when you’re sober and everybody else is drunk? It’s like that except with bonking.”

I found a corner and drew him down onto a mound of brightly coloured cushions. “It’s less weird if you’re involved. But it’s not really my thing.”

“I’m feeling way too sheltered right now.” He stretched out, resting his head in my lap. “Obviously there was stuff going on at Pervocracy as well, but it felt like a nightclub with sex. Whereas this is just people wandering around, sometimes with their bits hanging out.”

I ran my fingers idly through his hair. “I know it looks like sexual anarchy, but there’s etiquette and rules and boundaries. You don’t have to be…a…be an all-you-can-eat buffet. You can just be with your partner or your friends. Nearly all of these people already know each other. It’s actually a pretty exclusive group of perverts.”

He hummed at the back of his throat, pressing into my touch, I think for comfort as much as pleasure. “Do you know them?”

“Most of them a bit. Although I wouldn’t call them friends.”

Grace and Sam found us a few minutes later. Sam was shirtless, fresh nail marks glowing on his arms and shoulders, and Grace was wearing a polka-dotted halter neck dress that looked eminently removable. She put her hands on her hips.

“Oh wow, look at you two. You look like the old guys in the box in The Muppets.”

“Statler and Waldorf,” I supplied.

“Toby, just because Laurie is one of life’s hecklers doesn’t mean you have to be.” She held out her hand to him and pulled him to his feet, away from me. “This is your first time, right?”

He shuffled his feet, nodding.

“Okay, here’s the thing, grasshopper, all parties are basically the same, whether they involve sex, or kinky sex, or drinking, or playing group Scrabble, for that matter. Fun is where you find it. If you just ignore Laurie’s tortured little face and crappy attitude, you can totally have a good time tonight if you want.”

Toby, to his credit, cast an anxious look at me. I didn’t think he was as comfortable ignoring my tortured little face as Grace was. But then, he hadn’t known me as long.

She drew his arm through hers. “You’ve discussed limits and boundaries, right?”

“Oh yeah.” Toby nodded eagerly, as though he was sitting a test and he knew all the answers. “We don’t want to do stuff with other people, and I’m not supposed to give him away, which I wouldn’t do anyway. Because…just no.”

“So you can fuck each other.” She flashed her tomcat grin. “I think a lot of people, myself included, would enjoy watching that.”

Sam put his hand in the air. “Me too! Me too!”

“We…we didn’t talk about that.” Toby had gone very red. I couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or flattered or some combination of both. “I’m…not sure—”

“It’s fine. Freedom is being able to say yes and no.”7

He gave her one of his crookedest smiles, and I tried my hardest not to be hideously jealous. Maybe I should fuck him—or let him fuck me—in front of everyone. Prove he was mine. And, oh God, which one of us was nineteen? I couldn’t think of a less healthy reason to have public sex. Grace was right. I did have a crappy attitude.

And I wanted to be at home. With Toby.

“Have you ever seen sounding?” Grace was asking, as if that was a perfectly reasonable thing to say to someone else’s boyfriend.

“Seen…sound—”

“Oh, Toby!” She bounced—a slightly dangerous action in that particular dress—and tugged on his arm. “It’s amazing. Come on, my friend Alice was talking about doing a demo.”

Which was how we ended up standing around, watching some guy get a surgical steel rod shoved expertly up his urethra. At least, that was what Toby watched. I watched Toby. He was rapt and bright-eyed, leaning close to Grace so she could tell him how it worked and how to do it safely.

My own feelings were impossibly conflicted.

I didn’t want to stay, but I wanted to please Toby. And right now, he seemed excited to be here, though his burgeoning friendship with Grace was likely to prove dangerous for me. Not because I had any real cause for jealousy, but because she tended to be…inspiring.

The stranger was babbling ecstatically, begging Alice to take it out, don’t take it out, let him come, please, please, please.

In spite of myself, I shuddered. I could too easily imagine Toby’s hands upon me, the slick-slow invasion of metal.

Robert had never done that to me. He liked control, but Toby liked to be under my skin. He wanted to be inside me, in my body and in my mind. In my heart. So similar in some ways, so utterly different in others, the two men I loved.

We left Alice and her partner—or partner of the night—to each other and moved into another room. We were in the basement, which our host had lavishly transformed into a series of smallish dungeons. I might have whispered something to Toby about the sheer lack of imagination on display down here, but I didn’t want to be the play-party heckler Grace had claimed I was. Besides, Toby was still talking enthusiastically about what we’d just seen, bombarding Grace and Sam with questions. They were walking a little ahead of me so I couldn’t hear much of what they were saying over the usual noises—leather against skin, the clank of chains, the occasional gasp or broken cry.

Suddenly Toby stopped. “Oh my God.”

