Chapter 3 #3
Intellectually, I understood Belle’s explanation. Even so, I still found forgiving myself difficult. “Do you have time for a walk on the pier?”
“Sure,” Gabby said. Pushing to her feet, she held her hands out for me. “I’ll buy you an ice cream.”
“Deal,” I said and we left the park, walking hand in hand. “When does Belle get home?”
Belle had been away at a week-long conference learning the newest strategies in drug rehabilitation. “Tonight. I’m picking her up at Long Beach Airport. She’s excited because on Monday morning, we have an appointment at the clinic to meet another sperm donor.”
I kissed her temple. “Fingers crossed you and Belle approve of him.”
“It’s having a connection, you know. This is the fourth guy and honestly, the woman at the clinic is getting frustrated with us… with me. But the sperm donor is half of our baby. You know we’d still want you to be the one.” In a playful tone, she added, “Just think about it, Uncle Ethan.”
I didn’t hate the idea of being Gabby and Belle’s sperm donor.
I always thought I’d like to have kids someday.
The problem was how did a person raise a child when the parents lived an alternative lifestyle?
“Gabby, I just had a thought. How are you and Belle going to maintain your relationship as Dominatrix and submissive while raising a child?”
Gabby took a long moment, then exhaled through her nose. “We haven’t come to terms with that yet, which is also partly why we’re not settling for just any donor.”
“Does that mean he has to be in the lifestyle?” I asked. “Or at least be accepting of it?”
“Yes, unless he wants no part of the baby once his sperm takes. Then our private lives have no impact. As for the child, we’ll explain when they’re old enough to understand.
” On a sigh, she said, “I’ll miss having Belle kneel at my feet or walking around naked.
Our dynamic is all encompassing, every breathing hour of every day.
I’m her Mistress. So yeah, it’s going to be a sacrifice. ”
I put my arm around her waist as we reached the end of the pier and stood at the railing looking out over the Pacific Ocean. “I get the feeling that Belle wants the baby.”
She put her head on my shoulder where I felt her head bob up and down.
I wasn’t about to give her any advice. I had no clue what it must feel like facing the situation of one partner wanting a child when the other didn’t. So, I settled on, “I’m here for you in whatever way you need me.”
She raised her face and peeked up at me. “I just know you’d be the baby’s favorite uncle.”
“More than your brother?”
“For sure,” Gabby said with conviction. “You know Teddy is full of himself. A lot like me. That’s why it’s hard to make room for someone else who will upend my life… our lives. Me and Belle’s.”
I squeezed my hold on her. “Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”
Gabby broke free and spun around to face me. “Change of subject to ice cream. Come on,” she said, tugging on my shirt. “Let’s gorge.”
I was quick to follow her lead, which made me smile inside.
Unless conversing as equals, I bowed to her domination, even in a casual setting.
She was a wonderful Dominatrix. And like Belle, I thrived on a Dom taking the lead.
Before the debacle with Thorne, I had a Dom for a while that I thought had been a good fit.
Apparently, not so. After a few months, that Dom replaced me with a twink…
someone who the Dom claimed was sweeter, more pliant, and not built like a wrestler.
Boxer, I had wanted to yell in the Dom’s face, as if my strong physique made me less pliant, less sweet.
Instead, I’d thanked the Dom for our short time together.
The next week when I was at the BDSM club, Thorne approached me.
And that was that. Another short-lived, three-month contract but one that had fucked up my whole world.
Gabby poked my cheek with her spoon. “Hey, where’d you go?”
I blinked, then absently wiped my cheek with my palm. Shifting to look at her, I said, “Before, you said you wanted to know how you could help. Is your offer still good?”
“Of course it is, dipshit.”
“Since Belle’s not back until tomorrow, would you do a scene with me that won’t leave marks?”
Gabby tapped her lips with the back of her spoon. “I won’t do a scene unless Belle’s present. It’s a hard limit for us.”
“I’m down for that. I like people-watching,” I said, already feeling the anticipation of a scene thrum through my veins.
