The Munch
GISELE
A sports bar. An interesting location for a munch—not the bar part, nor the sports even, but this particular one. For the longest time, I thought OGs were the only ones who frequented Old Man Joe’s spot, but here he was, hosting a munch.
What would Jo?o think? Would he be hurt?
I’d texted him a few times this week, just checking on how he was doing, nothing much.
Whenever he asked about our next date, I promptly changed the subject.
I didn’t like playing games, but uncertainty had clawed its way into my heart and I didn’t know how to move on to the next thing.
Jo?o was the first person in a long time that made me feel comfortable being myself.
At no moment did I feel I had to put on a front during our dates.
He’d witnessed me at one of my lowest moments and all he’d done was sit next to me in his car, letting me feel my pain. No need for questions, no recriminations, no expectations for me to shake it off, to hold on to my faith in Christ. No need to be strong around him, infallible.
Around Jo?o, I could just be Gissy, the sometimes shy, goody two-shoes girl who had a secret affinity for kink but never had the courage to explore.
Yet here I was, potentially walking away from him.
But what else could I do? Jo?o and I were on different planes and needed different things.
It was just like God to put this man in my path, an out-and-proud, kinky non-believer.
“Here, girl, let’s get some refreshments before we make the rounds.
Are you sure you wanna do this? I don’t know if Master Q is gonna be here, but I’ll tell you that this community is tight; he’ll find out eventually,” Vincent warned as he guided me through people.
We stopped a couple of times as Vincent shook hands and gave hugs, but eventually, we made it to the bar.
“What do you want?” he asked me.
“Lemonade is fine,” I said, searching the crowd again.
A few people were standing around the perimeter, probably new and too shy to start conversations.
That would have been me if Vincent wasn’t here.
I smiled at a lady attempting to bury her face in her phone.
She gave me a little wave and nod: such a small gesture, such a big reward.
Thank you, my Lord.
“A lemonade and a vodka tonic, please!” Vincent asked the bartender, who quickly took care of our order.
“Here.” Vincent handed me the lemonade and turned around with a curious stare. “So what’s the plan?”
Right. What was the plan? Now that I had made it here, I’d used up all the courage I had inside. The straw in my lemonade became my life raft as a wave of cold chills traveled through me. Fiddling with the straw, I took a few sips as Vincent’s gaze bored into me.
“So no plan. Okay, Gisele.” Vincent’s sigh could be heard across the west coast of the state. “Let us see… See that man over there? He’s a bit of a freak, but a good time from what I’ve heard.”
The man Vincent gestured at was chatting in a group. He was good-looking with a natural swagger, smooth dark skin, and long locs. That man looked like pure trouble.
“He’s a well-known member of the community and can be a bit…well, a lot for some, but I’ve always thought he had a soft spot for newbies. Here, let me introduce you to him.” Vincent’s hand sneaked into mine and my throat closed up.
With a wink and a tug, Vincent maneuvered around a few groups of people until he thrust me into the circle of men chatting. The man’s eyebrow raised and his eyes roamed all over me, an involuntary tingle growing behind the path of his gaze.
“Que pajo, Vincent? Good to see you, papa,” the man said, clapping hands with Vincent and saying bye to the men who’d been talking to him as they walked away to keep mingling.
“I’m good, Deacon, here with my friend who wanted to come to her first munch, get her toes wet in BDSM…”
“Ahh. Toes wet, huh? Hi, friend, what’s your name?
” Deacon’s whole aura shifted from playful to intense in a minute, his tongue snaking out after the ‘toes wet’ part, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
He was handsome. I understood why Vincent thought this might be a good fit, but moisture gathered in my hands, my pulse tripping in alarm; this might be too much for my introduction to D/s dynamics.
This was the type of man you took for a ride once you graduated from Kink University, and honestly, I didn’t know if I could ever handle such intensity.
“Hello, my name is Gissy, and how can I address you?” I said with confidence I didn’t feel rounding my voice. Vincent had prepared me for informal kink introductions and not assuming Doms would want to be called their honorific by a stranger.
“Ahh, well prepared… That will take you far, Gissy. You can call me Deacon. I keep it simple…until I don’t.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice, yeah. Well, I’m—we were just gonna keep walking around and just meet people. So I hope you have a blessed day, you hear?” The urge to run before he pounced had me grabbing Vincent’s hand and power walking away from a chuckling Deacon.
