Chapter 31
Tristan
Unfortunately, the rest of the shift keeps us so busy that I don’t have any time or privacy to fill out the kink survey.
Even when I do have some downtime, it’s not what I need. I don’t want to fill this out here, at the station.
This is going to be a difficult exercise for me, not because I struggle with my kinkiness, but because I’m not used to articulating what I want, especially in a sexual setting. Even though Warren was about as dominant as a warm, wet towel, he always dictated how our sex life went.
And even though it was rather unfulfilling, but I didn’t know how to ask for something different tactfully.
I’m going to need complete privacy and an uncluttered mind to complete this survey honestly.
When I get home the morning after my shift, I immediately take a hot shower, then collapse into bed for a nap.
I sleep until noon, eat some food, pour myself some coffee, and sit at the kitchen table in my boxers and an old UCLA T-shirt. I unfold the kink survey in front of me, flattening it on the wooden table.
Dad and Bobbie aren’t at home, so I have the house to myself. I have the privacy I need to complete this survey, which I know will be a bit of an ordeal.
Okay, Tristan, I tell myself. You can do this. You know what you want; now you have to write it down. That’s not hard, right?
Except it is, because I’m the sort of person that will drink whatever the barista hands me, even if I ordered a macchiato and end up with a cup of rat piss.
No worries!
? ? ?
I’m shaking and sweating when I finish the survey.
It was very in-depth.
It asked about my kinks, my fetishes, about whether I prefer being submissive or dominant (submissive, all the way), how I felt about toys, about group, about every bodily fluid imaginable, about pain of all different types, about restraints, about role-play, about gear, about praise and degradation, and about various more taboo things.
I thought I’d know everything on the list, but I had to pause and go to Google more than once.
My survey results tell me exactly what I expected: I’m as submissive as a pebble bouncing around on a trampoline. My ideal sexual position, according to this survey? Ass up, face down, eyes blindfolded, wrists tied, handprints on my cheeks, hole gaping and dripping with cum.
Cool, cool, cool.
It’s one thing suspecting that you’re a dirty, kinky fuck, and altogether another having it confirmed.
I guess it’s nice, in a way.
There’s some comfort in knowing that what I’m interested in is real. That it’s something I can have—something Nick can and wants to give me. Something that I can understand and appreciate without shame.
I refold the paper, take out my phone, and snap a picture of it. I text the photo to Nick, along with a short message:
TRISTAN: All done :)
NICK: Good boy. How’d it feel?
TRISTAN: Good, honestly. It was weird thinking about my kinks like that, but I liked it. It was refreshing.
NICK: Normalizing kink is a good thing. I’m glad you felt comfortable doing it.
I want to ask when we’ll get a chance to try some of these things, and what we’re going to try, but it’s up to him to tell me when, what, and how.
Truthfully, I like that. I want him to be in control. It’s different, but it’s nice.
And then, because I realize I kind of like chatting with Nick, and because I have nothing else to do, I send another message:
TRISTAN: How’s your day off been?
NICK: Oh, it’s been great. I picked Abbie up for lunch and took her out for her favorite—burgers.
He sends a selfie after that, of him and a little girl, both grinning at the camera. She has the same light brown skin as Nick, the same large eyes, but her hair is black and straight. Nick’s hair, which is starting to grow out of his buzzcut, is very dark brown and very curly.
TRISTAN: You guys look so cute! And so happy :)
NICK: Tell that to her mother :/
TRISTAN: What do you mean??
NICK: Raquel—that’s Abbie’s mom—showed up out of the blue the other day and told me she wants custody of Abbie. I haven’t told Abbie yet, because she doesn’t even know her mom. Raquel has NEVER wanted to be part of Abbie’s life before. But she seems to think I’m not good for Abbie.
TRISTAN: Oh shit. Did Abbie see her?
NICK: No, which is good. I don’t know what I’ll tell her. She’s never met Raquel.
NICK: Sorry for dumping all of this on you.
TRISTAN: That’s ok! Dump away.
NICK: Thank you, Tristan. It really means a lot.
For some reason, that little message, this little exchange, makes me feel almost the same way I felt when Nick had me pressed up against the wall, biting my ear.
Oh fuck.
I put my phone down, my heart suddenly beating a tattoo in my chest.
Once again, I feel the lingering guilt of being interested in someone else.
What am I doing, pursuing a kinky sexual relationship when it’s only been a year since Warren died?
I feel disloyal to him. Even though I know that logically, I don’t owe him anything anymore, that having sex with someone else will not be unfaithfulness, it feels like I’m transgressing somehow.
I type out another message, thumbs shaking.
I’m sweating from my anxiety, and I read my message three times, wondering if I should send it or not. Is it coming from a place of stability or anxiety?
Definitely anxiety.
But I say fuck it and send the message anyway.
TRISTAN: This might be me spiraling in my own head, and if that’s the case, please ignore me, but I do want to clarify one thing. What we’re doing is just sex, right? Not, like, a relationship. I don’t think I’m in a good headspace to date. If I’m overthinking this, sorry. I just wanted to clarify.
I stare anxiously at my phone.
Three dots appear, telling me that Nick is typing. They bounce for a long time and then disappear.
Oh Jesus.
Then they reappear again—only to vanish thirty seconds later.
Briefly, I contemplate mailing my phone to Zambia and getting a new identity.
And then my phone buzzes with a message.
NICK: Clarity is important. There’s nothing wrong with asking for it.
Yes, sex/hooking up is all that I’m looking for.
If that isn’t something you want to navigate, just let me know.
I am very interested in having sex with you and going as far as you want.
You have full control over the boundaries here, and I promise I will respect all of them.
I immediately breathe a sigh of relief.
It’s almost funny, the fact that I have the control here, according to him.
We’re talking about embarking on a power-exchange fuck buddies situation, and he’s the dominant one. I’m the submissive one.
But according to him, I have full control. I’m the one with the power. I know that I can trust him. A relationship involving power exchange is built on trust, communication, and honesty.
TRISTAN: Okay, thank you. Sorry for spiraling.
NICK: You have nothing to apologize for.
NICK: I promise—and I don’t make promises lightly—to always be honest with you.
TRISTAN: Thank you. I will too.
I look at my last message, and I feel a bit guilty. I haven’t lied to him about Warren, but I haven’t told him about Warren, either.
It might not be a lie, but it is certainly an omission.
Warren, his death, and my feelings about it are the primary reason that a relationship right now scares me.
Maybe Nick has a right to know that.