“I’m not experienced in cock and ball torture for obvious reasons. But I could use clothespins on your nipples. Does that appeal to your masochistic heart?”
“Yes,” I said, sitting forward. “If I guide you, would you be open to playing with my southern region?”
“Oh my God, you’re such a pain slut. But, yes.”
“Which does bring up the question about…” I lowered my voice and bent forward. “You know…” I dipped my chin toward my groin.
Gabby snorted. When she stopped snorting, she matched my forward position and whispered, “Sexual release?”
“Yeah, that would be great, but you two don’t share, right?”
Gabby nodded. “I’ve only had two exceptions, a male couple that Belle met through work. But they gave each other sexual release so it wasn’t an issue.”
Gabby’s eyes widened. “Since Belle is bi and has had intimate experience with the male anatomy, she can hold a Fleshlight for your dick while I continue to torture you. You’ll come like a geyser.”
If only, I thought. I hadn’t put my dick into anything or anyone since Napa.
The idea made me go numb. The psychiatrist assigned to me in rehab and two psychotherapists since then had tried to make me understand that what happened wasn’t my fault.
Certainly, the police wouldn’t have dropped the case if they thought so.
But sometimes, when I looked at my hands, I could see them pinning Luca down.
It was the only image that I remembered clearly, but it was potent enough to bring me to my knees in despair.
“No Fleshlight, Gabby. I’ll just go in your bathroom and jerk off if that’s okay, so I’m not leaving your house with a boner. ”
“Good enough,” she said.
I gulped at the promise of being in a scene, which caused my cheeks to flush.
On my darker skin, I was grateful Gabby wouldn’t notice.
I set the cup of ice cream aside and took her hand in mine.
“Thank you, Gabby. I’m trying to stay away from self-flogging and this will be really helpful. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time I want something only you can give me,” Gabby said with a wink. “But I’m looking forward to the scene, too. I go easy on Belle since she’s not into pain. A spanking and a light paddling are the most I’ve ever doled out for punishments.”
“What time is good for you?”
“I’m not bartending until Tuesday,” Gabby said. “Come to the house tomorrow at four thirty. We’ll have time for a scene, then a light supper. You’ll get home early enough to chill, since you have work on Monday.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, like a true Dominatrix,” I said, giving her a sidelong glance as I collected our paper cups and utensils and threw them in the trash.
Gabby took my hand as she had earlier. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I smiled and we walked back to the Hangout. From there, we were going in opposite directions. “Can I bring anything tomorrow?”
“Just you,” she said, then she reached up and kissed my cheek. She pivoted and waved as she jogged down the street toward home.
I walked to my truck with my thoughts shifting to Father Jude.
I was bemoaning not seeing him for six more days, when confessions were held next, when an idea came to me.
I could show up to Sunday Mass tomorrow.
I wouldn’t be able to talk to him other than, Have a nice day, Father, as he stood outside the church after the service and greeted parishioners.
But I didn’t care. For now, I’d be content to be in his vicinity.
As a child, my parents liked to attend High Mass because it was held in Latin. I hadn’t understood a word, but I had delighted in the pageantry that went along with it, particularly the musical pieces, melodious hymns and Gregorian chants that both inspired and soothed my young soul.
Thinking about those childhood memories in church, I had a sudden urge to see Father Jude in his liturgical vestments.
Would he look less desirable so I could stop perving on him?
Or would the flowing white robe cinched with a belt entice me to want to unravel him physically and mentally?
I recalled being taught in catechism classes that sexual fantasies were a sin of lust only if the person deliberately dwelled on or consented to them with the intention of sexual pleasure.
If those were the guidelines, then I was fucked.
Maybe I’d confess to Father Jude without identifying the person I was lusting after.
Shit, I didn’t know where all this was coming from.
Nor did I understand how one man was capable of raising feelings of desire more than I’d ever experienced.
Not of the intensity I felt for Father Jude. Not even prior to Napa.