“Girl, that was atrocious. What was that? ‘I hope you have a blessed day?’ What is this, the women’s choir bake sale?” Vincent hissed as I aimlessly walked away.
“That man is more than a lot and you know it,” I replied back.
“Yeah, he likes some kinky shit, alright—not that I’m shaming him. Besides, he’s got a heart of gold.” Vincent pulled on my hand until we stopped by one of the booths around the bar.
“Everyone here does kinky shit; what exactly do you mean by that?” I gestured around the space humming with conversation.
“He be sharing his friend’s girls and his own and shit, more freaky stuff from what I heard.”
“Must you use curse words?” I asked, irritated at him and myself. What did I expect would happen when I came here? This was not fiction; this was real life. Did I make a mistake coming here?
“We’re not in Sunday school anymore. It’s a munch. If this is too much, I really, really understand, but this is the lifestyle. There’s a little bit of everything. Are you sure you’re ready for that?” Vincent focused on me, his expression softening as I pondered what to do.
“I don’t know, I just—” I flapped my hand, hitting something hard and warm. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I?—”
“It’s okay, madam, no harm, no foul. I shouldn’t have been walking so close to you.” The deep honey voice was the first thing I noticed, and then a tall, lanky man with a brown mane of locs and skin to match his voice smiled at me.
“Oh, how may I address you?” I asked him without thought.
“Sir Spiritual.”
Sir Spiritual’s conversational skills were fantastic.
After introductions, we settled in a booth to chat and Vincent left me to my own devices.
With sips of my lemonade and his sparkling water, I inquired about his name, which was readily explained.
It was after his calling as a child of God but also in regard to how he approached his kink.
We spoke of memories of Sunday school, waking up to attend church after-parties, and much more.
Conversation flowed as it would between two long-lost friends.
From time to time, he’d lean forward or focus on my lips as I took a sip of my watered-down lemonade, making my cheeks warm.
But my shoulders stayed tense, fingers curled lightly in my lap.
With Jo?o, I never had to think about what to do with my hands.When Sir Spiritual invited me to go to the bar and told me to walk in front of him, I didn’t feel compelled to fully follow his suggestion, instead falling into an easy walk next to him until we got to the bar.
The old man behind the bar scoffed at Sir Spiritual with that type of charm you know comes from a long friendship, and soon, we both had refills in front of us.
“So, how do you reconcile your belief and kink?” I asked.
“That is a very good question and one that took me a long time to…”
My attention slipped from the gorgeous man in front of me, his light brown skin and brown locs all merging as my eyes blurred and my skin tingled in attention. A wave of pure energy traveled through me. My heartbeat skidded to a halt before my gaze connected with him.
There, standing a few feet away from Sir Spiritual, Jo?o appeared as if I had conjured him with my comparisons and my uncertainty.
As if my heart had called him until he showed his face.
Black everything was his style tonight. Black shirt, black jeans, black Js, and that commanding, raw presence that demanded full attention from me.
“Gisele,” Jo?o said, my name sounding like castigation and supplication, all in two syllables.
Before realizing it, my feet were moving toward him until Sir Spiritual’s warm palm settled on the middle of my back.
Jo?o’s nostrils flared, then his face settled into an impassive mask.
The vein in his neck, though, told me all I needed to understand.
Ignoring Sir Spiritual’s touch without looking back, I kept approaching Jo?o, eyes down, hoping he couldn’t hear my labored breath and my panicked heartbeats.
“Gissy, you know Master Q?” Sir Spiritual asked.
“Yes, I…yes, I do,” I said, my eyes still downcast even though Jo?o and I had never negotiated for him to dominate me.
But God, if he asks today, I’ll fold and never look back.
“Yes, she does, and I had no idea she’d be here today. Gisele, let’s chat.” That soft, raspy voice slid into my subconscious; the softness was a ploy. I knew it and still fell for it.
“Okay. Sorry, Sir Spiritual, it was such a pleasure meeting you.” I turned around. Sir S deserved a polite goodbye no matter what was going on between Jo?o and me. Sir Spiritual’s gaze sharpened, followed by a chuckle.
“Q…pax,” Sir said, and a quiet anger simmered inside me. Not because he was backing down but because Jo?o had no right.
Jo?o had made his stance clear.