Without even a premonition of misfortune to protect me, I turned to see what he saw: a man, tall and broad-shouldered, gleaming with sweat, wielding two floggers against a blood-flushed back with such consummate skill he made it look effortless, the tails flying and falling in that harsh, wild rhythm that had once been his gift to me.

“That’s amazing.” Toby was still staring at the two men locked in their cycle of give and take, trust and acceptance. “That’s totally fucking amazing.”

He sounded positively worshipful. My own voice seemed to come from some distant place. “It’s called Florentine flogging. Like anything else, it’s just practice.”

“Um.” Grace tried to draw him away. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

But Toby was still transfixed. “No way, I want to watch this. It’s like poetry. Who is that guy? Can I talk to him after? Do you think he’d show me how to do it?”

“His name’s Robert,” I said.8

He was using the matched pair of black-and-green bull-hide floggers. He’d had them specially made. I’d been there. I knew them as well as I knew Robert, those rough extensions of his touch, his dominance, his love. His…lover…was bound to a Saint Andrew’s cross, his arms spread wide. I knew how that felt too, that physical openness at once powerful and vulnerable, the sense of waiting to be transformed. His body had the laxity of deep surrender, as if he was falling into every stroke, as if they were part of him now. I didn’t think he was even aware of the sounds he was making, low purring moans, not pain, not pleasure, just the intoxication of pure sensation, liberty and submission, barely audible beneath the swish and slap of leather.

I missed the end of their scene, lost in the torn-open spaces between past and present. When next I looked their way, they were embracing, Robert enfolding his new partner as he had once enfolded me, his heaving chest pressed to all that burning, gorgeously reddened skin.

The intimacy of it was almost unbearable.

But before I could turn away—get away—do anything—Robert looked up, met my eyes, and smiled.

So I had to smile back.

I had to wait for him to uncuff his lover. I had to wait for them to kiss, exchange love whispers, touch each other gently, familiarly. I had to wait for them to walk over and join us.

At some point, we’d become a crowd. Since he’d begun playing in public, Robert always drew a crowd. It was easy enough to understand why. He was so good at what he did, and the chemistry between him and…Noah, the man’s name was Noah…was undeniable. They were beautiful together.

“Laurie.” He was still smiling as he greeted me, sweat glittering on his brow, arousal still hot in his eyes. “It’s been ages. How are you? You remember Noah, right?”

He always said this. I didn’t think he meant to torture me, but it seemed unlikely that the man who possessed everything I had once so deeply cherished would just slip my mind. “Yes, I remember, Noah. I… You… That…”

I had run out of everything it was possible for me to say.

Toby cleared his throat loudly. His hand wriggled into mine, and I folded my fingers tightly around his.

I took a deep breath. “Um, I don’t think you know… I don’t think you’ve met… Um. This is my…partner, Toby.”

I waited for shame, triumph, pride, anything. But there were just these truths, stark and undeniable: Once Robert and I had loved each other. Now Robert loved Noah. And I loved Toby.

A ripple of something—surprise, curiosity, amusement—went round the assembled kinksters. Toby and I were nothing like Robert and Noah. We were mismatched, implausible, absurd. My tastes were well known, as was my availability, my preference for casual encounters. For Toby’s sake, I wished there wasn’t that familiarity. I wished I didn’t have that history. It made me feel washed up and well used, a poor exchange for all his passion and sincerity.

I was afraid I reflected badly on him. I was afraid I made him laughable.

And that made me hate myself.

Robert touched me—he touched my arm—as though we were friends, as though he had the fucking right to do that. “I’m happy for you. And good to meet you, Toby.”

I still couldn’t think of anything to say. I wanted him to leave, disappear into his fucking happy ever after with Noah, and leave me alone with whatever I had with Toby.

“Thanks,” said Toby into the silence. I had no idea what he was thinking. If he was all right. If he hated me. “I loved what you were doing with the two floggers. That was awesome.”

Robert smiled his easy smile. Everything was easy for Robert. “You should try it on Laurie. He loves it.”

I gazed at Robert, mute and pleading. Please. Don’t. Just don’t. The worst of it was, I didn’t think he was trying to be cruel. He was just so far away from me, so far from us, that none of this even mattered to him.9

But Toby was laughing. “Mate, I’m worried about fucking up with one flogger, let alone two.”

That turned the laugh general. Most of the doms here would never have dreamed of admitting something like that. And there was little Toby, who either knew too much or too little to be ashamed of his fallibility, his uncertainty, his beautiful, imperfect humanity.

“You mean,” asked a different voice, someone I maybe recognised, maybe didn’t, “you’ve never flogged him?”

“They haven’t been together very long.” I thought that was Grace.

“Oh, Toby,” said Robert, “you have to. He needs it.” I shook my head, hating to be so discussed, revealed, made public, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to me. “He’s beautiful under the whip. Beautiful.”