By the time I unlocked my truck and hopped in, I was smiling. I’d go to Mass in the morning and then in the afternoon I’d have the scene with Gabby. I looked forward to both, and for the first time in a long while I didn’t have the intense urge to go back to my apartment and take out the flogger.
I wasn’t home for more than ten minutes when I got a call from Mamma Cattaneo. Her first name was Viviana, but to everyone who was considered family, she was Mamma. When I picked up, she didn’t even give me a chance to say hello.
“Ethan, you’ll come to supper tonight, yes?”
I had a sneaking suspicion that Gabby told her mother I could use the company. “Si, Mamma, grazie. What’s on the menu?”
“Your very favorite, next to pasta,” she said. I heard the smile in her voice. “Involtini e polenta.”
I licked my lips at the mention of braised beef rollups with polenta. “My mouth is watering already, Mamma. What time should I be there?”
“Any time you want, Ethan,” she said, her tone gracious and warm. “Teddy is getting here at three to watch the baseball game with Franco. We’ll eat right after, between six and six thirty.”
“Bene,” I said, always happy when the opportunity arose for me to slip into my native Sicilian language. “I’ll be there at three.”
I remembered the first time Frank had taken me home for dinner. His wife had hugged me, elated that I was Sicilian like her. As a result, our conversation flowed easily, unlike with Frank—Franco when he was at home—who was from northern Italy, and whose dialect was starkly dissimilar.
She’d taken my hand and led me into the spacious kitchen where the air was aromatic, filled with the scent of herbs—oregano, rosemary, and bay leaves with a potent whiff of garlic. My mouth had watered then, too. She laughed, gave me another hug, then insisted from then on that I call her Mamma.
Initially, I’d felt disloyal to my biological mother. But when I spoke to my therapist about it, Andrew had asked, “When was the last time you’ve spoken to your mother?”
I shrugged. “I don’t even remember. Last year sometime.”
“In this moment, who do you feel closer to emotionally?”
“Mrs. Cattaneo. She’s maternal and checks in with me at least once a week.”
And that was that. I never thought badly again about addressing Mrs. Cattaneo as Mamma. I showed up at their house every two weeks or so. Not always to eat. Sometimes, I’d stop just to say hello or bring Frank and Mamma Italian pastries from Noto Patisserie.
That evening, with a full stomach and a container of leftovers, I said my goodbyes to them, wishing I could take the loving, homey energy with me.
Driving to my empty apartment, I thought back to when I’d been passionate about eventually having a husband, a house, and children.
A traditional, vanilla family despite my lackluster childhood experience with aloof parents who were more concerned about their students at Stanford University than about me. Their lack of love stung. Deeply.
But then I’d gone to a BDSM club with a university friend who was a member.
He’d showed me around, and we watched several scenes that had my cock so stiff, I’d sported a hard-on the whole time we were there.
Before we left that night, my friend took me to meet the club manager, and I’d left with an application form.
From my initial encounter with the kink lifestyle, I devoured all the information I found with the help of my friend. And then, after meeting a Dom who offered to be my mentor, I learned firsthand about a Dominant/submissive relationship—and the power of the flogger.
I’d continued to be diligent, soaking up everything the Dom taught me about contracts, consent, safety, and safewords. He’d played with me on the St. Andrew’s cross and initiated me into the exquisite balance of pleasure and pain.
All went well for several blissful years until one night, I was sitting at the bar in the club.
My three-month contract had ended and the Dom I’d been with informed me that he wasn’t interested in renewing it.
I’d been devastated. He was the second Dom who had dropped me.
Consequently, I’d been miserable and feeling emotionally exposed and vulnerable.
Being in a contracted D/s relationship took a lot of trust. I was tired of giving of myself without getting any reciprocation.
That was, until one night at the club, a Dom approached me for an impact scene.
After we finished, he asked me to have dinner with him the following evening to talk about a short-term contract.
He’d been persuasive… smooth-talking. And in hindsight, I understood the Dom’s ability to tap into my submissiveness and weakness.
His name was Thorne. And from that day forward, my life became a living hell.