“He’s beautiful all the time.” My Toby. So ridiculously loyal. Ridiculously stubborn. “And we’ll get round to it, y’know, when I’m sure I’m good enough.”

“I can give you some pointers, if you like.”

I was dimly aware of audience approval. Everybody liked a little theatre.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Grace again.

“Come on, lad.” That was a stranger, someone I’d probably subbed to or slept with. “Don’t be shy. Show us what you’ve got.”

Various other comments followed—most of them fairly well-meaning, but humiliating nonetheless, in their certainty that Toby had something to prove or stripes to earn.

His hand was sweating, or mine was. I was desperate to tell him he didn’t have to listen to these people, that he was everything I wanted and needed, exactly as he was, but I didn’t know how. Not without making him look weak—weaker—in their eyes.

“Look.” I heard the anxious waver in his voice. “That’s…uh…really nice and everything, but it’s up to Laurie.”

He couldn’t have said anything worse if he’d actively tried. I had to do something. I didn’t care what these people thought about me, but I cared what they thought of him. Or rather, I hated that he would show them who he was—his fearlessness, his vulnerability—and they would think less of him for it, blind to the power in him, his tenderness, the sugar-twist of his cruelty, everything that made him worthy of the truest submission I could give.10

I found words, and made them carry. “I’ll do anything you want.”

Which was taken as assent from both of us.

I didn’t protest. I’d meant what I’d said. I’d do anything for Toby. I’d do this. I wouldn’t let them shame him or dismiss him.

Dismiss us.

Everyone cleared a space around the cross. I stilled my shaking hands, unbuttoned my shirt, and shrugged it off. It was probably nothing they hadn’t seen before, but still my skin crawled.

Robert handed Toby one of his floggers. Toby’s grip was awkward—the weight and length were probably all wrong for him. Whatever he did—perhaps he was trying to find the balance point, perhaps he was just trying to get used to the feel of it—sent the falls spinning chaotically until they wrapped around his wrist.

He yelped. “Ow, fuck. Um… Look… I don’t…”

Don’t laugh at him, you fucking bastards. Don’t fucking laugh.

“This is kind of heavier than I’m used to,” he muttered. Robert reached out and expertly untangled the tails.

“It’s bull-hide—heavy thud, with a bit of weight behind it. It used to be one of Laurie’s favourites. It’s a bit long for you, but I’ll show you how to compensate.”

“Or”—a different voice—“he could just use something better suited to his height and build.” Dom-the-dom eased out of the crowd. He was leather-clad as usual, holding a short-handled flogger, and I wished to God he wasn’t here to see this. But perhaps I deserved it. I hadn’t treated him well, after all. “Try this one… Toby, isn’t it?”11

Somewhat hesitantly, he swapped floggers. Then he grinned up at Dom. “This feels super nice.”

Toby’s smile should probably have been government classified. Even Dom went a little pink. “It’s, uh, elk, Scandinavian elk.”

“Oh wow, I’m glad I know where the elk came from.”

Dom chuckled. “Yes, his name was Sven. I’m afraid it’s all I’ve got with me with a shorter handle, and it’s shot-loaded so the balance should suit you. It’s a little bit softer than bull-hide, but it’s still got a decent thud.”

“Right. Thanks.” Toby adjusted his grip and threw a couple of figure eights.

To everyone’s ill-disguised surprise, they were perfectly competent. The tails went were they should, his wrist action was loose and fluid. For the first time since Robert had put a flogger in his hand, he looked comfortable. In control. But only I caught the curve of his lips, the glow of his eyes. He genuinely liked this.

There was a spattering of applause.

Then he crossed the dungeon to where I was waiting for him, went up on his tiptoes, and kissed me. “Are you all right?”

No.I nodded.

He peered at me doubtfully. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do this. I don’t care what they think. I only care about you.”

“I care.”

“Okay. Um…” He glanced past me, at the cross. I wasn’t sure how I would bear it if he chained me to it in front of Robert and Dom and all these people who had already done far worse to me. But I would. I would find a way. For him. “Can you just hold on or something? Like when you did me?”

I could hardly breathe. So I nodded again, turned, and obeyed. I tried to make myself open, receptive, like Noah had been, but my muscles were twisted into knots, tight with painful reluctance, and I couldn’t.

Toby must have sensed something wasn’t quite right, because he ran his palm over my shoulders and down my back.

I loved his touch, but just now I couldn’t bear it. It was an intimacy I couldn’t afford. It certainly wasn’t something I wanted to share with a crowd of onlookers. “Do it,” I told him. “Just do it.”

He stepped away, leaving me alone. I’d let strangers do this before even bigger crowds. There was no reason to be afraid now. No reason to be heartsick.

I rested my head against my upper arm, waiting.